The Highlander's Dangerous Temptation

‘Until then,’ she whispered, reaching up on her toes to touch their mouths together.

He watched the seductive sway of her hips as she walked away and realised she’d not denied that she would pursue a match. Outplayed once more by desire for his wife, Connor cursed under his breath and walked away in the other direction. He needed to have a conversation with Rurik.

Or mayhap not.

For, once fired up, the commander of all his troops was formidable even for him. Mayhap this time he would hold back and see how this all played out?

With thoughts of what would await him in his bedchamber tempting him, Connor walked off to find someone to fight. It was a good way to clear his mind and sharpen his wits. And if his wife and the other mothers had decided on a match, he and the other fathers would need their wits about them.

From the smug expression that lay across her lovely face as she turned from him, he knew that even his wits might not win this battle.

Chapter Two

Since he was a visiting nobleman and considered more family than ally, Athdar was not surprised by the lack of formality during the evening meal. He’d shared many meals here in Connor’s hall and most of them were like this one—family, friends, villagers and anyone in need of a meal. Conversations ebbed and flowed throughout the meal, laughter echoed high into the rafters and those dining moved between the small gathered groups to talk with others.

As always, his eye was drawn to Connor, his brother-by-marriage for this last score or so of years. His mentor in many things, his nemesis in others, Connor never minded his presence or his opinions, but, watching as the man’s gaze softened each time he glanced at one of his children or at his wife, Dar’s gut tightened with a mix of envy, jealousy and admiration. That the fearless, ruthless Earl of Douran could yet have a soft place in his heart made Dar want everything Connor had...yet again.

Drinking deeply from his cup of ale, he nodded to several who passed by and offered greetings to him. Glancing around the hall, he found Rurik sitting at a table with his wife and their children. The son, a year or so younger than Isobel, would be as formidable as their father in a few years. His height and build spoke of his Norse forebears and heritage. Then Isobel laughed and Dar felt it ripple across his skin. As she raised her eyes, their gazes met.

He knew he should look away. She was too young for him. She was too innocent of life and the horrors he’d seen. She was her father’s daughter. For once, he simply enjoyed the innocence and freshness he saw in her eyes and did not question his need for such things...from her. At least he did until someone stepped between them, ending whatever connection had begun.

‘Athdar,’ his sister said as she sat on the bench next to him. ‘When will you return home?’

He laughed at her remark. If he did not know her as he did, he would have thought his welcome was over.

‘I expect to be on the road in the morn, dear Jocelyn,’ he replied. ‘My business with your husband is complete now.’

She reached over and plucked a morsel from his plate. ‘I have been thinking...’ she said, before tossing the bit of roast fowl into her mouth and savouring it.

Jocelyn thinking usually meant trouble for him—it had as a boy and it usually did now that he was grown and laird in his father’s place. ‘That is never good, Joss,’ he said. ‘Connor should discourage such things.’

She smacked his shoulder and shook her head at him. ‘You are a lackwit at times. ’Tis no wonder...’ Her words faded off as she realised that any jest about married life would fall like rocks thrown in the air. But the pity that replaced the mirth in her eyes hurt more than the memories. ‘Dar...’ She reached out to touch his hand, but he pulled back before she could.

‘What have you been thinking about, then?’ he asked, hoping she would allow the change of topic without comment.

‘Will this be your last visit before the year’s end? I know you and Connor made arrangements for supplies and other things, but I knew not if that meant your journeys here are done until spring?’ she asked.

‘Connor invited me to visit again and I will, unless the weather turns.’

Jocelyn glanced away from him. ‘Unless the weather turns...’ She remained silent for a few moments and then shook her head. ‘Good. I am always glad to see you.’

He was certain she wished to say something more, but Connor called out to her first. She stood, as did he, and nodded to him. After taking a couple of steps towards her husband, she turned back to face him. ‘Did he speak of...helping you to find...arrangements...?’

Athdar knew of what she spoke. Though he’d couched his words in diplomatic terms, his sister’s husband, his overlord, had offered to broker a marriage contract. He’d done so many times in the past for other allies and kin, so it was not so strange. But he had no need for such aid.

