Highland Scoundrel E-Book

Lois Greiman

• Herausgeber: NYLA
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 555

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 1998

Beschreibung

Determined to find a husband for his stubborn daughter, Shona MacGowan's father has called to his castle Scotland's most eligible clansmen. But for Shona, only one stands out: the stranger, Dugald Kinnaird. His raw, masculine power entices Shona, and when he sweeps her into his embrace, she knows her vow to never marry will soon be broken.But Dugald's true mission is not to marry the bonnie Scottish lass, but to uncover her as the traitor he believes she is. If playing the suitor will get him what he needs then he'll pretend to be eager to wed this high-spirited beauty. But as his passion for Shona becomes stronger, this Highland Scoundrel soon realizes he must choose between love…and honor.

Leseprobe

Highland Scoundrel

* * *

Lois Greiman

Copyright © 1998 by Lois Greiman

Travis, I thank God for every minute, every word, every silly bit of laughter we've shared. You're everything I could ask for in a son and so much more.

Prologue

Burn Creag Castle Year of our Lord 1509

Lightning forked across the inky-black sky. Ghostly shadows, cast by a single flickering candle, flitted across the curved walls of the tower room, and beneath Shona's bare toes, the rushes felt coarse and cold.

She hunched her shoulders inside her too-large night gown and huddled closer to Sara's side.

Thunder sounded like a witch's cackle. Shona jumped, but suddenly a tiny spot of red fire snagged her attention. Turning toward her eldest cousin, she saw that the glow came from the center of Rachel's palm.

It took Shona a moment to recognize the source, longer still to find her voice. Then, "The dragon!" she gasped. Even in the fickle light she could not mistake the silver amulet. "You stole it from—"

Thunder crashed like a giant's wicked fist against the tower, shaking the very stones around them. Shona stifled a scream. The noise rolled slowly away, leaving the air taut in its aftermath.

"You stole it from Liam?" she finished breathlessly. The youngest of the three cousins, she was determined not to let the others know that beneath her voluminous night gown her knees shook like a wet cur.

"Aye," Rachel said. "I took it whilst he slept."

"Tis magic," Shona whispered, transfixed by the blood red stone that gleamed from between the dragon's spread wings.

"It canna be magic," Sara corrected and tightened her hand as though she sensed Shona's fear. "Tis but stone and metal."

"But Liam said twas," Shona whispered, awestruck by its presence here. Liam was a crafty sort, and not one to part easily with his possessions.

"Tis the very reason I doubted," Rachel said, her voice barely audible in the hushed silence. "But even Liam must tell the truth sometimes, I suppose. And twas the truth he said when he told me of our great grandmother."

"Ourgreat grandmother?" Sara asked. "But how does he know about our ancestry?''

"I canna say for certain," Rachel admitted, glancing from Sara to Shona. "But this is the story he spewed. Long ago there lived a lass in this very castle. Her name was Ula. Small she was like me, with Shona's fiery hair and Sara's kindness. Her mother died when she was but a bairn, and she was scared to be left alone at night. Sometimes she would cry out."

"And her father would come and tell her outlandish stories to make her laugh?" Shona guessed. She wished now that she had not been quite so clever in sneaking from her own chambers. Indeed, she almost wished her father would find her gone and come looking for her, for Roderic the Rogue would surely chase away any evil that lurked in this spooky tower room.

"Aye," Rachel said. "Aye, he would tell her stories. But still she was afraid. So he called on the best mason in the land to craft a magical stone dragon near her room to protect her."

"He must have loved her so," Sara whispered.

Shona squeezed her hand.

"They built the dragon out on the roof to overlook the land about," Rachel said. "Now the lass felt safe in the comfort of her quarters. But her father worried that something might happen to him, and Glen Creag would fall into the hands of the evil sorcerer. Then wee Ula would be left alone. He knew if such was the case she would be forced to leave her home, and he wished for her to be bold enough to make the journey. So he had a silver amulet crafted. A magical pendant it was, graced with a gem taken from the enchanted water of Loch Ness."

"Where Nessie lives?" Shona hissed.

"Aye. That amulet would protect Ula wherever she went."

Shona stared at the dragon in breathless wonder. "And this is that very amulet?"

"Aye."

"But Rachel," Sara said, "though I dunna understand it, ye never believe a thing Liam says. Why do ye trust him in this?"

Rachel scowled, then, "Come here," she whispered, and stepped toward the window. Sara tugged at Shona's hand until they were peering through the narrow opening. They tilted their heads close together. "Look out there."

"Tis dark," Shona whispered, but suddenly a fork of lightning slashed across the sky.

"There!"

"A dragon!" Sara gasped, starting back. "How did it get there?''

Rachel drew the amulet closer to her chest. "It must have been there for many years, but ye canna see it from most points, only from here and from that room beside it."

"Ula's room." Shona felt the hairs at the back of her neck rise eerily.

"Tis truly magic, then," murmured Sara.

"Aye," said Rachel, "and tonight we will bend its magic to our will."

"We will?" Shona's voice sounded squeaky to her own ears.

"Aye. We will. For tomorrow Sara will return to her home. And shortly after, ye will go back ta Dun Ard. Tis impossible to know when we shall be together again."

The tower room fell silent.

"I will miss ye," Sara whispered.

"And I ye," Rachel said. "Ye are the sisters of my heart."

"We will see ye soon, surely," Shona said. She tightened her grip on Sara's hand. Brothers she had aplenty. But sisters were a rare and precious thing. "When the weather warms..."

"One of us will surely be betrothed soon. In fact, the MacMurt has asked for my hand in marriage and—" Rachel stopped abruptly, glancing quickly at the barrels stacked along the curved wall. "What was that noise?"

Shona held her breath and listened, but all she could hear was the frantic pounding of her own heart.

"It must have been a mouse," Sara said, then turned her gaze back to Rachel. "Promise ye'll not move far from us."

"I'm not going to move away," said Shona, yanking her gaze from the barrels. "I will marry Liam and live forever at Dun Ard."

"Liam!" Rachel scoffed. "Not that wild Irish rogue. Ye will marry a great laird as will we all."

A sliver of noise issued from behind the barrels again.

