The Highlander's Bride Trouble (18 page)

“I wish to wash me hair. Alone.”

She didn’t look back to see his response. She was better off not knowing. Of course,
that was only because she enjoyed the passion he stirred in her as much as he did—that
was what she had to make sure she never let him know. She’d never escape if she did.
And she needed to escape; there was no way she would accept his authority.

None.

***

“Did nae expect to see ye tonight.” Baruch reached up and pulled on the corner of
his bonnet when Saer appeared in the Hall.

“I’m trying to be”—he sat down and rolled his eyes—“a suitor.”

Baruch choked on his laughter, earning a scathing look from Saer.

“Do nae start on me, man,” Saer barked. “That woman is stubborn.”

Two women began serving the high table as the MacLeod retainers broke bread at the
long tables filling the Great Hall below.

“I believe that’s one of the qualities ye enjoy about her.”

Saer bit into a piece of meat and chewed thoughtfully. “Aye and nay. I expected her
to accept our match by now.”

Baruch stroked the side of his beard. “I’m nae sure arriving with the lass tied around
ye is quite the way a man brings home a bride.”

Saer grunted. “Aye. I won’t say I’m sorry. Me actions fit our relationship.”

Baruch broke off a piece of bread from the large round placed in front of them. “Ye’re
no liar, that’s for certain. More than one man would have trouble admitting that so
easily.”

“I take responsibility for me deeds.”

Baruch nodded approvingly. “A quality that makes ye a laird worth serving. The lass
likes that about ye. Her gaze follows ye.”

And keeping his gaze off Nareen was a challenge he’d underestimated. His men were
taking good long looks at him while they ate. The women serving the tables were equally
curious. Saer found himself watching the doorway at the end of the main aisle.

“Is the lass joining us?” Baruch asked.

Saer shut his eyes, biting back a word of profanity for just how exposed his feelings
were. He was laird, a position that wouldn’t be his very long if he appeared weak.

“No.” He lifted his hand, and his head of house came over. “Send supper up to me chambers
for Mistress Grant. She’s to be afforded every courtesy.”

Gitta lowered herself and made her way toward the kitchens.

“And freedom?” Baruch inquired.

The other captains sitting at the high table all turned to look at Saer. It pleased
him, because his place had not been an easy one to assume. There were plenty of men
among the MacLeod who didn’t care for seeing the lairdship pass to a bastard.

But the alternative was to see the clan splintered. There were three cousins who all
had equal claims to the lairdship after Saer. Blood would be split and no mistake.
A bastard laird was better than seeing what remained of the MacLeod’s torn apart from
within.

“I intend to wed Mistress Grant,” he told them. “Her brother agrees to the match,
but the lass needs time to adjust to the arrangement, and I’ve no taste for a weeping
bride.”

Several of his captains nodded in agreement.

Saer wished it were as simple to convince himself that Nareen would adjust. What bothered
him most was just how important the matter was becoming to him. It was almost as if
he needed her to choose him.

His mother had loved his father, and it had taken her into ruin. He would never make
such a mistake with his own life.

It was a weakness he could never afford.

***

The water was cold but refreshing. Nareen used the soap twice in her hair before deciding
she was clean enough. The wind chilled her when it hit her bare skin, raising goose
bumps. She’d have to suggest some shutters to block it.

She frowned. She wasn’t staying with Saer. That simply couldn’t be.

“Mistress?”

Nareen started. She pulled a length of linen off a hook and wrapped herself in it.
She heard footsteps approaching from inside the chambers.

“There ye are.” An older woman appeared in the arch. She had wrinkles around her eyes
and mouth, but her hair was still dark where it peeked out from beneath a cap. “I’ll
stir up the fire, mistress.”

It had been a long time since she had been called mistress. Nareen paused, tempted
almost beyond measure just to let Saer have his way. His offer was a good one.

She moved into the chamber. A flash came from the hearth as the woman struck a flint,
and brilliant sparks fell into a small pile of tinder she’d placed in the hearth.
She bent down and blew on it. Smoke began to rise in thick tendrils until it burst
into a bright orange flame.

