His Lady of Castlemora

‘By that you mean me?’

‘Not at all,’ was the imperturbable reply. ‘I merely suggest you should go and take a look.’

‘She’s a widow so there will be children as well, Iain.’

‘Apparently not.’

Ban raised an eyebrow. ‘Not?’

‘She was married but a year, and the mortality rate among infants is high.’

‘As you say.’ Although he didn’t pursue it, the matter still left a question in Ban’s mind.

‘The woman is reputed fair and, being Graham’s daughter, will have a handsome dowry to boot.’

‘Better and better. And of course I am five and twenty and single yet.’ Ban paused. ‘Did my sister put you up to this?’

‘No, though I know she would like to see you settled.’

‘She told you that?’

‘She may have mentioned it once or twice.’

‘An understatement if ever I heard one. She has been matchmaking these last five years.’

‘Aye, well, what do you expect? You’re her only brother.’

‘And being the last surviving male of the family I must get an heir.’

‘Have you any objections to marriage?’

Ban shook his head. ‘None—in principle.’

It was true as far as it went. The idea of marriage did not displease him. It was a necessary step in a man’s life, a responsibility that must be undertaken to ensure that his name and his line continued. The woman should be compliant and, ideally, pleasing to look upon although, as he knew to his cost, beauty was no guarantee of a warm and generous heart.

His brother-in-law nodded. ‘Well then.’

Considered dispassionately, Ban knew the scheme made sense. All the same he couldn’t quite repress a twinge of envy when he compared it with what Iain and Ashlynn had found in marriage. He saw the love and the passion in their relationship, heard the shared laughter and the witty banter. Iain was a devoted husband and a good father. Recalling how he had once doubted the man, Ban was ashamed. Ashlynn could not have found a better. Among married couples they seemed to be the exception that proved the rule. To his knowledge Iain had never strayed from his wife’s bed. He had eyes for no one else and that was as it should be. A vow once made should be kept.

‘Of course this commits you to nothing,’ Iain went on. ‘The woman may not be to your liking.’

Ban schooled his expression to neutrality. It was far more likely that a landless thane would not be to her liking. ‘As you say.’

‘If so, you were merely delivering horses. On the other hand …’

I might fall in love?’

‘Stranger things have happened.’

Ban grimaced. In his experience love was a chimera, the stuff of boyish dreams. It also made a man dangerously vulnerable. If he married it would be a business arrangement, essentially. If affection followed later well and good. It was as much as one could hope for. ‘Indeed.’

Again the lazy smile appeared. ‘As I said, she is reputed fair.’

‘Damn you, Iain.’ The words were uttered without rancour.

‘Then you’ll go?’

‘Aye, confound it. I’ll go and look over the goods but I warn you now, I’m hard to please.’

‘So was I.’

A gentle nudge brought Ban back to the present with a start and he realised Jock was passing him the water bottle. He took it with murmured thanks, realising guiltily that he hadn’t been taking in any of the conversation thus far.

‘We should be assured of a warm welcome anyway,’ said Ewan. ‘Archibald Graham has a reputation for hospitality.’

Ban and Jock exchanged glances and grinned. One of Ewan’s prime concerns was his stomach. Yet no matter how much he ate it made not the slightest difference to a frame that was small and wiry. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, but he was surprisingly strong. At eighteen he had ridden with Ban for three years now, at his side in whatever adventure came their way.

‘Good. A well-cooked meal and a comfortable bed will suit me fine,’ replied his leader.

‘The old man was ailing last I heard,’ said Jock.

‘I heard that too.’ Ewan took a swig from the leather costrel in his turn. ‘Fortunate then his son is of an age to manage things after him. He has a widowed daughter too, accounted fair forbye.’

‘She’ll no lack for suitors then. Graham is rich enough.’

‘She’s marriageable all right.’

‘Do ye think she’d look my way?’ Jock’s craggy face split in a grin revealing a missing front tooth.

‘No,’ replied Ewan. ‘She could have her pick of men. Why would she bother with an ugly brute like you?’

‘You can talk. If ugliness were a crime, laddie, ye’d no be in prison; ye’d be ten feet under it.’

