Her Highland Hero

  “Nay, too risky.”

  “I do not understand. Traveling beyond the castle walls is dangerous. Surely we would have been to my castle by now. And it would be safer there.” She paused and stared at Marcus. “Who attacked us? And why? If your man takes my knight home, my father will be concerned as to why I have not been taken there as well.”

  “You were no longer at the site of the battle, my lady. My clansman left with no knowledge of what had become of you. While he took your knight to your castle to seek aid for him as quickly as he could, we had to chase you down. We will go to my hunting lodge, which is closer by a day’s ride, and then to Lochaven after that.”

  “You did not answer my question. Why are you not taking me home? Marcus?” she asked, staring at him now. “What…why were you there? My father did not send word for you, did he?” Then her face paled. “My father has not returned home. What is wrong?”

  “My lady…Isobel—”

  “Riders,” Rob warned.

  They could barely see the men in the gray rain drenching the glen, but they could hear the horses’ hooves, and Marcus feared the riders might have been with the men who had attacked Isobel’s escort.

  But then he could make out their clothes and realized they were Highlanders, some wearing furs, their tunics belted at the waist, some with beards, all with longer hair.

  Seven men swarmed around them as Marcus and his men readied their swords.

  “Who would be out in foul weather like this other than men thinking to steal our cattle…,” the red bearded man, who appeared to be in charge said, shifting his stern gaze from Marcus to Isobel, “…or our women?”

  “We are just passing through,” Marcus returned in Gaelic. “The lady is my bride.”

  Isobel glanced at Marcus, her eyes wide, and he realized her mother must have taught her some Gaelic. Though he had not known it was so. Unless she really didn’t understand what was being said and was only surprised to hear him speaking Gaelic.

  “And who are you?” the man asked Marcus.

  “The McEwan.”

  “Ah.” He leered at Isobel. “Then where have you stolen the lady from? No one except for a clansman who wished a stolen bride would be out in this weather, bringing his woman home when so far from there.”

  If Marcus said she was Lord Pembroke’s daughter he feared the word would reach English ears too quickly that he had her with him and where he was headed.

  “I have not taken her against her da’s will,” Marcus said.

  The man shook his head. “She appears to be with you of her own accord, but I still dinna believe you.”

  Which was not an ideal situation for Marcus and his men and Isobel to be in. “From which clan do you hail?” Marcus asked.

  “Kerr.”

  God’s knees. The Kerr clansmen were known to be cattle thieves. No wonder they thought the same of Marcus and his party. Though men did not haul a woman with them when stealing cattle. So he suspected something else was untoward.

  “We have a hunting lodge this way. Come and we will get out of this weather.” He smiled at Isobel. “She is quiet. Subservient? I like that in a woman.”

  “I am neither,” Isobel said in Gaelic, her voice terse.

  Marcus smiled a little at her, unable to curb the urge, and glad she did indeed know Gaelic.

  The Kerr clansman laughed. “And spirited.”

  Marcus had no fight with the Kerr clan as they lived too far from where Marcus’s lands were and so they did not bother his cattle, but he still didn’t wish any of them knowing Isobel’s background. They might not wish any trouble with the English if they should take offense that the Kerr took them in.

  “Which clan are you from?” the Kerr asked Isobel.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but Marcus said for her, “MacArthur.”

  Isobel closed her gaping mouth.

  Her mother was of the Clan MacArthur. But her da was Laird Laren MacLauchlan, unbeknownst to her.

  Laren had denied his daughter’s existence when her mother was with child and Marcus didn’t want the Kerr clansmen to learn MacLauchlan had a daughter now. What if now that the man who had raised her was dead, the MacLauchlan would want to claim his daughter and give her in marriage to one of his loyal men or to encourage clan ties with another clan? Bad blood would always exist between them after some of the MacLauchlan clan killed Marcus’s da and his men as they were attempting to cross their lands to reach home. Marcus swore his mother died from a broken heart shortly thereafter—her will to live gone. If he hadn’t been voted in to take over the clan when he was six and ten and needed to keep his anger at bay, he would have led his men into MacLauchlan territory and killed every last one of the brigands. But he didn’t know who had actually murdered his da or the three men with him.

