The Lady's Protector (Highland Bodyguards #1) (17 page)

If it were possible, Isolda felt her shoulders and back tighten even more as they rode.

Ansel’s home
.

She couldn’t deny the lure of knowing more, but she’d bitten her tongue to keep from prying. It was better that she not contemplate what kind of man rode behind her.

An honorable man. A protective man. A man whose hard exterior shielded a noble heart.

Foolish thoughts, she chided herself. She’d believed those same things about the Earl of Lancaster.
Ansel is not the same as Thomas
, a voice whispered in her head, but she shoved it aside. She was ruled by passion, just as her parents had said. And passion would be her undoing unless she could guard herself against the warmth that blossomed in her heart at the mere thought of Ansel.

So lost in her own dark contemplations was she that it wasn’t until Ansel spurred Eachann into a gallop that she snapped her head up and took in her surroundings.

They had entered hilly country, with stark mountains to the west and flatlands to the east. A lake ruffled with the cool afternoon breeze to their left.

And then she saw it.

A stone tower several storeys tall rose from the top of the highest hill in the area. She squinted against the gray sky behind the tower. A few outbuildings surrounded it, but otherwise it was completely isolated, with no thick curtain wall or village nestled around it.

Brora Tower.

Her heart hitched into her throat with uncertainty. What awaited her there?

A flicker of movement at the tower’s base had her squinting again. A figure darted down the grassy hill and across the open space between them and the tower.

At first Isolda thought the figure was a man, but as he drew nearer, she realized with a start that it was actually a child.

Something in her chest twisted painfully. The lad couldn’t be much older than John. In the many months since she’d last seen her son, he’d turned five. She’d missed his birthday. A knot rose to her throat as she watched the lad run toward them.

“Uncle Ansel!” the boy shouted when he had almost closed the distance between them.

Shock replaced pain as Isolda registered the words.

“Uncle?” she murmured over her shoulder.

Ignoring her, Ansel pulled Eachann back into a walk. His chuckle made her jump, so foreign was the sound. She turned partially in the saddle to find a wide grin splitting Ansel’s face.

A jolt of heat tore through her. He was so handsome, his face transformed by the warm smile for his nephew.

“Go on back to the tower, Niall,” he said, still smiling down at the lad. “Tell yer mother and father that I am here.”

Niall tore off in the direction he’d come, leaving them behind as Eachann plodded toward the tower.

“Mama, Papa, Uncle Ansel is here!” the boy shouted gleefully.

The wooden door at the base of the tower opened, and out emerged a large man with a brightly colored plaid belted around his hips and an extra length of material thrown over his shirt-clad shoulder. The plaid was of a different pattern and coloring than the one Ansel had given Isolda to drape over her cloak—the man’s was red and green, while the one she wore was blue and green.

The man strode a few paces away from the door and waited for them to approach. Behind him, a woman burst from the doorway, her gaze latching onto them.

“Ansel!” the woman cried, rushing forward.

At the base of the hill atop which the tower perched, Ansel reined Eachann to a halt and swung down from the animal’s back hurriedly. Before he could offer Isolda assistance down, the woman launched herself into Ansel’s arms.

“Brother,” the woman breathed. “I have missed ye.”

Isolda felt her eyes widen as she looked on from the saddle. The woman broke her fierce hug with Ansel and held him back to examine him.

Now that she was so close, Isolda could see the resemblance between the two. Like Ansel, the woman had thick, dark brown hair, which was secured in a simple braid. Her eyes shone with emotion. They were the same rich chestnut as Ansel’s.

“I have missed ye and the wee ones, too,” Ansel said, his voice soft.

Just then, the woman shifted her gaze to where Isolda sat perched atop Eachann’s back.

“And who is this?”

Isolda stiffened, though the woman’s eyes held nothing more than kind curiosity.

Ansel slowly opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, the man who’d emerged first from the tower strode to them. He clapped Ansel soundly on the shoulder, then extended his forearm to him. Ansel took hold in a firm shake.

“Ansel! It is good to see ye,” the man said. “But by God, man, ye look like a bloody Englishman in those breeches and tunic.”

“Burke,” the woman said gently. “No’ in front of the children.”

Isolda’s gaze tugged toward the open tower door, where a dark head had just appeared. A little girl no more than three years of age stood almost entirely hidden by the doorframe, her gaze wide and shy on them.

“Forgive me,” the man, Burke, said. “But it is no’ every day yer brother arrives dressed like an Englishman and with a woman sharing his horse with him.”

Burke’s light brown head tilted up toward her, his night-blue eyes fixing on her with the same curiosity the woman’s gaze held.

“This is Lady Isolda of Embleton,” Ansel said.

