My Rebel Highlander Read online

  She had expected him to knock on her door the night before, too, but he hadn't. She'd stayed awake until late, waiting on him. Hoping. She could've gone searching for him, but wasn't one to look for trouble—and Rebbie was definitely trouble.

  Had he meant what he'd said the evening before about paying the debt to Claybourne? She would love for the debt to be off her shoulders, of course. And repaying Rebbie wouldn't be nearly as torturous as repaying Claybourne. Maybe Rebbie would hire her to be his chatelaine or housekeeper at Castle Rebbinglen. She knew, as a lady, she shouldn't want such a position, but 'twould be much more tolerable than being Elena's chaperone. Besides, once Elena married, she would no longer need one. And Calla could visit with her son frequently.

  The only problem was… how could she keep Rebbie from finding out about Jamie? Although Jamie's hair was much lighter than Rebbie's, he might perceive a family resemblance because Jamie's eyes were a replica of Rebbie's, as was his smile, and all would be a disaster. As long as Jamie was with his aunt and uncle, he was safe and protected, and her secret remained hidden.

  When Devil finished his run, Rebbie guided him back toward the castle at a slower pace. Abruptly, he turned the horse toward the wood. Anxiety clutching at her, she glanced up at the trees. Since that dead tree had almost fallen on her a couple of weeks before, she was leery of the forest.

  "Where are we going?" she asked.

  "I'll show you." He stopped Devil and leapt off near a few boulders and bushes, then reached up to help her down. Once her feet were on the ground, he didn't remove his hands from her waist, but instead stepped closer until their bodies were flush. With soulful, deep brown eyes, he gazed down at her for a long moment. "I've been craving a kiss all day," he murmured.

  She couldn't help the smile and blush that spread over her face. "So have I," she confessed in a whisper. 'Haps that made her unladylike, but 'twas the truth.

  He leaned down and took possession of her lips. 'Twas no meek kiss, but one that immediately lit her passions afire. Moaning, she buried her hands in his hair and pressed her breasts against his chest. His hands beneath her derriere, he lifted her from the ground and feasted upon her mouth.

  "Saints, Calla, I must have you. Now," he growled.

  "Aye."

  She was only vaguely aware that he laid her upon the soft, dry leaves of the forest, near the rocks. She didn't care. She only wanted his mouth upon hers, and his body inside her, claiming her.

  "Rebbie." She frantically pulled at his kilt and burrowed beneath. When she grasped his rigid erection within her hand, she couldn't believe how wondrous he felt. Hard as granite.

  Cursing, he dug beneath her skirts and through her layers of petticoats. Finally, his warm palms slid up her bare thighs above her stockings, then his fingers raked through the hair of her mons and rubbed in gentle circles over that most sensitive spot.

  "Please." She threw her thighs apart.

  "You drive me mad," he growled and wasted no time positioning himself just where she wanted him.

  She lifted her hips off the ground, wishing he would hurry.

  When he teased the smooth, velvety tip of his shaft against her, she thrust her hips, imbedding him partway inside her.

  His forehead pressed against hers, he muttered words she couldn't understand.

  "Aye. More," she gasped, wrapping her legs around his hips and her arms around his shoulders.

  He drove himself deeper until he was fully within her.

  "Aye, so perfect," she whispered.

  "You're perfect." He withdrew and thrust again and again. Each moment, his pace increased, as did her pleasure.

  "Oh, Rebbie," she breathed, meeting each of his thrusts.

  Still within her, he lifted his upper body, placed her ankles upon his shoulders, grasped her hips and hammered into her like a man possessed. His jaw hard and clenched tight, his midnight eyes locked on hers, penetrating into her soul. "Want you, Calla, so damn bad," he growled.

  The pleasure storming in upon her, hovering at the brink, she arched her back and waited for it, craved every ounce of pleasure he would give her. The passion broke over her, bending her to its will, showering her with tingles of euphoria. "Rebbie!"

  He pounded harder against her, driving deep, taking every inch of her. The pleasure twisted through her, refusing to let her go, pummeling her with wave after wave of a near painful ecstasy.

