Loving A Highlander Read online

  Loving A Highlander

  By Aileen Wells

  This is a work of fiction. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and are not based on persons living or dead.

  Loving A Highlander

  Copyright@2015 Aileen

  Wells

  Chapter

  One

  Scotland, 1655

  Water streamed off Gerard Mackenzie’s face and soaked his clothes as thunder boomed overhead. He grimaced as he looked up at the roiling clouds in the sky and cursed the fates that had led him to this godforsaken land. The nighttime shadows loomed dark around him and spurred his mount forward, eager to find shelter to wait out the storm.

  A light flickered in the darkness and Gerard strained to see through the pouring rain. Curiosity got the better of him, and he left the well beaten path. Thunder cracked overhead and his horse shied away from the noise and then reared, throwing him to the sodden ground. His head struck against a large stone and he knew no more.

  Isabella placed another log on the fire and jumped back as a shower of sparks rose into the air. She stamped a glowing ember out on the dirt floor. Not that it mattered, really, it would soon burn itself out on its own. But her mother had taught her a fire’s place was in the hearth, and whenever it crept out into the surrounding home, it needed to be extinguished.

  A large gust of wind rattled the cottage, slipping through the chinks in the walls and slithering about her legs. She shivered as she moved to the window and opened the shutters. Lightning flashed again, illuminating the land around the cottage. Bordered by trees on all sides, it was well off the beaten path. Secluded from prying eyes, just the way she liked it.

  She had grown up here among the trees, the same as her mother and grandmother before her. Deep in the forest where the mist clung low to the ground and in the dark of night the wild animals crept.

  The lightning flashed, revealing a dark lump on the ground at the edge of the clearing separating her property from the dense forest beyond. Isabella squinted and then her eyes widened as she realized it was a man. Two steps took her to the door and she ran out into the darkness, the icy rain drenching the thin fabric of her dress, causing it to cling to her curves.

  In a flash, she was beside the stranger’s side, bending over to check if he was breathing. Lightning sizzled and thunder boomed as the man rolled onto his back, moaning as he did so and opened his eyes.

  Isabella took a step back as her visitor struggled to a sitting position. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, soaked by rain. Hair that extended past his shoulders and down his back. She wasn’t certain, but she imagined his hair to be golden brown, the kind of hair that would lighten in the sun during the warmer months.

  The beginnings of a beard shadowed his strong jaw. He reached for her as he speared her with a gaze that glittered with feverish light.

  “Are ye an angel, lass?” A slight smile touched his firm lips. “I didna’ think heaven would be so dark.”

  He looked around, a frown marring his forehead. “And wet.”

  Isabella returned to his side and crouched down. “This isna’ heaven. Far from it.” She slipped a hand underneath his arm and pulled. “Come. We need to get you inside before you catch your death from cold.”

  The man groaned as he struggled to his feet. He leaned heavily on Isabella as they slowly made their way through the mud and the rain to the door of the cottage, which had been left open. Letting the warm light from the fireplace to stream out into the darkness.

  Isabella maneuvered the stranger over to the single cot that sat against the wall and gently eased him down onto it. She placed a hand to his forehead. Even though he had been out in the cold and the rain, his skin burned beneath her touch and his lips were dry and cracked.

  “We need to get you out of your wet clothes,” she murmured, more to herself than to him, because he had slumped back against the wall with his eyes closed.

  With her heart in her throat, Isabella leaned closer and listened for his breathing. Any sign of life. She jumped back when he mumbled softly, “I just need to rest for a minute, and then I can continue on my journey.” He winced. “I will only trouble you for a moment and then I will be on my way.”

  She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “You can rest after you are in some different clothes and as for leaving, we will see how you are after you are warm and dry.”

  Isabella crossed the room to a trunk that sat along the far wall and opened it. “I still have a few things left of my husband’s.” An image flashed through her mind of Owen. He had been gone for over a year, but she could still picture his cruel smile and feel the bite of his fingers on her unwilling body as he took his pleasure each night. Her life with him had been harsh and there wasn’t a day that had gone by that he hadn’t left a mark on her skin. A bruise to remind her that his word was law.

  But that had all ended the day he had vanished into the forest never to return. For months she had watched for him, until a traveler passing through had brought her news. Her husband wasn’t dead after all, but living in a village a few miles away. He had a woman with him and she was large with child.

  Isabella swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth as she pulled a shirt and pair of pants out of the trunk and closed the lid. Now was not the time for dwelling on the past. The man’s fever burned out of control and he might not survive if she didn’t get some medicine into him soon.

  But first, he needed out of the wet clothes. She crossed the room to the cot and stared down at his slumped form. He had fallen unconscious again. His breathing now labored.

  Fear spiked through her.

  Working as quickly as she could, Isabella yanked his shirt over his head and took a moment to admire the fine linen before tossing it aside. Her gaze skimmed his naked torso. Even though she could tell her visitor was a member of the nobility, he didn’t possess the form of a man not accustom to physical labor. No, this was a man that worked hard if the muscles in his arms and chest were any indication.

