The Trouble with Highlanders (24 page)

Sandra sniffed. Her eyes widened, and within moments, tears were slowly falling down her cheeks.

Bari chuckled. “What a fine actress ye are. The earl will melt like butter when ye stand before him.”

***

Bari Fraser was waiting for Norris when he descended the stairs. His retainers looked ready to fight, while Norris felt his own men straining against the discipline he demanded of them. They were waiting on his order—barely. The moment was one Norris had spent many an hour avoiding—tensions between clans. In the Highlands, such unrest could easily result in a bloody summer of feuding.

Damn Sandra for starting trouble. She was everything he'd feared having in a bride. A woman who spent more time scheming than looking after the people who called her mistress. The sort of female who saw her position as nothing more than a possession she would squabble over like a child fighting for the last sweet cake on Twelfth Night.

Everything
Daphne
was
not…

Bari tugged on the corner of his bonnet with a swift jerk of his hand, which left no one wondering whether he was still furious or not. The man looked ready to kill.

“For all that ye are me overlord, I demand satisfaction.”

“So ye have made it plain. But at the moment, I have been summoned by me overlord, the king. So ye will wait while I give him deference,” Norris informed him.

“Ye can give me yer word ye will honor me sister. Such will no' interfere in yer duty to the king.”

“What makes ye think I will give ye any such thing, when I know full well me father was not settled on the match with yer sister? Ye should have been honest with her.” Norris's tone left little doubt he wasn't interested in arguing further. “The matter will wait until I return to Dunrobin.”

Something flashed in Bari's eyes that looked like uncertainty. Suspicion returned to needle Norris, but he still had no proof.

“I will ride with ye to Edinburgh.”

Norris stepped closer to Bari and waved his men back. The Fraser retainers backed away from their laird in response.

“Mind yer tone, man. I understand yer position, but ye will wait on me to complete me journey. Maybe that will give ye enough time to discover why yer men did nae know where their mistress was throughout the night. That's a bit of information I'd like to know meself. Ye've no right to be outraged if yer sister is accustomed to roaming the hallways at night. Trust me when I say no wife of mine will conduct herself like that. Even me illegitimate sister is nae allowed such behavior because it leads to fighting. So ye'll wait, because it's clear yer sister is either prone to slipping past her escorts, or yer men are no' as sharp as they should be. In either case, there will be discussion before any promises are made. The reason a Sutherland's word is worth something is because it is nae given unless we plan to keep it, and I know me place. Which for now, is to answer the summons of me king no matter what I must set aside to do it.”

Bari reached up and tugged on his bonnet. “Fair enough.”

But it wasn't fair. Norris shook hands briefly with Broen before leaving Deigh Tower. His men looked grim as they waited for him. To be sure, he agreed with them. There was nothing to be happy about.

***

Dunrobin had been a long time without a proper mistress. The earl had a private secretary who kept some of the estate books in good order—but only those accounting for armor and gunpowder; things men thought of. The cook had a page who was crafty with numbers, and the lad kept a fair accounting of the goods used by the kitchen. That left several areas unaccounted for.

Daphne began with the cloth accounts. Everything from bed linens to staff livery needed to be recorded. There were stable boys who hadn't been given new shirts in two years. They wouldn't ask, for that would be an insinuation that the laird was not running a competent house.

It was something the lady of the house attended to. One of the many duties that made her worthy of respect. When a man such as Norris negotiated for a bride, he was looking for a female who came educated in mathematics and languages, and was experienced in running a large household. Her days would be full of ensuring everyone had enough—be it shelter, clothing, or food. Overlooking even the lowest stable boy was unacceptable. The bond between laird and servant was ancient. The servant gave service, and the laird made sure they had all the essentials.

When the bells began to ring in the village in the afternoon, Daphne stretched her back and stood up from where she had been hunched over the table in the lady's solar. “Who is it?” she asked.

One of the maids Asgree had sent up that morning to attend her under Isla's command put the shirt she was sewing aside and looked out the window.

