Highlander Medieval 06 - Her Highland Hero by Terry Spear Page B

this other than men thinking to steal our cattle…,” the red bearded man, who appeared to be in charge said, shifting his stern gaze from Marcus to Isobel, “… or our women?”
    “We are just passing through,” Marcus returned in Gaelic. “The lady is my bride.”
    Isobel glanced at Marcus, her eyes wide, and he realized her mother must have taught her some Gaelic. Though he had not known it was so. Unless she really didn’t understand what was being said and was only surprised to hear him speaking Gaelic.
    “And who are you?” the man asked Marcus.
    “The McEwan.”
    “Ah.” He leered at Isobel. “Then where have you stolen the lady from? No one except for a clansman who wished a stolen bride would be out in this weather, bringing his woman home when so far from there.”
    If Marcus said she was Lord Pembroke’s daughter he feared the word would reach English ears too quickly that he had her with him and where he was headed.
    “I have not taken her against her da’s will,” Marcus said.
    The man shook his head. “She appears to be with you of her own accord, but I still dinna believe you.”
    Which was not an ideal situation for Marcus and his men and Isobel to be in. “From which clan do you hail?” Marcus asked.
    “Kerr.”
    God’s knees. The Kerr clansmen were known to be cattle thieves. No wonder they thought the same of Marcus and his party. Though men did not haul a woman with them when stealing cattle. So he suspected something else was untoward.
    “We have a hunting lodge this way. Come and we will get out of this weather.” He smiled at Isobel. “She is quiet. Subservient? I like that in a woman.”
    “I am neither,” Isobel said in Gaelic, her voice terse.
    Marcus smiled a little at her, unable to curb the urge, and glad she did indeed know Gaelic.
    The Kerr clansman laughed. “And spirited.”
    Marcus had no fight with the Kerr clan as they lived too far from where Marcus’s lands were and so they did not bother his cattle, but he still didn’t wish any of them knowing Isobel’s background. They might not wish any trouble with the English if they should take offense that the Kerr took them in.
    “Which clan are you from?” the Kerr asked Isobel.
    She opened her mouth to speak, but Marcus said for her, “MacArthur.”
    Isobel closed her gaping mouth.
    Her mother was of the Clan MacArthur. But her da was Laird Laren MacLauchlan, unbeknownst to her.
    Laren had denied his daughter’s existence when her mother was with child and Marcus didn’t want the Kerr clansmen to learn MacLauchlan had a daughter now. What if now that the man who had raised her was dead, the MacLauchlan would want to claim his daughter and give her in marriage to one of his loyal men or to encourage clan ties with another clan? Bad blood would always exist between them after some of the MacLauchlan clan killed Marcus’s da and his men as they were attempting to cross their lands to reach home. Marcus swore his mother died from a broken heart shortly thereafter—her will to live gone. If he hadn’t been voted in to take over the clan when he was six and ten and needed to keep his anger at bay, he would have led his men into MacLauchlan territory and killed every last one of the brigands. But he didn’t know who had actually murdered his da or the three men with him.
    Marcus was sure Isobel’s surprised expression had all to do with his mentioning her mother’s Highland clan and ignoring that she was the daughter of the earl of Pembroke.
    The Kerr had been watching the exchange, and Marcus was afraid he’d gather more from what was not said and draw his own conclusions. The man finally smiled. “Come.”
    They rode off in the pouring rain that never let up, not even when Marcus was helping Isobel down from her horse at the wooden two-story hunting lodge, nor when they hurried as fast as humanly possible inside.
    A maid led her away, but Marcus couldn’t help feeling unsettled when Isobel was out of his