Highland Heat (9 page)

She began drowning in sensation. Her senses were too full of him for her thoughts to penetrate. She raised her hands to push him away, but her fingers became too aware of how hard his body was beneath his clothing.

How could a man feel so good to only her fingertips?

Her heart was racing, and along with it, her lungs labored to pull more air into her chest. The scent of his skin flooded her senses, threatening to send another moan past their joined lips, because she enjoyed his scent.

She mustn’t…

Deirdre struggled against the overwhelming surge of enjoyment, pushing against his chest while she ducked her head to separate their lips. The tender skin of her mouth was too alive with desire for her to retain any grip on rational thoughts. She struggled out of instinct and the need to maintain herself. If she failed, she’d melt into his embrace without a care for where she might land when he finished taking his pleasure from her flesh.

“I will nae be yer slut!” Her voice was frantic, as were her attempts to twist from his grip. He snarled something beneath his breath before she felt his grip slacken. She took instant advantage, stumbling across the floor as she flung herself away from him as fast as she could.

“I swear it, Quinton. So tell yer men to let me leave, because I will nae warm yer bed.”

His eyes were bright with desire. “Ye enjoyed my kiss. So do nae act as though warming my bed would displease ye so greatly, woman.”

It was true.

Deirdre drew herself up, forcing her mind to resume rational thought. She refused to think about how much her lips wanted to return to having his upon them. She shook her head to dispel the sensations of yearning that were pulsing through her.

Quinton growled at her, “Ye kissed me back, Deirdre Chattan, so do nae be crying that ye didna.”

“Only one more reason why I am intent on leaving. The queen has promised me a place in her service, and I will take it because there will be no men to try their hand at using me.”

He laughed at her. His ice blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Ye’ve a thing or two to learn about court, lass. There will be plenty of men trying their hand at seducing ye with the hope ye will mutter important facts while they are muddling yer wits with their cocks.”

He was being blunt on purpose. But she saw his harsh words as more of a challenge, one she had no intention of failing.

“Ye see? There is the reason why I am intent on departing. Men think of women as nothing but things to be used. Yer coarse words prove it.” She glared at him. “Ye will take yer pleasure exactly as Melor Douglas did, and scorn me when ye are finished.”

Quinton frowned, his amusement vanishing. He considered her from narrowed eyes.

“I do nae care for being compared to Melor Douglas.”

He was furious too. Deirdre heard it in his voice and witnessed it on his face.

“Then tell yer men I am nae the one ye wanted brought to ye, for I will nae ever think of any man differently than I do Melor Douglas. Best I am gone from here, and soon.”

The chamber was silent, but Deirdre would have sworn she could hear him grinding his teeth with frustration. She felt the tension across the space between them, or maybe it was her own unhappiness that made it seem like each second lasted forever. He suddenly moved, startling her because she was so absorbed with the emotions swirling around inside her. He walked past her and reached for one of the double doors his men had closed to give them privacy.

Deirdre had to force a lump down her throat, because victory was bitter indeed.

“Thank ye.” The pair of words was torn from her desperation.

He turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. “Yer tone almost makes me regret I will nae allow ye to leave.” He pulled the door open. “But no’ quite.”

The moment his laird appeared, Coalan lifted his head up from where he was eating. The man was on his feet, along with the other captains who had been sitting with Quinton when she arrived.

“Ye’ve done well, Coalan. I’m pleased. Greatly so.”

***

Deirdre was stunned into silence. The Camerons sitting at the long trestle tables filling the hall all stared at her. But what horrified her more was the way they nodded. Approval of their laird’s actions spread through them like fire did in a summer field. The women serving the tables stopped to mutter to one another while they looked at her. Children pointed at her, and their mothers leaned down to explain who she was.

But she wasn’t the queen.

Quinton Cameron strode down the center aisle and out into the yard without another look at her. His captains followed him, and the retainers left their benches too. The hall soon became filled with the sound of dishes being cleared and women chatting now that the rush of seeing the morning meal set down was over.

“Would ye sit and eat, lady?”

