The Highlander's Bride Trouble (20 page)

“Ye did nae answer me, Nareen.”

Her body was warm and glowing with satisfaction. The last thing she wanted to do was
discuss memories she’d worked so hard to banish.

Saer rose up behind her, pressing her onto her back so he could lock gazes with her.
“Did yer cousin force ye to service a man with yer mouth?”

“I did nae obey her when it came to the men she wanted me to entice,” she muttered
and shut her eyes. “Ye were right. Choosing me own lover is the way to stop being
afraid.”

“It matters a goddamn lot, because I’m going to choke the life out of that bitch if
she had ye suck off one of her clients.”

“She didn’t get the chance.” Nareen opened her eyes and shot him a hard look. “I made
sure of that. I was nae going to wait in that locked room for the day when Ruth found
a man willing to pay what she wanted for me,” she said. “So do nae say again how much
ye dislike Abigail, for I used her as much as she did me.”

He bit back his next question, fighting for control.

“How did ye get out to meet Abigail?” he asked suspiciously.

“She was one of Ruth’s customers,” she explained. “Me cousin made me serve the table,
so the men might get a good look at me. Abigail was complaining about her maids, so
I made sure to serve her and be noticed.”

Nareen rolled onto her side, but Saer cupped her shoulder and pulled her to her back.

“What else did she do to force ye to her will?”

“Let it be, Saer.”

He slowly shook his head.

“It matters naught now. For I am here, not there any longer.”

“It matters a great deal.” He planted a hand on the other side of her torso to keep
her from rolling away from him. “Ye mean a great deal to me, lass. Do nae begrudge
me protecting ye.”

His words struck her hard. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear that he
cared about her, until the words were spoken. She reached up and flattened her hand
over his heart. “I am here. If I tell ye she threatened to beat the bottoms of me
feet with a rod, and even gave me a taste of it—”

“That bitch!” he roared.

Nareen moved her hand to cover his mouth, but her fingers felt small against him.
“Did yer sword master never beat ye? Or yer training mates who were born with the
blessing of the Church? Did they nae remind ye of yer place with more than words?”

He blew out a long breath but admitted, “Aye.”

“Ruth claimed it was how the Moors kept their harem girls obedient without marking
them where their masters might see. It matters naught, because I grew stronger with
every strike. I never performed for her, but I enjoyed knowing just how to drive ye
as insane as ye make me. So I cannae hate completely being there. I would nae be who
I am if I had not known that time in me life.”

He was still angry, but his lips twitched, and he shook his head. She sat up and pushed
him onto his back and rested her head on his shoulder. He held her close, smoothing
his hand along her waist and down to cup her hip. She curled onto her side, rubbing
his chest before drawing in a slow breath that filled her senses with his scent.

For the moment, she couldn’t recall why she was not perfectly content.

The church bells rang early on MacLeod land.

Nareen opened her eyes and blinked. The horizon was just turning yellow. Saer groaned
before sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“I begin to see why some of me men argued over the timing of morning Mass.” He lifted
his arms and stretched. “I find me bed more enticing this morning with ye in it.”

Nareen found herself distracted by the prime picture he made. She was often called
a beauty, but she found Saer’s body majestic. She’d never wanted to stare at a man
before, but with him, she seemed to need to fight the urge.

“Stop looking at me like that, woman…” He looked over his shoulder and winked. “Ye’ll
have me braving the displeasure of the good Father Peter to spend the next hour laying
with ye instead of providing a good example to me clan by being at service.”

He stood up, and she blushed as his cock stuck out, hard and ready. It wasn��t the
sight of his member that sent heat to her cheeks; it was the way her sex began to
throb with anticipation.

“We need the man to agree to wed us,” Saer muttered as he pulled on a shirt.

Nareen had sat up and started to stretch. She froze at the word “wed.”

“I cannae wed.”

Saer stiffened. He’d leaned over to begin putting his boots on but straightened to
glare at her.

“Explain that, Nareen.”

She looked for the dressing robe but it was gone, leaving her holding the bedding
against her nude body. “I did. I told ye I will nae vow to be obedient.”

“In private, I have no quarrel with that.”

He leaned over and finished closing his boot. He tugged sharply as he tightened the
lace around the antlerhorn buttons, considering the matter settled. Nareen sighed;
he was granting her a concession, but it was not enough.

“I told ye, I cannae belong to anyone.”

Saer’s body went tense. He didn’t answer her but tied his second boot before standing
up and moving over to the trestle table. The remnants of her dinner were pushed off
to the side. His kilt was pleated and waiting for him. He slid a wide leather belt
beneath the wool and picked it up. In silence, he buckled the belt in one practiced
motion, then made sure the fronts of the wool covered him.

“I mean ye no insult,” she offered as she crawled to the edge of the bed in search
of the dressing robe.

“No, ye mean to drive me mad with the chase ye are leading me on. I have matters to
attend to, and have no time for games.”