Unperturbed, Ewan grinned. ‘I’m thinking she’ll no marry either one of us, but what about Davy? He’s handsome enough.’

‘Aye, he is, but he and Lachlan’s daughter have reached an understanding. Besides, Davy’s a commoner too.’

‘Then what about you, my lord?’ said Ewan.

Ban was almost taken by surprise for it came so near his private concerns, but he managed to return the smile.

‘I have nothing against marriage, though heiresses are almost invariably ugly.’

‘I’ve never met any so I’ll have tae take your word for that,’ replied Jock.

Ban plucked idly at a strand of grass, thinking that, ugly or not, no heiress was likely to consider a dispossessed English thane to be a good catch. His fortunes had mended considerably in the last six years and he had gold enough but his lands were lost, perhaps in the hands of some Norman lord now. It was beyond mending, like a father and brother slain along with his brother’s wife and their infant son. King William’s men had laid waste to a huge swathe of the north of England, leaving a charred desert where nothing lived, and the bones of the dead lay bleaching amid the ruins of their villages for there were too few left alive to bury the number of the slain. All for the death of one man, and that man a fool. Robert De Comyn’s brutality had led to the uprising in which he was killed. However, he was one of William’s most favoured earls, and the king had taken a terrible revenge. Ban wondered whether the land and the people could ever recover from it.

‘Perhaps Graham will have her matched with a Norman lord,’ said Ewan.

Once again Ban was jolted out of his reverie. ‘A Norman?’

‘The Treaty of Abernethy has effectively made Malcolm a vassal of King William.’ Jock spat into the dirt. ‘What better way to create strong political alliances than to wed Scot to Norman?’

They digested this in silence, recognising the unwelcome truth of it. King Malcolm’s raids into northern England in 1070 had been all too successful and called forth an uncompromising response from William, who raised an army and marched north to confront the Scots. Though brave and eager their army was routed by the Norman host. As a result Malcolm was forced to pay homage to William and sign the treaty at Abernethy two years later.

Ewan was scandalised. ‘The lassie deserves better than that surely?’

‘That she does, lad. Under all their pomp and titles the Normans are just treacherous bastards.’

‘Aye, and led by a bigger bastard.’

It drew a laugh for King William’s lowly birth was well known. It was also known to be a sore point with him.

‘Dinna let him hear ye say that. He’d cut out your tongue.’

‘He isna here though, is he?’ Ewan reasoned.

‘No, but he’s left his mark has he not?’

‘Aye, he has. Northumbria’s naught but a wasteland.’

Silence followed this for they knew something of their lord’s past and none cared to dredge up a subject they knew to be painful. Aware of their discomfiture, Ban adopted a lighter tone.

‘So tell me, Ewan, is there no lass you’ve set your heart on?’

‘Not yet.’

‘There’s no lassie in her right mind would have ye,’ said Jock.

‘Why not? You managed.’

‘Aye, for my sins.’

Ban and Ewan grinned. Jock’s wife, Maggie, was known for her acid tongue. She and Jock argued often and loud, but none doubted for a minute that they were devoted. They’d had a brood of eight children, of whom five survived infancy. Three were fine strong boys already showing the promise of their sire in their skill with weapons. Jock was rightly proud of them.

However, the subject of marriage came too near the knuckle and presently Ban excused himself on the pretext of wanting to stretch his legs, wandering away from his companions to follow the burn. He found the tenor of the conversation strangely unsettling and he wanted some time alone with his thoughts.

For the first couple of years after his arrival at Glengarron all he owned were the clothes on his back and his sword. He had been in no case to support a wife. Gradually he’d carved out a reputation and amassed wealth by the strength of his arm and the use of his wits. However, a name, even backed by gold, wasn’t enough. Land was what mattered. Land was what gave a man position and power. Without it he was effectively little more than a hired blade. Women of noble blood might indulge him with a brief dalliance, but it was beneath them to marry such a man. It was a lesson he’d learned the hard way.

There had been female companions, of course, in the past six years, women of a certain class who filled a need. They were transient and soon forgotten, unlike Beatrice. Her image was still vivid, although he’d long since understood what she was.

