The Trouble with Highlanders (22 page)

“I am no' an enchantress.”

Norris spread his arms wide and bowed low as he backed toward the door of the solar. “Yes, ye are, and I plan to keep ye.”

“Marauder.”

She gained only a glimpse of his smug expression before he was gone in a swish of Sutherland plaid. Aye, marauder was the correct word. Or perhaps Highlander. But she really couldn't say she objected to his ways. No, she enjoyed them full well.

***

Clarrisa MacNicols was no stranger to forcing a smile onto her lips when she was actually irritated with the person in front of her. No, she'd grown up a bastard child of the King of England and suffered plenty of relatives who planned to use her blood to further their causes. The War of the Roses had seen her torn between families willing to do anything to gain the throne of England. But Sandra Fraser was trying her patience.

“Ye are gracious beyond measure,” Broen MacNicols murmured. He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss against the inside of her wrist. He pulled her close while their guests enjoyed the supper placed before them. “At least they will seek their beds soon enough, and we might do the same.”

Her new husband's voice dipped with the last few words, sending heat into her cheeks. His keen gaze touched on the spots of color as he offered her a satisfied grin.

“You are incorrigible,” she admonished him softly.

“I am exactly as ye like me, lass, untamed and yers to command.”

Clarrisa laughed softly as the bells on the outer wall of Deigh Tower began to toll, announcing riders. They didn't ring fast enough to frighten her, but her husband stiffened, all traces of teasing vanishing. He was laird of the MacNicols and took the duty to heart. Broen was already halfway down the main aisle of the great hall before she finished muttering a quick prayer. His retainers dropped quick kisses on their sweethearts or wives and followed their laird. A castle was only as strong as the dedication of the men who manned her walls. The MacNicols retainers were as solid as steel.

Clarrisa turned back to the high table and her guests. Sandra and her brother had their heads close while they whispered. There was a light of victory shining in Sandra's eyes, which puzzled Clarrisa. As soon as Sandra noticed Clarrisa watching her, she straightened up and concealed her emotions behind a very polished expression. It was perfect and everything a noblewoman should appear to be, but Clarrisa recognized it for what it was. Deception.

Edme made her way down from where she'd been serving the high table, a pitcher held securely in her grasp. Sandra and her brother had dismissed the older woman as nothing but a servant, but Edme was also Broen's mother. She was the head of house at Deigh even if the fact that she had been Broen's father's mistress made it so she was not the mistress of the castle. Clarrisa gave her that respect, because she was no fool. Edme knew how to run the keep well, and her experience was beyond value.

“It seems our guests believe we are about to receive Norris Sutherland. Nae that they told me so, mind ye.”

“Why would they know?” Clarrisa wondered.

Edme aimed a suspicious look at her, a feeling Clarrisa discovered she shared. That look of victory in Sandra's eyes did not herald good things if, in fact, Norris Sutherland was arriving. She didn't have to wait very long to discover the truth. A few moments later, happy cheers greeted the returning men. Broen reentered the hall with Norris Sutherland by his side. Norris stopped when he saw her, clasping his hands over his chest in mock misery.

“And there is the lass who refused me,” he declared.

“Ye seem to have suffered through the loss well enough,” Broen muttered as he came to stand beside her.

Norris shrugged. “Who am I to stand in the way of love?”

His playfulness died when he looked beyond his host and hostess to the high table. Clarrisa watched the distaste enter his eyes, and her husband realized what drew his attention.

“Sandra and Bari Fraser are here too. It seems ye are nae the only one not interested in sleeping under the moon this time of year,” Broen said.

“I would prefer it,” Norris muttered softly before grinning at Broen. “But me horse, now he's a bit picky.”

Norris's tone had become teasing once more, but Clarrisa glanced over at Edme and found the older woman looking just as suspicious as she felt. Unless she missed her guess, it was going to be a long night.

Damn Norris's bastard half brother… Sandra Fraser struggled to mask her annoyance as Gahan continued to make it impossible for her to get anywhere near Norris's plate or goblet. The dark-haired hulk was infuriating in his diligence.

