by Mary Wine
Arrogance twisted his features into a visage that wasn’t nearly as pleasing as she had thought it to be. But she stood up to him, refusing to crumple at his feet.
“Ye promised me that we would wed.” She raised her voice so that his men heard her clearly. “It is the only reason I gave ye my innocence.”
He reached out and tapped her chin with the tip of one finger. “But ye cannae bargain with what ye do nae have any longer, Deirdre Chattan. Better learn that quick and maybe a few more things to keep me satisfied, or ye’ll find yerself discarded like the slut ye are.”
Slut…
The word burned across her mind. Deirdre leaned against the wall, too overwhelmed by the horror of seeing the man she loved sneering at her so gleefully while his men enjoyed the entertainment of watching her be shamed. She searched his face, seeking out any remaining hint of the man she had defied everything to be with. She found nothing but a savage looking back at her. Melor was only interested in what pleasure her flesh might provide him. Lust twisted his features as the tip of his tongue appeared and swept across his lower lip. The scent of whisky touched her nose.
“Ye’ll get on yer knees now and suckle my cock like a mistress should know how to do…”
Her horror evaporated as her temper flared up. “Not until ye wed me as ye promised.”
Melor reached out and struck her across her face. It was no light slap, but a harsh blow that sent pain through her head and neck. Deirdre jerked her head back around to face him with the aid of her temper.
“Ye promised on yer clan colors, Melor! Ye swore to me!”
He laughed at her. “But it does nae matter, Deirdre, because ye are nothing but a woman who disobeyed her father and laird. Ye will please me or begin praying that my seed does nae take root in yer womb and announce the fact that ye are a slut to one and all.” He smirked and lifted his kilt to expose his cock.
“Come here, slut, and suckle my organ, or I swear I’ll turn me back on ye and yer bastard.” He reached down and handled his aroused flesh. “I have quite a few bastards, and I plan to plant some more of my seed good and deep inside ye before this night is finished.”
Deirdre growled, her temper turning to rage. She lunged at the man she had fallen in love with and sent her knee toward the flesh that he was so determined to humiliate her with. Melor cried like a boy when she felt the sac beneath his cock crushing against her knee.
He jumped away from her, colliding with his men and toppling the chairs they had been sitting in. Their mugs of ale went crashing into the floor, while the room filled with the sounds of their profanity.
Deirdre didn’t wait to see what Melor would say when he finally climbed back onto his feet. She raced across the chamber and tore the door open before anyone thought to try and stop her. There was a long hallway beyond the door that led to a steep set of stairs. At the bottom of those stairs was the main floor of the tavern where Melor had managed to convince her to meet him. It was half-full of men intent on drinking and playing games of chance while they enjoyed a bit of light from the proprietor’s candles.
She left that light willingly behind, seeking out the darkness and her mare. Deirdre swung up and onto the back of the horse where it waited along the side of the building. She dug her heels into its sides to send the animal forward.
Tears streamed down her face, and she wiped them away with an angry hand.
She would never, never cry for a man again. All love between man and woman was false. Men were heartless creatures who understood only lust and power. She had been nothing but a tool for Melor to shame her father with. All the sweet words that Melor had murmured against her ear burned like a brand into her mind as the depth of his deception became clear. Lies she had believed, and worse yet, allowed to plant love in her heart. That affection withered now in the face of the sting still lingering on her face from his blow.
That was the truth of what men truly gave to women, pain and suffering. She embraced the hurt, forcing her thoughts to dwell on the memory of the look on his face after he had hit her.
She would never cry again.
***
Deirdre didn’t look at who was in the tavern, but heads turned in her direction when she left it. Behind the wool of their plaids that were drawn over their heads for warmth, several men watched from where they stood outside the walls of the establishment as she kicked her mare and charged off into the night.
