Lachlan chuckled. “I heard the Sutherland experienced a loss when his favorite mount went missing from his stables.”
“The Sutherland’s mount temporarily escaped the confines of his stable,” Neil corrected. “He has since been located and returned.”
The Munro turned to Tam and grinned. “The boy has a way wi’ words. On the whole, I canna say I approve of Sassenachs. But I approve of Callum’s choice of a son-in-law. He has the look aboot him of the other earl of Derrowford.”
Neil shot Auld Tam and the other two Ancient Gentlemen a questioning glance. “What other earl of Derrowford?”
“Which one are ye?” Lachlan demanded.
“The current one,” Neil answered.
The Munro frowned and Dougal was quick to intercede and ask, “What number are ye, laddie?”
“Seven.”
“It must ha’ been the sixth one,” Alisdair said.
“The sixth earl of Derrowford was my father.”
The Munro shook his head and scratched his chest. “How old are ye?”
“Eight and twenty.”
“Then it couldna been yer father ’cause Helen Rose was long dead by then. He must have been the fifth one.”
“My grandfather was the fifth earl of Derrowford,” Neil said. “Who was Helen Rose?”
“MacInnes,” the Munro answered.
“MacInnes?” Neil breathed, stunned by the revelation.
“Aye. Didna ye know? Lady Helen Rose MacInnes was the wife of the fifth earl of Derrowford.”
He knows our ways. He knows that the MacInneses have always abducted brides for the lairds of the clan. Neil remembered Auld Tam’s explanation for the marquess of Chisenden’s betrayal shortly after Tam revealed his reason for abducting him from Fort Augustus. And although he barely remembered repeating them at the time, the memory of the words spoken at his wedding to the MacInnes came flooding back. Neil Edward James Louis Claremont, seventh earl of Derrowford, fourteen Viscount Claremont, nineteenth Baron Ashford, doest thou stand before God and this assemblage and take Lady Jessalyn Helen Rose MacInnes, rightful laird of Clan MacInnes, as thy lawfully wedded wife? Lady Helen Rose MacInnes. Neil hadn’t known who she was, but now he understood the significance of the portrait that hung in the place of honor over the marble fireplace in the study of the marquess of Chisenden’s London home. And now he knew why Jessalyn had seemed so familiar. She bore a striking resemblance to the woman in the portrait—especially in the eyes. They shared the same remarkable blue-gold eyes. Lady Helen Rose MacInnes was the reason Chisenden had come to the aid of Clan MacInnes.
“So my grandfather had a family connection to Clan MacInnes.” It wasn’t a question. Neil looked at the Munro and met his steady gaze.
“Aye,” the Munro nodded. “He was a good mon. A Sassenach like ye, but a good mon.” He made the sign of the cross. “I dinna know when it happened, but I mourn his passin’ with ye, lad and I celebrate the fact that ye’ve become the new earl of Derrowford.”
Neil glanced down at his saddle, then cleared his throat, stalling for time while he sought a tactful way of informing the Munro that his grief at the passing of the fifth earl of Derrowford was premature.
“The auld Earl Derrowford isna dead, Lachlan,” Dougal came to Neil’s rescue once more.
The Munro turned to his late wife’s brother. “Nay?”
Dougal shook his head.
“Then how has the young lad become the seventh earl?” he demanded.
“Because the fifth earl is now the marquess of Chisenden,” Tam replied.
Lachlan Munro looked to Neil for confirmation.
Neil nodded, then watched as the marquess’s name worked its powerful sorcery on the Scottish laird.
“Praise be to God,” the laird murmured.
“Praise be to dead Queen Anne,” Tam contradicted. “For she’s the one who made him so.”
The Munro moved his pony in closer to Neil, then reached over and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m honored to have ye cross my land, laddie, and more honored to welcome ye into Clan Munro. As long as yer fundin’ our joint venture into the makin’ and sellin’ of the finest Scots whisky in all the highlands, yer welcome to all the clansmen ye need to help rebuild yer castle.”
