Page 10 of The Highlander’s Illicit Bride (Wicked Highland Lairds #1)

CHAPTER NINE

S truan had let her sleep for a bit longer, and Isolde was grateful for it.

She woke up feeling refreshed and far better for having slept on a soft bed rather than on the hard packed ground of the crofter’s hut.

She stretched luxuriously and for a moment, let herself pretend she was in her own castle, with her own bed, living the life she wanted, rather than on the run from men who would see her dragged back to her father in chains, forced to live the life they wanted her to.

“Ye hungry?”

Struan’s voice shattered that brief fantasy and as she gave herself a little shake, clearing away the cobwebs of sleep that clung to the corners of her mind, and her vision came into focus, she saw him sitting in a chair at the small desk beneath the lone window in the room.

She had to admit, though only to herself, that he wasn’t half-bad to wake up to. There were certainly worse things—and people—to see the moment she opened her eyes.

“I suppose I could stand tae eat somethin’,” she admitted.

“I could as well,” he said. “Let’s go down tae the common room and get us a hot meal.”

“That sounds lovely.”

They tidied themselves up and walked out of the room and downstairs together.

Night had fallen and the common room was dim, lit only by several oil lamps that hung from the rafters and the flames inside the great hearth on the far side of the room.

They took a seat at an empty table and a moment later, a serving girl came out.

“Two cups of ale and two whiskies,” Struan said. “Also, two plates of food.”

“Meat and veggies all right fer ya?”

“Aye,” he replied. “Also bring some bread—warm if ye got it.”

“Right away.”

Isolde was thankful to not have to make a decision about what to eat and drink.

The truth was, she was so hungry, she didn’t actually care what they put in front of her.

Struan excused himself for a moment and walked over to the innkeeper and had a few quiet words with him.

The man nodded and although she wasn’t a lip reader, she was able to make out the words, “right away,” leaving Isolde wondering what that was all about.

Struan returned to their table and took his seat across from her.

A few moments later, the serving girl came back with their food and drink.

Isolde breathed in the delicious aromas.

Struan raised his cup of ale to her and giggling to herself, Isolde picked up her own cup and tapped it against his.

They both took a drink then tucked into their meals.

The food was amazing—it tasted even better than it smelled.

And the ale was strong. It was far stronger than the watered-down wine she normally imbibed and she immediately felt the effects it was having on her.

Her head grew muzzy, but it made her feel lighter. And it took the edge off things nicely.

“Ye two are a lovely couple.”

The woman’s voice snapped Isolde out of her head. She turned to see an older couple, both of them white-haired, smiling at her. The woman was small, the man large and gruff. Isolde noticed they were holding hands and felt her heart warm.

“I’m sorry? I wasnae payin’ attention,” Isolde asked.

“I said ye two are a lovely couple.”

Struan looked mortified and opened his mouth, likely to refute the woman’s words. But Isolde felt a wicked streak of mischief shoot through her and she smiled wide at the older woman.

“Why, thank ye,” she said, preempting Struan. “We’re very happy.”

Her ‘husband’ stared at her in silence for a long moment but as she grinned at him, her eyes glittering mischievously, the tension in his shoulders eased and a slow grin spread across his lips. He tipped her a wink then turned and looked at the older woman.

“Aye. We’re very happy indeed,” he said, playing along with her.

“’Tis wonderful tae see a young couple in love,” the woman said. “Ye two remind me of Angus and me here when we were yer age.”

“What a lovely thing tae say,” Isolde said. “Ye two are a lovely couple yerselves. And how long have ye been together?”

“Oh,” the woman said with a laugh. “Far longer than either of us would care tae admit.”

Angus smiled and nodded his head. He patted his wife’s hand gently and the way he looked at her was with the purest adoration Isolde had ever seen. It was the way she’d always dreamed of her husband looking at her.

“Would ye mind me givin’ ye a little bit of advice, love?” the woman asked.

“Nae at all.”

“Dinnae ever go tae bed mad at one another,” she said.

“Whatever yer problems, nay matter how big of a fight ye’ve had, dae whatever ye have tae dae tae make amends before ye go tae bed.

The last thing ye want tae dae is wake up in the mornin’ still mad at each other…

or, may God himself forbid it, one of ye daesnae make it through the night.

Ye dinnae want the last words ye speak tae be spoken in anger. ”

“’Tis very good advice,” Isolde said. “Thank ye fer sharin’ that with us.”

“Aye,” Struan said, laying his hand on her arm. “Me wife and I will take it tae heart.”

The feeling of his hand on her arm and the way his fingertips brushed her skin made Isolde’s stomach turn over on itself as rivers of fire flowed through her veins.

