Highland Jewel (Highland Brides) Read online

  Passing under the rowan trees that grew in the courtyard, Leith bent down and grasped a branch that fit nicely into his sweating palm. There were few options now, he realized. He’d set his course and he would follow it to the end. Peace needed to be wrought between his clan and the MacAulays. Further bloodshed must be prevented. He had brought Rose Gunther with him for that purpose and for that, purpose alone.

  He had a year. And since that might not be enough, he would woo and caress her. He would pull down her defenses one by one until she could do naught but admit her desire. Nay… her love.

  Yes. He filled his lungs with fresh air—like a stallion testing the scent of his range. She would love him. He swung the branch again.

  And he… He would care for her as he cared for his clan. But she would not touch his heart. A Scottish laird had no place for softness.

  Leith lifted his gaze, noticing the trio of lads that waited near the north wall. They winced slightly each time he swung the stick, he noticed, but he found no pity for their obvious fear, for they surely deserved to be punished.

  Thinking of the incident by the lochan, Leith swung the tree limb into his other hand. Bracing his legs like a warrior awaiting a battle, he stared at the three from less than a full stride away.

  “So…” His voice was a gravelly growl. “The three of ye are interested in me woman.”

  “Nay,” the three lads stuttered at once. “Nay, laird. Nay!” they echoed.

  “It seemed otherwise last eventide,” he said, and the three backed away a step, bumping into each other and against the stone wall behind them, but finding no escape.

  “Why?” he asked, his voice like midnight.

  Two lads mouthed noiseless responses while the third stood unmoving and silent.

  “I’ll have an answer,” Leith stepped forward, and suddenly his ears were assaulted by a cacophony of rushed and garbled apologies.

  Leith listened for less than two heartbeats before he raised his hand and lowered his brows in anger. “Cease yer prattle,” he demanded, noticing that Harlow had not entered into the frenzied explanation. “I but ask ye this. Whose idea was it to accost the lass by the river?”

  There was utter silence. Each young man watched him in breathless horror, none wanting to condemn himself or a friend. But in a moment Harlow stepped forward. His back was straight, his face pale, and in that moment Leith realized the boy’s courage.

  In truth, he thought, the lad had become a man in that last, short year.

  “It was me idea, laird,” he said stiffly, his clenched jaw held high.

  Leith studied him. Harlow had been orphaned at an early age and raised by Nicol Fordyce—a good crofter but a harsh man, with little patience or softness. There had been trouble between the elder man and Harlow, he knew, for the Highlands of Scotland was a small place where everyone knew the business of all. It was also known that young Harlow had been the source of petty troubles for a number of years—from the theft of old Evander MacCain’s apples to numerous fights with other lads.

  “Why?” Leith asked again, the question heavy on the air.

  “What, me laird?” asked Harlow, gripping his hands into fists and standing his ground with stubborn pride.

  “I asked why,” Leith rumbled and now the two behind Harlow stuttered into jumbled explanations.

  Leith gritted his teeth and counted backward from two. He had never been a patient man. “Harlow!” he raged, his voice low. “I want to hear it from Harlow.”

  “Me laird,” said the lad, drawing his back even straighter, “we were but hunting when we saw the lass by the lochan. We…” He swallowed. “We watched for a time, sir, and saw that she wore the plaid of the MacAulays. We thought she was one of them—on Forbes’ land.”

  “And so ye thought to rape the girl?” thundered Leith, anger searing through his senses at the thought of his Rose being so mauled.

  “Nay!” Harlow denied, shock stamped across his rugged features. “I swear we considered na such thing. We planned but to scare her. To teach her to stay on her own land.”

  Mayhap it was true. Leith loosened his grip on the tree branch he held and tried to breathe more easily. Mayhap the lads had meant no real harm, and yet who could say how circumstances might have proceeded had he not been close to hand?

  Eyeing the three, he could well remember his own steaming desires in his adolescence. Hell, his desires had not cooled yet, he thought, remembering the auburn-haired lass who graced his bed.

