A Highlander Never Surrenders (31 page)

Claire smiled at her. “You have my thanks.”

“Kate will bring ye some earasaids to wear over them if ye venture outdoors,” Murron told her. “It gets a frightful bit nippy this time of year.”

The sisters remained with her until Aileen returned with more men and women carrying a large basin and buckets of steaming water.

They told Claire about the kinship between the Grants and the MacGregors, and shared with her some advice about getting along with Maggie. They loved their sister in marriage dearly, but she sported a wicked temper. Fortunately, there were only two things that ignited it, consuming an animal and scolding Callum and Kate’s son.

“She spoils that babe as if ’twere her own,” Mary said with a disapproving sigh while the water was being poured into the basin.

“Och, where is the harm in it?” Aileen mumbled, shaking her head at her sister. “She has yet to conceive her own bairn, so she lavishes wee Rob with love. ’Tis understandable.”

“Aye,” Sineag agreed solemnly. “I doubt she will ever give Jamie a son. She and Callum were tortured by Kate’s grandfaither when they were bairns,” she explained to Claire. “Her body still suffers the effects, though her mind has healed since her brother no longer wars with the Campbells.”

“It was torture that misshaped her so?” Claire asked, horrified.

“Aye,” said Murron, “but ’twas long in the past and our laird and his sister prefer to ferget it.”

“Speakin’ of sisters,” Aileen ventured, stepping closer to Claire. “I have met yers and she seems to be naught like ye. If I may, m’lady, is it true that ye can wield a blade better than a man?”

“Better than some, and as well as most,” Claire replied. If the lass was bold enough to ask such a question in spite of her sisters’ exasperated expressions, meant to silence her, she deserved an honest answer.

“Truly?” Aileen’s deep-blue eyes lit up. “I have been practicin’ my swordplay with Kate, but since Rob was born she takes little interest in honin’ her skills. Mayhap, ye would consider . . .”

“Aileen, leave her be now.” With a chastising scowl, Mary ushered her toward the door. “Heavens, what man will ever want ye fer his wife if ye’re swingin’ a sword in his face?”

Their exit came to a halt when Graham stepped into the doorway, blocking the way.

“A man who appreciates a braw lass.” He flicked his gaze to Claire and smiled.

Claire felt a rush of warmth throughout her entire body. He had accepted her for who she was from the day they met. He enjoyed her belligerence, had made a cat-and-mouse game out of trying to win her until he learned of her betrothal to Robert. Even when he discovered that it was she who had fought Monck’s men, he had not called her daft. And when she feared she was too much like a man for his liking, he showed her with his kiss, his touch, his body how much of a woman she was.

She could not be angry with him over Glenna and Lizbeth, and however many other women were out there wanting him. Not when she looked into his eyes and saw such genuine tenderness gazing back at her from across the room.

“Are ye certain ye want her to stay here in yer chambers?” Murron stepped forward as Graham entered. “I think ’tis goin’ to stir trouble.”

“Aye, I’m certain,” Graham said, never taking his eyes off Claire as he crossed the room to her. “None shall protest.”

His chambers? Claire’s eyes darted around the room and came to rest on the bed he had shared with other women—with the twins! Satan’s balls, she could not sleep here.

“Ye should abide
her
laws.” Mary tugged on her brother’s plaid, glancing at him nervously. “She is not some village wench, but the king’s cousin.”

Claire had no idea why Mary would speak of her laws. She was too busy feeling her cheeks burn at the thought of how she’d flung herself into Graham’s arms and met his fervor more eagerly than any tavern wench. She was used to the disapproving stares when people understood she was a warrior. But she was no wench!

“I protest!” She shot out her palm, halting Graham’s advance. “I will not sleep in your chambers.”

Graham covered her hand on his chest with his own and slanted his mouth into a devastating smirk. “Would ye prefer to sleep with me beneath the stars?”

