The Highlander's Dangerous Temptation

Broc waited as she sauntered down the corridor before coming to meet him at the door of the chamber.

‘Another minute and you would have had her naked,’ Athdar said. ‘My God, man, you move quickly. You left the yard only minutes ago.’

His steward had always been so—a man with more women than other men could handle. It had been like that through their younger years and showed no sign of diminishing now that they’d reached manhood and more. Broc shrugged and smiled, accepting his words as a compliment...which they were.

‘My sister is coming?’

Broc pulled the door closed and walked with him back to the kitchens. ‘Aye. Her messenger said they are about a day’s ride from here and should be here by midday on the morrow.’

‘Is aught wrong? Did she say the reason for the visit?’

‘Nay, no word about why. Just that she travels with a small group and will stay about a week. I was just on my way to ready the large chamber for her and her women.’

His keep was nothing like Connor’s with its many storeys and bedchambers and towers. There was one large chamber on the lower floor, off the main hall, that was used for guests along with four chambers on a second floor. And one small tower for the guards. The great hall and kitchens took up most of the lower floor, with a stable and chapel set apart from the rest. But it was clean and comfortable and it was his.

A chill raced along his spine and he wondered if it was the weather or the visit that worried him more. ’Twas unlike his sister to visit without an invitation or arrangements being made in advance. With her many duties as Lady MacLerie and the Countess of Douran, she simply did not rush off across Scotland to visit him. He hoped the ill-at-ease feelings he had were not portents of something bad.

He nodded as Broc went off to see to arrangements and then he went to the small chamber he used to keep his records and rolls. As they were not significant enough to warrant the use of a priest as clerk, Athdar kept his own records and was proud of that. Reviewing them now, he was confident his kith and kin would weather the coming winter well.

The chill of foreboding built within him, even as he saw to his duties throughout the day.

* * *

By the next day, he’d convinced himself that he was getting up in years and would soon be complaining of the aches and pains of the elders in his clan. He laughed at himself as the call came from the gates announcing his sister’s arrival.

But when he saw who accompanied Jocelyn into his yard, he knew the feelings had been a warning of things to come, for following his sister on her horse was the woman who confounded him the most—Isobel Ruriksdottir.

* * *

Excitement hummed inside her as the gate and the stone keep beyond it came into view. Isobel could not believe her plan was succeeding so well. Oh, there were no guarantees that her mother would support her in this or that Lady Jocelyn agreed that she was the perfect choice for a new wife for her brother. There were so many things that could yet go wrong.

As they rode on through the gate, Isobel sat up a little straighter on her mount and glanced around the yard, hoping he was here waiting. Lady Jocelyn had sent him scant warning of their arrival and nothing of her reasons for visiting her brother.

The lady did have a reason—a flimsy one, true—but it would make sense. The herbs that Athdar’s healer needed to replenish her own stores had not been included in the last supplies sent here. Those herbs and plant cuttings lay wrapped carefully in moist cloths in her own bag, just as Margriet had prepared and instructed. These would be needed before winter fell, so there was a need...other than hers.

Their party drew to a stop and Isobel waited as she heard Athdar call out greetings to his sister. From her position behind and to the side of her mother’s horse, she could not see him or be seen, so she listened as he greeted the lady and helped her down. Several young men approached to help with the horses and one lifted her down to the ground. With his help, she also untied the bag from her saddle and took it with her. Her mother held out her hand and Isobel took it, walking with her to greet the laird appropriately.

‘Margriet!’ he called out as he saw her mother. ‘Isobel,’ he said as he met her gaze. ‘Welcome to my home.’

Although her mother had visited before, this was her first time in his home. She followed as they walked into the keep, looking at everyone and everything. Jocelyn had grown up here until her marriage to Connor MacLerie—something caused by Athdar’s youthful antics, if she understood it correctly. She’d only heard bits of the story, but the results had turned out more happily than anyone at the time had dared hope.

The keep was stone—not as large as the MacLeries’, having only two storeys and one guard-tower. Athdar had made changes since becoming laird and since marrying that made the keep more comfortable, according to Jocelyn. More importantly, the MacCallums had become close allies with the powerful MacLerie clan.

Soon they reached the other end of the large hall and Athdar led them to a table set with platters of food and pitchers of ale.

‘Broc thought you might need something since you have been on the road,’ he said. The lady and her mother both acknowledged the man who must be Athdar’s steward.

