The Trouble with Highlanders (7 page)

“What did that bastard want of ye?”

It took her a moment to realize Norris had asked the question, and still longer for her mind to decide on the answer.

“He… He wanted me to swear to wed him. Today. At the church.”

“That accounts for why he stopped to beat her,” Gahan muttered from behind her. “The priests are holding to the law when it comes to brides taking their vows.”

“Well… I was doing…” Her brain felt fuzzy, but she demanded it to function. “Fine,” she offered, satisfied with completing her thought.

Norris cupped her jaw, gently bringing her attention back to his face. Surprise went through her when she looked into his eyes, because she saw the unmistakable shimmer of relief there.

“Lass, when ye have yer wits back, I'm going to be pleased to tell ye just how badly ye have misjudged yer performance.”

“I have?”

He nodded, and her brain refused to allow her to decide just where his thinking was wrong. In fact, a warm wave was sweeping over her body. It was hotter than warmed bath water, and it smothered her with its heat.

***

Norris caught her when she sagged, cradling her easily as Gahan watched. His men had turned their attention away to watch the Comyn.

“Damn fool thinks we can't best him,” Gahan offered as Norris handed Daphne to him.

“Even on the high ground we could take him, but he no longer holds the prize.”

Norris swung up onto his stallion and reached down for Daphne. She slept on, another kindness of fate, because the ride back to MacLeod Tower was going to be a painful one for her.

He glanced up to where Morrell Comyn was beating his shield with his sword. It was a challenge he would dearly love to take. Running the bastard through would please him mightily. But he had never risked his men's lives needlessly. Today would not be the exception.

“Leave the fool to his acting,” Norris declared. “He's little better than a tone-deaf English troubadour. Certainly nae worth a drop of Sutherland or MacLeod blood. We have what they stole. Retribution can wait for a better setting. Fight hard, lads, but do nae forget to fight wisely. I'll nae see Sutherland women wailing for the benefit of a fool.”

His men agreed. But Norris realized he didn't.

He wanted to run Morrell Comyn through. Rage was tempting him to do something his father had trained him since his earliest memory not to do. Use the Sutherland men to extract personal vengeance. He glanced back at Morrell and watched him lift his kilt.

Fool. The man was so drunk on his own pride, he was insane.

His day would come. There was another thing his father had taught him. No one transgressed against the Sutherlands and prospered. Satisfaction wouldn't be his today, but Norris grinned as he contemplated crushing the throat of Morrell Comyn.

The rest of the world would think it was because he'd raided one of Sutherland's vassals. Norris was going to do it because the piece of filth had struck his woman.

And he was going to enjoy it.

***

Her dreams were powerful.

Daphne twisted and cried out when she moved, because her body ached so viciously. She wanted to wake up, but sleep held her down like a thick comforter, one that was heavy and confining. She struggled to push it aside, knowing she wanted to wake up but unable to escape her dream.

The dream swirled around her again, changing back to something pleasant. Norris was there, stalking her across her bed, and she smiled. Happiness filled her, and she giggled as he sent her that cocky grin she had never told him she enjoyed so much. She turned, and he pounced. The bed shook as they tussled like lovers. He won the day, turning her over with little resistance until she looked up into his face.

Instead of green eyes, she stared into the hard black ones of Morrell Comyn. He licked his lower lip and laughed at her. She tried to scream, but her throat was silent no matter how hard she strained to send a cry past her lips. Pain began to burn along her back, increasing as Morrell licked his lip again.

I
promise
to
ride
ye
half
a
dozen
times
before
dawn.

“I will nae swear!”

She broke through the hold of the dream. It took every bit of strength she had, and she tumbled right over the edge of her bed, catapulted by the strength she used to escape the clutches of the nightmare. She fell to the floor in a tangle of bedding as the door to her chamber was pushed inward. A rush of cold air came up the stairwell, but that wasn't what made her grab the bedding back, it was the sight of one of Norris's retainers peering at her. And the fact that she wasn't wearing a stitch.

