Highlander's Prize (6 page)

Still, she preferred the chill to the demands James would have made of her. Many would call her foolish, but her body was the only thing she had; her virtue, her single possession. But she would not go so far as to say she preferred Broen’s company. No, she would not. Yet she was grateful her wrists were no longer bound. Her sleep became restful; the knowledge that Broen was near actually granted her a feeling of security.

Better the devil you know…

She didn’t know Broen, but he’d freed her when it would have been easier for him to leave her tied. Actions so often spoke more of a man’s nature than what he proclaimed. Her uncle had liked to tell her what her place was, often imposing duties on her to reinforce his demands. His face faded away as she turned toward the warmth of the man next to her.

For the moment, it was all she needed.

***

“I warned ye, Laird.”

Clarrisa jerked awake as the man she was leaning against erupted into motion. She went rolling across the fallen leaves, gaining a few scratches along the way.

“Ye’re mad to startle me, Shaw!” Broen snarled. He had his sword unsheathed and in hand before he’d finished speaking, but Shaw reached out and grabbed her by the nape. He dragged her to her feet and threw her several yards.

“She was pressed to ye like a well-satisfied whore.” Shaw was shaking with rage. “No doubt she thinks to warm yer cock and secure herself a Highland laird, since we’ve ruined her plans to have the king.”

“I plan no such thing.”

“Be silent, Clarrisa.” Broen’s voice was deadly. It shocked her into shutting her mouth when her pride still stung. The MacNicols laird kept his sword steady, leveled at his clansman. Broen moved on sure feet, keeping his knees bent as he changed position to stand in front of her. “Ye’re shaming yer mother, Shaw MacNicols.”

“And ye’re disgracing yer murdered father by allowing this scheming English jade to rest her head on yer shoulder.”

Clarrisa felt her face flame with a blush, for sometime during the night, she’d ended up leaning against Broen. “It wasn’t planned. The man had hold of my braid.”

Broen snorted. “Do ye ever do what ye’re told, woman?”

A few of his men chuckled, and even Shaw snorted with enjoyment. Clarrisa felt her temper ignite.

“Oh yes, my lord.” She lowered herself prettily, exactly as Maud would have approved of. “I obeyed my uncle, who sent me to that cursed tower where your king planned to use me.” She rose and glared at the men watching her, but mostly at their laird. “Doing what I’m told has brought me to this place where there isn’t a trusting soul in sight, so I believe I am done with it.”

She was casting out a challenge but didn’t care. The man was a barbarian; the least she might do was match her behavior to his. She stumbled out of the thicket, not knowing where she was going, only sure she had to move because there was so much emotion coursing through her.

She’d slept against him.

The knowledge rose in her mind. Her cheeks continued to flame as the night replayed in her mind like a well-memorized fireside tale. There was a fleeting recollection of her nose warming at last and deep satisfaction as she’d huddled close to his body heat. She was going to burn in hell. Or die of shame where she stood. Maybe expire from pure frustration. Possibly—
Enough!

But frustration began to burn her alive as she heard the MacNicols retainers laughing. She fumed and turned to face them, but whirled back around when she caught sight of them roaring with amusement.

Highlanders.
Only Highlanders would be entertained by uncivilized behavior.

Broen wanted to be furious. For certain, he needed to make sure his men knew he was strong enough to lead them. But he lost the battle to maintain a stony expression and sheathed his sword while softly laughing at his cousin.

“Well now, Shaw… she’s got you pinned with yer own words.” His cousin scowled, but the rest of his men were still amused, laughing outright as Shaw scratched his head. “Admit it, Shaw, or get yerself a pair of breeches and move to England, where men do nae have any sense of humor. It’s for sure ye need one in the Highlands.”

There was more laughter, and Shaw finally grinned. “Aye, ye’ve got a point there. I never met an Englishman with a good nature. Laird.”