"The mice are certainly restless," Shona murmured, shifting nervously closer to her cousins.

"Please duuna leave us," Sara whispered again.

"That's why I asked ye to come to the tower," Rachel said. “If the dragon is truly magical it can grant us our fondest desires and bind us together. We will each touch the amulet and make a vow to take care of the others."

"But if we're far apart how will we know when we're needed?" Sara asked.

Rachel scowled, drawing her dark brows together over eyes as bright as amethyst. "The dragon will know," she murmured. "He will make certain we are safe or he will send help."

Sara thought a moment then nodded. Her expression was somber, her blue eyes wide as she reached for Rachel's hand. "We shall all touch it together."

They did so now, piling their hands atop the thing, and squeezing their eyes closed.

"My fondest desire is to be a great healer like my mother," Rachel began.

Thunder boomed again. Shona jumped at the sound.

"I wish to be bold!" she chirped. "Like Father and my mother, the Flame."

The thunder rolled into silence.

"Your turn," Rachel whispered.

"I but wish for my own family to care for," Sara said softly. "My own bairns by my own hearth. Nothing more."

"Now we must make a solemn vow," Rachel said. "Forever and always we shall be friends. Neither time nor distance shall separate us. When one is in need another shall come and assist her, for we that are gathered in this room are bound together for eternity."

"Now we must swear to it," whispered Sara.

"I swear," they chanted.

Thunder crashed like a cannon in their ears. The candle was snuffed out. Blackness exploded around them. Wild energy crackled through the room and shot up Shona's fingers.

She shrieked in terror. The sound mingled with the cries of her cousins, and suddenly they dropped the amulet and raced as one toward the door and down the stairs.

The panicked galloping of their feet gradually faded to silence. The tower room lay in darkness, and nestled deep within the rushes, the dragon smiled.

Chapter 1

Blackburn Castle Year of our Lord 1519

"You must marry me, Lady Shona. You must." James's amber eyes were intense, his expression sincere as he gripped his love's hand firmly between his own and gazed up at her from the time-honored position of one knee. "Say you will."

"Ye know I canna." Shona glanced nervously about at the audience that surrounded them. She would give much to spare James this scene, for someday his pride would prick him for such a public display. Tongues would surely wag. Variations of this moment would be told and retold beside a thousand cook fires, but the unforgettable fact would remain; King James V, sovereign ruler of Scotland, had begged on bended knee for a simple Highland lass to marry him.

The very thought made Shona want nothing more than to forgo this entire spectacle. But she knew she must not, for her plans would be greatly weakened without such a dramatic public parting.

"Ye know I canna marry ye," Shona murmured. "Lord Tremayne would never allow it. He was piqued enough when we sneaked out of Edinburgh Castle for naught but a few hours last Midsummer's Eve. And it did not help matters when ye injured your arm."

"Twas naught but a bruise, and not your fault."

She gave him a smile, both for his quick defense and for the memory of how he'd dressed as a peasant and she'd dressed as a lad. James had walked right past Tremayne's oversized nose without his noticing, but there had been consequences. Indeed, Tremayne had raved about her propensity for "putting dangerous notions into the king's head." He'd even gone so far as to accuse her of plotting against the throne for her own devious reasons. How much more would he do if he knew her present plans? She dared not think about it. "Ye know I would do anything for ye, James. But had it not been for your other advisors, my head might have already been forfeited just for my ungodly influence on ye. What would Tremayne do if he thought ye wished to marry me?" She grinned. "Some say I have been less than respectful of your lordly title."

"Some wart-faced old men who have disliked you from the first," James said.

"Be that as it may, I dare not cross Tremayne again, or—"

James wrenched to his feet, his brow wrinkled in agitation, his mouth taking on that surly tilt it did when he pouted. "Tremayne does not rule my life. You can marry me. Indeed, I insist that you do."

"Insist?" She smiled at him. In truth, she was more comfortable with an insistent James than a melancholy one. "Even though ye know tis not in Scotland's best interest?"

He scowled as if considering her words.

"I think not, Your Majesty. For ye are good and wise, and ye will wed with a thought for Scotland's future."

"Never could Scotland do better than to have you for its queen," he vowed earnestly.

"Me?" She laughed and slipped her hand from his. "A humble maid from the north? Not for ye, Your Majesty. Someday ye will marry a rich king's elegant daughter, and the union will greatly aid our cause."

"I do not want someone's elegant daughter. I want you\" His voice was growing louder.

Shona stood. "Your Majesty, your new servants watch," she reminded him. "Not to mention Hawk." She glanced at her uncle, the mountainous warrior who, after the last attempt on the king's life, had been chosen as the monarch's personal body guard. "The Hawk watches. Ye would not wish for him to think ye are acting like a child."

"But I am a child!" wailed the boy, and bursting into tears, threw his arms about her waist.

It was true, Shona thought, hugging him to her. He might be the crowned king of Scotland, but he was also a seven-year-old boy. A boy who had lost his father in the bloody battle at the Field of Flodden, a boy who had lost his mother to another marriage—a marriage that had forced her to give up guardianship of him. He was treated now not as a child at all, but as either a pawn or an heirloom. Twas little wonder he looked to her for stability and nurturing, though she was hardly the nurturing type.

"There now, James," she soothed, stroking his auburn hair as she glanced helplessly at Kelvin, the young boy she'd brought to entertain the king. "Twill all come out right. Ye'll see. I will return to visit ye now and again."

"You will stay!" he yelled, tightening his grip. "I command you to stay!"

"Hawk will stay," she countered.

"Hawk! You would leave me with a bird that eats its own siblings?"

She couldn't help but laugh, for such a statement was typical of the young king. He was known for his love of histrionics, but it would do little good to take them too seriously. She'd learned that some months ago during her time at court. In truth, it had been her relationship with James, and not with the mythical suitor her parents had hoped she would find, that had made her stay in the lowlands bearable.

"If I promise the Hawk willna eat ye, will ye let me go?" she asked.

"Never! I will never let you go!"

"I canna stay, James. I must return to my home. Ye know that. But Kelvin and I will come back as soon as ever we can to visit ye."

