His Wild Highland Lass Read online

  "With your enemy, Laird Parthalan MacNeill. He married my sister and…and he isna a good man."

  Relieved she had not run away from a husband and all the trouble that could cause his clan because if she had been abused, he would not be returning her, he said, "But he leads his clan well, from what I know of him. His men are behind him."

  Sorcha glowered at him. "Oh, aye, and some of the women, too. Or beneath him." Her cheeks turned a brilliant red.

  "He attacked you?" Ronan was furious. There were always women willing to pleasure a clan chief if he so chose, so no man ever had to resort to forcing a lassie to his bed.

  She looked again at the floor and nodded.

  "Did he…succeed?" Ronan wasn't sending her back there, no matter what. If she chose to stay with his clan, she was welcome to stay, as long as she remained unarmed.

  "Nay." Her eyes brimmed with fresh tears.

  "Ahh, lass. Dinna fret. You can stay here with us for as long as you wish. Unless you want to return to Fib and rejoin the Barclays."

  "Nay." She brushed away more tears trailing down her cheeks.

  "They…didna want to pay a dowry to someone to marry you off," he guessed. "Instead, Parthalan agreed to wed your sister and take you in." To take advantage of her later, he suspected.

  "Aye. But you are enemies, I thought." Her eyes were so wide with astonishment, he couldn't believe she thought he might treat her ill because of her association with the MacNeills.

  "Nay. And even if we had major disagreements, I wouldna hold that against you, lass. They have no' stolen our livestock…" He paused, then frowned. "Did you see the men who stole your horse?" He realized that she must have truly had a horse, but had the men who stole it actually been searching for the lass? Had they been some of the MacNeill men looking to return her home?

  She shook her head. "By the time I woke enough, the men had moved off, and I only saw their torches deeper in the woods. I didna see them. Only heard their voices."

  "Did they mention your name?"

  "Nay, of course no'. How would they know me by name?"

  "Did you recognize any of their voices?"

  Her eyes grew wide again. "You…you think they were some of Parthalan's men?"

  "Mayhap."

  She shivered.

  Ronan saw Fagen out of the corner of his eye as he moved into the entryway, waiting for an order. "Sleep, Sorcha. The room is yours. Fagen will guard the door, but except for opening it if you ask him to bring you food, he willna intrude on your sleep."

  "You are having the chamber guarded so that I dinna leave."

  Liking the canny lass, Ronan smiled. "And so that you feel safe. I promise no one will bother you. Rest well. We will decide on the morrow what you might feel comfortable with doing within the clan."

  "Work in the kitchen?"

  He chuckled. "I think somewhere else. I need not warn Fagen that if you do open the door or he does, that he will keep his weapons out of your reach." He bowed his head to her, but before he could close the door, Fagen gave her a smile and a wink.

  Fagen closed the door and Ronan said to him, "You know to let no one in or out."

  "Aye, my laird. And to hold onto my weapons around the lass."

  Ronan smiled, then headed down the stairs. Before he reached the great hall, he saw Alban, who quickly closed the gap between them. "Where is Ward?" Ronan asked.

  "Here." Ward stalked toward him. "What did you learn about the lass?"

  Ronan related the news to his brothers. "Change of plans. I would recover the lass's horse, but I would rather not have her brother by marriage learn she is here if the men who took her horse are some of the MacNeill clansmen. They know no' to trespass against us. So instead of looking at this as if we have the lass and know they have taken her horse, we will ask them who they are and why they are traveling on our lands."

  "You want us both to go now?" Alban asked.

  "I want Ward to stay and be in charge while you and I see to these men." Ronan knew Ward would have preferred going, but he was the second eldest and always in charge when Ronan left to take care of business that could have deadly implications for the clan. Ronan had to deal with this issue himself, not hear secondhand what had happened. "After the meal, we leave."

  Chapter 4

  Following the meal, Ronan, Alban, and fifteen men rode in the direction Sorcha had said she'd traveled. Though he wasn't certain if she had been all that sure herself. For three hours, they searched for the men who had taken Sorcha's horse when he saw movement near one of the rivers—ten men on horseback—and a spare horse, a red roan, just like Sorcha had described.

