Highlander's Prize (35 page)

There were several snarls in the tent, sending the royal guards reaching for their pikes once more. Clarrisa couldn’t tell who made the threatening sounds first, only that Broen, Kael, and Norris were all growling with rage.

“I’m covered in blood still from the battle I waged to see the prince gain his rightful place, and no man will label me a traitor,” Broen spit out.

“Ye will nae say any vassal of mine is a traitor while he’s been proving the opposite by coming to this field to stand behind ye,” Norris argued.

“Enough!” Lord Home barked. “I will hear no more of this. She is a bastard of Edward the Fourth—and a York one at that. She cannot be allowed to produce another generation to needle us. My prince, there have been countless lives sacrificed to ensure yer position. This is but one more. A necessary one. Have her put to death, immediately.”

The royal guards were unsure whom to point their pikes at. They looked between Lord Home and the prince before raising their weapons and stepping back to wait on the whim of their new monarch.

“Ye have served us well, Lord Home, a fact we shall not forget.” The prince spoke soberly, but he lifted a hand to keep everyone silent. “But Laird MacNicols has also served me well, and I shall nae repeat the mistakes my father made which led to this sad event of Scot fighting Scot. There will be justice even when the correct course of action goes against our personal wishes.”

Broen, Kael, and Norris all nodded and inclined their heads. Clarrisa breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the horrible tension in the room easing. Or perhaps it was only the worry strangling her that released, as the prince appeared to be ready to ensure Broen was recognized for the nobleman he was.

Highlander…
She took a moment to soak up the sight of him standing with his fellow Scots.

“The horse I gave my father helped identify him in battle,” the prince muttered. “It matters not that I meant well. I helped cause his death, so I shall do penitence.” James looked at her. “My lairds who fought so bravely beside me shall be given their due. Ye shall be returned to yer kin in exchange for lairds Chisholms and Matthews.”

“Yer Majesty—” Broen raised his voice.

“I respect yer courage, Laird MacNicols, but ye should no more cast off yer duty to yer father. Ye are betrothed to Daphne MacLeod,” the prince said.

“She’s the daughter of a traitor.” It was Norris who spoke up, moving to stand near the prince. “The match agreed upon before sides had to be chosen. It’s a fair-enough reason for the match to be renounced.”

James looked at Daphne, pausing for another moment. “It’s true the scriptures say a child of a traitor is tainted, but if that is so, half our countrymen would be considered unfit to be my subjects. We shall consider them all misguided until now and give them the opportunity to prove themselves. None shall be reproached until they give reason for such. My men shall see to the ransom.”

“By God, no one shall—”

There was a heavy thud, and Broen crumpled to the floor. Norris Sutherland tucked a short dagger back into his belt, the hilt of which was a large brass ball. His expression was furious, but resignation flickered in his eyes. “It’s best I see to me vassal.”

The prince nodded, his eyes wide. Norris’s face was white, but he held his ground and looked at Daphne. “Ye’ll come along now and take up the duties of caring for the man yer father bound ye to. Since ye are to wed Laird MacNicols, ye’re me vassal.”

Clarrisa was halfway across the tent when Norris stepped into her path. She froze, raising her gaze from the crumpled form lying on the fine Persian carpets to the face of the man preventing her from touching Broen.

“Ye shall do as commanded, madam. Ye are on Scottish soil, and so subject to the Scottish king’s will. Just as I am. Laird MacNicols is me responsibility now.”

Norris snapped his fingers, and several of the royal guards came forward. They lifted Broen and carried him from the pavilion. The oddest feeling filled her. It was overwhelming relief, reinforced by the sight of Broen’s chest rising and falling until the canvas wall prevented her from seeing him. But she was also filled with white-hot pain, as though part of her were being cut away by the sharpest of knives. She stood there, twisting her hands into the fabric of her dress until her hands ached.

