Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) (7 page)

"He felt a sharp need to do so immediately."

The noise from the hall seemed offensively loud now, for she wanted nothing more than to escape to the solitude of her room. But first she must safely maneuver the boisterous crowds.

Skirting a group of young men, Shona glided past her mother, ignored a fat lord who was motioning toward her, and carefully refrained from galloping toward the stairs.

She was almost there. Nearly....

"Daughter," her father called, turning from a pair of men dressed in hose and brightly colored doublets. "Come hither. There is someone here I'd like ye to see."

Shona ground her teeth in silent frustration. She'd had quite enough of men for one evening. She felt about as glamorous as a treed ferret, and if Father noticed her torn gown, there'd be hell to pay.

But he was intent on parading her before every eligible man in Scotland. And if she didn't answer his summons, he would certainly know something was amiss.

"I am really quite fatigued, Father," she began, still holding the tartan against her bosom as she approached him. But he reached out his arm, wrapped it about her shoulders, and steered her away from his companions. Stanford followed along behind as Shona raised a bemused expression to her father. But just then a golden-haired woman turned toward her.

"Sara!" Shona cried, and launching from her father's embrace, threw herself into her cousin's arms. "When did ye arrive? Why wasn't I told immediately? Did Rachel come with ye? And what of Boden and Maggie? How is sweet Thomas? Have ye heard from Liam?'' she rambled.

“She is really quite fatigued just now. Nearly beyond speech, as ye can see," Roderic said. But Lord Stanford did not comment, for he was now the one momentarily beyond speech.

With an effort he found his voice. "Is she...is she another of your daughter's, my Laird?"

"Sara?" Roderic sighed. "Nay. I was blessed with only one wee lass," he said, putting his arm about the younger man's shoulders. "Tis said the good Lord willna give ye more trouble than ye can handle."

"Not a sister?" Stanford said, refusing for a moment to be drawn away. "But—"

"Aye, they look much alike. My own twin's daughter is Sara, but there's no point in gangling about now, lad, for ye'll get no attention from either of them until they've talked things through."

"But I...couldn't I just...watch them?"

Roderic laughed out loud at the wistful tone, then tightened his grip and steered the younger man away. "Twould serve ye well to try not to act too pathetic, lad," he advised. "I know tis difficult, but..."

His voice trailed away.

"Sara," Shona crooned, pushing her to arm's length. "Ye look glorious. Shining..." She shook her head, trying to ascertain what had changed. “But...ye look different somehow."

Sara laughed then lowered her gaze to where Shona's plaid parted. "And ye look somewhat...changed, too," she said. Reaching out, she tugged the ends of the woolen back together.

"So I think we'd best get ye to the privacy of your chambers before the Rogue decides to geld one of your suitors."

"Oh!" Shona said, remembering her dishevelment and glancing nervously about to make certain no one had noticed her shameful state. "Aye, let us retire to my quarters."

They hurried up the winding stone stairs, chattering about everything and nothing until they had entered Shona's narrow chamber.

"Your quarters have shrunk," Sara said, closing the arched iron-bound door behind them.

Shona laughed. “Better that than to room with a bevy of giggly women who snore and swoon at unpredictable intervals."

She removed the plaid from her shoulders. Sara raised her fair brows as she was granted a better view of the gown's long-suffering state.

"So tell me, lass, is the perpetrator still alive?"

Shona dropped to her knees to lift the lid of a large, nearby trunk. "I suspect it would do little good to tell ye I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sara laughed. "No good atall. Who was it this time?"

Grasping a white nightgown from the pile of clothing in the trunk, Shona rose to face her. "It was not my fault."

"I didna say it—Shona!" Sara said, reaching for the amulet that dangled into sight as her cousin leaned forward in an attempt to untie her laces. "Ye have Dragonheart."

"Aye." Shona beamed as she straightened. "I found him in the waters of Burn Gael some months ago."

"But..." Reaching out, Sara smoothed her fingers over the ruby that gleamed from the center of the dragon's broad chest. "That canna be, for it was lost in the Burn Creag when Warwick snatched it from my neck three years ago."