‘Aye, he did, Joss,’ Dar replied. ‘I declined his offer.’ Best to have things clear between them. An unexplained frustration and anger grew within him then.

‘You need a—’

‘Stay out of this.’ His voice must have been louder than he thought, for most in the hall stopped talking and looked over at them.

Including Connor.

Including—damn him for noticing!—Isobel.

And her father.

Rurik had long been Jocelyn’s champion, loyal to her in every way, so an insult to her would not go unnoticed or unanswered by him. The commander of all the MacLerie warriors began to walk towards him, but was waved off by Connor who reached them first.

‘Jocelyn?’ he asked as he held his hand to his wife.

‘I am meddling as you have warned me not to, husband,’ she said, smiling into the laird’s concerned face. ‘My brother has been my target and an unwilling one at that.’

And as usual during their lives, she tried to take the brunt of displeasure for him. She ever did so when they were children and would still do so now in spite of their ages and positions. It had changed their lives irreparably before.

‘Your pardon, Jocelyn, for my sharp tone,’ Athdar offered the apology so that all could hear. Brother or not, laird in his own right or not, here he was a guest and she was their lady. Jocelyn’s reaction removed the tension from the situation as she threw herself into his arms and hugged the breath out of his chest. He allowed himself a moment of weakness and then eased himself from her grip.

‘I take my leave now, sister,’ he said. Nodding to Connor, he waited for the laird to give him leave. ‘I leave at first light and would not disturb you so early.’

Connor offered his hand and Rurik, convinced now that his services were not needed, walked back to his own wife. The others drifted back into their own conversations and Dar finished his ale. Walking back to his room, he realised that, once more, he was alone.

And no matter what he’d said to his sister, it was a condition he did not like and he did not want. But the danger of taking steps to make it different overrode his own personal needs or desires. For after the death of two wives and one betrothed, he would not put any woman in danger by being associated with him.

That dark night passed slowly and he rose at dawn to ride out as he’d planned.

* * *

Isobel had watched as he’d finished his meal and spoken to Lady Jocelyn. Something very strange and strained happened between them and she winced as he uttered the harsh words that made the lady turn the colour of Isobel’s newest chemise. Then her father and the laird both went to her side and the hall grew silent.

Somehow, she could not imagine the lady needing protection or aid against Athdar. Her father had championed Lady Jocelyn for as long as Isobel could remember, and if the laird questioned it he never put a stop to it. Isobel’s mother did not seem bothered by this protectorship, for she and Lady Jocelyn were the closest of friends. When the laird was absent, her father stood behind the lady. When the lady travelled, her father made the arrangements. It had always been that way.

So why had the hostility between her father and Athdar started? As she had watched the scene resolve, she tried to remember any clues about the beginning of the bad feelings. Then her father had returned and Athdar left the hall and she knew she would not see him again on this visit. As her father bade them go with him back to their cottage in the village, she knew that, unless she did something, Athdar would always wear the expression of grief in his eyes. And that she simply could not accept.

As she had lain in her bed, seeking sleep while finding a restless night, Isobel realised that the only way to make that happen would be to get her mother on her side. Lady Jocelyn’s support would be a good thing because her father would listen to the lady. Plans and ideas had come and gone as the hours did and soon the weak light of a cloudy dawn had begun to seep into her bedchamber.

* * *

Dressing quickly and quietly, she made her way through the dark cottage, trying not to wake anyone. If her luck held, she could be back, in her bed, before the rest of her family rose. Already some of the villagers were about their daily tasks and she nodded as she passed them. Uncertain of why she wanted to speak to him now, she accepted it and continued walking towards the main gate.

She wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders to fight off the early morning chill and lifted her head to watch as those gates opened. A small group rode through and in her direction, so she stepped back off the path to let them pass. The lead rider waved the others on and drew his horse to a halt before her.

‘’Tis a bit early to be out this morn, lass,’ Athdar said in a quiet tone. ‘Does your father know you prowl about the village alone?’ His voice was deeper after sleep than it usually was, sending shivers through her for some reason. She tried to ignore the reprimand.