"Kelvin!" the king sobbed. "I don't want Kelvin. He's nothing more than a commoner and a thief."

"A thief?" It was true that she'd found the boy picking pockets on the streets of Edinburgh only a few months before, but she'd hoped she'd put a stop to the lad's thievery. Cupping her palm beneath James's chin, Shona tilted his face up so that their gazes met. "A thief?" For a moment she saw the sharp gleam of mischief in the boy's eyes.

"He stole my favorite brooch," James accused, though he was nearly weighed down by gems as it was.

Shona hurried her gaze to the red-headed lad who stood behind the king. It was impossible to know exactly how old he was, since he'd long ago been orphaned. But he, too, must be approximately seven. He was slim and small, like the king. His eyes could even show the same mischievous gleam, though right now they expressed little more than shocked innocence. An innocence that was apparently not reliable, since on his narrow chest rested a round brooch set with a large bloodstone.

"You know how I love that brooch," said the king, abruptly discontinuing his tears to gaze solemnly up into her face. He sighed. "Twas a gift from my sainted grandmother."

In truth, he had received it from his stepfather, the sixth earl of Angus, a man James didn't even like. But this hardly seemed the time to attempt to improve his honesty. It could well be that Kelvin had been a bad influence on him in that regard.

"Give him the brooch," Shona said softly, staring at Kelvin.

The boy opened his mouth as if to protest his right to it, but finally, instead of speaking, he unpinned the metal circle from his tunic and stepped forward.

James dropped his arms from about Shona's waist and turned toward the urchin. They stood eye to eye, and for a while they remained unspeaking, as if sharing some private thought. But finally Kelvin handed over the brooch.

"I've left ye all the others," he said, his brogue heavy. "Ye could have spared this one."

"I am king. I've a right to be greedy," James said flippantly, and suddenly the other boy grinned.

Twas a grin that gave Shona grave misgivings. It was very possible she was daft to think she could foster this wayward child alone, while insanity might well describe her thinking he would make a good companion for the king. Still, despite their frequent squabbles over the past four weeks they'd spent together, the boys had become frightfully close. Perhaps too close, considering the waif's dubious past. Mayhap Tremayne was right and it was best that Kelvin would not be staying to influence the king any longer.

"Tis time we left," she said.

"Indeed," Kelvin agreed happily. "To the Highlands."

Though the journey from Blackburn to Dun Ard had been slow and damp, Shona was finally home. She filled her lungs with the crisp spring air and felt her muscles relax. Nowhere in the world did it smell like it did in the Highlands of Scotland. Nowhere was the air filled with this heady mixture of heather and freedom.

Beneath her, Teine Lochan pranced in place. The mare had been left behind when Shona had gone to Blackburn, left behind, too long confined.

"Do ye want to run, then, lassie?" Shona asked, still holding the reins taut.

The mare stopped prancing. Arching her regal neck, she mouthed the bit, her muscles tense and quivering.

"Then run," Shona yelled, and leaning over Teine's withers, she loosened the reins.

Suddenly they were winged, flying like falcon across the verdant moor, swooping like swallows, as if they might catch the very essence of life, if only they flew fast enough. Shona gripped the mare's barrel with leather clad thighs, dropped the reins into the swirling flaxen mane, and lifted her arms to the wind.

The voluminous sleeves of her white tunic flapped like wild sails. Her hair streamed behind her. Caught in the glory of freedom, her fiery tresses crackled against the steed's chestnut hide like a cat o' nine tails, whipping the mare to greater speed.

On and on they ran until finally, tired and sated, they wandered into a quiet dell where a stream rolled along beneath the sinking sun. Perhaps she should return to the castle, Shona thought, but the water called to her, and she answered, letting the mare graze unfettered on the grasses that grew beside the chattering burn.

There was much to think about, much to dwell on. Shona had returned to Dun Ard less than three days before, but even here in her haven she could feel Scotland's turmoil. The Highlands were not immune to the troubles that bedeviled the country. For with the last king's death at Flodden Field some five years before, his son had been crowned, a boy far too young to take the government into his own hands. A French regent was elected, but the regent had returned to his homeland, leaving Scotland rudderless.

It was that state of unrest that caused her father, called Roderic the Rogue by those who knew him, to plan a gathering of the Highland clans. At least, that was what he said, though Shona firmly believed it was just another attempt to find her a suitable husband. Lord William, duke of Atberry, had long been a strong contender for her hand, but no vows had yet been exchanged.

Shona sighed and sat down, her legs curled under her on a rocky ledge. Bending forward, she let the brisk waves wash over her fingers. She was one of a lucky few, she knew, for she was nearly a score of years old and still she had not been promised away. Indeed, her parents would not give her to any man unless she herself approved the union, thus the delay. Whom could she approve when she had basked so long in the love of Roderic the Rogue?

Removing her soft half boots, Shona swung her legs over the stone and dipped her toes into the waves. In all the world, this spot was her favorite. There was a tiny cove here where the warm water was trapped by a bar of sand. It felt like sunshine to her soul just to sit thus, away from the tension of court, the bother of prying eyes. Would she ever feel such freedom again if she married? And how could she decide on a spouse?

Cousin Sara had thought herself well wed, and now she was. But her first husband had proved to be a cruel man.

Perhaps she would not marry at all, Shona thought. Perhaps she would join a cloister. But that was laughable. Shona MacGowan, in a holy order! Twould be rather like housing a badger with goslings.

Shifting her attention, Shona gazed into the new lacy foliage of the trees around her. Overhead, a tree pipit sang to her, and against her heart her amulet seemed to purr contentedly.

She lifted it from beneath her tunic and examined it. Dragonheart, she called it. Twas in this very spot she had found it some months before, but even then it had not been new to her. No. Many years ago, Liam the Irishman had found it. This was the same amulet Rachel had stolen from him and that the three cousins had made a sacred vow on.

Shona smiled at the memory. She had been young and carefree then and had almost believed in the incantation. Indeed, crafted of silver and set with a single ruby in the center of its chest, Dragonheart looked precious and magical. But she was far too old to believe such nonsense now.