  What if Harlow’s desires had gotten the best of him? What if Rose had been an innocent MacAulay lass whom they had taken against her will? Why should such injustice be allowed to exist just because of the difference in their surnames?

  “Hear me. And hear me well,” Leith said, his tone low and deadly earnest. “For the sake of me lady I willna punish ye. For to do so would but draw attention to yer deeds and cause her greater shame. But I tell ye this…” He stepped forward, the branch held again in both hands. “Should I find any of ye accosting another maid, be she MacAulay or otherwise, I will take the strap to yer backs with me own hand. And I willna care if ye draw yer last breaths on the whipping post.”

  The lads stood silent, their eyes round with fear.

  “As for me lady,” continued Leith, his tone more gentle now. ” Tis said that it does na hurt to look, is it na?” he asked.

  The boys nodded eagerly, their faces losing some of their strain.

  “Well ‘tis na true!” roared Leith. “It will indeed hurt to look. And it will hurt most fierce. So keep yer eyes to yerself. She is mine and mine alone, and ye shall surely feel me wrath if I find ye near her again until ye have regained me trust. Do ye ken me meaning?”

  The nods were quick again and Leith drew a deep breath. “That is well, for I willna tolerate yer pressing yer randy attentions on an innocent lass, be she mine or some other’s.”

  “Aye. Aye, me laird,” they said, shuffling their feet in relieved anticipation to be off.

  “Ye lads may go now,” Leith said, nodding to the other two. “I will have a word alone with Harlow.”

  They could not have exited faster had they had wings, and now Harlow stood alone, silent and pale and seemingly aware of his vulnerability.

  “How is it that ye are gone from auld Nicol’s home?” Leith asked finally, his gaze hard on the boy.

  “He na longer wanted me there, me laird.”

  Leith only raised his brows and waited.

  “He said I ate more than I was worth and sent me on me way.”

  Leith curled his fist tighter around the tree limb and cursed himself for his own short sightedness. He should not have placed the lad with Nicol, for they were too much alike—too stubborn, too … Scottish. At the least he should have corrected the situation before now—at the first sign of trouble— at that first stolen apple. ‘Twas his fault.

  “I have need of more soldiers,” he said abruptly, stamping the end of the staff into the ground before him. “Could it be ye have the makings of a warrior?”

  Surprise shone on the lad’s face. “Me?”

  “Aye,” Leith said, hoping he was not wrong in believing the lad could be forged into a worthy soldier. “Do ye think yerself up to the challenge, lad?”

  “Aye.” It did not seem possible that the boy could draw his back any straighter. “Aye, me laird.”

  “It is good,” Leith said simply, nodding. “Then ye shall report to Alpin, captain of the guard, on the morrow.”

  “Aye.” The boy did not smile, but held himself very still. “Is that all, me laird?”

  Leith watched him for a short time. “Dunna forget what I have said.” His voice was low again. “For ye shall dearly pay for yer next mistake.”

  Chapter 17

  Rose’s hands felt damp as several women straightened and smoothed her yellow satin gown.

  Tonight her presence would be announced to the Forbes clan. Tonight she would stand before them all, claiming to be the daughter of Laird Ian and
the handfasted maid of Laird Leith.

  Dear God! Rose closed her eyes. Lies. Her entire life was now based on lies, so that she stood arrayed in the finest garments imaginable, pretending to be that which she was not. Pretending to be bound to a man she barely knew.

  But in truth, was she not bound to him?

  She well remembered Leith’s eyes as he had stared into hers only a few hours before. He’d awakened her from dreams of him, had touched her skin. Had he also touched her soul?

  Why did her thoughts constantly turn to him? She had vowed to be a nun. And yet that idea seemed so distant now—like another life, while Leith Forbes seemed so real, so warm and close and magnetic.

  For just a moment she tried to imagine life without him, and suddenly she could not.

  “Ye look lovely,” said Hannah. “Our laird will be more smitten than ever.”

