The Bard

by Greyson, Maeve

  A nauseating flutter of impending doom hit her. She swallowed hard, trying her best to read his expression. The worrisome fluttering increased as neither his eyes nor his face betrayed his thoughts. Turning away and putting some distance between them, she wondered if her carefully laid plan had already soured worse than cream left overlong in the larder. “If ye wish for release, all ye need do is say it now.” She kept her gaze locked on the icy rain sliding down the windows. She would rather spend the rest of her life alone than be tethered to a man who resented her for stealing his freedom. “I prefer to deal with the embarrassment of a jilting sooner rather than later, if ye dinna mind.”

  He came up behind her and, after a heartbeat’s hesitation that nearly killed her, slid both arms around her. With a gentle but firm pull, he tugged her back against his chest and pressed his cheek to hers. “I dinna wish for release, but I do have some concerns.”

  It was hard to concentrate with him holding her so. She rested her hands atop the shelf of his arms, struggling to regain her control. “Concerns?” She flinched at the tremor in her voice. “What concerns?” she asked with stronger conviction.

  A deep intake of breath shifted him against her. He tightened his hold as he released it with a heavy sigh. “I never thought to take a wife and settle down. I’m not so sure I know how—nor what sort of husband I shall be.” Another strained sound grumbled deep in his throat. “I swear I shall do my best by ye, but I dinna ken how good my best will be.”

  “Do ye fear ye canna manage faithfulness?” Never would she tolerate prowling ways. Nor would she be played for a fool. But would she be enough for a man used to having his way with so many women? “Is yer interest lost once the conquest is over?” She had heard of men like that—Jenny’s father had been rumored to be such a rogue and had readily abandoned Jenny’s mother even before his daughter was born.

  Sutherland turned her in his arms and trapped her in the intensity of his gaze. “Faithfulness is not my concern. When I make an oath, I keep it. Especially an oath from my heart.” The hint of a smile lifted one side of his mouth. “My fear is my ability to keep yer interest until we’re old and gray. I usually dinna have to worry about keeping a lady enchanted with me any longer than a night or so.”

  He was worried about keeping her interest? This warrior who feared nothing? The idea of him harboring such an insecurity calmed the fretful churning in her middle. She took hold of both his hands and squeezed. “Since we are both new at betrothals and marriage and all such business, all we can do is manage each day as it comes to us, aye?”

  Sutherland laughed, then added a teasing wink. “I guess we could ask Lady Culane for advice. She’s been married four times.”

  “That devious cow. I’d lay odds she tripped every last one of them into the grave.” Just another reason Sorcha wanted the woman out of the keep and away from her father. But Da wouldn’t oust her nor her son. Rumor had it that the despised Lady Culane was one of the few Scotswomen favored at court. The woman had even openly bragged at having Queen Anne’s ear. “I wish we were rid of both her and that son of hers.”

  “Yer father mentioned politics. I assume that means the woman possesses dangerous alliances?”

  “Aye, the queen herself.” Sorcha warmed to the topic as they strolled around the gallery, pausing at each window to peer at the growing strength of the storm.

  She would much rather plot a way to save her father than flirt and fawn with coy glances and the nauseating mutterings she had seen other lovers play at. The fact that Sutherland didn’t insult her with such silliness strengthened her trust in the commitment he had sworn to uphold. She stole a sideways glance at him. Plots and plans for an exciting future thrilled her far more than foppish prose. “Da is peace-loving and doesna wish any undue attention from the crown.”

  “Then she must either become verra bored here or be lured away by a more lucrative venture.” Sutherland shook his head. “I fear I’m useless when it comes to planning this sort of battle.” He gave a thoughtful nod. “My sisters-in-law would be perfect. Shame they’re not here to rid the place of her.”

  Sorcha found that statement somewhat daunting rather than hopeful. It brought to light the realization that along with her hard-won prize of a husband came the eventual necessity of meeting all his kith and kin. And odds were, they’d even live with them. While she feared nothing and never backed down, she had always gotten along so much better with animals than people. Probably because Mama had never forced her to stay inside and do only the proper things young ladies were expected to do. When she wasn’t playing with Jenny and Heckie, she and Mama would ride through the glens, laughing and exploring until darkness chased them back to the keep. And, unfortunately, Mama had always taught her to speak her mind. That rarely went well at all.

