My Rebel Highlander Read online

  Her hands stroked over the hard muscles of his back. She pressed against him, taking all the kisses he gave and demanding more. No one had ever kissed her the way Rebbie did, with a firm but gentle passion that stripped away her defenses.

  What are you doing? The question blasted through Calla's head. Her breathing unsteady, she turned her face aside, breaking the kiss, though she didn't want to. Nay, indeed. She might devour the man if given the chance. Excitement flashed along her nerve endings.

  But she couldn't do this. Not with him.

  She pulled back. "Pray pardon."

  "Nay. I owe you an apology, but… I'll not be giving it."

  She glanced up at him cautiously.

  He lifted a devilish brow, his gaze sensual and heated. "'Twould be a lie. I'm not sorry for that kiss." His voice was deep and rough, making her crave more.

  Nor was she sorry, but she couldn't tell him that. There were many things she couldn't tell him.

  "We should not," she said, staring at her toes and stroking her chin where his short beard stubble had scratched her.

  "Och. For a certainty. But who does what they should all the time?"

  Well, he knew enough about her to know she didn't.

  "You are betrothed to my cousin," she said.

  Stepping away, he gave a brief, bitter chuckle. "Not for long. I was on my way to Draughon to break the contract."

  She'd known he would. Still, Calla couldn't be the one to steal Rebbie away from Elena. The lass believed she was in love with him. If she knew Calla had kissed him or… other things… she would never speak to her again. And, of course, Calla would have to find a new position. She knew no one else who would hire her.

  Though the spell was broken, her lips still burned from Rebbie's kiss. 'Twas a moment of heavenly bliss that could not happen again. Nay. She couldn't grow close to Rebbie. He could never find out her deepest secrets.

  While she waited by the torch, he dragged the dead wolf from inside the castle ruin and down the embankment to the edge of the wood, and then moved the ones near Devil. A sense of dark revulsion came over her. She could've so easily been killed by the animal's teeth if Rebbie hadn't been there. They were large, healthy-looking wolves and had evidently been feeding well upon rabbit and deer. So, why had they felt the need to attack humans and a horse? They may have killed both before.

  Carrying the torch, she followed him to the stream where he washed the gunpowder and blood from his hands, then they returned to the ruin. She placed the torch in the fire-pit, while he laid the sword with his other weapons behind his blanket. Then, he reclined on his back.

  She frowned. "You're surely not going back to sleep."

  "Aye, of course. Didn't get my nap out." He gave a slight grin.

  How could he take this so lightly? "What if the wolves return?"

  "I doubt they will risk it. The gunfire scared them."

  She shook her head, feeling jittery. "I can't sleep now, especially with the doors and windows wide open to the predators."

  On the plaid, he turned to his side and motioned to her. "Come. Lie here with me. I'll protect you while you sleep. I have my sword, dirk, and one loaded pistol right here behind me."

  Lie with him? Was he mad?

  "Do you not trust me?" he asked.

  "Well… aye, of course. 'Tis only…."

  Surely the man had gone daft. He wanted to hold her in his arms? Would he kiss her again? She couldn't imagine actually going to sleep with him beside her, especially after that scorching kiss, but at least she would be safe from the wolves if he was so close beside her.

  "Very well." She moved toward him.

  "Give me your cloak," he said.

  When she did, he formed a pillow for them both.

  She lay down upon his blanket and he covered them both with the other one. She turned on her side, facing the fire-pit, and he snuggled against her back, wrapping his arm around her waist.

  Oh, heavens! He was so warm, solid and comforting. She closed her eyes and savored the hard strength of his muscles against her.

  "Ah," he sighed, his breath stirring the hair at the back of her head. "All is well now, lass. Just relax."

  Aye, she supposed she was tense, but 'twas because she lay within the arms of a most sinfully attractive man. A man she had dreamed about countless times over the last few years. A man who had just kissed her senseless a short time before. So potent was his kiss, she'd forgotten her terror for a few moments. Now, both extremes tugged at her nerves—her fear that a wolf would leap through the window onto them, and the drugging memory of his kiss.