Deep in thought Ban had been wandering along the edge of the burn, winding among the trees, paying little heed to his surroundings. He had left his men some way behind, being happy enough with his own company. Now he paused in the dappled shade beneath a mountain ash and looked about him. It was a pleasant scene with hills and trees and burn. The summer had been unusually warm and dry and the flow was slightly less now, but still the stream sparkled and leapt over the stones in its bed, the water a clear peaty brown. Presently, it fell over a rocky shelf and tumbled into a wide pool below. It looked cool and inviting and a swim would be most welcome. Ban sat down and pulled off his boots. As he did so a movement caught his eye and he saw that he was not the first to think of the idea. Someone was swimming on the far side.

Instinctively he ducked behind a boulder, watching. He could see a horse tethered to a bush and a pile of clothing at the water’s edge. Then his eyes widened and a smile dawned. The figure in the water was unmistakably female. He had an impression of a slender waist and long shapely legs. Long brown hair trailed after her like some exotic weed. Who was she? Where had she come from? There were no dwellings near. She was no commoner; one look at her mount established that. She was clearly no blushing maiden either. Such girls were carefully chaperoned and certainly not permitted to ride out alone, or to swim naked in lonely woodland pools. Only one kind of woman would display her charms in such a way. Ban grinned. Doubtless she had not expected to find a client in so remote a spot, but this was a ready-made opportunity and no red-blooded man would pass it up. If she was amenable they could spend an enjoyable half-hour together on the river bank, time for which she would be amply recompensed afterwards.

Stripping to his breeches Ban waded into the pool. The water was cold enough to make him gasp but he plunged in, all sound concealed by the fall above. Then, duck diving, he swam under water towards the far side of the pool. By the time he surfaced near the other bank the girl was out and drying herself with a linen cloth. She was younger than he’d first thought, eighteen perhaps or a little more, but her body revealed the rounded curves of early womanhood. Having removed much of the water she wrapped the cloth around her and sat down on a rock to let the sun do the rest. Its heat was already drying her hair and he saw now that he had been mistaken: it was not dark brown but deepest auburn and it framed a lovely face. Ban’s smile widened. This really was too good to miss.

Chapter Two

It was the horse that alerted Isabelle to his presence for the animal threw up its head and whinnied as it scented him. She looked round following the direction of the horse’s gaze, and then drew in a sharp breath. Hazel eyes widened as they registered the figure moving towards her and she jumped up and backed a pace, ready to flee. Though the stranger was apparently unarmed he was fully six feet tall and possessed of the broad shoulders and hard-muscled arms that bespoke the fighting man. His waist had not a hint of fat about it, nor the long powerful legs currently accentuated by the clinging breeks. He stopped a few feet away. She had an impression of tawny hair and blue eyes and a clean-shaven face with strong lines and a square jaw. Then he smiled, revealing even white teeth.

‘Good afternoon.’

Her heartbeat quickened. The courteous greeting was at distinct variance with the boldness of his manner and his present state of undress. Darting a swift look around her, she became more acutely aware of her present isolation and the remoteness of the place. If she screamed no one would hear. Besides, it was a mistake to show fear. He had clearly formed the wrong impression about her, but if she kept calm she might be able to talk her way out of this.

Ban saw the dainty chin tilt. Far from appearing embarrassed or afraid the look in her eyes was bold, challenging even. It satisfied him. He hadn’t been mistaken. Unusually though, she lacked the hardness he associated with harlots. Perhaps that came with time. As yet she was unmarked by her experiences and, at closer quarters, even more desirable. The strength of his reaction surprised him. His gaze travelled downwards, mentally removing the cloth again. Seeing this, the colour rose in her face.

‘How long have you been watching me?’

‘Long enough.’

The blush deepened and the hazel eyes sparkled with anger. ‘How dare you spy on me?’

‘Unforgivable I know,’ he admitted, ‘but impossible to look away. Figures like yours are all too rare.’

She drew in a sharp breath at the sheer effrontery of it. Undismayed he waited, surveying her with keen enjoyment.

‘You spy on me and then you insult me,’ she said.

‘No insult, lady, I swear. Consider it rather in the nature of homage to your beauty.’

