Highland Jewel (Highland Brides) Read online

  She bit her lip, nervously swiping one hand against her skirt and failing miserably to answer.

  “There is a shallow place in the lochan,” Leith said as he tried to draw himself from her gaze. “If ye wish to bathe, the water will be warmer there, and I will watch to make sure ye are safe.”

  Rose nodded abruptly, then halted the movement with a start. “You cannot watch.”

  Leith tucked the cross back beneath his shirt and allowed his mouth to lift at one corner. “Ye are to be me bride, Fiona,” he reminded her blithely. ” Tis me right and duty.”

  “It most certainly is not,” she said breathlessly, her eyes wide, but he was already before her, his hands gentle on her arms.

  “Ye will need to play the game much better, lass, if ye are to fool the most simple-witted, but I will cede this once, so that ye dunna raise the heavens with ye arguments. Should ye have need of me, however, I will be near enough. Ye have only to call.”

  For one aching moment she longed to draw him near.

  His gaze held her and his brows rose. “Or do ye have need now?” he asked softly.

  “No!” Her face flamed and she stepped back, still holding the precious gown to her chest.

  He reached for her again, but in a moment drew his hand away, fighting again for control and finally shrugging. “Remember, ye have only to call,” he said, his voice low and suggestive. “It can be the verra devil trying to scrub one’s own back.”

  The water was not exactly tepid, but neither was it icy-cold and it felt warmer than the moon-frosted night air. Rose enjoyed the bath greatly, staying to the shallows and letting the soothing waters ease her aches. She was a fair swimmer, for her father had not had a son and had, on occasion, played with her in the small stream near their home.

  Those memories flooded back to her now—her mother’s contagious laughter, her father’s large hands and swarthy complexion.

  What would they think to see her here now— denying her simple heritage and pretending she was someone she was not?

  Rose floated for a time, letting her hair stream behind her like windswept fire. The water felt smooth and gentle against her flesh, like a soft caress. She blushed at the thought, for there was no use pretending she did not think of Leith, of his touch, of the narrow grooves in his cheeks when he smiled, of how the hard planes of his body felt against her breasts.

  Clutching her fists, Rose drew her knees to her chest before pressing her toes into the soft mud at the lochan’s bottom. Damn it all, she could not think of him this way. She had agreed to a fool’s bargain, but she would not be a fool herself. She had no use for him, or for the life he offered.

  She would remain aloof henceforth. Would keep to herself and return to her former life as soon as possible. Surely God would forgive her sins. Surely He understood—considering the circumstances.

  With that logic firmly set in her mind, Rose hurried to the shore to retrieve the hard bar of lye and tallow soap before slipping her chilled body back into the water. She washed her hair quickly, for her thoughts had made her ill at ease, and in a moment she was bending her head back, letting the gentle waves lap the soap from her tresses as she did her best to smooth the tangles from the thick strands of hair.

  That job done, she kicked gently toward shore, feeling the soft swish of her hair as it swirled about her back and flicked lightly against her buttocks. The air was cold against her skin as she emerged from the lochan, and she scowled, turning her head quickly to peer behind her.

  Had she sensed a movement? Had Leith been watching after all? The possibility started a tingling blush through her body, but in a moment her gasp filled the still air.

  A man stepped smoothly between her and the water, his face shadowed and sinister.

  “Sweet Jesus,” she whispered, sweeping her arms up to cover her bosom as a noise came from the bushes behind. She swung wildly about and confronted another stranger. He was dressed in a tartan, she could see, but there was little more to be discerned in the still darkness, though he stood not three full paces from her.

  He lifted his hand, holding something in his grasp and speaking incomprehensibly in the Gaelic she’d heard Leith use with Colin.

  Rose shook her head spasmodically, trying to sidle out from between the men, and in that moment realizing it was her garment he held.

  There was a rustling behind her, and the startling grasp of hard fingers about her arm.

  She shrieked in alarm, but the sound was cut short as her captor covered her mouth.

  He whispered something close to her ear, but a moment later his own shriek echoed through the night as he was plucked from her like a ripe fruit.