  Her eyes dipped lower to where a sprinkling of hair disappeared into the waistline of his pants and she admired him for a moment before adverting her eyes. If the bulge in her visitor’s pants was any indication, he was a fine man indeed.

  Isabella thought about what it would be like to have a man such as this in her bed. She hadn’t had a man to warm her bed since Owen’s departure and the nights she had spent with him had been far from pleasurable.

  It wasn’t easy meeting men, tucked out here in the middle of the forest with visitors few and far between. Sometimes months went by without seeing another soul. It was a lonely life, but it was her life and one she wouldn’t trade for the world. She loved it away from civilization and surrounded by wildlife. At least animals weren’t as demanding as people and weren’t preoccupied with silly things.

  A log shifted in the hearth, sending up a shower of sparks and Isabella took a moment to give thanks to the goddess Brigid for helping to keep the fire burning. She would need its warmth more than ever during the harsh winter months that were to come.

  Isabella shook her head to clear it. She was wasting time daydreaming when a man needed her help. If he didn’t get out of the wet clothes soon, he would catch his death from cold and then she would be plagued by guilt for the rest of her days.

  She made quick work of the rest of his clothes and then, after much struggle, managed to get him into the dry things and tucked into bed. She crossed the room to the pot of water she always kept on the fire. Most of it had evaporated, but there was still enough to work with. Next, she pulled an old book off of the shelf where it had been hidden behind what meager crockery she owned. Its cover was tattered and worn and the pages stained, but it had been handed down throug
h generations of women in her family and it was the most precious thing she owned.

  A soft smile curved Isabella’s lips. Some people would call her a witch and they would be right in a certain sense. She did use herbs to work magic, but only to heal and bring comfort to those in need.

  She leafed through pages that were yellowed and stained. The majority of men and women didn’t know how to read. Unless you were wealthy, there was little need for the written word. But she had been trained by her mother and grandmother and could now read as well as any member of the nobility.

  Where her grandmother had learned to read was a mystery. Isabella had asked her once when they were busy gathering herbs to dry for the upcoming winter, but her grandmother’s answer had been vague and she had been left with the feeling that there was a story she wasn’t being told.

  The passage she had been searching for leapt from the page. It was for a tincture made out of various herbs she had collected in the forest surrounding the cottage. She crossed to the fire and tossed a pinch of this and a pinch of that into the cauldron. Until, satisfied with the result, she stepped back and allowed it to simmer.

  Isabella reached for a spoon she kept hanging on the wall. Owen had made it for her one winter in a rare moment of kindness. He had fashioned it out of a branch from an oak tree and had worked on it for hours, carving intricate vines and leaves into its handle and presented it to her at the Winter Solstice.

  She smiled at the treasured memory. It was the one bright spot in their marriage. Even though she celebrated the Winter Solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year, her husband had been a Christian and had held fast to his beliefs.

  Maybe that was why her marriage had failed. He wouldn’t change his beliefs for her and she refused to change hers for him. The old ways were as natural to her as breathing. So interwoven with her life that she couldn’t imagine her life without it.

  Next, Isabella poured water into a bowl from a pitcher she kept on the table beside her bed and reaching for a clean cloth, soaked it in the water before placing it against the stranger’s forehead.

  The man stirred, mumbling softly and Isabella leaned close in an attempt to hear his words but could make out only one.

  Lorna.

  Isabella’s eyes widened and she wondered if the woman he spoke of was his wife. Was she missing him? Was she worried? Pacing the floor in an endless circuit as she waited for her love to return home.

  She was surprised at the spark of jealousy that flared to life within her. After all, she didn’t know this man. Didn’t know if he possessed a pleasing disposition. Did he have a quick smile and a kind word for everyone? Or was he prone to lash out at those around him without provocation.

  Isabella studied the man’s face. He had a strong jaw and firm lips. Fine lines bracketed his mouth and radiated out from the corners of his eyes. She decided he was a man who laughed a lot and found pleasure in the life around him.

  Her own husband hadn’t been such a man. Quick to find fault, the insults had dripped from his tongue and his fists had always been ready to give her a striking blow.

  Once or twice, Isabella had considered placing a curse on him. Anything to stop the violence and pain that he doled out on a daily basis. She had never placed a curse on anyone in her life and was reluctant to do so, preferring to follow her grandmother’s rule of harm none. But she had gathered the herbs just in case and if Owen’s violence toward her had increased, she wouldn’t hesitate to say the words that would put an end to his tirades once and for all.

  She hated to admit it, but there was one thing she did miss about her husband. Owen had been an accomplished storyteller, able to weave words together to create an enchanting story. Some nights, when he was in a rare good mood, he would sit by the fire and tell her stories about a far off land. A land that was beautiful to behold and where its inhabitants were always happy.

  But those days were gone. These days, the cottage seemed cold and lonely. Even though her husband had often been unkind, he was company. Someone to help her scratch out a living from the harsh land.