And yet it did seem miraculous that she would find it here, for it had been three years since Cousin Sara had held it. Three years since the wizard called Warwick had tried to take it from her and had subsequently been killed by Boden Blackblade. His back pierced by Boden's sword, Warwick had fallen into the river and Dragonheart had fallen with him. Neither had been seen again. How odd that Shona would find the bonny amulet miles from that spot, lying clean and sparkling upon the sand.

It would be nice to believe it had some magical mission.

"Mayhap ye have come to find me my true love," she murmured to it. It said nothing. She searched for other possibilities. "To bring peace to Scotland? To give me wisdom? To gain wealth for Dun Ard?" Still nothing. "To hang on your chain like a hunk of pretty metal and stone?"

The dragon seemed to smile up at her. She scowled. What a fool she was to try to imbue this simple bauble with magical powers. The truth was, she had decisions to make and deeds to do, and regardless of Liam's whispered warnings of the dragon's mystical powers she was on her own. For rarely had the Irishman been caught telling the truth.

Not a hand's breadth from Shona's toes, a fish splashed.

Startled, she jerked her feet up in surprise then crouched on the edge of the rock to stare into the water. Caught in the tiny harbor were five fat salmon, enough for a large pot of soup and sorrel, Da's favorite.

Glad for this distraction from her thoughts, Shona rolled up her sleeves, lay on her abdomen, and reached into the river. But the first fish slipped through her fingers with ease. Wriggling forward, she tried again. Another glided quickly between her hands, then another and another.

Finally, frustrated but determined, Shona rose to her feet and glanced about at the pastoral setting. It was just as quiet as before. Never, after many years of coming here, had she ever seen another living soul in this place.

The sun had sunk nearly to the horizon, casting a bright pink glow to the world. The water splashed by in silvery hues of blues and greens, and in that water were five fish destined to be her father's dinner.

Without another thought, Shona slipped out of her leather breeches. Hanging them over a branch, she stepped down from the ledge and into the water. It splashed in chilly waves above her knees and against her thighs, lapping at the fabric of her long, belted tunic. She shivered at the feeling but refused to stop. Those fish were teasing her. Anyone could see that.

She knew people sometimes thought her a bit foolhardy, even reckless. True, she had, upon occasion, acted with less than absolute maturity. Such as the time Da had brought that shaggy black bull in from the meadow. She'd taken one look at the bovine and bet Lord Halwart's son she could ride the beast longer than he could.

It had turned out neither could ride the animal. She learned, with the help of a bruised rump and extensive cuts that black bulls did not care to be ridden. But how was she supposed to know that unless she tried?

Besides, this was nothing like that. She was merely going to catch some supper, and since leather breeches were notably binding when wet, she had removed them.

All logical, all sensible. Bending to peer into the water, she made a grab for the closest fish. It streaked through her fingers and away, circling its small area of confinement. Shona reconnoitered and tried again. This time the salmon shot between her legs, getting caught momentarily in her shirt and flopping frenetically against her inner thighs. She gasped at the tickling sensation and grabbed at the same time. The fish fought its way out of the saturated fabric and dashed for freedom.

Shona splashed about in a wild circle and scowled into the depths again. She should have brought her bow. That would show these foolish fish who was smarter. After all, it would hardly be the first time she had shot her dinner. But she hadn't brought her bow, and though she kept a knife strapped to her waist, it would do her little good here.

Concentrating for a second, she made another wild grab. To her utter amazement, the fish came away in her hands. It was beautiful, streaked in a rainbow of colors that flashed with metallic brilliance in the sun. But it was one long, slick muscle. Loath to leave the water, it wriggled madly. Shona wrestled to hold it, but the fish was slippery and her footing unstable. The mud oozed between her toes, and the sand sifted from beneath her heels, conspiring against her. The salmon jerked, the footing gave way. Shona shrieked as she slapped the water with her backside and slid beneath the surface. Silty water filled her mouth and nose. She scrambled wildly and came up sputtering, breathless from the cold, her hair streaming across her face like scraggly tendrils of doused flame.

It took her a moment to realize something was odd. It took her longer still to understand that a small bream had become trapped in her tunic.

No bigger than her middle finger, the fish was caught between her midriff and shirt and slapped frantically to be free. Shona squawked at the sensations, danced around a circle in an effort to shake it loose then finally stuck her hand down her neckline to fish it out. But it wriggled along her back and out of her reach. Finally, wiggling herself from the creepy feelings, Shona ducked back into the water, loosed her belt, and flipped up her hem.

A current washed past, pulling the bream away, and suddenly the fish was free and gone. Shona let out a heavy sigh of relief and took a weary step toward shore.

"Might you be keeping any trout in there?"

Shona jumped at the sound of the voice, splashed back a pace then peered at the rocky shore. Through the mud, seaweed, and hair, she could just barely make out the shape of a man on the craggy ledge.

Her jaw dropped. Good Lord, how long had he been watching her? she wondered, but when her vision cleared she realized the intruder's gaze was caught on her breasts.

Snapping from her trance, Shona clapped her attention to the front of her shirt. Wet as a sponge, it clung to her like a peel on an apple. Her nipples stood out in sharp relief, even showing their darker hue through the fabric.

"Heaven's wrath!" she hissed, and slapped her arms across her torso.

From the rocky shore the intruder grinned crookedly. Even through her mess of hair, she could see that his teeth were ungodly white against his dark skin. "You'd best come out and check for eel," he said. He spoke the Gaelic, but a kind of lilting old world dialect. "They can be decidedly unappreciative of a thing of beauty, but have a taste for tender flesh."

Shona searched wildly for an appropriate response, then finally scraped the hair out of her eyes a scant inch and sputtered, "Who are ye?" The tone was much higher pitched than she would have liked, but the cold had settled into her bones. And if the truth be told, despite her...well, fairly extensive mishaps of the past, she wasn't accustomed to being caught in the middle of a frigid burn dressed in nothing but a man's saturated tunic and the meager shreds of her own tattered pride.

"They call me Dugald."

Dark Stranger, she translated roughly then cleared a bit more hair from her eyes, hoping against hope that this Dugald was merely some traveler she would never have to face again.