Norris offered his king a lowering of his head before he pointed Kael toward the door and followed him out. She was left facing Lord Home, but the man was busy reading the ransom notice.

She suddenly laughed. A dry, brittle sound of irony.

“What amuses ye?” James asked, some of his somberness lifting now that he wasn’t facing his grown subjects. When she turned to look at him, she could see a hint of playfulness on his face.

“Naught, Your Majesty. I am simply glad there is no blood spilled, for I was sure it would happen. I laugh because I am glad to find myself proven wrong.”

Lord Home scoffed. “Women have no business speaking their minds in the presence of men. Yer prattle is a waste of our time.”

The prince frowned but said nothing. For a moment she felt a kinship with him. She could see in his eyes the same look of resignation she so often felt herself. They were both born into a world full of people who wanted to use them. To survive, they endured what they must and hid their true feelings.

She was not sure she would survive being parted from Broen, but the knowledge that he would live was balm for her wounds. It numbed them enough for her to remain still, when inside part of her was screaming with the need to flee. Yet if she could not go to the side of the man she loved, she cared not where she went.

***

He had to wake. Broen battled the fatigue demanding he rest, fighting to regain consciousness. When he lifted his eyelids, soft hands held a cup to his lips. His vision was blurry, but he saw the short, fair hair and drank from the cup offered.
Clarrisa…

He relaxed back into sleep, confident in her arms.

“Are yer tears true?” Norris was taunting her. Daphne raised her face and stood. She left the goblet near the bed Broen was sleeping in, the remains of the sleeping draught pooling in its bottom. She felt the stain of her transgression burning across her soul. He would hate her for her deed, but she would detest herself far more.

“They are, for I’d prefer to have none of this affair.”

“Why?” Norris demanded in a soft voice full of arrogance. “It will make ye the wife of a Highland laird, ensure ye are mistress of a fine castle and mother of the next chieftain. A fine position many would like to have.”

She was suddenly so angry she didn’t care if he was heir to the earldom of Sutherland. She would grant him no submission.

“I want it not. They love each other. Parting them is a sin against the heart God gave us to feel love with. All I have ever brought to Broen is suffering: first when he took to fighting with his best friend over what came with me, and now because the prince used me to separate him from the woman he truly desires. Would that I could make it so he’d renounce me.”

His lips twitched, his color better than she seemed to recall. “Well now, Daphne MacLeod, if ye want something else for yerself… ye shall have to take a hand in carving out what ye desire of fate. Most women do nae have the courage for such action.”

“And ye doubt I do?” She laughed, stepping closer—so close they were only a single pace apart. There was a fire brewing in her belly, one she didn’t understand, but she wanted to let the heat build further. Maybe it would burn away the feeling of being strangled.

“This match is poison.”

One of his eyebrows lifted arrogantly. “The prince is set in his thinking. Broen cannae refuse a royal command.” He stroked her cheek. “So make the best of it. Take a lover or a dozen once ye’ve secured yer position by giving him some sons. Since he has affections for another woman, I doubt he’ll mind very much.”

His touch should have shocked her; instead, it fanned the flames licking at her insides. She needed to break free of every rope binding her, so she smiled at the ripple of sensation traveling across her skin—because it was forbidden.

“Ye understand nothing.” She spun away from him, but Norris grabbed her upper arm and pulled her back against him with a strength that surprised her. He chuckled softly. “Ye are nae weakened,” she accused, jerking against his hold and finding herself caught.

“And ye are crying out against fate and her cruel nature instead of taking action.”

There was a tone in his voice that made her freeze. “What do ye mean? Speak plainly.”

He released her, moving past her until he stood over Broen. He lifted one of his eyelids and studied Broen’s pupil. “He’ll sleep until sunrise, but nae much longer, no’ with his attachment to young Clarrisa eating at him.”

Daphne followed Norris, wanting, not actually needing, to know what he wasn’t telling her. She could feel something drawing her to him; it was as instinctive as stretching out chilled fingers to be closer to a fire.

