His Wild Highland Lass (5 page)

"I fear she would agree to do such a task and might injure someone."

"So what is wrong now?"

"She offered to help repair the curtain wall."

Ronan frowned at Ward. "You canna be serious."

"Aye. She said she likes working in the mud, and she would be happy to do it."

"Nay, 'tis no' a woman's job." As if she would have ever been allowed to work at Craigly Castle in such a capacity. Certainly not here. No matter what, Ronan didn't want her working close to the men when they bared their chests in the heat of the summer day.

A knock sounded on the door and Ronan said, "Come."

Alban opened the door, wearing his belted plaid about his hips, his bare skin bronzed and sweaty, gray mud splatters all over it. "Did you tell Ronan the lass is helping us repair the wall?"

Ronan bolted from his bench and left the solar, giving Ward a scathing look for not having informed him she was actually
working
on the wall! "Whatever possessed the lass to do such a thing when I wouldna approve?"

"I think she is looking for a husband among us. She isna doing a bad job with the mud, as inexperienced as she is. But half the time she is watching us, and I dinna believe 'tis because she is attempting to learn how to apply the mud properly, either."

Ronan growled. He couldn't imagine the lass married to one of his clansmen, sharing her cheerful smiles, taking rides near the castle with the man, making love to him at night.

When Ronan reached the outer baily where the improvements were being made, he found Sorcha laughing with his men as she smoothed the mud in place, while four of the men hoisted a stone in place.

One of the men spied him coming and quickly warned the others, "Our laird is coming."

They
knew
he would not permit the lass to toil with them.

Everyone, including the lass, turned to see him approach. His men were giving him cocky grins as they stood too near the lass, half naked.

At least
she
was not half naked. Her golden hair had been pulled back, tendrils of it curling over her shoulders, splotches of mud on her cheeks and gown, her hands covered in it.

"Go," he said to her. "Wash up."

She scowled at him.

"If you persist in this foolishness…"

"They need my help."

His men chuckled, but when they saw his dark look, they quieted, still smiling though, and turned to labor further on the wall.

Ronan frowned at her. "This isna a role for a lass."

"Fine." She stalked off toward the gate to the outer bailey.

"Hold! Where do you think you are going?" Ronan couldn't believe she was thinking of going beyond the curtain walls of the castle, alone, without her horse
or
an escort. She never did. He wouldn't allow it, and he didn't believe she would wish to. Or that she would give him further grief. He should have known better.

She turned, folded her arms across her waist, and scowled. "You commanded me to bathe. How am I to do that? Carry a tub by myself to my chamber? Carry all the buckets up there to wash in? I will wash in the loch. Much easier and I will be no trouble to anyone."

In disbelief, he stared at the wee hellion. All he could do was envision her naked in the loch, her ivory skin bared to heaven and for all to see. Getting his thoughts where they needed to be, though it was a struggle, he realized what she was saying. The servants would not prepare a bath for her without his order.

"I would speak with you after you have a bath." Ronan turned to Ward, but before he could say a word, Ward lost his grin, mostly, and nodded.

"I will take care of it at once." Ward smiled at Sorcha, turned on his heel, and returned to the keep.

Sorcha curtseyed to Ronan and stalked past him.

Smiling, the men cast glances her way, but didn't dare say a word.

Alban shook his head. "She is a hellcat, Ronan. Marry her and put us all out of our misery."

Sorcha wanted Ronan to see her as intriguing and desirable as she found him. She couldn't deny the growing attraction she felt for him. Yet she'd learned he was interested in marrying some woman from another clan, and he had only seen her once when she was nine winters.

On the way up to her chamber to take a bath, as dictated by the laird, Elspeth, his dear, sweet, always agreeable sister, hurried to catch up. She stared at the mud on Sorcha, then smiled. "Dinna tell me you were helping repair the north wall."

"Aye. It needs repairing. I thought I could assist."

"And my brother caught you at it." Elspeth chuckled. "I dinna think any woman has ever vexed him as much as you do."

Exasperated, Sorcha didn't know what to do to catch his attention. In a positive way. She'd tried doing everything to please him. Except washing the clothes. She hated that work. She wouldn't mind cooking, but they still didn't trust her with knives. Sewing? The same thing. She'd even offered to teach the lasses how to use a dirk and that had met with a quick nay. When she observed the men working on the wall, wishing she could see Ronan in the same way like she had the day before, his belted plaid resting low on his hips, half-naked, his bronzed muscles working hard, fascinating her in the morning sun, she thought to help out.

"You dinna need to help me with my bath."

Elspeth often assisted her with plaiting her hair, though Sorcha didn't want to be considered anything more than a servant herself. Her own da had not made arrangements for a marriage for her, just given her along with her sister to Laird MacNeill as if she was part of the dowry.

"Nay, you know how much I love plaiting your hair. 'Tis so silky."

"Aye, and willna stay up no matter how much you pin it."

Elspeth stayed with her in Sorcha's chamber until after the men and women finished filling the tub with water. She had golden hair like Sorcha's, except she had blue eyes instead of green. But she was around Sorcha's age and was the same height. Sorcha thought they looked like sisters, though it made her sad to think she could not see her own.

"Are you no' needed elsewhere?" Sorcha wanted to be left alone, glad she was here and far away from the MacNeill clan, though she missed her sister and niece and nephews. The servants didn't treat her as one of them, which was part of the problem. She'd overheard them talking about her as if she was someone important to Ronan, but they couldn't give her the respect she would deserve unless she was married to the laird. Not that she wanted to wed him for that reason, nor did she need anything more than to feel she belonged.

