The Trouble with Highlanders (11 page)

The last two girls began to take off her clothing. They reached for the lacing that ran down the back of her overdress, but Daphne stepped away from them.

“I do nae require service.”

They peered at her like she'd gone mad. To their way of thinking, she had. Norris was the heir, and whomever he brought home as his guest would be served.

“Ye can nae unlace that dress yerself.” Asgree spoke evenly as she walked in a circle around her. “The laces are down the back. Ye must have had a waiting woman help ye into it.”

“Gitta was me nurse. We helped each other, really.”

“And here we shall make sure she would have naught to critique us for,” Asgree insisted. She sent the girls back toward Daphne with a flick of her fingers.

Daphne forced herself to stand still. It was ridiculous to worry so much about having other women in the room with her while she was bare. In fact, it was dangerous, for there might be rumors that she was misshapen or had marks from the devil. Inhabitants of a castle always gossiped. There would be plenty to keep the maids talking once her back was bared. There really was nothing to worry about, because Norris's men knew how she had come by the bruises. The castle folk might talk, but it would not be malicious gossip. Still, she cringed when the maid lifted her chemise and let out a startled cry. Asgree had walked over to the tub to oversee its filling, but she hurried back.

“Sweet Mary.”

“It truly is nae so terrible,” Daphne offered, crossing her arms over her breasts.

“No wonder the laird had ye brought by cart. These are deep.” Asgree snapped her fingers once again. “Tell the cook to brew up something for the ache.”

One of the maids lowered herself before moving off toward the doorway. Another girl brought a stool forward for Daphne to sit on while her boots were removed.

In short order, she was easing herself down into the half-f tub of water. Asgree oversaw the entire bath, proving she was a dedicated mistress of Dunrobin. The older woman wasn't satisfied with leaving any detail to her maids. She frowned when Daphne's hair was loosened and its short length revealed.

“Were ye ill with the fever?” she asked. “I do wonder why ye are so thin. Ye are nae healthy.”

“Nae.” Daphne chewed on her lower lip, but the head of house had stopped in front of her and aimed an expectant look at her. As head of house, Asgree did not suffer having her questions ignored. “I went to a convent to avoid the match me father had made. Since I was nae content, I spent every hour at chores to keep me mind off me dilemma, and the food was very humble.”

Asgree's eyebrows lifted until they practically disappeared beneath the edge of her linen cap.

One of the maids spoke up. “Ye were betrothed to Broen MacNicols.”

“Alice, mind yer tongue,” Asgree warned the girl. The maid lowered herself immediately. “I've no tolerance for gossip. Go and make sure the cook knows our guest is hungry. Flanna, go with her, and the pair of ye make sure the star chamber is ready. One of ye tell the cook our guest will eat in her chamber. Tomorrow will be soon enough for ye to suffer having a dress tightened against those bruises,” Asgree declared, “as well as let the rest of those chattering hens get a look at ye in the hall.”

The two maids left, and another brought forward a clean chemise. As much as Daphne hadn't enjoyed being stripped, she was very happy to have clean skin and clothing. Asgree knew her art well, and her staff was trained to perfection. Before long, a thick dressing robe was keeping her warm, and a pair of carpet slippers shielded her feet from the chilly stone floors.

***

“She's the MacLeod lass with the fortune,” Alice declared once they'd cleared the hallway.

“Ye do nae know much more about her than I do,” Flanna accused.

“It is true,” Alice insisted in a whisper. “Why else would the laird have her beaten if there was no fortune?”

“He does nae need to beat her to make her wed him,” Flanna argued while peeking at the doorway of the star chamber to make sure Asgree or one of her assistants didn't notice them. There would be hell to pay if they were caught gossiping. The room was empty, and they began to pull the sheeting off the furniture to make it ready.

“Yes, he does. Did nae ye hear? Do nae ye know why her hair is short?” Alice smiled with glee. “Me cousin heard it from her husband's niece. Daphne MacLeod refused to wed Broen MacNicols. She went into the convent on Grant land and cut her hair.”

Flanna covered her gaping mouth with one hand. “Surely the Church would nae let her get away if she had a fortune for a dowry.”

Alice shrugged. “No doubt it was the battle of Sauchieburn that allowed her to escape, but she's learned the power of nae bending to any man's rule over her. She must have refused the laird when he sought her out now that his own bride is gone to Laird MacNicols. A fine trade if ye ask me, but she is overly proud and thinks herself above having a husband to master her.”

