Highlander's Prize (10 page)

“MacNicols”—James paced a few more times—“came seeking justice a few months past. My father refused to see him.” The prince turned to pace back across the carpet.

“Your memory serves you well, and it seems your father’s failing has added another Highland clan to our side.” Lord Home sounded very pleased.

“Yet the York bastard is very dangerous to us, even if she’s held by loyal hands.” James’s tone made his distaste clear, but he still aimed an unwavering look at Lord Home.

“If she is even still alive.”

The prince weighed his answer while fingering his fine velvet doublet. “We must be sure. It is sad to hear my father is still not ready to be the king Scotland needs. I so hoped he’d mend his ways, as many do near the end of their days.” He nodded, obviously needing to convince himself of the necessity to go after an innocent. The boy was young, but not too young, which was why men were willing to follow him.

The prince drew in a deep breath. “See that the bastard has no chance to be used against the unity of this nation. We have no need for alliances with England.”

James nodded before leaving the room. Margaret of Denmark had raised her eldest son to be a prince. There was a solidness about young James. It was a quality Alexander was willing to follow. James was noble, but also a true Scotsman, which was what the country needed.

Alexander pulled a piece of parchment from his writing desk, dipped a quill into the inkwell, and began writing. He frowned at the word
York
after he’d written it. Scotland didn’t need ties with England! James III was a poor king and not even worthy of being called a Scotsman, in his opinion. Too many times, the king had fled to England for shelter—England, the sworn enemy of every Scot. Such actions were too much to overlook, too much to ignore. Alexander refused to give his loyalty to a king who sided with the English. Well, if Laird MacNicols had the York bastard, the man would surely want something in exchange for her, but Alexander wasn’t willing to let any laird have such power over the Prince. So Lord Home was writing to Laird Grant, because there was one thing certain to make MacNicols yield the York girl, and it was also something Home knew Laird Grant could not refuse to relinquish to him. Lord Home kept his position as royal adviser by keeping a small stash of favors owed to him by Highland lairds. It was an important part of making sure the young prince ended up with his birthright. It was a service James III had forgotten Lord Home once performed for him. Home intended to make sure his former master regretted losing his loyalty.

He held up the letter so the ink would dry. He could hear his men following the prince out in the hallway. At fourteen, James needed to be watched carefully, or he’d end up being poisoned like his mother had been. The time was nearing; Alexander could feel it. With spring beginning to melt the snow, the king was falling into his old habit of doing whatever pleased him, no matter the repercussions. Even his royalist followers wouldn’t be able to protect him when the rest of the Scots rose up in rebellion, not when it was clear he was making alliances with England yet again. The prince was naive enough to hope for a peaceful resolution, but Alexander knew they were well past such a thing. Soon the Highlanders would come down, and the matter would be decided by strength and steel.

While James III lived, the York girl threatened them all. Laird Grant owed Lord Home a large favor, and it was time for him to pay the debt. The Highland laird wouldn’t be happy to receive his letter, but Alexander signed his name to it anyway. He folded the letter before lifting the candle and holding the flame beneath a stick of sealing wax, which puddled onto the folded edges of the parchment. He replaced the candle before closing his fingers into a fist and pressing his signet ring into the cooling wax.

Alexander smiled. Things were really quite perfect. Laird MacNicols was a man with an Achilles’ heel, one Alexander knew the secret to obtaining. The York bastard would be handed over, and the threat her English blood posed to Scotland would be destroyed.

Alexander felt satisfaction warming him. The best part of the plan was that Broen MacNicols would be in his debt after he provided the justice the king had refused the Highland laird. Donnach Grant would be free from his debt, but Broen MacNicols would be in it. Yes, a wise royal adviser keep the important men in his debt. A more-perfect solution there couldn’t be.

***

“What do you mean?” Clarrisa asked suspiciously. Broen MacNicols’s tone was too playful by far. He was fighting back a smirk too, while amusement danced in his eyes.

He pointed at the gate. “It’s a fair bet those Chisholms retainers have heard who ye are and that their laird wants ye to stay.”

Disappointment slammed into her so hard she gasped. “If you knew such a thing, why did you bring me out here? To torment me with what I cannot have?”

He lost the battle to maintain control over his expression. His teeth flashed at her in a wide grin. “Clarrisa, lass, ye have spirit, to be sure, but ye’re lacking a healthy sense of humor.”

“Ye’ll need one in the Highlands,” Shaw added.

She propped her hands on her hips, but Broen looked at Shaw. “Get the horses and make sure the retainers at the gate see ye enjoying what yer laird is about. Let them think ye’ve had a bit too much cider.”

“Ye have nae told me how ye’re planning on getting past them…” Shaw appeared confused for a moment before Broen slid his arm around her body and pulled her against him once more.

“I’m going to let them think I have a mind to tryst.”

The burly retainer snorted before tugging on the corner of his bonnet. “Come along, lads. Let’s make this good. I’ve a mind to get me feet back on MacNicols land.”

Tryst…

The word shocked her, but it also set off a pounding deep inside her that seemed to urge her to abandon reason and join in with the night shadows and some unseen wildness lurking beyond her sight.

An
insane
idea… one she needed to resist… of course…

“You cannot simply touch me,” she insisted and pushed at his arm.