“Well, it’s true, even if I am nae happy to see myself proven right,” Shawe Lindsey muttered beneath his breath and cast a glance at the mugs of ale being carried by in the hands of a serving lass. His throat was suddenly parched and dry beyond endurance, but he maintained his position next to his laird. Shawe waited to see what the man would do now that they had indeed discovered his bride-to-be a very long way from where she should be.
Shawe wasn’t surprised by the silence of his laird. Connor Lindsey was a man who had been put in his place many a time while a lad, because he’d been born illegitimate to the way of thinking of many of the Lindsey clan. His childhood had been rough and full of fighting because the clan was in turmoil as it waited to see who would inherit the lairdship. The fact that his mother had wed his father, even if it was after his birth, had led to many who would have liked to see him die before becoming a man. Connor had learned to hold his tongue and keep his thoughts to himself well, something he was doing right at that moment while Shawe took another glance at the ale being served.
“Buy a round, Shawe.”
Connor Lindsey didn’t want to drink. He wanted to kill, and that was an honest fact. He produced a silver coin and sent it sailing through the air between him and Shawe with a flick of his thumb.
He also wanted to see whom Deirdre had been meeting with even more, even if he suspected that he knew the answer well enough. There was one thing he always did, and that was never condemn anyone unless he saw the evidence with his own eyes. He stepped into the tavern and heard the slight ripple of whispers heralding his arrival. Men moved their gazes toward him, while keeping their faces on the companions they shared the rough trestle tables with. Long benches were jumbled about the tables, with only a few chairs at the far side of the tavern, where the high table was cleaned and waiting for a customer with the coin to spend on more grand accommodations.
The landlord looked at him, hope glittering in his eyes, but Connor swung his leg over a bench and straddled it. He wasn’t there for wasting coin on having his ego pampered. The ale came from the same barrels, no matter if he was drinking it while on a bench or in a chair. Let the Douglas retainers he suspected were upstairs in the private suite squander their money.
Connor ground his teeth together. What was more correct to think was that Melor Douglas didn’t think twice about spending the hard-earned silver of his people on his own comfort. The man held an interesting position in the clan, because while he wasn’t in direct line to inherit any title, he still stood a good chance of gaining one, because so many of the Douglas were getting themselves killed. His fellow Douglas did everything they might to keep themselves in the man’s good graces, because he just might inherit. Of course, that was a fine place for Melor to be. The man had all the money he wanted, but none of the responsibilities a title would press on him.
Connor had watched the man sidestep messy situations for years, but tonight he was going to connect the man to the deed of sullying Deirdre Chattan. A mug of ale landed in front of him, and Connor reached for it. He wanted to crush something, and his fingers wrapped around the drinking vessel with too much strength.
“We could just go up the stairs…” Shawe remarked.
“I’m waiting to see Melor Douglas.”
Shawe raised an eyebrow, and Connor growled at him. The men around them were listening, and he watched one go up the stairs. Connor grinned, and Shawe chuckled in response.
“It does look like the fight will come to
us soon enough. My purpose was to discover the truth of these rumors about Deirdre, and I intended to make sure I do nae jump too quickly and miss learning something that may be of use later.”
Shawe lifted his own and drew off a long swallow of the amber liquid. “I’ve seen plenty already; ’tis a mess to be sure.”
Connor stared at the ale but didn’t lift the mug. He didn’t trust himself to maintain control over his temper if he had even one spoonful of the intoxicating beverage inside him. Anger was flowing through him like a swollen spring river that had plenty of snow to feed it. But he’d learned to be patient and hold his thoughts deep inside until the time was right to strike out against those who tried to grind him beneath their boot heels. The Douglas had been trying to steal what was his for too many years.
That didn’t mean he was going to allow Melor to ride back to Douglas land with a smirk on his lips.
“Maybe we should just take a ride on up to Chattan land and see what her father has to say.” Shawe’s voice was even, but his mug was empty, betraying how nervous he truly was.