At the surprise flitting across the faces staring up at her, Isolda cringed internally. Ansel had used her title, even though he knew Embleton was a farce. Not so long ago, he’d openly questioned the validity of a ladyship associated with an unfinished village like Embleton, yet now he was allowing her to keep her secrets.

Ansel reached up and wrapped his hands around Isolda’s waist, sliding her with ease from Eachann’s back. When Isolda’s feet hit the ground, Ansel’s sister bobbed into an apprehensive curtsy and Burke dipped his head.

“Nay,” she said quickly. “Please don’t. And just Isolda is fine.”

As they both raised themselves from their genuflections, their eyes again locked on her. The woman’s lips fell apart, and Burke raised a sandy eyebrow in surprise.

Once more, Isolda had forgotten that her English accent would draw curiosity at best and ire—or even violence—at worst. The breath froze in her lungs as she waited for their reaction.

At last, Burke whistled softly through his teeth. “I take it there is quite the story behind this, Ansel.”

“Aye,” Ansel replied gruffly.

“One that can wait until we have seen to the comforts of our guests,” Ansel’s sister said, deliberately shooting a glance at Burke. She turned back to Isolda and Ansel. “Ye look as if ye both have been through quite a journey. Let us prepare a bath and a meal for ye.”

“Thank ye, Sister, but I’ll swim in the loch,” Ansel said, his gaze darting to Isolda. She felt color rise to her cheeks as the memory of her last bath—and what had come after—flooded her.

Once again, she felt the woman’s perceptive eyes searching her. Isolda stiffened her spine against the urge to duck her head and hide her blush.

“Ah, well,” the woman said slowly, her gaze shifting between her brother and Isolda. “Just a bath for Isolda, then.”

Ansel nodded curtly and unfastened Isolda’s satchel from his saddlebags. Then he removed the bags, slinging them over his shoulders.

“If ye wouldnae mind seeing to Eachann, Sister,” he said. “I’ll be back before supper.”

Burke’s sandy brows lowered as he looked between them all. “I’ll join ye at the loch, if ye dinnae mind, Ansel,” he said carefully. “Niall and I were going to go fishing there this afternoon anyway.”

It was the barest of movements, but Isolda didn’t miss the look that passed between Burke and Ansel’s sister or the slight nod of thanks the woman gave him.

As the two men and the lad strode past the tower to the lake that sat behind it, the woman turned kind but curious eyes on Isolda.

“Och, that oaf brother of mine didnae even introduce us. I am Meredith Sinclair, née Sutherland. That was my husband, Burke Sinclair. I believe ye met my son Niall.”

At Isolda’s nod, Meredith pointed surreptitiously toward the doorway, where the dark-headed little girl still peered at them. “And that is my daughter, Fiona. She’s a shy one, but a true angel.”

“Th-thank you for your hospitality,” Isolda managed. She was still reeling from learning that they were staying with Ansel’s sister and her family. But perhaps even more shocking was the kindness they were showing her.

“It is naught,” Meredith said, taking Eachann’s reins. “Now, I should see to this wearied horse.” She rubbed Eachann’s nose, and the animal immediately nuzzled her back.

“I hope it is not too much of an inconvenience, Madam Sinclair,” Isolda said. She silently cursed herself for her awkward formality, but Meredith only smiled kindly.

“Please, call me Meredith. And nay, it is no inconvenience at all. I have a way with animals, ye see. Ansel kenned that I would enjoy tending to Eachann.” To Isolda’s surprise, Meredith snorted ruefully. “
Eachann
. What a name,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

“What is it? Is the name Gaelic?” Isolda asked hesitantly.

Meredith turned warm eyes on her. “Aye. It means ‘brown horse.’” She snorted again. “Ansel has always been a verra…straightforward man.” She shook her head, a smile curving her lips.

Isolda blinked at the bay stallion. “Brown horse?”

The animal’s brown coat shone dully in the overcast light. The ridiculousness of the name bubbled inside her. Suddenly, a wild giggle tore from her throat. She clapped a hand over her mouth at the nigh hysterical sound.

“Forgive me,” she said behind her hand. “I am very tired, and—”

To her surprise, Meredith’s own laugh chimed merrily through the air.

“No need to apologize,” Meredith said when she could speak again, placing a soft hand on Isolda’s arm. “My brother can be most…serious, as I’m sure ye’ve learned in the time ye’ve spent with him.”

Meredith’s unspoken question hung in the air for a long moment, her curious gaze resting on Isolda. Isolda twined her hands together in front of her, suddenly anxious over how she could possibly explain everything that had happened since Ansel had come into her life.

“But that’s enough chatter for now,” Meredith said quickly, relieving Isolda of the need to speak. “If ye dinnae mind stopping by the stables with me to see to the horse, I’ll get ye settled in the tower.”

