Highland Hellion

by Mary Wine

  “Ye are the one who tumbled her. Why do ye think I sent ye away?”

  “I did no’ tumble her.”

  His father choked on his amusement. “Everyone saw the hay sticking to her.”

  “I stopped her from escaping,” Rolfe explained.

  His father smiled brightly at him. “Mind ye, I’m rather relieved to see that shell of honor ye’ve always worn cracking. There are times a laird must employ a bit of deception to gain what he seeks. It’s canny.”

  “I am not deceiving ye.”

  William shook his head. “I’m missing part of me leg, no’ one of me eyes, boy. I saw the way that lass was looking at ye, her eyes wide and her lips swollen. Ye kissed her. Deny it, and I’ll call ye a liar.”

  Rolfe snapped his jaw shut. His father roared with amusement.

  “It’s no’ that I blame ye—she’s a fine sight—but I’ll no’ have ye taking up with any English chit.”

  “Good night, Father.”

  His sire slapped the arm of the chair he was sitting in. “Did ye hear me, Rolfe?”

  Rolfe had started to turn away, but he stopped and made eye contact with his father. He gave him a hard nod before he left the study behind.

  He had kissed her.

  And he had scarcely stopped thinking about it since.

  Perhaps the rest of the clan saw him as honorable, but the truth was that he’d been less than respectable in his dealings with Katherine.

  He stopped in the passageway, quelling the urge to hit the wall out of frustration.

  His position gave him a view of the great hall. Adwin was playing dice with Cedric and others. As it was late in the evening, supper had been cleared away and many had sought their beds. Rolfe looked toward the stairs that led to the top of the tower. He didn’t doubt that Adwin had made certain Katherine was secure in a chamber.

  But he wanted to make sure.

  The urge was strong, so much so that it made him hesitate.

  But that was the extent of the hold his better judgment had on him. He was halfway up the tower stairs before he finished thinking the matter through. Was it truly a case of wanting to make certain she’d been treated fairly, or was he standing outside her chamber door because he just couldn’t stop thinking about how much he’d enjoyed the taste of her?

  * * *

  Someone knocked.

  Katherine turned in time to see the chamber door opening. The stairwell was dark, but the candle she had burning in the chamber cast a yellow light over Rolfe. He found her quickly, his jaw tightening.

  “Ye do nae have to be against the wall when this door opens,” he informed her.

  “I was looking out the window.” She wasn’t sure why she wanted to soothe the anger in him. In some way, his ire should have pleased her, provided balm for her wounded pride. But it didn’t.

  He crossed into the room as the door shut behind him. She watched his body go tense as the sound of it meeting the doorjamb hit their ears.

  Katherine ended up smiling. “I don’t believe my reputation could be in worse condition.”

  “So I should just dispense with correct behavior?” he demanded.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” she answered. He drew himself up stiffly in response. “I meant that as much for myself as you.”

  She’d surprised him once more. He crossed his arms over his chest and contemplated her. Something rippled over her skin, an awareness of him, or maybe it was more correct to say that she was conscious of how aware he was of her. She couldn’t recall feeling so exposed to anyone before.

  “Why were ye allowed to be a lad?”

  It was a personal question, and yet she didn’t shy away from answering. Maybe that was because she had been alone for so long, or perhaps it had more to do with her feeling that he saw deeply into her soul. All she knew for certain was that it was very nice to be asked a question like she was more than a prisoner.

  “I’m English.”

  Rolfe rolled his eyes at her. “I had no’ noticed.”

  Katherine discovered herself sharing a smile with him. “Marcus knew there would be times I might be faced with difficulties over my blood.”

  “So he took ye into his training yard?” Rolfe’s tone was disbelieving.

  She smiled brighter, feeling her pride returning. “Not exactly.”

  Rolfe snorted at her, admiring her daring. “Ye snuck in.”

  She nodded, not bothering to hide how proud she was.

  Rolfe’s grin faded. “But Marcus is no fool. For all that I do nae profess to call the man a friend, I know him. He does not miss details. No’ for as many years as ye must have been training to be as good at mounting as ye are.”

  “In truth, I failed to think about it myself, but it seems he did know. Only recently did it become a matter he was unwilling to ignore any longer.” Lament crept into her tone.

  “Ye should no’…dislike yer own gender, Katherine. Ye’re a fine-looking woman.”

  He’d moved closer. Somehow, she hadn’t noticed, or perhaps she was simply becoming at ease in his presence. She felt more aware with him there, and it was a relief after so many endless hours alone in the darkness. She craved the sensation, even though it felt as if everything was heightened. Her sight, hearing, even the way her skin registered the air moving in the room. All of it was intense, and Rolfe was the most overwhelming of all. The span of his shoulders, the way he pushed his sleeves up to expose his forearms.

  His gaze was enchanting.

  “Green eyes,” she muttered. “I don’t believe I have ever seen them before.”

  He took another step toward her, angling his head down now that he was so close to her.

  “I’ve never seen a woman pull herself up into the saddle.”

  She started to smile, but froze when he leaned down toward her.

  He was going to kiss her.

