The Laird's Forbidden Lady (3 page)

‘I will escort you to supper, of course.’

‘I look forward to it. In the meantime, do not worry about me. I am well entertained.’

He bowed and departed and was soon leading out a handsome young matron. Strangely enough, Selina didn’t feel a smidgeon of envy as she watched him. Nor would she, she was sure, when he continued to dance with other ladies after they were married. It was the way of their world.

As the music finished, Lord Carrick took up a position on the dais in front of the orchestra.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I have a special treat
for you before supper. If you will please follow me out onto the terrace.’ A buzz of excitement circled the room and people moved towards the French doors at the far end of the hall.

Ian Gilvry, she noticed, left by way of the arch through which he had entered.

With no choice but to follow the rest of the company, she pushed to her feet.

Chrissie and her father joined her. ‘What is going on?’

‘I have no idea,’ Selina said.

A woman standing nearby turned to them. ‘It is a contest. The local lads will compete for a prize for our entertainment.’

‘Not boxing,’ Chrissie said with a shudder.

‘Och, no. Something better. Wait and see.’ She disappeared into the crowd.

The Albright party joined Lord Carrick, who indicated they should sit in the front row and guided Selina to a chair beside Chrissie.

Chrissie gave her a sweet smile. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Excited about the coming spectacle,’ she said, deliberately misunderstanding Chrissie’s true meaning.

Chrissie leaned closer and whispered something in her husband’s ear. Her father smiled down fondly, murmuring something that made Chrissie giggle.

Feeling like an intruder, Selina averted her gaze and pretended not to notice.

Lit by torches and a full moon, the flagged courtyard looked positively medieval. Lord Carrick seated himself on a thronelike canopied chair carved with symbols of his clan. Clearly he was to be judge and jury of the coming contest.

To the skirling sound of bagpipes five kilted men marched into the open area from beneath a shadowing arch, holding swords across their chests. Among them, taller than all of them, was Ian. Two of his three brothers accompanied him.

The men bent and laid their swords on the flagstones crossed at right angles. The music ceased.

Lord Carrick rose to his feet and the five men bowed. Their chief signalled for them to begin and the piper played the opening bars. The men were going to dance for a purse.

It was a magnificent sight. Strong young men in their plaids and white lace leaping lightly over their swords, jumping higher and faster in ever more complex patterns. Ian’s heavy kilt swung high, revealing strongly muscled thighs and … nothing more. Too bad.

That thought brought heat to Selina’s cheeks. How could she be so wicked?

But the sight of Ian dancing, the controlled wildness in his movement, the demonstration of his male strength and grace, called to something
primal inside her. The iron control in the lightness of his feet caused her to hold her breath in awe and fear. A man touched his sword, knocking it askew with a clatter. He ceased dancing immediately, bowed and walked away defeated. She could scarcely bear to watch in case Ian also failed, yet could not look away.

The music’s tempo increased. Another man dropped out. And another, until only two of the older Gilvry brothers remained.

Ian and Niall. Of Andrew there was no sign. Ian leapt without effort, his feet so close to the blades he barely moved from the centre of the cross. What held her transfixed was his intensity, the hot blood of battle expressed in the position of his arms, the proud angle of his head and the fire in his defiant eyes.

Impossible as it seemed, she felt their eyes lock and in that moment, it was as if he danced only for her.

Nay, not for her, she realised. At her, rejecting all she stood for. War declared. The final leaps caused an indrawn breath from the assembled company. Yet they landed lightly, clear of the swords, each man holding position until the last note died away.

The connection snapped.

In unison the two men bowed and stood stiffly, waiting for their chief’s judgement while their audience applauded and cheered.

Even Chrissie and Father leaped to their feet, clapping.

Selina had no doubt Ian would win. Yet she still felt anxious until his chieftain beckoned him forwards. He ran lightly up the terrace steps, shook the Carrick’s hand and took the purse presented with an incline of his head. He did not once glance her way.

There had been no connection between them. He probably couldn’t see her on the terrace in the dark. It had all been her imagination. It wasn’t the first time she’d been mistaken in his interest. The only connection they had was one of mutual dislike.

Deep inside she felt a twinge of sadness. Perhaps because whoever he had danced for, he had expressed himself through movement—a freedom and grace she could never accomplish.