Even through the tattered cloth of her gown, the dragon felt warmer suddenly, as if Sara's presence moved it somehow. Shona shrugged. "I canna explain it. It seems our Dragonheart survived though the evil wizard perished. Twas a thrill to find the amulet unscathed. But if ye want it back..."

"Nay," Sara said and smiled nostalgically. "I'm glad ye have it, what with your ties to the king and the turmoil there."

"What do ye mean?"

Sara shrugged. "I worry for ye, and the amulet made me feel safe somehow when I wore it.

Even when Warwick was near." She said the words softly, as if the name itself might conjure up evil.

"Even when he tried to cast his wicked spells on our minds, we were safe." She ran her thumb gently over the ruby, and gave a fleeting smile. Beneath her caress, it seemed almost to vibrate. "So our dragon is a male," she murmured.

"What?"

"Dragonheart," she explained with a laugh. "It seems he, like all the males in Scotland, couldna bear to be away from his red-headed lassie." Dropping the amulet, she stroked Shona's hair.

"Oh, aye!" Shona snorted. "I called the dragon to me like the mythical sirens of yore. It could not resist." She turned, presenting her back and glancing over her shoulder at Sara. "But I fear I've cured Laird Halwart of
his
infatuation with me."

"Ahh," Sara said, stepping forward to undo her cousin's wet laces. "So
he
was the one I saw fleeing Dun Ard when I arrived."

"Umm."

"I thought his posture in the saddle seemed a bit awkward. What gallant offered ye his plaid?"

Shona scowled as she remembered the infuriating episode by the tower wall. "There was no gallant. I can assure ye of that."

Sara smiled knowingly as she reached for the plaid. It was a fine weave, deep rich blues crisscrossed with shades of dark crimson. "So ye say ye found this likely looking woolen lying about in the..." She paused for a moment, thinking. "Let me venture a guess. The stables, I think."

"Remind me to swear ye to silence if Da ever questions ye about my activities," Shona said wryly.

"Your secrets are safe with me, Shona. Always they have been, but tell me who owns this plaid."

"He is of no consequence," Shona assured her, though even now her stomach felt a bit queasy at the thought of him. She ignored the sensation and slipped the wet gown over her hips and onto the floor.

"Ahh. A man without a name."

"I'll not be speaking to him again," Shona assured her, but just then a stone rattled against her latched shutters. "What was that?" she asked, jumping at the sound.

Sara grinned. "It sounded like a stone against your shutters. Were ye expecting company?"

Shona granted her a peeved glare as if to say she was being foolish, but in her mind, an unbidden image of a dark-haired scoundrel plagued her. "I fear your Boden has ruined your sense of humor."

"Tis the truth," Sara said, then, "I'll see who it is."

"Nay!" Shona exclaimed. "Tis no one."

But at just that instant another stone pinged against the blinds.

Shona yanked her attention to the window. Sara raised her brows, then, with perfect aplomb, skirted her cousin to lift the latch from its mooring.

The shutters creaked open beneath her fingers.

"Why, look," she said, peering out and trying to sound surprised. "How charming! There's a man dressed in naught but a tunic. And he's throwing stones at your window."

Dugald glanced up at the small rectangle of light that opened in the wall above him. He had left his sanctuary on Isle Fois with strict orders, and none of those orders included throwing stones at Shona MacGowan's shutters. But nothing about this mission had turned out as it was intended to.

"Damsel Shona?" he called, canting his head slightly and trying to make out the person framed in the window. It might be her, but he didn't think so, for when light struck Shona's hair it sparkled like rubies. This lady's shone like sunlight.

The woman turned away for a moment, and he thought he heard a hissing noise from the background. The fair lady turned back, and when she spoke, he heard a hint of laughter in her voice.

"I fear Shona is a wee bit preoccupied at the time. Might I give her your name?"

He wondered wryly how many men tossed stones at her window in a single night's course.

"Tell her it's the gallant who came to her rescue this eventide."

The lady turned away. There was a distant murmur of voices, then, "She asked which of the mob ye might be."

He laughed out loud. Lord Tremayne was certainly right about one thing—she was vain. "Tell her I'm the one who went naked so that she could be clothed."

