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  A HIGHLANDER’S HOPE

  A MacKendimen Clan Novella

  Terri Brisbin

  Chapter One

  Dunbarton Keep, Scotland

  Late November, in the Year of Our Lord, 1357

  Iain MacKillop stared across the hall and watched as his nieces and nephews, brothers, and other kith and kin went about their usual tasks and routines. And with every passing second, he knew he was not needed.

  The MacKillops had been at peace for years, their allies strong enough to deter any real trouble. As uncle of the chieftain and commander of all the MacKillop fighting men, he thought things had been quiet. Too quiet. With the worst of the winter coming soon, Iain could not imagine being here with all the squabbling and . . . children.

  Having never been blessed with ones of his own before his wife passed, he now grew impatient around the young ones. ’Twas not that he disliked them; nay, it was rather that he’d wanted to have children too much.

  Marry again, his nephew Jamie had said. Jamie had even offered to make arrangements for a suitable bride as befitted the uncle of the chieftain. Suitable bride, his arse! Jamie simply wanted to use him to cement some far-flung relationship, as his own father had done with Iain’s first marriage. Now, though, Iain refused to be a pawn again.

  As though thinking on Jamie’s marriage plans had made him appear, Iain noticed his nephew approaching the table where Iain sat. Lifting the mug and pouring the last bit into his mouth, Iain stood and pushed the stool away, determined to avoid this again.

  “Iain, stay a moment,” Jamie said as he arrived next to Iain. “I have a matter to discuss with ye.”

  “Jamie, leave it be,” he said. “I want no woman to wife now.”

  His nephew studied him in silence and nodded, before sitting down and drawing Iain down next to him. Holding up Iain’s mug, he signaled his desire for ale to a passing maid. When a clean cup appeared filled with ale, his nephew drank deeply of it before speaking.

  “I mean no disrespect to Elisabeth, uncle, when I urge you to remarry. I doubt she would want you to remain unhappy for the rest of your life.”

  “I am not unhappy,” Iain replied. “And you do not know how Elisabeth would feel about it.”

  But Iain did. Elisabeth had begged him on her deathbed not to mourn her. To marry again. To have the children she could never give him with another. Iain’s stomach soured at the memory.

  “Fine,” his nephew said. “Then I will put it plainly to you—I need you to strengthen our alliance with the MacLarens. They have a daughter of marriageable age, and . . .”

  Iain’s expression must have changed without him realizing it, for his nephew stopped in the middle of his words. Of marriageable age meant a girl barely into womanhood. No matter that it was customary; as a man of more than two score years, he had no wish to take a near-child as his bride.

  “Have I not served ye and our clan all my life, Jamie?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “Have I not done everything asked of me by first yer father and then by ye?” Iain stood then, and his nephew raised his gaze to follow him. A curt nod was the only acknowledgement. “Then if—if I decide to remarry, it will be my choice this time.”

  Iain strode the length of the hall and out of the keep. Standing there in the cold November rain, he considered the issue that he’d thought was over and done. His stomach tightened as he remembered both Elisabeth’s last wishes and his nephew’s words and request. The truth in his heart was harder to accept than Jamie’s suggested proposal.

  He wanted to marry again. He craved the joys and simple pleasures that had existed between him and his wife. And, aye, he wanted children more than anything in his heart or soul.

  He kicked at a stone on the step next to his foot and sent it flying at the wall. Damn, but he wished they’d been blessed with children. Nay, his real wish was that Elisabeth yet lived and had born their bairns. Another stone flew against the wall.

  It had been five years and the deepest pain had passed, but Iain would never forget her smile and her tender touch. And her soft ways and words.

  Ye are no’ a man to be alone, my love. Find someone who will make ye happy this time.

  He’d argued with her then; for, though theirs had been an arranged marriage between strangers, their unexpected love had made him extremely happy. As was the usual way of things between them, even on her deathbed, she was right and spoke advice that was true. He did not like being alone. He would like to find someone. Mayhap he should allow Jamie his way in this? Let him make the arrangements?

  The cold winds picked up then, whipping through the yard and around the stone keep. Buffeted by them, he wondered: was Lisabeth putting in her opinion about the matter? Nay, ’twas just the winds reminding him that winter would soon be upon them and the weather would make travel across the Highlands more difficult, if possible at all.

  It had become his custom over these last years to visit Robbie Mathieson in Dunnedin over the darkest part of the winter. It was easier to celebrate Christ’s Mass and the year’s end there rather than here, where the memories of Elisabeth were so strong.

  Make new memories, Iain. Love again. Live again.

  Her words seemed to echo around him, and they tormented him as they always did. But she did not mean to do that to him, for Elisabeth had given him permission to continue on without her. And he had.

  Kicking the final stone there on the landing of the steps and watching it bounce off the wall, Iain took a deep breath and decided to leave this matter be for now. If he met a woman who stirred his desire for marriage, and not some child-being thrust at him for the purpose of clan alliances, he would think on it once more.