“We’ll be going up to Chattan land soon enough, but I’m going to deal with Melor Douglas first. I’m here to face the man and am nae leaving until I do.”
Connor didn’t care that a few heads turned in his direction.
Rage was flowing through his body, and it burned too brightly not to lend him strength, but Connor knew how to harness his temper.
No one was going to play him for a fool, not when his marriage was intended to restore faith in the Lindsey and his claim on the lairdship. Deirdre Chattan was going to discover that when he caught up with her, but the look on her face when she’d left told him that the true villain was Melor Douglas.
He was using the girl to try to grind Connor back into the dirt once again and smear the next generation with the same sordid rumors of the Lindsey laird not being the true heir. Since the Douglas still held Connor’s sister, Vanora, that was something he could not tolerate.
Connor wasn’t going to be so easy to crush now that he was laird, and he certainly wasn’t going to allow his sons to come into the world with any rumors circulating about their legitimacy.
“Who’s the man who claims he’s looking for me?”
Melor was a bigger fool than Connor had believed. The man bellowed across the entire tavern from the middle of the stairs. There was a shuffle of benches and feet as men chose their positions on the argument about to break. Some tossed their silver toward the owner and made a hasty exit from the scene, while others moved to the side of the room where Melor was standing with his retainers. A small number remained where they were, unwilling to bow to the Douglas kilts that were clearly on display. There were McLeod, McLeren, and Monroe colors on the men still inside the tavern.
“Show yer face, unless ye’re a coward and can only speak yer mind over a pint of ale like an old man.”
Shawe drew in a stiff breath, but Connor pushed his plaid off his head and stood up. He heard Melor stepping up behind him and was amused by how heavy the man’s steps were. For a Highlander, Melor wasn’t very skilled, which left Connor respecting him even less.
“The Douglas dinna take kindly to men who say they are looking for them.”
Connor turned to face Melor and had the satisfaction of watching the man stop abruptly. Connor lifted his foot over the bench so that his legs were able to branch evenly beneath him.
“If that’s a fact, maybe ye Douglas shouldn’t be toying with lasses who do nae belong to ye.”
Melor snickered, his lips splitting into a wide smile. “Well now, young Laird Lindsey, as I see it, if ye can nae keep yer woman in her place, it is nae my responsibility to refuse to enjoy her when she comes to me.”
There were chuckles from the Douglas retainers, and a few of them grinned openly. Shawe growled beneath his breath, but Connor maintained his grip on decorum. Melor’s weakness was plain now; it was his arrogance.
“I suppose that I shouldna be surprised to hear that the Douglas have no respect for the church.”
Every man wearing the Douglas plaid sobered instantly. They snarled, and their nostrils flared while Connor took the moment to grin.
Melor pointed a thick finger at him. “No man accuses me of such a thing, especially a bastard.”
“Ye confessed it yerself, Melor Douglas, and I am nae the only man who heard ye bragging about having a woman whom banns have been read on. To seduce her was to disrespect the church, and there is no mistaking that. It’s a simple fact.”
There was a ripple of agreement from many of the men watching. Melor pressed his lips into a hard line as he heard it. Clearly the man wasn’t accustomed to hearing men express their displeasure with him, for his skin darkened. He was too accustomed to people agreeing with him because of his blood.
“It does nae matter what ye say, young bastard Lindsey. I did have Deirdre Chattan.” He snapped his fingers and grinned smugly once more. “I think ye should thank me for teaching her a thing or two about how to ride. I hear ye suffer from a lack of a good mistress and had planned to claim yer bride before winter. The fact that I showed her how to keep time when she’s tending to a man’s cock will surely come in handy when the snow flies.”
Melor thrust his hips forward with his words, drawing chuckles from his men. He was still smiling when Connor lunged across the space between them, easily reaching him. The man was a sorry excuse for a Highlander, for he had misjudged just how fast Connor might move.