“Just like the priest says…”

“Aye,” Alice agreed. “She's acting unnatural now that she's been allowed to think herself able to make her own choices.”

“No doubt the laird helped her lose her virtue so he might claim her fine dowry too, but his father had gone and made the match with the York bastard,” Flanna continued. “Now that he's free to wed again, it makes sense he'd go looking for that fortune.”

The two maids finished in the chamber then made their way to the kitchens to tell their friends of their discoveries. Everyone at Dunrobin was curious about the female Norris had brought home.

***

“The laird's wife, Norris's mother, had a passion for painting,” Asgree explained.

“It's lovely,” Daphne murmured as she slowly turned about to survey the paintings on the walls of the chamber. It was easy to understand why it was called the star chamber, for there were paintings of the night sky all over the walls. The detail was impressive, the different constellations clearly portrayed during different seasons.

“We've other chambers decorated with her visions.”

Daphne held out her hands to warm them over the fire. “Ye do nae have to waste wood this early in the season for me.”

“This is Sutherland. It is already freezing at night because of how far north we are.”

“Oh.” She turned to discover Asgree extending her hand toward a chair. The chamber itself was twice the size of the one she used at MacLeod Tower. There was a table and four chairs off to one side. A tablecloth was spread out already, making Daphne bite her lip over the amount of effort the staff was going to for her comfort. It was certainly a stark contrast to life at the convent. Of course life at MacLeod Tower had been stark too.

She felt guilty as she sat down, the faces of those she'd left behind needling her. But the determination in her brother's eyes helped ease her worry. Saer was not a man easily defeated. She smiled as she contemplated what her brother would think of her pity. He'd spit on it.

“This is young Alice. Ye can trust any food she brings ye. Her family has served Dunrobin for three generations.” Alice lowered herself then held a silver serving tray while Asgree lifted each dish and inspected it before setting it in front of Daphne. There was a soup terrine, bread, fruit, and even cheese.

“Do nae take anything from a maid ye do nae know.”

The scent of warm stew had distracted her, but Asgree's warning startled her. “Why? I am of little importance.”

“Ye are the personal guest of the Earl of Sutherland's heir. Many would consider ye a target worth hitting to strike at him or his father. Those seeking vengeance often lack honor.”

Personal guest…
Mistress
was the word going through all their heads.

“We have no arrangement.” Daphne squelched the urge to lower her gaze to the tabletop. Instead, she stared straight into Asgree's eyes. “But I have known him. Yer laird brought me here to prove I am nae carrying his child. He claims the Sutherlands keep their blood close.”

There was no point in denying it, and yet she took a certain satisfaction in telling the head of house herself.

“Ye spoke the truth about living in a convent for the last year,” Asgree muttered as she lifted the lid off the bowl, releasing a white puff of steam. “Ye have learned to speak plainly, no matter what others might decide to judge ye for. 'Tis a trait a woman learns only when she's on her own.”

Daphne's mouth watered, and she lost the battle not to stare at the food. It was a thick stew with chunks of meat and root vegetables. There was barely any broth, and she stared, soaking up the sight of it. It had been a very long time since she'd seen such a bountiful meal.

She was shaking when she reached for the spoon, and it clattered back to the tabletop. She grabbed it again.

“No one will enter without knocking.”

With the spoon against her lips, Daphne looked up at Asgree. The head of house lowered herself, and the six maids with her did the same. They turned in a swirl of burgundy wool skirts and left the chamber.

She heard the sound of the spoon scraping against the sides of the bowl as she tried to get every last bit of stew. Before she sat back, she broke off a piece of bread and used it to soak up what residue remained. There was nothing but a slight gloss left on the bottom of the bowl when she relaxed against the back of the chair.

She straightened up instantly when she made contact with the hard back of the chair, pain ruining her enjoyment of the meal. Well, it really wasn't enough discomfort to destroy the contentment of having a full belly—overfull, really. She looked at the cheese and knew her stomach would not accommodate even a small nibble. So she placed a small square of linen left for her to wipe her lips on over the cheese and fruit. Maybe later.

She shook her head at her gluttony. At least it was one sin she wouldn't mind being able to commit for a change.

Ye
did
nae
mind
partaking
of
lust
with
Norris
either…

Personal guest. Well, she was that, sure enough, and she had enjoyed having Norris in her bed.