  Finally, he drove deep and held himself there, shoved hard against her, his body pulsating within her as he spilled his seed. Aye, 'twas what she wanted. Looking into his passion-filled eyes now, loving the emotion she saw there, she suspected he would see how much she loved him. But she didn't care. What they shared was beyond her wildest imaginings, beyond her comprehension. How could she feel as if she belonged to him when he'd made no formal claim on her, simply by sharing an explosive passion?

  Spent, he collapsed beside her on the ground. Breathing hard, he muttered curses, Gaelic and English.

  Devil nickered on the opposite side of the boulders, but she ignored him. Turning to Rebbie, she wrapped an arm around him and pressed her face to his chest. He pulled her tight against him. "Och. Damnation, Calla. You leave me speechless." Dropping silent, he abruptly turned his head. "Listen," he hissed.

  In the distance, she heard the sounds of many horses' hooves striking the ground in dull thuds. Ice water flooded her veins. They leapt to their feet, adjusted their clothing and peered through the trees. Dozens of riders approached, strung in a long line across the moor. A shock of alarm slammed through her.

  "Who the hell is that?" he asked. Before she could answer, he rushed her forward, grabbed her around the waist and lifted her onto Devil's back, then mounted himself.

  Chapter Twelve

  Heart thudding, Calla squinted through the green leaves into the distance at the approaching garrison. Who were they? Several of them were dressed in plaids and metal-studded leather armor.

  "'Tis Lachlan," Rebbie said, sitting in the saddle before her. "And my father. Damnation. They must have ridden with all haste."

  "Aye." Calla now recognized the two he'd mentioned, along with Lachlan's dark-haired brother, Alasdair, whom they'd met on their way north. Two or three dozen men accompanied them.

  Devil danced beneath them, and Calla tightened her arms around Rebbie's waist. He guided the stallion from the wood.

  What if the men had come a few minutes earlier? Heavens! They might have heard her cry out in passion. She checked her hair, encountering a leaf. She tossed it aside and checked for more. At least the tightly braided style had stayed in place for the most part. She pulled her cowl over her head to hide any bedraggled appearance. She inspected her clothing, what she could see of it, for any remaining dirt or leaves, but found none.

  On horseback, Lachlan broke away from the party and raced ahead. Reaching them, he drew up. "What in blazes are you doing out here? I thought you'd be at Tummel Castle."

  "Giving Devil his run. I thank you for coming so quickly."

  "Aye. We're glad to help." Grinning, Lachlan darted his gaze between Rebbie and Calla. She could easily discern what the mischievous laird was thinking. Could he tell that she and Rebbie had just made love in the wood? Heat scorched her skin. Would they see her as a strumpet, riding alone with a handsome man? Likely. But she was a widow, not an unmarried maiden. Besides, she sensed Lachlan's mirth was directed at his friend, rather than at her.

  "Are you well, m'lady?" Lachlan asked in a respectful tone.

  "Aye, m'laird. I thank you."

  "I trust that this scoundrel has protected you well?"

  Her face turned even hotter. "Indeed."

  Rebbie ignored Lachlan's grin and filled him in on the happenings of a few days prior, when Claybourne had tried to abduct her.

  "Thank the saints you ran into Alasdair on his way south so he could tell us your location," Lachlan said. "We didn't ken where the devil either of you had gone. Neither the guard nor the coachman kenned where Calla had disap
peared to."

  "Some guard he is," Rebbie muttered.

  "One of Barclay's. I suspect he'd gone for a pint at the tavern down the street."

  "Did you see Claybourne?" Rebbie's tone was as dark as the approaching clouds.

  "Alasdair did, just north of the village. Claybourne and his men approached and asked if they'd seen the two of you. Claimed you'd kidnapped his fiancée."

  "What?" Calla gasped. "Why, that…" She clamped her lips shut before she blurted something unladylike.

  "Bastard," Rebbie finished for her.

  Lachlan raised a brow, his curious gaze shifting back and forth between them. "Alasdair didn't tell him he'd seen you, of course."

  "Did Claybourne follow you?" Rebbie asked.

  Lachlan glanced back at the well-armed garrison as they drew near. "If he did, we haven't seen him or his men."