  “And I’ve already lost yer interest, not even an hour into our betrothal.”

  “Ye most certainly have not.” She squeezed his arm, pondering whether to be honest or not. Might as well. Mama had also always stressed brutal truthfulness. “When ye mentioned yer sisters-in-law, it reminded me that I’ll be meeting all yer people.” She watched him closer, weighing his reaction. “I’ve never been one to always follow social proprieties. Ye’ve probably already figured that out.” She gave a dismissive shrug. “I dinna always get along well with everyone I meet because I dinna possess the power nor the inclination to hold my tongue when sometimes I should.”

  He brought them to a halt. “Trust me, love. Ye will be a verra welcomed addition to Clan MacCoinnich and fit in with my kin perfectly.”

  A scraping bump and movement in a shadowy corner interrupted them.

  “Who goes there? Come out at once.” Sutherland stepped in front of Sorcha.

  While she appreciated such a gallant move, she had a fair idea of the identity of their eavesdropper. “Heckie? Come out now, ye ken?” She stepped around Sutherland. She had forgotten that the gallery was Heckie’s favorite retreat whenever he was upset. He had sought refuge there ever since he was a wee laddie. “Come meet Sutherland proper, aye?”

  The man from the stables stepped into the light, twisting his tam between his hands. “I wasna spying on ye, I swear I wasna. I came up here to watch the storm.” He hazarded a shy smile at Sorcha. “Like we used to do when we were bairns, remember how we’d stay up here and watch the storms together?”

  Sorcha’s heart went out to her friend. Heckie was the brother she had never had, but the poor soul wasn’t quite right. She waved him forward. “Come. Make peace with Sutherland, aye? He is to be my husband, and hopefully, yer friend.”

  Tucking his tam into his belt, Heckie wiped both hands on his jacket, then extended his right as he stepped forward. “I be Heckie MacIlroy. Beggin’ yer pardon about the sword in yer back, but I didna ken if ye were being improper with my Sorcie…I mean, the Lady Sorcha.”

  “Sutherland MacCoinnich, and I am proud to meet my lady love’s champion.” Sutherland took Heckie’s hand.

  She cringed as Heckie winced from the strength of Sutherland’s grip. Poor Heckie. He had always been a mite on the softer side, much to his father, War Chief MacIlroy’s, dismay. But she loved the dear lad just the same. Heckie was as loyal and trustworthy as they came.

  “Let me be the first to congratulate ye on yer betrothal,” Heckie said as he withdrew his hand and tucked it inside his jacket pocket. He gave Sorcha a pained look. “Ye willna leave us though, will ye? Ye will settle here? Yer da would be sorely lost without ye. The whole clan would.”

  “We’ve not had the chance to decide anything just yet.” She sent an apologetic glance to Sutherland. While she hoped to remain at Castle Greyloch, a husband did have some say in the matter of where they lived their lives. Even she accepted that.

  “We’ll have to sort it out with my brother and the Greyloch,” Sutherland said, his politeness beginning to sound a bit strained. “My brother relies on many when it comes to the running of the clan. I have responsibilities at Tor Ruadh.”
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  Heckie bobbed his disheveled head and swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple skittered up and down his long skinny neck. “Aye. I understand.”

  Sorcha decided it was high time to end this uncomfortable conversation. Animals learned to get along with each other by time spent together in small doses. It appeared Heckie and Sutherland would benefit from the same process. “Dinna forget ye promised to sit with Jenny at supper tonight.”

  With a jerky hitch of his shoulders, Heckie made a face. “Aye, I remember,” he said, sounding like a child reminded to do his chores. He leaned forward and gave a stern nod. “Ye know she’s dead set on going to the guardhouse again tonight. Said she needs at least another pound to buy that bolt of cloth she’s wanting for a dress to put in her hope chest. I tried to talk sense into her about behaving like a lady, and all she did was laugh at me. I canna abide a woman who behaves in such a way.”

  “Then ye should speak to her again at supper. Wear down her stubbornness,” Sorcha said, ignoring Sutherland’s amused snort at her sage advice. “Ye know how Jenny can be.”

  “Sorcha!” Her father’s call nearly shook the roof from the rafters.

  With an apologetic look, she patted Sutherland’s arm as she pulled away. “Excuse me, aye?”

  He gave a gallant bow even though he appeared about to explode with amusement. “Aye, m’lady.”