As
yer
lover…

Now there was a word she had never thought to have personal experience of. As long as she could recall, her future had been planned. It had never been something she fretted over, either. Many girls never met their intended grooms until the wedding; she'd been fortunate to know Broen MacNicols. He was even a friend. They might have been content with each other if fate hadn't decided otherwise. Many would condemn her for not taking her place—but at the cost of peace? Even the meager food and cold in the convent hadn't made her regret her choice.

That didn't mean she didn't enjoy the lingering taste of the stew on her lips. Or having a fire to warm the floor she walked across. Dunrobin was the finest place she had ever stayed in.

She walked across the chamber, marveling at the size of it. There was enough space between the table and the bed for her to dance. The bed itself was huge, with large posts that held iron rods for the bed curtains made of thick velvet, and she smoothed her fingers along one panel in awe. She might have expected to find such a lavish fabric hanging around the laird's bed, or Norris's—but not here, in a guest room.

Someone had turned down the bedding, exposing the sheets. They were creamy and smelled of heather. With her belly full for the first time in too long, she crawled under the covers and fell asleep before she had time to further enjoy the luxury encasing her.

“What do ye want?”

Gahan didn't take offense at his laird's tone. In fact, his half brother smiled smugly on his way through the chamber door. He reached up to tug on the corner of his bonnet but raised his middle finger instead.

Norris chuckled. “Well now, me brother. I'd have guessed ye were in the mood for fucking, but I never noticed ye taking a fancy to me.”

Gahan grimaced. “Ye're in a fine mood. Why? I'd have thought ye'd be quite pleased to have the little MacLeod lass where ye want her.”

Norris's cock twitched. “She's close to where I want her.”

Gahan shrugged. “So go and claim her. What is stopping ye?”

“Those bruises darkening her back, for one.”

“So let her do the riding,” Gahan suggested wickedly. “The pair of ye can nae stop nipping at each other. It would be a service to the rest of us if ye'd take that passion off to bed where it belongs.”

“It's a damn irritating skill ye have, Gahan. No one needles me quite the way ye do.” Norris sat back down and looked over the supper the staff had brought up. He settled for grabbing a mug of ale and extended his arm in invitation to his brother. Gahan was more than his captain; when their father left this life, he'd become a lesser noble. It was his birthright and Sutherland tradition.

“Or makes ye face yer feelings,” Gahan offered as he sat down. “She's under yer skin.”

“I admit it… to ye,” Norris muttered. “And to meself, as far as needing to discover what it is I feel for her.”

“Many would brand ye a fool for talking that way, unless ye mention the fortune of a dowry she has.” Gahan picked up a slice of apple and bit it in half.

“I do nae give a rat's arse about her dowry.” Norris held up his hand when Gahan opened his mouth. “Which makes me a double fool in the eyes of the rest of the world, or at least the majority of them. But the only one I'm interested in is Broen MacNicols. His opinion I'd very much like to know.”

Gahan tossed the other half of the apple slice into his mouth and chewed on it for a moment; then he nodded. “Because the man is in love with his new bride, Clarrisa?”

“Call me a fool, but I'll tell ye something, Brother. There was a look in his eyes when he was ready to challenge the king and Lord Home for that woman. It was nae fueled by anything she came with. It was pure need for the woman herself.”

“Aye, I recall that well enough. He'd have died for her, which was rather astounding considering the man had just escaped Sauchieburn with his life and should have been more enamored with staying among the living,” Gahan added.

“Daphne's dowry meant nothing to him, for he could have had both, Clarrisa for his mistress and Daphne for wife, but it never seemed to cross his mind.” Norris flattened his hand on the table. “The only reason I can think of for such a thing is Broen did nae want to bruise Clarrisa's feelings. That is the thing that has me attention.”

Gahan raised an eyebrow. “Are ye saying ye have affection for Daphne MacLeod?”

Norris frowned. “I'm admitting she's the only woman I've ever turned down another willing lass for. It was nae something I decided to do, and I thought it would pass, but it persists. I'd think meself mad if I had nae seen that look in Broen's eyes. There is something to it, and I want know what it is.”

“Well now, ye may get the answer ye seek…” Gahan stabbed a piece of meat with a small dirk. “If the lass does nae carve out yer heart for demanding she come home with ye like some sort of prized mare.” He chewed and swallowed before smirking at him.