She found the edge of the dressing robe at last and tugged it free. Saer picked up
his knitted bonnet and tugged it down over his head.

“I explained me feelings to ye,” she insisted as she tied the robe closed and faced
him. “Very clearly, before ye brought me here.”

“Ahhh…” He crossed his arms over his chest and gripped his forearms. His knuckles
turned white, proving he was fighting the urge to remain where he was. “Yer feelings.
Women change their feelings often.”

“I know me will and told ye plainly.” And so it began, just as she’d known it must.
He thought the matter settled and was beginning to dictate his will to her. “There
will be no wedding, and I am nae fickle.”

He closed his eyes, looking like he was struggling to maintain control. He drew in
a deep breath and let it out before opening them again and locking gazes with her.
“I never accused ye of such.” He walked toward her, kindness returning to his eyes.
“And I have been gentle with ye.”

She scoffed. “Ye have also been demanding.”

He shrugged, his eyes glittering with hard purpose. “Ye enjoy me nature. I dare ye
to deny it.”

She opened her mouth, but he raised one hand to silence her. “Shall I go below and
find a few witnesses to yer cries last night? Stone walls funnel sound very well,
lass.”

Her cheeks felt like they’d caught fire. He laughed softly and stroked one hot surface.

“I enjoyed making ye scream, Nareen.” She was staring into the savage side of his
nature as he impressed his will on her. “Now dress and come with me for the blessing
of matrimony. By nightfall, there will nae be a soul wearing me colors who does nae
know ye spent the night here. I would nae shame ye.”

“Yet that is what ye have done.” She scooted back when he tried to slide his hand
into her hair.

“Do ye nae think me men did nae know what we were about beneath me kilt, Nareen?”
he pressed. “Their duty is to guard me back while I sleep.”

She shook her head, her body shuddering with anger. “I told ye, I would nae trust…and
I will nae take vows that will make me yer property.”

She could not bear it. So she turned away, unable to look at what she was rejecting.

“Ye belong to me…”

She jerked her attention back to him. But he was already closing his hand around the
tie of the dressing robe. One hard tug sent her tumbling into his body. She brought
her hands up to fend him off, but only ended up with her arms trapped against his
chest when he locked his arms around her.

“Ye belong to me because I am the man who moves ye to ecstasy and boldness.”

She strained against his hold, and he waited until she realized it was a futile effort.

He leaned down until his breath brushed her lips. “And I shall be happy to prove it
to ye as many times as necessary for ye to yield.”

He crushed her retort with a searing kiss. It was hungry and demanding and hard. She
felt like she was starved for it, which enraged her. She wiggled, trying to escape
as he claimed her lips in a kiss that stole her breath. The bells changed tone, signaling
the beginning of service.

Saer released her, and she stumbled away from him. It was a retreat. There was no
way to hide it.

He nodded with satisfaction. “I enjoy the look of ye breathless from me kiss. It’s
sure to haunt me throughout the day until I can return to chasing ye.”

“What are ye going to do now?” she demanded, hating the way her nipples were stabbing
into the soft fabric of the dressing robe. “Set yer men to guarding me? This fine
chamber will be naught but a prison if ye do.”

He lifted one dark eyebrow. “And that will only help ye hold on to yer ideas of marriage
being the same as being owned?”

“It is.”

He moved over to the wardrobe that was still open. “No MacLeod retainer has time to
stand at doors.”

She realized she’d been holding her breath, and let it out in relief.

“This is a private matter between us, one I’ll be dealing with. Ye have me word on
that.”

He reached into the wardrobe and grabbed the pieces of her dress. But he didn’t bring
them to her. He walked right past her and reached for the door, stopping to scoop
up her boots where Gitta had placed them by the hearth.

“Wait! Ye cannae mean to—”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Take yer dress? Aye, lass, I do. There is
nae a single unused garment on me land because of the raids we suffered, so if ye
sneak out of this chamber, be prepared to be seen in yer chemise.”

He opened the door and took her clothing with him.

“Saer!”

He shut the door in answer.

Damn him.

Curse him.

Savage!

***

Baruch was waiting for him at the bottom of the tower steps. Saer thrust the clothing
at his man, ignoring the incredulous look on his face.

“Make sure no one sneaks that back to Nareen.”

Baruch looked like he was contemplating dropping it, but settled for bunching it up
into a ball and handing it to the younger captain standing beside him.

“Make certain that does nae make its way back to Mistress Grant.”

Saer growled, low and ominously. “Ye do it, Baruch. I need to know that woman is here,
nae running across Comyn land for that bastard Morrell to get his hands on.”

Baruch took the clothing back, but his expression was one of disagreement.

“What is yer argument, man?” Saer demanded loud enough to be heard throughout the
inner yard.

“Having an excuse to run Morrell Comyn through would be right welcome.”

Saer poked the wadded-up dress with a thick finger. “Nareen belongs to me. Ye’ll have
to find another reason.”