  Rose had only a moment to watch him fly weightlessly along before he dropped like a stone to the shore. There was a bellow of rage, and suddenly the second man was piled atop the first.

  Leith stood with his feet braced and his gaze steady on the pair. “Cover yerself,” he said quietly, and handed her the garment he had snatched from her assailant’s hand.

  Taking her chemise, she turned shakily to do his bidding, but in that moment a third body hurtled from the bushes, flying at Leith’s back like a stone from a catapult.

  Silken’s scream sounded. But Leith needed no warning, for already he was bending. There was a twist and a thrust, a momentary shuffle, and suddenly the third man was soaring, winging his way through the air to land with a muffled thud upon his companions, his buttocks high above his head and his legs pumping.

  Rose watched for only a moment before skittering to the bushes to pull the chemise over her wet skin and wrap the red plaid about her shoulders. Peering from the safety of the bushes, she watched wide-eyed as Leith stalked toward the tangled trio.

  There were curses and jolts before the three finally became disentangled and scrambled groggily to their feet. But even before Rose could wish for a weapon to assist Leith, the young men were lined abreast like so many soldiers, with every jaw agape and every eye trained dead-center on Leith’s furious face.

  “Laird …” choked the first lad, the whites of his eyes very clear in the darkness. “Me … laird.”

  The other two remained speechless, the horror of their actions seeming to come home to their addled brains with a vengeance. In that moment Rose realized they were no more than boys really, none probably having passed his eighteenth birthday.

  “I would hear an explanation,” growled Leith, his voice as deep and treacherous as the bottomless sea. “Before I tear the three of ye limb from limb.”

  Three mouths opened to emit three noiseless stutters and Leith’s scowl darkened. “How dare ye molest an innocent lass on the land of the Forbes?” he bellowed.

  Garbled explanations sputtered forth, with none discernible in the frenzied rush of words.

  From the safety of the foliage Rose could imagine the muscle jumping in Leith’s jaw as he raised his hand for silence. “I will hear the words from Hector,” he declared. “And in English, so that the lady might understand.”

  “Judging by her plaid we thought her to be a MacAulay, me laird,” gasped the tallest of the lads, his face a sickly green in the moonlight.

  “And so ye thought ye might torment her!” raged Leith, stepping forward.

  The three quailed, seeming to shudder under his wrath, but he drew himself up a pace from them and swung an arm wide. “Take yer worthless hides home to yer mothers,” he ordered. “And tell me household to prepare a feast for the morrow’s eve. Until then, think hard on yer sins, for I surely will do the same.”

  They looked now to be no bigger than shivering whelps, Rose thought, and could actually feel some pity for them.

  Leith, however, was not of a similar mind, and roared for their retreat when they seemed rooted to the ground.

  Shaken from their spots, the three scurried into the darkness like routed rats.

  Feeling the soft brush of fur against her hand, Rose glanced down to see Silken beside her, his golden eyes lifted to her face. For a moment sh
e stroked him, letting his presence ease her nervousness and giving him her silent thanks for his nearness. A rumble of contentment sounded from his throat, but in a moment his ears twitched and he moved away, losing himself easily in the brush.

  In an instant Leith stood before her.

  “It seems you have saved me yet again, my laird,” Rose said softly.

  It took Leith a moment to draw himself from his dark thoughts. “‘Tis a foolish and dangerous game we play at, Rose Gunther,” he said softly, but she shook her head and set a hand to his sleeve.

  “No, my laird,” she said quietly. “My name is Fiona. And we do not play, but labor for peace.” She looked up at him, her expression solemn. “Peace for the Forbes, the MacAulays… and for Eleanor.”

  Mist rolled like the magical smoke of ancient dragons in the glen below. Through the predawn fog Rose could see little of MacAulay Hold. And yet she felt as if she had seen it all before, the gray timber of the wall, the weathered, rough-hewn stone of the tower.