  She peered over the bannister and waited. Da would need no prodding to proceed.

  “Bring yerself and my future son-in-law down here for a drink with yer happy father. Hie yerselves down here now!”

  “Aye, Da.” She shook a finger at Heckie as she returned to Sutherland’s side. “Run and get cleaned up for Jenny. If ye hope to make her listen to ye, a firm manly appearance might help with it, ye ken?”

  After a nervous smile and a nod, Heckie rushed off without a backward glance nor a polite farewell to Sutherland.

  “Forgive him,” Sorcha said as she took his arm. “The poor lad hasna had an easy way of it. His mother died bringing him into this world, and his father has always despised him for being…the way he is.” It broke her heart to think of Heckie as simple, but there was no denying it. More often than not, the man behaved like a child.

  Sutherland eased her worries with an understanding smile. “It’s apparent he’s a dear friend to ye. As long as he keeps his sword out of my back, I shall strive to treat him kindly.”

  “That’s all I can ask.” She held his arm as they descended the steps, squeezing it tighter when she caught sight of Garthin Napier waiting beside her father. “I canna stand that man,” she whispered.

  Sutherland slid his arm around her waist. “Never fear, m’love. Together, we shall plot a way to rid the keep of both him and his mother, aye?” He hugged her closer and put his mouth so near her ear, his warm breath tickled. “It will give us an excuse for all sorts of appropriate togetherness whilst we wait for the storm to pass.”

  There was nothing appropriate at all about how her betrothed made her feel. A delicious shiver raced through her while molten heat flared hotter at her core. Mama had told her about the ways between a husband and wife and how those ways could be quite pleasing, even add more strength to a couple’s love. She was more than ready for Sutherland to teach her all he knew.

  “I love it when yer cheeks flare red from yer heat within,” he whispered again, then pressed a kiss to her temple.

  Heat indeed. It was a wonder she hadn’t burst into flames by now. Sorcha pressed her fingers to her cheek, vainly attempting to cool what had to be entirely too much coloring.

  “It does my old heart good to see ye blush with happiness, daughter.” Greyloch chuckled as he stepped forward and kissed her cheek. He shot a stern look at Sutherland. “She best always be so happy, ye ken?”

  “I shall do my verra best, sir,” Sutherland reassured with a respectful dip of his chin.

  “I canna believe ye accept a man ye’ve just met rather than one ye’ve spent the last month with,” Garthin said with a dark look aimed at Sutherland.

  Sutherland’s massive form seemed to grow even larger at the insult. Her hand on his arm, Sorcha felt his rage ripple through his muscles like the vibration of a tightening rope. Before he stepped forward and throttled the fool, she gently squeezed his arm while giving Garthin a cool look. “As usual, ye know not of what ye speak. I assure ye, my betrothed and I are well acquainted.” She bit back any harsher scolding. Now was not the time. “Sutherland, this is Garthin Napier, of whom I spoke, son to Lady Culane.” She leveled a damning glare on Garthin. “Garthin, this is Sutherland MacCoinnich, brother to Chieftain MacCoinnich.”

  Garthin’s look of disdain deepened, knotting his dark brows.

  Sutherland neither spoke nor extended a hand. Instead, he resettled his stance and popped his knuckles. Sorcha could tell he held his temper for her sake alone.

  The charged silence grew, taking on an ominous life of its own. “Apologize for being an arse, Garthin,” she finally snapped. “I will not tolerate such insulting behavior, ye ken? This is ridiculous.” A political guest or not, she had endured all of Garthin’s irksome behavior she could stand.

  Garthin immediately looked taken aback. “My statement wasna meant as an insult.” He settled his surly, befuddled look on Sutherland. “I merely speak my mind, and some canna stomach it.” He thrust out his hand. “Allow me to be one of the first to congratulate ye on yer betrothal, Master MacCoinnich. Ye’ve chosen quite the lady to be yer wife.”

  Sutherland’s gaze dipped to the man’s hand, then slowly returned to Garthin’s face.

  Sorcha held her breath, wondering how much trouble it would cause Clan Greyloch if Sutherland snapped Garthin’s neck. Politically, it could bode ill. She hadn’t heard of Sutherland possessing a dangerous temper nor seen proof, but she still didn’t know what to expect. Men could be so unpredictable, fighting for dominance and guarding their territories like raging bulls.