  The masculine scent of him filled her senses—a combination of sandalwood, leather, horse and the wild outdoors combined with a unique intoxicating scent that was Rebbie. She remembered it from years ago, and had missed it so much her eyes burned with nostalgic tears. How many nights had she lain awake, dreaming, wishing for one more night with him? She recalled what it had been like that night. The bed had been narrow and hard, but the heat of Rebbie's strong body and his arm around her had been so comforting. She hadn't slept. She'd stayed awake to savor the feel of his arms around her while he slumbered, something she'd never experienced in her life. She'd felt so safe and comforted, just as she did now.

  Simply to lie in his arms and be held… 'twas a dream come true.

  She didn't think she could sleep, but she must have, for when she awoke, the castle's cellar was bright with morning light flooding in the door, and Rebbie's arms were wrapped tightly around her. His even breathing told her that he still slept. Even though her shoulder ached from the cramped position on the stone floor, she didn't want to move. She didn't want to be released from the warm, consoling enclosure of his arms. Ever. She simply wanted to absorb the feel of him and memorize it, for this was likely the last time she would experience this.

  Oh, she knew he wouldn't marry Elena. But he would never be Calla's. He could never learn her secret. If he did, he would never forgive her. Besides that, she didn't know what he and his father might do. Report her to their cronies in parliament?

  I'm sorry, Rebbie. She squeezed her eyes shut and the burning tears ran toward her temple. He would hate her, ruin her, and never want to set eyes on her again.

  ***

  Something tickled Rebbie's nose, waking him. When he opened his eyes, his vision was filled with honey-blond curls. Calla.

  He buried his nose in the fragrant strands and inhaled deeply.

  She stiffened and sniffed. What was she doing? Wiping at her eyes?

  He raised himself up on one elbow and pushed her hair back from her face. She turned away, trying to hide.

  "Are you crying?" he murmured.

  She shook her head, lifting her hands to cover her face. "Nay. 'Tis naught."

  "I don't believe you." Surely, she couldn't still be thinking of the wolves. Nay, he didn't think these tears were born of fright.

  She pushed away from him and rose to her feet. Facing the door, she swiped her fingers beneath her eyes. "'Tis naught, truly. I simply need to find some bushes for… you know."

  Surely she didn't expect him to believe she was shedding tears because she needed to relieve herself. Ha. Did she think him daft? "Well, I saw some last evening that will be perfect." He rolled to his feet, grabbed her cloak and placed it over her tense shoulders. If she wasn't ready to trust him yet, he'd simply give her time.

  Rebbie waited a few yards away while she made use of the bushes, then he took his turn. Glancing around, he spied what looked like an old, overgrown apple orchard a short distance from the castle, at the edge of the wood.

  "Come," he said to her. "Mayhap we can find some fruit to break our fast."

  She nodded, her tears now dry. Why had she been crying? He wished she would open up and trust him.

  ***

  An hour later, they were again riding north when Rebbie spied a party of over two dozen plaid-wrapped men—and a few women—traveling on horseback across the moor toward them. At first, h
e considered hiding in the wood until they passed, but he and Calla had already been spotted, no doubt. 'Twould be best to not seem suspicious. Besides, if they had women with them, chances were they weren't looking for trouble.

  Traveling closer, he recognized the dark-haired Highland chief at the forefront of the riders. Grinning, Rebbie turned his head and told Calla, "'Tis Alasdair MacGrath, Lachlan's older brother."

  "In truth?"

  He nodded and drew up. Once Alasdair was close enough to hear him, Rebbie called out, "MacGrath!"

  "Rebbinglen?" Riding closer, Alasdair eyed him and Calla curiously, then grinned. Halting next to Rebbie, he offered his arm in a warrior handshake. "Good to see you."

  "Likewise." Rebbie nodded to Alasdair's wife, Gwyneth, who sat on another horse beside his, a swaddled babe bound to her body with wide strips of plaid. "M'lady."

  Gwyneth smiled. "Laird Rebbinglen."

  Various servants and clansmen rode behind them. He spotted Rory, Gwyneth's young son, riding with Alasdair's cousin.

  "This is Lady Stanbury." Rebbie motioned to Calla and the three of them exchanged greetings.

