The Trouble with Highlanders (2 page)

Yet she did not lament her actions to set him free of the contract her father had made with him.

Ye
enjoyed
the
duty
sure
enough…

Her cheeks heated, and her pace quickened. She'd let Norris Sutherland seduce her so Broen MacNicols might renounce her and wed the woman he loved. Their night of passion had served a purpose. She had no reason to be upset over Norris Sutherland's taking a bride. The man owed her no affection.

Keith wasn't the only man wearing her father's colors who resented her choices. But a child? She didn't need the guilt of knowing she'd forced an innocent to wear the label of bastard. Even being the child of Norris Sutherland, heir to the earldom, wouldn't save it from scorn. She smoothed her hand over her belly, searching for proof that it wasn't rounding.

What she needed was for her courses to arrive and silence the rumors, but they had never been predictable, so there was no way of knowing if she were late or not. If she bled, it would make her happy, but she feared it would be yet another reason for her people to resent her.

At least the horses greeted her kindly. She rubbed the velvet muzzle of one and muttered softly to it.

“Shall we go and sample some of the fine summer weather?”

As if understanding, the horse tossed its head, sending its mane flouncing. No one would help her saddle the animal, but she knew the way of it. The stable master was a good friend of Keith's and always sent his workers in the opposite direction when she appeared.

They thought she should be ashamed.

“Ye've a solid point about the sheep.”

Keith startled her. She jumped and muffled a curse when the horse sidestepped nervously. Keith frowned, but she reached up and took the bit, controlling the animal with a steady hand.

His disapproval softened. “Even if I think ye should have been thinking of yer clan when ye broke yer betrothal with Laird MacNicols.”

More retainers walked down the rows of stalls. Horses tossed their heads and snorted as the men began to saddle them. The stable was full of the scent of straw and leather.

“The first time I refused to wed him, I did it to prevent him fighting with Laird Chisholms. There would have been a feud.”

Keith pulled a leather strap tight before granting her a grudging nod. “I agree ye did a good thing there, even if they be the ones who should be ashamed for acting like lads no higher than me waist. We do nae need a feud, especially one started over a woman, even a laird's daughter. I find meself liking that bit of action on yer part.”

She used the stall rail to help her mount and suffered the harsh looks of some of the men. She bit back the tart response she would have liked to make. Pointing out that she was a foot shorter than any of them would serve only to remind them she was a female trying to take on the duties of a man.

“But the way I heard it…” Keith continued as he led his stallion out of the stable, “the second time, ye defied even the young king by refusing to take yer place as Laird MacNicols's bride.”

Daphne flattened her body across the horse's neck to make it through the doorway of the stable and into the yard. “Which gained us Laird MacNicols's good will. The man is in love with another woman. He'd have wed me sure enough and resented me.”

Keith mounted and reached up to adjust his knitted bonnet. He'd been her father's head of retainers and still wore one of his three feathers upward. By tradition, he should have lowered the feather, since the new laird would be the one deciding who claimed the privilege of serving in such a high position. It was just one more detail that screamed out the lack of respect her father's men had for her.

“The marriage contracts were agreed upon by yer father and Laird MacNicols. The man should have kept his word or at least made recompense to us, nae left it to you to disgrace yerself so he might be happy.”

“He didn't. I made the choice.” And she refused to regret it. “Enough. I know yer position on the matter. Ye've told me plainly enough. Let's get the sheep.”

Keith surprised her by grinning. He was a fair-enough-looking man when he wasn't scowling at her. His hair was a dark sable, and his eyes a warm brown. There was a thin scar running along the right side of his cheek, but it served only to make him look capable.

“I do respect yer ability to recognize what we need to survive.”

She turned her horse toward the gate and rode through it. A smile graced her lips even as she leaned low to flow more fluidly with the motions of the animal. She rode a mare, but a young one with plenty of spirit. The animal took to the uneven ground easily as Daphne guided her toward the border of her father's land. The wind was warm, and it tore at her blonde hair. She'd cut it off a year ago, and the strands were only a foot long now. They didn't want to stay in the braid Gitta had woven at sunrise, but slowly worked free.