She did not know if it was simply the drink she’d had, but she felt suddenly unsteady and she swayed in her seat.

Struan pulled his hand away, leaving her skin cold and she lamented its absence.

But he looked at her with genuine concern in his face.

“Are ye all right?” he asked.

“Aye. I just feel… lightheaded. A little fuzzy.”

“Let’s get ye back tae the room then, eh?”

Struan helped Isolde to her feet before she could reply, and she leaned against him heavily. Her legs trembled and her knees shook. She felt like they were ready to give out beneath her at any moment. Struan held her upright and kept her steady, moving as they ascended the staircase.

“Bleedin’ hell,” he said. “Ye’re drunk.”

“I’m nae drunk,” she replied then paused to consider. “Actually, maybe I am.”

“How in the bleedin’ hell can ye be drunk?” he asked. “Ye had a cup of ale and a whisky? ‘Tis nae like ye drank a lot. Surely ye had more at yer faither’s banquets?”

“Me faither only ever allowed me tae drink watered wine.”

“Oh,” he replied, genuinely surprised.

“He said only women of low morals and character allow themselves tae get drunk,” she said. “’Tis why he always watered me wine.”

Although she didn’t necessarily enjoy the feeling of being drunk, mostly because she didn’t enjoy feeling out of control, Isolde let herself savor the moment.

She’d made the choice to drink with dinner and she felt good about that.

It had been her decision. One of the first she’d ever made for herself.

Her father controlled every facet of her life at Moy Castle, so she reveled in the feeling of having made her own decision.

They made it back to the room and on the far side saw the bathing tub. Thick tendrils of steam curled off the surface of the tub, the air in the room was warm and humid, and a myriad of herbs filled her nose. She turned to Struan, and he shrugged.

“I thought ye might want a hot bath,” he said.

“’Twas very thoughtful of ye.”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll go downstairs and have another drink while ye enjoy the tub. Before I go is there anythin’ I can get fer ye though?”

She pursed her lips. “Nay. I think this is enough. And… again. Thank ye.”

“Ye’re welcome.”

Isolde fumbled with the ties on her breeches. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy as she tried to untie them. She gritted her teeth and tried again to untie them—and failed again.

“Bleedin’ hell,” she muttered.

“What is it?”

She looked up to see Struan standing in the doorway, looking at her with concern on his face. She heaved a sigh and shrugged.

“I’m havin’ trouble with these ties,” she grumbled.

“Dae ye need me help?”

She opened her mouth to object, feeling like that might be far too intimate and inappropriate.

But as she stared at the still-tied laces on her breeches and then at her fingers, which suddenly seemed clumsy and thicker than sausages, she heaved another sigh, desperate to slip into the warm, fragranced water.

“Please,” she said grudgingly.

Chuckling to himself, Struan walked back into the room and stood before her.

Their gazes met and Isolde drew in a sharp breath.

The air between them grew immediately charged and warmth blossomed in her belly.

As he reached down, the tips of his fingers brushed her skin and that heat in her stomach descended into lower parts of her anatomy.

He never took his eyes off hers as he untied her laces, slowly and with an almost sensual flair.

The moment felt so intense, Isolde felt as if she was holding her breath the entire time.

“There ye go,” he said.

She glanced down and saw the laces of her breeches hanging loose and untied. Her cheeks bloomed with heat at her inability to navigate something as simple as that.

“Thank ye,” she said.

“Ye’re welcome,” he replied. “Now, I’ll go and let ye enjoy yerself.”

He closed the door behind him, leaving her in peace.

She fumbled with her clothes but managed to get them off and then slipped into the water.

A soft moan passed her lips as she leaned back, sinking into it up to her chin.

The fragrance of the herbs was delightful and the heat from the water seeping into her bones was heavenly.

She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly and after a while she already started to feel better, the two drinks she had had wearing off.

As her mind and body began to relax and loosen up, her thoughts turned to Struan and their journey so far.

And as she did, she felt a stab of guilt.

By not telling him where Finlay was being kept, she was in essence, keeping his brother hostage every bit as her father was.

He had been nothing but kind and thoughtful to her.

And that is how I am repaying him.

As guilty as she felt though, she couldn’t tell him. Not until they were safely away from Moy Castle and she was well outside her father’s reach. Even more than that though, she was anxious to be away from Laird Dougal MacPherson, her father’s ally and the man he’d intended to marry her to.

She couldn’t risk being caught, going back to that life of servitude.

A life of chains. She had no doubt if she was caught and forced to wed Laird MacPherson, both her father and her new husband would make her suffer for what she’d done.

So, although she felt guilty, Isolde couldn’t—and wouldn’t—reveal what she knew until Struan had kept up his end of their deal.