Page 1 of The Laird’s Wicked Game (Highland Scandal #2)
Craignure,
Isle of Mull
Late July, 1318
AS LAIRD OF Dounarwyse broch, and cousin to the Maclean clan-chief, Rae liked to tell himself that he was a man who made sound decisions. He was measured and practical in nature, not impulsive and reckless like most of the men in his family.
But if that were the case, why then had he hired an attractive widow to look after his sons?
“Ye aren’t brooding again, are ye?” Jack’s voice yanked Rae from his thoughts, and he cut his younger brother a frown.
“No,” he replied gruffly. “I’m merely considering whether to tell Lady Grant the position is no longer available.”
Jack’s dark-auburn brows shot up toward his hairline. “Ye can’t do that … the woman is just about to step off the ferry. ”
Jaw clenching, Rae looked away, his gaze alighting on where the wide flat-bottomed vessel with a single sail was sliding into port.
The brothers were riding south, down the last hill before their destination. A small party of warriors on horseback followed the laird and his brother, leading two saddled garrons behind them. The small fishing port of Craignure spread out below: a collection of cottages mostly crammed along a single street that faced onto a curved white-sand beach where fishermen were hauling in their catch.
A wooden jetty thrust out from the port, where more boats bobbed with the tide, while gulls wheeled overhead, waiting for a chance to swoop and steal some of the glistening mackerel the fishermen had caught.
“Cods,” Rae muttered then. “I didn’t think this through.”
Jack snorted. “What’s to consider? Lyle and Ailean need looking after, and a widow has offered ye her services.”
“She’s a lady , Jack … it’s not a ‘proper’ arrangement.” His brother made another, rude, sound before Rae cut him a censorious look. “Esme is doing a fine job anyway.”
Jack pulled a face. “Yer sons run rings around the lass, and ye know it. Just yesterday, Tara found her in tears.”
Rae stiffened. Why hadn’t anyone told him? In truth, he’d been distracted of late. Only one month of summer remained. After that, the fog would roll in, and Dounarwyse would likely have to fend off the Ghost Raiders again. “She should have come to me,” he said stiffly. “I’d have sorted the lads out.”
“Maybe,” Jack replied, with a shake of his head. “But the fact remains, ye needed to hire someone who will take no nonsense … and Kylie Grant sounds right for the job. ”
They rode into Craignure then, slowing their coursers to a walk as they joined the throng of villagers. The port was a thriving one, although the burned-out shells of crofters’ shielings on the way in, and new sod roofs on two of the cottages on the waterfront, spoke of the recent trouble. Rae’s brow furrowed at the reminder of the two attacks Craignure had weathered over the past year.
However, he also noted another change since his previous visit—one that had nothing to do with reivers. A new tavern had opened up, to compete with the village’s older establishment, The Craignure Inn , at the opposite end of the waterfront. And as they rode past it, Rae caught sight of two scantily-clad women hanging out of the upstairs windows.
“Good afternoon, lads,” one of them called out, thrusting her lush bosom forward. “Looking for some entertainment?”
“Aye,” her companion sang out, licking plump lips. “Two fine-looking men like ye are always welcome at The Barnacle. ”
“Thank ye for the offer, lasses … but I’m a happily wedded man,” Jack replied with a roguish smile.
The women pouted.
“It’s just a silver penny a-piece,” the first answered, not easily put off. “For an afternoon of hot, sweaty pleasure!”
Still grinning, Jack glanced at Rae. “Hear that? Ye should come back here later and take them both for that price.”
Rae flashed him a scowl in reply, and Jack laughed. “The look on yer face … I swear it could curdle milk.” He paused then, his expression turning wicked. “When did ye turn into a prude, brother?”
“Shut yer mouth,” Rae growled. He was on edge as it was this afternoon and wasn’t taking well to Jack’s ribbing. For a long while, the two brothers had been estranged, but nearly four years earlier, they’d reconciled, and Jack now captained his Guard. They usually got on well enough too, except for when Jack pushed things—as he was now.
“Cods, ye are a grumpy bastard these days,” Jack said, with a rueful shake of his head. “Who knows … a tumble with those two might improve yer mood.”
“Enough,” Rae shot back. “And wipe that smirk off yer face before I do.”
Behind him, he heard some of his men call out to the women, and shortly after, the musical sound of feminine laughter carried through the morning air.
Rae did his best to ignore it, even as an odd ache rose in his chest. His men seemed able to make light of things, to laugh and be in the moment, but he couldn’t. Of late, he’d been easily irritated and often found himself entertaining bitter thoughts.
They rode on, approaching the crowd that had gathered to meet the ferry. Then, swinging down from their horses, they waited for the passengers to disembark. Rae’s warriors drew up a few yards back, their gazes curious as they observed the boat.
As he stood there, the pungent smell of smoking herring from the shop a few yards away tickling his nose, Rae did his best to soften his expression.
Jack was right: when Rae’s mood was sour, his face was forbidding. Even his wayward sons quietened under his withering stare. His brother had spoken true about something else as well. Lady Grant had traveled from her late husband’s broch in northern Argyll to reach him; he couldn’t send her away.
No, he’d offered her a position at Dounarwyse, and he’d go through with it, even if his gut told him he was making a mistake .
The ferry was emptying now—men, women, and horses making their way onto the pier.
And there, amongst them, Rae spotted her.
Actually, he saw her sister first. Makenna swept her way up the wooden dock, her cape fluttering behind her. As he recalled from when they’d met at Moy Castle on Mull’s southern coast, the lass wore a surcote that had been split at the sides for ease of movement. She carried a longsword and a dirk at her hip, and a bow and quiver of arrows upon her back.
Kylie Grant followed a few steps behind her self-confident sister. The widow wore a blue-grey surcote over a butter-yellow kirtle. Her oak-colored hair was twisted in a tight braid that crowned her head; it was a prim, severe style, although Rae’s belly tensed as his gaze lingered upon her.
The woman likely didn’t realize it, but that hairstyle, far from making her look like a stern widow, merely highlighted the graceful sweep of her long neck.
One evening at Moy, he’d caught himself staring at that neck, his rod stiffening as he imagined sinking his teeth into her soft pale skin.
Rae checked himself now as his thoughts traveled in the same direction.
The woman had only just stepped off the ferry, and he was having lascivious, depraved thoughts.
This wouldn’t do.
In truth, the offers from those lewd lasses at The Barnacle had tempted him more than he’d ever admit to Jack. What would it be like to give himself over to lust, to have two lovers in his bed?
He started to sweat at the thought.
The only woman he’d ever bedded in his thirty-four years had been his wife, and these days, frustration simmered within him like a pot about to boil over. Jack was wrong—he wasn’t a prude. He’d been a painfully shy lad, and a virgin on his wedding night. However, to his disappointment, Donalda had never welcomed his touch, and had only suffered their coupling so her womb would quicken with bairn. If he’d ever tried to bite her neck, she’d have slapped him soundly.
The memory of his passionless marriage brought with it a clutch of familiar guilt, which doused any lusty thoughts, as if someone had just thrown a pail of cold water over him.
And just as well too, for Lady Grant had spied him.
Her full lips curved, and she lifted a hand, waving to him. Next to her, Makenna also saw him and grinned.
“Interesting,” Jack murmured. “The widow travels with a female bodyguard, it seems.”
Rae snorted before casting his brother a sidelong look. “I told ye Lady Grant’s younger sister would accompany her. She serves in her father’s Guard at Meggernie.”
“She does?”
“Aye … and she doesn’t suffer fools either, so I’d keep yer tongue leashed.”