“Fraser colors, mistress.”

The girl stumbled over the last word, but Daphne found it odd too. Not as odd as hearing who was riding through the gates.

“I believe I should greet them in person.”

Isla frowned but followed Daphne down the stairs. Cam joined them too, and by the time they reached the ground floor, retainers were pushing open the doors. Sandra Fraser swept inside like a princess. Dust clung to her from the road, and she was wearing a dress too fine for travel.

“I would see the earl”—Sandra noticed Daphne and shot her a look full of impending victory—“for I seek justice for the wrong his son has done me.”

A chill raced down Daphne's back. The nightmare that had woken her suddenly played across her memory. She had been standing in the church while Norris took his vows with Sandra.

From the look in Sandra Fraser's eyes, it appeared the girl believed herself heading for marriage with the earl's son. The man Daphne loved.

***

“Me son is nae here,” Lytge declared in a steady voice from behind the large desk in his private chamber. The gray hair on his head seemed almost a camouflage, for his tone didn't lack strength. Sandra Fraser wasn't impressed with the high-backed chair he sat in, which had his family crest carved into the wood. No, the girl had marched right into his private space without lowering herself and begun to make her case.

“He used me after making promises he'd wed me,” Sandra insisted. “I've come to demand justice from ye. Make him wed me before yer honor is sullied by his actions.”

The earl studied her for a long moment. “Since ye just accused Norris of nae having the honor to keep his promise to wed ye, what makes ye believe he will honor me by taking ye to wife if I decide to request it of him? He is no lad.”

“He always does what ye command,” she muttered, disliking the look in the old man's eyes. “Every clan knows it too. Norris might be a rogue, but he gives ye respect and honor.”

Lytge nodded. “Aye, me son is a rogue, and ye are nae the only woman inside Dunrobin who has lost her battle to refuse him. Why would I insist he wed ye, when I have nae insisted he take Daphne MacLeod to the church for the holy blessing? He spilled her virgin's blood after the king himself ordered her wed to Broen MacNicols.”

“Daphne MacLeod?” Sandra sneered. “Her clan is disgraced, and she has nae a single piece of silver to her name. She brings naught to ye.”

“I am more concerned with what she leaves behind, which is peace and happiness. Ye leave a trail of relief, because yer shrewish temperament drives me staff near insane.”

Sandra gasped, her focus on her goal slipping from her grasp. The old man might be an earl, but he had gone too far to insult her.

“Why—”

The earl held up a hand, and his men moved toward her instantly, proving he had simply been granting her his time. It was a blunt reminder of how much power he held.

“Go on with ye, Sandra Fraser. Asgree will see ye have a chamber, and ye may wait on me son's return. That is all I offer ye for the moment. Yer brother knew full well I was undecided in the matter of me son wedding ye.”

He waved her off, but for a moment, the urge to launch herself over the table and lock her hands around his throat was almost too much to contain. The retainers reached for her, and she jumped back out of their reach.

“Yer son was nae so cold upon the matter, I assure ye. I will be waiting, yer lairdship.”

She lowered herself and left. Her temper boiled, and the moment the old head of house left her alone, she threw herself onto the bed and beat it. By the time her rage was spent, two of the fine pillows were torn, their goose feathers floating gently through the air. Sandra didn't spare a second glance for the costly items she'd destroyed. She would have a dozen more pillows given to her and do whatever she wished with them. She would be mistress of Dunrobin—she would.

Maybe Lytge needed to be helped on his way to the afterlife before she might see her plan to fruition. Her temper slowly faded, and her confidence burned brightly once more. Yes, if the old man would not help her by ordering Norris to wed, perhaps he might still assist her by dying in such a manner as to make sure Daphne MacLeod was blamed for his death.

Two problems solved with a single solution. Yes, that cheered her up very nicely.

***

Norris pulled up his horse.

“What's the matter?” Gahan asked. He scanned the horizon and returned a questioning gaze to Norris, because there was nothing in sight.

“I feel like I'm going in the wrong direction.” In fact, he was certain of it.

