How to Handle a Highlander (Hot Highlanders) (27 page)

“Hmm, I can think of a few…suggestions I may have.” She leaned forward so he was treated to a view of her cleavage. “But I need to be free of this bodice first.”

He grinned arrogantly, and it made her bold again. He pushed his chair back and scooped her up, to the delight of the Court. They cheered him on as he carried her out of the hall.

***

“That savage is looking at ye again,” Abigail Ross complained to Nareen. The Earl of Ross’s daughter never liked sharing attention.

“I do nae know the man, lady,” Nareen said.

Abigail Ross frowned and glared past Nareen at Saer MacLeod. But he only smiled back at her. The curving of his lips didn’t soften his features any. Instead, he looked like a hungry wolf making ready to pounce. Abigail shuddered and made the sign of the cross over herself.

“Ye must have done something to draw his attention.” She patted her chest, as though she might be able to calm her racing heart with the gesture. “I simply cannae tolerate something like this. Tell him ye are nae interested, or ye shall be dismissed. I need no gossip clinging to the skirts of me attendants.”

Nareen frowned, but Abigail gestured her away. “Go on, I’ll nae tolerate even the hint of scandal.”

She turned with a grunt, her chin in the air.

“Well, that saves me the trouble of getting around that old bat,” Saer muttered as he moved close to her.

Nareen offered him a smile, leaning forward just a bit. “It saves ye naught, for she was never the obstacle between us. There is, in fact, naught between us. I find that very pleasing. I also find me position pleasing, so do nae ruffle the lady’s feathers.”

“If staring unsettles her, it’s little wonder she is unwed. But I am nae here to talk about her.” He reached for her hand, but she slapped his before their skin connected.

“Ye have nothing I wish to hear. Good-bye, Laird MacLeod.” His nostrils flared. It was a small response, but one she noticed. With a little flare of her skirts, she lowered herself and turned away.

Saer watched her go. Her poise was perfect, her carriage unfaltering as she made her way through the Court. She smiled and nodded, never appearing hurried. Anyone else would have seen nothing to fault her for. But he’d seen the fear in her eyes.

What infuriated him was the fact that the fear did not make her timid. Instead, she used it to fuel her determination. His cock stirred as he detected just a hint of the scent of her skin. It was a savage thing to think and feel, but it was honest. He suspected Nareen Grant might just understand him. It would take a woman of courage to do so.

First, he’d have to gain her attention.

***

Saer MacLeod was already in the stable when Kael Grant appeared. The horizon was just showing a hint of pink, but Saer had his stallion saddled and ready.

Kael was surprised to see that his own stallion was also ready.

“Did I get drunk enough last eve to forget I told ye I’d be leaving at dawn?” Kael asked. He checked the straps and bridle on his horse, then nodded.

Saer swung his leg up and over the back of his horse before responding. “Depends on how ye define the phrase ‘told me.’”

“It’s a simple enough concept, man.”

Saer chuckled, the sound low and dark. “Ye’re going after yer kinswoman who proved untrustworthy—the cousin who almost sold off yer sister.”

Kael mounted, as did his men. He gathered up the reins and glared at Saer. “It needs doing. I trusted her with me sister.”

“Aye, that is the sort of thing ye cannae allow to go unpunished,” Saer agreed. “And I’m going with ye.” The MacLeod retainers were waiting just a few feet away to follow their laird.

Kael’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Because yer sister is a woman who respects those who prove themselves. I plan to earn her respect and prove me worth.”

Kael growled, but Saer was already riding through the yard. The man wasn’t asking to come along; he was declaring his intention to do so. It should have bruised his pride, but Kael found himself amused. His sister Nareen had never conformed to the submissive role her sex was restricted to. Men had offered for her, powerful ones. But she’d turned them down because she would not submit. He doubted Saer MacLeod would be content with anything but full surrender.

It was possible the savage laird from the isles was exactly what his sister needed.

***

“I did not expect to find you here, Laird Sutherland.”

Lytge opened his eyes but made the cross over himself before turning to look at the king. It took a moment to rise from his knees.

“For all our bluster and titles, we are but men, Yer Majesty.”

James offered him a pleased look. “We are, indeed. I hope I shall see you again.”

The earl looked around the chapel, his face reflecting years of memories. At last he pulled in a deep breath and nodded, as though he’d completed something he’d been working on.

“Nay, Yer Majesty. Each man needs to accept his own mortality.” He gave the king a hard look. “Ye’ll understand it more in time, but I think ye have begun to see that life is a fleeting thing. I’ll nae walk the halls of this palace again.”

“Yet you are strong and healthy,” the king argued.

“And a man who has seen more than sixty years.” Lytge winked. “I’m nae planning on shaking Saint Peter’s hand just yet, mind ye. He’s been kind to me, though. Letting me watch me sons grow to men. I’m going north to Sutherland to watch me grandson learn to walk, and hopefully see the birth of another one or two.”