Hell, he was a danger to her good senses, to her virtue. She had known it from the very first time he touched her. She hadn’t understood the value of what she’d given him, the way a lady of the court would. But being here reminded her that she had a noble name to uphold.

“I would prefer to share a chamber with my sister. I’ll not have these people think me a trollop,” she added in a whisper when he creased his brow at her.

“Of course not,” he said indulgently, then turned to his sisters. “Lady Stuart will be sharing Lady Anne’s chambers, tonight.”

“Every night,” Claire corrected.

Graham pivoted on his heel, looking a bit more worried. “Every night?”

Nodding, Claire spared him a thankful smile, stepped around him, and headed for the door. “I shall see you at supper.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

I
do this not with the hope of achieving greatness, but with fear that should I submit, nothing more shall be secure.

Lifting his cup for the fourth time in a toast that had no true importance, Graham downed his whisky and thanked the saints for bringing him home. He could travel to the three kingdoms, but there was naught so good as drinking with his kin in Camlochlin hall.

“To Robert,” Angus held his cup aloft again, waiting for the others at the table to do the same. “Fer survivin’ so many arse beatin’s.”

“There were not that many,” Robert contended, drinking to himself.

“There were eight,” Graham reminded him, patting him on the back. “ ’Tis much to take pride in.”

“Were any bones broken?” Callum asked, dipping a hunk of bread into his mushroom-and-turnip stew.

“Aye, my nose. Twice.”

That earned Robert another round of toasts, in which he joined merrily.

Sitting at her husband’s side, Kate sipped a cup of warm milk and eyed Callum’s commander over the rim. With curiosity arching her brow, she noted how many times his eyes returned to the entrance of the hall. She knew Robert fancied the younger Stuart sister, for she had spoken with her brother privately the night before and he had told her of his plans to wed her. Kate could not be happier for him. Anne was delicate and mild-mannered, courtly and intelligent; perfect for Robert. Indeed, she seemed to have stepped straight out of one of the storybooks Rob used to read to her when they were children.

But Graham was a man devoted to the pursuit of pleasure, unchaste and unfettered. To see him taken so with one woman piqued Kate’s interest. What kind of woman was Claire Stuart to have captured his heart?

“Ladies ofttimes take a long while to primp and preen, Graham.”

He stopped tapping his boot under the table, cut his glance to her, and then laughed softly, as if he knew something she did not. “Aye, Kate, ladies ofttimes do.”

“He’s got eleven sisters,” Maggie scoffed on the other side of Kate. “He knows about the habits of women. He keeps lookin’ fer Claire Stuart because he has fallen fer her.”

Kate smiled behind her hand. Leave it to Maggie to speak the truth without pretense or honey coating.

“Are ye truly happy with this viper fer a wife?” Graham asked Jamie, and winked at Maggie, whose grin was just as devilish as her brother’s.

“Jamie,” Robert said, wiping his mouth on his serviette. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, where do you find all the heather you pick for your lovely bride? Graham will be needing some.”

Graham cut him his foulest look. “He doesn’t pick heather, Rob. Callum does.”

Brodie snickered into his cup before Callum quieted him with a warning glance.

The conversation at the table turned, as it usually did, to fighting, but Graham had stopped listening when Claire finally appeared at the entrance.

He wanted to go to her, but he could do naught but gape at her, counting his thrashing heartbeat as it kept time with her footsteps. He’d always found her bonny in her manly garb, but seeing her for the first time with skirts flowing around her slippered feet and a bodice clinging to her maddening curves stalled his heart and made him all the more eager to carry her back to his chambers where he could undress her.

He didn’t worry overmuch about her wish to sleep with her sister. She feared what others might think of her here, but there was no need. Soon he would make it clear to all that she was his, and his alone. Until then, she could easily slip unseen into his chambers as she had at the inn.

“Please forgive our late arrival,” Anne offered politely after the men rose to greet them.

“The fault is mine,” Claire said, taking the blame. “I’m afraid my hair has a will of its own.”

