The Highlander's Harlot (Sword and Thistle Book 1) (2 page)

The chieftain’s mistress.
That thought alone, traitorously, intrigued me. I’d never even been left alone in the company of a man before, and now a mixture of curiosity and desperation rose up in me. The embarrassment of having to offer myself again in front of these sniggering warriors made me shudder and hug myself, as if to hide myself from their leering view. And when I met the laird’s gaze, it was dark and terrible. It set me atremble.

Still, I said the words he wanted me to say. “I offer my body for the purposes you decide, until such time that you are sated of me. I offer this so that my father may be absolved of his crimes.”

A flicker of warmth sparked in his stormy eyes, but I couldn’t tell what it was. Lust? Admiration? Or something else? Then he quite nearly smiled, but it was more of a sneer. “Your father is quite right, girl. I do want to make a whore of you. Do you understand and consent to that?”

One look at the tear-streaked faces of my sisters and brothers, and my father’s body prone, in pain, and I gave a quick nod.

“Say it,” the laird barked at me.

“Yes, I consent.”

“To what?” he asked, impatiently.

Oh, yes, he did want my shame.

And I wanted to give it to him.

“You refuse him even if they run me through and spill my guts on the ground,” my father raved. “Do you hear me, Heather? You let them kill me rather than submit to the mad bastard or you’re no daughter of mine.”

The laird was waiting for my answer and I lifted my chin against the anger that roiled up inside me. Then, without looking at my father, I spoke the words. “I consent to be made a whore by you, my laird.”

The Macrae stared at me hard, without satisfaction. “I don’t even think ye ken what that means.”

“I do,” I said, defiantly.

“Oh? Then understand that I’ll sate myself then give you to my men to use, too. And when I finally return you to your father, you’ll be so well trained that you can contribute to the family fortunes by selling your charms to men for coins.”

With anger and more primal emotions burning my cheeks, I said, “I understand what a
whore
is, my laird.”

At last, the chieftain did smile, then nodded to his sniggering men. “
Ye
heard her. Release the father, and take the girl.”

Without looking back at me again, the laird mounted his horse with an athleticism that belied the effort, then rode far ahead, leaving me in the company of his warriors.
 