Connor sent his fist into the man’s face twice before Melor even began to curse. Shawe followed with the other Lindsey retainers, and the tavern became a mass of profanity and flesh-on-flesh sounds. There were more Douglas retainers than Connor had with him, but the other men who had been watching joined in the fight. Tables broke into splinters as men were dropped onto them. Ale went splashing onto the floorboards, and the serving girls ran for the safety of the storeroom, while the tavern owner yelled at them all to take it beyond his door.
Connor was happy to do that.
He grabbed Melor by his doublet and threw the half-senseless man toward the door. Melor stumbled, the last few blows from Connor’s fists having left the man searching for his wits.
“Ye try to insult me by bragging about what ye did with a lass who ye lied ta seduce, but the only one that brings shame on is yerself and yer clan, Melor!”
Connor grabbed the man once again and hurled him out into the night. Melor hit the dirt and spit out a curse that would see him locked in the stocks if anyone reported the man to his priest.
“Well, I had her Lindsey. I’ve fucked Deirdre Chattan!” Melor laughed. “There will be no stained sheet flying the morning after yer wedding. She’ll likely birth my bastard and baptize it as yer heir!” Melor staggered to his feet, his men closing in to stand at his back. Melor grinned and wiped the blood leaking from his lip across the sleeve of his shirt before he spit.
“If we can nae inherit the Lindsey land one way, we’ll find another, now won’t we, young Lindsey?”
Connor felt his grip on himself slipping. “Better ride out while ye can, Melor Douglas. I am nae the only man here with no taste for the ambition of the Douglas. If ye have no honor with yer dealings with the Chattan or Lindsey, ye’ll do the same to others once ye have what ye want from the Lindsey.”
“Ye’ve got too much daring in ye to question my honor, Lindsey bastard pup.”
Connor shrugged. “It is nae difficult when I see ye making war on me through a woman. I’m a Highlander, man, and I fight men face-to-face. That’s Highlander honor, and what I see here is that ye do nae have it.”
“But I’ve got cunning, Lindsey, for I didna have to force yer bride’s skirts up. She embraced me of her own free will, just because I said I’d wed her. Better keep her under a watchful eye, for she is weak-minded.” Melor smirked with victory.
There was a shuffling
in the dirt as other men came forward. They were all Highlanders, and none of them cared for the fact that one clan was plotting to take over another.
Melor was still too arrogant, in spite of the way his eye was swelling shut or the fact that he and his men were grossly outnumbered. The man was too egotistical to realize that his clan colors weren’t going to help him survive the next hour.
His men, on the other hand, weren’t as impractical as their master. They whistled for the boys holding their horses somewhere hidden in the darkness. There was the pounding of hooves against the ground as the lads came running in response to the summons. Melor looked as though he wanted to argue with his men.
Connor flexed his fingers, and the knuckles popped.
“By all means, Melor… stay. I’ve never been a man for putting off something that needs doing, and tearing ye apart is something I very much want to do.”
“Ye would nae dare. I am heir to the Douglas title.”
Melor’s men didn’t share their master’s confidence in their position, for they unsheathed their swords and crowded in front of Melor to protect him, because they were honor bound to do so. Connor answered them with his own sword and heard the men behind him draw steel too.
“You are an heir, no’ in the direct line for the earldom, and every man here knows it. Ye are vermin, and this world would be well rid of yer lying stench.”
“Ye might think so, Connor Lindsey, but it was still my cock yer bride has been warming.” He spread one hand out in front of him. “And every man here knows it.”
“And ’tis my steel that I’d like ye to warm now, Melor Douglas, for ye need to be run through before ye decide to steal another bride with yer lies about wedding her. Every father in the Highlands will thank me for doing it, because we dinna need the trouble a man like ye brings with yer deceptions. Seducing a lass is fair enough, so long as ye do nae lie to gain her compliance. A man’s word should be kept; that’s Highlander honor, and ye have tarnished it with this bit of foul play.”
