The Trouble with Highlanders (4 page)

“Since ye kissed me back so passionately, ye'll be in the stocks beside me.”

His words were bold. She tried to shove him away and would have bitten the beast if he hadn't released her. Her skirt got caught beneath her feet, and she stumbled farther away.

“Ye insufferable marauder.”

He tipped his head back and roared with amusement. Her temper sizzled, turning her cheeks scarlet.

“Take yer demands somewhere else, Norris Sutherland, for I do nae care whose son ye be or what title ye're set to inherit.”

He smirked at her, but it was a very personal expression, one that reminded her he knew her… intimately.

“Since yer father is dead and yer brother has yet to arrive, ye'll face me demands, Daphne MacLeod, as a vassal should. I'm here to see what condition yer land is in.” He closed the gap between them, gripping a handful of her skirt to keep her near so his last words could be shared only between them. “But if ye'd like me to run ye to ground, I will be happy to do so. So turn yer back on me, lass… I dare ye.”

***

Insufferable brute. Dare her?

How
could
he
suggest
such
a
thing?

Daphne stormed into the storeroom and picked up a mortar. She used her frustration to grind the peppercorns into a fine dust. The grains tickled her nose, but she didn't take any pleasure in the scent of the costly spice.

Damn Norris for that, as well. She had precious few luxuries for her table. The man didn't need to irritate her so much she failed to enjoy the ones she had.

Gitta spoke softly. “It would help if ye softened yer heart.” Daphne turned on her with a whirl of her skirts but froze at the look on her old nurse's face. There was the unmistakable sheen of desperation there.

“He's sought ye out, lass. Think before ye toss what fate offers ye out the window.”

“To what end, Gitta? Father Peter is already threatening me with Church authority.”

Her old nurse shook her head and grinned. “Ye are his vassal. 'Tis a tradition, which goes back to before the Church meddled so much in the doings of everyday life. Go to his bed, and yer child will bring us good fortune. Father Peter will baptize it sure enough, with the heir to the Earldom of Sutherland swearing it is his babe.”

Gitta took the mortar from her and sniffed. “This will help light a fire in yer blood. I'll help the cook make ye a fine rabbit pie to share with his lairdship.”

“I doubt he is accustomed to eating something so common as rabbit.”

Gitta raised a hopeful look toward her. “Ye're right. I'll have one of the ducks brought in.”

“Ye will nae,” Daphne protested. “We need their eggs more than their meat, and we need every last one of them so there will be additions to the flock next year.”

“But we must set a good supper for yer courtship. If Norris Sutherland is yer protector, he'll ensure we all have more than enough. I hear the tables groan under the weight of the plenty set upon them on Sutherland land.”

“We can nae trust in gossip. Everyone likes to tell tales of how easy life is elsewhere.”

Gitta offered her a blunt look. “It is certainly nae so grim as it is here, and the labor ye'd have to shoulder as a leman would be pleasurable. Stop talking like a bride of Christ. I never raised ye to detest the very flesh ye are made of. I saw the blush staining yer cheeks after he greeted ye.”

Daphne had to resist the urge to rub her face. Gitta's gaze was too knowing for her comfort.

“Ye raised me to be respectful to the Church.”

Yet
she'd already fallen from grace when it came to Norris…

Something rippled down her spine that she refused to allow herself to acknowledge. She wouldn't admit he made her quiver. “Ye're a fine cook. He'll sing yer praises, no doubt.”

She choked back the rest of what she wanted to say, because it was surly, and she had enough sins to answer for.

Like
lusting
after
Norris
Sutherland…

***

“Ye must be getting old.”

Norris eyed Gahan, and his captain chuckled at his sour humor. The remains of the duck sat in front of Norris, the scent of rosemary and pepper lingering. Daphne MacLeod had never joined him at the high table for the evening meal.

“The fair lass did nae show a single one of those blond hairs tonight…” Gahan continued as he sat down and tore off a piece of remaining meat. “Ye must be getting old and ugly to prompt her to choose an empty belly over sharing supper with ye.”

“Is that a fact?” Norris growled, balling his hand into a fist.

Gahan only smirked at his threat before popping the meat into his mouth and humming with enjoyment. He smacked his lips and pointed at Norris. “Well now, I suppose it could be on account that ye failed to impress her when she was in yer bed, but I did nae want to be overly harsh when I'm merely speculating.”

“That would be a mistake,” Norris retorted as he stood. He leaned over to make sure only Gahan heard him. “She was very well pleased, more than once.”