“I was… having a nightmare,” she muttered, not sure why the man was lingering outside her door. She looked up at the bed. Norris wasn't there, but the retainer was very real when she turned her attention back to the door. She gathered up the bedding to cover herself and stood.

He reached for the door handle, offered her a nod, and pulled it closed. She sighed with relief, but it didn't last long, because her long mirror showed her a reflection that was startling. She let the bedding go and crossed the chamber to get a closer look at herself. There was a huge black bruise along the right side of her jaw and another purple one covering her left cheek. She reached up to gently probe it, wincing as pain erupted from even that gentle contact.

That wasn't the extent of her injuries. There was something brown in her hair, and she turned her head to see a spot of dried blood on the back of her head. She flinched when she touched it, surprised by the neat row of stitches.

“Yer back is worse.”

She spun around and gasped when the movement sent pain stabbing through her.

“Do nae bite yer lip. Ye have enough broken skin.”

Norris looked more formal than she'd ever seen him. His kilt was newly washed and pressed, something a more common man would never waste time on. His boots were clean, not a hint of mud on them, and they were crafted of black leather, proving again that he had coin to spare. But his doublet was made of wool, showing him to be a man of action, not useless finery. The only opulent item on him was a broach holding the feathers to the side of his bonnet. It was made of gold, with two hawks and a polished ruby the size of her thumb.

“Yer brother has arrived,” he offered in explanation of his formality.

“Oh. I should dress.”

He stepped closer and inspected her jaw. “I doubt ye can tolerate a dress against yer back.”

“Of course I can. It is nae so terrible.”

His eyes narrowed, and he folded his arms across his chest. “Is it no'? Why do nae ye have a look?”

He obviously intended to stand there while she bared herself. Of course he'd seen her body more than once, but she still hesitated.

“Unless ye're too shy.”

She frowned. “Ye needn't take such a tone with me, Norris Sutherland. Ye admitted ye were a blackguard to tempt me into yer bed the first time, so do nae be insinuating I'm loose and accustomed to having men in me bedchamber. Ye just enter anytime ye please with no respect for me privacy.”

She turned her head around to look at the mirror, while her temper gave her the incentive to forget about her modesty. She ordered herself to release the bedding, pausing when she uncovered bruises along her shoulders. Her mouth went dry, but she let the fabric go, and it slid lower, baring her back. She heard the sound of the riding crop and flinched as she uncovered the first point of impact. The bruise was black and brown, with red still showing in the center.

“Perhaps I like privacy as much as ye do, and like ye better in private, Daphne.”

She wanted to take exception, wanted to be cross with him, but his voice was deep and husky, betraying just how much he meant what he said. He stepped up and reached around her shoulders to tug the bedding completely from her grasp.

“I find I do nae care for the way ye leash yer true nature below stairs.”

His words were a deep whisper next to her ear, but she heard the heat in them.

“Ye must be as mad as they say, for no man likes a waspish female.”

He chuckled and placed a kiss against her temple. “Perhaps I'm hiding behind yer chamber door because me men will nae disturb me when they believe I'm intent on bedding ye.”

She turned her attention back to him, surprised by his suggestion. He was the picture of strength and authority. The idea that he felt the need to hide away from anything was almost impossible for her to grasp, and yet it seemed to touch something deep inside her. Some sense of compassion, because she realized he had as few choices as she did when it came to what life he would lead.

“Have ye and me brother already opened the whisky?”

He laughed softly. “Nae, but if ye want some for the pain, I will.”

She looked back over her shoulder and sucked in a harsh breath. Every strike was clearly visible, huge black splotches marking where the riding crop had connected with her back. The mass of purple and black bruising explained the ache she felt, but she suddenly laughed.

“Now what could possibly please ye about seeing such a thing?”

Daphne ducked under his arm, his greater height making it a simple enough thing. A chemise lay over the arm of the chair, and she pulled it over her head and pushed her arms into it before facing Norris once more. The garment fluttered back down to cover her as she moved across the room.