The moon had risen and the stars appeared by the time Jessalyn heard Neil’s key turn in the locks of the door to the Laird’s Trysting Room. She had watched the play of the light from the arrow loops on the floor as she sat before the fire awaiting his return. She pushed off the fur coverlets she had tucked around her and stood up to greet him as he opened the door.
Neil closed the door behind him as he crossed the threshold then turned and leaned with his back against it and watched the MacInnes approach. She wore a pale blue nightrail made from a fabric so thin he could see the tips of her breasts and the dark pink circles of the aureole surrounding them and a pair of pale blue satin Louis-heeled slippers to match.
“Nice shoes,” he said.
Jessalyn lifted the hem of her nightgown and extended her right foot, flexing her ankle to give him a better look. “Thank you,” she answered softly. “I found them on my pillow this afternoon along with the matching nightrail.” She smiled at Neil. “I keep finding extravagant gifts of beautiful shoes on my pillow. I found a pair on my pillow in the bed in the master chamber this morning and another pair on the pillow in this bed tonight. I suspect my castle is enchanted and that a fairy prince is at work here.”
“I wouldn’t go quite that far up the nobility ladder.” He had seen women who were more beautiful than she was, had courted them and shared their beds, but he had never seen a woman he wanted more than he wanted Jessalyn MacInnes. She was his match. His equal. The part of him he hadn’t known was missing until she took him inside her.
Jessalyn came to a stop a few feet away from him. She moistened her dry lips and stood quietly waiting for him to make a move.
Neil folded his arms over his chest, and continued his study of her. He leaned against the door, barely daring to breathe as he waited to see what she would do next.
Suddenly realizing that he was allowing her to be the aggressor, Jessalyn lifted her head and looked him in the eye. She took a deep breath then untied the ribbons at the neck of her gown. She shrugged it off her shoulders. It slipped down her arms and settled briefly at her waist, baring her breasts. Neil fought to maintain control. He narrowed his gaze until he was practically scowling. But Jessalyn wasn’t fooled or intimidated by his apparent disregard. She stalked him like a tiger stalking her prey, smiling as a muscle in his jaw began to pulse. She moved closer, then lifted her arms over her head and wriggled her hips. Her nightdress fell to the floor in an expensive pool of sheer fabric.
Neil gave up all thought of maintaining control. He opened his arms in welcome and Jessalyn walked into them—a proud highland laird as naked as the day she was born. The sight of her nearly took his breath away. Neil bent his head to kiss her. Jessalyn met him halfway.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting, milady,” he murmured. “But I had trouble escaping the Munro’s hospitality.”
“Sampling the whisky, no doubt.” She licked the seam of his lips and tasted the liquor.
“No doubt,” he agreed, running his hands up her ribs before filling them with the weight of her breasts.
“And what did you think?” she asked.
“I think I’d rather be here making love to you than sitting around a smelly peat fire drinking whisky with an equally smelly old man.” He nibbled at her lips, then trailed a line of kisses from her mouth down her chin and neck to the tops of her breasts, finally ending his journey by suckling first one and then the other of her perfectly fashioned globes. He slid down the door and dropped to his knees in front of her.
“That’s good,” she said, sliding her fingers through his thick dark hair, pressing his face against her stomach. “Because I can think of a dozen ways I’d rather have you spend your time than sitting around a smelly peat fi
re drinking whisky with smelly old men.”
“Only a dozen, milady?” he teased. “Surely, I’ve taught you more than that.”
“ ’Tis possible,” she answered. “But it’s been so long I seem to have trouble recalling them all.”
“Perhaps you need a few more lessons,” he suggested.
“And perhaps I’ll need even more.” She wriggled her eyebrows at him in an imitation of the gesture he always used.
Neil reached behind her and cupped her buttocks, pulling her closer. He dipped his head and teased the tiny kernel of pleasure hidden beneath the auburn silky curls of her woman’s triangle with the tip of his tongue. “My lady has become a little saucy. I like that in a woman.”