  Iain had to laugh aloud then, at the way that life and the fates sometimes conspired to show the folly of decisions and well-meaning plans. For in that moment, he realized that he had met someone who turned his thoughts in unusual directions. There was a woman whom he visited each time he made his way to Dunnedin. One who filled his thoughts every time he made arrangements to visit the stronghold of the MacKendimen Clan. The woman who was the most inappropriate one in his life.

  Robena MacKendimen.

  He enjoyed spending time with her, and she seemed to welcome him there. But he was certain that she thought of him in a completely different way than he did about her.

  To her, he was a valued customer. To him, she was a splendid companion, even if she was the village harlot. He’d spent many hours, days even, in her company since Elisabeth’s passing. She was intelligent, passionate, quick-witted, and . . . comfortable. She demanded nothing of him while offering so much to him.

  As he sent off word to Robert that he would indeed visit Dunnedin, as was his custom for the coming holidays and end-of-year festivities, Iain laughed at the preposterous idea that came to him then. Worse, the thought occurred to him several times over the next days before he left to journey there.

  Robena MacKendimen as his wife.

  His nephew and his other kin would die of apoplexy if he mentioned it. Mayhap he should, just to get Ja
mie to cease his badgering over it? Iain kept laughing aloud every time the thought struck him.

  But by the time he rode from Dunbarton, the thought of it—of her—did not seem so nonsensical as before.

  * * *

  Dunnedin, Scotland

  Robena heard the footsteps crunching up the path outside her cottage and stood. Though most men waited until night had fallen, some preferred their pleasure earlier in the day. She ran her fingers through her hair and shook out the wrinkles in her gown as she walked across the chamber. Putting on her best welcoming smile, she lifted the latch and tugged the door open to greet her guest.

  “Robena,” Rob Mathieson said as he nodded his head to her.

  Of all the people—the men—who could be standing there, he was the last one she expected to see. Currently the tanist to the chieftain of the MacKendimen Clan, Rob had been her childhood friend before he’d been exiled by his natural father and fostered elsewhere. Almost five years ago, he’d been called back here and had, after a good amount of trouble and travails, found himself married to the Lady Anice and acknowledged by his father.

  Happily married to the Lady Anice.

  “What are ye doing here, Rob?” she asked, pulling the door closed behind her and stepping onto the path. In spite of her understanding with the lady, Robena wanted no gossip spreading about his presence here. The lady had turned to Robena in a time of difficulty, humiliation, and uncertainty, and Robena had counseled her in the ways of men and women. From all outward appearances, Robena’s advice had helped, and the lady had granted her entrance to the castle and keep.

  “Iain sent word,” Rob said. Holding out a piece of parchment, he explained. “He will visit here for the end of the year, until Hogmanay is done. I just thought ye would wish to ken?”

  Robena tried not to smile as she gathered her hair up and tossed it over her shoulders. Iain was a friend of Rob’s, and a favorite of hers as well. He paid well for her time, but more than that, she enjoyed that time with him.

  “’Twould make things simpler if ye simply moved into the keep and stayed with him, ye ken?” Rob tucked the letter inside his tunic and shrugged. “After all, ’tis not a secret that he spends time with ye when he’s here.”

  Men. She sighed. They always seemed to see things with a simple sense of clarity, while being able to ignore all the consequences and subtleties. Rob meant well, but she shook her head in reply.

  “He must see to ye and the laird while I cannot be there. Ye ken how Struan feels about me being there when family is at table.” In spite of the lady’s acceptance, the laird would never allow it.

  “I can speak to him,” he offered.

  “Nay, Rob.” Robena shook her head again. “He is chieftain, and ye cannot naysay him simply to provide a whore for yer friend.”

  “Robena.”

  His blue eyes darkened in anger then, and he crossed his arms over his massive chest, making her feel very small next to him. It yet amazed her that at one time, they’d run as friends in this village, and she’d kept up with him and the others. Then, the changes that happened to make lads and lasses into men and women had forced them to acknowledge that they could not remain so.

  And when her mother had died and Robena took over her place there, she’d never felt shame for it. Rob’s wife Anice had made it clear that she accepted Robena’s place in the clan, and so Robena was not mistreated or forced to do anything she did not wish to do. Truth be told, she had plenty of food, and warm clothing and a place to live. Luckier than most women who served the baser needs of men.

  “Rob, ye ken the way of it. How I live,” she said, patting his arm now. “Tell Iain to visit when he can. I will be waiting for him.”

  She turned to go back inside, for the November winds spoke of the coming winter and tore through her gown, chilling her. Rubbing her arms, she reached for the latch when Rob spoke again.

  “He said he wants ye for his whole time here.”

  Her body, used to giving pleasure to men, reacted to those words. Iain was a generous man, and likewise a generous lover. He made certain she found pleasure in their every encounter. Not something a whore sought, but she appreciated his attentions to her needs. Now, at the thought of being only his for three or four weeks, her body warmed and throbbed. Robena shivered then, not at the cold winds but at the private heat that poured through her. She smiled as she met Rob’s gaze then.