“Aye, I share that with ye,” Gahan agreed. “There is something nae right about all of this.”

Norris looked behind him, straining against his discipline. Duty had never been such a burden before. To be sure, there were Highland lairds who would tell the king to wait until spring for their oaths of loyalty, and he did want the king's blessing on his wedding to Daphne. But something was pulling him back toward Dunrobin. The sensation had been building all day, and looking at the setting sun made his mouth go dry.

He felt as though he'd left something unprotected. He felt the pull stronger and stronger with each passing mile, and it was burning a hole in his gut. Damn his duty, for it damned him to journey on in spite of his suspicions.

Damn him…

***

Sandra Fraser was waiting for Daphne when she went down to the bathhouse. “I told ye I'd have him for me husband. Ye might think yerself so grand with that brute Cam guarding yer door, but I warned ye what would happen once I was mistress of Dunrobin.” Sandra flicked her fingers. “He'll be tossed into the gutter, like ye.”

There was victory in Sandra's eyes. Daphne looked away, trying desperately to fend off the doubt that had been stalking her since Sandra arrived. “I suppose ye'll do as ye please.”

“Oh yes, I always do what I please.” Sandra came closer. “I want Norris for me husband, and he'll have to wed me now. Unlike ye, me clan is powerful, and he will nae risk having a feud over me soiled name. I will be mistress here, and ye will be gone.”

Daphne backed away from the girl, because in that moment, Sandra looked insane. There was an unholy light shining in her eyes that sent a shiver down Daphne's back. Without a doubt, Sandra's heart was as dead as a stone. She was a law unto herself.

Despite her misgivings, Daphne lifted her chin. “It will nae be the first time I have made me own way in this world, and I promise ye one thing, Sandra, ye do nae control me ability to fend for meself.”

Sandra apparently wasn't accustomed to having her victims fight back. Her face turned red, and she bared her teeth.

“Ye shall be what I say… Do ye hear? What I say!”

“No' if I am nae beneath Dunrobin's roof.”

Sandra sputtered, granting Daphne a small sliver of satisfaction. It wasn't much, but she'd make do. The sun was sinking on the horizon, and she felt as if it was heralding the approach of death. Perhaps that was dramatic, but she couldn't deny the feeling in her belly that doom was looming over her. She felt its shadow and the touch of its icy breath on her neck.

Well… she'd endure.

Well enough.

As she always did.

So
why
are
ye
fighting
off
tears?

Because she loved Norris, and that idea brought calm to her at last. She smiled at Sandra before entering the great hall. Whatever happened, she would not live without knowing love. Small comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

***

The tension in the great hall was palpable. The staff of Dunrobin whispered in the corners as they contemplated the high table. Lytge sat in the center chair at the table, the fine meal placed before him untouched. It didn't tempt him in the least, even though several of his favorite dishes were waiting on him. The cook stood off to one side, waiting to see if his work met with approval. Lytge ground his teeth with frustration. He didn't need to offend his staff.

“Ye have brought discord to me house,” he muttered, not bothering to indicate which of his female guests the comment was directed at. “It pleases me not.”

Daphne stood up, the page assigned to her chair having to hurry to pull the heavy X-framed piece of furniture out of her way.

“This fine meal should nae be wasted. Many are nae so fortunate.” She lowered herself before leaving. Maybe it was the coward's way out, but she couldn't force a morsel down her throat, either. The opportunity to escape was too tempting. Sandra had not lied about her clan being strong. There was no reason to believe Lytge would not see the wisdom of insisting Norris wed her.

“I am so happy ye have sent her away,” Sandra snapped. “She was spoiling me appetite, as well.”

“Why are ye so sure Daphne was the cause of me discontentment?” The earl sent her a sidelong glance.

Lytge stood up, and the hall quieted as he did so. “Mistress MacLeod.” Startled by the booming sound that came out of Lytge Sutherland, Daphne turned so fast her skirts rose up. He might look old, but there was plenty of strength left in his body. She lowered herself.