  After enough time had passed that no one doubted how Sutherland felt about Garthin, he took the man’s hand.

  Garthin bared his teeth as his fingers went red, then turned white. Sutherland held on and squeezed. Sorcha swore she heard bones crackling. She shot a look at her father and mouthed, “Stop them.”

  “Enough,” Greyloch proclaimed as he stepped between them and broke the bond. “’Tis time for a drink, aye? We shall save the official toasting for later, after the feast.”

  “What is this I hear about a betrothal?” Magnus stepped out from the shadows beneath the gallery and clapped a hand to Sutherland’s shoulder.

  Thank goodness. Magnus could help with distracting Sutherland from killing the fool Garthin. Sorcha gave the man a look of gratitude. “Are ye surprised?”

  Magnus shook his head. “Nay, m’lady. I have seen how he is with ye, and I swear, he has never been that way with any other woman before.”

  Jenny joined them, bouncing up to Sorcha’s side as they gathered beside the head table. She pecked a quick kiss to Sorcha’s cheek. “I’m happy for ye, Sorcie. Happier than happy can be.” She clapped her hands. “Maybe I’ll be next.” Giggling bubbled free of her. “I canna wait.”

  Sorcha bit her lip as Magnus melted back and shifted to stand behind Sutherland. Poor Magnus. He obviously feared he was in Jenny’s sights.

  “To yer chambers, daughter. Don yer finest gown for yer first dinner with yer betrothed.” Greyloch fixed Jenny with a stern look. “Help Sorcha dress, then ye do the same, and if I catch ye in the guardhouse again, ye willna be seeing Edinburgh this year, ye ken? I’ve gotten wind of yer plotting, young lady, and I willna have it.”

  Jenny failed at a downcast look but managed an obedient curtsy. “Aye, my chieftain.”

  Sutherland caught hold of Sorcha’s hand and kissed it, trapping her in the depths of his steely blue eyes and succeeding in making her forget everyone else in the room. “I fail to see how ye can make yerself any lovelier than ye are right now.”

  While usually immune to such flatte
ry, this time, she found herself a bit breathless. There was something about the way he said the words. The look in his eyes. The subtle squeezing of his fingers. His silent message thrilled her a great deal more than what he said. Merciful heavens, what temptations and delights might this man unleash?

  “I shall strive to rise above yer expectations,” she replied with a coy curtsy, then squeezed his fingers before pulling her hand away. She might know very little about teasing a man beyond reason, but she would bet her favorite slippers she could learn. Without a look back, she hurried away.

  Jenny followed close on her heels as they wound their way up the tower steps to Sorcha’s suite of rooms on the second floor. “Ye must wear the deep red dress. I know exactly which trunk it’s in. I’ll fetch it straight away.”

  Sorcha froze in place, one foot on the next stone step. She tightened her grip on the wood handrail Da had ordered installed in every stairwell after Mama’s terrible fall. “I canna wear the red,” she whispered. Memories of laughing with Mama during the fitting of that gown weighed heavy on her heart. It was after the final hemming of the dress that Mama had fallen down the steps and died. Sorcha was wearing it when she had knelt at Mama’s side and held her hand as her body had grown cold. She cleared her throat. “The green will do well enough, and it’s just been brushed.”

  “As ye wish, Sorcie.” Jenny drew closer and patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know well enough ye still miss her. I miss her, too.” She nudged Sorcha onward. “On wi’ ye now. Ye know as well as I that Mama wouldna wish ye moping about like a lost calf. Chin up, lass. Mama lives forever in our hearts, ye ken? Remember how she always told us so?”

  Sorcha smiled. Jenny was right. Mama lived on in their hearts. With a loving glance heavenward, she rushed up the remainder of the winding staircase and hurried into her chambers. Pausing halfway through her sitting room, she glanced around at all the reminders of how close she and Mama had been. Favorite books. A shared sewing basket. Mama’s own bow and quiver, ordered specially made and the leather carved and painted with red roses per Da’s order. Mama had been the finest archer and taught Sorcha the skill as well. The deepest, richest red had always been Mama’s favorite color. It was a sign. Mama’s spirit wished her to wear the red dress for Sutherland. She turned to Jenny. “Go ahead with ye. Fetch the red and shake it out. See if it’s fit to be worn before a good airing and brushing off.” The garment had been packed away in a trunk for over two years.