Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1 (40 page)

“Aye. Then the couple decides to marry.”

She held his gaze, but her lips trembled. “I cannot marry you.”

“Ye can. I doona care if ye canna give me a bairn.”

“You say that now, but you’ll change your mind. I agreed to this because it was for a year. Once this year is over and you see I cannot produce a child—”

“I love ye, Jillian.”

Tears welled up in her eyes and she blinked rapidly. “I love you too, but the prince regent will never allow us to marry. Not when I’m barren.”

Ian growled softly. “’Tis not the prince’s decision. ’Tis mine.”

She reached up to gently push a strand of raven hair off his face. “I don’t think hand-fasting is legal in England, even if a priest did say the words here. You know the problem England is having over the Catholic emancipation.”

“Ye leave the prince’s pompous arse to me,” Ian said and nuzzled her neck. He moved his thumb over her nipple which budded immediately. “No more conversation.”

With a soft moan, she arched against him. “No more conversation.”

Nearly a week later, Ian still could not get enough of Jillian. The passionate woman she had kept locked inside her heart had been released. Their lovemaking went well into the night and was the first thing they did when they awakened. Ian was delighted that not only was Jillian willing to try new moves and positions, but she also had quite an imagination of her own. His lady with the faerie gold in her hair was completely uninhibited.

He worried a little about the stone the faerie had given her. So far nothing had threatened Jillian. He kept her close to his side while he rode to neighboring clans to assure them of his loyalty to Scotland. Reception to Jillian had been reserved, but he expected that.

Now they were at Glenfinnan. The time had come for the chiefs to gather and give him their support. He looked down at Jillian standing beside him, thinking again that he was the luckiest man in the world.

She was craning her neck to look at the tower monument that had recently been placed near the shore of Loch Shiel. “It’s a wonder that the prince allowed this to be built,” she said.

“This was where the royal standard was raised for the last Jacobite uprising,” Ian said. “England is so sure that the Scots have bowed to the king, that this probably makes little difference.”

Jillian frowned. “The clans really haven’t disbanded, have they?”

Ian shrugged. “I doubt there will be a rebellion again, but nothing England can do will destroy the clans. Or some of the feuds.”

“Do you think it wise for me to be at the meeting today?”

He traced the curve of her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I have taken the risk of gathering all the chiefs together because they must understand that my loyalty to Scotland is not affected because I love an Englishwoman. Now let us go. It’s time.”

Ian looked around the crowded room at the inn a short time later. MacDonalds, MacLeans, Camerons and Clan Ranald had joined other Macleods. Duncan was there, as was Broc, neither of them overly friendly, but at least their surly expressions were gone. For the moment, all traces of feuding were gone also. The Highland code would keep this meeting civil.

“As ye know,” Ian said when everyone had quieted, “there have been rumors that I had taken to English life so much that I was going to send an Englishmon here to manage my lands. I think I convinced each of ye this week that is not true. But,” he added as many of the heads nodded, “I want to be clear on my intent to keep this Englishwoman at my side. It doona divide my loyalty to Scotland.”

There was some murmuring and some of the chiefs looked unconvinced.

“What is wrong with our own bonnie lasses?” a MacDonald asked.

“Aye! An Englishwoman wilna understand our ways,” added a MacLean.

Ian sighed. It was no secret that both men had daughters whom they’d hoped to marry off to him. “’Tis nothing wrong with any of our fine lasses,” Ian said. “’Tis just that I have found my mate and I wilna let her go.” Beside him, Jillian looked worried, and he hoped she wouldna take this time to bring up the year-long hand-fast. There wasna any way he was letting her go. “Ye will see that Jillian is nae like what ye think of the English.”

“She’ll keep ye fettered to England,” Duncan muttered.

That remark caused more unrest and Ian clenched a fist. He would have enjoyed bruising his knuckles by knocking his uncle on his arse. If his own family turned on him, what would the chiefs do? Voices began to rise as the chiefs talked among themselves.