He reached out and gripped the king’s shoulder. The royal retainers edged closer, but James waved them back.

“Ye are always welcome at Dunrobin.” Lytge moved back a step and lowered himself before the young king.

“You are a true nobleman,” the king replied.

But the earl grimaced. “I’m a Highlander, lad! From the day me mother pushed me into this world, I’ve been proud to be a man of the North. Me sons will bury me in me kilt, and if God is kind, He’ll let me tumble a buxom wench the night before He takes me away.”

The earl rose up and flashed an arrogant grin at the king, then turned and strode from the chapel. There was a spring in his step, and he roared when he reached the doors, “Saddle the horses and wake me son, Gahan! We’re heading north to Sutherland, lads! I need to see the Highlands!”

***

“Wake up, lass.”

Moira groaned and opened her eyes. Gahan laughed at her. “Come, Wife, ye can sleep at Seabhac.”

She smiled, her head clearing as excitement burned the fog away.

“Do I detect enthusiasm for our journey?”

“Indeed ye do, Husband.” She left the bed and began pulling on her stockings.

The velvet-draped bed didn’t even gain a second glance as she left the chamber. The opulent hallway didn’t interest her. Being able to appear beside Gahan was what she craved, and for the first time, there was nothing to stop her from doing it.

The earl was already making ready. Lytge turned to look at them. “About time ye got out of bed!”

Horses shifted and snorted. Norris was already in the saddle, eager to rejoin his wife. The Sutherland banners were in the hands of the standard-bearers who would ride at the front of the columns, but the Fraser retainers appeared with their own flags. They looked toward Gahan, waiting for him to place them. There was strain on their faces as they watched to see what their new laird would be like.

“We’ll ride behind me father, lads.” Gahan took the stallion they’d readied for him. A length of Fraser plaid was draped over the saddle. Gahan stared at it for a long moment before reaching out to take it. “And it seems I’m wearing the wrong colors. Me thanks for correcting me.”

The Frasers sent up a cheer. Moira followed her husband into the palace again to seek a chamber to change in.

“Ye’re going to wear it?”

“Pleat yer colors for me, Moira. It is yer place to pass them to me.”

He pulled his belt open and caught his Sutherland plaid. He took a moment to fold the cloth carefully before setting it on a table.

She shivered with joy. Tears filled Moira’s eyes and made wet paths down her cheeks. Gahan cupped her chin and looked at her in confusion.

“I’m happy,” she explained. “So very happy to see these colors going on a man worthy of them.”

“Yet ye cry…”

“Women do that,” Norris interrupted from the doorway. “Do nae waste any time trying to make sense of it.”

Moira looked around Gahan as she helped him into the kilt. She stuck her tongue out at her new brother-in-law.

Norris laughed and held the door open for his brother. He looked at the kilt and sniffed. “I suppose I cannae curse the Fraser name anymore.”

Gahan smoothed a hand down the front of his kilt, staring at the colors for a long moment. He finally nodded and looked up. “Nay, ye cannae. Because I am Laird Fraser.”

He walked to the door, and the Fraser retainers let out another cheer. The horses jerked against their handlers, but the Frasers didn’t quiet down quickly. Gahan turned and offered Moira a hand.

“I think it’s time ye showed me Seabhac Tower.”

She smiled, gripping his hand and pulling him through the doorway. “I cannae wait.”

Read on for excerpts from Mary Wine’s Scottish romance

Available now from Sourcebooks Casablanca

To Conquer a Highlander

Highland Hellcat

Highland Heat

The Highlander’s Prize

From

To Conquer a Highlander

Scotland 1437, McLeren land

Fire could be a welcome sight to a man when he’d been riding a long time and the sun had set, leaving him surrounded by darkness. But the sight of flames on the horizon could also be the most horrifying thing any laird ever set his eyes on.

Torin McLeren wanted to close his eyes in the hopes that the orange flames illuminating the night might not be there when he opened them again. He could smell the smoke on the night air now but didn’t have the luxury of allowing the horror to turn his stomach. He was laird, and protecting his holdings was his duty.

Digging his spurs into his horse, he headed toward the inferno. Wails began to drown out the hissing flames. Laments carried on the night wind as wives and mothers mourned bitterly. The scent of blood rose above the smoke, the flickering orange light illuminating the fallen bodies of his clansmen. He stared at the carnage, stunned by the number of dead and wounded. He might be a Highlander and no stranger to battle, but this was a village, not a piece of land disputed and fought over by nobles. This was McLeren land and had been for more than a century.

A horror straight out of hell surrounded him. Mercy hadn’t been present here—he’d seen less carnage after fighting the English. The slaughter was almost too much to believe or accept. His horse balked at his command to ride forward, the stallion rearing up as the heat from the blaze became hot against its hide. Torin cursed and slid from the saddle. Every muscle in his body tightened, rage slowly coming to a boil inside him. Hands reached out to him, grasping fingers seeking him as the only hope of righting the wrong that had been inflicted on them.