At Isolda’s nod, Meredith led the way to one of the handful of wooden outbuildings sitting around the tower’s base. Isolda followed on wobbly legs, too exhausted now to fight against the tug of her thoughts back toward Ansel.

After spending so much time in Ansel’s presence, his sudden absence left her hollow and aching.

Aye, she was still in danger, but not from Edward’s men. It seemed the greatest threat of all lay beating in her chest.

“And ye’re sure ye werenae followed to Brora?”

Burke leaned forward, his elbows propped on the small wooden table and worry creasing his forehead.

Ansel rubbed a palm over the scruff on his jaw. Bloody hell, it could well nigh be called the start of a beard by now. The dunk in the cold loch had done wonders to wash away the smell of horseflesh and hard travel, but he still longed to shave, and his body was beyond fatigued.

The warm meal of meat pies and roasted vegetables that sat in his belly threatened to pull him into an exhausted sleep. In the corner of his eye, he noticed that Isolda was having a hard time keeping her lids up. She slumped next to him on the wooden bench they shared.

“I cannae be completely sure,” Ansel said wearily. “But we’ve seen neither hide nor hair of anyone on our trail. And I doubt that no matter how badly Edward wants to reach Lancaster’s son, he wouldnae dare send men this deep into the Highlands. The men at the inn outside of Stirling prove just how unwelcome Englishmen are in Scotland.”

Burke shook his head slightly, then glanced at Meredith. Niall and Fiona had long ago been tucked into their beds, but even still, Burke’s gaze drifted to the spiraling stairs in the corner as if to reassure himself that his children were sleeping safely.

It wasn’t so long ago that Ansel had tried to kill Burke for seducing Meredith. He’d found them in the barn behind Brora Tower, naked and entwined in each other’s arms. Ansel had seen red—the red of the Sinclair plaid. Luckily, Meredith had stopped Ansel before he ended her chance for true happiness in marrying Burke.

Ansel almost chuckled tiredly at the memory. He couldn’t ask for a better brother-in-law, though the fact that he came from the Sutherlands’ rivals, the Sinclairs, was still a source of ribbing between them. But Burke was a good man—he was even more protective of Meredith and their children than Ansel was.

“I would never come here if I thought I was putting ye in the slightest danger,” Ansel said quietly, holding Burke’s gaze.

Burke nodded. “Aye, I ken ye wouldnae, Ansel. It is just…I havenae observed Kings to give up so easily when they want something.”

Burke and Meredith’s gaze shifted to Isolda. Ansel felt her stiffen beside him, her eyes no longer drooping and her spine suddenly straight.

“Perhaps if we kenned where yer son was, we could ensure that Edward never finds him,” Burke said gently.

Just as Isolda parted her lips to respond, Ansel spoke. “Isolda doesnae wish to divulge John’s location. She fears—and mayhap rightly—that the more people learn where he is, the more danger both he and those who ken his whereabouts will be in.”

Isolda’s head jerked toward him, and those haunting green eyes pinned him. Surprise and gratitude flickered in her pale gaze.

Meredith reached across the table and placed her hand over Isolda’s. “We willnae push ye. If it were Niall or Fiona…” She shuddered and squeezed Isolda’s hand. “Ye are verra brave.”

“Thank you,” Isolda whispered, though her eyes still lingered on Ansel.

“Well, I believe ye were right to come here, Ansel,” Burke said. “It is safe here, and we’ll do our best to make ye both comfortable.”

“Aye, and we are grateful,” Ansel replied.

“But…” Meredith hesitated before going on. “What will ye do now?”

Ansel raked a hand through his hair. Burke and Meredith had listened, Burke with a grim frown on his normally kindly features and Meredith with wide eyes, as he and Isolda had explained all that had happened before they’d arrived at Brora. He’d told them of Garrick’s visit to Dunrobin and the mission he’d given Ansel on the Bruce’s behalf. He described the attack at Dunstanburgh and their flight into Scotland. He left out the scorching passion he’d shared with Isolda but explained the unrest in Stirling and their hasty departure.

But now that they were finally safe at Brora, tucked deep into the Highlands, their next steps were unclear.

“To be honest, I dinnae ken,” Ansel said, dropping his hands onto the table. “Bannockburn is still a fresh wound. Perhaps if we wait until things cool a bit, it will be safe for Isolda to return to England.”

He glanced at Isolda. Her delicate features were drawn with worry and fatigue. His words clearly rang hollow to her. Hearing them himself, he had a hard time believing that it would ever be safe for her in England if Edward was determined to find her son.

“Ye don’t have to decide now,” Meredith said gently. “Take all the time ye need at Brora. As Burke said, ye’re safe here.”