  It was an eerie feeling, but a feeling that was no longer unfamiliar. Perhaps, she thought, this was indeed her calling, for each step she took seemed to bring her deeper and deeper into that strange, almost visible world of her mind. That world where she could sense things without seeing them, could feel emotions almost like tangible objects.

  Downward they rode, with Leith leading the way until they halted their horses before the wall that surrounded the MacAulay castle.

  “Who comes to our gate at this early hour?” shouted a man from above the uneven wall.

  Leith waited only a moment, not letting his eyes fall to the girl, for her image was clear in his mind. She rode like a princess, clothed in velvet green, with her head and shoulders covered by the red MacAulay plaid.

  “I am the Forbes, of the Forbes,” he called, his voice strong in the stillness, and even from this distance Rose could hear a sharp intake of breath from behind the wall.

  “Ye are na welcome here, Forbes,” shouted the man in return. “As ye well ken.”

  Leith straightened slightly, his expression somber, and his tone deepening a bit. “We have come at yer laird’s request. Let us enter or be assured ye will feel the auld man’s wrath.”

  There was stillness behind the wall and Leith scowled. His dreams had been evil and frightful on the previous night, and he had insisted they come early, lest all should be lost.

  “Have the MacAulays become so weak that they canna dare a single Forbes into their midst?” he asked, his voice rising in vehement insult.

  There was a shuffling above and then stillness, but finally the gate swung open to allow the guard through. Behind him the portal closed with a rusty rumble. The guard raised his lance in arrogant challenge, but beneath his flattish, woolen cap, Rose noticed his pale, strained face.

  What did they know of this laird of the Forbes that made them fear him so?

  “Ye will drop yer weapons,” ordered the guard, but his voice shook slightly.

  “And ye will guarantee us safe passage through yer hold?” asked Leith, his back ramrod-straight, his expression hard.

  “Aye … laird.” He gave the title grudgingly, but he gave it nonetheless, offering some respect with that single word. “That I will, if ye promise ye will make na trouble.”

  Leith pulled his sword from its scabbard, his dirk from his belt, and, turning the blades, handed them to the man on the ground. “We come in peace,” he said simply, and with a nod the guard lowered his lance and took the weapons.

  Leith willingly forfeited his trusty bow and arrows as well, which were kept feathers-up in a leather pouch against Beinn’s pearly flank.

  The gate swung open again, but for a moment Rose was tempted to turn and run, for the shadowy images of past lives suddenly flooded her senses, momentarily granting her a vision of people she had never met and yet knew in her heart. It terrified and immobilized her, for though she had often felt a twinge of eeire sensations, never had she felt the sight so strongly as now, nor allowed herself to believe in the gift.

  From atop his great stallion, Leith paused, sensing Rose’s uncertainty, though he could not see her face, hidden by the plaid she wore as a head shawl.

  The guard had retreated behind the wall again and Leith spoke for her ears only. “I give ye this one last chance to turn back, lass. For after this venture, destiny will decide our course.”

  The place drew her, and in some shadowed recess in her mind Rose wondered if she would find her death there. “Nay, my laird,” she said softly. “Henceforth for a year, I am Fiona MacAulay.”

  Chapter 15

  The grounds were nearly empty of people, but those who were about stopped their business to follow the pair. The laird of the Forbes was tall and dark, riding on a white stallion, his back as straight as a lance, his pleated plaid concealing only part of his muscular legs.

  Beside him on a mare as black as ebon rode a woman. Although her face was shadowed and hidden, her form and stature spoke of royalty. People stopped, frowning. Upon her head and shoulders was the plaid of their own clan.

  Rose barely noticed the tower as it passed to their left, for before them now was the great wooden structure of the hall that adjoined it. Behind them the guard fidgeted, uncertain of his actions, but Leith dismounted smoothly, as though there was nothing unusual about coming thus to the hall of his old mentor. Opening a bag behind his saddle, he drew forth a small tartan which he tucked securely beneath his arm.

  Handing his reins to a nearby lad, Leith left Beinn and raised his hands to the lass called Fiona MacAulay. She was soft and light as she slid down before him, yet she felt stiff and uncertain and Leith allowed his hands to remain on her waist, squeezing lightly in an attempt to assure her.