Well, it suited her, for her hair wasn't the only part of her that didn't want to be contained. She'd grown up with Broen MacNicols and hadn't wanted to be his wife. The single kiss he'd pressed against her lips had left her cold.

Norris's kiss had sent her heart racing…

She might never have known the difference—or worse, learned of it after she was wed. Maybe the Church was wrong about infidelity. Maybe those who strayed from their wedded partners were to be pitied because they'd been locked into unions with the wrong person.

Ye're going to get locked in the stocks for thinking like that…

Well, only if she was foolish enough to voice such ideas. She raised her head and felt confidence rising inside her. Over the last year, she'd learned a thing or two about keeping her thoughts to herself.

Ye've also learned how to take a hand in yer own destiny…

Maybe she was meant to be alone in life. The Church also preached that women should remain humble and yield to a man's authority. Well, she was far past yielding. She wrapped the reins around her fists and urged the horse faster. Maybe she wasn't humble, but her father's people needed someone to take action now.

Maybe she was exactly what she needed to be.

***

“Was there something unclear in me orders?” Morrell Comyn asked in a low tone. His retainers eyed him hesitantly. He slammed his fist into the table, and dishes clattered. A mug turned over, but the serving wenches were all cowering in the kitchen.

“Damn fools! Why do I suffer ye wearing me colors?” He sat back in the huge throne-like chair that had belonged to his father. The back rose a full foot above his head, so the carved stag was clearly seen. “Get out of me sight.”

The retainers tugged on the corners of their bonnets and hurried away.

“Ale!” Morrell roared. “And send it with someone pretty!”

He frowned when his second-in-command climbed the two steps to the high table with a mug for him.

“The lasses are all too afraid of young Katie to serve ye,” Ranald informed him before tugging on the corner of his bonnet.

Morrell snickered and grabbed the mug. He took a swig of the ale, wiped his mouth across the sleeve of his shirt, and pointed at the chair beside him.

“They should be. Katie is a little savage, but I like her wild ways.” He slurped his next measure of ale and belched. “I wanted that MacLeod bitch caught. Why do ye think I lured her sheep onto me land?”

Ranald sipped his own ale. “Sure ye want her when ye just said Katie is a savage?”

“Oh, she is, I assure ye of that!” Morrell answered gleefully. “But I'm her master, sure enough. Katie will warm me cock no matter what bitch I bring here as me wife. I want that dowry, and I'll bed whom I fancy, as well. I am master here.”

“Ye and half the Highland lairds sought that treasure, but not one could find it.”

Morrell waved his hand. “No one breached the tower. It's there for certain. Why else would the MacLeod be willing to put up with a woman running the clan? They are doing it to keep the gold in their coffers.”

“That makes sense. I hear there are three claims to the lairdship, but nothing has been settled as yet.”

“Nae yet, but soon,” Morrell grumbled. “Which is why I need to catch that bitch and make her me wife before any single man has the backing of the entire clan. It's nae as strong as it was before Sauchieburn, but there are still more MacLeods than Comyns.”

“Well, she has her sheep,” Ranald answered. “Ye'll need to think of another way to claim her before those MacLeod get finished fighting among themselves.”

Morrell laughed. “Ye've hit the nail on the head, Ranald. The MacLeod are squabbling. A bit of action, and I'll have that dowry.”

“She's still got a castle to take shelter inside of.”

“I know that.” Morrell shot his companion a hard look. “It's the only reason she still has her dowry. We're going to set another trap for her, and this time, I'm going to see to the deed meself.”

Anticipation warmed his blood. His cock thickened with need, so he stood. “But tonight, I'm taking me cock to wild Katie.”

***

“Go on with ye.” Daphne wiped her hair out of her eyes and tried not to let frustration get the better of her. The sheep were unruly and foul tempered. She guided her horse around the ram, who was trying to return to the Comyn land.