  The thought felt frozen in her mind, becoming the only thing she could manage to think about. There didn’t seem to be anything but him and the way her insides felt as if they were twisting with anticipation. Even the surface of her lips was eager, and Rolfe didn’t disappoint her.

  He pressed his lips to hers with a softness that delighted her. Unlike the last time, she wasn’t crushed by his strength. No, it was intoxicating. Her wits dulled until there was nothing but the motion of his lips against hers. Naught except for the impulse to lift herself up onto her toes so she might kiss him in return. He guided her with a gentle hand on her nape, his fingers sending a ripple of excitement down her spine that spread out over her skin, raising gooseflesh and drawing her nipples into tight little points.

  She gasped, and he sealed her mouth beneath his once more as he moved with her. She was twisting, unable to remain still, so she grasped the front of his doublet, holding on to the only steady thing in her world.

  Him.

  He made a low sound that rumbled through his chest. It was a mixture of promise and enjoyment that made her heart accelerate and her thoughts fall completely away. She found a new place inside her mind, one where impulses bred and combined and were ruled by nothing.

  In this state of mind, she pulled him to her and opened her mouth so the kiss might grow deeper, harder, more intoxicating. Rolfe bound her to him, delighting her with his strength. She craved it, craved him, and she simply wasn’t close enough. There were too many layers of clothing between them when what she wanted was to be pressed against his bare skin.

  It was a shocking urge that knocked her back to her senses for a moment as she pulled away, breaking their kiss so she might drag in a ragged breath and think.

  Rolfe simply kissed his way down her face and onto the side of her neck.

  Delicious…

  She had never understood why women were called creatures of enchantment. Now, she felt that way herself, only she was t
he one falling under the spell. It wove its way through her mind as Rolfe’s lips sent ripple after ripple of pleasure down her body. She heard herself crying out. Little sounds of breathless wonderment that she scarcely believed came from her.

  She had never been so wanton.

  Never realized her body could feel so much delight.

  And then she was alone, stumbling back a step to lean on the wall. She was grateful for the support because her knees trembled and threatened to fold.

  Rolfe was stepping farther away from her, his jaw so tight that the muscles running down his neck were corded.

  His agitation slapped her straight across the face, shaming her with just how willing she had been, while he appeared furious to have fallen for her charms. He was gone in another moment, leaving her to battle the guilt that tried to tear her flesh from her bones.

  But that wasn’t what sent tears into her eyes. Hot, stinging drops that spilled over and onto her cheeks. What broke her was the way he’d retreated from her.

  From the Englishwoman that she was.

  * * *

  How could she crave him?

  Katherine woke to that question in her mind.

  Marcus, Robert, Rolfe… They were correct. She was a woman grown now, and she was far from innocent of what went on between men and women.

  In some respects, it was better to know, because that helped her find her balance as she tried to sort her feelings into something that could be managed.

  Her newest chamber was high in the top of the tower. It had a curved ceiling with exposed arches. What she enjoyed most were the windows. She walked toward one of them, carefully opening the glass that was set into shutters to seal out the weather. The morning chill came in, but she welcomed it after so many days sealed in the cellar, where the air never stirred and all she did was sit in her own stench until she didn’t notice it any longer.

  The chamber was a single one, without a partition between receiving and bed space. She cared not at all about the lack of modern appeal, because the room afforded her windows that overlooked every direction. In the distance, she heard a church bell tolling and the McTavishes beginning to rise and greet the day.

  She had been a child. Or, at least, childish.

  The thought of what Marcus was thinking now was a burr in her underbelly. One she admitted she deserved full well for riding out without a care for what might become of her. Rolfe had done her a service in forcing her to see that.

  Her cheeks burned scarlet as she thought of Rolfe. So many emotions rolled through her, like bubbles beginning in a pot of water as it neared the boiling point. First, there was one or two, then eight, and then the entire contents were boiling.

  She enjoyed his kiss.

  Craved his touch.

  Wanted more.

  And yet she’d be damned if she would throw herself at a man who detested her for her blood.

  At least being loathed because of her parentage was something she understood well. Oh yes, she recalled that so very well from her childhood. Had tasted a different version of it when she’d encountered the Earl of Morton, and finally, it seemed she must face it again in the form of a man she longed for.

  Cursed Fate.

  She had been its plaything for too long. Frustration nipped at her as she combed out her hair and straightened her bed.

  Well, she’d have to cultivate resolve. Wasn’t that the true difference between adult and child?

  * * *

  Boyd listened to his laird chuckle with glee. He’d served William McTavish for a long time and knew the different sorts of laughter that came from him. Today, it was a sound rich in victory, confirmed by the satisfaction brightening his eyes.

  “Ye see?” William declared. “The English do have uses!”

  Boyd took to stroking his beard. His laird didn’t care for the lack of camaraderie.

  “Well, speak yer mind,” William said at last. “I’m growing old waiting.”

  Boyd gripped his wide belt before choosing his words. “I do nae think yer son will be happy about taking the lass down to the Earl of Morton. Rolfe was clear when he brought her here that it was to teach her a lesson.”