  He didn't want to fight the men, but would rather tell them they weren't welcome here and to return to their own lands.

  As soon as one of the men spied them, he let the others quickly know, motioning to Ronan and his kin. Just like them, no one drew swords, and Ronan suspected they wanted a peaceful resolution. Ronan and his men stayed where they were, keeping their distance.

  "We are no' here to fight ye," one of the men called out to them.

  "I am laird here. Ronan of the Daziel clan. What is your business on my lands?"

  "We search for a lassie, who was riding this horse," the man said, the breeze tugging at his shaggy, long, brown hair and beard, his dark eyes narrowed at Ronan. He motioned to the roan. "We found her horse, but we havena been able to locate her."

  "Your name and clan?"

  "Tuathal with the MacNeill clan, chief advisor to Laird Parthalan MacNeill."

  "Who is the woman and why would she be traveling across my lands without an escort?"

  "Sorcha of the Barclay. She is sister to our laird's wife, both daughters of a laird. We were Sorcha's escort and became separated during a storm."

  "One lassie, and a lady at that, was separated from ten men," Alban said skeptically for Ronan's ears only.

  "Aye. I believe the lass." To Tuathal, Ronan said, "Where were you escorting her to?" Ronan assumed the man would have a good answer for that also, probably having thought it over in the event they ran into any of Ronan's men.

  "She wished to see her Barclay kinsmen. She must have been thoroughly turned around to have traveled this far from the direction we were headed."

  "Aye, well, I dinna wish any bloodshed between our people, should my men run into yours traveling across my lands in the future. I will have every available man searching for the lass. Should we find her still alive, we will escort her to Craigly Castle. If we find her otherwise, we will send word. If we dinna locate her, you willna be hearing from us."

  Tuathal frowned. "A word with you in private, laird?"

  "Aye."

  Alban's brow furrowed. "Do you wish for me to stay with you?"

  Ronan said to his brother, "Nay, I will speak with the mon and see what he has to say. I will let you know shortly."

  Ronan and Tuathal rode off some distance to join each other and speak in private. When they stopped, Ronan said, "What have you to say? The truth, mayhap?"

  Tuathal's eyes narrowed and his mouth turned down. "If you suspect I dinna tell the truth, mayhap that is because you dinna." The man's shaggy brown brow quirked.

  Ronan smiled darkly. "So tell me the truth then."

  "Do you have the lass?"

  Ronan wasn't about to tell the man the fact of the matter, but he suspected the MacNeill already knew what had happened. Maybe because Ronan had taken such a force to scour his lands?

  "I dinna believe she was traveling to Barclay lands, nor that you lost her in a storm." Ronan waited for Tuathal's response.

  Tuathal looked hard at him, as if he was trying to determine what to say to make this work in his favor. "I take it you found her and she has told you some tale. Lady Akira, her sister, is desperate to receive news of her."

  "All I can say is what I have said before. We will search for the lass. If we find her, we will return her. If she is dead, we will send word. And if we dinna ever find her, that will be the end of the
matter."

  For the longest time, Tuathal's black-eyed gaze held Ronan's. But Ronan wasn't revealing anything more to the MacNeill, especially when he said Sorcha had lied about why she had left the safety of Craigly Castle. Ronan knew from her fearful actions that she had run away against her will.

  Tuathal eased back in his saddle. "All right. Here is what I believe. You have found the lass, she has told you that someone stole her horse, and you came searching for the horse thieves. But then you reconsidered, believing we may have been her escort."

  Ronan smiled. He thought nothing of the sort. The lass had been alone, of that he was certain.

  Tuathal let out his breath. "I pray she is safe with you. If we leave here and take her horse with us, Lady Akira will surely believe her sister is dead. Lady Akira is much loved by all and I canna do that to her. If we leave Sorcha's horse with you, the lass will be pleased as she loves her as much as she loves Lady Akira and her niece and nephews. This way, Lady Akira will always have hope that her sister reached a safe haven while still riding her horse. If Sorcha is on foot, Lady Akira would assume the worse."