‘I have an errand to see to with Lady Jocelyn, if you must know,’ she said. Turning towards the keep, she walked around him, now hesitant to say too much to him.

Why and how could he do this to her?

The poise and self-confidence that her parents often praised in her deserted her, leaving her feeling like a halfwit in his presence. Instead of carrying on a reasonable conversation—as she could with most any of her kin or those who visited the MacLerie laird—she turned into a babbling fool who could not utter a bit of sense.

Even now when she wanted to speak to him about his journey or his duties as laird, to ask sensible questions or offer a sensible suggestion, she could only blush and stammer.

‘I would not keep you from your duties to my sister.’

He turned his horse once more so that he was headed down the path through the village and out to the main road. Before he spurred it on, he nodded and smiled to her and she wanted to melt into the ground beneath her feet.

‘Go on now, lass. I will wait until you go inside,’ he said.

Athdar was making certain she was safe before leaving.

‘Safe journey, Laird MacCallum.’

‘My name is Athdar, lass.’

She had never called him that to his face—he was older than she was and held a higher position, as well. But...

‘Safe journey, Athdar,’ she repeated with a nod.

The edges of his mouth curled and a rough smile changed his entire countenance from foreboding and serious to wickedly handsome. Her breath caught at how very handsome it did make him. Grasping for some of the boldness that would have caused her father’s brow to rise, she called out once more, ‘And my name is Isobel.’

His laughter rang out in the quiet of the early morn and a ripple of satisfaction pulsed through her at the sound. ‘Good day, Isobel!’ he called out as he turned his mount and rode off down the path to join the rest of his men.

Isobel walked quickly in the gate, greeting those on guard duty as she did and fighting the urge to turn and watch Athdar with each step. Winning that battle but not having a specific errand in mind, she decided to seek out the lady and begin her campaign to fight for Athdar.

Chapter Three

MacCallum Keep—Two months later

Athdar rode back through the gates and called out to his men as he approached the stables. He’d spent two days riding his lands, overseeing the end of the harvest and the laying in of the crops for the coming winter. Though he’d lived through many changes of seasons, this one felt different somehow and he wondered if the winter storms would come through the mountain passes sooner than usual.

‘Laird.’

Athdar turned to find the steward walking in his direction. ‘Broc,’ he said, waiting for the man to reach him. ‘The preparations look well in hand...as you said they were.’

‘There is still the butchering to be seen to, but that will be done in the next weeks.’

‘Will this be a quiet winter, then?’

Padruig MacCallum had a habit of sneaking up on people, having perfected a silent, light step. It helped many times in dangerous situations, but he could drive Athdar to madness with the habit, too.

‘The MacLerie has strengthened his control and his influence over the entire south-west of Scotland since the king does not act. Connor predicted no outbreak of hostilities...yet.’

From the expressions on the faces of the two men who served him most closely, he could not tell if they were joyful or saddened by this news. He liked a good fight the same as any man. Yet, now that this clan and its welfare was his responsibility, and now that supplies, crops and food were ready, he could admit a quiet winter had its appeal. Well, he could admit it to himself.

‘What other news do you have for me, Padruig? How is training coming along? Has your son mastered swordplay yet?’

A good way to change the direction of his friend’s talk was to bring up his son. Padruig doted on the boy, now almost a man, and his skills and talents. As he watched the man’s usually dour face brighten, he knew the conversation would turn and braced himself for the pain he brought on himself once more.

And it did.

It took Broc only minutes to utter about things to do and leave and return to his duties, as Athdar wished to do. With each passing moment and with every word Padruig spoke, another dagger plunged into his own heart. But Padruig was his friend, in addition to being the commander of the MacCallum warriors, and it was not long before he realised what he’d said and the price of it to Athdar’s heart and soul.

‘Did Broc tell you?’ he asked while kicking the dirt at his feet.

‘About the cattle?’

‘Nay, about your sister. Lady MacLerie,’ Padruig said.

‘Broc!’ he shouted as he walked towards the keep. Padruig grabbed his arm to stop him.