Deirdre jerked around to discover a woman no older than herself standing behind her. She smiled in welcome and lowered herself.

“I do nae deserve such deference.”

The girl frowned but straightened. “Well, ye certainly look as though ye do.”

Deirdre lifted her hands and looked down at the velvet she wore. “I was given these robes to wear; they belong to the queen.”

“Well then, I admit I envy ye the opportunity to feel such things against yer skin.” The girl grinned as though they were friends and shared such little conversations regularly. “I am Maura; Coalan is me brother. Come and eat. Coalan ate like a starving wolf, so I can guess ye are famished as well.”

“I am.” Deirdre sent one last look toward the open doors but forced herself to be practical. She would not get far on an empty belly. Maura set off and returned with a tray containing a bowl with steam rising from it. She set it on the table nearest where Deirdre stood and left a cup of fresh morning milk as well.

“There’s plenty, so eat yer fill.”

Deirdre’s belly rumbled, and Maura laughed before she turned to clear the table where she had set Deirdre’s meal. The Cameron girl left behind a broken round of bread and a small wooden bowl of butter. For how early in spring it was, it was a fine morning meal. The Camerons had clearly not suffered from a poor harvest the year before. The cereal had chunks of autumn apples, and she smiled in spite of her frustration over where she was eating.

It was still sweet and warm, and only a shrew would have frowned with such a meal set before her.

Whispers still touched her ears as the women working in the hall cast curious looks at her. Deirdre forced herself to eat slowly, because she didn’t need Maura running to tell her brother that Deirdre looked to be in a hurry.

Even if she was.

If Quinton didn’t order his men to keep her inside the castle gates, she doubted they would notice her leaving. Drumdeer was a busy place, and spring a time for hurrying as the fields were turned for planting. She finished her meal and looked at the uneaten bread with longing, but left it on the table. There were too many watching her for her to risk taking it, even if she knew it would be a welcome comfort on the road.

With or without the bread, she was going. The yard was a bustle of activity. Wagons were being unloaded, and the sound of men shouting to one another echoed between the stone walls. Water was being pulled from the wells, and many of the buckets were dumped into long wooden troughs that flowed toward the kitchens.

People made way for her, and she frowned because the queen’s clothing made a spectacle of her. In the morning light, the silk velvet looked like it was glowing. The stables were along the far end of the castle, and a young lad ran up to her the moment she appeared in the doorway.

“What do ye seek, lady?”

Deirdre swallowed her distaste for the noble title. “My mare, if ye would be so kind.”

The boy looked confused. “Ye sound like a Scot.”

“Do nae be running yer mouth with the lady, lad,” an older man barked at the boy, who reached up to tug on the corner of his knit bonnet. “I’ll be back with yer mare quick.”

In fact, three lads wearing the Cameron yellow, orange, and black plaid brought her mare forward. They had it saddled in a flash because they all dropped what they were doing to attend to her request.

Guilt chewed on her once more. She didn’t care for others thinking she was above them. But she took the reins when they were offered, because she wanted to be away more than she wished to be completely honest with them.

“Mount up, lads.”

Coalan’s voice was deep and brassy. “Yer mistress appears to be ready to take her morning ride.”

Deirdre turned to discover the Highlander smirking at her, while six retainers went to different stalls to saddle their stallions.

“What are ye doing?” she asked.

One of the man’s eyebrows rose. “It’s strange how ye seem to have found yer voice now.”

Deirdre bristled. “Ye never asked me whose daughter I was.”

She heard his knuckles pop as he gripped his belt too tightly. “No, I didna, and ’tis a fact I am still no’ asking ye.”

“I am Robert Chattan’s daughter,” she informed him.

The retainers returned and looked at her with confusion on their faces. Coalan shrugged.

“Well now. I didna hear my laird saying anything about yer name making any difference on whether or no’ ye were the one he asked me to bring to him.” There was a glint of heat in his eyes and stubbornness. The man was set on giving her grief, and that was a fact.

Deirdre set one hand on her hip and faced him. She wasn’t the queen, and she would not be intimidated by his bruised temper. Her own brothers were Highlanders, after all.

