Highlander’s Mysterious Lady (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance) Read online

  “Indeed it did,” she laughed softly. Sshe let Brodie lead her to the table he had just vacated. He purposefully avoided the searching gazes of the tavern’s patrons as they passed them, weaving in and out of tables full of staring eyes and gobsmacked faces. Brodie couldn’t tell if they were merely shocked to see an English lady in their midst, or if they were shocked that any lady had the gall to step into a tavern full of Scots who were currently aiming the majority of their hatred at the ruling classes—Sassenachs included.

  Protectiveness bubbled in him again, and he felt the fiercest urge to fight anyone who said a word to the lass that was anything other than welcoming. This urge was followed by more confusing thoughts. Just what about this lass was making him feel so strongly, when for months, there had been naught strong about him, emotionally or otherwise?

  Mayhaps she’s a witch, he thought, though it was in jest. Brodie did not believe in witchcraft or those who practiced it. What he did find in her was the power of this beautiful Sassenach woman to enchant and enthrall him, body and soul. And that was far more frightening than the prospect of being in the presence of someone who knew the magical arts.

  Brodie looked over at the lass and saw she was hesitating. Looking down, he realized his hand was on her chair, which was still tucked into the table.

  Feeling a mite silly, he quickly pulled the chair out and gestured for her to sit down. She collapsed into it, a groan—whether of the pain or pleasure, he could not be sure—escaping her mouth as she settled into the seat. It was a hard wooden thing with no cushion, but Brodie imagined that after the day she’d had, even a stone floor would feel comfortable. Walking any number of miles without shoes was difficult, but to slip and slide in the mud, unable to see well thanks to the clouded night, would be enough to fatigue even the very hardiest of soldiers.

  “Thank you,” she gave Brodie a tired half-smile that was nonetheless devastating.

  “My pleasure, lass,” he answered, keeping his eyes purposefully off her beautiful honey-blue ones before turning around and heading to the barman, who he knew was also the owner of the inn.

  “Ye heard what the lass wanted, man,” Brodie said, nodding his head back toward the table in the far back where the lady was now ensconced. “A room an’ a meal, as quick as ye can.”

  The barman began to argue. “Ye must understand what a position yer puttin’ me in, here. It’s clear the lass needs a bed, but did ye not notice th’ looks ye both were gettin’ as ye led her to the table? Her kind isnae most welcome here. Those clearances hae made things a mite tense between those crofters.” He nodded at the patrons behind Brodie, sipping their beers and whispering amongst themselves. “I’m not sure this is th’ best place fer ye. I can offer ye a room down th’ road. Me brother has a cottage, an’ I’m sure as he’d be able tae offer ye a room fer the night,” the barman said, adding quickly, “at no charge, o’ course,” when he noticed Brodie’s increasing frown.

  “Nay, lad, that willnae dae. That lass will be stayin’ here tonight, an’ if there’s anyone who objects, ye can send them me way,” Brodie could barely restrain himself from growling at the man. He bit back his emotions and tried to calm himself with deep breaths as somewhat sternly, he took enough coin for a room, meal, and a stabled horse from his coin pouch, then placed it on the bar between them.

  He looked up to find the barman nodding nervously. “Aye, as ye wish,” he stuttered, before turning around and walking toward the kitchen.

  “One hot supper, an’ make sure it’s good an’ steamin’, Michael!” he said, yelling to the cook bustling about the kitchen.

  Brodie smiled at the man in gratitude, though he worried it was more of a simper than a smile. “Many thanks, lad. Now, if ye’d be so kind as tae pour two pints o’ cider fer meself an’ the lady, I’ll leave ye alone fer a bit.”

  The barman looked somewhat cheered at this prospect, no doubt eager to get rid of Brodie, and quickly set to pulling the pints, filling them with sweet cider. Brodie figured the lass would prefer it to the strong, bitter ale that he usually favored. Beer was not the drink of fine ladies like this lass.

  But she is extraordinary, he reminded himself. Ale might just be her drink o’ choice, fer all ye ken.

  The true extent of her extraordinary nature was proved a moment later as Brodie made his way back to the table, where he saw the barmaid who had propositioned him earlier leaning over the lass. Walking closer, Brodie could hear the woman’s whispered words, which were so acrid, they practically left a bitter taste in his mouth just hearing them.

  “Did ye not think tae bring an escort with ye, lass? Surely no woman o’ sense travels without a man tae protect her. Hae ye nae Sassenach husband, nae lover, tae keep ye safe? I thought ladies like yerself never traveled without a whole army behind ye. Ye’d dae well to protect yerself in these parts. Yer kind isn’t much welcome here at th’ moment.”

  The maid was talking about the clearances, just like the barman. Though the relationship between England and Scotland had improved dramatically since becoming a union nearly a century ago, the clearances reignited long-held prejudices against the Scots’ neighbors down South. As farmers became crofters who were then sent abroad due to overcrowding, parts of Scotland dredged up previous prejudices, particularly towards the wealthiest of the English, who were lumped in with Scottish landowners as being “the enemy.”