“And still she is nae here when we've ridden so far to see her.”

“Ye're an arse,” Norris snarled.

“Aye, but nae a blind one.”

Norris straightened. “Possibly a dead one before dawn if ye do nae cease to badger me.”

Gahan considered him for a moment then reached for another piece of the duck. He drew a bone slowly from his lips once he'd sucked the tender meat from it. “If ye're staying here, do nae expect me to shine yer ego by ignoring the reason behind yer grumbling… Laird.”

Norris stared at the look in his captain's eyes and left. Gahan was bold, but it was the very same quality that made him such an indispensable man. When Gahan told him something, it was the truth. The man had no use for ego polishing, and he was making a point by needling him.

He had come to see Daphne, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

***

Her chamber was freezing.

Daphne snorted and rubbed her hands together, reminding herself this was nothing to the misery they'd feel in a few months when winter arrived. Better to keep herself from being dramatic; reality would be harsh enough.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

She turned around and felt her belly twist when Norris appeared in the doorway.

“No… ye stay out.” She covered her mouth but not quickly enough, because her voice was high and squeaky, betraying her turbulent emotions.

“If ye are going to hide, the least I might do is chase ye to make it worth yer time.” The door shut behind him with a soft thud.

“What audacity,” she accused. “I did nae invite ye to me chamber, ye rogue. Ye knew me reasons for allowing ye… intimacies with me.”

“Ah, but I am more interested in learning why ye refused to share such a fine meal with me when I know ye will nae sup upon anything so grand again for a long time.”

He took several more steps inside her chamber and planted his feet solidly. There was something in his eyes that looked like determination. Of course it was; the man was accustomed to getting everything he desired. Norris Sutherland was every inch a Highlander, from the bonnet on his head with its three feathers pointing upward to proclaim his rank to the edge of his pleated kilt where it brushed the tops of his knees. He looked at her like he meant to have her.

So
dramatic
again… he can have any lass he wishes. Do nae be vain.

“Ye have no right to be cross, Laird Sutherland. Ye have been afforded the best we have.”

His eyes narrowed. “I disagree, lass. Ye are the jewel in this keep.”

She'd been complimented before, but a blush stung her cheeks. She rubbed at the heat, trying to rid herself of the odd reaction. “This beauty is a curse. It has brought naught but discontentment to everyone who admires it.”

He moved closer, and she found herself mesmerized by his approach. She'd dreamed about him so often, it was like having her fantasy right before her. He reached out and stroked the scarlet surface of one cheek.

“'Tis men who are cursed with the nature to want to own ye like some bit of finery.”

For a moment, she was captivated. There was nothing wrong with his presence in her chamber or in the way his gaze settled upon her lips. The tender skin tingled, anticipating his kiss.

Gitta's words rose from her memory and collided with the harsh ones from Father Peter.

She scooted back, her long smock fluttering and allowing the cold night air up her bare legs. “Enough, Norris. 'Twas me serving woman Gitta who prepared the duck for ye. She hoped I'd try to lure ye into me bed so I might have yer bastard and make ye responsible for our well-being.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, clearly displeased. “Ye need a new waiting woman.”

“Nae. 'Tis my fault she is so desperate. I am the one who refused the match me father made. So I'll be the one thinking of a way to make sure everyone is fed.” She drew in a deep breath, trying to restore her confidence. “Now go. There will be no more kissing, because I do nae prostitute meself.”

“Ye did nae mind the chore of losing yer maidenhead to me. In fact, I recall yer being very eager for our union.”

Her jaw dropped open, shock striking her mute for a long moment. Flashes of memory from the night they shared went through her mind like lightning.

“Ye're too bold with yer tongue,” she muttered crossly.

He grinned at her. “So yer sweet cries told me, but 'tis a skill I would gladly practice upon ye.”

“Enough!”

“Is it?” he demanded, his voice losing its teasing note. “Or is it time for me to toss ye into yer bed, since ye have so cleverly greeted me in a chemise thin enough to let me see the little pebbles of yer nipples?”

She crossed her arms over her chest in response. “I was seeking the warmth of me bed when ye arrived. I did nae send for ye.”

“Did nae ye, lass?” He moved closer, crowding her. “Ye climbed the walls to assume the duty of leading this clan, but ye do nae break bread with me? Maybe ye're daring me to try my hand at catching ye.”

Her anger froze, and it chilled every other emotion coursing so freely through her body.