To judge by his clothing and his accent, he was not a Highlander, for he did not wear the traditional plaid. Instead he was dressed in snug black hose and a slashed and puffed doublet that was undoubtedly padded at the shoulders. The costume had a decidedly Italian appearance. A rich Italian appearance. And he wore it like a prince, with his hair perfectly groomed and arrogance seeping out of every pore. Still, that didn't necessarily mean he was anyone important. Once she had met a man dressed like a jester. He'd turned out to be the duke of Argyll and hadn't been amused by her assumption.

"Just...Dugald?" she asked, hoping against hope that he was no one she would ever meet again.

A bit more grin showed against his dark skin. "In truth, I have many names. Some call me Dugald the Deft," he said. "Lady Fontagne called me Dugald the Dazzling, but most call me Dugald the Dragon."

"The Dragon?" Shona murmured. Against her chest, Dragonheart felt warm.

"Aye. Did you not know that dragons are very clever and wise...and powerfully alluring." He grinned. "In fact, twas the Queen of Calmar who first gave me the name after my short acquaintance with—"

"The queen?" she whispered frantically.

"Aye." He peered at her from the ledge as if wondering whether she might be some lunatic newly escaped from an asylum. His eyes were a strange, icy blue that tilted up ever so slightly. "I heard there was a flame- haired vixen ripe for marriage at Dun Ard. I've come to win myself a wealthy bride. And who might you be, lass?"

Dear God, he was a nobleman, an early guest bent on meeting her, and here she was up to her knees in mud. He would think her a wild-haired wanton for exchanging niceties as if she were decked out in her Michaelmas finery.

Heaven's wrath, her father was going to kill her. But...wait a moment, this Dugald had no way of knowing if she was a milk maid or a marquess, and if she had even the wits of a turnip, she would keep it that way.

"Your name?" he asked again, as if she might have forgotten it.

She paused for an instant, worrying about her speech, which was damnably refined after her months at court. But after a moment, she came up with a suitably rustic accent and said, ' 'Me name be of little account to a man such as yer noble self."

"I've rarely been accused of being noble," he said. "But why not come out anyway? I could assist you in ridding yourself of any more unwanted fishes."

"I assure ye, I dunna need your help."

"Forgive me for saying so, but I beg to differ. I've seen more efficient techniques for fishing. Although none more interesting." His smile slashed across his face again, ungodly white and as roguish as a satyr's. "Come out, damsel. I'll help you warm up."

When fish flew, she thought, assessing her possible means of escape.

"There is no need to be shy, I assure you. I'm quite harmless."

Shy. Now there was a characteristic she hadn't been accused of. But neither was she naive, and if this fellow was harmless, she was a brown thrush, complete with beak and pinfeathers.

Her hesitation seemed to amuse him. He chuckled softly. The sound was deep and rippled strangely through her innards. She must be hungry.

"Come on up, lassie," he said, his tone softer now as he looked down at her from his rocky ledge. "I'll give you a ride home."

Turning her attention to her left, she eyed his horses with some misgivings. One carried a large pack, the other, his saddle. Neither would carry her, she vowed.

"There's no need to fret," he said, reaching out his hand. "I assure you, Eagle has no more wish to harm you than I do."

Eagle. Twas a strangely grandiose name for his stallion, Shona thought. For though the steed stood seventeen hands at the withers and had canon bones the size of cabers, he was, without a doubt, the ugliest animal she had ever seen. Half his right ear was missing. He was the color of trampled dust, and his nose, large as a battering ram, bowed dramatically forward in the center. He seemed, in fact, strangely incongruous with his master's careful refinement.

She brought herself back to the conversation with a start. "I know naught of horses, but he looks quite frightening," she said, realizing she'd been quiet too long.

"You've no need to worry. Eagle has a weakness for damsels in distress. Come on, then. He'll not even notice your delicate weight on his back."

"Oh, nay, I couldna. I'll find me own way home."

"You live close by, then?"

She didn't answer and hoped her reticence made it seem as if she were too overwhelmed by his manly and noble presence to respond.

"Mayhap you are a serving maid at yonder castle?"

She shook her head rapidly, letting her hair fall back over her eyes.

"Where, then?"

"I mustna tell," she murmured, trying to sound feeble. "Me da wouldna like it."

"You're not wed?"

She shook her head and remained silent. Her voice was rather deep for a woman's and quite distinctive; she had no wish to help him identify her later, should they meet again.

"I'm certain your father would be more displeased if you were to catch your death before returning home. Come hither."

She didn't.

"I've a blanket in my saddle pack. I could wrap you in it." That smile again, disarming, yet decadent, somehow, as if he'd made a thousand such offers in similar circumstances. "Twould be no hardship to keep you warm until you reached your father's hearth."

And give him an opportunity to see her face—and much more. Not likely. "Please, good sir," she said, with all due meekness. "Could ye na simply leave me in peace. I have no wish to shame myself further."

It took him a moment to answer, then, "I've seen nothing as of yet for which you should be ashamed, lass," he said. She noticed his voice sounded somewhat husky now. "Come out. I'll not hurt you. You have my word on that."

The word of a scoundrel. If he were any kind of a gentleman, he would go away and leave her alone. Or better yet, he would have pretended he had never seen her splashing about in the burn like a banshee gone mad.

It was bad enough that she'd taken a dousing. She would not return to Dun Ard perched in front of this scoundrel with her tunic stuck to her chest like fresh butter on a scone and her legs bare as a bairn's bottom. If her father heard of it, he was likely to marry her off to the first hairy lout who could master the pronunciation of his own name.

She glanced rapidly about. Where the devil had Teine wandered off to? The mare would come if she whistled. But it hardly mattered, she realized, for she couldn't allow this man to know she had come here on her own horse. That would certainly give him a clue to her identity.

Neither could she stand here like a dunce, waiting for wrinkles to form in her knees. She cleared her throat and said a quick prayer to Dympna, the patron saint of raving lunatics.

"If I was to come out...would ya promise na to..." She hunched her shoulders, hoping she looked small and uncertain. "Ta take advantage of me person?"

He tried to look wounded. He managed, rather, to look a bit like the devil on a binge. "Do I seem that sort to you?"

Absolutely, she thought, but didn't say as much.