  Isabella sighed as she sank down into the chair next to the bed. Outside the cottage’s thin walls, thunder still rumbled and lightning still flashed. Rain drummed against the shuttered window creating a steady rhythm that caused her eyelids to grow heavy and droop. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and while the storm raged around her, fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter

  Two

  Isabella awoke to a loud crash and a muttered curse. Her eyes flew open and she jumped up, ready to do battle. Her hand instinctively curled around the handle of the broom that was leaning against the wall.

  Her visitor was crumpled on the floor by the door. He had gotten out of bed and opened the front door, but had lost his balance and stumbled into the small table against the far wall.

  She rushed to his side, reached down and looped her arm around him and hauled him to his feet. “What on earth are you doing?” she asked, as she helped him walk the remaining few feet to the bed. “It is still raining. You will catch your death out there, if you haven’t managed to do so already.”

  “Can’t a man get a little privacy?” The stranger scrubbed his hand across a jaw darkened with whiskers. He looked tired, but the feverish light in his eyes had dimmed.

  Isabella frowned as she caught the meaning behind his words. “Of course,” she said stiffly, silently berating herself for ignoring the obvious. The man had been abed for hours, it was only logical that nature would call. She reached underneath the bed and pulled out a chipped chamber pot. She thrust it into his hands. “Use this. It is too wet for you to go outside.”

  She turned her back and walked a few feet away. The cottage was tiny and offered little privacy, but it would have to do. She hummed quietly to herself as the man went about his business.

  “I made a tincture for your fever.” She turned to see if he was finished. “I will put some in a cup for you to drink.” She moved towards the fire, but stopped when the man shook his head.

  “I’m fine,” he rasped, as he struggled to get to his feet. After a few seconds, he gave up the fight and sank back with a groan.

  “You’re not fine. Far from it,” she insisted, as she brought the cup to him and bid him to drink. She felt his forehead, it was still hot to the touch. “Drink,” she ordered, as she brought the cup to his lips, wondering why men had to be so stubborn.

  He took a sip and then choked. “Gods, woman,” he pushed the cup away. “What are you trying to do? Poison me?”

  “No.” Isabella tried not to lose her temper as she brought the cup to his lips again. “It isn’t poison. It is medicine. If you drink it, you should feel better.” There was confidence in her voice. She knew she had the ability to heal. Had done so many times, but her efforts would be for naught if he didn’t cooperate.

  Her visitor made a face. “I will have no more of that foul brew.” He wrenched the cup from her hand and flung it across the room where it crashed against the far wall.

  With a look of horror, Isabella jumped to her feet and crossed the room in a few short strides. The remnants of the tincture ran in rivulets down the wall and the cup lay shattered at her feet. It had been Owen’s cup, the one he had used every day of their marriage. And then, after her cup had fallen to the floor and broken one morning, he had shared it with her in a moment of rare kindness.

  She turned, her eyes flashing. “You, sir, might have endless dishes available for you to break, but that,” she pointed to the shards of pottery on the floor, “was my only cup.” Isabella thought she saw a look of regret flash across the man’s handsome face, but it was gone just as quickly.

  “What’s your name, lass?” His blue eyes traveled from the top of her head, lingering on the swell of her bosom for a minute, before landing on the bare toes barely visible beneath the hem of her dress.

  Isabella sighed heavily as the anger left her. She needed to remember the man was sick and not in his right mind
. “Isabella. Isabella Alexander,” she said, as she met his steady gaze without flinching. She recognized the look of hunger she saw there, a hunger that wasn’t for food. She had seen the look on Owen’s face many times. But the man was weak, she could fight him off if she had to.

  The corners of the man’s lips tilted upward in a slight grin. “Isabella,” he murmured. He rolled her name around on his tongue like a fine wine. “Bella. A pretty name for a pretty lass.”

  Isabella smiled, secretly pleased with the man’s compliment. Even though she knew he probably turned on the charm around all females. Something told her this was a ladies man. A man used to having a woman share his bed.

  She self-consciously brushed a lock of her blond hair over her shoulder. She knew she wasn’t pretty. If she had been pleasing to the eye, maybe her husband wouldn’t have strayed. Her features were a little too uneven, but it was nice to hear the compliment all the same.

  The man’s gaze warmed as he studied her. “Tired, lass?” He scooted over so there was room for her in the bed and patted the spot beside him. “I’m willing to share.”

  Oh, he was a rogue. She shook her head, ignoring his invitation and squared her shoulders. “You haven’t given me your name. You are a guest in my home and I haven’t a clue what to call you.”

  He chuckled then, a low husky sound that snaked around her and sent a shiver down her spine. “Oh, I’m certain there are plenty of names that you have silently called me. I have acted less than a gentleman.”

  His grin was devilish and twin dimples sprang up in his cheeks. “My mother would have been horrified at my behavior.”

  A smile played about Isabella’s lips and she arched a delicate brow. “What should I call you?” Her fascination with her guest was growing by the minute, and if she wasn’t careful, she would begin daydreaming about the two of them. Which would be a complete waste of time since everyone knew that such a man only had one use for women of her station in life. Not that she would have minded. She had a feeling a night spent in her visitor’s arms would be immensely satisfying for the both of them.