Then, suddenly, a hush fell over the room. Ian turned to see what had all of the chiefs staring at the door. He inhaled sharply. The old Crone of the Hills stood there.

Revered by some, feared by others, she was said to be part witch and part faerie. She lived in the forest and was rarely seen, but many a crofter had found a salve or potion on their doorstep to heal a young bairn. Stories of her had been told by fathers to sons for generations. Some even said she was the maker of the Faerie Flag that had been given to the Macleods hundreds of years ago. The legend of her was timeless.

She moved her bent frame slowly inside, her long white hair flowing down her back. She raised a gnarled hand.

“Ye will cease to doubt the Macleod,” she said. “This lass has suffered much and deserves the love that is between them. Good will come of this.”

She turned her dark eyes to Jillian, and for a moment she transformed into a small girl with long brown hair and an impish smile. Before Ian could blink, the old woman stood in front of them again.

“Keep the stone close to ye,” she said to Jillian and then she faded from sight.

Chapter Twenty-One

The news that Delia was dead stunned Jillian, even more so than the news that Napoleon had been defeated at Waterloo. What a difference a month away made.

Mari was bubbling over with all the news she wanted to give Jillian her first night back at Cantford. They had passed Newburn to come directly here.

“They said Delia fell and hit her head because she was drinking spirits at that hour of the morning,” Mari said as they made their way to the parlor after dinner.

“Ye should not be gossiping about the dead,” Jamie told her.

Mari made a face at him. “I’m informing my sister about what happened.”

So they were still arguing, Jillian thought and then paused. Mari’s retort had not been especially sharp and Jamie’s mouth had quirked up in a small smile.

“Clever lass to put it that way.”

“I thought so,” Mari replied pertly. “Now why don’t you tell your brother how you’ve managed to alienate most of the footmen?”

The smile turned to a glower. “’Tis not right for men to be prancing about not knowing how to fight.”

Mari turned to Ian. “You might have noticed some of them limping and not a few of them bruised. Your brother decided to try to make barbarian warriors out of the poor men.”

“Ha! They’re a far cry from being warriors,” Jamie said. “One of them actually dropped the claymore.”

“Because it weighs as much as a horse,” Mari retorted.

Jamie suddenly grinned. “Aye. I’ll have to give ye that. Ye held onto it longer than the men did.”

“Marissa Blakely! Don’t tell me you were attempting sword practice?” Jillian didn’t know whether to be shocked or to laugh. A look at her sister’s face told her it probably wasn’t funny.

“He dared me.”

“Only because ye were out there every day watching me practice with the men.”

“I wasn’t watching
you
.”

Jamie’s brow went up. “Nae? Surely ye dinna think any of those lads had great skills?”

Mari blushed suddenly and Jillian wondered if there was more to that statement than was said. Ian was staring at his brother also. Jillian decided it was best to change the subject.

“Have you been to Newburn? How are the horses?” she asked.

Mari stilled. “Wesley went to London to give a report to the prince about Delia’s death, but before he left, he let Finley go.”

Jillian’s heart plummeted to her stomach. Gunnar. Who would handle him? Would the new master of horse whip the stallion? “How long ago?”

“About a week after you left,” she replied. “Finley stopped by here to tell us.”

“Donna fash,” Ian said as though he had read her mind. “Gunnar is safe. I asked Sherrington to buy him for me. ’Twas to be a surprise for ye…and a wedding gift.”

Jillian was tempted to throw her arms around Ian and kiss him right there, except that both Mari and Jamie were gaping at them. She’d make up for it later when they were in bed and she could do all sorts of delightful things to his body.

“Wedding gift?” Mari squeaked.

“Aye. We be hand-fasted,” Ian replied, “although I plan to make it official in England just as soon as the banns can be read.”

“Ian—” Jillian started to protest, but was suddenly smothered in a brotherly hug from Jamie and another one from Mari. Ian laughed, watching her caught in the middle of Mari and Jamie both vying for hugging rights. “We don’t know that the prince will even agree,” she said when Mari and Jamie both suddenly let go.