He laughed nevertheless, as though he could read her mind. "You're a clever lass," he said. "But you have my word. I'll do nothing that you don't beg for with your own lips."

Heaven's wrath, this man was nothing but a running string of indecent innuendos, every one of which suggested a ridiculously elevated opinion of himself. Nevertheless, it would do her little good to set him in his place just now. Instead, she bit her lower lip and blinked innocently.

"Very well, then," she said, and splashed through the water, still hugging her breasts, painfully aware of every bit of thigh that showed as she drew closer to the stony ledge beneath his feet.

Finally they were only a few inches apart, though he stood a good foot and a half taller. He squatted, offering his hand and a clearer view of his face.

She could refuse his hand and hop up on shore herself, but the effort would take some scrambling and thus give him a view of things better left unseen. Or she could accept his assistance—in which case she would have to remove her arms from her breasts, which would also give him a view of things better left unseen. Damn!

His smile brightened as if he was thinking the very same thoughts, and in that moment she made a decision. Unbending her arms, she offered him her hand.

For a moment he remained as he was, frozen in place with his attention focused on her chest. "No eels," he said quietly, and reached out to grasp her fingers.

Their gazes met.

"But something far better," he added huskily.

She made no attempt to stop her blush, but even as the hot color raced across her cheeks, she braced her feet against the rocky ledge and yanked with all her might.

Not if she lived to be a hundred would she forget the look on his face. For a moment it was all smug satisfaction, and then, as if he'd been struck by lightning, his silvery eyes widened. He teetered momentarily on the edge, tried hopelessly to correct his balance, and finally careened past her to splash head first into the water.

Shona couldn't help but laugh. But in an instant his hand brushed her arm. She shrieked, jumped toward shore, and heaved herself onto the rocks. All but naked, she was quick and light.

Still weighed down as he was with his fashionably ponderous clothing, he was slower. But even so, his fingers scraped her ankle. She jerked her leg away and leapt frantically to dry land. One glance behind told her she would not beat him in a footrace.

She had no options, she assured herself. Leaping forward, she grabbed the stallion's trailing reins, yanked herself into the saddle, and wheeled the steed away.

Shona heard Dugald's sharp expletive only inches behind her but dared not wait around to discuss the sin of blasphemy. Kicking the stallion's sides, she pushed him into the woods and away, whistling as she went.

Trees skimmed past. From her right, Teine sped toward them, racing along with her head bent low and her reins flapping.

A few minutes later Shona pulled the stallion to a halt. Dismounting, she caught the mare and set the stallion free. He refused to go. She scowled at him and tried to shoo him off. He merely rested his oversized head on her shoulder and blew hot air into her ear.

Finally, frustrated and impatient, Shona looped one of his reins loosely over a branch, fed him a few choice stems of fodder, and hurried off.

Dugald the Dolt would find his mount soon enough. Until then he could enjoy the knowledge that she had outsmarted him. She allowed herself a tiny smile.

It was then that she realized she'd forgotten her breeches.

Chapter 2

The hall was filled with revelers. Guests had been arriving for days and now occupied every available seat as they shared trenchers and goblets. Every maiden was dressed in her finest, every lord groomed to perfection.

Upon the dark wood of the wall above the huge stone fireplace, the MacGowan crest was centered between two pair of crossed spears. It was a symbol of power and tradition, but tonight power was forgotten as pleasure was sought.

Roderic the Rogue skimmed the faces of the men present and quickly classified each one—too old, too weak, too callous, too cocky. He ticked off their shortcomings silently in his mind. How would he ever find someone for Shona? Or rather, how would any man ever survive marriage with the Flame's only daughter?

His attention hurried along, then returned to a young man who sat with his back to the wall. Why Roderic's attention was caught, he wasn't sure. The man wasn't particularly impressive in either height or bulk. He was dark of skin and hair, wore a black tunic, and was staring at Shona. A typical Scotsman. Yet there was something different about him. Noticing Roderic's attention, the stranger shifted his gaze to the Rogue's, nodded once, then turned his eyes smoothly back to Shona.

"Daughter," Roderic said.

Beside him she jumped at the sound of his voice. "What?"

He raised his brows at her. "Is something amiss?"

"Nay, everything is grand," she said. "Whyever do ye ask?"

He scowled. What the devil was wrong with her? True, twas wise to hold a gathering at Dun Ard at this time of political unrest, but his main objective was painfully obvious, both to the world at large and to Shona, he feared. He had gathered all the most likely suitors here to find her a husband. And that was not going to be a simple task, for despite her bonny figure and her angelic good looks, she was trouble. And the more innocent her expression, the more trouble was sure to follow.

God help him. He took a deep breath and prayed for the safety of his clan and Scotland at large.

"Listen, lass," he said, "in truth, I dunna even want to know what ye have done to make ye so fidgety. I only wish to know who that man is."

Her eyes, he noticed, looked exceptionally large this evening and very green, exactly like her mother's. "What man?"

Expressive to the extreme, her eyes were his weakness, and she well knew it, so he scowled, to make certain she didn't think she was fooling him with her false innocence.

"The man who is staring at ye," he said.

She laughed, but the sound was high-pitched and a bit giggly. Shona was not the giggling type. "Why, Father! I should hope in all this array of folk there would be more than one man staring at me. Else I fear your plans have gone awry."

He deepened his scowl, though he already felt himself weakening. Flanna had said more that once that their daughter played him like a brass-stringed harp.

She smiled. The hall lit up. Roderic tried to staunch the bittersweet swell of nostalgia he felt at that smile, for in his heart he knew it would lead to no good. Even when she'd been a gap-toothed child, that smile of hers had boded trouble. He reached beneath the table to grasp his wife's hand. Flanna, known as the Flame, sat to his right, and though she was conversing with the guest to her right, just the touch of her fingers gave him a soft burn of satisfaction.

"Dare I ask to what plans ye might be referring?" Roderic inquired.

"Tis said that Roderic the Rogue dares all," Shona said, dimpling.

Flattery. Twas a clever woman's quickest defense, he thought, but he forced his mind back to the matter at hand. "Just what do ye think our reasons were for calling this gathering?" he asked.

"To marry me off."