“Ye are no different than any of the others.” Her voice was low and hard now. “All ye see is what ye can possess because it is yer right.”

She grasped her chemise and drew the garment up her body and over her head. She didn't care that the air was chilly; it suited the moment.

“Ye are me overlord, so 'tis yer right sure enough.” She lay down on her bed and turned her face toward the wall. Tears pricked her eyes and slid down her cheeks. Time seemed to stand still, the space between each heartbeat long while she waited for him to touch her. She was a fool to allow him to bruise her feelings, and yet she could not seem to stop the hurt.

“I deserved that scorn in yer tone, Daphne.”

As he sat down next to her, the bed shook slightly. He cupped her chin and drew her face back toward him.

“Aye, deserved it well and truly, for I'm acting like a brute,” he continued.

He smoothed his fingers over her cheek, sending little ripples of delight through her. She jerked her head away, unwilling to enjoy such tenderness when he was being so arrogant.

“If ye want to make demands of me, do so, but do it quickly, for I am cold,
Laird
. Do nae waste yer breath on gentling me. I am already submissive.”

It would be simple for him to take her, but disappointment tore at her. Her memories of their night together were all pleasant, yet he was shattering her illusions of who he was.

He reached into the front of his open doublet and pulled out a small round of bread. With her belly empty, she smelled it instantly, and her mouth began to water. Her belly rumbled low and loudly, shaming her with just how little they had.

“Eat, lass.”

He placed the bread on the bed beside her and then stood. His gaze traveled along her length, inspecting her. He tugged the coverlet over her. Satisfaction filled his eyes for a moment; then he turned and left the chamber.

She shuddered, her body shaking as she rose and sat on her knees. When she reached for the bread, her hands trembled. Her belly rumbled, but she merely held it for a long moment, savoring the feel of it.

Father Peter was correct; she was damned.

She should be happy.

Daphne lectured herself while dressing the next morning. Aye, she should be very pleased.

So
why
was
she
frustrated?

She realized she wasn't just frustrated. As she hurried off to church, excitement was pooling in her belly. The bell was tolling, calling the inhabitants of the tower to Mass. She lifted her chin, gathering the poise that had eluded her since Norris's arrival. If the man was still on MacLeod land, she didn't need him seeing proof that he unsettled her.

The church was full, and she made her way down to the front. Father Peter turned and eyed her sternly for being among the last to enter the sanctuary. But something pulled the priest's attention away from her. She turned to see Norris and his retainers marching down the aisle. The MacLeods made way for them, pressing tightly against one another to make the aisle wider.

“Me apologies, Father. I was slow to rising this morning.”

The priest shot a hard look at Daphne, and her face turned scarlet. She heard something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle come from Norris across the aisle where he stood with the male members of the congregation. There was a great deal of shifting around her. Heads turned, and she felt pain stabbing into her temples. Father Peter raised his voice louder than usual when he began the service.

Her temper sizzled. It took amazing amounts of self-control to maintain her dignity and not launch herself across the distance between Norris and herself. She discovered her hands curled into talons and digging into her skirt as she tried to keep her mind on the service.

It was a lost cause. Father Peter was glaring at her at the end, and Norris's men were trying their best to get a peek at her too.

“Go in peace,” Father Peter instructed them, but for the first time in her life, Daphne felt incapable of doing so.

She made the sign of the cross and hurried out of the church before the aisle became congested. A hard hand curled around her wrist before she made it all the way down the steps of the church entrance. Norris tugged her around the side of the building, and she watched his men close the way so no one might follow them. She shivered, reminded again of just how much power he had.

“Ye've done quite enough, Norris Sutherland, so take yer hand off of me.”

His grip remained solid. “It is nae me fault yer priest is a suspicious man. Piety must be weighing heavily on his shoulders, for he seems to think of naught but sins of the flesh.”

“Well, ye did nae help the situation by claiming to have trouble rising this morning.”

His lips twitched, and he lifted her hand to place a kiss against the inside of her wrist. Ripples of delight traveled along her arm, setting off a soft throbbing deep inside her passage.

“Had I spent the nighttime hours with ye, lass, I would have risen quickly as often as ye would have entertained me.” He brushed the sensitive skin of her inner wrist with his thumb and then released her. He reached up, tugged on the corner of his bonnet, and walked back to where his men stood.

“The sun is up, lads. Let's put the day to good use.”

She had to crush the urge to call out. Panic was trying to send her chasing after him, but she refused to appear so weak.

