Page 21 of The Highlander’s Illicit Bride (Wicked Highland Lairds #1)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I solde had been quiet most of the ride that day and as they drew near to Achnacarry, she was tense.

Uncertainty radiated from her like warmth from the sun.

And Struan knew she was still mentally flogging herself for what she believed was her hypocrisy.

Of course, Struan wished she had told him about his brother earlier.

But he understood why she’d kept it from him.

He understood her fear and he did not fault her for it.

Of course, it made things more difficult for him.

Though he would never say so to her, Struan wasn’t sure how he was going to keep her safe while keeping his clan away from battle at the same time.

MacPherson and her father were already out there searching for them.

If they didn’t know she was with him, they would soon enough.

And when they did, it would ignite a war, bringing both forces to bear on him. On his kin.

Isolde turned in the saddle to face him. “Can I ask ye somethin’?”

“Aye.”

A worried frown flickered across her lips and her body tensed. “How… how will yer people receive me? I mean… bein’ the daughter of Murdoch Mackintosh, I cannae think they’re goin’ tae welcome me with open arms. If I’m bein’ honest, I’m… I’m a bit worried.”

It was a question Struan had been asking himself for a little while now. He knew his people would not welcome a Mackintosh into Achnacarry at all, let alone warmly.

“I cannae say what me Council will say or think, but I will dae everything in me power as the laird tae keep ye safe. And close tae me,” he said and winked at her.

Her cheeks flushed and an expression of gratitude washed over her face. Isolde leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, her hand resting briefly at the back of his neck. The warmth of her touch lingered, and Struan’s breath caught.

Her soft lips brushing against his skin made his heart swell so big, it suddenly felt ten sizes too big for his chest. She made him feel things he was unaccustomed to. And confoundingly, she seemed able to do it with nothing more than the bat of an eye or the flick of a wrist.

“Thank ye,” she said.

The rest of the journey to Achnacarry had been in a silence that was warm and companionable. As they approached the gates in the curtain wall, Struan felt her tense. Her shoulders bunched and her body was suddenly tauter than a bowstring.

“Easy, lass,” he said. “All will be well.”

“Easy fer ye tae say,” she whispered.

“Dae ye trust me?”

“Aye. I dae.”

“Then trust me now when I tell ye all will be well.”

They rode into the yard and were immediately surrounded by Struan’s guards and household staff.

They all wore looks of relief on their faces as they helped him and Isolde down from the horse.

The crowd parted as his younger sister, Mairi, came bursting through, throwing herself into Struan’s arms. She squeezed him tight as her hazel eyes shimmered with tears.

Struan held the small, pixie-like girl tightly, gently stroking her curly red locks and murmuring words of reassurance.

She finally stepped back and turned her face, lightly dusted with freckles across the bridge of her nose, up to him. Struan smiled down at her. Mairi suddenly punched him in the arm, making him yelp then laugh.

“Ouch,” he said. “Me little sister’s gettin’ stronger.”

“Oh, shut it. Dae ye even ken how worried about ye I was?” she asked then gestured to the crowd. “How worried we all were?”

“I’m fine, little Sister.”

“Fool,” she teased before her expression grew serious. “What about Finlay?”

Struan’s smile flatted at the mention their brother. “We’re workin’ on that,” he replied.

Ewan MacAlistair, Struan’s battlefield companion and second in command stood behind her, his dark, steady eyes flat and emotionless.

Tall and broad-shouldered, a scar marred his smooth, pale cheek, and he stood with his hands clasped in front of him, stoic as ever.

But as his lifelong friend, Struan knew the man well enough to see the concern etched into his sharp features.

“’Tis good tae have ye home,” Ewan said, his voice a low rumble.

“’Tis good tae be home. And I wouldnae be if nae for this one,” he replied and motioned to Isolde whose face paled as her mouth fell open.

All eyes turned to her, and Struan watched as she stood straight, her shoulders squared, not allowing herself to flinch, no matter how uncomfortable she felt as she met the gazes of every stranger around her. She offered them a warm smile and a polite nod. He felt a flash of pride.

Ewan studied her for a moment and Struan saw the recognition dawn in his eyes.