“Aye, aye,” Baruch agreed, then smirked. “We heard that plain enough last night. Although
I think it was more of a wee-morning-hours sort of thing. I’m guessing she was nae
waiting to give ye a warm welcome last evening.”

Baruch didn’t flinch when Saer sent him a deadly look. He just bundled the clothing
tighter against his chest. “I’d best get to service. Father Peter is a strict one.
Hands out penance far too easily for a man of poverty.”

“I’m going to service,” Saer snapped. “Ye deal with that dress before ye show yer
face.”

“Aye, Laird.” Baruch tugged the corner of his bonnet with a twinkle in his eye. The
man would never be subservient toward him, but Saer wasn’t looking for that in a captain.
He needed a man he could always trust, no matter the situation.

Even securing a damned dress. Saer felt his temper straining as he watched Baruch
carry the clothing away.

He wanted to go back up to his chamber, but he fought the urge. Winning a fight took
more than brute strength; it took strategy. Especially when it came to Nareen.

His pride was stung, and something else, but he ignored it as just more injured pride.
He could not allow himself to feel more than that. Love had been his mother’s downfall.
He could not make such a mistake.

That gave him the discipline to move toward the church and enter it. The service was
in progress, but Father Peter still noticed him. Saer pulled on the corner of his
bonnet.

Women loved. It was something that allowed them to settle into the changes life demanded
of them. But it was still damned frustrating, because he had no idea how to cultivate
something he didn’t have.

But he’d never backed away from a challenge, and Nareen wouldn’t be the one to change
him.

She’d settle in.

***

Nareen screeched at the closed door.

She ran toward it, but the slap of her bare feet made her stop.

The beast had even taken her boots!

The door wasn’t locked.

She could still leave. But she didn’t move toward the door. Maybe the man didn’t have
his retainers posted to keep her inside the chamber, but she didn’t doubt she’d be
returned there the moment someone noticed her. It would hardly be difficult to notice
her if she appeared below in a dressing robe.

She snarled and stomped across the room to one of the sets of doors that led out to
the
terrazzino
. Sunlight was washing over the inner yard. Everyone was in the church, which was
through the old gate and inside what was the outer yard. The masons had worked up
until the last of the daylight the night before, their tools lying where they had
been working. The huge wooden wheels that worked the cranes stood with loads of cut
stone stacked neatly on their load-bearing platforms, waiting to be lifted up to the
growing walls.

Only a few retainers were posted on the walls. They moved back and forth as they scanned
the cleared area surrounding the castle. None looked in her direction, because the
loch was behind her. There had to be a man posted above her to keep watch for water
invasion.

All of it was impressive. And she detested it completely!

That was a lie…

And it shamed her.

She couldn’t begrudge Saer the respect he’d earned. She’d never heard of such a feat,
never thought a clan might find a way to recover so quickly from the loss the MacLeod
had suffered. So many of their number had perished at the battle of Sauchieburn that
it should have taken a generation to rebuild their ranks. Saer was making it happen
within five years.

People began to return from the church. The yard was soon full of conversation and
sound as they ate. No one lingered over the meal, though. Soon, the steady clip of
the hammer and chisels was heard again. Beyond the inner yard, she heard men calling
the young men to training. Some of the youths eating with their families below her
hurried to grab their wooden swords and run toward the gate.

Saer offered them a great deal. There were not many places where a mason’s son might
be trained to be a retainer. A stoneworker simply didn’t make enough money to pay
for the training or to outfit his son with a sword and mail.

Saer was making sure it happened. It told her more about him and his struggle with
life than any conversation might have. He was a survivor and intended to make sure
his clan survived too. The masons took to their work with zeal in gratitude for everything
being offered to them. Loyalty would never be a problem for Saer.

There was a soft rap on the door. A moment later it opened.

Gitta held it as two maids and the young boy entered again. Nareen tightened the robe’s
belt and stayed on the
terrazzino
while the boy performed his duties. Gitta was quick to point him toward the door.

“I see why ye were nae at services,” the head of house remarked as she oversaw the
maids.

They finished setting the table and moved onto the bed.

“I need a dress to wear,” Nareen said sweetly.

Gitta offered her a slow shake of her head, proving Saer had already spoken to the
woman.

“But I did bring ye something to keep yer hands busy.”

Nareen watched as the woman unfolded a bundle. It was soft and creamy linen. Nareen
reached out to run a finger across its surface, smiling at the texture.

“Agnes will be up with the sewing tools in a moment. She had to go across the yard
to the old tower where the laird’s sister kept her solar. There were a few things
that did nae get taken, and the laird is in need of shirts.”

“I’ll nae be sewing the man a shirt,” Nareen declared with her hands on her hips.
Such was a personal duty a wife or sweetheart did for a man. An intimate chore.

Gitta drew herself up, folding her hands in front of her. Nareen swallowed and made
sure her tone was even.