When she was mistress of Dunrobin, she would make sure he ended up wed to a shrew. That idea helped her cut through her frustration. What was important was her goal, and she had learned young to keep her mind on her prize. She mustn't allow anything to distract her from her purpose.

The MacNicols's staff was doing a fine job of serving the high table. The old woman who served as head of house directed her staff with a confident hand. Liveried maids carried plates of autumn harvest fruits. The head of house was overseeing the preparation of more food as Broen MacNicols stood up and called for cider.

Perfect. Sandra lifted her hand and laid the back of it against her forehead. She stood up and left the high table. No one really paid any attention. Except for her brother. Having noticed her hand signal—such a simple thing, but it had come in handy before, a prearranged motion to let him know when she needed him to slip away and have a private word with her—Bari loudly declared his need to make room for the coming cider. He exited the raised platform the high table was on by the stairs and walked down the main aisle.

Sandra slipped out the side door and looked behind her to make sure Gahan was still focused on Norris. He was.

She made her way softly down the corridors while making a mental note to make sure she got rid of Norris's bastard brother before she made herself a widow. She passed a storeroom, and her brother's face appeared in the doorway—only for a moment—before he stepped back to mask himself in the shadows. A quick look over her shoulder, and Sandra joined him.

“What do ye need of me?” he asked.

“That bastard guards Norris's back too well. The keg of cider Laird MacNicols just ordered is me only hope of slipping a sleeping draught into Norris's cup.”

“We'll all end up consuming it.”

Sandra shrugged. “It will nae kill—nae this concoction. The lot of ye will sleep soundly and wake up wondering how ye got to yer beds.”

Her brother drew in a stiff breath. “I suppose I can play yer game. Ye are correct about that bastard Gahan. Ye'd think the man would realize how much he has to gain by his brother's death.”

“He's a noble fool, just like Norris. Their chivalrous nature is their Achilles' heel. But it does make the Sutherlands the perfect choice for us. All we needs do is convince Norris our cause is just, and he will do our bidding easily.”

“That's a character trait I plan to exploit at sunrise.” Bari snickered softly. “How do ye plan to get at the cider?”

Sandra reached into her bodice and withdrew a small pillow. It could easily be mistaken for a scent sachet. She held it up with a smile that betrayed its true use.

“Put it into the barrel when I have the brewmaster's attention. When he carries it up to the hall, the motion will steep it well enough for our purpose.”

“What of Norris's men?”

Sandra shook her head. “I've studied his habits. Such knowledge has nae been without its cost. There are a few maids at Dunrobin who enjoy more silver than their positions afford them. They assure me Norris likes to include his men in all his celebrations. Broen MacNicols is much the same with his generous nature. The men will have the cider as well, and fall asleep at their posts.”

Bari clasped the bundle in his hand. “Then I suppose it is time for ye to distract the brewmaster, sweet little Sister.”

***

The brewmaster enjoyed his duties. He had only a few keys on his belt, but they unlocked the cellar doors. Once inside, he inhaled the scent of ripening spirits—something sure to place a smile on the face of even the sourest man. He placed a candle lantern near the shelf where the cider barrels were stored and contemplated the dates marked on their sides.

He pushed one hogshead barrel onto his two-wheeled cart and tipped it up. The cart made it simple enough to wheel through the doorway and out into the hallway. He took a moment to secure the door, for the contents were expensive, and he was charged with accounting for every last drop. His father had been brewmaster before him, and he'd been taught to always do his duty well. He pulled on the lock once he'd turned the key, making sure it was secure.

The hallway was lit with torches made from the dried stalks of barely. Lashed together and dipped in tar, they provided good light along the service hallways without using candles that would have been more expensive.

“Oh dear…” The brewmaster turned a corner to find the source of the soft exclamation. As he came face-to-face with the Laird Fraser's sister, a shiver raced across his skin. Her fair features were not what he was looking at. She had her skirts raised high, displaying one shapely leg all the way to her thigh. His mouth went dry when she stretched out her leg.

