The Highlander’s Runaway (Blood of Duncliffe Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Read online

  “Thanks, milord. Milady. I am grateful.”

  He nodded to his hosts and reached for a bannock, crumbling off a piece to eat while he thought. The scent of oats filled his nostrils, mingling with the rich, fragrant scent of dinner and the subtle smell of the fire crackling in the grate behind him.

  Duncliffe was a bonny place – an old castle, reformed along the lines of a manor house. Many of the ancient features of the castle were still there – the courtyard, the colonnade, the solar – though the latter had been fitted with proper windows and divided to make a parlor and a small, intimate dining room where they now sat together.

  “We might not have conflict here for many years,” Marguerite said. “I pray it doesn't visit us now.”

  “I agree,” Douglas nodded, gently squeezing her hand.

  Brogan felt that guilty feeling again.

  And now here I sit, with winter already visiting my lands, and likely to trap me here for the next month at least, if it sets in hard. And all for the vague hope of action.

  He had his doubts that anything would come of this rebellion.

  Aside from the fact, of course, that France promised their aid and that it seemed that the prince would really sail to Scotland after all.

  “Milady?” a maid came in, a small frown on her brow.

  “Yes?” Marguerite’s pretty face creased in a frown too. “What is it? Is aught happening to Alexandra...?”

  “No, milady,” the maid said and shook her head quickly. “It's not the bairn. Is...Were ye expecting company tonight?”

  “Company?” Marguerite frowned. She looked at Douglas nervously.

  Brogan tensed, suddenly alert. All they needed was a Hanoverian spy. Why that should have been his first thought, he didn't know. Nevertheless, it worried him. He looked across at his hosts, heart thudding worriedly.

  “Who is it?” Douglas asked.

  “I don't rightly know,” the maid said, flustered. “Forgive me, milord, but they came in a coach. I know nothing about them.”

  “You have sent the coach to the stables?”

  “Yes, sir. Our guest is in the entrance hall. I didnae see them meself, beg pardon, sir. Mrs. Merrick told me to fetch ye.”

  “Well, then!” Douglas pushed back his chair and stood. “Let me go and greet this visitor.”

  “Douglas...” Marguerite stood, frowning. “What if...”

  “I'll be perfectly safe,” Douglas assured her. “I'll wait until I've seen who's there before I enter.” His voice was soft, hoping to reassure her.

  “Good.”

  Brogan looked away, not wanting Lady Marguerite to feel embarrassed by his scrutiny. She was nervous; clearly.

  “If any intruders come, my men will stand with yours,” he said gruffly.

  Marguerite regarded him with a soft expression. She smiled then. “Thank you, Laird Hale. I am grateful for your help.”

  “It's the least I can do,” he said, clearing his throat.

  “It's possible it's just a lost traveler,” Marguerite continued, looking out where the night, dark and icy, showed at the window. “It's a dreadful night to be alone out there. Of course we'll offer shelter.”

  “You're kind, milady,” Brogan observed, uncomfortably shifting in his seat. He leaned back, regarding the scene outside the window.

  “I do only what anyone with a warm hearth and food to spare would do.”

  “Indeed, milady.”

  Brogan smiled at her. Douglas was fortunate in his wife, he realized. Not only for her outer beauty, but for the soul within.

  Lucky Douglas, to have loved and not to have lost. Myself, I don't dare love again.

  Benoite had bewitched him utterly, and he had lost her to her choosing of another. His heart was locked away behind high walls now.

  A sound of footsteps, rushing down the hall, made them both look up. Marguerite half-stood, her face a picture of distress. Brogan felt his hand go to his side, where he still wore a dagger, though it was against guest-rules to do so. He wouldn't have felt right without one there.

  “Milady?” Douglas said, appearing quickly. “I believe our visitor seeks you. But first...do you have a cousin? I was not aware you had such.”

  “A cousin..?” Marguerite frowned. “Oh! Is it Reid?” Her face softened.

  “Not Reid, no. This is a woman.”