  "As you wish. We will return both the lass and her horse should we locate her—alive."

  "Take good care of her," Tuathal said.

  "If we find her, you have my word."

  Tuathal again studied him as if he was looking for a sign that she truly was safe with the Daziel clan, then he bowed his head slightly in concession, and rode back to his men. He spoke for a moment, and one of them rode back to Ronan with the roan's reins in hand.

  With Sorcha's horse in tow, Ronan rejoined his men. They watched while the MacNeill clansmen spoke to each other, nodded at Tuathal, then headed in the direction of the MacNeill border three hours away.

  Everyone looked to Ronan to tell them how he had ended up with Sorcha's horse. When the MacNeill clansmen disappeared behind a hill, Ronan and his men headed for home.

  "What did you say to them?" Alban asked, wide-eyed.

  "He suspects she is with us and they are leaving in peace. But he didna want to take the horse with them and upset her sister. This way, she can assume she reached safety. I believe there is more to it than what he said. That, though he said Sorcha had made up a tale about what had happened to her, I am certain Tuathal knows very well what the lass has suffered. He wanted me to take care of her, which, as long as the lass agrees, we will. He knows how much she cares for the horse, and her sister and her bairns. I believe he also wishes the best for her."

  "So we keep her safe, but who is to keep our clansmen safe from her as she threatens everyone else with a dirk or a knife?" Alban asked.

  Ronan was certain once she felt safe, they would have no trouble.

  When they arrived back at the castle, Ronan hoped Sorcha would be happy to see her horse, and not be alarmed to learn he had retrieved her from the MacNeill clansmen.

  Dismounting from his horse in the inner bailey, Ronan saw movement in the narrow window of her chamber as she peered out of it, shouted something he couldn't make out, then fled.

  Ronan hadn't expected to see her burst out of the castle with Fagen trying to keep up with her, her lovely smiling lips and eyes bright with relief as she dashed to reach her horse. And her horse nickering in response. As soon as she was within touching distance, she stopped and allowed her horse to greet her. The mare nuzzled her face, and Sorcha brought her head close to hers, in a way of greeting, love, and affection. He was surprised to see just how much she understood her horse, as if she were one of Sorcha's kin. He would remember fondly the joy she showed in being reunited with her horse.

  Then, after sufficiently welcoming her horse, to his astonishment and amusement, Sorcha threw her arms around Ronan's waist and hugged him tight against her sweet, soft body, while Alban and many of their kinsmen watched.

  Instantly, his body heated as if he'd been working on the repairs on the outer wall when the sun managed to shine brightly at midday.

  Which resulted in rumors flying that Ronan and the lassie were soon to be wed. And that was the furthest thing from his mind.

  ***

  Sorcha loved that Ronan had brought her horse home, though knowing he'd gotten her from Tuathal MacNeill had been rather disconcerting. What if he truly believed Ronan had taken her hostage here? That he was holding her against her will? And then Laird MacNeill would send men to force Ronan to give her up. No matter what, she wasn't returning there to be under his rule, worrying he'd try to take advantage of her.

  Which meant, she'd been on edge any time anyone new came to the castle. For weeks, she had worried about it, but after six long weeks, she figured no one was coming for her and she relaxed.

  Even though she was a lady, and Ronan had tried to keep her from doing servant-type tasks, she was used to getting her hands dirty and she loved helping others. It made his clansmen accept her, which was the most important thing to her, always. Family and acceptance, which made her sad to think her sister didn't know for sure what had happened to her. She hoped she and her children were doing well.

  Then Sorcha smiled to see some of the men rebuilding the outer curtain wall, and she hurried to join them.

  ***

  When Ward sought Ronan out, he wondered what the matter was now. He suspected it had something to do with Sorcha. Ever since she'd rested from her ordeal and began working with his clanswomen, they'd had trouble with her.

  "What now?" Ronan motioned for Ward to close the door to his solar so they could speak in private.