“I am Gitta,” she offered as she added wood to the growing fire. “I served the laird’s
sister, Daphne, but she’s wed and with her husband these days.” The fire cracked and
popped as it caught. Heat began to fill the chamber.

“I’ve been acting as head of house,” Gitta offered gently as she moved to close the
terrazzino
doors nearest the hearth. She moved on and closed the next set as well. “I’d best
find ye a dressing robe before yer supper arrives.”

The chamber was magnificent, but Nareen realized it lacked wardrobes. There was only
a single one near the bed, and when Gitta fitted one of the large keys hanging from
her belt into the lock, she opened the doors to reveal precious little.

“After Sauchieburn, we were raided several times,” she said in explanation.

There was only a single dressing robe, and Gitta pulled it out. She brought it to
Nareen, holding it wide for her to slip her hand into the sleeve. Nareen hesitated,
the time she’d spent serving Abigail making it feel strange to be served.

Someone knocked on the outer door, and she thrust her hand into the sleeve. She turned
just as the doors were opened and Gitta finished closing the robe around her bare
front.

Two maids and a young boy entered. They all stopped and lowered themselves.

“That is nae necessary,” Nareen said.

The maids’ eyes narrowed in confusion as they each carried a platter to the table.
The boy held a wooden goblet and earthenware pitcher. He set the pitcher down and
used a pressed square of linen to wipe the inside surface of the goblet before he
set it down. One of the maids had placed a small bowl of salt on the table. The boy
took two pinches of it and sprinkled them on the plate the maid had set out for Nareen.
He broke off a piece of bread and wiped the salt around the edge of the plate.

He moved behind the large chair and pulled it out for her now that the plate was cleansed
of any poison. The ritual made her shiver, because it meant Saer was not completely
confident in his place.

Of course he would be concerned.

She sat down, and the maids lifted covers off the dishes they had brought. There was
meat, cheese, and fruit. It was nothing compared to the feasts laid out in the Ross
castle. But it was more than enough.

The maids lowered themselves, then left. Nareen started eating before she realized
Gitta was standing behind her.

“I do nae need service.”

The older woman looked skeptical.

“I am very well on me own.”

She knew the woman’s feet must be aching from the long day. No head of house was idle.
It was a coveted position, the ring of keys hanging from Gitta’s belt a symbol of
her authority. Those keys unlocked the cabinets where costly things, like spices and
clothing, were kept. If anything went missing, Gitta would have to answer for it.

Gitta finally nodded. But she went to the large bed and turned down the bedding. When
she finished, she stopped in front of the table Nareen was seated at.

“Do ye wish private meals?”

Nareen shook her head before she realized she was agreeing to appear in the Hall.
Gitta didn’t notice though. She’d lowered herself and started for the door as Nareen
battled the idea of sitting next to Saer in front of his clan.

The fact that she hadn’t accepted his suit wouldn’t matter. Actions spoke louder than
words. Of course, Saer preferred action too. But if she didn’t appear in the Hall,
she’d be saddling the servants with the chore of bringing her meals to her. No one
needed to do tasks that were not essential. She’d be selfish to add to the burden
of the staff.

She sighed and took a long look around the chamber. It was sparse, but even the lack
of carpets impressed her. Saer was earning his way. He was proving himself worthy
of the position of laird.

She stood and moved over to the wardrobe Gitta had left unlocked. Inside were only
three shirts and a single doublet of thick wool for winter. She lifted one of the
sleeves and found the cuff worn. It had been repaired, and the patches were almost
worn through.

Saer was wise. He was building up his fortress before spending resources on luxuries
like new clothes and carpets. After all, what good were fine things if you could not
protect them? He was also building a clan.

She walked out onto the
terrazzino
and looked over the half wall at the courtyard below. Small fires burned to provide
light. The workers were enjoying tipping back their mugs as music filled the yard.
Some couples danced, and others moved off into the shadows to enjoy each other’s company.

She felt herself turning to look at the bed. Just like Saer, it was large and solid.

The night breeze picked up her hair, helping to dry it. She tipped her head back and
filled her lungs, but she still saw the bed.