He laughed. "Mayhap ye think yourself too important. When all Scotland is in turmoil, might it not be that these festivities have nothing to do with ye?"

She glanced about the assemblage then quickly brought her gaze back to his. "There seems to be an inordinate number of unwed noblemen here."

"Can I help it if young eligible men arrived among the crush?" he asked. "Mayhap they heard there is a flame-haired maid here who needs a firm hand, and they came to see if they were up to the task."

She opened her mouth as if to disavow his accusation, but glancing up, he spoke again.

"He is still staring at ye, Shona. Ye must know who he is."

"Nay." She shook her head for emphasis, but Roderic couldn't help noticing that she never looked up to see who he meant.

"Isn't he the fellow who lost his horse?" Flanna asked, and leaned against her husband's arm to join in the conversation.

"His horse?" Shona asked, sounding surprised.

Roderic shifted his gaze from his daughter's wide eyes to his wife's. The similarities still shocked him.

"Is he the man Bullock spoke of?" Roderic asked.

"He said someone arrived at the gate yesterday morning asking if anyone had seen a stallion running loose."

"A stallion?" Shona's surprised tone was a bad sign, for in truth, she knew everything that happened at Dun Ard, from the birth of each new lamb to the courtship of every maid.

"Aye." Flanna pressed her breast against Roderic's arm to look into her daughter's eyes. "I saw him just this morningtide. A fine specimen he is."

Roderic turned toward his wife and felt his brows rise toward his hairline. "Are ye referring to the horse or the man, Wife?"

Flanna blinked, showing an expression of perfect innocence. The frightening thing was, he feared she had learned it from their daughter, for the Flame of the McGowans usually had little use for coquettishness. God help him.

"The stallion, of course," she said. But Shona had seen the stallion; he was as ugly as mud. "Though the man's eyes are quite arresting. Rather almond shaped. What was his name again, Shona?"

"I dunna believe ye've introduced me to him," Shona said, and forced herself to keep from squirming in her seat. It was a shaded truth at best, for she knew who he was. His name was Dugald, and he was a conceited lout. But hardly could she afford to tell her mother that, for she would surely ask how they had met, and that story put her in a rather poor light. "But if ye dunna even know him, why has he come for the gathering?" Shona asked, then gasped softly and reared back as if struck by some awful thought. "Mayhap he is a spy and he should be thrown out of our midst."

That was the wrong thing to say. Shona could feel her parents' intensified gazes on her now, but dammit, why did that blasted Dugald keep staring at her? In the past two days she'd been introduced to more men than there were fleas in a pillow, and each one had had enough good manners not to stare blatantly at her. True, Stanford had a tendency to glance at her with big moony eyes, and Hadwin would often smile at her, and there were a dozen others who would follow her about when she left the hall. But Dugald the Daft was the only one without even enough courtesy to turn aside when she glanced his way.

What was wrong with him? Was he always so rude, or did he, God forbid, see some resemblance between her and her evil twin who'd given him a dousing at the burn? But no. He couldn't know she was the one he'd found in such disarray. He couldn't. She'd been half dressed, soaking wet, and hidden behind her hair.

"Throw him out of our midst?" Flame asked.

"Well..." Shona cleared her throat. "If ye dunna know him..."

"I dunna know half the folk here," Flanna said. "Tis the way with festivals."

"Mayhap he's one of the crush who heard ye needed a firm hand," her father suggested.

"Me?" Shona tried to sound wounded, but she was afraid her innocent act was losing its edge. Without trying, she could remember how her nipples had shown through the saturated fabric of her borrowed tunic, and she feared her dreams of the night before had been less than saintly. Still, if she didn't want her father to marry her off to the first old coot who could croak "I will," she had better improve her act. "I have been naught but the epitome of genteel manners since my return from Blackburn Castle, Father."

"Umm," he replied. It wasn't a good sign. Her father was generally nothing if not loquacious. And she had given him her best smile, too, even added the big-eye thing, but he still didn't seem to be softening.

She hurried on. "After all, tis my duty to look after Kelvin since I found him alone and helpless in the streets of Edinburgh."

"Ahh." Roderic nodded and gazed at the urchin who sat across the table from them. Shona only wished the lad could look a bit more tragic. But her eldest brother Ramsay was regaling young Kelvin with a tale which, if they were lucky, might contain a shred of truth. Kelvin's expression was a wee bit short of what one might call sober dignity. Mischief and mayhem more closely summed it up.

"So ye intend to set a good example for the waif, then, lass?" Roderic asked.

"Oh, aye," Shona said, willing the boy not to pull any pranks at this moment. "I know the lad is a tad high spirited at times, but I am certain with some somber influence he will grow into a fine, responsible man."

Her father was watching her far too closely. And though she couldn't be sure, she thought that despicable Dugald fellow was still staring at her, too.

"Just so I understand ye, Shona, are ye saying that ye intend to be that somber influence?''

She lowered her eyes. Her cheeks felt warm, and though she couldn't quite stop her fingers from fidgeting upon her goblet, she hoped she managed an expression of abject sincerity. "I know I have been less than...sensible at times in the past, Da. But I am no longer a child. In fact, I am nearly a score of years in age. Mayhap God sent Kelvin to me for the express purpose of teaching me maturity and self-control."

"Self-control?"

She yanked her gaze to her father's, hoping against hope that she hadn't heard laughter in his voice. But though his eyes gleamed, making him look little older than Kelvin, his mouth remained in a firm line. She held her breath. "Ye must admit I have behaved admirably since my return to Dun Ard, Da."

"Aye." He nodded. "Your mother just commented on how responsible ye've been of late."

She granted him a smile, breathed a silent sigh of relief, and offered him a bone. "Twas certain I was to mature well, what with two such fine parents as I have."

She thought she saw his chest puff out a bit then he smiled that smile that still made maids from Copenhagen to London swoon. "Aye, we have done well. Still, I am worried..." he said, and paused.

“Worried?'' She touched his arm. She was in her element here. Manipulating men was a God-given gift. "Whyever for?"

He leaned closer. "Because I wonder how your breeches came to be hanging on the drawbridge."

"My..." She felt her skin go cold and her face pale. "My breeches?"

