Dawn Marie Hamilton - Highland Gardens (2 page)

Isobell covered her mouth to muffle a surprised
gasp.

A beautiful woman, auburn hair spilling over
narrow shoulders, sat on the hewn-wooden bench in front of Isobell’s hideaway.
A spotted fawn lay curled on her lap and two gray doves perched on an arm, like
some woodland nymph. She shrugged and the birds flew away. Displeased with the
motion, the fawn jerked to its feet and darted to the edge of the wood where a
doe waited to greet it. Together they ran deeper into the trees.

“I ken you are there. You need not fear me.” The
woman gracefully rose and smoothed away nonexistent wrinkles from her green
gown, the unusual iridescent cloth sparkling in the afternoon light. The green
and purple
plaide
secured by an amethyst brooch at her shoulder
displayed the characteristic pattern of a Campbell weaver, but Isobell had
never seen the woman before.

Wary yet curious, she entered the small clearing
within the shadow of the forest and faced the stranger. “Who are you?”

“I am known as Caitrina.”

When the woman said no more, Isobell asked, “Why
are you here?”

“To help you meet your destiny.”

“What do you mean?”

“’Tis time to wed Archibald MacLachlan and bear an
heir.”

Isobell shivered and took a step back, jerked a
glance from left to right, expecting Archibald to swoop in on horseback and
whisk her away. No reason to panic. He wasn’t there. When she returned
attention to the woman, the woman was gone. Vanished. With a gasp, Isobell made
the sign of the cross.

Who was the woman? A witch? A faerie harbinger of
bad fortune?

There would be no wedding with the MacLachlan. How
could she wed with him after the sorrow he’d wrought upon her clan? Once upon a
time, she’d thought herself in love with Archie. But then Da had told her of
the despicable things Archibald had done to the clan and of the women with
which he consorted and bedded.

Oh, why had Da forgiven him and signed the
marriage contract?

Isobell glanced toward the woodland track. Quiet.
Except for trilling birds and ginger-coated squirrels nibbling on pinecones.

Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe the mysterious woman
merely strode away. Maybe the woman didn’t ken of what she spoke. But a
thorough search of the area proved fruitless, as did a search of the cottage.
Isobell dropped onto the bench the fae woman had previously claimed. An unusual
floral scent lingered in the air. Tears of despair prickled, and then fell
unchecked.

What was she doing crying like a
bairn
?
Enough! She swiped wet cheeks with a jerky motion. She was the daughter of a
Highland chief. The strength of generations of Lamonts flowed within her blood.
She refused to be trapped in an unwanted marriage.

Isobell leapt from the bench determined to flee
before Archibald found the hideaway. From the cottage, she procured a chunk of
moldy cheese and stale bannocks. After wrapping them within a cloth, she
gathered warm clothing, placing the lot in a woven basket of heather, which was
shrugged over stiff shoulders onto her back. Without a glance at the hovel, she
straddled Dealanach Dubh and, with a heel kick, galloped from the only home
she’d known for the last year—bent on escape.

A
rchibald
leaned forward in the saddle and eyed the approaching scout.

“The trail has disappeared as if it never
existed,” the lad confirmed his fear.

They had ridden the better part of three days and
were nearly at the southeast border of MacLachlan land. How could a herd of
Highland cattle, twenty head strong, disappear without a trace?

Wretched luck
. Unusually dry weather
followed by unending rain contributed to the feat surely. Glad the most recent
storm had passed, Archibald shook rainwater from his wet hair like a dog. Would
he ever get the smell of wet wool out of his nostrils?

Water gushed over rocks in the swollen burn.
Gloaming would be upon them soon enough. Tonight they would sleep in the wet
greenwood again. This wee glen as good a place as any. “Prepare camp. We will
renew our pursuit at daybreak.”

He scraped a tense hand over his face, bone weary.
He could only imagine where the MacLachlan cattle would end their journey. Probably
fattening some Lowland laird’s larder.

Disgusted with the whole affair, he yanked the
saddle from his horse. There was little talk over the fire that night, the men
subdued. Their despondency was his fault. He’d never been meant to be chief.
His eldest brother, Donald, thus named after their grandfather and sharing the
same name with their uncle of questionable loyalty, was the firstborn and
trained to lead. When he died too early, Archibald’s twin, older by mere
minutes, had been groomed to follow their father as heir. Archibald travelled
on embassage to France for King James IV and lived a merry life until returning
several years after Da and Mairi’s disappearance and suspected demise—blamed on
the Lamonts, of course—and became reacquainted with his twin’s betrothed…

Isobell
. The mere thought of her beauty
left him breathless. Archibald adjusted his
plaide
and shifted his
weight. The last thing he needed this night was an arousal.

He sighed and ran a hand through his unruly hair.

After Patrick’s wedding to the outlander and
subsequent move to France, Archibald became clan chief and inherited a future
he never anticipated. The bright spot in his existence had been Isobell. He
smiled. He couldn’t help himself. They’d fallen in love.

Isobell had returned home, and he negotiated with
her father, the Lamont, for a betrothal.