Saer wanted to found a dynasty in it. With her.

Was that so bad?

Maybe he had a point about what sort of life she would have if she returned to Grant
land. Yet nothing was without cost. If she stayed, she’d have to promise Saer obedience.

She wasn’t sure she could keep such a vow.

Fatigue was pressing her. With her belly full, the comfort of the bed called to her.

She walked back into the chamber. There was no reason to be stubborn. Gitta had left
out a wooden comb. Nareen pulled it through her hair before climbing into the bed.
The sheeting was smooth and fresh smelling. The scent of heather quickly lulled her
to sleep.

She’d decide how to leave in the morning. Or maybe, she’d just decide.

Something.

***

She was a beauty, Saer thought as he stood beside the bed and contemplated Nareen.
It was little wonder her cousin had tried to sell her.

Her hair was as black as a raven’s feathers. When she was awake, her emerald eyes
made for a startling combination. He moved closer to the bed, reaching out to stroke
her cheek. Her skin was creamy and flawless. Her black eyelashes made a perfect half
moon against her cheeks.

But that wasn’t what drew him to her. It was something else, something deeper. And
it pleased him greatly to find her sleeping in his bed. For certain, trust was growing
between them.

He set his sword against the wall by the side of the bed where he usually slept, and
sat down in one of the chairs to take off his boots. The fire had died down to cinders,
leaving the room lit mostly by the moonlight coming through one of the open doors.

He smiled as he felt the breeze blowing in. She hadn’t shut the door. They had more
in common than she wanted to admit.

He finished and stood up silently, resisting the urge to wake her. His cock was standing
firm when he removed his kilt and shirt, but he forced himself to slide into the bed
without jostling Nareen.

Desire she’d already admitted to. What he craved was an admission of trust. Entering
his bed of her own will was just that. He moved closer and filled his lungs with the
scent of her skin. His cock ached, but he smiled. He was more content than he could
ever recall being. At least since he was small enough to think the solace of his mother’s
embrace was all he needed.

He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the scent. It sent a spike of arousal through
him and a need to have his skin in contact with her.

Any way possible.

***

“Look here…”

Nareen kicked at the bedding, but the dream was too strong. It closed its claws around
her and dragged her deep into the nightmare where her cousin Ruth’s face rose up to
torment her.

“So sweet and fresh…” Ruth exclaimed gleefully. “A tight virgin.”

Nareen tried to smother her whimpers, detesting her fear. But it was like a demon,
overpowering her and taking command of her senses.

“She’s full of spirit too…”

Someone reached for her. From out in the darkness, where her cousin laughed merrily
at her torment.

“Yer spirit is what I crave…”

Her fear exploded into terror as the groping hands were suddenly attached to Saer.
She thrashed, trying to fling him off her, losing the battle to scream as she felt
him closing his embrace around her…

***

“Nareen!”

There was a sting against her cheek, and it broke the hold of the dream. She opened
her eyes, screaming when she looked into the dark eyes of the man from her nightmare.

“Come back to me, lass,” Saer demanded. He cupped the sides of her face, drawing in
a harsh breath when she dug her claws into his bare chest.

“’Twas a dream,” he said softly.

“A…dream…” Her tongue felt clumsy in her mouth, and her heart was pounding so hard
it was almost impossible to draw in breath. Her lungs hurt, and her body ached like
she had been straining.

“Easy, lass…” he cooed softly, stroking her hair back from her face. “It was a dream.”

“A nightmare.” She managed to swallow and rolled her lips to moisten them. “I’m well.”
She pushed against him, but he shook his head.

“Ye are nae.”

She glared at him, recognizing his tone too well. “I’ve had a bellyful of demands,
Saer MacLeod. Let me be.”

His eyes narrowed, but he surprised her by releasing her head and rolling onto his
back. “So why don’t ye make some of yer own?”

“Ye never listen to me demands.”

“I do indeed,” he answered softly, enticingly. “When ye wrapped yer thighs around
me hips and demanded satisfaction, I met yer demands well and truly.”