She had learned what he had said to the MacNeill men. How he had lied to protect her. She would love him always for it. And bringing her horse home to her. Home, she had begun to think of Dunloch Castle as her home. Ronan had never moved her from the chamber to stay with the servants. She wondered when he would recall that she was up here, but she wasn't mentioning it to him if he had forgotten.

She couldn't help but remember the protective and appealing manner in which he had touched her when he was trying to keep her from battling him in the woods by the loch that first day.

"Nay. The others know that I am here saying what needs to be said," Elspeth finally remarked in response to Sorcha's question about needing to be somewhere else.

Sorcha climbed into the tub. "And what is that?"

"Ita Montgomery will be here on the morrow."

Sorcha had learned this already. Not that anyone had openly told her. Again, she'd overheard whispered words when the women thought she had been out of their hearing. While they normally acknowledged Sorcha with smiles or words of greeting, once they knew Ita was coming, several of the women avoided Sorcha's gaze, as if they were afraid she'd be hurt by the truth.

Sorcha knew that Ronan would wed the woman to establish clan ties with her people. Sorcha didn't have to be happy about it. And that was another reason she had been working on the wall before Ronan forced her to stop. She was hopeful that one of the other men in the clan would show some interest in her, if she couldn't find favor with Ronan. She couldn't bear to see him wed another if she didn't have a husband who would love her. Oh, aye, the men were interested, but they wouldn't go beyond polite conversation or simple shared smiles.

"He doesna love her," Elspeth continued, washing the mud from Sorcha's hair.

"He may. He hasna seen her since she was a young lass." At least that's what Sorcha had overheard. Beyond that, she knew that love had nothing to do with it. Not when it came to the importance of clan alliances—just like her sister had to marry the laird of the MacNeill clan.

"But he cares for you."

Sorcha snorted.

Elspeth laughed, then washed the mud splatters off Sorcha's cheeks and the tip of her nose. She groaned, imagining what she must have looked like to Ronan.

"So much so that he marries another!"

"Nay. That hasna come to pass. You intrigue him like no other lassie has done. Believe me when I say that you have a chance. If you are so inclined."

"I have done naught else but tried to get his attention!"

Elspeth laughed. "And you have. The more you do, the more he canna ignore how much he cares for you."

"Och, he hasna spoken to me in the weeks I have been here, except to tell me what I canna do here."

Elspeth was quiet for a while. Then she smiled as she helped Sorcha out of the bath and handed her a towel. "Five of the women want you to show them how to use a dirk. A wooden one. Ronan willna allow the men to teach us. But a woman, such as yourself, could since you have the skills, aye? If we are ever besieged, we will want to be able to protect ourselves. One of the men carves daggers out of wood, much like the wooden swords he makes for the lads to use in training. And…well, we wish you to meet with us in the garden this eve and instruct us."

"Ronan has already said nay to my teaching the little ones how to use a dirk. If we get caught…"

Elspeth smiled.

Sorcha pulled on her chemise, then her spare gown. "Aye, very well. We get caught and once more I will gain the laird's attention, but no' in a good way."

***

At Sorcha's closed chamber door, Ronan heard Elspeth and Sorcha talking, but he could not hear their words. He thought he'd see Sorcha alone after she took her bath. He didn't wish his sister listening in on his business with the lass. Then he frowned. He hoped Sorcha wasn't teaching his sister how to become obstinate and unruly. He liked his sister just the way she was. As for Sorcha? He smiled. He had to admit he
loved
her just the way
she
was.

He knocked on the door and the women abruptly quit speaking. He wondered even more what they had been discussing. Probably nothing of importance, but still, he couldn't help but be curious. Everything about Sorcha intrigued him—way too much.

"'Tis me, Ronan."

He heard some hasty conversation. Then footfalls approached the door. Elspeth opened it, smiled sweetly, yet he swore she looked a wee bit devilish, then promptly made a hasty retreat down the corridor. He halfway expected her to stay, to—serve as a guardian of sorts. And he was glad she did not.

His full attention now on Sorcha, he thought how lovely she always looked, whether she was wearing mud on her nose and cheeks, her hair blowing free in the breeze like golden oats, or like she was now, cleaned up, her wet hair curling down to her waist—which made him think of her naked in the bath.

Her mouth was pursed and she folded her arms. If she had greeted him with a bright smile, he would have suspected her motives. But this was Sorcha, ready for a battle with him over what he had to say. And why that appealed to him so much, he wasn't certain, but he just wanted to gather her up in his arms and channel all that passionate anger into a passionate bout of lovemaking.

Though he shouldn't have, he stepped into the room and shut the door.

Her ready-to-battle-him expression slipped. She still stood her ground, but a small frown creased her brow.

"You willna work with my men any longer, whether they are half-naked or no'." There. He spoke his mind, when he wanted to take hold of her and kiss her again! But he couldn't do that to her. Not when he was meant to wed another lass, and he didn't want to give Sorcha any hope that anything more could exist between them.

"What if I wished to help Aindreas milk his cows? He is getting on in years. Sometimes he canna sit on a stool and do the task."

"That randy, old goat? He will never be too old to leave off with attempting to sweet talk the lasses."

She laughed. And he realized just how much he loved hearing her laugh when it had to do with something he said, and not something the women, or other men of his clan, said.

"What about…"

He frowned. "No' with the men."

She cocked a brow.

"There are plenty of women you can work with."

"But I canna wed one of them."

Unsure if she truly meant it or not, he stared at her, trying to discern the truth. Was she truly interested in having a husband? For the most part, she'd stayed with the women, visiting and working with them. When she ate her meals, she always sat between two women, her choice. Except for today, and her outlandish behavior with working on the wall, he hadn't seen her once pay attention to the men. Except for him.