  “Claudine!” Marguerite face registered utter surprise. “Oh! Of all the unexpected...Quickly, dearest! Bring her up! Send for ale and cakes! Oh! This is splendid news. My cousin Claudine! I've not seen her for almost ten years...”

  Brogan smiled, watching as Marguerite instantly transformed to a veritable army captain of efficiency. “A woman, arriving on her own?” he asked, frowning.

  “She has no retinue, only two servants,” Douglas replied quickly. “One man, one woman. I think we need fear no harm here.”

  “She's English, aye?” Brogan asked.

  Douglas shot him a look. “She's milady's cousin,” he said. “That ends matters.”

  “Aye, milord.” Brogan felt some reserve.

  It was a woman, and Lady Marguerite’s cousin, but that didn't mean she was not dangerous. Ladies were easily as capable of intrigue as men, if not more.

  I'll be wary about this, meself.

  He stood and walked to the window, looking down at the courtyard, where the first snow was threatening to fall.

  As he watched, a servant headed out toward the coach. He narrowed his eyes, watching the man opening the rear of it and reaching inside. He was so intent on observing the fellow that he didn't hear the noise at the door.

  “Laird McRae?” Douglas said at his elbow. Brogan whipped around hastily.

  “Aye?”

  “May I introduce my wife's cousin, the lady Claudine?”

  “Aye,” Brogan said softly. It was a stupid thing to say, perhaps, but he could think of nothing better. He could think of nothing else at all, in fact, when he set eyes on the woman in the doorway.

  She wore a white dress that clung to a narrow waist and full bust, the wide skirt accentuating her graceful curves. Her long brown hair fell loose down her back, and her pale eyes were raised to his. She frowned at him.

  She was beautiful.

  “Um...milady,” Brogan managed to say, coughing to clear the lump that had suddenly, unexpectedly, blocked his throat. “Welcome tae Scotland.”

  A MEETING BY FIRELIGHT

  Claudine looked at the man in front of her. Tall – extremely tall – with a shock of red hair and a trim beard, he had tawny-brown eyes and a rugged face, the eyes set in crow's feet, the hair curling to his shoulders. He wore a native garment she believed was called a kilt. She felt instantly on her guard.

  “Good evening,” she said softly. She looked at her toes, just showing beneath the wide linen skirt of her traveling-gown. For some reason, he disconcerted her profoundly.

  “Laird McRae is staying with us for a week or two,” Douglas explained. “He's a neighbor of sorts.”

  “Oh,” Claudine said. Perdition take the fellow! Why was he staring at her like that? She looked through the window on her left, feeling awkward. She wished he hadn't been there.

  “It must have been so cold on your journey,” Marguerite said, sounding worried. “Come and sit down, do. I've sent for cakes and ale...ah! There they are. Come and warm yourself by the fireside.”

  “Thank you,” Claudine said softly. She instantly liked her cousin.

  The sight of the blaze in the grate, and the friendly crackle of flame light, brought warmth to Claudine's heart. She hungrily sank into a fireside chair, stretching her hands toward the flames.

  “It's better, aye?” the man said.

  What was his name? McRae – that was it. Claudine shot him an annoyed look. “It's warmer, yes.”

  She leaned forward, trying to ignore the fact that he was standing behind her chair. A pox on him! Why did he insist on shadowing her this way?

  “Laird McRae? Would you join me at the table?”
Douglas said, seeming to notice her discomfort. “I've a mind to go over that map you showed me earlier.”

  “Aye,” the man said. She felt him leave. His footfall was surprisingly soft on the flooring – lithe and graceful, despite his height and strength. It was only the sudden loss of tension in her spine that let her know he'd moved, almost as if her body was aware of his presence.

  “Now, you must tell me everything,” Marguerite was saying, where she settled in a chair opposite. “How fares my uncle Alfred?”

  “Well, cousin,” Claudine said softly. Alfred was her father, and he seemed to fare as well as anyone might expect. His fervor for the Jacobite cause grew as the rest of his world narrowed, but otherwise, all was as it should be.

  “Good, good! And my cousin Reid?”