‘Jocelyn is on her way here. An outrider brought the message.’

‘Why is she coming here now?’ he said, tugging free and continuing to head for the keep...and some answers. He paused. ‘Send two men out to meet them.’

‘Dar.’ Padruig let out an exasperated breath.

If Jocelyn was travelling, and Connor knew about it, she would be well provisioned and well guarded. Connor would never allow it any other way. So, his sister’s safety was not an issue. ‘Never mind.’

Still, he needed to know more so he walked into the squat, stone keep and searched for his steward—the one who’d conveniently forgotten to tell him of the visit. When he found him, Broc stood in the corner in one of the storage rooms under the kitchens.

‘My sister?’ he called out, trying to gain the man’s attention.

An unexpected visit could be because of a problem or not. His sister and her husband did journey here several times a year, sometimes to see him and sometimes as they travelled onwards to other places, so there was no way to know. Except for Broc, who had not answered him.

‘Broc!’ His shout echoed through the small chamber and caused the servants in the kitchen and corridor to stop and stare. Finally, his steward straightened and turned to face him.

And that was also when a comely young woman stepped out from behind Broc’s shadow and made her way out of the chamber and past Athdar. Damn, but Broc moved quickly with the lasses. From the smile on her mouth and the blush in her cheeks, he knew Broc had another conquest.

‘Laird,’ she said quietly with a nod as she passed him.

‘Ailean.’

Broc waited as she sauntered down the corridor before coming to meet him at the door of the chamber.

‘Another minute and you would have had her naked,’ Athdar said. ‘My God, man, you move quickly. You left the yard only minutes ago.’

His steward had always been so—a man with more women than other men could handle. It had been like that through their younger years and showed no sign of diminishing now that they’d reached manhood and more. Broc shrugged and smiled, accepting his words as a compliment...which they were.

‘My sister is coming?’

Broc pulled the door closed and walked with him back to the kitchens. ‘Aye. Her messenger said they are about a day’s ride from here and should be here by midday on the morrow.’

‘Is aught wrong? Did she say the reason for the visit?’

‘Nay, no word about why. Just that she travels with a small group and will stay about a week. I was just on my way to ready the large chamber for her and her women.’

His keep was nothing like Connor’s with its many storeys and bedchambers and towers. There was one large chamber on the lower floor, off the main hall, that was used for guests along with four chambers on a second floor. And one small tower for the guards. The great hall and kitchens took up most of the lower floor, with a stable and chapel set apart from the rest. But it was clean and comfortable and it was his.

A chill raced along his spine and he wondered if it was the weather or the visit that worried him more. ’Twas unlike his sister to visit without an invitation or arrangements being made in advance. With her many duties as Lady MacLerie and the Countess of Douran, she simply did not rush off across Scotland to visit him. He hoped the ill-at-ease feelings he had were not portents of something bad.

He nodded as Broc went off to see to arrangements and then he went to the small chamber he used to keep his records and rolls. As they were not significant enough to warrant the use of a priest as clerk, Athdar kept his own records and was proud of that. Reviewing them now, he was confident his kith and kin would weather the coming winter well.

The chill of foreboding built within him, even as he saw to his duties throughout the day.

* * *

By the next day, he’d convinced himself that he was getting up in years and would soon be complaining of the aches and pains of the elders in his clan. He laughed at himself as the call came from the gates announcing his sister’s arrival.

But when he saw who accompanied Jocelyn into his yard, he knew the feelings had been a warning of things to come, for following his sister on her horse was the woman who confounded him the most—Isobel Ruriksdottir.

* * *

Excitement hummed inside her as the gate and the stone keep beyond it came into view. Isobel could not believe her plan was succeeding so well. Oh, there were no guarantees that her mother would support her in this or that Lady Jocelyn agreed that she was the perfect choice for a new wife for her brother. There were so many things that could yet go wrong.

As they rode on through the gate, Isobel sat up a little straighter on her mount and glanced around the yard, hoping he was here waiting. Lady Jocelyn had sent him scant warning of their arrival and nothing of her reasons for visiting her brother.

