Stolen Vows Read online

  STOLEN VOWS

  By Stephanie Sterling

  Edited by Joanna Johns

  First Edition – March 2013

  Stolen Vows

  Copyright © 2013 by Stephanie Sterling.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  For Kaz, who showed me real Scotland, and who let me listen to Runrig as many times as I wanted. For Cat, who did yeoman’s work on the original and for Lachlan and Muira, who started it all.

  -S

  Clan MacRae and Clan Cameron had been locked in a bitter feud since before Roan MacRae could remember, since before his father could remember, perhaps since before even his father’s father could remember. It went so far down the branches of the family tree that no one alive was quite sure what had started it in the first place.

  MacRae children were brought up to despise the Camerons; to loathe them as if they were the very lowest of the low. Fed on the sour milk of hatred from the time they were babies in arms, the prejudice quickly became ingrained. It festered in their blood, taking so deep a hold on them and becoming such an integral part of them that it was impossible to purge. Roan supposed the reverse was also true, which was one of the many reasons why he thought that Laird Graem MacRae’s idea was ludicrous.

  Roan sighed and stared down the road ahead. He kept his bay gelding moving at an even pace. There was no need to hurry. He might be under strict instructions from Graem, to convey his “olive branch” but that didn’t mean, under any circumstances, that he was going to rush towards Castle Cameron.

  He passed the long, gray miles by humming a drinking song under his breath and calculating the minutes until he could turn homeward again. He did such a good job distracting himself that he was taken by surprise at the sound of a low whinny.

  A dappled mare was standing on the shoulder of the path, ripping up clumps of grass and chewing them loudly. It was holding its forepaw gingerly and looked lame, but appearances could be deceiving. Roan put his hand on his scabbard as he noted the rope tied around the mare’s bridle. His green eyes narrowed and followed the line to where it disappeared into the bushes.

  He was not alone.

  “Show yerself!” Roan demanded. He sat up straighter in the saddle, his powerful muscles instantly taut and poised to strike.

  When he didn’t receive an answer, he swung down out of the saddle, sword raised. “Come out! I ken yer there.”

  Once again, there was only silence. Roan picked up a fallen branch and thrust it into the brush.

  “OOCH!”

  At last, the stillness was shattered. The exclamation was followed by an impressive string of curses. The rope on the bridle went slack and a bundle of gray wool and unruly red curls tumbled into the lane. Roan blinked in surprise as the blur gradually resolved into the shape of a woman.

  She had suffered a drenching in the last rain shower and was in something of a sorry state. Her long auburn curls hung in a tangled mess around her shoulders and her clothes were wet and muddied, but they didn’t detract from her pretty face. Roan’s gaze drifted over her body. It lingered a second too long on her luscious curves and so he didn’t notice the dagger clutched in her hand until it was swinging toward him.

  Luckily, his warrior instincts were stronger than his distraction. He easily deflected the blow, capturing the girl’s slender wrist between his rough fingers and pinching until she released the blade.

  The renewed string of curses that flowed from her plump lips only caused him to smile.

  “Whoa there, lassie!” he said, kicking the knife away before he released the woman’s hand. “I mean ye no harm.”

  The woman, apparently, felt otherwise. Robbed of her weapon, she tried to take a swing at him with her bare hand.

  “Dinna come any closer!” she spat, and looked highly annoyed when Roan burst into a fit of laughter.

  “Yer a feisty one, are ye nae lass?” he chuckled, taking a step towards her. “Calm yerself,” he said in the same tone he used sooth skittish horses. “I’m nae threat to ye.”

  “Ha! Yer wearing the MacRae tartan!” she said accusingly, wagging her finger at the plaid wrapped around Roan waist.

  He glanced down absently. “Aye,” he agreed. “Tis true enough.” He rubbed a hand over his short beard. “And I assume from that reaction yer a Cameron?”

  “I am,” she said, lifting her chin with an arrogance that Roan would have struck away had she been a man. “Isla Cameron.”

  “Isla Cameron?” Roan repeated softly. “Well, Miss Isla, what is a fine lass like yerself doing out on the highroad alone.” She inched backwards again and Roan noticed for the first time that she was limping. “Yer nae in any trouble, are ye?”

  “I’m fine,” Isla replied, unconvincingly. “I dinna need help from MacRae at any rate!” she added more forcibly.

  Roan frowned. It would be easy enough to leave the troublesome wench, but he didn’t like to think who might come across her out here alone. She certainly didn’t seem to be going anywhere on her own. He was certain that she was favoring her right leg. Her mount could not be ridden, and it was miles to the next cottage.

  “I’ll just leave ye here to wait for yer escort then, shall I?” he said. “Ye did have an escort, dinna ye, lass?” he pressed. Now that he was closer he could see that her clothes were those of a lady. He couldn’t understand what she would be doing out alone.

  “Aye,” Isla said after a lengthy pause. “I rode ahead. My horse bolted. Then it stumbled and threw me and -”

  “Do nae” Roan interrupted harshly, “lie to me. If ye dinna want to tell me the truth that’s yer business, but I canna abide liars.” He advanced toward her again. “Now - why are ye travelling alone?”