  “He is well, too,” Claudine nodded. “He spent some time in the north, with the army. He has been made a captain.”

  “Oh!” Marguerite smiled, a grin of delight on her friendly, heart-shaped face. “A captain in the Borderers? How splendid!”

  “We are very proud of him,” Claudine acknowledged. She tensed, hearing a soft footfall behind her.

  Was that him again? And why was he listening so intently? She shot around quickly. It was him, standing perhaps five paces from her seat.

  “Milord McRae?” she asked directly. “Would you not be seated? It seems you too seek the warmth of our fire.”

  To her surprise, he flushed hotly. “No, milady,” he said, shaking his head. “I was...just checking if it snowed yet. At the window. I have travel plans to make.”

  “You are staying a week yet, methinks,” Claudine shot back instantly. “It seems you are over-cautious.” He was coming over to listen to them! That much was obvious.

  “Well...I must make provision for my men,” he said uneasily. “They are quartered elsewhere, and I would not have them cut off from the manor.”

  Claudine regarded him carefully. She could sense his discomfort, almost smell it. What was his purpose for listening so intently to them? What, for that matter, was he doing here in her cousin's home? Spying on them?

  Papa mentioned they were Jacobite, but moderate. What cause has this fellow to be here, if not to seek information?

  She glanced at her cousin, who was looking between her and Laird McRae with a small frown on her brow. She shook herself, aware that she must be giving her cousin some discomfort.

  “I think the snow will hold off until next week,” she said carefully. “I am sure my cousins will make adequate plans for your men, should they need them.”

  “Of course,” Marguerite said, a relieved grin spreading across her face. “Now, my cousin, I must show you to your quarters. And of course I would be delighted to introduce you to my daughter – though I hope she sleeps now.”

  “Your daughter?” Claudine felt her brow shoot up in surprise. Her father had barely mentioned any details of her cousin's life – they had completely lost contact more than eight years before, shortly before Marguerite’s father moved his family to Scotland. She had not seen her cousin since she was fourteen.

  “Yes! Young Alexandra. She's just two yet, and a little beauty, though I say it myself,” Marguerite enthused.

  “I would be delighted to meet her,” Claudine said sincerely. She stood, surprising herself by the fact that she did not feel particularly tired. It had been a long journey – taking nearly a fortnight – but they had stopped regularly enough and eaten well at inns and bake-houses in the towns. The excitement of so many new things was stimulating for her.

  “Well, come with me,” Marguerite said quickly, standing. “And after that, we must show you to your chambers. You are doubtless tired. Would you like aught sent up? A bath? A posset?”

  “Thank you,” Claudine said sincerely. “A bath would be paradise.”

  Marguerite grinned. “Well, a bath you shall have. Are you sure you're not still hungry?”

  “I am well,” Claudine said quickly. “A tray of broth would be wondrous. And a little bread?”

  “I'll have it sent up directly. Though you are welcome to join us here? We will have wine and cheeses now that the meal is done.”

  “I will join you soon,” Claudine replied. She looked sideways at McRae. If he was still there, she wasn't sure that she wished to return downstairs.

  She followed her cousin to her chamber. Once they left the room, she realized how tired she was. Her legs ached with weariness and her sight was blurred.

  That's probably why I was so on edge with Laird McRae, their guest. Marguerite must think me quite rude.

  “I hope I didn't offend your guest,” she said. To her surprise, Marguerite chuckled.

  “Laird McRae! Mercy me, no! I don't think anything you did could offend him, cousin.”

  Claudine frowned, wondering what her cousin meant by that.

  “Here we are! This is the nursery,” Marguerite exclaimed, disrupting her thoughts. “Mattie? Is my little dearest sleeping?”

  “She is, milady,” the maid's voice confirmed, whispering. “Not ten minutes ago she started to slumber. I barely dare move.”