Archibald’s smile faded. The memories were
bittersweet.

Once the betrothal agreement was signed, he rode
to Toward Keep to fetch Isobell. She’d put him off on several occasions while
visiting relatives. Then she went missing.

Perhaps she hadn’t changed her mind and run away.
Maybe she’d disappeared as his parents had, never to be heard from again. Could
the Lamont be responsible for his daughter’s disappearance too? Archibald
stared into the campfire, but the golden flames held no answers.

Duncan nudged him and passed a flask.
Uisge-beatha
—water
of life. The whisky burned as it slid down his throat, spreading heat through
his gut, fortification against the evening chill and his bleak thoughts.

Archibald woke before dawn, roused the men, and
resumed the search. Several fruitless days later, he admitted defeat and
ordered the men back to Castle Lachlan and their families. He and Duncan
searched for another day only to give up when they reached the border of the
disputed lands. They could go no further without enraging their Campbell
neighbors.

As they crested a ridge, Duncan pulled up short,
raised a hand, palm outward, stopping Archibald, and pointed across the meadow
below. Horse and rider burst from the tree line, racing straight for them. The
same midnight stallion they’d seen before. Probably the same horseman. He
noticed their presence, pulled back sharp on the reins, and halted the beast.
The horse reared nearly tossing the lad who quickly regained control and
altered direction, though lost speed in the process. Archibald slapped the rump
of his horse and gave chase, Duncan and his mount on their heels.

Though horse and rider were light and fast, they
seemed to tire quickly. Archibald felt the power of the horse beneath him and,
with his thighs, coaxed greater speed from the animal. He and Duncan gained
ground, each approaching from an opposite side, pinning the quarry between
them. The rider flustered and the horse faltered, allowing Archibald to stay
abreast and race for a distance until he was in position. Now! He leapt from
his horse—a maneuver practiced often with his twin—and onto the back of the
black stallion. Damn! A slight misjudgment sent him and the suspected cattle
thief over the side, tumbling to the ground.

Grumpf!
Archibald hit hard then lost his
breath for the second time when the lad landed atop. He rolled quickly, taking
control before the lad pulled a weapon. They had to roll again to avoid being
trampled when Duncan’s mount charged passed in pursuit of the runaway horses.
Archibald maintained a firm grip on the lad’s arms, avoiding thrashing legs.

The lad struggled, broke free, and crawled away,
but Archibald tackled him back to the ground. With a quick move, he flipped him
over, and pinned the lad beneath his weight. Then he froze. This was no lad.
Soft breasts pressed against his chest and as the lass wiggled, his cock,
cradled between her thighs, reacted to the friction.

What the—

He raised up onto his forearms, maintaining
control, and quickly disarmed the lass of several blades. He slowly rose from
her, and she scrambled to her feet. The cowl had slipped from her head,
exposing long raven hair matching the cattle herder’s description. Just who was
this woman?

Archibald grabbed a fistful of thick hair and
yanked it away from her face. Chin jutted forward, a familiar violet stare
scorched him, and his gut ached as if punched.

He held his wayward bride-to-be—Isobell.

“Why?” The question torn from a tight throat.

“Because I hate you.” Words filled with venom.

“Should have kenned ’twas you by the fancy gait of
yonder horse.”
And by his body’s reaction to her pressed against him.

“Dinnae hurt Dealanach Dubh!”

“What do you take me for? I would never harm such
a fine beast.”

“You only harm villagers?”

“What?”

“Swine!” She spit in his face.

He tightened the hold on her hair, hauled her
closer, a breath away.

“Let me go.” She squeezed his forearm.

He wanted to throttle her. Take her over a knee.
Instead he shoved her toward Duncan and strode to his grazing horse. He
couldn’t come to terms with her hatred. Or her betrayal.

And what did she mean by
you only harm
villagers?
He never…

“What do you want me to do with her?” Duncan
asked.

Archibald held stiff, his back to them. He
couldn’t look at Isobell, the pain in his chest too great. “Take her on your
horse. We ride to Castle Lachlan, where she will be sequestered in the pit
until judgment is delivered.”

Isobell gasped. “You dare not hold me in such a
manner. I am the daughter of a Highland chief.”

Archibald spun around and glared. “Do you ken how
cattle thieves are punished in the Highlands?”

She blanched.

He hated her lean, disheveled appearance. Was
obvious she wasn’t getting enough to eat. But he must harden his heart. Offer
no sympathy. His clan deserved justice.

They rode until nightfall, stopping to camp in a
quiet glen. She hadn’t uttered a word since her capture. It killed Archibald to
tie her to a tree like a criminal. Unfortunately that was exactly who she was—a
cattle thief.

Archibald motioned with his head for Duncan to
step away to the fire with him out of Isobell’s earshot. He placed an arm
across the man’s back, leaned close, and whispered, “Ride to Toward Keep. Meet
with the Lamont. Request he reunite with his daughter at Castle Lachlan. I will
escort Isobell to our keep.”