  Smitten? Rose turned her gaze to the pretty servant, trying to make sense of her words. Leith was not smitten with her and never had been. In fact, he had brought her here under false pretenses. He had lied to her. Blackmailed her. Very nearly seduced her. And yet, she now stood ready to pretend to be that which she was not in order to fulfill his wishes. Why? The question echoed in her mind. In order to get back her lost cross and return to England? Or because she loved him?

  The thought left her breathless. She did not love Leith Forbes. Could not afford to love him. For surely he did not love her. He only used her and she must not forget that. She did not belong here. It was not her home, and in a year and one day, she would leave.

  Leith straightened his doublet, staring for a moment from a window slit of the room two doors down from where the women fussed over the wee nun’s gown. The time of reckoning had come. Tonight his people would meet Fiona Rose MacAulay. Worry assailed him. Perhaps he had been a fool to set these events into motion. Perhaps Dugald MacAulay would learn that the girl was not who she claimed to be and the feud would escalate. Perhaps even the Forbes clan would not accept her. There were a hundred worries, and yet… The one that concerned him most was none of these. It was the thought of her leaving that tore at his mind.

  Rose did not wish to be there. Indeed, she had promised herself to the Church. He had all but forced her from that sanctuary to this foreign land. She would not forgive him for that, and she would not stay once her commitment had been honored.

  Sudden, aching loneliness flooded him. How had she so quickly become the center of his life? Why did she remain at the core of his thoughts even when he told himself his clan’s well-being must come first.

  Leith scowled at the grounds below where people milled and laughed, waiting for the festivities to begin. They were his tribe, blood of his blood and had always been his first concern. Now would be no different. He would convince Rose to stay— for the good of his people.

  With that thought firm in his mind, Leith stepped from the room.

  She was there!

  Breath caught in his throat as he stared at her. Holy Jesu! Gone was the poor postulate. Gone was the fiery-haired sea fairy.

  In their place was a princess.

  He drew her in with his eyes, soaking up every detail, every movement, every scent. She was as lovely as springtime. Her uncovered auburn hair was braided into a heavy rope that was pinned around her head like a glistening halo. Her neck was bare, that lovely, graceful neck that made his mouth water. Her gown was made of yellow satin and just capped her shoulders. It covered the sweet curves of her breasts and was bound close underneath with a dark-blue damask girdle that fell down one hip to end in intricately worked metal ends. The sleeves were fitted snugly against her slim arms, and her hands, pale and delicate, were clasped tightly together.

  “Your aunt had the gown sewn for me,” she said shakily, looking young and painfully beautiful.

  Leith did not respond, for indeed, he felt as if he could not. Gone were all his good intentions. Before him stood an ethereal vision. An angel dressed in yellow.

  “She…” Rose began, but suddenly she could not remember what she had planned to say, for she had fallen into his eyes. They were deep and warm and as unflinching as Silken’s. He wore a midnight-blue doublet that accentuated the width of his shoulders. Beneath that he’d donned a snow-white shirt with a single ruffle at each wide wrist. Gone was his simple sporran, and in its place was one of a more intricate design, displaying supple leather tassels and a large, single jewel at its center. Beneath the handsome sporran was a tartan of bright reds and blues.

  “My ceremonial plaid,” he explained, then raised his brows. “Are ye satisfied with me appearance?”

  Rose lifted her gaze to Leith’s. “I’m sorry.” She could feel a blush suffuse her face. “I did not mean to stare.”

  “Ye did na?” he asked, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Then I can only assume ye could na help yerself.”

  “Please.” Rose dropped her gaze to her clasped hands, feeling as if she would die of embarrassment, and remembering the bevy of women she had left in the room behind her. “Do not tease me now.”

  “Tease ye?” He took a step forward, his gaze not leaving her face. “I was na teasing. I but wondered if ye found me lacking.”

  For a moment she closed her eyes. Tension made it difficult to swallow, while the heat of his nearness made it impossible to think.

  “Answer me, lass. Do ye find me lacking?”

  Lacking? The word was so far from Rose’s opinion of him that her lips twitched in amusement. But she could barely breathe, much less laugh.

  “No, my lord,” she said softly, refusing to raise her gaze. “You look quite fit.”

