Page 13 of The Highlander’s Illicit Bride (Wicked Highland Lairds #1)

CHAPTER TWELVE

I solde Mackintosh was a puzzle. An enigma. She was a contradiction in more ways than Struan could count. But that element of mystery about her was intoxicating. Addictive. And Struan found the more he learned about her, the more he wanted to know everything about her.

Struan rode with her in front of him, pondering everything about her. Craving to know more.

It was foolish, he knew. Once she told him where Finlay was being held, he would have to see to rescuing his brother and tending to his people. He would have to prepare them for any coming conflict that Murdoch was more than likely to prepare. And Isolde… he knew that she would go on her way.

She had made her desire to leave perfectly clear.

Still, the thought of never seeing her again sent an unexpected stitch through his heart.

He had an overwhelming desire to protect her, to shield her from everything bad in the world.

In their short time on the road together, he had grown close to her, he had opened himself up to her in ways he’d never opened up to anybody before.

He constantly found himself reaching out to touch her. Wanting the physical contact, relishing the warmth of her skin and lamenting its absence. It confounded him, and yet, it was also the most exhilarating feeling he’d ever had.

Struan shook his head and tried to clear his mind—and his heart—of those thoughts.

He couldn’t afford to indulge in them. He had a brother to rescue and a clan to prepare for the coming fight.

His people mattered more to him than anything else in this world and he would do anything and everything in his power to keep them safe.

Even if it meant sacrificing things he might want for himself.

First, I need tae stop thinkin’ about her though.

“Ye’re awfully quiet,” Isolde said.

“I’ve nae much tae say, I suppose.”

“Nay? Nae much tae say, eh? And here I thought ye enjoyed me company.”

“I… I dae.” Struan blinked, caught off guard by his own admission. He hadn’t meant to say it, but the truth had slipped out all the same.

“And I, that ye enjoyed hearin’ the sound of me voice,” he teased.

She laughed. “Now ye’re just bein’ full of yerself.”

“Aye. But ye kind of like that. I can tell.”

“Oh, can ye now?”

“Aye. I can.”

She shook her head. “Ye’re insufferable.”

“Aye. But I think ye like that too.”

Her whole body shook as she laughed and Struan relished the feeling of her pressed against him as she did. He enjoyed her warmth. He enjoyed the softness of her curves. But most of all, he liked hearing her laugh.

“Ye are a donkey,” she said then quickly added. “And nay, I dinnae like that.”

He shrugged. “Ye can deny it but I can tell ye enjoy me company.”

“And ye enjoy mine.”

“I never denied it.”

She opened her mouth as if to respond, then closed it again without saying anything, but the silence in the air lightened. The tension faded. And they rode on in a companionable silence rather than the tense, brooding affair it had been.

They had enjoyed an early, hearty breakfast in the common room narrowed with the tall, thick trees pressing close on either side.

The were now riding down a narrow road that was going to slow them down.

There was part of Struan that wanted to take to the main road, ride as hard and fast as he could, and get to Achnacarry.

And if he had not had Isolde in his care, he probably would have, even if it meant stumbling upon foes and brigands.

But Isolde was there and if anything happened to her, he would not have forgiven himself.

The thought of her being hurt—or worse—being dragged back to her father in chains upset him more than he liked to admit.

“We need tae dismount and walk the horse along the path,” he said and with a finger Struan pointed at the path ahead of them. “It’ll be easier if we go on foot.”

Struan brought the horse to a stop and slipped off the back.

He turned and reached for Isolde, his hands curling around her waist as he lifted her down.

Her skirts brushed against his chest, her breath feathering his neck, and for a heartbeat, neither moved.

He set her down on the ground, then took hold of the horse’s reins.

“Come on,” he said. “Stay close and keep yer eyes open then, eh?”

“Aye.”

Shafts of sunlight speared down through the thick canopy overhead, making the motes of dust sparkle like flakes of gold in the bright light.

The air around them was thick with the damp, earthy musk of the forest. Birds sang in the branches overhead and small animals rustled the bushes as they scurried away.

Isolde pointed to what appeared to be claw marks on a thick tree trunk beside them. “Looks like there are bears in the area,” she said. “Those marks look fresh.”

Struan nodded. “Aye. Looks like it.”

He scanned the thick forest around them, his eyes cutting left and right.

It wasn’t only men they needed to be wary of that deep in the woods.

There were plenty of natural predators who’d undoubtedly see them as a tempting food source.

Growing up, his father had made sure he knewwhat to look for and more importantly, what to do if he ever found himself in a dangerous confrontation.

Struan could tell the difference between various tracks—bear, mountain lion, deer, and more. He knew the signs of their passing. Those things had been ingrained in him from an early age. But they were not, by any means, common knowledge for noble lasses. So Isolde’s comment took him by surprised.

