The Highlander's Dangerous Temptation. Terri Brisbin

did not wish to move. She pulled and tucked the bedcovers high around her neck and dipped her face down to stay warm in the cooler air of the chamber. Dawn must have come and gone some time ago from the brightness of the room. Still, considering that yesterday had been busier than she’d thought possible when she accepted the lady’s invitation to visit her, a sense of guilt filled her as she realised how late it must be.

      She’d expected to be a guest, possibly working on embroidery—which she had—or making the acquaintance of some of the lady’s other kith and kin—which she had. Instead she’d worked more and harder than she did at home, mending clothes and linens, cutting and cooking vegetables for preserving, cleaning two storerooms and visiting most, if not all, of the villagers.

      And she’d spent most of each morning working with Laria and learning about the healing arts and herbs. She now kenned the difference between an intinction, a tincture, an infusion and a tea, a poultice, a posset and a rub, and how to grind the dried leaves of many plants to make a passable paste to treat all sorts of ailments and complaint.

      The most disappointing part of all this work was that she had not been able to challenge Athdar to another match—because each night she’d barely made it through supper awake. And try as she might, she could not rouse herself once she’d got into bed to see if he’d waited for her in the hall.

      Now, on her fourth morning, she decided she was going to have a lazy day and remain abed until the sun. No more climbing through bushes and marshes. No more crawling along the streambed searching for certain grasses and flowers.

      No more.

      Mayhap she would read, selecting a book from the MacCallums’ collection, which Jocelyn had described to her, and finding a sunny place in the hall to enjoy it. Then, after a day of leisure, she would be rested enough to stay awake and try to sneak back and play chess with Athdar.

      Or...

      The knock surprised her. The second, louder knock forced her from her cocoon. The third, more relentless knock told her clearly that lazy day was at an end.

      ‘Come in,’ she called out, still lying abed.

      The maid called Glenna entered and closed the door behind her. She waited until Isobel had climbed from the cot and faced her before speaking.

      ‘Lady Jocelyn said to tell you she is waiting at table for you, mistress,’ Glenna said.

      ‘At table? Has she not broken her fast?’ she asked as she dug into her travelling trunk and found a clean shift, gown and stockings. No matter the place or time or reason, she did not want Lady Jocelyn waiting for her.

      ‘Aye, lady. She called for a small meal for you since you...’ The words drifted off when the girl could not come up with a polite way of saying ‘since you have been lying in your bed like a lazy twit’, no doubt.

      ‘Tell her I will be there,’ she said, tugging the shift she’d worn to sleep in off and pulling the clean one on.

      She was struggling with her gown when she felt Glenna’s hands make fast work of the laces. Isobel sat down and pulled the stockings on, tying them to keep them in place, as Glenna began untangling her hair. Within a few minutes, she was dressed and ready to find Lady Jocelyn. Glenna handed her a shawl before they left the room.

      ‘The weather has turned colder, lady. You may need that,’ Glenna said, walking just behind her to the front of the hall.

      Isobel looked up to find that it was not only the lady waiting for her at table. Her mother smiled at her as she approached...as did the five young men and one older man who sat there. All of them stood as she grew nearer. If expressions could tell tales, her mother’s would be an endless one filled with laughter. Isobel paused and offered a slight curtsy to Lady Jocelyn.

      ‘My lady,’ she said as she sat in the empty chair, ‘forgive my tardiness.’

      ‘Isobel, Athdar asked that we introduce his kin to you,’ her mother said. ‘He thought you might like to meet Tomas, Dougal, Angus, Connor and James.’

      Each man nodded when introduced to her. Once they were all named, and at her mother’s behest, they sat on the stools that now surrounded the table. Isobel understood her duty in this and engaged each man in conversation, eating the stew that appeared before her in between questions. Though she doubted any of these men could lay claim to a title, she suspected that they were among the wealthier landowners or craftsmen of the village.

      The meal progressed and her mother and the lady joined in to keep it moving if she slowed. Soon, a reasonable time had passed and Isobel thanked them for visiting with her. The men each nodded, but no one moved until all the others did, apparently not willing to give any of them an advantage the others did not get. They walked away as a group and Isobel was so tempted to laugh at their boyish antics.

      ‘Your father would never approve of any of them, I fear,’ Lady Jocelyn said.

      ‘I wonder why your brother suggested they meet Isobel?’ her mother said.

      That was exactly her own question. She waited for the lady’s answer, but none came. If she had not glanced up at just the right moment, she would have missed the look shared between the other two women. Now, she was more puzzled by their reaction than even to Athdar’s decision.

      ‘I told Laria I would come later today if I was able,’ she said, standing. ‘If neither of you needs me for anything, I will go there now.’

      ‘Do not exhaust yourself, Isobel,’ Lady Jocelyn warned. ‘I think this turn in the weather is a bad sign and we may have to leave sooner than we’d planned.’

      ‘Very well,’ she replied. In her mind, she made plans to work with Laria for a short time and return well before it grew dark. As the winter drew nearer, that happened sooner each day.

      ‘And take your heavier riding cloak. The day grows colder,’ her mother advised.

      Isobel sent Glenna to bring her cloak and left through the kitchens, checking with the cook and the steward to see if they needed anything from Laria before making her way through the yard and gates and village to the woman’s cottage.

      * * *

      ‘So, you came,’ Laria said, greeting her in the same brusque manner as was her custom. ‘I am nearly done my chores for today.’

      ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ Isobel asked. She’d learned the first day not to try to assume that Laria meant anything more than she said. And it seemed that no one was addressed any differently by her—whether man or woman, visitor or villager, laird or servant.

      Lady Jocelyn’s words ran through her thoughts about Laria’s past and her manners now, but she hesitated to ask anything of a personal nature. Isobel was a guest and had no place to ask such things. She would ask Lady Jocelyn or her mother instead.

      The cottage filled with the smell of some concoction cooking in the hearth. The aromatic puffs of steam that rose from the bubbling pot scented the entire room with something very appealing and soothing. Isobel paced around the work table, looking at the various piles and bowls.

      ‘The winds have changed. Winter will be upon us sooner than we thought.’ Laria pointed to two sacks on the end of the table. ‘I must get these to the miller.’

      ‘Is there someone to take you there?’ she asked, uncertain of what arrangements were made for this.

      ‘Nay, not now. The mill is not a far walk.’

      The mill. Athdar was overseeing some work on the mill. He’d arrived back at the keep late each day because of it.

      ‘Should we go now?’ The words were out before she could stop them.

      ‘Aye. Let me move the pot,’ Laria said. She wrapped her apron around her hand and pushed the pot over into the corner and away from the flames. ‘That will keep.’

      Though she’d not walked to the mill, Isobel knew the direction of it and estimated it would take about