  Marcus was sure Isobel’s surprised expression had all to do with his mentioning her mother’s Highland clan and ignoring that she was the daughter of the earl of Pembroke.

  The Kerr had been watching the exchange, and Marcus was afraid he’d gather more from what was not said and draw his own conclusions. The man finally smiled. “Come.”

  They rode off in the pouring rain that never let up, not even when Marcus was helping Isobel down from her horse at the wooden two-story hunting lodge, nor when they hurried as fast as humanly possible inside.

  A maid led her away, but Marcus couldn’t help feeling unsettled when Isobel was out of his sight. But she had to get out of her wet garments and warm herself before a fire. Still, he feared she’d suddenly just be taken away and he’d lose her again.

  She glanced back in his direction, her face anxious and she looked as though she had the very same concern. He would not lose her again, ever, he vowed.

  Chapter 9

  Chilled to the bone, Isobel followed a female servant to a room where the woman started a fire, and she gave her a plaid to cover herself while she dried her clothes by the hearth.

  A small staff was preparing a meal for her escort while Isobel waited in the room, her wet clothes dripping on the stone hearth. She shivered while she pondered what was going on that Marcus had been reluctant to talk with her about.

  The maid said, “I will bring up a meal when ‘tis done.”

  “Thank you,” Isobel said, and the lady quickly left the room, shutting the door behind her.

  Isobel drew closer to the fire, tired, feeling anxious. She knew Marcus was also.

  Only a short time had passed when someone knocked on the chamber door. Expecting a servant had brought up a meal, though she hadn’t thought it would be ready this quickly, she called out, “Come.”

  Marcus quickly opened the door, and she let out a small gasp. He entered the room and shut the door, further shocking her.

  “What…what are you doing here?”

  He took in her appearance from her wet hair to her body wrapped only in the plaid, and her bare feet. “Isobel…” He moved across the floor, his gaze focused on hers.

  This was so unlike him and she was afraid of what she’d learn now. “What has happened?” she whispered, knowing that something terrible had to have happened or Marcus wouldn’t have come for her and rescued her, nor would Lord Wynfield have sent her away before her father had arrived home. Nor would Marcus approach her alone in a chamber when she was nearly naked.

  Marcus drew close, rested his hands on her shoulders, and looked down at her. “I didna wish to be the one who gives you these ill-tidings. I thought Lord Wynfield had apprised you of the truth. Apparently he hadna.”

  “What truth? Tell me.” She barely spoke the words, fearing what she would hear, that like her mother had died…

  “Lord Pembroke is dead.”

  “Dead?” She stifled a cry, her eyes instantly filling with tears. She felt her knees buckle and Marcus instantly swept her off her feet and sat down on the edge of a bed, holding her in his lap.

  Her heart breaking, she had sensed that more had been wrong the night Lord Wynfield had been so distra
ught, and believed he had known something awful had come to pass. Yet she couldn’t believe it was really true. And that Lord Wynfield hadn’t told her. She loved her father and she didn’t want to believe it.

  “Nay. He could not be.”

  “‘Twas the word we received, lass.”

  “How…how did he die?” Her words were filled with anguish, forced out against her will. If he had died because his heart had given out, or some other such malady, though little comfort that would be…but if not…

  “He was murdered. A witness said the men who killed him were dressed as Normans and wore clothes befitting nobility. Lord Pembroke…” Marcus rubbed her arm and held her tighter. “Isobel…”

  Her body chilled to the core, she bit her lip to hold back the tears, trying to make sense of it, hating to hear the truth. The men who had attacked her own escort—Normans also? The same men who had killed her father? Then killed her escort? Was the same man in charge of the ones who had tried to murder Marcus?