“Aye, well, she's here.”

And that was all that seemed to matter to him. It made no sense, but it pleased him. It wasn't even a sort of satisfaction he was familiar with. This was something deeper, more intense. It frustrated him as much as he enjoyed it. His emotions were churning like the sea during a storm, completely unpredictable. There seemed nothing to do but ride it out. So that was what he'd do. And, by God, Daphne would be there to share the ride.

***

Summer was truly waning in Sutherland. Daphne woke to a chill that left no doubt about how close winter was creeping. It was tempting to stay in bed. The thick comforter was soft and warm, so only her nose was cold, but she lowered her chin, and the bedding eased even that discomfort. She sighed and giggled—a happy little sound she couldn't recall making in a long time. So she did it again.

“I'm glad ye approve.”

She gasped, tightening her grip on the comforter, then realized what a foolish response it was. Norris had seen all of her, and more than once.

He stood near the bed, looking every inch the son of the earl. His kilt was once again bearing marks from an iron, and his shirt even had a collar on it with tiny box pleats. His jerkin was leather but dyed black, proving he didn't worry about expense when it came to selecting his clothing.

But it wasn't his clothing that drew her gaze to linger on him. It was the way he stood, his body poised and full of strength. It was almost like he battled to contain it, but his control was firmly in place today. The collar of his doublet was open, as were the first few buttons of his shirt, allowing her to see a deep V of his bare chest. Oh yes, he was a savage in the clothing of a civilized man.

She
knew
what
he
looked
like
when
he'd been pushed past his limits…

“I admit I enjoy watching ye inspect me, Daphne.” His eyes narrowed, making him look like a large feline. “Almost as much as I enjoy inspecting ye.”

“Well… I am nae dressed yet.”

He flashed his teeth at her. “My favorite way to see ye—bare. Every pink part unveiled.”

Her nipples tingled. The chemise she'd worn to bed suddenly felt thin and delicate. A teasing flicker of heat awoke between her thighs, making her groan with frustration.

“Enough, Norris. Why are ye here so early to torment me? Ye did nae come to tumble me, for ye are fully dressed.” She sat up, feeling too vulnerable lying down.

“Tumbling can be done without disrobing, lass. Have ye never seen what a man wears beneath his kilt?” He tugged on the edge of his plaid suggestively.

“Christ, Norris! Ye're a braggart this morning,” she groused as she climbed out of bed. Her back was stiff, but it had improved. “I was nae aware that being yer personal guest meant I'd have to suffer yer needling when I first open me eyes.”

“Who titled ye me personal guest?”

The teasing tone had evaporated, and she looked over her shoulder to see him frowning at her.

“Asgree.” His eyebrows lowered, but she shook her head. “It is a kinder word than mistress. What else do ye expect yer people to think of me as? Yer leman… yer slut?”

“Mine,” he stated in a hard tone. “
Mine
works very well to my way of thinking.”

“I see.” She shrugged into the dressing robe, but left it open. For some reason she felt the need to challenge him or at least push him until the controlled look left his green eyes. She closed the distance between them, watching the way his gaze was trained on her.

“And yet… I do nae see at all.” She stopped in front of him. Her heart accelerated as she caught the first hints of his scent. “Ye have frustrated me with all yer demands, Norris.”

He leaned down, closing the gap between their lips. “And satisfied them too.”

She slipped her fingers beneath the edge of his kilt and teased the bare skin of his thighs. His jaw tightened, the muscles cording. “Which makes me yer slut.” She delivered her comment with a slicing tone and then pushed him away from her. “Something I do nae agree with. Ye should have left me at home.”

He moved only a single step and caught himself. “So ye could starve?”

“So I might uphold me place and shoulder me duty,” she replied. “Perhaps MacLeod Tower is nae as grand, but it is where I was born. Ye are nae the only one who was raised to perform your duty to your clan. I am a MacLeod.”

Something flashed in his eyes that looked very much like a promise. She shivered, the response instantaneous. It sent her back a pace, and then another when Norris followed her.

“Ye have starved for the welfare of yer clan, Daphne. Half yer clan is blind to the sacrifice ye made for their benefit. Maybe I'm doing me duty as yer overlord to bring ye here before ye waste away to naught.”

She hugged the robe close. “'Tis nae so terrible. I endured well enough.” She turned and moved away from him. When she realized she had given him her back, she whirled back around to face him. Such a stupid impulse, and yet when Norris was about, she seemed to make such blunders often. “Ye might have sent a few wagons of grain, if that was yer concern.”

