A Highlander for Christmas (3 page)

As loved by his clan as he was, he had his enemies. And the right bride was just one way to stay ahead of their snarling throats and razor-sharp teeth. An obscure and impoverished English noblewoman would do him little good for those purposes.

Iain stood and took up a large stone like the one he had thrown in the last competition. He lifted it before his eyes and stared at it. He felt the weight in his hand, measured it against the strength in his arm and shoulder and torso. He took a long, even breath, pulled back and heaved it up toward the mountain as hard as he could. The competitions were over and tonight they would have a final feast before they all left for home—and he for Edinburgh, where he hoped to arrange the purchase of fifty sheep to add to his herds.

The sudden sounding of a horn signaled that the feasting was about to begin. Iain rubbed a hand across his prickly chin and turned toward his tents to freshen up before dinner.

Juliet walked behind Fiona, who was walking behind Aunt Becca, into the cleared area deep within the glen to the sounds of the pipers, drummers and flutes playing. They were wearing their best gowns—Juliet’s a deep emerald silk with the MacLeon colors on her chest in the form of a brooch. She and Fiona had fashioned them from a sash that the MacLeon had given them, something that her aunt had frowned over, worry in her eyes, but her uncle had only shrugged his shoulders and said she’d make a right fine Scottish bride. His words had given Juliet a rush of happiness, her cheeks turning pink, but her aunt’s obvious worry had tempered her excitement. Perhaps the MacLeon had a reputation as a rake and her aunt was just looking out for her.

She couldn’t help but be happy that her hair had turned out so well. Fiona had braided the long length and then wrapped it around her head like a crown. They’d woven purple heather throughout the thick braid, making a pretty contrast with her red hair.

They made their way down into the flat valley of the glen, where there were torches lighting the area against the coming night. Several wooden tables had been pushed together to form a large U, and each clan had its place marked out. The head of the table went to the victors—Clans MacLeon and Cameron, who had won eight and five out of the twenty contests. The other clans were placed on either side of the U, mostly depending on size. Juliet was surprised to find out that their small clan was seated near the head table, right next to Clan MacLeon.

“He’s arranged it,” Fiona whispered to Juliet with a nod toward Iain. “I’ll bet my locket ’e has.”

Fiona was always betting her prized gold locket on something or another. Juliet glanced up and saw a tall man, aye, it was the MacLeon, approaching the table wearing his MacLeon kilt and formal dress—a black waistcoat with silver buttons, white shirt with cravat and, hanging in the front of the kilt, a fur sporran with horsehair tassels. He looked magnificent, breathtaking. Their gazes locked. He gave her a nod, admiration in his eyes as his gaze took in her hair and dress. She dipped into a small curtsey, hardly believing he was paying her such heed. Goodness, she was seated only four away from him. How was she to enjoy the feast with him watching her so close and her stomach so knotted up?

The music came to an end while everyone took their seats. Servants scurried to and fro, filling tankards and passing heaping wooden bowls and platters. There was roasted chicken and lamb, haddock and crab claws, cheeses, peas, turnips and carrots, barley bread with butter or raspberry jam and bread pudding and cakes. Fiona, beside her, ate with gusto, as did the rest of the family, but Juliet could hardly enjoy the fine food. She could feel it when his gaze rested on her, like a warm shaft of sunlight in the crisp evening air. She occasionally dared to return the glance, her heart speeding up each time their gazes locked.

“A toast to the victors!” someone to her left shouted, and stood. Everyone cheered and then quieted as he raised his glass. “To Iain of the MacLeon! The victor of the games!”

More cheers went up, with many of the men beating on the tables. Iain was pulled upright from his seat, with men clapping him on the back and shoulders. He seemed uncomfortable with the attention, and yet was laughing and jovial. He made a fist and raised it in victory, the shouts of the crowd egging him on.

Juliet laughed and clapped as well, a strange happiness filling her. Why did she want those strong arms around her so badly? Glancing around and seeing the admiring glances of several of the women made her realize she wasn’t the only one. He would pick a wife from one of these, a Scots woman who would be accepted, not an English stranger who represented what so many of them hated. Juliet looked down at her plate and quelled her excitement. Perhaps she could force down the rest of that piece of cake—it was rather good.

She felt a touch on her arm and then heard a deep voice say into her ear, “Will ye have me for the first dance, lass?”

She looked up to see Iain’s face, freshly shaven and grinning down at her. “Aye,” she heard herself reply. “If you’ve no fear for your feet. I fear I don’t know the Scottish versions of dance.”

“’Tis not so different.” He leaned closer and took her hand. “I shall show you how.”

He had no sooner said that—and Juliet rose beside him—than the tables were being cleared away and pushed back and the musicians gathered on one side with their fiddles, bagpipes, a harp and drums.

With much laughter and teasing, the couples aligned themselves in two rows and awaited the music to begin. It was a jaunty tune that brought a smile to everyone’s face. Iain lifted one brow and gave her a nod of encouragement as their set came together, grasped right hands and then passed each other to make up the line on the other side. Juliet had danced a reel before and it was similar, with some different footwork and more pointing of the toes. As she reached for Iain’s hand halfway through the dance, she felt she was progressing rather well. Especially considering how sweaty her palms were when he held her hand in his.

The music ended and she resisted the urge to collapse against his wide chest. Before she could say anything, he took her hand and led her to the far side of the dancers. She glanced around nervously, seeing that there were still people milling about and they weren’t really alone.

“I shan’t take you off into the woods and ravish you, milady,” he teased her, leaning back and looking into her eyes.