“They've got his attention for sure.” Keith helped her block the animal. “Damn them for laying out feed for him. We'll have to pen them, or they'll return to Comyn land.”

“I'm going to enjoy selling the fleece the Comyn fed me sheep to produce.”

Keith's eyebrows rose, and he laughed. The other retainers looked on before relaxing their stern expressions. As the men became more accepting of her, the tension that had drawn Daphne's shoulders tight released. She wouldn't say they were happy, but at least they no longer sent her cutting looks. By the time they got the flock near the castle, sweat had soaked her. The summer was warm, and she envied the men their bare knees. The sun beat down on her, and her wool skirts were a torment.

But she was pleased when they herded the sheep into a makeshift holding pen for the night. The younger boys were set to hauling grass down from the hill for the penned animals. They used sickles to cut it and piled it high on lengths of MacLeod plaid.

“In a few days, they'll learn to stay on our land,” Keith remarked.

“We can shear them while they are here too.”

The wool should have been cut a month before, but the men had marched away at their king's command. So the summer had come and almost gone while everyone was dancing to the tune of politics. But it was over now, and time for the living to get on with preparing for winter.

Daphne smiled at the hundred or so sheep. It was not much, but it would be something. Her aching muscles didn't seem to hurt as much when she weighed the sting against the satisfaction of knowing she had been productive.

“Let's wash the sweat off our backs, lads!” Keith announced. The men cheered and set off for the river. It was a short ride, and several of the women doing laundry came running up the bank with smiles on their lips.

Daphne turned her horse toward the gates of the keep. Perhaps fate was ready to bestow some kindness on her at long last. But when she slid from the back of the horse and turned to look at the keep, she discovered herself facing the priest. Her happiness froze beneath the chilling look Father Peter gave her.

***

“I had to heat the water again because Father Peter kept ye so long,” Gitta said. She used a large iron hook to pull the kettle out of the hearth where it was being licked by flames. “He looked powerfully unhappy with ye.”

As Gitta poured the water into the waiting tub, it sizzled. Daphne worked a brush through her hair then stepped into the bath.

“Father Peter doesn't share yer hope that I'm with child.” The water felt wonderful against her skin. “In fact, he threatened to write to the bishop and tell him of my transgressions. The good father believes I'm setting a poor example for every woman in the clan.”

As well as telling her straight that she was on a path to damnation.

Gitta made a harsh sound and lifted a cupful of water to wet Daphne's hair. The hearth was a small one, used mostly in the wintertime, when firewood was precious. It was set into the back of one of the towers, which allowed her privacy when she bathed. The tub was made of copper with a high back so she could relax while in it. Daphne tried to, but her shoulders were knotted again. Even the hot water washing over her skin wasn't enough to ease her.

“I can hear him saying such a thing, but there is more to this life than just the ways of the Church.”

Daphne smothered a giggle behind her hand. “Ye're going to get us in trouble with talk such as that.”

Gitta rinsed the soap from Daphne's hair, and went to retrieve a length of toweling. “I'm more concerned with what we'll fill our bellies with once Samhain comes and goes. It would be a blessing if yer brother would arrive and settle the matter of who will be laird. There will be bloodshed if Saer does nae show himself soon.”

Daphne walked toward Gitta but had to reach for the toweling, because the older woman was busy looking at her belly.

“I understand why yer mother put his mother out. She was a savage from the isles and had no decency when it came to the fact that yer father was wed to yer mother. She thought to take that place for herself simply because ye were a girl babe.” Gitta shook her head. “Yer father must have done something to displease fate, else his only son would nae have been a bastard born to a woman in exile.”

Her father hadn't had a happy life. Daphne tried not to dwell on it, but it was true. She dried herself and picked up a clean chemise. Broen would never know just how much she'd dreaded following in her parents' footsteps. She'd have truly taken vows as a nun rather than live the way her mother had while watching Broen turn bitter as her father had.