“My garter has come undone, and it seems me attendant is nowhere to be found. Was she back there with ye?”

“With me?” the brewmaster squeaked like an unbearded lad. “Well now…” He swallowed and tried to keep his eyes on her face. “No. I was about me duties.”

The lady's eyes narrowed slightly, sending heat into his cock.

“I saw her looking at ye during supper, and truly, I do nae mind if she seeks out her desire, but I need assistance with me garter. If ye do nae want her discovered, perhaps ye might secure me stocking…”

She held out a ribbon. It shimmered with the help of the torch light, the ends gleaming because they were capped with pure gold. He wasn't an overly proud man, but there was part of him that enjoyed knowing the lady thought him striking enough to lure her servant away. He reached for the ribbon, not wanting to admit that no one intent on trysting had snuck into the cellar after him.

Blood rushed to his face as he lowered himself to one knee. The lady's skin was smooth and creamy above the top of her stocking. Beneath his kilt, his cock stirred. He cursed his fickle flesh but couldn't deny he was inhaling the sweet scent of her body with every breath.

Sweet
bleeding
Christ.
He was shaking like a raw lad. He managed to slip the silk around the top of her calf and forced his fumbling fingers to tie the ribbon into a bow. It was uneven but held well enough, and he shivered when she let out a contented sigh.

“Ye have me gratitude, good sir. I would have been quite lost without ye.”

The brewmaster looked up, and for a moment he lost track of time. The temptation to allow his hand to slip above the garter, to the creamy skin, was almost too great. His wife's face rose from his memory in time to save him.

He stumbled to his feet. “Good evening to ye, ma'am.” He tugged on the corner of his bonnet, retrieved his cart, and wheeled the cider down the hallway.

A soft sound of applause came from around the corner. Bari appeared and offered her a mocking bow. “Ye are more accomplished than I thought.”

Sandra slowly smiled with triumph. “I am, dear Brother. Mother made sure of it.”

While her brother had been learning to use a sword to gain the Frasers everything they might want or need, she had been tutored in the art of seduction—a woman's weapon, yet an effective one. And now, she was going to catch herself the heir to an earldom.

“Remember… do nae drink too much, or ye shall be useless. And do nae arrive too early, or it will be clear Norris had his wits dulled by something other than me.”

Her brother frowned. “And just when would the perfect time be?”

“Do nae be such a child, Bari,” Sandra groused. “The least ye might do is shoulder some part of this business yerself.”

Her brother frowned, his pride clearly injured. “Ye're a bitch, Sandra. Pure and true.” He reached out and smacked her, the sound loud in the tight confines of the hallway.

She gasped, outraged as she rubbed her cheek. “Ye'll mark me, ye toad!”

Bari smiled, a cold little curving of his lips. “Well now. Ye did want me assistance.” He cupped her chin and raised her head so he might view the side of her face. “A good mark will help me convict Norris Sutherland of nae heeding yer warning to let ye be.”

***

“'Tis better,” Asgree muttered. “Better that ye are nae with child yet. Ye need to gain some of yer strength back before giving the master a son. Yer courses will nae be upon ye long, either, mark me words. When the body is too thin, the blood will last but three days.”

Daphne nodded, not certain what to say. While living at the convent, she'd steadily lost weight, but her thoughts had consumed her.

And now, her dowry still caused her difficulties. In spite of the fact that Lytge argued against her wedding Norris because she had no dowry, Daphne was grateful the fortune was missing. Norris loved her simply for herself, and she would not trade that knowledge for any amount of gold. Even if it did mean the maids in the bathhouse were eyeing her, some with happiness, others with suspicion. They leaned toward one another when they felt Asgree wasn't watching them, and whispered. The news of her courses arriving was spreading like fire, and the head of house was making sure it continued to do so by taking over bathing her when Isla had been doing a fine job. Gahan's sister stood one pace behind Asgree, worrying her lower lip as she tried to devise a way of slipping back to Daphne's side.