But before the lady repeated the words, Shona was at the window.

"Ye were not naked!" she hissed, glancing sideways as if worried that she might be overheard.

"Ahh, so there ye are."

“Of course I am here. What is it ye want?''

"Besides your everlasting devotion? The feel of your sweetness in my arms? The brush of your —''

He thought he heard her swear, and had to exert a good deal of self control to keep from laughing. “What did you say?" he asked.

"What do ye want?" she rasped.

“I want to hear my name whispered on your lips, to feel your petal-soft hand in mine, to—"

A faint expletive again.

"You know, lass, tis quite difficult to be romantic when you keep interrupting my soliloquy."

"And it would be even more difficult if I dumped the slop bucket on your head, so have your say and be done with it."

“I thought, now that you are dry, that you might come down and walk with me for a spell."

"Or I might just let Da know ye are bothering me and see how long your head remains above your neck."

"He was not upset that you accompanied that foolish Halwart to the stables then?"

He could imagine her scowl, even though the light was too poor to allow him to see it. Damn the darkness, for though he was a man who sought peace, he found now that her impetuous nature drew him somehow. Twas not a discovery that made him happy.

"Why are ye here?"

"You do not believe I've come to worship you from afar?"

"Not afar enough."

He held his chuckle. "I am deeply wounded."

Voices rose from the darkness to his left.

"Go away," she hissed.

"Naked?"

"Ye are not naked!"

He shrugged. "But I am trying to save myself for you, and surely if other women see me thus they will be unable to resist. The Duchess of Avery said that any woman who could resist me must surely be made of—"

His heavy plaid hit him squarely in the face. By the time he'd removed it, the shutters were closed, the rectangle of light gone.

"Stone," he finished, and scowled at the intricate rock work of the tower.

So that was where she spent her nights. Twould be a simple enough task to reach her room. He should not delay, of course. The sooner the job was finished, the sooner he could report back to Lord Tremayne and return to his own home.

But he wasn't ready to perform his mission. Dugald scowled at his own thoughts. Something didn't feel right. Something wasn't as it should be.

He glanced at her window again. It was just framed by a glimmer of light.

One thing he knew—if he delayed, there would be trouble.

But without trying, he remembered the feel of her satin skin beneath his hand, the wild vibrancy of her beneath his fingertips.

Ah yes, there would be trouble, he thought, and turned away.

The following morning dawned bright and clear. Shona awoke early and opened her shutters with hardly a thought for the bothersome knave who had been beneath her window the night before.

Still, she had to glance down once to make certain he hadn't camped at the tower's base. Her father always took umbrage when some swain slept beneath her window. But the spot was empty now. She firmly told herself she was not disappointed and glanced up at the sky.

It was a rain-washed blue, dotted with lamb's wool clouds and worshipped by a vast array of greenery below.

Shona ducked back inside.

Muriel would be assisting their many guests, Shona knew. Thus she dressed unaided, donning a bright blue gown. It was embroidered at the neck with twining ivy and accented with slashed white sleeves that laced at the shoulder. She tied her favorite golden girdle about her waist and let the tassels trail nearly to the floor. With a few quick strokes of her wooden comb, she tried to subdue her hair. But after several moments, she decided it was a useless endeavor and twisted it up to the back of her head, where she secured it with brass pins. A few opinionated tendrils escaped her efforts and floated down around the right side of her face like bothersome flies. Scowling into the tiny gilt mirror she held in one hand, she tried to trap them again, but it was no use. In the end, she pulled a few wisps out of the left side of her chignon to match the right and called it good enough.

After rubbing a few rose petals against her neck, she hurried down the narrow hall to the next door, but with one glance she saw that the room was empty. Kelvin and his sleeping companions had already begun the day, she knew, so she continued down the stairs to the hall.

Even at this early hour it was crowded. In the far corner, near the doors, an old man gave an impromptu puppet show for the mob of children that huddled at his feet. Kelvin was amongst them, sitting between Sara's foster son and a large gray dog that looked suspiciously like a wolf. Next to the beast sat a small flaxen-haired girl with her fingers curled tight in the animal's fur. Nearby, Stanford strummed a lute and sang in a melodious tone.