The Trouble with Highlanders (16 page)

He smacked her twice more and lifted his hips to impale her on her downward plunges. She cried out as rapture tore her away. But she didn't go alone. Norris clasped her hips, his cock buried to the hilt, and his seed erupted into her womb. Their cries mingled, bouncing between the stone walls until there was no way to tell one from the other, which was perfect.

Daphne ended up slumped against his chest, and Norris seemed to have no more strength than she. The chair held them as he smoothed his hands along her back in gentle strokes and she listened to the sound of his heart slowing down. Perfect.

***

Norris wanted to sink down into sleep like Daphne, but there was one thing he wanted to do even more. His body had been well and truly satisfied, but it was nothing compared to the feeling he got when he settled Daphne in his bed. He enjoyed it on a level he'd never felt before. Or at least he hadn't unless it was with this woman.

Although she looked fragile in his bed, he grinned because she'd shown him her spirit and proved her strength. He pulled the bedding over her and walked over to the table to pour himself a drink. He had left one side of the curtains half-open so he could enjoy the sight of Daphne's face resting on his pillow. She sighed and snuggled against the plump pillow and pulled the comforter close. He was feeling too protective by far, though he didn't bother to check the feelings that were running through him. In fact, he allowed them free rein.

He was everything his father wanted him to be, the leader his clan needed. But for the moment, he was damned pleased to be sharing the night with a woman who wanted nothing from him but what the commonest man might give her.

The night was suddenly a welcome place. He crawled into bed and gathered Daphne close. She was warm and soft, and he buried his nose in her hair. Her heart beat softly against his side as slumber beckoned. He saw no reason to resist.

Daphne rose with the dawn, her mind too active to allow her to sleep. Norris was sprawled on his back, only his lower body covered by the bedding. His chest was completely in her view, and the morning light illuminated the red in his chest hair. She found her chemise and hurried into it to fend off the chill of early autumn. Her stockings were on the floor, each laying on either side of the chair, and she blushed as she recalled how much she'd enjoyed the piece of furniture. Once she'd tied her boots, she realized her dress was neatly draped over the table.

Gahan certainly took his duty seriously, it seemed, for she doubted there was anyone else who would dare enter Norris's private chamber while he was entertaining. Of course, it couldn't have been the first time. That knowledge stung, tearing through her fragile happiness.

Foolish…

For sure she was acting the fool to be so tenderhearted, but she seemed to have no control over her emotions. She liked knowing she'd woken up in Norris's bed, and part of her enjoyed knowing the information would be all over the castle before the morning meal was finished. Father Peter would have a great deal to say to her.

Nonetheless, Daphne left with a smile on her lips because she was going to enjoy the days until she had to face the consequences of her actions. She had no doubt that day would come. Norris Sutherland would wed only a bride who came with a dowry, and she had none. However, she did have courage, and there was no way the cook was going to run her above stairs to do naught but wait to warm Norris's bed.

There were retainers in the hallway. They stared at her, one reaching for the corner of his bonnet in respect and stopping midway because his companion failed to offer her any deference. She swept by them and went down the stairs until she reached the bottom floor. Norris's chamber was in a different tower than the one she'd used. This one was farther back in the castle for more protection. Along the walls were large paintings of the Sutherland earls and countesses.

The hallway opened into a large armory. There were full suits of armor and at least two hundred breastplates alone. It was an amazing display of wealth. Pikes, axes, and swords were arranged in racks, their deadly tips shiny with oil to keep the metal from rusting. No one was set to guard the room, because it was deep in the personal tower. As she walked through it and opened the doors, she heard the sounds of the great hall.

Plenty of people noticed her now. The conversation died momentarily before rising once more. Eyes narrowed, and many people pointed. She watched some of the maids shaking their heads; no doubt they'd had to endure the cook's ill temper. To be employed as the head cook at a castle such as Dunrobin was a high position. One sought by many. The cook wouldn't be happy with her for angering his noble employer. Well, she wasn't very pleased with his accusations, either.

Daphne held her head high. If she'd wanted to cower and take shelter under Norris's wing, she would have waited for him to wake. That had never been her way.

She walked through the hall, heading toward the hearth where porridge was being ladled into bowls for the morning meal. The retainers were being served, but the animosity coming from the maids warned her not to expect the same. Something else she was not unaccustomed to. It mattered little. But she did admit to having compassion for them; likely the cook had been unpleasable for the rest of the evening. The Mother Superior at the convent had been a laird's daughter, and as such, she often took her frustrations out on the novices within her care. Daphne had been lower than the newest novice and the last to finish any time there was additional work.