Broen nodded in acceptance of the single word. He walked past his cousin and clapped a solid hand on his shoulder before continuing on after Clarrisa. She was nowhere in sight, but a fresh set of tracks led to the rocks she’d gone behind the night before.

His men were leading the horses back over the rise, dawn turning the horizon pink. His young squire handed him the reins of his stallion. Broen watched the lad check the saddle. It took getting accustomed to—allowing another to see to things, like his horse, but the lad wouldn’t be given his own horse until he proved himself by caring for the animal of another man first. Even as the laird’s son, Broen had done the same.

“I understand what the lass was saying.” Shaw stepped up, his own reins held in a firm grip. “I’m nae so dense as to no’ see she was sent by her kin, or that having Sutherland lending his name to our argument with the Grants will be a great benefit.”

“And I’m no’ so prideful as to no’ see ye have the best for the MacNicols in mind,” Broen muttered. “I made ye one of me captains because ye are nae afraid to tell me what ye truly think. Only the English are foolish enough to ride into battle with arse-polishing men at their sides.”

Shaw nodded and grinned, clearly pleased with Broen’s words. “I do speak me mind.” He pointed at Broen. “She was draped over ye, but now that I’m thinking on it…”

Broen glared at his kin. “What’s on yer mind, man?”

“Well… yer head was resting on hers. Such a pretty picture it was too. Warmed me heart.”

His cousin laughed at the groan Broen offered him. Shaw mounted and smirked at him. “Now, I do believe ye told me a Highlander needs his sense of humor, Laird.”

Broen gained the saddle and controlled his stallion’s motions as he glared at his cousin. “Aye, that’s a fact, but it’s also a fact I’ve no liking for this situation at all.”

It was a sobering thought, one that brought tension back to where it’d been digging into the center of his shoulder blades. He guided his stallion up the hill, dreading running down his captive. But he’d do what was necessary.

Instead, he pulled up his stallion, the animal sidestepping because it wasn’t accustomed to his stopping him so soon after starting. Clarrisa was standing just over the ridge, with the dawn illuminating her. From her head to her toes, she wasn’t very tall, and her limbs were what he’d call
delicate
. Twin golden braids hung down her back, and the lightweight fabric of her dress was wrinkled. Everything about her was fragile, except the look she aimed at him.

He swore he could have warmed his hands over the fire in her eyes. Disheveled and chilled, she should have looked defeated. He should have been battling pity for her plight. Instead, Broen discovered he admired her—more than just admired. His feelings were building, gaining strength as Clarrisa lifted her chin and stood her ground. As he guided his stallion forward, she didn’t change her demeanor. She kept her blue eyes steady and her chin firmly set.

“Are ye ready to ride, lass?” His voice had turned husky, betraying his fascination with her. She lifted a hand and took the one he offered her. The woman didn’t lack strength. She stepped onto a boulder before using it to spring onto the back of the horse. He could have lifted her—had expected to—but found himself guiding her more than pulling her from the ground.

She settled behind him, grasping his belt to secure herself. Broen bit back the demand he wanted to issue to her to answer his question, because it felt a lot like flirting. Now there was a difficulty he didn’t need. His clan didn’t need Clarrisa among them, with her royal blood to draw other lairds onto MacNicols land seeking to steal her.

But his emotions didn’t want to listen to reason. Curse his feelings—and his own nature.

“There’ll be a warm fire and supper at Raven’s Perch.”

Relief swept through her, but Clarrisa didn’t allow herself to be carried away by his promises. Broen had to stop his stallion from nipping her mare. He’d allowed her back into her own saddle halfway through the day, no doubt to keep his horse from exhaustion.

“Ye’re a hard one to please if you cannae even smile at the idea of a hot bowl of stew, maybe even bread.” He tried to tempt her with a soft tone.

But she needed to protect herself. Broen was too likable. She’d never suffered such attraction to a man before. She wanted to return the smile on his lips, but he’d only see her responses as proof that he had the skill to bend her to his will.