  She looked up at him, her eyes blurry with tears. “Where…where is he?”

  “I dinna know for certain. Once I learned of this treachery, I had to ensure you would be safe.”

  “Lord Wynfield…”

  “He thought it best to send you to stay with King Henry’s court. That he would keep you safe. I feared you and your escort might be attacked by the same men who killed Lord Pembroke on your journey there. Had you found your way there without incident, I suspect whosoever this was would seek to have your hand, offering payment to King Henry for the honor.”

  Every thought tumbled over the next. She was so distraught, she couldn’t grasp some of what Marcus was saying. “When…when you spoke of who my people were to the Kerr, why did you not mention my father is Lord Pembroke? Were you afraid he would warn Lord Wynfield I was not returning to Pembroke Castle?”

  “He may have wondered how I had made you my wife, or if I had truly done so.”

  She brushed away tears trailing down her cheeks and frowned at him. “You should not have said I was your wife.”

  “Ah, lass.” Marcus pulled her tight against his body.

  “I cannot believe it. My father…” She choked back a sob.

  “‘Tis true. If I could have done anything to have prevented it, you know I would have. But now that we are here, how would I have explained your presence? Besides, I had already asked for your hand in marriage. Lord Pembroke wouldna accept. Now you are free to marry me.”

  “I have no say in it either?”

  His dark brows deeply furrowing, Marcus said, “Dinna tell me you dinna want me now.”

  She couldn’t answer him. He knew how much she loved him. She always had and always would. She wanted no other man for her husband. Even now, she knew it wasn’t her choice. She frowned up at him. “I am an earl’s daughter. What if King Henry willna allow me to wed you? What if ‘tis the same as the trouble we had with my father?”

  Marcus growled out his next words. “You are no more an earl’s daughter than I am the king’s son. Your da was Laird Laren MacLauchlan, but he wouldna recognized the bairn your mother was carrying as his own because he was married to another woman at the time.”

  Isobel’s mouth gaped, and she slowly closed it. Feeling lightheaded, she couldn’t believe any of it. “You are wrong! ‘Tis not true!”

  “I am sorry, lass,” Marcus said, gentling his words, stroking her arm, holding her close. He kissed the top of her head. “I didna wish to be the one to have to tell you all of this. But if it means you are free to wed me, I wished for you to know.”

  Despite the upset to hear all the shocking news—her father was dead and he wasn’t even her father—she knew in her heart Marcus would never lie to her. She realized then he hadn’t cared one whit about her birthright. He had known all along and he had still wanted her. Though she feared King Henry would not allow her to do as she pleased, not with the earl’s title and lands at stake. Would he even believe she wasn’t Lord Pembroke’s daughter?

  “Have you proof?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, more tears trailing down her cheeks as she recalled the last time she had seen her father, looking worried at her at the table when they broke their fast that morn before he left on business.

  Marcus narrowed his blue eyes as he stared at her. “You need proof?”

  She shook her head. “Not for me. But without it, I am afraid King Henry will not believe us.”

  Marcus’s gaze softened and he tightened his hold on her again, as if saying she was his no matter what. And she wished it with all her heart.

  “Your mother confided in mine. Your true da also kens the truth. That is another situation I am concerned about. What if he learns of your da’s death and Laren wants to use you as a way to tie his clan to another. He has no bairns of his own. But know this, lass,” Marcus said, “you are mine.”

  Chapter 10

  So shocked at all the news, Isobel couldn’t believe Marcus’s words. She knew in her heart he wouldn’t lie to her about her father, and she suspected he wouldn’t have even told her the truth if he hadn’t believed she needed to hear it, but she was still having a hard time grasping any of it.

  She bit her lip and turned her gaze from his worried one and stared into the fire. Her father, the only one she had ever known, was dead. And he hadn’t even been her real father.

  “Did he know?” she asked so quietly, she wondered if Marcus had even heard her. Had her mother pretended that Isobel was Lord Pembroke’s own child?