He tasted and teased her until she screamed his name in pleasurable release. Neil held her close as he got to his feet. He lifted her up, anchoring her on his hips, cradling her bottom against him as he pressed her back against the door. Jessalyn tightened her legs around his waist and carefully guided him inside her. Neil pressed his lips against the curve of her neck and sheathed himself in her. She was warm and wet and welcoming and he was rock hard and consumed with wanting. Theirs was a perfect fit and Neil stroked her with a passionate urgency that bespoke his great need of her. She met him stroke for stroke answering him in kind. Taking as much as she gave.
They made sweet, passionate love throughout the long hours of the night. Moving from the door to the reclining couch. From the couch to the bed. From bed to bath and back again. They made love with a bittersweet sense of desperation—as if the night was the last they would share and when at last he collapsed on the pillow beside her and closed his eyes, Neil knew that he was forever changed by her touch. She had left her mark on him, branded his heart and soul with her essence. He knew with unshakable certainty that even should he live to be a thousand years old, he would never love anyone or anything as much as he loved the MacInnes. He opened his mouth to tell her, but the words came out as a soft murmur too low for her to hear. He kissed the top of her head, fanning her hair with his breath. Tomorrow, he promised, tomorrow he would tell her of his love and his plans for the future.
But when tomorrow arrived Jessalyn was gone. Neil awoke to find himself alone in the bed they’d shared. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he surveyed the room. His white linen shirt lay neatly folded on the silk reclining sofa. His fur-covered sporran rested atop it. A pair of trews made from a length of MacInnes plaid and a smaller length of MacInnes tartan lay folded beside it. His black leather boots stood in front of the sofa. She had laid out a pair of trews for him to wear because she knew she wouldn’t be there to pleat his kilt for him. Neil jumped out of bed, dressed as quickly as possible and hurried to the door. It was locked. Neil reached for the Laird’s key around his neck. It was gone. In its place was the ladies key he had last seen nestled in the warm cleft between her breasts. The words he’d spoken half in jest the day before had come back to haunt him. What were you planning to do? Hide me in the Laird’s Trysting Room? Whether she had originally planned to or not, the MacInnes had done just that. She had locked him in the Laird’s Trysting Room and gone out to face the English soldiers alone. And there was nothing he could do about it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Jessie! Jessie! They’re comin’!” Ian MacCurran ran into the bailey screaming for the MacInnes. “I saw them.”
Jessalyn met him in front of the newly repaired door to the castle. She was dressed for confrontation in the dark blue dress that matched the pair of dark blue shoes decorated with sapphire-studded gold buckles she had found on her pillow on the second morning following the caravan’s arrival. She wore a white lace collar on the bodice and a length of MacInnes plaid draped over the skirt, around her waist and fastened across one shoulder with the clan brooch. The key she usually wore on a silver chain around her neck was around Neil’s neck and the key she had given him—the Laird’s key—was concealed in a hidden pocket in her skirt. Her hair was plaited into a long braid. Her father’s second-best bonnet, marked with a sprig of holly and two eagle feathers, covered her head.
Ian stopped and stared.
“How many?” she asked.
“Lots of ’em,” he answered.
“Did ye count them, Ian?” Jessalyn asked.
“I tried,” he said. “But there was too many of ’em. And they were marchin’ too fast. I had to come tell ye.”
“They canna come here again!”
“What are we goin’ to do?”
“We maun gi’ ’em what they want! We maun tell ’em what they want to know!”
“We maun go. We maun run and hide!” The women who crowded into the bailey were terrified of the coming soldiers and looking to their laird—looking to Jessalyn—for answers.
Jessalyn took a deep breath. “I willna force ye to stay here if ye want to take to the hills and hide. But I want ye to understand that if ye run and hide, ye may not have anythin’ to come back to. The English will take what they want and destroy the rest. They willna show any more mercy to an empty village than to a full one. And they willna show us any more mercy if we tell them what they want to know than they will if we keep our silence. When they look at us, they dinna see people with hearts and souls and wishes and dreams, they see savages. They see the enemy.” She paused. “The English ha’ been here before. We survived then and we’ll survive now.” She motioned for Davina to come forward.