“’Tis not his decision who a mon marries,” Jamie said indignantly.

“’Twas what I told her,” Ian said.

Jillian’s heart hoped they were both right, but her mind told her it wouldn’t be as easy as that.

“Doona fash,” Ian said again the next morning as he prepared to ride over to Sherrington’s and make arrangements for Gunnar and the mares to be brought back. “Ye’ll be seeing them soon.” He leaned down from the saddle to give Jillian a kiss. “I’ll be back tonight.”

Jillian watched him ride out and then turned back to the stables. She wanted to make sure stalls were ready for the stallion and mares should Ian bring them back today. Robins, a cheerful Irish man, assured her they would.

As she walked back to the house, the sound of clanging metal drew her attention. She turned toward the paddock where an area had been cleared nearby. Jamie was training with one of the footmen and a circle had formed around them. She noticed that his large claymore lay by the fence and Jamie had switched to the lighter saber to work with the footman. He was also shirtless.

The morning sun gleamed off the light sheen of sweat on his bronzed body. He was as powerfully built as Ian, a fact that seemed to intimidate the young man, who kept backing away.

“Nae! Ye never give your opponent the edge,” Jamie said as he lunged and struck the other’s sword. “Have I not taught ye to stand your ground and parry?”

“Bossy man,” Mari said with a sniff as she joined Jillian.

Jillian looked at her sister, but Mari’s eyes were on Jamie. She smiled. “The staff seems to like him. Mrs. Ferguson dotes on him.”

“That’s because he compliments her. I actually saw her blush when he brought her a bonnet that he’d sent away for. And the cook giggles when he asks for seconds. No, make that thirds,” Mari replied and then frowned. “And those giddy maids over there, staring at him, don’t have enough work to do.”

“Do you like him?”

“Don’t be silly. He’s insufferable. Arrogant. He thinks he can charm anything female with that easy smile of his.”

“So that’s why you’re staring at him?” Jillian asked with a smile.

“I’m not staring,” Mari said, but her cheeks turned pink. “I just came out to see why there were no maids to answer my ring. Now I know. Jamie is showing off again.”

Mari flounced off toward the bevy of girls and sent them scurrying back to the house. She glanced over her shoulder and Jamie grinned, giving her a little salute with his sword before he turned back to training the boy.

Jillian shook her head as she walked back to the house. If she were to wager a guess her sassy little sister was more interested in Jamie Macleod than she was willing to let on.

Mrs. Ferguson met her in the hall, and for the rest of the morning she worked on menus that would include Ian’s favorite foods. By lunch, she was starving.

The afternoon loomed ahead of her. She was anxious for Ian to come back, hoping he’d be bringing Gunnar. But the trip to Sherrington’s took nearly four hours. Ian wouldn’t be back before nightfall.

Restless, she unpacked the few items she’d brought back from Scotland. She picked up the beautiful piece of embroidery and laid it over the back of a stuffed chair in their bedchamber. She slipped the faerie stone into her pocket. There had been no threat of danger on the journey and things were certainly safe at Cantford. She wasn’t a superstitious type of person, but the illusion of the old crone transforming into the small girl who had given her the stone and then back had shaken her.

Restless, she wandered downstairs. Mari was practicing at the pianoforte with Jamie beside her, offering what were probably unwelcome comments. She decided not to disturb them.

It was a beautiful day outside. Clouds of white cotton billowed across a clear blue sky and a slight breeze kept the sun from being too warm. A perfect day for a ride.

Jillian asked for a horse to be saddled. She’d make the short trip to Newburn to pick up some of her clothes and a few other items she’d left behind on that frantic escape she’d made. It should be safe. Delia was no longer a threat and Wesley was in London. She’d be able to visit the rest of the Andalusians that she was leaving behind one last time. And she wanted to meet the master of horse to assure herself the animals would be in good hands.