  "I'm glad to see you're safe and sound, Robert," his father, Kilverntay, called out in a commanding voice, his dark and disapproving gaze landing on Calla. She pretended not to notice and absently surveyed the other men and their horses. The marquess was a powerful man, but she would not cower before him.

  "Father, I thank you for coming, but there was no need," Rebbie said. "Lachlan, Alasdair and their men could've easily handled the task."

  "Contrary to what you believe, son, I'm not yet too old to sit a horse."

  "'Twas not what I meant and you ken it," Rebbie snapped.

  "Indeed?" Kilverntay raised his dark brows.

  "Alasdair, I thank you for delivering my message to Lachlan and returning with your men," Rebbie said.

  Alasdair nodded. "I'm more than happy to help a friend. I'm glad you're both well."

  "Come. I'm certain you're all tired and wish a rest and a meal." Rebbie headed Devil toward Tummel Castle.

  Calla felt the men's gazes upon her back, burning into her cloak. Surely the lot of them, especially Rebbie's father, suspected the truth of it—that she and Rebbie were lovers. Had they seen her and Rebbie emerge from the wood and guessed what they'd been doing? Would they tell Elena and Barclay of their suspicions? Mortifying heat drenched her. Even her palms sweated.

  Their explosive lovemaking minutes ago had been the best yet. Each time with Rebbie was more profound than the last. But at the same time, she knew she was daft for falling for him and being drawn under his sensual spell. She simply prayed she would have the strength to walk away when the time came, just as she had years ago.

  ***

  When supper began in the great hall, Rebbie noticed Calla hadn't appeared. He privately asked Mistress Hillman where she was and learned that Calla was tired and wished to eat in her chamber. Rebbie knew she simply didn't want to sit amongst so many men, especially his disapproving father. He couldn't blame her for that. He'd seen the stern and censorious looks his da had sent Calla's way on the moor and as they were entering the great hall earlier.

  He was glad he'd told the housekeeper to have the kitchen staff prepare a great amount of food ahead of time. The tables were filled to bursting with the garrison made up of men from three clans. Even MacFadden joined them, sitting amongst the guards.

  After the meal was finished, Lachlan indicated he wished to speak to Rebbie in private. Rebbie knew what he intended—teasing him about finding him and Calla emerging from the wood. They'd already discussed their strategy for evading or defeating Claybourne with the other men at supper.

  "What was it you wished to speak to me about?" Rebbie asked, closing the door of the small meeting room just off the great hall.

  "I have no doubt we can safely convey Lady Stanbury back to Draughon," Lachlan said. "We may have a battle in the process, but I'm thinking we'll outnumber Claybourne's men and be more skilled fighters."

  "Indeed." At the small table, Rebbie poured a dram of whisky for Lachlan and one for himself.

  "I think she should ride with you. That way, you can protect her personally, whilst the rest of us focus on fighting off any potential threat."

  Rebbie nodded, handing the drink to his friend. "I don't ken what my father will think of that, but I agree. Her safety is my primary concern."

  "I can see that. Slàinte." Lachlan raised his glass. "To lovely ladies and rousing adventures."

  Rebbie raised his glass. "Slàinte." He preferred not to comment on any ladies.

  After he sipped the whisky, a devilish glint sparkled in Lachlan's amber-brown eyes. "And I'm glad you've found a woman worth risking life and limb for."

  Here it was. Rebbie rolled his eyes, knowing full well Lachlan wanted to needle the hell out of him. He supposed he deserved it, given what he'd put Lachlan through the year before, aggravating him incessantly about his wee new wifey.

  "'Tis obvious you care for her greatly," Lachlan went on. "Don't bother denying it."

  Rebbie shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "I'm not denying anything. Nor am I admitting anything."

  Lachlan chuckled. "How sweet and cozy to find the two of you on an outing on the moor. I was surprised I didn't see a luncheon basket strapped upon Devil's back."

  Rebbie lifted a brow, determined to ignore that comment. "She enjoys the outdoors and nature."

  "Oh, aye. I could see that. But then I realized it wasn't just an outing on the moor. You hadn't been in that spot when first I looked. You must have emerged from the wood."

  Rebbie narrowed his eyes.