The two men spoke a few words, then Ian ran back down the steps and walked away. Only when he was out of sight did the sorrow inside her lessen.

She thought she had resigned herself to the future she’d charted, but for some reason, now she felt thoroughly unsettled. She rose to her feet with a slight wince.

‘Is your leg paining you?’ Chrissies asked.

Dash it all, the woman watched her like a hawk. ‘I am just a little stiff from sitting, that is all.’ And from the tension of watching Ian.

Chapter Two

I
an joined his clansmen clustered around the piper in the shadows of the gate leading out of the courtyard to the kitchens. His breathing had slowed, but his blood still ran hot—battle fever aroused by the music. There had been a time when he danced for the pure joy of it. Now he felt like little more than a performing bear on a chain performing for these
Sassenachs.
He swallowed the anger. It had pleased Carrick and the coin would bring much-needed relief to his people. Lord Carrick could easily have spent his money on entertainment elsewhere.

He emptied the prize purse into his palm, first paying the piper his due, then dividing the spoils equally. ‘Well done, lads.’

‘What is that?’ Logan, his youngest brother,
asked, gesturing to the other pouch Carrick had slipped into Ian’s palm.

‘You’ve sharp eyes, young Logan,’ Ian grumbled. ‘Carrick wants us to make another run to France.’

‘I thought we had all the salt we need,’ Niall said, glancing up from the pamphlet he’d been reading by the light of the torch.

‘He wants brandy,’ Ian said. ‘He will have used up most of his supply by the end of this ball.’

‘Brandy is asking for trouble,’ Niall said. ‘It is bad enough running the whisky over the border to England.

Ian quelled him with a glance. ‘How could I refuse after all he has done for us? Besides, his money will help pay for this autumn’s barley.’

Niall shook his head. ‘Admit it, you like the danger.’

Did he? Long ago, he’d wanted to be a soldier, but when his father died, he’d shouldered the duties of Laird without a second thought. It was his responsibility.

Straying from that duty had never resulted in anything but trouble, for him or his family. And smuggling was a necessary evil. Part of the job, if he wanted the clan to survive. And he did, desperately. It was all he thought of, day and night.

‘What say we go down to the tavern and celebrate?’
Tammy McNab said, jingling the coin in his hand.

Ian jabbed at Tammy’s shoulder. ‘Would you spend your money on drink when your babes are hungry?’

A red-haired man of twenty-five who already had three children to his name, Tammy hung his head. ‘Just thought to have a wee bit of fun.’

‘Why pay for it, when Carrick has food and drink for you all in the servants’ hall?’ Ian said.

Tammy cheered instantly. ‘You’ll be coming too, Laird?’

Ian shook his head. ‘I’ve a ship’s captain to meet now I have this new errand. Enjoy yourself on Lord Carrick’s coin. You’ve earned it.’

The men moved off towards the servants’ entrance in the low-slung thatched buildings abutting the castle. Ian turned to leave by the drawbridge. Logan caught his shoulder. ‘Did you see who was watching? The Albrights. I’d recognise Lady Selina anywhere.’

Because she was just so damned lovely. Even lovelier as a woman than she had been as a child of sixteen. And just as much trouble as she had been then, too.

‘I met her inside.’ He curled his lip. ‘I asked her to dance as Carrick ordered. She refused me.’ He hadn’t known whether to be glad or insulted.

During the sword dance, he had felt the intensity
of her gaze. Had lost himself in her beauty in the final bars, drawing strength from her shining eyes and parted lips. He’d gone back in time, dancing for the girl who had roamed freely among the heather that long-ago summer. He’d been enchanted by her pretty face and spirit, until he came to his senses and remembered just whose daughter she was.

Something he’d do well to remember now, too. Selina Albright had caused his family nothing but trouble. And he, like a fool, had helped.

‘I’m no surprised she wouldna dance with you, Ian.’

He stiffened. ‘Aye. Albrights have always been a touch above the Gilvry clan.’

‘She might think so, but I doubt she can dance, not with that limp.’

Stunned by a sudden stab of dismay, Ian whipped his head around. His eyes narrowed as he watched the progress of the dark beauty in the white gown as she crossed the terrace on her father’s arm, the hesitation in her step cruelly obvious in the torchlight.