Daphne reached for a wooden bowl and waited her turn in front of the woman serving the porridge. She hesitated before dropping a ladle full of thick oat-and-barley cereal into Daphne's bowl. There were small bits of fruit in it too, and the heat warmed her hands.

She'd learned to appreciate the simple things while at the convent, a skill that had served her well once she'd returned to MacLeod land. It hadn't been so long ago, and yet it seemed ages. Maybe she should be the one accusing Norris of bewitching her, for the man seemed to have overwhelmed her senses completely. Now, even time felt affected.

She walked toward the benches, and the women sitting there made it clear she wasn't welcome to sit among them. Several scooted over to fill up more space between them and their friends to ensure Daphne understood their message. Well, if that was the way they wanted to be, she'd have to begin wearing her MacLeod arisaid again. If she was going to be treated like an outsider, she would look the part.

Scorn
brings
naught
but
bitterness…

She sat down in the far corner of the hall. Shame colored her cheeks, for the words rising from her memory had been spoken by an older nun who had not chosen the life of dedication to the Church but had been born a third daughter and been promised to Christ on the day of her birth. Sister Naomi had been content, though, and a true friend. Fate had dictated that the girl grow old never knowing the delights Daphne had shared with Norris, never feeling fine bedding against her skin or tasting a marzipan tart, even if her hands ached from preparing it.

Daphne scolded herself for being so irritable. True, Norris would most likely send her back to MacLeod land, but Saer had promised her a place. A home. Tears burned her eyes, making her even more frustrated with her fickle emotions. It should please her to know she had someplace to go.

“I hear she had naught… penniless…”

“But to steal?”

“I hear the laird already beat her once. Her back was black and blue.”

“And still he brought her here? I'd mind me tongue if I were ye. She has him under her spell…”

Daphne cringed. Telling herself to ignore the whispers wasn't working very well. The muscles along her neck tightened as she tried to keep her gaze on her breakfast instead of glaring at the women discussing her. Every castle had gossip. That knowledge didn't give her any comfort when she looked up and caught the harsh stares of several women. Her appetite vanished, but her pride refused to let her show them she was frightened by their judgment. She would endure well enough.

The tension was thick enough to cut. Her belly was knotted from it, but she forced herself to lift her spoon and swallow the porridge. The single bite felt like a small rock going down her throat, and she had to drag in a deep breath before digging into her bowl for a second spoonful.

“Ye lack the basic instincts of a child when it comes to safeguarding yerself.” Norris was furious, though his voice was low. He scooped her up off the bench from behind, and the bowl of porridge went rolling across the table.

“Put me down—”

She might as well have saved her breath, for Norris wasn't listening to her. He carried her out of the hall, and it erupted into hurried conversation.

“Damn ye, Norris! Ye shall nae simply haul me about like some goose ye have decided to make yer pet!”

“Ye are me pet,” he snarled as he deposited her on her feet and captured her wrist.

She gasped, so outraged, words failed her. Norris took advantage of her shock, tugging her up a flight of stairs and another and a third with a pace that kept her struggling to keep up. She followed because she'd not have the beast tossing her over his shoulder again. He grabbed a door handle and swung open a heavy oak door, pulling her through.

“We require privacy,” he growled, and she turned her head to stare at the retainers following them. Isla and Cam were also there, along with Asgree and two more maids. Her face flamed scarlet before the door shut to allow her some dignity.

“I warned ye nae to eat anything Isla did nae bring to ye. The damned cook has every reason to want to see ye suffer now.”

“I was served from the same pot as others,” she said, defending herself.

Norris was wearing only his kilt, shirt, and boots. His blond hair was messy, the strands obviously not brushed.

“It would take only a moment for a maid to slip something into her ladle below the table.”

Her temper sizzled so hot she thought it might consume her. But the fury dancing in his eyes made her throw up her hands, and she desperately tried to maintain her hold on rational thinking.

“Why does it matter so much to ye, Norris? Yer father does nae want me here. Neither do yer people. Why can ye nae understand that I would nae willingly birth a child that must be branded a bastard?”