“How’d ye ken those were bear scratches and nae somethin’ else?” he asked.

“When I was young, I asked a lot of questions of the people who kent these things. I always enjoyed learnin’,” she said and then her smile faltered. “Me faither put an end tae that though. Said ‘twas nae ladylike tae be askin’ so many questions or learnin’ things only men should ken.”

Struan frowned. He thought that was stupid.

Living among the trees, as so many Scots did, it made sense to know everything a person could counter.

It helped keep people safe. But then, he supposed, for a woman who was likely going to be married off and forced to spend her life inside a castle’s walls, it perhaps didn’t matter as much.

There was far less of a chance of being attacked by a bear inside a castle’s bedchamber.

However, he couldn’t help but admire her desire for knowledge. Isolde had such a fiery and vibrant spirit, it was difficult to imagine her being kept in a cage her whole life. Difficult to think about having that thirst for knowledge and that vivaciousness he had seen bits and pieces of stifled.

As they walked the path, Isolde casually pointed out different things—animal tracks and broken branches that served as trail markers among other features.

At first, he thought she was just showing off, trying to impress him.

But a little while later, as she continued her narration of their adventure through the woods, he realized something else.

This wasn’t about showing him her depth of knowledge. Struan turned to her.

“Ye sound like somebody who kens this land well,” he said.

Her cheeks flushed and a stricken expression crossed her face. It was as if she hadn’t even been aware that she was speaking until she realized she’d said too much.

“Have ye wandered around out here a lot?” he pressed.

“I… I’ve been out here, aye.”

A sharp jag of suspicion shot through him, twisting his gut into knots. He didn’t believe she was leading him into a trap. And yet, she knew this land all too well for somebody who lived so far away from it. It piqued his curiosity and put him on edge.

“’Tis a long way from Moy Castle,” he said slowly. “How is it ye found yerself out this way?”

A long, heavy sigh burst from her lips. “’Tis because I’ve been forced tae come out tae these lands before.”

“And why is that then?”

“Struan—”

“I want tae understand how ye ken this land so well, Isolde,” he said. “Are ye leadin’ me intae a trap? Has all this been about gettin’ me back intae yer faither’s dungeons?”

Her face paled and her mouth fell open as she shook her head. Fear flashed through her features. But then the color in her cheeks faded, and an expression of indignation soon replaced the fear.

“What are ye bleedin’ talkin’ about?” she asked.

“’Twas a simple question. Are ye leadin’ me tae captivity?”

“Nay. Are ye mad?” she gasped. “I’m tryin’ tae get away from me faither as sure as ye are.”

“Then how is it ye ken this land so well?”

She sighed heavily again, her full lips curling downward.

She seemed to consider her answer for a long moment, as if debating with herself whether to tell him or not.

But when she raised her gaze again and looked into his eyes, she seemed to see the steely determination in his face. He was going to have answers.

“’Tis because me faither promised me tae Laird Dougal MacPherson. I am supposed tae marry him,” she said. “These are his lands we’re passin’ through.”

Struan studied her face closely, searching for any hint of deception. But he saw none.

“I’m sorry I didnae tell ye sooner. I just… I dinnae want tae marry Laird MacPherson. Even his own people think he’s a cruel man. I’ve got nay desire tae learn what a life with a man like that would be like. I fear what he might dae tae me.”

Sincerity marked her voice, and he could see the genuine fear in her eyes. Any thought that she was leading him into a trap and to her father’s men quickly melted away. He knew she was telling him the truth of it all.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I was just desperate tae be away from me faither before he forced me tae marry Laird MacPherson. If he’d managed … well… I think I’d rather be dead than live life as that man’s wife.”

Hearing her say that broke Struan’s heart.

In her place, he would have been just as desperate to run as she was.

He knew MacPherson’s reputation all too well.

He was more than just cruel. He was vicious.

Barbaric. If even half the things he’d heard about the man were true, then Dougal MacPherson was well and truly a monster.

And not a suitable betrothed fer a woman as enchanting as Isolde. She needs a man who sees and wants her fer who she is and not as a pawn.

The crackle of anger that lingered in his veins was not only for MacPherson, but also for Laird Mackintosh.

The man had not only murdered Rhona, he was sending his only daughter into a lion’s den and consigning her to a life of pain, fear, and misery.

To a man who might decide one day to kill her just because she said something to displease him. Or for no reason at all.

As they walked along the path again, the air between them still tense and uneasy, Struan silently renewed his vow that he would kill Murdoch Mackintosh if it was the last thing he ever did. He would kill him for Rhona.

And now, he would kill him for Isolde too.