  "What the devil are you doing all the way out here?" Alasdair asked.

  "Can we talk in private?" Rebbie asked, unsure he wanted to reveal all to the MacGrath clansmen.

  "Aye."

  Rebbie walked Devil ten yards away and Alasdair followed on his horse.

  "Where are you headed?" Rebbie asked him.

  "To Draughon to visit Lachlan, Angelique and their new bairn."

  "I thought as much. We were there earlier, and 'twas not my intention to travel this far north. Yesterday, in Draughon Village, Lady Stanbury was attacked and almost abducted by a vile whoreson named Edward Claybourne. I rescued her and they gave chase, but we finally lost them. Because of the river, we were unable to circle back to Draughon."

  Alasdair frowned. "God's teeth! I hope you weren't injured, m'lady."

  "Nay. I thank you."

  "I have a small castle several miles northwest of here, by Loch Tummel, where I'll let her stay until we can stop this blackguard," Rebbie said. "If you could let Lachlan know where we are, I would appreciate it. Mayhap he can send out some of his men to help us since we're outnumbered. Claybourne has just over a dozen men with him. And he could send for more."

  "I hate to hear of the trouble you've had," Alasdair said. "You're welcome to travel with us."

  "Nay, 'twould invite an attack from Claybourne. I cannot put your wife and children at risk."

  Alasdair nodded and glanced back at his party briefly. "Well then, take half of my men with you. They'll guard you both well."

  "I cannot ask that of you."

  "You didn't ask, but I'm offering." Alasdair observed him with a deadly serious gaze. "What if Claybourne should catch up to you?"

  Rebbie shook his head. "You have your family to think about. Not only are there outlaws about, but also a pack of wolves we had a run-in with last night."

  "Take two guards with you, then. At least allow me to help you that much. Once I get everyone to Draughon, Lachlan and I will return with a large garrison."

  Rebbie liked the sound of that. "Very well. And I thank you."

  "Where is this castle you're headed to?"

  "About twenty miles northwest." Rebbie pointed. "Tummel Castle. Lachlan kens where it is. He visited with me one time."

  Alasdair nodded and, once he'd assigned two brawny, well-armed guards named MacDade and MacKinney to accompany Rebbie and Calla, they said their farewells and rode in opposite directions.

  That was one disadvantage of freedom, Rebbie knew—not having several guards or a garrison when he needed one. His guards were all back at Castle Rebbinglen. He'd never been able to sit still or stay in one place very long. He'd always enjoyed traveling, seeing new places, and being embroiled in whatever conflicts or adventures he came upon, including now with Calla. Though 'twas a serious and dangerous situation, he still enjoyed bringing her into the Highlands.

  Indeed, he relished the feel of her at his back and her arms around his waist, but he still felt as if he knew little about her. Though she'd answered his questions, she was not as forthcoming with information as he would like. What was she hiding and why did she not trust him? Surely she knew by now he wasn't going to tell the world they'd spent one scorching night together betwixt the sheets.

  Saints! He couldn't think of that night without craving another one exactly like it. His fingers itched to stroke over every inch of her smooth, delicate skin. The kiss he'd stolen last night had only sharpened his craving for more, but they probably shouldn't indulge, as she'd said. At least, not until he was free from the shackles of betrothal his father had placed upon him.

  The two guards, MacDade and MacKinney, rode behind them and they made good time, growing closer and closer to Tummel Castle as the sun descended in the vibrant orange and gold western sky.

  When the small harled tower, pinkish-beige in color, surrounded by a massive stone wall, came into view, he exhaled a relieved breath. Finally, he could make sure Calla was safe.

  "Here we are," he told her.

  "Thank heavens," she murmured. "I'm exhausted from all the riding."

  A thick forest lay several yards behind the castle, and a loch gleamed down the hill in front of it. Beyond, crofts and whitewashed cottages dotted the edge of the loch. In the distance, toward the north, the Cairngorms stood tall.

  At the closed portcullis, Rebbie drew up. "Open the gates!" he called out toward the guard tower.

  A nearly bald head poked out. The man frowned, then the rest of his round body emerged. "Who are you?" he asked in Gaelic.