  Her eyes were narrow and defiant. They locked onto his face. Roan was just trying to discern their color when Isla’s voice rose in challenge. “What business is it of yers, MacRae?”

  It wasn’t, really - but his damned honor wouldn’t allow him to abandon an injured female on the side of the road, Cameron or no. He didn’t fancy hearing Isla’s thoughts on the concept of MacRae “honor” though, and so he didn’t bother to explain.

  “Come on,” he barked.

  “Come where?” Isla replied.

  “To Castle Cameron.” Bringing her along was really the only thing that he could do with the woman.

  “Castle Cameron?” Isla repeated. There was a flicker of unease in her eyes that Roan found remarkably strange. Surely a Cameron would want to be taken home to her Laird’s seat? Where else could she be going on her own? “Ye canna take me to the castle, MacRae,” she said flatly. A haughty tone crept into her voice, grating on Roan’s nerves.

  “I canna?”

  “Yer a MacRae,” Isla said, as though he was a simpleton for not realizing what this meant. “They’ll cut ye down before yer within sight of the castle. But…” she hesitated briefly. “Ye can help me to reach the Black Bull.”

  Roan’s expression blackened, “Yer a woman, and ye obviously have nae idea what’s going on between our clans, do ye? I’m expected at the castle and I will most certainly nae take ye to a tavern and abandon ye there. Ye must have friends at Castle Cameron.”

  “Aye, of course,” Isla admitted, “I do, but -” She swallowed the end of her sentence with a grimace that looked as if she was drinking poison. Her gaze travelled between her ankle and the dark roadway. By the time she met Roan’s gaze again, she managed a tight smile. “Thank ye, MacRae. I’ll be obliged for yer help.”

  Roan stared at her, wrong-footed by this humble display.
“Well now, there’s nae need to be getting all soft about it,” he said gruffly.

  Suddenly eager for activity, he wandered over to Isla’s horse and picked up each of the mare’s hooves to examine them. He cleaned out some grit and stone from under the horseshoes but the animal was too lame to bear any weight.

  “They’ll be nae riding her back to the castle,” Roan said

  “Aye,” she sighed. “She stepped on a stone and threw me. I was just sitting here catching my breath,”

  “When I came along?” Roan finished, flashing Isla a wicked smile. He chuckled at the color that rose to her cheeks. “Well, nae matter. Ye’ll just have to ride Fiadhaich,” he shrugged.

  “Who?” Isla asked. Her eyes alighted on the great bay brute of a horse that Roan had been riding.

  “He’s as gentle as a kitten. Are ye nae, Fiad?” Roan said cheerfully. He thumped Fiadhaich soundly on the rear. The horse gave a loud whinny and stomped at the ground.

  “Ye ken, my ankle’s nea too -”

  “I should probably take a look at that ankle of yers.” Roan said, wondering if it might be broken. He knew from experience that setting a bone was even more excruciating after it began to knit.

  Isla shook her head and smoothed her muddied skirts over her legs. “I dinna think tis necessary.” she said modestly, but Roan had already knelt down on the grass.

  He gently, but firmly pried her fingers away from her leg and slipped off her boot. Roan noticed that the leather was thick and barely worn, supporting his opinion that this girl was wellborn. He wondered if rescuing the damsel would earn him any favors with the Cameron Laird and then reminded himself that he didn’t care. It was Graem who was in such a rush to reach a peace between their two clans.

  Roan’s thoughts returned to the present when Isla gasped. “Does that hurt, lass?” Roan frowned. He was barely grazing her skin.

  “Nae,” she sputtered. “I mean aye! I mean -” she clamped her mouth shut. Blushing furiously, she stared down at her lap.

  Roan smiled to himself. Despite her furious bluster, she was an innocent little thing indeed if such a simple touch had sent her into a tizzy. Enjoying her discomfort, Roan finally admitted to himself how very fetching the girl was – for a Cameron, of course. His gaze lingered on her lips. Their plump, crimson swells looked far too luscious and inviting. He wondered how old she was. Eighteen? Nineteen? He didn’t imagine that she could be much older than that, but it was impossible to be certain.

  “Well, is it broken?” Isla’s voice snapped Roan to attention. He shook his head.

  “Nae. Tis just badly twisted. It only needs some rest.” He patted her knee and then got back up onto his feet.

  “Ye seem quite certain,” Isla said. Her voice was skeptical.

  “Well, I’ve had some practice,” he muttered. Roan frowned as he remembered the battle wounds that he had dressed, the injuries he’d seen and the bodies he’d buried - all because of the Camerons. Graem was a fool to think those things could be forgiven.

  Roan pushed his thoughts aside and forced a grin. “All done, lass. Ye’ll want to keep that boot off during the ride back though.” Isla nodded. “Let’s get ye up on Fiad then,” he continued, moving to lift Isla up into his arms.

  “Oh! I think I can manage!” she said quickly.