Davina made her way through the crowd of women to Jessalyn’s side. She carried a large basket in the crook of her arm and the women looked on as she set it on the ground before them.
Jessalyn leaned over and removed a dirk from the pile in the basket and held it up for everyone to see. “We’ve gathered every dirk and knife in the castle. Take one for yourself and one for your daughters, mothers, and sisters. Hide them on your person and use them to defend yourself against any English soldier who tries to violate you or any other woman in this village.” She raised the hem of her skirt and stuck the knife in the garter holding her stocking, then shoved the basket forward and waited while the women filed past it and selected their weapons.
“There is one other thing ye should know,” Jessalyn said when every woman had taken a knife or dirk from the basket and stood waiting for further instructions. “I’m the laird of this clan and I’ll defend ye with my dying breath, but make no mistake about this—I’ll kill any man or woman who offers information to the English about my husband or the husbands of Magda and Flora. Understood?”
The women of Clan MacInnes nodded.
“Good. Now, spread the word and go about yer business as usual.” Jessalyn waved the women away.
Two hours later, a column of English soldiers marched into Glenaonghais for the second time in as many years. The majority of the men were on foot, but two men were mounted on horseback. Jessalyn assumed the mounted soldiers had led the column to the village, but she couldn’t tell which man was in charge or if either of them was Spotty Oliver until one of them spoke.
“Good morning, ladies, I’m Lieutenant Burton of His Majesty’s Royal Corps of Engineers at Fort Augustus.” He nodded to the women in the bailey. “I’d like to speak to the owner of this castle.”
Jessalyn left the safety of the circle of women and stepped forward. “I’m Jessalyn MacAonghais, Laird of Clan MacAonghais. This castle and the village surrounding it have been a part of my family for seven hundred years.” She gave her name the Scots pronunciation, knowing that to the English, the names all sounded alike.
If the lieutenant was surprised to find the laird of a highland clan was a woman, he did his best to hide it. “A pleasure, ma’am.”
Jessalyn didn’t pretend politeness she didn’t feel. She went straight to the heart of the matter. “Why are you here, Lieutenant?”
“I’m investigating the disappearance of three of His Majesty’s Soldiers.”
“You’ve lost three soldiers and you want us to help you find them?”
“
Yes, ma’am.” Lieutenant Burton knew his answers sounded foolish. “We believe the three of them were abducted by a highland clan for purposes of ransom.”
“I’ve lost three hundred soldiers.” Jessalyn meant to hold her tongue, but the anger and bitterness and outrage she’d been holding in check for years bubbled to the surface and found a target in the unfortunate Lieutenant Burton. “Including a father and six brothers. And I saw scores of others abducted by English soldiers for purposes of execution. My clan was forced to leave our village and hide from marauding bands of men—all wearing red coats like yours, Lieutenant. The lands and the homes my family had occupied for two centuries were confiscated by the victorious English government and awarded to a rival clan. We were turned off it and forced to move here—to a crumbling castle on ancient ancestral homeland—only a half a day’s journey around the loch from English army barracks that will one day bring about the end to our way of life. We may be forced to endure your presence, but we will not be forced into helping you in your search.”
“Madam, you don’t understand,” Lieutenant Burton said. “We’re searching every village and glen from here to Edinburgh. It is imperative that we locate these men.” He leaned forward in the saddle and lowered his voice. “If you know anything about their disappearance, it is in your best interest to tell me.”
“In my best interest, Lieutenant?” Jessalyn asked. “How can such a thing be in my best interest? Your army has been here before and on that last occasion, my village and my castle were looted and burned and my women terrorized—some of them violated because our loyalties to your English king were suspect. We were punished for fomenting rebellion. As you can see, we’re a clan of women and children and a few old men.” She looked the lieutenant in the eyes.
The lieutenant looked around, past the crowd of women, to the workmen repairing the castle. “I can see that despite your claim to be a clan of women, old men and children, there appears to be a great deal of activity going on.” He met Jessalyn’s gaze. “You seem to be fortifying your castle.”