“Ye know I am nae the woman he sent ye after. So be gone. I am no’ the woman yer laird sought. I am no’ even a noble who might be of some use to him because someone would pay a ransom for me. For certain ye have more important things to attend to than a common Highlander girl.”

There was a flash of surprise in his eyes and then a slight curving of his lips that showed he was impressed with her ability to stand up to his growling.

“Well now. I don’t know how it is on Chattan land, but we Cameron do nae think what our laird sets us to doing is less important than anything else. Do we, lads?”

There were several mutters of agreement from the men making ready to ride with her. A few of them were smirking, obviously thinking it very fitting that she wasn’t gaining what she wished.

“Yer laird sent ye after Joan Beaufort. I am no’ her. Perhaps ye should go and find her if ye are so concerned with pleasing yer laird.”

The damned man refused to do anything but grin at her rising frustration. His companions all followed his example and stood firmly in place to accompany her.

“Enough of this nonsense. I will be on my way.”

“And we shall give ye good escort,” Coalan announced. A stable lad brought him his stallion while the brute smiled at her.

Deirdre glared at Coalan and the amusement he was failing to hide. “I do nae require escort, as I just told ye I am no one of importance at all. Yer laird would nae be wanting one of his captains wasting time on one such as me.”

She lifted her foot and fit it into the stirrup. She gasped when Coalan lifted her up and sat her on the back of the mare.

“I do nae need assistance.”

Coalan mounted, and his stallion danced sideways as it took his weight. He leaned down to rub the animal’s neck to soothe it.

“Well now, lady. I’m bound to serve my laird.”

“It is no different on Chattan land,” she insisted. “That has naught to do with this ridiculous notion that I require an escort.”

Coalan cocked his head to the side. “She sounds like a noble lady to me, lads.”

They chuckled and nodded, irritating her beyond belief.

“I do nae want ye riding with me,” she stated loud enough to have the grooms looking around their stalls at her.

“Then ye will nae be riding… lady,” Coalan announced. “That’s yer choice sure enough, because me laird told me he was pleased with the woman I brought him. So ye will nae be riding out of the gate without me and my men. That’s a promise.”

Firm and hard, his voice left no doubt in her mind. Deirdre looked at the faces of the other retainers and felt a noose tightening around her neck. She ground her teeth, but there would be no riding out of the gate while these men were determined to hound her. She slid off the mare and walked from the stable while chewing on the words she wanted to fling at them.

Coalan was not her true target. It was Quinton Cameron, and she had something to say to the arrogant man for sure.

But she was afraid to do so.

That was a shame that darkened her cheeks as she walked with no true destination. She hated admitting she was afraid of anything, but being alone with Quinton terrified her. The man unleashed a weakness inside her that she couldn’t seem to control. Maybe she was right to fear him and his effect on her. Wasn’t that the way of life? You conformed and obeyed because you feared the consequences.

Indeed, she feared the way she melted beneath the man’s touch. It was a deep shame, one she detested, but she had to be honest and admit it to herself. If she weren’t, she’d be in his bed before the week passed.

Never again…

The words she promised herself rose from the memory of the pain Melor had inflicted upon her. She refused to feel so strongly about any man, even if it was only lust. Quinton wouldn’t have that power over her; she would make sure he didn’t have the opportunity to touch her.

She stopped and looked about. Her steps had carried her far from the stables, but a look over her shoulder showed her Coalan pointing at her from the walkways at the top of the curtain wall. The men standing on duty there lifted their hands to shield their eyes so they might see her more clearly.

That tight feeling about her throat returned.

But at least it distracted her from her fear. She’d rather be irritated than afraid.

“Were ye looking for the bathhouse, lady?”

Deirdre turned to see a woman looking at her from the bottom of a stairway.

“It is down here.”

The woman extended her hand toward a doorway set behind her. The stairs were made of stone, and as she descended them, they grew colder because the sunlight had yet to warm them. The thin slippers allowing her to feel the deepening chill. The sound of water grew stronger when she reached the bottom and stood in the doorway.