“I already did that at sunrise.”

Her eyes widened. “Ye did?” She chewed on her lip and tried to swallow the shrewishness she'd been unleashing on him. “I suppose I owe ye an apology.”

He moved closer, stalking her across the large chamber. “No, ye do nae. I could have told ye of the grain in the great hall, but I came here to make sure I could catch ye alone. So spit at me, lass. I'm behaving like a knave. Ye seem to bring out the worst in me.”

She slowly shook her head, feeling a strange tightening in her belly. It was anticipation, but this time, she wasn't shocked by it. She was expecting it.

She
was
enjoying
it…

“Aye, ye are behaving poorly.” Her voice had turned husky, betraying her emotions. “Which is why ye should nae get what ye seek.”

He paused and straightened up as formally as any lad waiting his turn for communion. “Should I attempt to court ye with all pomp and formality? Beg for yer hand so I might kiss the back of it as a true gallant?” He extended his hand, palm facing up in invitation.

A sharp bark of laughter escaped her. “I'd have to insist on checking ye for fever if ye did.”

He captured her wrist and slid close enough to press her hand against his chest where the jerkin was open. “I'll happily stand still while ye touch every last inch of me.”

In a flash, she was breathless again. The passion in her belly twisted, sending a jolt of yearning through her. It was sharp and insistent, and refused to be ignored. Norris lifted her hand and pressed a hot kiss against the delicate skin of her inner wrist. A small sound escaped her lips. It might have been mistaken for distress, but he growled softly in response.

“Come and touch me, Daphne. As ye did the first night we tasted each other.”

“But 'tis morning… there is Mass…”

He pressed her hand back against his heart. The steady beating drove her own heart to move faster.

“Do ye think lovers taste passion's delight only under the cover of darkness?” He chuckled ominously. He grasped her hips, lifting her off her feet and depositing her on the top of the table she'd supped on.

“Ye truly are a knave.” Her tone lacked any true reprimand.

He parted the top of her dressing gown and boldly cupped her breasts, with nothing but her chemise between their skin. Her nipples drew tight, rising up into hard nubs beneath his thumbs.

“I believe it's the way ye like me best.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss against the side of her neck. “I know I like ye best when I am making ye breathless.”

She wanted to argue with him, knew she was honor bound to. But when she leaned back, he cupped her nape and brought her close again. He pressed closer, parting her knees with his body. At the same time, he pressed a kiss against her lips, sealing her protest beneath his mouth.

It stole her breath and her wits. The desire to argue vanished, burned away by the need flaring up between them. It didn't build slowly. No, her body knew he might feed her longing, and it was impatient to experience all the delights he could deliver. She slid her hands up his chest, seeking the bare skin where his doublet was open.

He moved her legs apart, spreading her wide enough to allow his hips to nestle between her thighs. But she didn't want to be taken so easily. She reached down, far enough to reach beneath the edge of his kilt, and brought her hand up to cup his cock.

“Holy Christ!” he cursed. “I'll never behave decently again.”

“Ye never have with me,” she muttered and stroked the length of his member. His teeth were bared, each breath hissing as he leaned his head back, and the muscles along the side of his jaw began to twitch.

“Maybe I should have taken ye in hand before now.”

The skin covering his cock was smooth and soft, but the organ was swollen stiff.

“I've never been so happy about being reined in.”

She pulled her hand all the way to the crown, teasing the slit at its top before pressing her hand back down to the base. He trembled, the reaction betraying how much her touch affected him.

“I doubt ye have ever been reined in, Norris.”

He lowered his chin and offered her a smile that was full of arrogant pride. “Ye know me better than most, lass, for ye are correct.”

He flipped open her dressing robe, proving he wasn't as helpless beneath her touch as he might have appeared. He leaned forward and boldly licked one nipple. She gasped and would have scooted back, but he hooked an arm around her waist to keep her in place.

“But ye do have a way of making me feel like taking control.”

He captured her nipple between his lips, sucking the puckered tip completely. She'd never realized a man's mouth might feel so hot or that it might give her so much pleasure. She arched, offering her breast to him, and he happily increased the suction. Delight spread through her, traveling from her nipple to her passage where she ached. The air brushed the open folds of her sex, making her aware of them and just how sensitive they were.