I tried to say goodbye to the children, but the leering warriors grabbed me up and threw me into the saddle. “Papa!” I cried as they rode off with me. But the last thing I saw was my father’s disgust as he turned away from me, happier to put his face into the dirt, surrounded by his sheep. And though I’d saved his life, I feared he might never call me
daughter
again.

~~~

Eilean Donan
is a castle on an island, and the Macrea is its constable. I expected to find him there, once we cross the mist-damp footbridge and pass into the stronghold. Held in the saddle by one of my chieftain’s warriors, I caught my reflection in the rippling waves of the loch, and I looked more anxious than I’d ever been. But more resolved, too. After a life of doing as I’d been bid, of being dutiful, of obeying my father, I felt the strangest sense of freedom even though it meant I would now obey a different man. Even though it meant passing into the moss-covered walls of an impregnable castle from whence I might never escape…

The laird wasn’t waiting when I got there, which surprised and unnerved me. “You’ll sleep in the servant’s quarters,” one of the warriors said, giving me a small shove as he surrendered me into the care of a mousy little housemaid wearing a frilly cap. Given his tone—and the darting gaze of the maid—I expected to find a dirty berth, cold and miserable. But instead, I was taken to a tiny room inside the castle with a pretty window, myrtle-wax candles that burned a lovely scent, and a bed finer than the one I had at home.

It reminded me that the people who lived in the castle—even the least of them—lived better than a crofter’s daughter. An impression made even stronger when I was brought some tea, a bowl of stew and bread. It was finer food than I ever had at my father’s table, and I was surprisingly hungry. I ate every bit of it—slathering the bread with fresh churned butter.
 

And then it sank into the pit of my belly like a stone.

What had I done?
I hadn’t any choice in agreeing to the laird’s terms. He would’ve killed my father and then I might have ended up some man’s whore anyway, just to keep the children fed. I’d only done what had to be done, and the sin was not mine in giving consent but, rather, the sin belonged to the laird who asked it of me. And yet…the fact that the laird thought I was the kind of woman who might be suitable as a whore—did that not speak against me? If he had looked upon me and seen the virtuous girl I’d always been, loyal to him and to the clan, perhaps he’d have shown some mercy without this wicked bargain. So what flaw in my nature had he discerned that led me to this place?

I was still struggling with these questions when the mousy maid came to bathe and dress me in a pale white shift. I’d never been bathed by anyone but my mother when I was a child, of course, and the experience made me shy. I wondered, of the maid,
does she know what I have promised the laird? Does she feel sympathy for me or contempt?

But all she squeaked was, “Rose oil.”
 

She looked sorry for having said even that much to me, as she rubbed a bit at my wrists and the base of my throat. After that, she dried my hair until it gleamed copper in the looking glass, and tied it for me with a blue bow. Finally, she dabbed upon my lips the lightest rouge, and brushed it upon my cheeks too.
 

“Thank you,” I said, though I’d never worn cosmetics before, and found them to be garish. She didn’t answer and I had the strangest sense that she’d been forbidden to speak to me at all.

When she turned to go, I asked, “Aren’t you going to take me to the laird?”

Carrying away a bucket of the wash-water that seemed too big for her tiny frame to manage, she eyed me over one shoulder. “You think
the Macrae
will receive ye like a lady in the hall? Nay, he’ll come for ye when he wants ye, and that’s all ye must ken.”

With that, she shut the door with a thud and latched it on the other side. And when no one came for me again until the next morning, I began to fear that the laird meant not to ravish me, but to imprison me.
 

“Breakfast,” the mousy maid said, setting down a tray for me of eggs, blood sausage, biscuits and a pot of honey. And when I took a bite, I noticed the maid’s brown eyes fall longingly upon my plate.

I’d been locked alone in this room for nearly a day now—alone for the first time in my whole life, without any little siblings clinging to my skirts—and I half-feared I’d lose my mind if it went on even another moment. “I haven’t much of an appetite,” I lied, hoping she’d stay. “…if you’d like to share some with me.”

“Couldn’t,” the maid said, her eyes darting to the door.

I took a bite of the biscuit, a tender crumb pinched between my fingers, and moaned in pleasure. “It’s quite tasty.”

“Would be better with the honey,” she said, softly, looking as if she might just give in.

I broke a piece of the biscuit off, and dipped it for her. “Here you are…but I don’t know your name.”

She bit her lip as if she hadn’t meant to answer, so I quickly give over half the biscuit to her. “Brenna.”
 

“Did you miss breakfast to tend me, Mistress Brenna?”

She gave a squeak of laughter. “I’m no mistress. And I had me some oatmeal this morning, but not such good victuals as the laird ordered for you.”

Something inside me squeezed at the thought the laird had given any thought
at all
to my breakfast, and made me feel strangely hopeful. Then one taste of the honey upon my finger…and I tasted heather. Could he have remembered our meeting all those years ago? Surely not. I doubted that he even remembered my name. But the thought that he might…it warmed me. Made me somehow less terrified. And it left me hopeful he hadn’t simply forgotten about me to leave me moldering in this room.
 

I ventured to ask, “Is he a kind man to serve, our laird?”

Brenna the maid stopped mid-chew. “Aye…not that I’d ken any different. The old laird died before my time here.”

I pushed a little bit of the blood sausage to the edge of the plate for her. “Would a girl in my situation have reason to fear him?”

Brenna snorted again, swiping the sausage in two hands to nibble the end. “Wouldn’t ken about girls in your situation. I’m a good girl from a good family.”

Unlike me, she meant. So she must know, after all, what I was here in the castle to do. And soon after that I was out of food to share with her, all by myself. One day of loneliness turned to two, then three, then four. Until I was finally so eager for
something
to happen, that I was honestly eager for the laird’s summons.
 

It t came in the wee hours of the night, when I was awakened from my bed, and led to his…

~~~

It was a tall warrior who came to summon me; an unsmiling one with dark eyes and a scar on one cheek. He didn’t speak at all beyond barking out orders to follow him—not even to tell me his name—though I think I remembered his compatriots calling him Malcolm.
 