  “I am no’ the chit’s father,” William announced with a wave of his hand.

  “Well, now, the earl would likely no’ be interested in her if ye were.”

  William scoffed at Boyd. “What matters is that we have her, and the Earl of Morton values her.”

  “Perhaps ye should be more concerned about what yer son will say when he learns that ye plan to give the little lass back to a man who tried to have her wed when she was too young.”

  “She is a woman grown now,” William argued. “It’s time for her to wed.”

  “Wedding too young is no’ the only sort of ill that a bad match can bring to a woman,” Boyd responded. “Yer son will be quick to tell ye so. He feels responsible for the lass, make no mistake.”

  William took to drinking. It was a long moment before he lowered his mug and contemplated Boyd. “Ye’re right, and yet I am proud of Rolfe. He’s now a man to be reckoned with, so I’ll not shirk from telling him. I’m doing the best I can for me clan. He’ll have to reconcile himself to it in the end.”

  “Ye’re certain of that?”

  William lifted his mug but paused with it in the air between them. “Aye. For I’ll tell him in front of the men, at the same time that I inform the English wench of her fate. Rolfe will nae cross me in front of the clan. His honor would no’ allow him to.”

  It was a bold strategy, but he was a Highlander. William drank long and deep before he set his empty mug aside and stood. He was going to dress well for the moment, taking care to ensure that he looked every inch the laird of the McTavishes.

  * * *

  It was one of Laird McTavish’s captains who knocked on her door next. Katherine turned toward the sound, anticipating supper. All she received was a curt nod and a jerk of the man’s head.

  “The laird wishes to see ye.”

  Her belly knotted, and at the same time, she was hopeful that perhaps Marcus had arrived to fetch her back. She wasn’t sure how she would repay the MacPhersons, but she would worry about that after she was home.

  The great hall was full of McTavish retainers. They filled the long tables as supper was served to them. She heard them before she reached the hall and realized how much she missed being part of conversations. Her debt to the MacPhersons was mounting as she appreciated how welcoming they had been.

  And now, there would be the matter of a ransom.

  Guilt heated her cheeks as she turned and stood in the large double doorway that opened into the hall. Men grew silent as they spotted her.

  “Aye, bring her up.”

  It was the laird who spoke, and his people quieted as they waited to hear what he wanted with her. Rolfe looked up from his seat beside his father.

  “Katherine Carew,” the laird began with a satisfied tone. “Natural-born daughter and recognized bastard of the Earl of Bedford.”

  “I have not seen him in over ten years.”

  Eyes narrowed at her, as it was clear many believed she should remain silent.

  “Blood is blood,” William McTavish declared. “And yers is blue. The earl recognized ye at yer baptism.”

  “A fact that has brought me nothing but grief.”

  William frowned and pointed a thick finger at her. “It gains ye men who are interested in taking ye to wife because of the alliances with yer father’s house.” He slapped the table in front of him. “Do nae be ungrateful. A place is a place.”

  “I was stolen from mine,” Katherine replied.

  “Hold yer tongue,” William warned her. The captain beside her gave her a shove to emphasize his laird’s command.

  “I will not,” Katherine declared firmly. “For I will not have it s
aid that I deceived you about what I am worth.”

  “Which ye still say is naught?” William asked.

  “I have been in Scotland for too many years for any of my blood kin to believe I am unsoiled.”

  “Well, as to that matter…” William waved his hand. “It is no’ me concern, for the Earl of Morton has interest in ye. He can see to the matter of having ye inspected by a midwife.”

  Katherine paled. She stood strong, but she felt the blood draining from her face.

  “Do nae look so stricken,” William continued without a shred of mercy for her. “Ye are nae too tender for marriage now, and ye have thrived in Scotland, so a marriage with a Scot will likely suit ye well enough.” He paused to take a drink, the sound of the mug hitting the tabletop like a pistol exploding. “No’ that I care. What matters is that Rolfe has brought his clan a fine prize that will see me ennobled and the McTavish raised up above others.”

  Katherine was numb as she locked gazes with Rolfe. “You promised to ransom me to the MacPhersons.”

  “There was no promise made by my son.” William hit the table with his fist and struggled to stand. Once he was on his feet, he pointed at her. “Call him a liar again, and I’ll have ye beaten for it. No English chit will be making up tales about the McTavishes.”

  He leaned on his hands once he was done, daring her to voice a complaint. She battled the urge, but it wasn’t his threat that kept her silent. It was the hostility of those watching her. All of that hate, and for what reason?

  Her English blood.

  It destroyed the foundation of her life, that wonderful existence she had been living with the MacPhersons.

  No, what had smashed her life was Rolfe McTavish with his desire to claim her as a prize.

  The McTavish started to chuckle at her silent form, enjoying her moment of submission.

  The captain behind her grabbed her by the arm and swung her around. She went willingly enough, telling herself there was nothing for her in the hall.

  And she repeated that again and again as she climbed to her tower chamber.

  Rolfe McTavish was nothing, and she would take that to heart.

  Because her private thoughts were the only thing she had left.