“Hard? Oh aye, I believe there shall be hard and sturdy walls at your Raven’s Perch for me as well. What a charming idea to know I’m so near to my prison.” She looked away from the MacNicols laird, unwilling to expose her despair to him. Everything she knew was far away, on the other side of the border. It was best to remember she was not among friends. Every confidence she muttered might be used against her.

“We’ll pass the night, lass, and that is all. Do ye wonder why I doubt ye when ye say ye wanted no part of the king’s plan for ye, when all ye do is spit at me?”

She lost her resolve to ignore him and turned to see him watching her. The last of the sun was turning his hair fiery red.

“Can you not understand? I have no liking for knowing I’ll be locked away because of my blood like the little princes were. Everyone knows they are dead, and yet no one dares say so.”

There was too much sympathy in his blue eyes. She turned her attention away again, desperately seeking something to dwell on except her fate. Life was a precious thing and a delicate one. It seemed she had been running from those who threatened her life for too many years.

The land was turning green with new crops. The evening light washed over people in the fields, who were making use of every last bit of daylight to plant. They had their sleeves turned up, and sweat marked their shirt collars, but their faces clearly displayed good cheer when they looked up to see who passed on the road.

They were people with hope. The season in front of them held opportunities, and she envied them. She’d always expected to marry at the direction of her relatives but had never considered it to mean she would have no joy or respect. Keeping herself pure was her duty, but she couldn’t help feeling that her uncle had failed to do his by bartering her to James for nothing more than bed sport.

There were women who took lovers for the pleasure and nothing else. She worried her lower lip, because her thoughts had turned wicked.
Ah… but enticing nonetheless.

Broen didn’t answer her. He gave his stallion the freedom to take the lead. Clarrisa watched him go, staring at his back without shame. Wicked, perhaps, but who knew if she’d ever have the chance to indulge her curiosity again? She was suddenly too conscious of how many hours she’d squandered. She wanted to wring every bit of enjoyment out of each moment she had left.

She watched the way Broen turned his stallion sideways so he might see all of his men. There was an intensity about him that sent a ripple of sensation across her skin. His doublet sleeves were buttoned behind his back, and the chill of the approaching night didn’t seem to bother him.

Highlander.
She had never really considered the word as a title rather than a slur. Yet she discovered herself recognizing Broen and his men as more than the thugs that her kin had so often told her the Highlanders were. They were not rabble without order, but men endowed with strength that she couldn’t help but admire. They also had honor. It was evident in the way they followed their leader, and even more prominent in the way Broen thought of his country instead of how much he didn’t care for the part he was playing in her misfortune.

You
don’t know he doesn’t care for what he’s doing to you…

But she could have sworn she felt it when he stared into her eyes. He was not blind to her fears; his heart wasn’t hardened by arrogance and his assumption that she should serve his desires because it was his right.

She liked that knowledge too much. Felt it dissolving the distrust she was trying so hard to maintain and leaving her wondering why it mattered if she liked him.

He
stirred
something
inside
her…

Heat rose to her cheeks. Broen looked at her, and she turned away to hide the stain. Her emotions would lead her to ruin if she didn’t force herself back to being disciplined. Fascination had led more than one person to despair, for the world was very unforgiving. Broen was a Highlander, and she was English. They were both duty-bound to dislike each other.

Another ripple of sensation went down her back in defiance. She bit her lip harder in reprimand.

The next rise showed them a small town. The newer houses rose two stories and sat nestled against a rocky section of land with well-worn tracks from carts. Up on the high ground was Raven’s Perch. It was an imposing structure of three towers, two built in front of the tallest. They were surrounded by an impressive curtain wall that extended a half circle, beyond which was a sheer drop to the ocean. In days gone by, the rocky section of land would have held another wall to form inner and outer baileys. Clarrisa looked again at the tallest tower and noticed the stone was of a lighter color. It had been built at a different time and most likely from the wall that had once enclosed the town.