Her hair looked glorious swept up into an elaborate crown of knots and plaits, loosely woven with amber ribbons. Graham smiled at her and practically pushed Angus, who was sitting to his right, out of his chair. “ ’Twas worth the wait.”

“Do I look utterly foolish?” she whispered to him, taking Angus’s seat and tugging on the stiff bodice cutting off her breath.

“Ye’re the bonniest lass here,” he promised, wanting to touch her.

She offered him a grateful smile, then turned to the others at the table.

Graham watched her while she reacquainted herself with the laird and lady of Camlochlin. When she laughed with Kate and Anne, he found himself thinking how right it felt to have her here among his kin, a part of his life, and theirs. She even won Maggie over when she politely refused the trencher of roasted beef set before her.

“Callum says his men need the added nourishment for the coming winter months,” Maggie told her, biting into an apple. “But I would rather be boiled in oil than eat anything that once looked back at me.”

“I had not thought of it that way.” Claire cast her trencher a repugnant look and pushed it farther away, much to Maggie’s delight, and gave the laces at her waist another yank.

Aye, Graham mused, she would fit in well here. Reaching for her hand, he realized what a fool he’d been to fear his feelings for her. She . . .

She pulled her hand away and shot him a chastising look, which he returned with a crestfallen look of his own. A few moments later, he curled his arm around the back of her chair and rubbed his thumb along her shoulder. She shifted, moving away from his intimate touch.

After that, the conversation turned to General Monck, and she avoided Graham’s gaze as ardently as she declared her mistrust for the governor of Scotland.

“What cause has he given ye to suspect him of such treachery?” Callum asked her, giving her full leave to speak her mind.

“So he could wed us to men of his choosing and gain our lands.”

“And ye believe Robert wants yer lands?” Callum asked her.

“Well, nae . . .”

“And tell me,” Callum cut her off gently, his eyes on her sharp. “Why he would go to all the trouble of gettin’ ye here to wed a man who doesna even want yer land, when he could have ordered Rob to bring ye to Edinburgh when ye were so close, and forced ye to wed there?”

Claire stared at him for a moment as if that thought had never occurred to her.

“And what of James Buchanan? Does yer brother’s death no’ benefit him as well?”

Claire cut Robert a heated glance.

“Aye, he told me of Buchanan’s desire to wed ye and no’ yer sister,” Callum said, dragging her attention back to him. “He stands to gain no’ only lands, but the king’s favor if he takes ye as his wife, nae?”

“He will not be wedding her,” Graham said flatly. When Claire finally turned to him, he stared directly into her flashing eyes, daring her to challenge him on it.

She didn’t, but severed her gaze from his again. “Lord Buchanan loved my brother,” she told Callum. “Graham and Robert do not know him as I do.”

“We have no proof against either man,” Robert reminded the laird, having already informed Callum of his concerns about Buchanan.

“Then we can do naught fer now.”

“And what is to become of Anne and me in the meanwhile?” Claire asked, tugging, more angrily now, on her bodice. “When Monck deems it safe to send for us, he will make decisions that I cannot abide.”

Callum eyed her, then, with a hint of amusement dancing across his eyes, looked at Graham.

Aye, Graham knew she was a hellcat. He did not need reminding. She probably did not even realize she was glaring at the Devil MacGregor. Most lasses did not dare give him any cheek, save for his wife and Maggie, but Claire had a mind of her own—which, Graham had begun to fear from the moment she pulled away from him—might not go well for him while they were at Camlochlin.

“In the meanwhile, ye will enjoy yer stay here and no’ fret over what the governor decides,” Callum told her in a tone that ended the conversation.

“With respect, my laird, I would know what you—”

“Claire!” Anne tried to kick her under the table and hit Graham instead. Her eyes told him she was sorry, but her smile was tight when she turned it on her sister. “Let us not badger our gracious host. It is late, and we should retire.”