‘Such homage I can do without.’

‘But it must be paid anyway.’

She shrugged. ‘A cat may look at a king.’

‘Or a queen,’ he replied.

‘I do not aspire so high.’

‘Why, no, for if you were a queen you would not be alone in such a place as this; nor would you swim naked in the burn.’

Isabelle’s heart sank and she backed another pace. The stranger came on, moving with apparent nonchalance.

‘You need have no fear of me, lady. I won’t hurt you.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Half an hour of your time, for which I will pay in gold.’

Her cheeks so pink before turned pale. He couldn’t be serious. Another look at his expression disabused her of the idea. His intentions were unmistakable. Talking her way out of trouble was no longer an option. There was only one possibility now: to run for it.

He caught her in three strides, swinging her up into his arms. Isabelle shrieked. There followed a few seconds of furious struggle but his hold didn’t alter. If anything he seemed amused. For one brief instant he looked into her face, then bent his head and brought his lips down on hers.

Her stifled cry of protest was ignored, and the kiss became more insistent, his mouth seeking her response in a more intimate embrace. Being crushed against him it was harder to breathe. Naked warmth pressed close. He drew back a little and again the blue eyes burned into hers, their expression unmistakable. Her heart lurched painfully.

‘Please, I beg you …’

The construction he put on the words was quite other than she had intended. ‘Have no fear, my sweet, you’ll get what you want I promise you.’

Panic-stricken now, she redoubled her efforts. ‘Let go of me! Put me down!’

He retained his hold with difficulty. ‘What the devil …?’

‘I said let me go!’

In another woman he’d have suspected playful protest and half-hearted struggle to increase his ardour, but there was nothing coy about her tone or expression and nothing half-hearted about her struggles. He frowned.

‘Hold still, you little hellion. I’m not going to hurt you.’

‘Then put me down.’

Hearing the note of fear beneath her command he hesitated. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘How can you ask me that, you clod?’

‘Clod is it? Perhaps I should show you otherwise.’

She almost lunged out of his arms. ‘You’ll have to kill me first.’

‘I have no intention of killing you, you little fool, only of pleasuring you.’

‘Never!’

The challenge was there and the temptation. He gritted his teeth, only too aware of the hot ache in his loins, of understanding that he wanted her more than any woman he could remember, and knowing how easy it would be to see his will met. Then he looked into her face. It reaffirmed the fear and reluctance he had seen before. Passion began to ebb. He’d seen enough of violence and violation to last him a lifetime. He wouldn’t inflict that on any woman, least of all this one.

‘For one who desires to escape a man’s attentions you are very scantily clad.’

She made no reply to this but the look in her eyes was eloquent enough. His frown deepened.

‘Have no fear. I’ll not take a woman against her will.’

To her unspeakable relief he slackened his hold and set her on her feet. Grabbing the linen sheet she drew it higher, clutching it close. Her face was very pale, her heart thundering against her ribs.

He glared at her. ‘I think you’d better explain.’

‘I … It’s not what you think. In truth it is not. I thought only to bathe.’

‘A foolish thought,’ he replied. ‘Does your husband know you ride out alone?’

‘I am not married.’ That much was true at any rate and she had no intention of enlightening him about the rest.

The news surprised him. She was of more than marriageable age and fair besides. ‘Your father then?’

She shook her head. ‘He does not know.’

‘He should keep a closer watch on you. It’s madness for a woman to ride this country alone. Anything might have happened; rape is the least of it. You could as easily get your throat cut.’

Her cheeks burned, as much for the knowledge of her own folly as for the justice of the rebuke. The stranger’s expression was thunderous, his strength frightening. When she thought of what he could have done, what he might still do, her stomach wallowed. She just had to pray he’d meant it when he said he’d never forced a woman.

Though she could not know it, much of his anger was directed at himself, realising what he had so nearly done, what he would still like to do. Imagination sent another surge of heat to his groin. With an effort he controlled it. Then he bent and retrieved her clothes, tossing them to her.

‘Get dressed.’

She caught the garments awkwardly. He made no move to turn away. Annoyance mingled with fear.

‘Are you going to watch?’