  Ward was grinning. "If you would just wed the lass, then all would be well. She could be in charge of the staff as your wife, and no one would disagree with her."

  "What has happened now?" Ronan wasn't getting into this discussion again. He had plans to marry a clan chief's daughter, specifically of the Montgomery Clan. The marriage would help to unify the two clans so that they could call on each other in times of strife. That was the way it was done. Love matches were unimportant.

  Aye, the woman he would wed would have his bairns, and so he wished a wife who was appealing enough. And someone who was able to manage the staff because he fully intended to arrange a match for Elspeth, and then his wife would take care of things here.

  Yet, he couldn't help but think of what it would be like bedding the bonny lass. Sorcha was so passionate, so vibrant, so… well, desirable. But he had to think of the clan's needs first.

  Ward folded his arms. "You said she couldna join the women who sew because that would mean she would need a knife to cut off threads and the like. Sewing is one of the things she loves to do best. She refuses to wash the clothes as she abhors the duty, mayhap because she wouldna be armed—per your orders."

  Ronan shook his head. "Maybe we should put her in charge of weapon's training with regard to handling a dirk." But he wasn't serious.

  "I fear she would agree to do such a task and might injure someone."

  "So what is wrong now?"

  "She offered to help repair the curtain wall."

  Ronan frowned at Ward. "You canna be serious."

  "Aye. She said she likes working in the mud, and she would be happy to do it."

  "Nay, 'tis no' a woman's job." As if she would have ever been allowed to work at Craigly Castle in such a capacity. Certainly not here. No matter what, Ronan didn't want her working close to the men when they bared their chests in the heat of the summer day.

  A knock sounded on the door and Ronan said, "Come."

  Alban opened the door, wearing his belted plaid about his hips, his bare skin bronzed and sweaty, gray mud splatters all over it. "Did you tell Ronan the lass is helping us repair the wall?"

  Ronan bolted from his bench and left the solar, giving Ward a scathing look for not having informed him she was actually working on the wall! "Whatever possessed the lass to do such a thing when I wouldna approve?"

  "I think she is looking for a husband among us. She isna doing a bad job with the mud, as inexperienced as she is. But half the time she is watching
us, and I dinna believe 'tis because she is attempting to learn how to apply the mud properly, either."

  Ronan growled. He couldn't imagine the lass married to one of his clansmen, sharing her cheerful smiles, taking rides near the castle with the man, making love to him at night.

  When Ronan reached the outer baily where the improvements were being made, he found Sorcha laughing with his men as she smoothed the mud in place, while four of the men hoisted a stone in place.

  One of the men spied him coming and quickly warned the others, "Our laird is coming."

  They knew he would not permit the lass to toil with them.

  Everyone, including the lass, turned to see him approach. His men were giving him cocky grins as they stood too near the lass, half naked.

  At least she was not half naked. Her golden hair had been pulled back, tendrils of it curling over her shoulders, splotches of mud on her cheeks and gown, her hands covered in it.

  "Go," he said to her. "Wash up."

  She scowled at him.

  "If you persist in this foolishness…"

  "They need my help."

  His men chuckled, but when they saw his dark look, they quieted, still smiling though, and turned to labor further on the wall.

  Ronan frowned at her. "This isna a role for a lass."

  "Fine." She stalked off toward the gate to the outer bailey.

  "Hold! Where do you think you are going?" Ronan couldn't believe she was thinking of going beyond the curtain walls of the castle, alone, without her horse or an escort. She never did. He wouldn't allow it, and he didn't believe she would wish to. Or that she would give him further grief. He should have known better.

  She turned, folded her arms across her waist, and scowled. "You commanded me to bathe. How am I to do that? Carry a tub by myself to my chamber? Carry all the buckets up there to wash in? I will wash in the loch. Much easier and I will be no trouble to anyone."

  In disbelief, he stared at the wee hellion. All he could do was envision her naked in the loch, her ivory skin bared to heaven and for all to see. Getting his thoughts where they needed to be, though it was a struggle, he realized what she was saying. The servants would not prepare a bath for her without his order.