  Roan’s grin widened. “Ye think so, do ye?” he chuckled, looking from the tiny woman to the great horse.

  He knew perfectly well that she would never be able to hoist herself up onto the animal. She wasn’t nearly tall enough. What Roan was less certain of was if she would be able to put any weight on her foot. He waited, close enough to catch her if she stumbled, as Isla gingerly stood up.

  She used her good leg to bear her weight, but stumbled when she took a step forward. Roan’s arms were around Isla’s waist almost instantly.

  “Oh!”

  Isla let out a little puff of breath as her body collided with Roan’s. The fall had pushed her against his chest. He could feel the exceedingly generous curve of her breasts crushed against him. A spike of heat flared unexpectedly in his groin as she wriggled away.

  “I kenned ye’d need help.” Roan’s tone was harsher than he’d intended, but his body’s enthusiastic reaction to Isla’s touch had taken him by surprise.

  He stowed Isla’s boot and dagger in Fiadhach’s saddlebags. Then he caught the beast by the reins and picked up the rope attached to Isla’s mare. A gentle tug got both animals moving back along the road to the castle.

  “I dinna suppose ye want to tell me what ye were doing out here on yer own, lass?”

  “I dinna suppose I do,” Isla answered. The tension in her voice caused Roan to glance back over his shoulder. A smile tugged at his lips when he saw Isla struggling to keep her balance. She was attempting to sit sideways and her long skirt kept slipping on the smooth leather of the seat, creating a constant struggle for her to remain on the horse.

  “And I thought I would have to walk,” Roan said cheerfully.

  “What? What are you -” Isla sputtered, gaping as her companion threw Fiadhach’s reigns back over his head. Roan let the horse keep his steady, walking pace, but moved around to the animal’s side. He planted one foot into the stirrup before easily swinging himself up behind Isla.

  “Well, I canna have ye falling off,” Roan pointed out. “I dinna think that would go down too well with the Camerons.” Without warning, he reached around Isla’s body to grasp the reigns.

  “I was nae in any danger of falling off, MacRae!” Isla huffed. In truth she was squirming so much now that Roan was behind her that she seemed in greater danger of coming unseated now then she had before. “I really dinna think that ye should be -” She started to speak, but her voice trailed off in embarrassment. “We should nae be riding like this. I dinna even ken ye!”

  “Nae, tis true enough,” Roan conceded, but didn’t move.

  “All I do ken about ye is that yer a MacRae”

  “In fairness, lass, all I ken about ye is that yer a Cameron,” he replied. Roan watched the back of Isla’s head as she gave a small nod.

  “And yet, ye still helped me,” she whispered, confused. She twisted sideways so that she could look into his face. Even this close, Roan still couldn’t decide if her eyes were blue or green or grey. “Why did ye do that?” she asked. Roan forgot about deciphering the color of her eyes. The sight of her mouth, slightly parted and so temptingly close to his own transfixed him.

  He wrenched his gaze away before he made an epic mistake. He forced himself to look at the road ahead and nowhere else and shook his head, forcibly trying to clear it. His life would not be worth living if he compromised a woman from the Cameron clan - not that he would have much of a life expectancy in that situation.

  “MacRae?” Isla pressed.

  “Because I’m nae an animal,” he growled. He wasn’t sure if his words had been meant to convince Isla or himself.

  ..ooOOoo..

  Isla was getting used to the rocking of the horse. The stallion’s gait wasn’t as smooth as her grey mare’s, but that was hardly surprising. What she was not getting used to was the awareness of MacRae’s arm about her waist, holding her steady and the feeling of his chest pressed tightly against her back. It made her flushed and uncomfortable, but it was strangely pleasurable too

  Isla didn’t understand it. Her fiancé, Tavish MacEantach, had ensured that she could never encounter a man’s touch without a prickle of dread. She could tell from the way that MacRae moved, from the breadth of his chest and the height of his body that he was just as strong as Tavish, if not more so, but where Tavish MacEantach wielded his strength like a weapon, the steely power of MacRae’s body was harnessed in a way that made Isla shiver with something decidedly different than fear.

  He excited her. She bit the inside of her lip guiltily, reminding herself that Roan MacRae was the enemy and marveling that she felt so safe. She should hate this man for more than simply being a MacRae. He was taking her back to Castle C
ameron.

  The castle had been home for ten of her eighteen years. After her mother’s death, her father, the laird’s brother, moved back into his childhood residence with his daughter and two sons. Isla quickly became an indispensable member of the household. The laird had no daughters and Isla became her aunt’s favorite little helper.

  She learned a great deal from her aunt: to sew and embroider, to sing and to play the harp, and also how to manage the running of a large castle. She watched her aunt receive distinguished guests and manage the servants. As she grew older Isla was entrusted with important tasks around the castle, assuming a position more befitting a laird’s daughter than his niece.

  Isla’s father was saddened by this loss, but he could not deny its probable benefits. The most important, of course, was that powerful men wanted to court her. Undoubtedly they hoped to gain influence with the laird, but they were also in a position to provide Isla with the life with which she had become accustomed.