‘It’s a little late for modesty now, sweetheart.’

Biting back the hot reply that sprang to her lips, she hurriedly slipped on the kirtle and let the linen towel fall before donning her gown. The stranger’s gaze never wavered. He handed her the woven girdle and watched her fasten it. She turned away from him to put on her stockings, tying her garters with shaking hands. Then she slid her feet into her shoes. He surveyed her critically.

‘A little dishevelled but decent at least,’ he observed.

Isabelle glared at him. Ban smiled faintly, acknowledging her courage, but his blue eyes held a dangerous glint. ‘You are haughty for one who reveals her charms so freely.’

Anger began to replace anxiety. ‘I did not deliberately reveal myself to you.’

‘The outcome might well have been the same. Fortunately for you, I have no taste for raping virgins.’

Virginity was a state long lost though she had no intention of sharing the irony. If he thought her experienced he might well change his mind and finish what he’d begun.

‘No,’ she retorted, ‘only for gloating.’

He stared at her, incredulous. ‘You ungrateful little vixen! I ought to warm your backside for that.’

‘You wouldn’t d—’ Seeing his expression alter she bit the words off abruptly, recognising thin ice.

‘Wouldn’t dare? Try me, and you won’t sit down for a week.’

Isabelle didn’t care to put the matter to the test. She’d suffered quite enough humiliation at his hands.

‘I’m minded to take you home myself and tell your father to thrash you,’ he went on. ‘It would teach you better sense.’

She paled a little, in fury now as much as fear. She’d experienced quite enough thrashings at the hands of men who thought it their God-given right to mete out punishment to the weaker sex. Resentment welled but she repressed it. Caution was needed here. If her father found out so would Murdo. The consequences didn’t bear thinking about. No matter how much it went against the grain it would be better to play the part of the contrite, young virgin.

She lowered her eyes. ‘Please, don’t. I won’t do it again, I swear it.’

Ban had no trouble believing that. She’d had a fright but the lesson had been well learned. Now she seemed only young and vulnerable.

‘I suggest you go home and stay there,’ he said.

Taking her arm in a firm clasp he led her to the waiting palfrey. The hold didn’t hurt but it would not be resisted either. She could feel its heat through the stuff of her gown. They reached the horse but he didn’t wait for her to mount. Lifting her with the same insulting ease as before, he tossed her up into the saddle instead. Then he handed her the reins.

‘I doubt if we shall meet again, so I’ll bid you Godspeed.’

She threw him an eloquent look and turned the horse’s head. ‘We shall not meet again. At least, not if I see you first.’

With that she touched the horse with her heels and it leapt forwards from a standing start to a canter. Quite unexpectedly, Ban found himself grinning. With grudging admiration he acknowledged her spirit, his gaze following her progress until she was lost to view.

Isabelle urged the horse to a swifter pace and only when she had put considerable distance between her and the stranger did she slow the animal to a walk. Even though the initial shock had worn off she was still trembling. When she thought of what might have happened she shuddered. He had been so strong, could so easily have forced her. What had stopped him? From his treatment of her it was clear he had taken her for a slut. It didn’t help to know she was responsible for that misunderstanding.

Her cheeks flooded with hot colour when she thought of that passionate embrace. His kisses burned: she could still feel the pressure of his mouth on hers; her nakedness against his; strong warm hands on her skin. He’d frightened her but the memory of that intimacy was not entirely repellent even though it should have been. She quashed the realisation, quietly appalled. There could be no place for such thoughts. They made her feel like the slut he’d taken her to be. She’d had a lucky escape and couldn’t afford to be complacent about it. Neither her father nor her brother must ever get wind of this. Above all, Murdo must never find out.

Isabelle reached Castlemora without further incident and, thanking the fates that the men were elsewhere that afternoon, threw her horse’s reins to a groom and hastened to the women’s bower by the back route. In her present state she dared not risk being seen. As she’d hoped the room was empty at this hour and having reached its safety she swiftly divested herself of the green gown, exchanging it for blue. Then she began to comb her hair into order. It was quite dry now and the auburn strands leapt beneath her fingers, fiery in the afternoon light. As she was engaged in this process Nell bustled in.