Broc seemed of an age with Athdar, but where Athdar always wore a serious expression that furrowed his brow, Broc wore one that spoke of mirth...and something more that she could not decipher. He wore his long black hair pulled back and his eyes were the colour of the stone that lay in the walls around them. His smile caught her eye and she could feel the heat of a blush moving into her own cheeks. Athdar brought him closer just then so he could greet her and her mother.

‘Margriet, welcome,’ he said, bowing to her mother. ‘It has been several years since you last graced us with a visit.’

His deep voice affected even her mother and a blush that matched Isobel’s filled her cheeks. Then she giggled! She’d watched untold numbers of women react this way to her father, but had never expected to see her mother fall under this kind of spell.

‘Isobel, welcome,’ Broc said, taking her hand and smiling. ‘We met a few years ago at Lairig Dubh, but you were only a wee lass then. Now...’ Athdar cleared his throat loudly and Broc continued, ‘I hope you enjoy your stay here.’

She thought herself immune to such clear and blatant flirting, but she was not. And since neither her mother nor Jocelyn was resisting it, she smiled back, too.

‘My thanks for such a warm welcome,’ she said. ‘I am certain I will enjoy my visit here.’ Broc guided her to a seat.

‘Can I have your bag placed in your chamber?’ he asked while waving to the waiting servants to begin.

‘That is for Laria,’ Lady Jocelyn said before she could. The healer for Athdar’s village would be in need of what they’d brought.

‘Should I have it taken to her or would you rather have her come here?’ Athdar asked.

‘Mayhap Isobel could take them after we finish here?’

‘Certainly, lady,’ she replied. It would give her a chance to look about the village. And stretch her legs after long days of riding.

Taking the seat that Broc indicated, she watched as Athdar spoke to his sister in hushed tones. An expression of relief crossed his face—he must have been expecting bad news with this sudden visit. Then the tension between brother and sister eased and his face took on a boyish look and it took Isobel’s breath away.

She allowed herself but a moment of appreciation before turning to speak to her mother about the plants they’d brought. Marian, Duncan’s wife, had a talent with herbs and plants and oversaw the keep’s gardens. Isobel herself had worked with Marian at times, learning from her store of knowledge for use when she married and supervised her husband’s household. The plants they brought would add to the ones needed to treat fevers and pain, important for the winter and in time to have them dried and ready for use.

Athdar and Jocelyn joined their conversation and brought him news of the comings and goings at Lairig Dubh. Soon they had finished eating and the steward directed them to the chamber where their bags had been taken. Isobel excused herself from her mother and the lady and approached Athdar.

‘Can you tell me how to find Laria’s cottage?’ she asked, smoothing her hair back from her face.

‘Come, I will take you there,’ he said, guiding her down the steps.

‘You must have more important things to do,’ she said. Though it worked into her plans well, she did not want to take him from his duties as laird.... At least not yet.

‘One of a laird’s duties is to show hospitality to a guest, so you take me away from nothing more important.’ From the tone of his voice and the serious look in his eyes, he did not seem to be joking. So, neither did she.

‘I am honoured, Athdar.’

Isobel nodded at him and took his arm when he held it out to her. He matched his longer stride to hers as they crossed the hall and left the keep through the kitchens. He introduced her to relatives as they passed by, pointed out places along the path and kept up a steady flow of conversation along the way.

The keep was not as large as that in Lairig Dubh and neither was the village, but everyone they met looked hearty and well. No one seemed to fear approaching the laird and speaking to him, whether they were old or young, man or woman. The completed harvest and the coming winter were the two most common subjects raised, but some of the younger boys challenged Athdar to battles and he accepted them in good cheer.

Though he released her arms several times as they stopped to talk with others, he offered his once more as they began walking again. When she tripped over the exposed root of a tree, he held her steady and did not let her fall. The path meandered through a thick stand of forest before opening into a clearing. A small cottage lay within a still-lush garden, surrounded by a low wall. Curls of smoke drifted up from the chimney and wicked away into the air, leaving a hint of peat to scent the coolness. Athdar opened the low gate and let her pass him. Before they reached the door, it opened and a woman stepped out.

‘Laird,’ she said, nodding to Athdar. ‘Good day,’ she said, as she glanced at Isobel.

‘Good day, Laria,’ Athdar said, letting her arm slip down now. ‘This is Isobel Ruriksdottir, from Lairig Dubh. She has something for you from my sister.’

‘You are Margriet’s daughter, then?’ Isobel nodded as the woman continued to examine her face. ‘You do have her look.’ Laria stepped back and motioned for them to enter.

‘I must return to matters in the keep. I will send someone for you?’ Athdar remained on the narrow walk, waiting for her answer.