  “Aye, lass. He kenned your mother was with bairn, that she had no husband, and that she was hiding her…condition. But he had been smitten with her from the first and despite being a nobleman of Norman blood, he had loved her and wanted to marry her and call her bairn his own. My mother told me so.”

  Isobel wiped away tears she couldn’t fight. He’d been a good father to her, his only fault in stubbornly refusing to allow her to choose Marcus as her husband. Mayhap because he didn’t want to lose her, afraid she’d vanish into the Highlands, live their way of life, no longer an Englishwoman, when in truth she’d never had a drop of Norman or English blood.

  “Who else knew? Did my blood father truly know? And Lord Pembroke’s people?”

  She had wondered why some had not treated her mother or her with the respect owed a countess and her daughter. She had suspected some of the animosity was due to her mother being a Highlander. Now Isobel wondered if everyone had known the truth. That not only was her mother not of English birth, but neither was her daughter. But mostly that she hadn’t been the earl’s daughter in the first place.

  “I canna say.” Marcus didn’t remark again about her blood father, she noted.

  “So if others knew that he was not my father, Mary had to have known then. Why did she not tell me?” She felt her skin chill when Marcus didn’t answer right away.

  She could never go back there, knowing what she now knew.

  If an English or Norman nobleman wished to marry her and then learned she was not even Lord Pembroke’s daughter when he was led to believe she was—what would become of her then?

  “Do you think those who attacked my escort thought to convey me to some lord who would marry me for my father’s title and holdings?”

  “Aye, lass, that I do.”

  Frowning, she said, “Then we shall let the world know that I am the daughter of Ciarda of the Clan MacArthur and Laren, the MacLauchlan. No Englishman would be interested in marrying me then. King Henry can give the title and properties to someone else—hopefully my cousin, John, though I know very little about him.”

  “I see only one problem with this notion of yours.”

  “What is that?”

  “Laird MacLauchlan and I do not see eye to eye. What if he knows you exist? But he did naught because he thought he could get his wife with child, and he hasna been able to. What if he knew he could never claim you once Pembroke had, who also had King Henry’s support? If Laren learns Lord Pembroke no longer lives
, he may feel he is the one to decide who you should wed because he could use you for an alliance with another clan, especially if you are still unwed and now in the Highlands.”

  “He cannot,” she adamantly said. “He gave that right up when he did not marry my mother. Nor did he recognize me as his daughter.”

  “He had a wife already,” Marcus reminded her.

  Isobel frowned, not understanding how her mother could have done such a thing. “Why would my mother—”

  “She didna ken. He visited her clan and made her believe she was the only lass who mattered in the world to him. Then he was gone. Her da was furious, but he was only a minor chief. What could he do? He couldn’t force the laird to marry his daughter when he was already wed. Then Lord Pembroke saw her and continued to return to see her. He truly loved her, my mother said. He was willing to wed her and say he was your da. That you were his bairn.”

  “They never had any other,” Isobel said sadly.

  “He adored you though.”

  “What do we do then, Marcus? You know I have pledged my heart to only you.”

  “You will marry me.”

  “If Laird MacLauchlan objects?” She wasn’t about to pretend she cared, except that she didn’t want Marcus and his clan to be in trouble for it.

  “He objects. But he will have naught to say about it.”

  “We marry then.” She had wanted this forever. Though she wished more than anything that her father was still alive. They would deal with whatever they had to later.

  “Aye. We will handfast until we wed in the kirk at my castle.”

  Someone knocked on the door and Isobel leapt off Marcus’s lap. “No one can see you in here with me like this.”

  Marcus rose from the bed and frowned down at her. “We are to be wed.”

  “But we are not now wed!”

  “The Clan Kerr believe so. Or at least we have told them so.”

  “You have told them so.”

  “Because it had to be, for your protection.” Marcus strode to the door as if she had not objected and opened it just a wee bit. “Rob, what is wrong?”