“This is Isolde Mackintosh,” he said. “Daughter of Laird Murdoch Mackintosh.”

A gasp tore through the crowd followed by a ripple of murmurs.

Accusing and angry eyes turned toward her, and Isolde’s fear was suddenly palpable to Struan.

He turned his eyes to the crowd, sweeping everybody standing around.

He wanted to choose his words more carefully when introducing Isolde—softening the blow, perhaps, to shield her name in a way that didn’t lay her bare like a lamb among wolves.

But his best friend’s wit beat him to it. Now, it was too late.

“Aye. ’Tis Isolde Mackintosh,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “She is here as me guest and she will be afforded every courtesy as such. Am I clear?”

Muttered agreement fluttered through the crowd, but Struan could see the looks of surprise along with darker glares directed at Isolde. She stepped closer to him. He turned to a pair of chambermaids who stood close by.

“I’d like ye two tae prepare the chamber next tae me own fer Lady Isolde,” he said. “Prepare her a bath and fetch her some clean clothes. Also, get her somethin’ tae eat and drink. She needs refreshment after our journey.”

“Aye, me laird,” the two chambermaids said with a polite curtsy.

Struan turned to Isolde. “Ye need tae go with them.”

She frowned, her brow furrowing. “Where are ye goin’?”

“I have tae see the Council. We need tae begin’ makin’ plans,” he replied.

Isolde studied him, reading the tension behind his words. “I understand,” she said at last, lifting her chin. “But, if I can be of any assistance, promise me ye’ll tell me. I want tae help, Struan. Truly.”

A small smile touched his lips. “I ken it. And I’ll nae shut ye out. Ye have me word.”

She nodded once and Struan placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “It will be all right. I promise ye.”

Then turned to his sister. “Mairi, take Lady Isolde tae her chambers and help her settle in.”

Mairi looked uncertain, a small frown touching her lips. But when Struan turned a withering gaze upon her, she nodded.

“Aye. All right,” she said.

“And play nice. Isolde is me guest.”

A crooked grin touched her lips. “I’m always nice.”

“’Tis debatable.”

“Ye fool,” she said with a laugh. “Come, me lady, follow me. We’ll get ye all set up nice and proper.”

Mairi looped her arm through Isolde’s and led her away, chatting her up.

Isolde cast one last glance over her shoulder at Struan, and he gave her an encouraging nod, letting her know everything would be all right.

When they disappeared into the castle, he turned to Ewan, the smile dropping from his face, replaced by a somber expression.

“We’ve much tae talk about.”

“Before we dae, ye need tae see somethin’ that arrived fer ye yesterday,” he said.

“A surprise already?”

“A message from Mackintosh.”

On his way into the castle, Struan shook as many hands as he could, thanking the household staff for their warm welcome home and for their concern.

Ewan led him through the labyrinth of stone corridors that wound through the castle until they came to the heavy oak door of Struan’s study. Ewan pushed it open and stepped inside.

Before they had even closed the door though, a pair of scullery maids bustled in and laid trays of food and drink on the table, giving Struan a warm nod and smile.

“Has Lady Isolde gotten her bath?” Struan asked.

“Aye. ‘Tis bein’ taken care of now, me laird,” said the dark-haired maid.

Struan nodded. “And can ye make sure food is sent tae her? We’ve been on the road a while and havenae had a proper meal in ages. Make sure she eats her fill.”

“Aye, me laird. We’ll see tae it.”

“Thank ye,” he said with a nod.

After they’d gone, Struan turned to the food they’d brought in. He took a moment to savor the rich aromas filling the room and smiled.

“I’m bleedin’ starvin’,” he said.

Struan loaded a plate with roasted meat and cheese, boiled eggs, and still warm bread slathered in butter and honey.

Ewan leaned against Struan’s desk, sipping from a glass of wine as he watched him stuff his face.

Struan felt like it had been days since he’d had a proper meal and he ate until his stomach felt as if it was bursting at the seams then washed it all down with a cup of warm honey mead.

“Nae much food on the road, eh?” Ewan said.

“Havenae had much food since that bastard Mackintosh took me.”