“Ye're too delicate for such treatment, Daphne.”

“No, I am nae.” She lifted her chin. “I have suffered Morrell Comyn quite well.”

Norris glared at her, something in his green eyes sending a tingle of warning down her back. “Perhaps yer head is nae so sound. No one would laugh over such a beating.”

“Ye would,” she accused softly. “And ye would laugh the next morning, enjoying the fact that ye did not swear to do anyone's bidding, no matter what pain they inflicted on ye.”

For a moment, amusement flickered in his eyes. The corners of his lips twitched up, and she felt satisfaction sweep through her. But it was only a fleeting moment before his expression hardened.

“Ye would nae have lasted forever, lass. The flesh has its limits, and ye would have ended up wed to that bastard if I had nae found ye.” There was a cold fury edging his voice.

“It still would nae have mattered, for he wanted only the dowry. He'd have sent me home once he realized there was no coin to be had.”

Norris slowly shook his head. “Nae, lass. He'd have crushed yer throat and buried ye so he might contract himself another heiress. Annulment is messy and time-consuming. Being widowed, well, that's easy enough for a man to move past.”

A chill tore through her, stealing away her confidence. She struggled to keep Norris from seeing just how much his words unsettled her. “It does nae matter what might have happened. My life is full of things that might have happened but never did.”

“Ye've a stubborn nature, Daphne MacLeod,” he accused her.

“No more than yer own,” she countered.

A sharp bark of laughter broke through the serious expression he'd been hiding behind. “A fine point. But a man can afford to be stubborn.”

“And I can nae?” she demanded.

“The world is less forgiving of women, lass. Have ye nae learned that yet?”

Now it was her turn to laugh. “Oh, I have learned a great many things about the nature of men when it comes to controlling women. Perhaps the world is less forgiving, but I am content with the fact that I am not Broen MacNicols's wife while his best friend, Faolan Chisholms, thirsts for his blood over me dowry.”

“Faolan Chisholms wanted yer angelic form in his bed too,” Norris countered gruffly. “It was no' just gold the pair were squabbling over.”

“Well… I do nae care what I am labeled, so long as I do nae have to carry the burden of starting a feud.”

“I don't give a damn who else sees the value in that, either. I recognize it full well and respect ye for no taking your comfort while men fought because of it.” His eyes darkened. “Come home with me.”

She wasn't sure if he was asking or demanding. There was a look in his eyes that warned her he was not in the mood to be told no.

Nevertheless, that was what she planned to do. She shook her head.

“Why nae?”

Daphne locked stares with him. “Because I am nae loose. Ye came into me bedchamber.”

“A fact ye enjoyed.”

“I know me weaknesses,” Daphne admitted. “And knowing them makes it easier to stay away from temptation.”

One of his eyebrows rose. “A temptation, am I?” He walked toward her, sending a ripple of awareness across her skin. Nature seemed to want to destroy her good intentions by making him impossible to ignore. She noticed things about him she never did with any other man. The way his skin looked healthy, his lips soft enough to kiss. Or the way he moved, every motion conveying strength and control.

He slid his hand along her hairline, careful of the bruise marring her jaw. “Well, I do admit to being tempted by ye as well, Daphne.”

His lips were soft and gentle but still insistent. Even if it was a slow kiss, there was no missing the seeking insistence of it. Her belly tightened as anticipation began to stroke her flesh.

“Come to Sutherland with me.”

She shivered, suddenly realizing just how Eve had fallen from grace. Norris's tone was intoxicating, clouding her thoughts so that agreeing with him seemed the most natural thing.

Aye, it was natural. Natural for him to want her to yield to his desire.

“No.” She pushed away from him and heard him growl.

“Why nae?” he demanded.

“Why?” She lifted her hands in exasperation. “Because it would make me yer mistress. I never sought such a position, and I will nae become yer latest woman. Why do ye think I told ye to leave me in peace?”