“I never said our child would be illegitimate, only that I would nae allow ye to risk yer life to be rid of it.” He shook his head. “Do ye think that because I am a man I do nae know women die from drinking those concoctions? That I have nae heard of the suffering they endure before death takes them away from the pain? Do ye think I value ye so little, that taking ye to me bed means I expect ye to risk such a thing because yer body is only a plaything for me amusement?”

He'd closed the distance between them and cupped the sides of her face. In his eyes, she witnessed a torment that tore through her anger. She'd frightened him in a personal way she would never have dared to believe she held the power to do. And it shamed her. Shamed her because hurting him hurt her.

She placed her hands on his chest, needing to soothe him, but he stiffened. His expression became guarded.

“Ye'll stay here so I do nae have to worry what ye are up to.”

“Here?”

He stepped back and extended his hand. “Me mother's solar.”

“But…”

He made a slashing motion with his hand. “Ye'll stay here, Daphne MacLeod, because I have decided it will be so.”

He was striding toward the door before she could think of what to say, his kilt pleats swaying with his quick pace. There was anger in every motion he made. His knuckles turned white when he grasped the door handle and pulled it open. Men had to scramble out of his way, because he didn't pause as he strode past.

She should have been furious with him. Her pride should have rebelled. Instead, she was ashamed for causing him worry.

Damn her for a fool.

***

“What is yer fancy piece doing in the lady's solar?” Lytge Sutherland sat behind his desk while Norris stood before it.

“Being kept safe from meddling,” Norris replied.

His father raised an eyebrow at his tone, but Norris didn't offer any apology.

“The way I hear it, the girl meddled with me cook and upset the man plenty. I like his cooking and do nae need him nursing a bruised ego.”

“Nae for a woman ye consider unworthy of me, ye mean.”

His father frowned and pointed at him. “Everything ye have came from yer ancestors making good decisions. No man in this line has taken a wife that came with naught.”

“She's a MacLeod, sister to the new laird.”

“A laird that has yet to secure the allegiance of his clan,” Lytge shot back. “A clan that is already ours.”

“Let her be, Father.”

His father sat back in his chair. “Ye sound like ye are warning me, lad. Why?”

“Because she is important to me,” Norris answered. “Very important. It would grieve me to argue with ye, but I will over Daphne. Let her be.”

The older man peered at him through narrowed eyes. Norris reached up, tugging on his bonnet to offer his father the respect due to him before turning to leave. It wasn't in his nature to disagree with his sire, but Daphne unleashed things inside him beyond his control. It unsettled him, because a laird had to be as solid as stone when it came to his sense of judgment, not in jeopardy of being manipulated. Some men would see Daphne's effect on him as a prelude to being a woman's puppet.

“I wonder if the lass values ye so highly.”

Norris turned around to meet his father's pointed gaze. “Well, does she? Ye keep having to carry her to yer chamber. If the lass does nae return yer regard, what use is she?”

Norris slowly grinned, earning him a grunt from his father as the older man shook his head.

“Ye are bruising the feelings of yer clan members for her when there are plenty of yer own kinswomen to dally with,” the earl continued.

“The cook was being presumptuous to accuse Daphne of thievery.”

His father nodded but also appeared unmoved. “Yet that attitude keeps our food free of poison. No small feat in times like these. His father was head cook before him, and his grandfather before that. There is none more loyal. The man also keeps the kitchens running smoothly and on a budget—something to remember since ye sent yer royal-blooded bride away and have left Dunrobin without a mistress to see to the books.”

“Daphne has been educated and is practiced in the skills of running a large house.”

His father slapped the table. “She has no dowry, something ye can demand from a bride.” He pointed at a small stack of letters sitting to his right. “There are offers for ye, me son. Ones that include lasses eager to warm yer bed and fill the coffers while they do it.”

“I run our land well enough to ensure there is a steady stream of income,” Norris remarked, refusing to look at the stack of letters. The knowledge that they were there made him want to cast them into the hearth. “Do nae negotiate another bride for me.”

“It is nae like ye to be so disrespectful,” his father grumbled.

“We're in private, Father, and I mean no disrespect, but I am nae interested in wedding a stranger.”

“Then perhaps ye should go to court,” Lytge suggested. “With a new young king on the throne, there is bound to be a good crop of young heiresses there.”

“No doubt.”

However, he wasn't interested. Norris tugged on his cap to show respect and left his father's study. He paused in the hallway, considering the stairs that led up to the lady's solar. The day was only beginning, and the sounds of training came up from the yard. He hadn't been bragging about managing the estate well. They profited each season, but it took diligence.