Even if she felt desperate.

She shook her head, ordering herself to stop looking to the man for help. Until yesterday, she'd accepted that she was on her own, and nothing had changed.

It
would
have
if
he'd stayed in your bed last night…

She stiffened. Well, he hadn't.

Because
you
were
less
than
welcoming…

Father Peter was correct. She was touched by madness, but a very different sort than the priest believed her to be suffering from. It wasn't lust; it was an infirmity of the mind, a lack of self-discipline that was allowing her thoughts to run wild.

She'd be better once Norris Sutherland was gone.

That idea made her mood turn somber, but she drew strength from knowing she'd survive. One day at a time, one task after the other. She focused her mind on the sheep and the shearing. No matter how smelly the animals were, it would be better than watching Norris ride away.

“We'll have to wait to shear the sheep,” Keith announced once she'd made it into the hall. “Storm brewing. The poor things might freeze.”

He was right, but she didn't like putting off the gathering of the fleece. The next time Morrell Comyn stole the animals, she doubted she'd get them back.

“Maybe until next season, since 'tis already so late.”

Keith was right; the summer was fading. “Aye, ye have the right idea,” she muttered at last, hating to admit it.

“I'm off to the training yard.” He reached up and tugged on the corner of his bonnet.

Surprise flashed through her. Respect from any of her father's retainers had never been something she dared hope to have. Actually, she'd earned it. The feeling that filled her was warm and delightful. She realized it was pride but not in the manner she'd always thought pride would feel like. It wasn't arrogant or selfish. Instead, she was filled with a sense of accomplishment.

It made her smile, until she turned and noticed the look on Gitta's face. Triumph shone in her eyes, and hope. Daphne turned away, unwilling to destroy the other woman's happiness. Disappointment would come soon enough to them all.

***

“I can nae believe he has nae returned.” The sun set without a sign of Norris or his retainers, and Gitta was sounding frustrated.

“There is no reason for him to linger.”

Gitta grunted as she pulled the laces out of Daphne's stays. She almost didn't need the garment anymore to support her breasts, because they had become so small. However, during these lean times, she needed the garment more for warmth than support. The only way to escape her wedding to Broen MacNicols the first time had been to enter a convent on Grant land. The holy order had gladly welcomed her in the hope of claiming her dowry. Living among those dedicated to serving God meant the meals were lean, even during harvest time.

“Oh, there was reason all right,” Gitta groused. “I'm more than disappointed to discover he's nae man enough to see it.”

Daphne sighed, drawing another grumble from her nurse. Gitta began pulling a brush through her hair. The blond strands still reached only the middle of her shoulders, so it didn't take very long to brush out. Another result of her time in a convent; she'd cut off her hair to prove she was not a servant of earthly vanity.

“Do nae start telling me what to hope for. I'm far too old to be curbing me thinking for anyone save the good Lord.”

“I believe the good Lord might have an issue or two with the way ye've been counseling yer mistress toward me,” Norris remarked from the doorway.

Daphne jumped. Her chemise fluttered in the night breeze, since her overgarments were all removed. Gitta dropped the brush and didn't bend to retrieve it. They both stared at Norris Sutherland.

And for good reason—the man was covered in blood.

“Sweet Christ!” Daphne exclaimed. She was across the room in a flash, pulling on his clothing to discover where the blood seeped from.

“If that is all it takes to get ye to touch me, sweet Daphne, I'll happily tangle with a dozen stags and appear in yer bedchamber wearing their blood.”

“Stag?” She looked up and gained a clear look at the smirk on his lips. “Oh, the devil take ye!” She slapped his shoulder, the leather jerkin he wore making a dull sound.

“Many would claim I'm well on the way to that.” He boldly crossed into the chamber and laid his sword down next to the bed. “But the stag did not take me off to hell today, so Lucifer will have to content himself with waiting for me a wee bit longer.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I've a fair bit more sinning to do.” He nodded in Gitta's direction. “Yer mistress does nae need ye any more tonight.”

Gitta put her right foot behind her and bent her knee to lower herself before leaving the room on hurried steps.

Daphne's jaw dropped open, and she propped her hands onto her hips. “Ye're an arrogant one, Norris Sutherland. There will be no sinning here.”

He sat down and stretched one foot out toward her. “Nae even for the man who brought a stag home to fill the pots on the morrow?”

She lost a great deal of her indignant fury. A stag was reserved for a nobleman to hunt. There were plenty about in the forest, but with no laird, there was no one who might down one.