  Marguerite chuckled. “I understand. Well, we will look at her from the doorway. There's time enough for my cousin to meet her tomorrow, when she wakes.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  Claudine looked into the room, lit well by the orange flame-light of a well laid fire. She could see a big cot, in which reposed a small form. Narrowing her eyes, she discerned a head and a rosebud mouth, two closed eyes. A crown of red curls, not unlike her cousin's, completed the picture. As she watched, the baby shifted, stretching, and let out a little sigh.

  “She's so lovely,” she whispered to her cousin, sincere.

  “She's a little handful,” Marguerite whispered back, fondness warming her voice. “Beautiful, playful and as good as gold. Though she has a fine way of getting what she wants.”

  Claudine grinned. “I imagine so.”

  “I think her strong voice must come from Douglas' line,” Marguerite chuckled.

  “I think it must be so,” Claudine replied, nodding.

  “Well, by all accounts Henry and I were quiet and well-behaved,” she chuckled, stepping back into the hallway. “And I am sure the same is true of you and Reid. Now...here is where you shall sleep. I put you in the apricot suite – it has a fine view of the grounds from that window.”

  “Thank you,” Claudine said sincerely. “You're very kind.”

  “I'll send up Frances with the bath,” Marguerite said quickly. “Frances will help you until your own maid is ready, tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you, cousin,” Claudine whispered again.

  She looked around the room as her cousin bustled to the door and drew it shut behind her.

  “Whew,” she sighed. She felt utterly drained. She leaned back against the silk-papered wall and wearily closed her eyes. Her energy had suddenly dissolved, leaving her exhausted.

  Beside her, the fire crackled in the grate, adding its light to that of many lamps. She looked around the place in which she found herself. It was a wide room, the walls papered in cream, the furnishings apricot silk as the chamber's name suggested. A vast window was hidden by a velvet drape – it would, Claudine guessed, be the one to show the views of the garden.

  I hope the other guests are not quartered too close.

  She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, fingers laced through her brown hair. Somehow, she couldn't get that awful fellow out of her mind.

  “I should summon a maid to help me brush my hair,” she decided quickly. She was almost at the door when it opened.

  “A bath for milady,” a tall, slender-faced woman with a shy smile said. “I be Frances, your new maid.”

  “Thank you,” Claudine nodded wearily.

  “I'll fetch more water,” Frances said quickly. “Then I'll come back and help you disrobe. Your things have been sent up – I've taken out your nightclothes and set them out to air.”

  “Thank you” Claudine wh
ispered gratefully.

  After the bath, and with her hair combed and plaited – Frances was a discreet and efficient maid, possibly better than her own maid, Prudence – she felt better.

  “I think I will retire to bed.” The thought of seeing McRae again was not appealing to her.

  “Very good, milady.”

  After the maid had gone, she slid into bed. She couldn't get the tall, red-haired fellow from her mind. “Claudine? What is the matter with you?” she chided herself. “The fellow's a guest. He cannot harm you.”

  She knew that to be true – whoever he was and whatever business he had here in her cousin's home, he wouldn't dare to risk hurting her before her own kin! All the same, she felt a shiver of wariness down her spine at the thought. And something else.

  He is like no one I ever saw before.

  His clothes – the kilt, the blouse, the belt with its accessories – were utterly exotic. And his hair – long and slightly curling, was a shade darker than his trimmed beard. He was strange and alien to her. He was utterly alluring.

  “You're acting like a little girl. There's nothing interesting about a fellow spying in your cousin's home.”

  Even though they seemed to trust him, she instantly felt on the alert around him. The story about his men and the weather was not convincing, not to her. He would have made provision for his men shortly after they arrived! If he was even half as reliable as her cousin's trust in him suggested, he wasn't the sort to leave his soldiers to freeze or starve.

  No, there was something more to his presence here. She was going to find out what.

  However, first, she was going to sleep.

  Curling up on one side, the warmth of the fire covering her like another blanket, Claudine closed her eyes, breathing in the scents of rosemary and lavender from the stored linen, and slept.

  A RIDE AND A WARNING

  “Prudence!” Claudine said with some surprise as the sound of someone opening drapes made her sit up. It was morning. Her own maid – not Frances, but her companion from England – was here, and she was tidying up as usual.