He took through the castle on naked feet, my steps soft and halting on the cold stone the closer I got to the carved wooden doors to the laird’s chambers. Torches sputtered when we knocked upon the door, and I swallowed when the door opened to reveal the laird sprawled upon his upholstered chair, one leg dangling casually over the arm. In his hand, the Macrea held a wineglass, which he emptied quickly, swallowing it one gulp.

I saw—to my surprise—that he wasn’t alone. Two more of his warriors were there too, one examining the leather-bound books in the dark wooden case. Another staring keenly at me, as if his hungry blue eyes could see the outline of my body under the gown. The hungry-eyed one said, “I cannot believe this the same lass we found at her father’s cottage?”

“Don’t be daft, Davy,” the laird said, with a laugh. “Of course it’s the same girl. Give them a bath and some perfume and some food for their bellies and even the daughters of crofters turn to beauties.”

He thought me a beauty? I shouldn’t have flushed with pleasure to hear it, but I did. After all, if my fate was sealed to one of misery, I might as well take what pleasures I could. And though I knew men found my looks pleasing, none had ever called me a beauty. “Thank you, my laird,” I said, glancing down at the embroidered nightclothes I’d been provided, appreciating them anew for the way they showed the curves of my hips.

As if he could read my thoughts, and sense my appreciation, he said, “Don’t get it in your mind that you’ve been treated well for your own good, lass. You have been made presentable for your clan chief. Now come before me and kneel.”

There was no kindness in his voice and only the barest hint of lust in his eyes. However, he had look of a man who owned me and knew it. I’d once fancied the lord, thought often of the day we met. Truth be told, some nights, remembering his handsome face and the strength of his hand on me, my fingers had sometimes danced down my body at the thought of being with him.
 

But now that I was in his presence, I felt more fear than arousal. And resentment, too. He’d kept his part of the bargain and spared my father, so I was bound to keep my part, too. But it didn’t mean I was resigned to the life of shame he wished to make my own. Still, the command to kneel was oddly comforting. It was an assertion of his command; there was someone in charge, someone who knew what he was doing, and all I had to do was obey.

I crossed the room, lowered to my knees before his chair, and dropped my head.
 

“Do not think me a fool, little crofter’s lass. I know you must fantasize of taking a rich man for a lover. A man who will free of you of poverty and reward you for your beauty with riches. You may enjoy this evening or you may not. Know that it doesn't matter to me, and that either way, I own you until I am sated of you. Whether that be this night, or the next, or the next month, or the next year, or ten years, you have given yourself to me. And so your disobedience will break our agreement. Am I understood?”

Breathless, I nodded, strangely grateful to have someone talking to me, even if it was in this harsh manner. But it hadn’t occurred to me that he might want me for more than a night. More than a week. The unlimited nature of my pledge now seemed terrifying. Still, I would have made it if I was to be the laird’s plaything for the rest of my life, so long as my father wasn’t executed in front of his children. Remembering that there had been no other choice, and that I would have made the same one all over again, I nodded my head. “I understand, my laird.”

“Do you know these men?” he asked.

I swallowed, daring to glance up at them in spite of my memory of the slap I received the last time I looked up without permission. “
Should
I know them?”

With a jerk of his chin, he motioned to the man at his left. “The dark brooding bastard who brought you here to me is Malcolm—my best swordsman. The blue-eyed clown drooling over you, is Davy.” Finally, with one finger, he pointed at the warrior with the book in his hand. “And this brawny bairn is my cousin Ian. He disapproves of you—and me for that matter.” Ian’s jaw clenched at being mentioned, but he never looked up. “Nevertheless, he’s sworn fealty to me as have all the men in this room, and they’ll bear witness to your shame.” I swallowed and nodded, because I could do nothing else. But the laird was unsatisfied. “I
said
the men in this room will bear witness!”

With that, Ian slammed his book shut, crossed his powerful arms across his tartan-adorned chest, then stared hard at me. At that moment, the laird reached for the collar of my sleeping gown, yanking at it harshly. Ripping the fabric open, exposing my breasts to the cool air. Not only to the air, but to the feasting eyes of his warriors. Instinctively, my hands raised to cover myself, and the laird caught them. “No. Let me look.”