His temper burned hotter than the fire consuming the keep in front of him. They suffered raids from time to time, but this was something else entirely. It was war. The number of bodies lying where they had fallen was a wrong that could not be ignored. Nor should it be. These were his people, McLerens who trusted in his leadership and his sword arm for protection.

“
Justice…
”

One single word but it echoed across the fallen bodies of men wearing the same plaid he did. Every retainer left to keep the peace was lying dead, but they had died as Highlanders. The ground was littered with the unmoving forms of their attackers. His gaze settled on one body, the still form leaking dark blood onto his land, the kilt drawing his interest. Lowering his frame onto one knee, Torin fingered the colors of his enemy. The fire lit the scarlet and blue colors of the McBoyd clan. His neighbor and apparently now his enemy.

McBoyds?
It didn’t make sense. These were common people. Good folk who labored hard to feed their families. Every McLeren retainer stationed there knew and accepted that they might have to fight for their clan, but that did not explain the number of slain villagers. There was no reason for such a slaughter. No excuse he would ever swallow or accept. McLerens did not fear the night, be they common born or not. While he was laird, they would not live in fear.

“There will be justice. I swear it.” His voice carried authority, but to those weeping over their lost family, it also gave comfort. Torin stood still only for a moment, his retainers backing him up before he turned and remounted his horse. He felt more at home in the saddle, more confident. His father had raised him to lead the McLerens in good times and bad. He would not disappoint him or a single McLeren watching him now.

“Well now, let us see what the McBoyds have to say for themselves, lads.”

Torin turned his stallion into the night without a care for the clouds that kept the moonlight from illuminating the rocky terrain. He was a Highlander, after all. Let the other things in the dark fear him.

From

Highland Hellcat

“Come, my beauty, we shall see if we can impress anyone tonight with our skill.”

Brina patted the mare on the side of the neck, and the animal gave a toss of its silken mane. She smothered a laugh before it betrayed to those around just how much she was looking forward to riding out of her father’s castle. She gained the back of the mare, and the animal let out a louder sound of excitement. Brina clasped the animal with her thighs and leaned low over its neck.

“I agree, my beauty. Standing still is very boring.”

Brina kept her voice low and gave the mare its freedom. The animal made a path toward the gate, gaining speed rapidly.

Brina allowed her laughter to escape just as she and the mare crossed beneath the heavy iron gate that was still raised.

“Don’t be out too long… Dusk is nearly fallen…” the Chattan retainer set to guarding the main entrance to Chattan Castle called after her, but Brina did not even turn her head to acknowledge the man.

Being promised to the church did have some advantages after all. Her undyed robe fluttered out behind her because the garment was simple and lacked any details that might flatter her figure. There were only two small tapes that buttoned toward the back of it in order to keep the fabric from being too cumbersome.

“Faster…”

The mare seemed to understand her and took to the rocky terrain with eagerness. The wind was crisp, almost too chilly for the autumn. Brina leaned down low and smiled as she moved in unison with the horse. The light was rapidly fading, but the approaching night didn’t cause her a bit of worry.

She was a bride of Christ, the simple gown that she wore more powerful even than the fact that her father was laird of the Chattan. No one would trifle with her, even after day faded into night.

But that security came with a price, just as all things in life did. She straightened up as the mare neared the thicket, and she spied her father’s man waiting on her.

Bran had served as a retainer for many years, and he was old enough to be her sire. He frowned at her as she slid from the back of the mare.

“Ye ride too fast.”

Brina rubbed the neck of the horse for a moment, biting back the first words that came to her lips.

“What does it matter, Bran? I am promised to the church, not betrothed like my sisters. No one cares if I ride astride.”

If she had been born first or second to Robert Chattan, there would be many who argued against her riding astride, because most midwives agreed that doing so would make a woman barren.

Bran grunted. “It’s the speed that ye ride with that most would consider too spirited for a future nun.”

Brina failed to mask her smile. “But I shall be a Highland nun, not one of those English ones who are frightened of their own shadows.”

Her father’s retainer grinned. “Aye, ye are that all right, and I pity those who forget it once ye are at the abbey and training to become the mother superior.”

Bran turned and made his way into the thicket. Brina followed him while reaching around to pull her small bow over her head. The wood felt familiar in her grip. It was a satisfying feeling, one for which she might thank her impending future as well. Her sisters had not been taught to use any weapons. They were both promised to powerful men, and the skills of hunting would be something that those Highlanders might find offensive to their pride.

She snorted. Going to the church suited her well indeed, for she had no stomach for the nature of men. She could use the bow as well as any of them.

“At least I know that ye will nae go hungry.” Bran studied the way she held the bow, and nodded with approval. “Those other nuns will likely follow ye even more devoutly because ye can put supper on the table along with saying yer prayers.”

“I plan to do much more than pray.”