  This was why Brodie had kept his true identity a secret, paying for his room under the name “Brodie Campbell” and giving his finery a miss, to better blend in as one of the common men. The last thing he needed was a bunch of locals battering him for his title, a factor in his life over which he had absolutely no control.

  And it was the same with this lass. No doubt she had been born into the ton; it was not her fault that she was automatically a part of the same group the enemy occupied. And from the sounds of it, she did not seem remotely like those terrible landowners that had caused such problems for the Scottish people. If she was so distraught over the death of her servants, she was already setting herself apart from the devils who had sent the crofters to Australia and all over.

  Brodie knew he needed to calm the maid down before further insults were thrown. She looked like a lass who was begging for a fight, whereas the Sassenach looked so tired Brodie wouldn’t be surprised if she fell asleep right there and then. After the day she’d had, a prejudiced tirade was the last thing she needed.

  Brodie stepped forward and was about to open his mouth to defend the lass when the maid continued her insults. “Perhaps it’s not that ye forgot yer man, but rather that ye hae none. I’d imagine it’s a mite hard tae find a long-term lover, lookin’ as ye dae,” she said, pointedly glancing up and down at the Sassenach’s dress as though she must always be covered in muck and mire.

  The Sassenach’s face lit up at this insult. Before Brodie could move or speak, she stood up with such speed that her chair rocked on its legs. Stepping toward the barmaid with her finger posed to poke at the maid’s chest, she growled, “No, I do not have a husband or lover to keep me safe! He died some years ago, and I thank you for the reminder on this most wretched day.”

  The maid looked slightly appalled and started to back away, but the Sassenach followed her, her index finger still pointing straight at the barmaid’s chest. “And though I have no man and, as you so charmingly noted, am not likely to find another, I was living alone and traveled with loyal, capable staff who would risk their lives to protect me. Two of them did so today, and are dead now because of me. Now, you might think that my due, since I am highborn and therefore must be a monster, but it is a hardship nonetheless, and not one I feel particularly equipped to bear. So please do leave me alone. I have suffered enough already without having to listen to your rude words.”

  Brodie watched as the barmaid backed away, her shoulders slumped, and her head hung low as she walked toward the bar, looking suitably cowed. Turning back, he saw the lass was breathing hard, and still glaring at the maid like
she needed to see the woman disappear before she could truly relax.

  Extraordinary, indeed.

  But while it warmed him to know the lass could take care of herself, it saddened him because tonight of all nights, she should not have to.

  She ought tae be taken care o’ right now, not be fightin’ verbal battles against a such a fool as that lass. That was the very last thing she needed.

  Again, his protective instincts were taking over, and he had the fiercest urge to put the pints down and take her into his arms, whispering calming platitudes in her ear until her breathing slowed and she stopped looking like an animal preparing to fight its predator. Instead, he resisted, putting the drinks down and calmly, turning toward the lass as though he had not just imagined what her body might feel like held tight against his. No, he would banish those thoughts from his mind, forget he had ever had them in the first place. It was not right, not for either of them.

  “Well, I was about tae speak fer ye, but it’s quite clear yer more than able tae defend yerself, lass,” he held out her chair.

  “Yes, well. Needs must,” she muttered, turning toward him with a wan smile and taking a seat.

  “Have a cider. Ye’ve more than deserved it,” he said, sliding a glass over to her and taking his own chair. She deserved far more than a cider, but with a room full of people surrounding them, that was all he could properly offer.

  Chapter Six

  “One room left? But that cannae be true. I thought I saw at least five empty rooms when I was being led tae me own earlier this evenin’,” Brodie said, shaking his head. All those good spirits from a moment ago had just been dashed. The barman had relayed bad news: the inn had no more rooms available. He’d just gone to check his books and realized that Brodie’s was the last room available. Why he had not realized this when Brodie first asked for the room was slightly confusing, but besides the point. What Brodie needed to deal with right now was not the barman’s stupidity, but rather, the fact that the lass had nowhere to lie down and rest for the night.

  “I’m sorry, but yers were the last available room,” the barman whispered, looking genuinely contrite—though whether that was because he actually felt bad, or whether he was just afraid of Brodie and his wrath, Brodie couldn’t tell.

  An’ it doesnae matter, he reminded himself. The lass was what mattered.

  Therefore, Brodie scrubbed a hand over his face and said, “Fine. Give ‘er me room. I’ll sleep in th’ stables.”

  “B-but, I couldn’ae let ye dae such a thing! Surely the lass can sleep outside, or perhaps I could offer her me child’s bed. The wee one doesnae need a cot of her own, ye ken, an’—”

  “Och, man, hae ye nae decency? We’ll nae be stealin’ yer bairn’s bed! First, ye offer me yer brother’s cottage, an’ now this? Leave yer family’s beds alone, man. Cripes!” Brodie barked, wincing when he realized how loud he’d just been. He could feel curious eyes boring through his back, but he resisted the urge to turn around and glare at the audience he and the barman had clearly attracted.