  "And then there was that dried leaf upon your plaid and two more on her cloak." Lachlan's toothy grin annoyed him.

  "She had to relieve herself in the wood."

  "Uh-huh," Lachlan said doubtfully. "I'm certain you gave her an altogether different sort of relief."

  Rebbie shrugged, knowing any pretense was pointless around Lachlan. His friend was no idiot and he easily saw through Rebbie's lie. "What if I did?"

  "I applaud you." Lachlan chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder. "I would think something grievously wrong with you if you didn't. So… what are you going to do about Barclay's daughter?"

  "'Tis simple. I'll break the contract and pay him whatever he requires." He downed the shot of whisky, enjoying the burn in his throat.

  "Why didn't you do that right after you first arrived at Draughon?"

  Rebbie set the glass aside, shoved a hand through his hair and approached the fireplace. "I'm not answering that," he muttered.

  "Weeeelll, you don't have to, my friend, because I've figured it out already." The mirth in Lachlan's voice grated upon Rebbie's taut nerves. "You wanted to be close to Calla. And you knew if Barclay and his daughter left, so would she."

  "Your mind is as sharp as your sgian dubh," Rebbie said dryly.

  Lachlan snickered, but then after a moment, he sobered. "And have you decided to marry her?"

  "Nay," Rebbie said quickly. Perhaps too quickly. 'Slud. He hated the word marry. He'd had an aversion to it for near the whole of his life. 'Twas not something one simply overcame in a matter of a day or two. True, he loved spending time with Calla, making love to her, talking to her. But he still didn't know her well enough. Those secrets lurking in her eyes concerned him, and until he knew everything about her, he couldn't think about any sort of commitment.

  "I'm certain the very idea would give my father an apoplexy." Rebbie had seen the stern look of disapproval his father had cast his and Calla's way when they'd met on the moor. His father wanted him to marry a young virgin, fresh from a duke or earl's nursery. But 'twas certainly not what Rebbie wanted. He wanted a woman, not a girl.

  "Does it truly matter what he thinks?" Lachlan asked.

  "Nay, of course not. 'Tis simply… my gut tells me she's hiding something."

  "I see." Lachlan frowned. "I hope 'tis not something terrible like Angelique was hiding from me."

  "Aye, well, I can't guess what it is. Don't tell anyone but, before his death, her husband ran up a large gambling debt to Claybourne. Now, he's demanding that she repay it, either in silver or on her back. The bastard even claims her husband wagered her."

&nb
sp; Lachlan muttered a curse.

  "I'm going to pay off the debt and the whoreson had best leave her be." Rebbie ground his teeth.

  "You do indeed care for her."

  Ignoring that comment, Rebbie went on, "That is, if I don't kill him first. In a fair fight, of course."

  "I'll back you up. Be your second." Lachlan swirled the last sip of whisky in the wee glass, then tossed it down. After swallowing, he said, "Angelique told me something interesting a few days ago, right after you two went missing. Actually, I guessed it and she couldn't deny it."

  "What?"

  "Calla was the one we heard in the secret passage that night."

  "Nay. Calla?" Rebbie frowned, his mind spinning and searching for a reason.

  "Aye. She was spying on you." Lachlan grinned.

  Dread slammed into Rebbie's stomach. "Why?"

  "She'd told Angelique she wished to see if you would make a good husband for Elena. But now we believe she'd recognized you earlier and wanted to check up on you before she came face-to-face with you again."

  Rebbie felt sick of a sudden. "So, she is sneaky, aye?"

  Lachlan shrugged. "Angelique is just as sneaky. She helped hide her. She told me she hopes the two of you get together."

  Rebbie narrowed his eyes. "Not with her slipping about and spying on me. I wonder what she heard. I can't recall everything we talked about."

  "Naught that can ruin either of us."

  "I'm going to ask her about this."

  "I'd prefer you didn't. If you do, she'll ken Angelique told me and that I told you. You could jeopardize Angelique's friendship with her. She values that highly. Angelique only told me because I guessed it. She tried to keep the secret hidden but I ken her too well. We were trying to figure out what had happened to Calla."

  "Hell. I don't like this." Rebbie glared into the fire. "I have to find out what she's about."