Yet her place was not secure. Daphne hated to doubt Norris, but the world was not kind. If the king did not agree they should wed, it was unlikely they would. Norris was set to become a prince among Scotland's nobles. Whom he wed was a subject for debate among the men who ran the country. Tender feelings would not be given much weight during those discussions.

Hopelessness closed around her, sending tears into her eyes. She drew in a deep breath to dispel them and reached for a comb. A sharp snap from the head of house's fingers, and a maid grabbed it before Daphne did. The girl stepped behind her to begin working it through Daphne's half-dry hair.

“I do nae need such attention. A warm bath was enough work.”

Asgree shook her head. “It was heard plainly and by more than one that the master has set his mind to wedding ye. The staff needs to see ye being set above them.”

“Ye mean the cook?”

There was a soft gasp in the back of the bathhouse that drew Asgree's attention. The maid responsible looked down at her work, but the head of house raised her voice to ensure her words were heard by all.

“The man is overly proud to be handing out slaps so easily. Ye are the daughter of a laird. It makes sense ye would know a thing or two about how to work in a stillroom.”

“It was a misunderstanding.” Daphne stood up, too nervous to sit any longer. “I should have made myself known to him. A good cook keeps a sharp eye on every detail he is charged with. Any laird's daughter would know such a thing.”

“True enough,” Asgree agreed.

Nonetheless, the head of house continued to direct her staff to serve Daphne. It was more trouble to avoid them than just to submit. She smiled when she realized Norris had employed the same tactics in securing her. It seemed Asgree was every bit as much of a marauder as the lord she served. The night before her seemed endless. And empty.

She scolded herself but still couldn't shake the feelings of gloom. How was it possible to miss a man so much when she had known him for so short a time?

Ye've been longing for him since the first night ye lay with him…

That was solid truth if ever she'd admitted one to herself. Norris had never left her thoughts or her heart, even if she returned to MacLeod land as a daughter should. Yet she had not been as dutiful as her father might have liked.

She hugged herself and walked through the hallways leading away from the bathhouse. Two maids came into sight and stopped. They stared at her, indecision on their faces. Then one lowered herself, and her companion followed a moment later.

At the convent, she had been the lowest of the low. It felt awkward to have respect, even if she felt she'd done the correct thing in keeping Broen and Faolan from fighting over her. It had brought her to Norris… Something she'd never regret. Daphne lifted her chin and walked past the maids, intent on promising herself to never, ever allow herself to lament her choice. She wouldn't, for she was no longer a girl blindly following the instructions of her parents. Girlhood was behind her. That knowledge granted her the opportunity to embrace her confidence.

At the top of the tower, the sea stretched out before her. For the moment, the sight was one of endless opportunities. Ones she eagerly looked forward to embracing.

***

Norris Sutherland did not weaken easily.

Sandra had to wait while the candles burned down and Norris and Broen enjoyed their cider. For a bit, she worried the sleeping draught had lost its potency, but one by one, those sitting at the high table began to nod. Broen's wife rose and retired long before her husband.

Clarrisa MacNicols was a bastard of England's late King Edward IV. Of course the English woman weakened first. Norris was pure Highlander, as was Broen MacNicols. Sandra rose and followed her, leaving the men to more drinking but she didn't retire. Sandra made her way to one of the back hallways and watched the men through a doorway. The two men enjoyed more cider, but her single fear was washed away when they invited Gahan to join them once Laird MacNicols's wife had left the high table.

Bari made a good show of drinking and took his leave before his eyes glazed over. Sandra had to wait longer. At last, Broen shook his head and grinned at his guest.

“Forgive me, Norris, marriage has a way of making a man seek his bed earlier than he did before he wed.”

“With a wife such as fair Clarrisa, 'tis a habit to be encouraged.” Norris tossed the remains of cider in his goblet down his throat, stood up, and offered his hand to Broen. They clasped wrists and quit the high table. Broen went to a different tower for the night. Sandra pressed herself back into the shadows, following Norris and Gahan as the night wind rattled the window shutters.