  “All is well, lass,” he said softly. “Together we will see this through.”

  For a fleeting instant their eyes held. “Aye,” she said softly. “We will see it through.”

  Inside the massive doors, the hall lay before them—wide and deep. Rushes covered the floor. Deerhounds, tied to rings in the stone wall, set up a chatter, yipping at each other and the newcomers.

  From nearby an old man descended the stairs toward them.

  Rose’s heart tripped rapidly in her chest. Was this to be her father? Her breath came hard and for a moment she wondered frantically why she had come. She did not know these people and owed them nothing.

  “Visits come to see our laird,” announced the guard. He had left behind his lance and now held a sword in a grasp so tight it whitened his knuckles.

  The old man faltered momentarily and for just an instant Rose thought she saw the spark of something deep inside his ancient eyes.

  “So ye are come, Laird Forbes,” he said, reaching the floor and pacing across it with stilted movements.

  His gaze caught with Leith’s. A cautious smile lighted his face.

  “I have come, Torquil,” Leith said.

  The guard fidgeted again and the old man shifted his gaze, speaking in fluid Gaelic.

  Without understanding the words, Rose could feel the guard’s relief. In a moment the door creaked and a light draft lifted from behind, heralding his exit.

  “I would see the MacAulay,” Leith said formally. “For I have brought that which he requested.”

  The old eyes turned slowly to Rose, and though her face was mostly hidden, he drew himself taller, as if he was looking upon something that inspired the return of his youth.

  Silence filled the hall.

  “We will see him,” Leith repeated, drawing Torquil’s gaze.

  “The MacAulay is verra ill,” Torquil said softly. “Na one can see him.”

  “So Dugald is laird?” Leith asked stiffly.

  “Nay,” said Torquil, “but he rules until that time when me laird can once again take the reins of leadership.”

  Quick footsteps pattered down the steps. A small boy dressed in a long, pale shirt and naught else appeared. A wooden sword was clutched in one hand and his eyes were
round with awe as they settled on Leith. For a moment he stared in open wonder before skimming his gaze to Rose.

  He was a handsome lad with bare, knobby knees. She gave him a smile.

  He lifted the sword and said something she could not comprehend.

  “In English,” Leith prompted and the boy tried again, this time a bit more slowly. “Arthur gave me this,” he announced, his brogue charming as he looked up at her. ” ‘Tis a grand sword, ‘tis it na?”

  “Yes. It looks to be quite … deadly,” she said.

  The boy could not control a wide, dimpled smile. “Aye.” He puffed his narrow chest. “I go to show me grandda.”

  “David,” said Torquil sharply. “Go to yer mother.”

  “But, Torie,” said the lad, his smile drooping sadly, “I have na seen Grandda in ever so long.”

  “We must let him rest.”

  “But—”

  “Go,” ordered Torquil. His tone belied the caring Rose sensed in him. The boy turned forlornly, his bare feet noiseless, his wooden implement bumping along behind him.

  “I will see him, Torquil,” Leith said tersely, “for I have come a long hard way to bring him his fondest wish.”

  Again the old man’s gaze settled on Rose. “This is she?” he asked in a near-whisper.

  “It is.”

  “Come,” Torquil said finally. “Before it is too late.”

  The MacAulay’s room was near the base of the stairs. Rose knew it with some inner sense she could not name. She walked beside Leith feeling as if she were in a dream, wandering through rooms she had never seen and yet remembered.

  The door opened and the trio stepped inside, then closed the portal behind them.

  The old man lay asleep, his face ashen, surrounded by the immense green drapery of his bed.

  “Father,” Rose breathed, stepping forward to touch one of his ancient hands.

  There was a moment of stillness. But only a moment, and then his eyes opened. They were deep-blue. His lips parted but he did not speak, and one side of his face seemed strangely immobile.

  “Me laird,” Torquil said, his voice choked with emotion, “‘tis Leith Forbes, returned from his quest.”