“Ye intended to return.” She slapped a hand over her mouth—but too late to mask the sound of longing in her voice.

“Aye,” he confirmed. “Ye need the meat.”

There was a ring of authority in his voice that was more than arrogance. She recognized it for what it was… accomplishment. He'd proven himself worthy of respect by providing for his people.

“I am grateful for the food.”

“But I wonder if Father Peter will be willing to taste a bowl of stew on the morrow?”

Daphne shook her head again. “Ye never know when to leave well enough alone. Was nae me gratitude enough for ye? Was it necessary to remind me of yer hideous behavior this morning?”

His playful demeanor vanished, and he abandoned the chair. “Nay, lass. I do nae care for yer submission at all.” He closed the space between them and captured the back of her head in one firm hand. “At least, nae any submission that I have nae kissed ye into.”

His mouth captured hers in a kiss that was just as demanding as his nature. Excitement pierced her belly, twisting and churning like a wild storm. The taste of him kindled a need that refused to allow her to think beyond what she was feeling. She grasped his jerkin, holding him close to her as she kissed him back. For one moment, it felt like they were in the heart of a flame.

But he pulled away from her, breaking the spell. Gitta had left a candle burning, and the yellow light illuminated the glitter of victory in his eyes.

“That is more to me liking, Daphne.”

She growled at him, slightly stunned by the amount of emotion he seemed able to solicit from her. “Ye need to leave me in peace. If all ye came here for was to demand me body, ye could have had me last night.”

“I came for other reasons too.”

He was busy working the button loops of his soiled jerkin and shrugging out of it. Daphne reached for it and eased it over his broad shoulders. His voice was low and hinted at something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Some emotion that almost struck her as caring. But the sight of his shirt shocked her.

“Some of this blood is yers…” Along his lower back was a jagged tear, but it wasn't deep.

“Well now, it was a full-grown stag, and he was nae leaving this life without a bit of a fight.” He turned and winked at her before holding up his wrists so she might unbutton the cuffs of his shirt.

“Ye shouldn't look like such a delighted boy. Stags are dangerous. They can kill even a large man such as ye.”

He grinned at her, unrepentant. “Well then, should I return to teasing ye like a man? I admit I enjoy hearing ye refer to me as one full well.”

He took advantage of her reaching up to pull his shirt over his head to gently cup her breasts. Her chemise was thin and offered little protection from the heat of his hands. She sucked in a breath, his touch sending a jolt of sensation through her. Her nipples drew into hard nubs that looked like pebbles when she stepped back with his shirt in hand.

“Do nae ye have any shame?”

One of his fair eyebrows lifted as he pulled his belt back to allow it to unfasten. “None,” he confirmed in a firm tone right before his kilt began to slide down his lean hips. He caught it and tossed it onto the table behind her. She should have been able to resist looking down his body, but failed. Her gaze slid over the sculpted perfection, helping her recall with vivid detail just how good it felt to be pressed against him. His cock stood at attention, the head swollen and ruby red.

“Are ye sure ye want to carry the burden of life alone tonight, Daphne?”

He reached out and slid his hand along her cheek. A soft sound escaped her lips, one born of pleasure. She just couldn't help it; there was something so very intense about the way she felt when he touched her. As though she had never understood how good her body might feel.

“But… tomorrow… everyone will know…”

“They already believe I spent last night in yer bed.” He stepped closer. As she felt his breath against her lips once more, he gripped her hair. Her beaded nipples brushed against the harder surface of his chest, sending a bolt of pleasure down her body.

“Just because they think so, does nae mean we should…”

“Nay, lass. The way ye kissed me back is the reason we should spend the night together.”

He didn't wait for a response but sealed her mouth beneath his own. The kiss was demanding, but she met him with equal strength. For a moment, he tasted her lips, taunting the delicate surfaces with teasing motions. He cupped her breast with his free hand, toying with the raised nipple before sliding his tongue across her lower lip.

She shivered, unable to contain all the sensation. The room was no longer cool; her skin warmed as he gently probed her mouth with his tongue. When she opened her mouth, he sent it deep, thrusting inside to stroke against her own. Between the folds of her sex, her clitoris began to throb, begging for attention.

But she wanted more. She needed to affect him just as strongly. Running her hands along his chest, she cupped his shoulders to hold him in place while she sent her own tongue into his mouth. His chest rumbled with a groan, and the kiss became almost savage. He released her head, smoothing his hands down her body until he cupped her bottom.