The lady did have a reason—a flimsy one, true—but it would make sense. The herbs that Athdar’s healer needed to replenish her own stores had not been included in the last supplies sent here. Those herbs and plant cuttings lay wrapped carefully in moist cloths in her own bag, just as Margriet had prepared and instructed. These would be needed before winter fell, so there was a need...other than hers.

Their party drew to a stop and Isobel waited as she heard Athdar call out greetings to his sister. From her position behind and to the side of her mother’s horse, she could not see him or be seen, so she listened as he greeted the lady and helped her down. Several young men approached to help with the horses and one lifted her down to the ground. With his help, she also untied the bag from her saddle and took it with her. Her mother held out her hand and Isobel took it, walking with her to greet the laird appropriately.

‘Margriet!’ he called out as he saw her mother. ‘Isobel,’ he said as he met her gaze. ‘Welcome to my home.’

Although her mother had visited before, this was her first time in his home. She followed as they walked into the keep, looking at everyone and everything. Jocelyn had grown up here until her marriage to Connor MacLerie—something caused by Athdar’s youthful antics, if she understood it correctly. She’d only heard bits of the story, but the results had turned out more happily than anyone at the time had dared hope.

The keep was stone—not as large as the MacLeries’, having only two storeys and one guard-tower. Athdar had made changes since becoming laird and since marrying that made the keep more comfortable, according to Jocelyn. More importantly, the MacCallums had become close allies with the powerful MacLerie clan.

Soon they reached the other end of the large hall and Athdar led them to a table set with platters of food and pitchers of ale.

‘Broc thought you might need something since you have been on the road,’ he said. The lady and her mother both acknowledged the man who must be Athdar’s steward.

Broc seemed of an age with Athdar, but where Athdar always wore a serious expression that furrowed his brow, Broc wore one that spoke of mirth...and something more that she could not decipher. He wore his long black hair pulled back and his eyes were the colour of the stone that lay in the walls around them. His smile caught her eye and she could feel the heat of a blush moving into her own cheeks. Athdar brought him closer just then so he could greet her and her mother.

‘Margriet, welcome,’ he said, bowing to her mother. ‘It has been several years since you last graced us with a visit.’

His deep voice affected even her mother and a blush that matched Isobel’s filled her cheeks. Then she giggled! She’d watched untold numbers of women react this way to her father, but had never expected to see her mother fall under this kind of spell.

‘Isobel, welcome,’ Broc said, taking her hand and smiling. ‘We met a few years ago at Lairig Dubh, but you were only a wee lass then. Now...’ Athdar cleared his throat loudly and Broc continued, ‘I hope you enjoy your stay here.’

She thought herself immune to such clear and blatant flirting, but she was not. And since neither her mother nor Jocelyn was resisting it, she smiled back, too.

‘My thanks for such a warm welcome,’ she said. ‘I am certain I will enjoy my visit here.’ Broc guided her to a seat.

‘Can I have your bag placed in your chamber?’ he asked while waving to the waiting servants to begin.

‘That is for Laria,’ Lady Jocelyn said before she could. The healer for Athdar’s village would be in need of what they’d brought.

‘Should I have it taken to her or would you rather have her come here?’ Athdar asked.

‘Mayhap Isobel could take them after we finish here?’

‘Certainly, lady,’ she replied. It would give her a chance to look about the village. And stretch her legs after long days of riding.

Taking the seat that Broc indicated, she watched as Athdar spoke to his sister in hushed tones. An expression of relief crossed his face—he must have been expecting bad news with this sudden visit. Then the tension between brother and sister eased and his face took on a boyish look and it took Isobel’s breath away.

She allowed herself but a moment of appreciation before turning to speak to her mother about the plants they’d brought. Marian, Duncan’s wife, had a talent with herbs and plants and oversaw the keep’s gardens. Isobel herself had worked with Marian at times, learning from her store of knowledge for use when she married and supervised her husband’s household. The plants they brought would add to the ones needed to treat fevers and pain, important for the winter and in time to have them dried and ready for use.