  “’Tis fine. I will tell the others.”

  A few men visited her regularly each week, and she would let them know she had to see to The MacKillop’s uncle during his visit. His honored position because of his connections would give him the exclusive right to her if he so desired, and he had asked for her during each of his visits here. That smile grew wider as she watched Rob nod and grunt something in reply before he turned and walked down her path towards the keep.

  Iain was a handsome man, almost a score of years older than her own age, but as fit as a warrior could be. The man still held a position of authority and respect in the clan that was now led by his nephew. And he was a friend and mentor to Robbie. Neither his position nor his friendship made her feel the way she did about the man himself.

  Robena closed the door and leaned against it, accepting the rush of heat that even the thought of Iain caused. Days and nights of passion lay ahead of her, and not even the fact that it should be an arrangement of business only could take away the knowledge that she wanted him. She wanted him there with her. She wanted to see and touch him.

  She wanted Iain MacKillop more than ’twas good for a whore like her to want any man. It could not lead to anything good.

  So, over the next days and nights, as she plied her trade with the men of Dunnedin, she tried not to pretend they were him. She tried to convince herself that she wanted him to arrive simply because she would be paid well, in gold, for his visits to her. Robena tried to keep the desire she felt for the man with the kind blue eyes and soft caresses under control.

  She was a whore, and he was not for her. He could never be. She must learn to accept only what he gave her in exchange for her services. The uncle of the wealthy and powerful MacKillop Clan would never consider her worthy of anything more than the coin spent for her attentions.

  She was a whore, and he was not for her.

  Chapter Two

  Iain accepted more ale from the passing servant and watched as Rob leaned in and whispered something to Anice. From the lady’s blush, he could comprehend the nature of Rob’s comment to his wife. That his friend had found such happiness from such unhappy beginnings warmed Iain’s heart. Even now, Rob was raising his half-brother’s son as though the boy were his own, and it had brought out the best in a man raised without a father. From a few subtle signs that he recognized between them now, Iain suspected that an announcement about a new arrival would be coming soon.

  As he inhaled the scent of the evergreens decorating the windows and hearth and other strategic places around the hall, Iain found himself reminded of the coming holyday and the celebrations planned for the end of the year. Anice’s hall would glow with the light of many candles and lanterns when the dark of winter ruled outside. Each day the servants and the lady would add a few more sprigs of mistletoe and other greens to brighten the shadows. Though most of the feasting would wait until Twelfth Night, there would be enough spread over the next weeks and month for everyone to enjoy.

  Glancing at the center chair at the table, he saw Struan MacKendimen also watching the pair, and wondered what the older man thought of the way things had gone. Struan had sent his natural son Rob away, to Iain’s brother at Dunbarton, to keep his identity a secret from his clan and especially from the man Struan had cuckolded. But when Rob had returned here four years ago and saved Anice’s and her son’s lives, ’twas only a matter of time before their secrets were laid bare before all.

  Soon, the lady excused herself from the table, and Rob moved to his side then. An attentive servant filled their cups and stepped away. Iain waited f
or the teasing to commence, for he was certain that his searching of the hall had been noticed by his friend. He could not seem to stem the growing sense of anticipation with each passing hour.

  “She is not here,” Rob said. “As ye already ken.”

  Iain nodded and drank from the cup.

  “She refused my invitation.” Iain drank again at his friend’s words. “As ye also kenned she would.”

  “’Tis her way,” he said.

  “Iain, Anice has made her welcome here.”

  “More than most ladies would,” Iain admitted. Most ladies would have had the village whore beaten or punished for trying to enter their hall. But here, the lady had befriended her. Iain knew part of their story, and Rob was at the center. He suspected that there was more he was not privy to about the matter.

  “She likes ye, Iain. Have a care there, my friend.”

  The softly made declaration by Rob signified much to Iain. His friend had been not only friends with Robena, but also lovers at one time. When he had planned to leave Dunnedin and return to Dunbarton, Rob had asked Robena to accompany him . . . and to marry him. The offer, one made to give her the possibility of a new and different life, had been rejected long before Anice and Rob had overcome their challenges and the opposition of Struan MacKendimen. Still, though, in Iain’s opinion, borne of many years of observing his friend, Rob continued a friendship with Robena that was unlike any Iain had witnessed before. So Iain did not dismiss the warning in his words, either.

  “It may surprise ye, but I like the lass,” he answered back.

  An exhalation was Rob’s reply. His friend had not expected Iain’s words and, candidly, he’d surprised himself by uttering them. They held a simple truth within them. He liked Robena. More than liked, he suspected, but he did not care to explain it to anyone. He would never hurt her.

  He would have a care.

  “Then why are ye still sitting here, man!” Rob said, smacking him on his back. “She waits for ye and the gates will close for the night soon. Make yer escape now.”