  He and the barman were standing in a small alcove near the kitchen for this private conversation. Brodie was glad the lass was tucked into the back of the tavern, with her view of the alcove blocked. Brodie didn’t want her to see the look of frustration on his face; his brother had often told him he resembled Caorthannach, the Celtic fire-spitting demon of legend. Brodie did not want the lass to see him in such a frightening state. It did not put him to best advantage, and though he hardly knew her, he cared what perception of him she had. Cared more than he wanted to admit.

  “We’ll nae rob yer bairn of her bed. I’ll sort it with th’ lass. I’m fine sleepin’ in th’ stables. Wouldnae be th’ first time, nae th’ last, I expect,” he grumbled, taking the pints the barman offered as recompense and shepherding them to the lass’ table.

  It was true that Brodie had slept in a barn before, though he had not done it since he was a lad, and his favorite horse was sick. He was not entirely sure that his thirty-year-old body would weather the experience quite in the same way as his fourteen-year-old one had done, but he was willing to make sacrifices to ensure the lass’ comfort. Lord knew she deserved it after the day she’d had. He would sleep on rocks if it meant she got the rest she needed.

  “They were oot of cider, unfortunately. I’ve brought ye ale, but if ye hate it, I’m sure I can get th’ barman tae find ye somethin’ else,” Brodie said, setting the lass’s pint glass down in front of her.

  She looked suspiciously at the dark brown liquid sloshing in the glass. “I have to admit I have never tried it,” she said, hesitantly taking the glass in her hand.

  “What does it taste like?” she asked, sniffing the rim of the glass reluctantly.

  Brodie had to hold back a laugh. He’d never seen someone so hesitant with the drink before. It was rather endearing, really. Everything about her was frustratingly appealing.

  “The taste is bitter, but it’ll go doon easy. Makes ye warm an’ relaxed as well, an’ that’s no doubt what ye need right aboot now,” he raised his glass and nodded at her.

  She did the same before bringing the glass to her lips and taking a small sip.

  “Well?” he asked when she had swallowed.

  Upon setting her glass down, her expression was unreadable, but a short, loud laugh escaped her mouth, followed by a grin.

  “It’s…well, it’s rather good!” she said with another laugh.

  “Aye?” he asked, surprised. He hadn’t known many women to like ale. Helena preferred claret above all else, and even the castle’s hardiest kitchen maids shunned ale in favor of whiskey, claiming the former was much easier going down.

  But of course, this Sassenach was special.

  “Yes! I’m sure it’s entirely inappropriate for me to drink such a thing, but just at this moment, I find I do not have it in me to care,” she said, punctuating her statement with another sip—this one longer, allowing Brodie a tantalizing view of her throat as it moved.

  Necks had never been particularly attractive to Brodie, but this lassie’s was long and lean, like a graceful, sloping, regal swan’s neck. He found he had a fierce urge to lean over and run his lips on the side of her neck, brushing his lips over her pulse point before kissing down to where her neck met the smooth creaminess of her shoulder. He couldn’t be sure, but he imagined she tasted sweet there, like honey.

  “Thank you,” the lass said, interrupting Brodie from his erotic fantasies. And thank goodness, because just thinking about the lass’s neck had him uncomfortably stiff under his kilt.

  “For what?” he asked, taking a much-needed sip of his ale and praying that the lass did not look at his lap.

  “For your help. You’ve been so good to me.”

  “Tis naught, lass. Ye deserve far better than a dirty inn an’ a meself fer company.”

  “Really? I find myself rather pleased with your company.” A wicked grin played on her mouth for a moment. The expression disappeared a moment later, replaced by shock, as though she were surprised at her own saucy remark.

  Brodie, for his part, enjoyed it very much. As did the bit of him currently hidden under his thankfully long, thick kilt—which, rather than calming down, seemed to only heighten in sensation with each word out of the lass’ mouth. Och, but why did everything she said and did have to be so alluring?

  The lass took another drink of her ale. She closed her eyes briefly as she sipped, leaning her head back as she took from the glass. Brodie averted his eyes and focused on his hands, which were altogether much safer and far less sensual objects for observation.

  “What did the barman say about a room?” the lass asked a few minutes later, setting her glass down just as a barmaid came toward them with a plate steaming with pie, mash, and peas. Brodie knew this because it was precisely what he had supped on earlier, though his plate had not been nearly so hot.

  “Well,” Brodie said, realizing that he had not thought of exactly how to word this. He didn’
t want to tell the lass he was giving her his room, since he knew that she would refuse such generosity, and then they would get into one of those terrible conversations between polite people where neither allowed the other to make a munificent gesture, and eventually they both collapsed from the repetition of, “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly.”

  Thankfully, the lass immediately tucked into her meal with a relish he knew was not common to the upper classes, but which he appreciated, considering her gaunt appearance.

  She needs at least three meals like this every day, he thought, looking again at the sharp outline of her collarbone. Her gown was low-cut enough that he could also see the hint of ribs at her chest, a clear sign that what had once been a plump, luscious body had been allowed to waste away from its former, voluptuous glory.

  Shutting his eyes, he once again banished the images from his head, telling his body that no, he did not need to explore the body beneath her gown. It would do neither of them any favors.