Duncan glanced over his shoulder at Isobell. When
his gaze returned to Archibald, deep grooves surrounded pursed lips. “I should
not leave you without a guard. What if the other reivers learn you have her?
They might attack.”

“’Tis a risk I am willing to take. I want the
Lamont at the castle to witness the wedding immediately upon our arrival.”

Duncan hissed. “You plan to go through with the
marriage?”

“I do. ’Tis the only way I can keep Isobell from
suffering a fate worse than death.”

“I dinnae like it, but I will do as you ask.”

“Good lad.” Archibald patted his back. “Be sure to
inform the priest to be ready for our arrival.”

After reallocating supplies, he watched Duncan ride
away with Isobell’s horse in tow then braced for a fight.

* * *

Isobell struggled against the leather strips
binding her wrists until the raw skin burned and the pain near made her pass
out. Bleary-eyed, she glowered at Archibald’s back where he knelt by the fire.
Fear made her stomach rumble. Or was it lack of food?

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten.
And she couldn’t guess when the next meal would be. ’Twas unlikely Archibald
would offer anything beyond water if even that.

The rough bark of the tree dug into her back.
Well, she’d better get used to being uncomfortable. Thoughts of what she’d
cohabitate with in the MacLachlan pit made her squirm. And that would only be
the beginning of the misery.

She stiffened at his approach, but noted the bowl
he carried. Their gazes met. No emotion lived in the silver depths of his eyes.
He placed the bowl on a nearby flat rock and just stared at her for a moment
longer.

“Thought you might be hungry. I will release you
to eat if you vow not to run.”

Isobell cleared a parched throat, but only nodded,
refusing to speak. What could she say? Deny her involvement in the raids? She
wouldn’t lie to him, but she would do whatever it took to escape.

Archibald frowned then bent and untied the
binding.

Once free, she jumped to her feet and brushed the
raw skin of her wrists with a light touch. What? Was that regret passing over
Archie’s fine features? As quickly gone.

His nearness made her stomach flutter. He still
presented a fine form. Memories of better times bombarded her. She swallowed
against the onslaught.

Remember—you hate him.

She scanned the area. Where was the best route to
freedom?

He arched a brow. “Dinnae even think it.”

She would never evade him nor was she fast enough
to outrun him while he was awake. But once he slept…

She’d eat first. Not because it was what he
wanted, but because it would provide renewed strength.

Isobell picked up the bowl and sat on the rock. He
watched, arms crossed, eyes empty.

“Where are my cattle?” His rough-spoken words
broke the silence.

She lowered the bowl from her lips. “I dinnae ken
of what you speak.”

“Isobell, this is not a game. You and your fine
horse were spotted at the scene of a destructive raid. Men were injured. Cattle
stolen.”

“You surely have many enemies, among whom it is
certain at least one exists who wishes to inflict revenge upon your person and
clan.”

“Is that what this is about? You believe I have
done something to deserve your desire for revenge?”

“Aye.”

He shook his head. “My clan will demand justice.
The punishment will not end with a mere flogging.”

“And what of my clan and the atrocities
perpetrated against it by you and yours?” Archibald knocked the bowl away,
grabbed her arm, and pulled her up. His grip was hurtful. She glared. “Let go
of me.”

He pulled her against his chest. “Where are my
cattle? Tell me.”

His breath was hot on her face. She felt the
entire length of him, muscles coiled with rage, through the thin fabric of the
lad’s rags she wore. So different than when she’d longed for his touch over a
year ago, wearing garments of many layers, dressed as a woman.

They were both breathing hard. The silver of his
eyes went molten with lust.

So he still wanted her. Something to use against
him. If she could distract him, perhaps she could filch one of the blades
hidden on his person. She leaned in and rubbed against his burgeoning arousal
with invitation.

He inhaled a gusty breath before laying siege to
her mouth. The kiss was not as expected. She whimpered and drew his tongue into
the moist recesses of her mouth. It had been so long since—

She chose to ignore the insect that buzzed past
her ear.

Archie shoved her to the ground. She hit hard with
a thump, hurting her hip. He landed on top and covered her mouth with a hand.

“Whist,” he whispered. “Your fellow thieves just
tried to put an arrow into you. Why, I wonder?”

More likely they intended to pierce his heart and
she got in the way. The telltale sound of men moving through underbrush gave
her hope for escape from the fate Archibald planned for her. She squirmed,
trying to break free of his grasp.

“Keep still, you fool,” he growled in a quiet
tone. “Dinnae move until I tell you ’tis safe.” Archibald crept away. Moments
later, the sound of blade striking blade rent the air.

Isobell refused to remain put and wait for
Archibald to haul her off to Castle Lachlan to stand trial. She jumped up,
waved arms in the air, and hollered, “Over here!”

An arrow shot past, narrowly missing its mark—
her
.

She dropped to the ground and scooted behind the
tree to which she’d previously been tied. Archie was right. They were after
her. Why?

Arrows whipped past the tree in frightening
numbers. The clang of steel became maddening since darkness had fallen and it
wasn’t clear if Archie was winning. She hoped he would. She didn’t want to die
this night.