Norris turned to face her; his hand cupped her jaw before slipping over the surface of her cheek. It was a bold touch. She lifted her hand but never delivered the slap such forwardness deserved.

“Why are ye toying with me?” she muttered, irritated by the way he was watching her. His green eyes shimmered with a need that tugged at her heart for some reason.

He offered her a dry chuckle and stroked her cheek once again. This time his eyes narrowed as though he was trying to memorize the way her skin felt against his own. “Because I am a blackguard.”

She stepped back but didn’t move very far away, because she felt the separation between them keenly. It made no sense, but her instinct was to return to where he could touch her again. “A touch on the cheek hardly labels ye a blackguard.”

“I’m a knave for thinking to help ye and my friend Broen by satisfying me own need to touch life.” There was heat in his tone; it bordered on desperation, as though he was starving.

“I do nae understand…” But she wanted to. She stepped closer and put her hand on his chest, drawn to the need in his eyes. He quivered, her fingers detecting the tiny response to her touch.

Norris massaged the back of her neck, slowly sliding his fingers along the tender skin. “Watching men die is nae an easy thing. It dries out the soul, sending ye searching for the life that flows through a woman.”

He leaned down, touching his lips against hers. She might have retreated, but his kiss seemed to satisfy the cravings inside her. He teased her lips until she mimicked his motions and kissed him back.

“Slap me and leave.” He was angry, but it appeared to be with himself. He brushed past her and sat on the bed against the other side of the tent. The ropes creaked as he sat down.

“It’s rather hard to slap ye when ye walk away.”

He untied one boot and tossed it aside. “Then come here and do yer worst, Daphne…” The second boot followed. “I dare ye to come within me reach, for me stomach has been turned with the sight of too much blood spilled for selfish ambition. I want to feel yer heart beating while I discover what yer lips taste like, and no’ because of any affection I feel for ye but for the sake of assuring meself that I’m still alive. So come over here if ye dare.” There was an unmistakable challenge in his voice. He opened his doublet and tossed the garment aside with more force than necessary.

“Why do ye dare me? Do ye truly believe I’m so impressed with yer title that I’d no’ take ye to task if I wanted to?” She was growing warm and had trouble keeping her attention on his face. He ripped his shirt up and off next. Her discipline failed, and she let her gaze wander over his bare torso. Only a strip of white bandaging kept her from seeing every inch of him exactly as nature had crafted him.
Magnificent…

“I’m daring ye to do what ye please with yer future, Daphne.” He stood once more and pulled on the end of the wide leather belt securing his kilt. It fell down, but he caught it, bending with only a tiny grimace. His cock stood hard and ready, and the man didn’t even blush. Instead, he tossed his plaid aside and faced her with a challenge on his face.

“I’m daring ye, Daphne MacLeod, to come lie with me because ye want to choose who will ride ye.”

“That is nae why I do nae want to wed Broen. It’s because the match me father offered was like poison between him and Faolan. I do nae want such a stain on me conscience.”

He shrugged and pushed the bedding aside before lying down. The damned man looked more powerful once he was stretched out—Daphne noticed her mouth had gone strangely dry.

“I warned ye. I’m a blackguard, Daphne.” He patted the surface of the bed beside him. “I want ye to come here and let me seek solace against yer sweet flesh. The only courtesy I’m offering is the fact that I will nae overwhelm ye with me greater knowledge of seduction by getting up and chasing ye around this tent.”

“But ye could…” She shouldn’t have spoken aloud, but the words tumbled past her lips.

“Aye, easily.” The words rolled so easily from his lips, but what shocked her was the fact that she did not doubt him. Not one bit. Her belly quivered as she recognized just how easily he could seduce her. The man knew his way around a woman’s body and that was for sure.

She propped her hands on her hips. “Someday someone is going to knock some of that smugness out of ye, Norris Sutherland. I’ve a mind to try me hand at it.”