She might as well have not spoken, for Broen ignored her, his arm binding her securely to his body. Shaw and the other men left, leaving her alone with their laird. Light flickered over them from the wall torches, but it struck her as strangely intimate—for sure her position in Broen’s embrace was. What shocked her was how much she didn’t detest being held against him. Broen was hard; his body, solid next to hers. She should have been repulsed as she had been when the king leered at her, but delight was stirring in her belly, sending heat through her veins.

Insanity…

She flattened her hands on top of his chest. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Making a good show of it, lass. We’ll nae be making it past that gate otherwise,” Broen muttered against her hair while he watched his men.

Shaw began laughing. He slapped one of the other MacNicols retainers on the back, while they all chuckled in the middle of the open yard.

“Hurry now, lads… Our laird is nae in the mood to wait now that he’s found himself a friendly lass to go moonlight riding with!”

Her cheeks heated instantly.

“Come now… Get those horses! We’ll have to be making sure no one takes advantage of him being distracted by something so charming!”

The younger MacNicols retainers began to appear with horses. Shaw continued to jest and lifted his head to look at the Chisholms men on the walls.

“Here now, lads! Me laird wants to prove his worth! Raise the gate, for we’re off to see the forest by moonlight!”

Shaw slurred his words, and the other MacNicols laughed too loudly. They stumbled as they led the horses forward, and the Chisholms retainers grinned at them.

“The gate guard is watching us, lass,” Broen whispered. He cupped the back of her head, angling her face so that it looked like they were preparing to share a kiss.

“Broen—”

“Ah… at last me name comes across yer sweet lips.” He placed a kiss on her cheek. She trembled; couldn’t stop herself. She watched recognition flash in his eyes as the hand cradling the back of her head slid down to gently massage the corded muscles of her neck.

“So it was all bluster,” he whispered, but there was the ring of judgment in his tone. “Ye were playing a dangerous game with the king, lass. His temper would have been hot, and no mistake, if he’d made it down to that bath.”

“I’d have managed… if there had been no other choice.”

He blew out a breath that sounded like a soft snort. Her pride bristled as sensation raced up and down her body. Nothing made sense, and her thoughts were whirling too fast. Like she was watching a blizzard and knew there were thousands of snowflakes, but they were swirling too fast to see individually.

“Release me.” She didn’t wait to see if he’d comply with her demand but pushed against his chest to gain what she wanted.

You
want
him
to
kiss
you…

No, she did not!

“The Chisholms are still watching, and that gate has nae lifted yet.” He moved his hand gently along her nape. Prickles of enjoyment raced through her. “We’re going to have to help Shaw convince them we’re set on trysting.”

Trysting…

“No—we’re not.” She sounded too breathless, too husky.

“I am nae so sure, lass… but I am sure I want to know what yer lips taste like.”

“You mustn’t…”

He smothered the rest of her denial beneath his lips. The kiss was firm and demanding but not hurtful. For some reason, she was positive he was being conscious of how much strength he used against her mouth. He maintained his grip on her nape, using the hold to keep her in position for his kiss. She’d thought heat was filling her veins before, but now it raced through her like a flame consuming parchment. She gasped, and he took advantage of her parted lips to deepen the assault.

It was truly an attack, but one that opened a door inside her she’d never noticed before. Behind it lay desires that came flooding out, and all of them produced even more heat. She wanted to kiss him back, mimic his motions, because the teasing actions of his lips felt so delightful. A shiver shook her, and his fingers moved once again to soothe it.

“Easy, lass… ’Tis but a kiss.”

“But… you shouldn’t—”

Something flashed in his eyes that looked very much like the disappointment rippling through her now that he’d lifted his mouth away from her own. She longed for more, but he suddenly scooped her up and cradled her against his chest. Her belly twisted with excitement, the raw display of strength affecting her far differently than she would have expected. Instead of being frustrated by her helplessness, she felt compelled to boldly match him.

“Come with me, sweet lass, and I’ll make good on me promise to chase ye through the woods like a Highlander.” Broen spoke in a rich timbre laced with good humor. “Ye there… Lads, be sporting now and let me ravish this charming creature the way only a Scotsman can!”

There were sounds of laughter from the wall before the gate began to rise. Broen reached his stallion and released her for the moment it took him to gain the saddle. He reached down for her, shielding her from the sight of the Chisholms retainers. She hesitated, because in his eyes she witnessed the same desire that needled her. A flickering flame sparked to life by the kiss he’d pressed against her lips so briefly. It felt branded into her soul, the moment pounded deep into her mind.

She’d never forget him… or his kiss.

Or
how
much
she
wanted
another
one.

She gasped, startled by how deep her desire ran. It was as if she didn’t know her own nature and was just now being forced to face it. The Chisholms retainers weren’t doing anything to keep their voices low. She was actually grateful to them, for their conversation covered her gasp.

“They will nae be cold…”

“Nothing like a moonlight romp to make a man feel welcome…”

Broen let her feet down as he reached for the reins of his stallion and swung up onto the back of the animal with a grace that impressed her. No mounting blocks for this noble laird; he was as strong as the men he commanded.

Shaw and the others mounted, the squires gratefully handing over the animals so they might hurry back to their warm beds.

“Come, lass.” Broen’s voice was deep and full of something she wanted to avoid naming, an emotion that paired exceptionally well with the excitement still brewing in her belly. The moonlight cast him in silver, and he offered her his hand. For the moment, he appeared more legend than man, but her body was still warm from his flesh.

“Now she thinks on what her father will say in the morning…”

“Is nae that like a lass? All sweet kisses until the moment comes to make good on what she’s been promising…”