“Oh”—she felt her face warm—“of course not. I’m just—”

“Protecting your virtue. A noble cause.” His voice was velvety smooth and deep. Her face warmed further with the thought of how she had been caught kissing Lord Ardsley in the gardens of a house party in London. She must never put herself in such a position again. The need to tell him the truth, before he expressed any more interest in her, rose quick and strong in her mind. “I’ve not always guarded it so well.”

His brow turned puzzled and his eyes darkened. “No?”

She shook her head and turned away from the piercing stare. “I’ve a need to be honest with you. I was recently at a ball in London and was convinced to walk through the private gardens by a young man. He, uh…”

“What did he do?” Iain’s voice was tense and threaded with anger.

Juliet swung back around to face him. He looked ready to run the man through with a sword. “A kiss is all,” Juliet quickly inserted. “But I didn’t stop him. We were caught.”

“Did he offer for you?” His face remained fierce.

“Yes, he did. But my father rejected his suit. He, uh, wasn’t as well situated as my father hopes—hoped—to secure for my hand.” She looked down, shame filling her. Her father had thundered his disapproval—not of the kiss itself, but of the man she had allowed to kiss her. Had she chosen to get caught with a wealthy earl or duke, well, that would have been another matter altogether. And her mother had nearly disowned her. In truth, she’d had marks on her face for weeks from her mother’s slaps. She didn’t know how far her mother would have gone had her brother not jumped in to stop her. Juliet shuddered with the memory.

Iain’s hands took hold of her upper arms and pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her. “They punished you, then? Sent you here?”

“Yes.” She breathed deep of the woolen tartan across his chest, but dared not move for fear he would take away his comfort.

Surprise filled her when he chuckled, a low rumble against the top of her head. She pulled back. “Is my plight so funny?”

He chuckled again, one side of his mouth up in that boyish look that made him seem younger. “Nay, lass. ’Tis the irony of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’ve sent you into far more danger here.” His eyes turned dark with teasing promise.

Juliet raised her brows in question. “Have you changed your mind about ravishing me, then?”

“Perhaps I have.”

His words sent a thrill through her body, starting at her chest and then pooling down. She suspected her knees might give way if he kept looking at her like that. What would it be like to kiss him? Nothing like the weak peckings from Lord Ardsley, she was sure. All the trouble it had caused and she hadn’t even liked it. But with Iain…

He seemed to be considering the same thing as his gaze traveled to her lips. “What sort of kiss did he give ye?” He moved closer, his gaze roving her face, his breath intermingling with hers.

“It was…rather disappointing, I’m afraid.” Juliet could hear the huskiness in her voice deepen.

“Was it now?”

She nodded, thrilled and terrified at the same time. What if she was caught again? There were people dancing not far away. They could probably be easily seen, but Iain didn’t seem to care. His arm went around her waist and brought her flush with his body. His head lowered, lips parting the least little bit.

They had just touched to hers when a sudden shout and then the sounds of horses galloping interrupted the moment. His gaze jerked to the other side of the dark glen while his body moved to stand in front of her to protect her. He lifted out a long, wicked-looking knife from his belt. Juliet shrank back as two horses came into view. They galloped to a stop in the middle of the glen, where the dancers had stopped and separated.

“Come,” Iain demanded, grasping her hand. They hurried to the middle, where the men were dismounting.

Juliet’s heart sank when they grew close enough to see the young men’s faces. Something must be terribly wrong…one of the men was her brother.

“It’s father,” Ruck, a nickname for Robert that her brother had inherited as a boy, said as soon as he reached Juliet. “There’s been an attack. Father was wounded by an arrow. You must come home at once.”

Her aunt gasped, Fiona paled and Juliet’s heart lurched in her chest. “Who has done this?”

Her brother looked around at the people crowding to hear and lowered his voice. “They came to collect a debt, threatened to kill us all if they don’t have their money by Christmas Day.”

“A debt? Is it a mortal wound? How could you leave him?”

Ruck frowned. “It’s hard to say. He has a fever but the doctor is seeing to him. I wouldn’t have come myself but he insisted. He is asking for you.” He lowered his voice further. “Something about a demand for your hand in marriage.”

Her hand? In marriage? Her stomach dropped. She had to get home, and as quickly as possible.

“You must go immediately,” her Uncle Clyde said by her side. He nodded toward Fiona. “Hurry and pack her things. Becca, some water and food for the journey.” He looked over at the tired, heavily breathing horses. “You’ll take our horses.” He scowled. “I would go with you myself but haven’t the stamina to ride as fast as you’ll be needin’ to go. But I hate to send her off with just the two of you young lads.”

“We met with no trouble on our journey here,” Ruck assured him. “The fresh horses are much appreciated.”

“Yes, but still…” He looked over at the smallish servant who had accompanied Ruck. “I’d feel better if I could see her safely home myself.” His frown deepened.

“I’ll accompany them.”

All eyes swung toward Iain. Juliet’s eyes widened in shock.

“I have business in Edinburgh and was planning to travel to the south after the festival. It will only be a little out of the way to accompany them to Northumberland first and see to Edinburgh on my way back home.”

Uncle Clyde’s face lit up. “MacLeon, you are too generous, but I gladly accept your offer. I will sleep well knowing my niece is in safe hands with you escorting her.”

Ruck made a noise in his throat but didn’t say anything, just stared at the tall MacLeon chief.

Juliet found herself relieved. Ruck was three years younger than she at seventeen, and the servant he’d brought along looked to be about his same age and dropping off to sleep. To have a man, a man skilled at battle and knowledgeable of the land and any dangers therein, would be fortunate indeed.

She looked over at him and saw determination in his eyes, determination and something else—protectiveness? She took a deep breath, not breaking contact with his eyes. It was a new feeling to realize that she had such strength, a fierce loyalty, at her side. How could it be? They’d only known of each other for three days. She didn’t understand it, but whether they liked it or not, there was something between them that would not be denied.