  “Fit?” he repeated, and though she refused to meet his eyes she could tell he was smiling. “Ye are na overly generous with yer praise, wee one. But I fear I canna be so distant as ye, for ye are far too lovely.”

  Against her will, Rose again raised her eyes to his.

  Heat flooded between them, making her feel weak.

  “Ye are as bright as a midnight star, wee Fiona,” he whispered. ” Tis proud I will be to show ye to me people.”

  “I’m frightened.” The words slipped unbidden from her lips, and though she knew her greatest fear should be the clan’s reaction, she was not certain that was so. For the sight of him so near and handsome made her tremble. .

  “All will be well, lass,” he said softly. “For we labor to do what is right.”

  His hand reached for hers, warm and strong against her cool palm.

  “Let there be peace between us, lass,” Leith murmured close to her ear. “For we shall surely need it if we are to see our course through to its end.”

  Rose nodded, saying nothing. Below, a hundred voices swelled to a crescendo before fading back to a loud rumble. She felt herself pale.

  “Remember, lass,” Leith whispered soothingly, “ye are MacAulay. And ye are Forbes.”

  In his eyes Rose saw pride. Pride in himself and in his people. But perhaps there was also pride in her. She straightened her back, believing suddenly that she could change the world, and so they walked together, side by side to the top of the stairs. Once there they paused.

  The hall was filled to overflowing, crowded with trestle tables and people milling and shouting and laughing.

  Gradually the faces glanced up toward them. The noise subsided. Fingers tugged at others’ sleeves and urged silence.

  “Me people,” Leith called, his voice strong and resonant.

  “Laird,” they boomed back, lifting mugs of ale that had already been filled and refilled.

  “I’ve called ye here to meet…” He lifted Rose’s hand and drew her forward a scant step. “… me lady.”

  “Lady!” The hall reverberated with their greetings. Flagons clashed in salute.

  “Her name. Tell us her name, laird,” called a single voice above the others.

  Leith drew himself even straighter, looking down at the mob of his kindred. They were a rough and brave lot. Good people and strong. But set in their ways. He had hoped
this day would be different. He had hoped to stand before them with Ian MacAulay by his side, for though he was their enemy, he was respected by all. Words of peace from the old laird’s mouth would surely have added strength to Leith’s own statements. But such was not to be.

  His gaze shifted over the crowd, noting the uplifted, expectant faces. These people depended on him. Trusted him. But did they trust him enough?

  “Her name?” another prompted, drawing him back to the present.

  He raised his hand, stilling the mob and feeling the dull ache of uncertainty deep within his chest. “Her name,” he repeated, his tone bold and strong again, “her name is Fiona.”

  There was a pause before the throng’s next roar, but Leith’s hand remained up, his palm facing them.

  “Fiona Rose MacAulay, Laird Ian MacAulay’s only progeny!” From his sporran, Leith pulled the rolled parchment stamped with the old laird’s seal. “Fiona Rose MacAulay, handfasted to me by the auld laird himself.”

  Dead silence fell on the place. Men, poised to cheer, lost their voices at the news.

  “Tis a new age for the Forbes,” Leith called, shaking the hall with the force of his feeling and lifting the parchment high. “There is a new king in Scotland. A king for the Highlander. A king who speaks the Gaelic!” Leith shouted. “King James wants peace for his people. And with this union…” He lifted Rose’s hand again, his voice booming. “With this union between yer laird and Ian’s daughter, we will put the past to rest and forge a new and wondrous future for ourselves and for our children. With this union,” he roared, “there shall be peace and prosperity for all the people of Glen Creag.”

  Rose stood frozen in silence, not understanding the words spoken in a language that was strange to her, not understanding the unprecedented twist of fate that had brought her to this foreign place. Not understanding her own muddled emotions.

  Her gaze skimmed the hall, noting the lifted faces below her.

  Utter silence held the place.

  “Ye will accept her,” ordered Leith, exercising his authority. “Just as ye accept me.”

  Someone raised a mug to her, and a few called her name, but most remained silent.