Isolda nodded wearily, some of the tension finally easing from her body. Her shoulders slumped again as she let out a slow exhale.

Burke turned the conversation to how his cousin Garrick fared in the Bruce’s camp in the Borderlands. As they spoke, Ansel caught sight of Isolda’s head drifting down, then back up with a jerk. On the third droop of her head, he could no longer ignore her exhaustion.

He pulled her against his side and nestled her head on his shoulder.

“Rest, lass,” he said gruffly.

She stiffened at the sudden contact for a moment, but her fatigue at last overcame her resistance and she relaxed against him. In a matter of moments, her even breathing against his neck told him that she’d slipped into sleep.

Ansel looked up to find both Burke and Meredith’s perceptive gazes pinned on him.

“We shouldnae have kept ye up so late with our questions,” Meredith said. Her eyes danced over Isolda as if she deduced a deeper implication to the moment she’d just witnessed. “I made up a chamber for ye two abovestairs.”

“I’ll need my own,” Ansel said, his voice coming out harder than he’d intended.

Meredith cocked a dark eyebrow at him, and Ansel almost cursed to see that look on his sister’s face.

“Dinnae be silly, Ansel. As ye well ken, there are only four chambers in this tower. Niall and Fiona are each in one, and Burke and I are in the third. That only leaves one for the two of ye.”

“Then I’ll sleep in the barn.”

“The barn is full to the rafters with hay for the winter,” Burke said. “There’s no room, unless ye want to share a stall with yer horse.”

This time, Ansel didn’t bother suppressing the curse that rose to his tongue, though he was careful not to disturb Isolda’s sleep. Burke and Meredith were looking at him far too knowingly.

“Ansel, ye dinnae need to be so stubborn all the time,” Meredith chided. “It is obvious ye and Isolda share some sort of…connection. Why would ye insist on yer own chamber?”

Exhausted though he was, Ansel felt a surge of annoyance at his younger sister. She was clearly fishing for information. Worse, she was meddling with his carefully constructed plan to keep a safe distance between himself and Isolda.

Just then, Isolda shifted her head slightly, nuzzling into his neck.
Bloody hell
. So much for maintaining a safe distance.

“Keep yer nose to yerself, Sister,” he said, leveling Meredith with a glower. “I’ll be sleeping on the chamber’s floor, then.”

Meredith’s other eyebrow rose to meet the first in amused surprise. “Have it yer way, ye old mule.”

Ansel wrapped one arm around Isolda’s shoulders and slid the other underneath her knees. It was a testament to just how exhausted she was that she hardly stirred as Ansel stood from the bench they’d been sharing.

Ansel’s sudden movement startled a large orange cat that was warming itself in front of the kitchen fire. The cat stood and stretched, then lazily wound its way through Ansel’s legs.

“And damn all yer bloody animals,” Ansel muttered crossly as he strode toward the stairs with Isolda in his arms, narrowly avoiding tripping on the cat.

Meredith’s muffled chuckle taunted him as he made his way up the spiraling stairs.

Without pause or thought, Ansel climbed past the three lower chambers. When he reached the top of the stairs, he found the fourth chamber’s door slightly ajar. He eased the door open with one foot, the soft glow of the banked fire in the brazier spilling around him as he entered.

This had been his chamber as a lad. When he’d turned ten, he had moved to Dunrobin to begin training with Kenneth Sutherland in the duties and responsibilities of a Laird. Kenneth was of an age with Ansel, but he was Laird Sutherland’s only son. As Kenneth’s cousin, the responsibility of the Lairdship would have fallen to Ansel had anything happened to Kenneth.

Even though he’d spent much of his childhood and adult life at Dunrobin, Brora still felt like home. Or did the familiar warmth kindling in his chest have more to do with the woman in his arms?

He crossed the dimly lit chamber to the bed and slowly lowered Isolda down. Bent over her, the smell of lemons and lavender drifted to him. As he shifted the pillow under her head, his fingers came in contact with her silky braid. Her hair was still damp from her bath earlier that day.

His mind reeled back to the inn in Stirling—her dripping, dark hair, her heat-flushed skin, her breaths coming shallow as he drove into her.

Ansel’s cock surged with unwelcome desire. Greedily, he inhaled her heady scent before dragging a blanket over her sleeping form with trembling hands.

Taking up another blanket, he forced himself to step away from Isolda. As he stretched out on the floor at the foot of the bed, her steady breathing filled the quiet chamber.

Shite
.

His body wouldn’t listen to all the reasons why he shouldn’t—
couldn’t
—want her, care for her, long for her. Yet the realization of a deeper problem stole over him as he lay on the hard wooden floor breathing in time with Isolda—his heart wouldn’t listen either.