Ewan shifted on his feet suddenly looking uncomfortable, if not a bit mournful. “Listen, Struan, I’m sorry that?—”

“’Twas nae yer fault. Ye’ve naethin’ tae be sorry about,” Struan cut him off.

Ewan frowned, clearly still upset about Struan’s capture. But it truly was not his fault, and Struan did not blame him for it, it simply had happened in the chaos and confusion of battle.

“What about Finlay?” Ewan asked.

“It would seem that Laird MacPherson is holdin’ him at Cluny House.”

“Bleedin’ hell.”

“Aye. That about sums it up.”

Ewan’s face grew dark and tight and Struan saw a flash of concern enter his eyes.

Cluny House was fortified, its soldiers well-armed and well trained.

An assault on the laird’s stronghold was a suicide mission.

Getting Finlay out would be no small feat and would likely result in a lot of bloodshed.

Of all the places he could have been, Murdoch Mackintosh had picked one of the worst.

His frown deepened as he picked at the food. “Kennin’ that, it makes the timin’ of this little note Laird Mackintosh sent along all the more curious, eh?”

“’Tis one way tae put it,” Ewan said tightly.

“All right, let’s see it.”

As Struan set his plate aside, Ewan handed him the letter. He stared at the wax seal bearing Mackintosh’s sigil for a moment before snapping it and opening the missive. He scanned the words written across the page, shaking his head as a frown crossed his lips.

“What is it?” Ewan asked.

“He’s proposin’ a swap.”

“What daes he want?”

“The southern strip of our land that borders his,” Struan said. “He’ll give us Finlay in exchange fer the land.”

“A clean, straight swap, eh?”

“Aye. So, he’s offerin’.”

“Sounds like a good deal. ‘Tis nae like we’re daein’ much with that land.”

“Sounds like a very good deal. Too good tae be true, ‘tis a trap, me thinks.”

They both laughed together for a moment before Struan crumpled up the letter and threw it into the fire. He watched it blacken and curl as it burned.

“What are we goin’ tae dae?” Ewan asked.

“We’re goin’ tae have tae rescue Finlay ourselves.”

“And what about the lass?” Ewan asked. “How’d that all come tae be?”

Struan gave him a quick rundown of their meeting and their adventure on the road back to Achnacarry. When he was finished, Ewan ran a hand through his hair and frowned.

“It daeesnae sounds like Mackintosh or MacPherson ken she’s with me.”

“They’re bound tae find out at some point.”

“Aye. I ken that,” he replied. “And I’ve been thinkin’ about that.”

Ewan looked at him waiting.

“Havin’ her here as me guest and under me protection is one thing,” he said. “But I dinnae think they’ll honor that protection.”

“I’d say probably nae. So, what is there tae dae about that?”

Struan grimaced. “I’ll nae be able tae refuse their demands tae return Isolde if she’s me guest, but if she’s me wife…”

Ewan’s eyes grew wide. “Ye cannae be serious.”

“’Tis the only way I can guarantee her safety,” he replied. “If I were tae marry her, they’d have nay grounds tae demand her return. She’d be me wife.”

“Without the permission of her faither.”

“’Tis but a tradition,” Struan countered. “I dinnae need his permission tae marry her so long as she agrees and is what she wants.”

“’Tis a reckless course, Struan.”

“Might be the only course I’ve got open tae me if I want tae protect both her and the clan.”

“Ye could always give her back?—”

“Nay. I willnae turn her over tae those bastards.”

“Struan, ye ken where this leads,” he said. “Is she worth goin’ tae war fer? Especially since we havenae yet gotten Finlay back yet.”

Struan sat back in his chair and took a long swallow of his mead, letting his friend’s reasoning go through his mind. He tried sorting through his emotion, tried to separate it from his logical thought, but he could not. They were inextricably linked. He turned to Ewan.

“Gather the Council. We’ve much tae discuss. And even more tae plan fer,” he said. “We will be gettin’ me braither back and we will be denyin’ them any claim tae Isolde.”

“Struan—”

“Dae it, Ewan,” he said abruptly. “Dae it now.”