She had refused him for a reason different from the one he’d assumed. He felt an odd surge of relief.

He turned and pushed Logan after the others. He called Niall back and lowered his voice. ‘Keep an eye on young Logan. He’s developing
an eye for the ladies and Carrick has too many of them in his kitchen.’

Niall sighed. ‘You are as bad as our mother, always worrying about the lad. You’ll make him worse.’

‘Our mother has lost one son.’ Because he’d let his fondness for a pretty face overrule good sense. ‘I don’t plan to let her lose another.’

‘Then perhaps you should think twice about smuggling.’

‘Now who’s worrying too much?’ Ian snatched the paper from Niall’s hand. ‘You can read this later.’

‘Give it back,’ Niall said, his voice dangerously low.

Ian tossed it to him with a grin. ‘Keep it in your pocket, then, and concentrate on what is going on around you for once.’

Niall grimaced, his eyes turning serious. ‘Make this trip to France the last one, brother, or we’ll all find ourselves at the end of a rope.’

Ian clapped his brother on the shoulder with a confidence that seemed to stick in the back of his throat. ‘It will be fine.’

Against his will, he looked back at the terrace, his gaze seeking the girl whose eyes spoke to him in unexpected ways. She was gone. Just as well. He had work to do.

Topaz needed no urging to canter. Selina guided her off the road and across open ground,
exhilarated by the speed and the edge of chill on the breeze against her cheeks. At last she could breathe. And on horseback she could forget her incapacity.

The scent of heather filled her nostrils. Sweet, like the honey they made from the bees in this part of the country, yet earthy, too. She filled her gaze with the beauty of hills of smoky purple. Wild, unforgiving terrain, but so grand it made your heart ache.

She’d forgotten how easily the child in her had fallen in love with this place the first time she had seen it. Forgotten deliberately. Remembering only brought back the pain of loneliness and betrayal. Something she would never suffer again.

She smiled at herself. Such maudlin thoughts had no place in her mind on such a glorious day. Live for the now, plan for the future and let the past belong to the devil. Lord knew there were enough mistakes in her past well worth forgetting.

Thirty minutes later she was wishing she’d stayed on the track. After months of inactivity, her muscles were complaining at being forced to keep her steady in the saddle when as a girl she’d ridden the rough terrain astride, without effort. Riding astride was not an option for the woman she’d become. She rubbed at her thigh
with a grimace at the reminder she was lucky to be riding at all. Lucky she hadn’t killed herself or someone else. She slowed the animal to a walk and turned him around.

A black-and-white collie flashed out of the heather. Barking, it snapped at Topaz’s heels. The horse reared. Off balance, Selina clung to his mane.

The animal landed with a thud on its forefeet, jolting her again. ‘Steady, boy,’ she cried out, fighting with the reins as he tossed his head and spun around, trying to watch the dog. He kicked out with a back hoof. Dislodged by the jolt, Selina had no choice but to free her foot and let herself slide to the ground.

She landed on her rump with a groan. ‘Blasted dog,’ she yelled. She stared up at the wild-eyed Topaz. Dash it. She’d never be able to mount him again. She’d have to lead him home. Her first chance to ride in months had ended in disaster.

She stretched out an arm to catch Topaz’s reins. ‘It’s all right, boy,’ she said softly. The nervous gelding tossed its head and pranced farther away.

Double blast.

Her thigh throbbed a protest. Surely she hadn’t broken it again? The thought made her stomach roil. No. She hadn’t heard that horrid snapping sound and it was her rear end that was bruised, and her pride, not her leg. Breathe.
Calm down. All she had to do was get up and catch Topaz. It was a long walk home, but she could do it.

She forced herself to her knees.

‘Lady Selina! Is that you?’

Inwardly, she groaned. Of all the bad luck—it would have to be that well-remembered deep voice she heard. She looked up.

Kilted and wild-looking, his black hair ruffled by the breeze, Ian Gilvry looked completely at home among the heather-clad hills as he strode towards her. He always had.

To a girl of sixteen, he’d seemed heroic and romantic. Especially since the first time they met he’d carried her home and then kissed her, a shy fumbling thing when he set her down at the gate. Utterly besotted, she’d plotted every which way to meet up with him again. And again.