"Aye," he said, and took a sip of wine.

"Whatever makes ye think they were mine? That is, how on earth could my breeches have gotten to the burn?"

"The burn?” he asked and snapped his gaze to hers.

"The bridge! I meant the bridge."

His eyes were as sharp as a hawk's. "Ye seem strangely befuddled this night, Daughter. Are ye feeling quite well?"

"Aye. Fine. I just...I simply dunna know why ye thought the breeches were mine. Why would I leave them there? That would make no sense." She widened her eyes and tried a new ploy. "Has Liam arrived? Do ye suppose one of his magic tricks went awry and my breeches were somehow whisked away?"

Roderic took a sip of wine. Shona noticed with intense gratitude that her mother was busy talking with the man on her right again, but in a moment Roderic turned his attention back to her.

"As a matter of fact, Liam has not yet arrived. Bullock was at the gate when ye returned from your ride the day afore last. He inquired about your well-being."

"My well-being?" she said. Bullock had long delighted in tormenting her.

"Aye, it seems he thought it strange that ye returned to Dun Ard wrapped in a blanket on such a bonny day."

She cleared her throat. She was not a liar by nature, but twisting the truth was another of her God-given abilities. She hoped to use it wisely now. If her breeches had been left by the burn where she'd hung them, instead of being taken to the drawbridge, she wouldn't have to go bending the truth at all. Damn that Dugald.

She'd thought herself lucky, for once she'd realized her state of undress, she had returned to Dugald's stallion and found a nondescript blanket tucked away in a bag amongst a lot of unidentifiable paraphernalia. She would have liked to snoop around in it, but goose bumps had begun to form all over her body, so she'd mounted her mare, wrapped herself carefully in the blanket, and hurried home. No one should have been the wiser. But despite her clever planning, she now had to think of some explanation for this new mess.

"Listen, Father, I can explain," she began. Just then a movement caught her eye and she swiveled quickly to the side. "Laird Halwart," she exclaimed, sincerely thrilled by the pudgy lord's arrival. "Tis so glad I am to see ye."

The young man who bowed over her hand was not much taller than she. He was a bit red-faced, from either ale or the warmth in the hall, and since his father's death and his own subsequent elevation to lord he seemed a bit full of himself. But overall, he was a good enough fellow, and one she had known for many years. In fact, black bulls and sore rumps came rapidly to mind.

"Lady Shona." He kissed her knuckles and lingered dotingly over her hand. "Your beauty challenges the glow of the sun."

Oh God, not the sun line, Shona thought. But she beamed at him nonetheless.

"Father," she said, "ye surely remember Laird Halwart."

"Aye. Black bulls come to mind," he murmured.

"Black bulls?" She tried to look befuddled.

"My laird," Gilmour Halwart said, looking embarrassed by the mention of his youthful foolishness. “My apologies again for letting your daughter ride that beast."

"Apology accepted," Roderic said, then raised his goblet and murmured against the rim, "Better men than ye have tried to disallow her."

Shona was certain she had heard her father wrong and stared at him in disbelief. Roderic might be a rogue, but he was a tamed rogue, and usually a flawless host.

Halwart, however, didn't seem to notice Roderic's jibe. "And my thanks for such a splendid feast," he said.

Roderic all but grunted.

"And my Lady," Halwart continued, shifting his attention to The Flame. "Your daughter only personifies your beauty."

Shona didn't know what that meant, but she had no wish to allow her mother to bluntly question his meaning, and she was too desperate not to use his words. "Laird Gilmour, ye flatter me so."

"Nay. Nay, indeed." He squeezed her hand in apparent earnestness, though what he was earnest about she was completely unsure. "The Highlands were not the same with ye gone."

She tried to blush. "I'll wager you've said that to a hundred lasses."

"Nay, tis not so. There is none other with your..." For just a moment his gaze dipped to her decollete. Shona supposed it was her own fault that men's eyeballs kept falling down her bodice. After all, she'd worn it entirely too low. But the dressmaker had assured her that those that don't have much must show it off to the best advantage. She realized now that she hadn't been nearly offended enough. "...daring," Halwart finished finally. "There is none other with your daring. Do ye still delight so in a good romp?"

"A romp?" Roderic snarled, raising his lips from his drink.

Halwart jumped at the tone. “I meant a roam, a walk, a constitutional. Nothing more!"

"Oh. Of course," Roderic said, and though he hid his expression, Shona thought she saw him grin into his goblet.

Halwart cleared his throat, drawing Shona's attention back to his florid face.

"Oh, aye," Shona said. "I do enjoy walking."

"Might ye accompany me to the garden, then? The horse chestnuts are in bloom."

He was still holding her hand, and she didn't particularly like how he kept breathing on it. He had been amusing as a boy, but he'd been rather short and skinny then and she'd always been certain she could knock him down and pin his ears back, if need be. She wasn't so sure now. Still, one glance at her father warned her it was best to discontinue that conversation, and one more glance at the far wall confirmed her suspicions that Dugald the Distracting was still staring at her with those eerie silvery eyes of his.

"A walk in the garden would be lovely." She rose smoothly to her feet.

"Daughter," Roderic said softly, then motioned her to draw nearer. "I've no wish for blood to be spilled at Dun Ard this night."

She drew back just a wee bit as if affronted. "I hope ye dunna mean to say that ye think I might cause some sort of trouble."

The Rogue snorted quietly, but she thought she saw his lips lift into a trace of a smile. "Have a care, lass," he warned, trying to look stern, "and dunna go further than the garden."

"Ye have my word as a gentlewoman and your daughter," she said, and straightening to her regal height, graciously took Halwart's arm.

Her composure lasted no more than a few seconds, for as she passed the end table, she was certain she saw Dugald's lips curl up in the slightest suggestion of a smile.

She turned swiftly away, her hand delicately placed on Gilmour's arm.

Outside, the air felt fresh against her face. The gardens were lit with lanterns set atop long stakes stuck into the soil. The light danced softly, illuminating the fragile beauty of the place. As they toured the twisting trails, the fragrances of spring drifted to Shona, the sweet smell of quince blossoms, the distinctive blend of fennel and rich, ripe earth.