  "Robert MacInnis, the Earl of Rebbinglen. I own this castle."

  The guard squinted, frowning, then trotted as fast as his short legs would carry him toward the keep.

  "Where are you going?" Rebbie demanded. "Open the gate."

  "I will return forthwith," the man called back.

  Rebbie snorted and rolled his eyes. Damnation, he was tired and hungry, and he knew Calla was as well. He'd heard her stomach growling.

  "Does he not know you?" Calla asked.

  "Nay. I've never seen the man before. No doubt someone new the steward has hired." But he supposed 'twas a good thing they didn't let just anyone enter.

  Moments later the guard returned with another man.

  "And who might you be?" asked the newcomer, wearing a belted plaid, a fine doublet and new boots. Not a guard. He wasn't MacGill, the steward, either. The man's insolence grated on Rebbie's temper.

  "As I've already told the guard, I am Robert MacInnis, the Earl of Rebbinglen. I own this heap of rocks. Now, open the gate."

  The man stiffened and frowned. "I have nay proof you are who you say you are."

  Annoyance burned over Rebbie and he ground his teeth. "Who are you? Where is MacGill, the steward?"

  "MacGill died last year, may God rest his soul."

  "What? I wasn't informed." Rebbie hadn't known the man well, but he'd truly liked and respected him. He'd done a fine job.

  The man before him shrugged.

  "What's your name and your position here?" Rebbie demanded of him.

  "MacFadden."

  The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Rebbie had never met this man before.

  MacFadden drew back his shoulders and puffed out his chest. "I own this land and the castle."

  "Ha!" What a lying whoreson. Rebbie leapt down from the horse, ready to grab the knave through the iron bars of the portcullis, if only he were close enough. "You, sir, are a liar."

  MacFadden backed up a step. "Do you have the deed for it?"

  "Aye, back at Castle Rebbinglen."

  "Well, then." His grin smug, MacFadden shrugged. "You should have brought it with you."

  His patience gone, Rebbie drew a loaded pistol from his belt and pointed it through the bars. "Open the gates, MacFadden, or you shall find yourself sprawled upon the ground, bleeding."

  The man blanc
hed in the gloaming, his gaze darting from the pistol to Rebbie's eyes and back again. The guard beside him fidgeted.

  "You're naught but a squatter, are you?" Rebbie accused. He'd heard of this happening before.

  "My—my family owned this castle," MacFadden said, a hitch in his voice.

  Ah, now Rebbie knew why the name sounded familiar. His father must have mentioned it to him. "Owned. In the past. 'Tis not my fault your grandfather sold it to my grandfather fifty or more years ago." He remembered the story of the MacFaddens now.

  "H-he was desperate!" he stuttered. "His family was starving."

  Rebbie blew out a tired breath. Of a certainty, he could understand how MacFadden felt, but the truth remained. "I own the castle now," he said in a calm tone. "Open the gates and I'll allow you to stay for a visit, as long as you behave yourself."

  MacFadden narrowed his eyes. He was determined to be contrary.

  Rebbie switched the aim of his pistol to the guard. "Open the gate."

  The guard nodded briskly. "Aye. Don't shoot, m'laird. I didn't ken he wasn't the true laird." He raised the portcullis.

  "I thank you." Rebbie put away his pistol, and led Devil forward into the empty cobblestone courtyard, Calla still perched upon the horse's back. The two MacGrath guards followed. "Where are the rest of the guards?"

  "In the great hall, eating their supper," MacFadden said.

  "How many?"

  "Five, aside from Gudger, here."

  "Five?" What the hell could he do with five guards? He was beyond fortunate they'd run into Alasdair, for he and Lachlan would soon arrive with a large garrison. But 'twould take at least two or three days for them to travel here.

  Before the stables, Rebbie helped Calla down from the horse. Her gaze meeting his in the low light of gloaming was like a kick in the gut. Damnation, but she was beautiful.

  Needing to think clearly, he forced his gaze away. "Do I employ a stable lad?"

  At his words, a gangly boy of about fifteen summers emerged from the stables. "Aye."