Highland Hellcat

by Mary Wine

  A beautiful prison, but set with iron bars, no matter the shape of them.

  Two sets of doorways led out of the chamber; one faced a room that held a long table with a full dozen chairs. Brina stepped into the room, her curiosity drawn toward the table and chairs because they were carved with leaves and acorns to make for a lavish presentation. Against the wall stood a cupboard with silver plates all carefully displayed, and beneath those were goblets made from silver as well.

  The amount of wealth made her tense once more. Quinton wasn’t a man who had bragged to her without cause to support his words, he was a dangerous man, and the costly items gleaming in the afternoon sunlight gave credence to his position among the court. He could keep her his prisoner, and no one would question him, for fear that he would retaliate or refuse to do business with them.

  She walked past the cupboard and into the next room, which was a kitchen. Her nose felt the difference in temperature immediately, and her toes enjoyed the fact that the stone floor was warm.

  “Who are ye?”

  A woman in an apron marked with several stains propped her hands on her ample hips and stared at Brina.

  “The laird brought her and said she’s no’ to leave.”

  The two maids had entered behind her, and one of them answered the cook.

  “Well now, that’s an unkind fate, to be sure.” The cook surveyed her from head to toe and frowned. “Ye look like the man tied ye to the back of a horse for the better part of several days.”

  Brina couldn’t help but raise a hand to touch her head. Her fingertips discovered a fuzzy mess that had once been her neatly braided hair. Her veil had slipped down around her neck, and her cheeks felt chapped from the wind.

  “The laird wants her bathed.”

  The cook snorted, obviously confident of her position. “I should think the lass would be wanting a bath herself. Sit down on that stool and take off yer shoes. They are likely caked with mud.”

  Brina shrugged. “I have no shoes.”

  The cook made another sound beneath her breath that was anything but submissive to the will of her laird.

  “Well… fetch the tub and get some water heating. Her feet must be frozen.”

  The maids all scattered while the cook grabbed a wooden bowl and used a ladle to fill it with a steaming stew.

  “Here. Eat while those girls see to getting ye a bath. If the laird took ye without yer shoes, I can imagine that he didna bother to feed ye either. Men are thickheaded at times; they cannae think past their duty.”

  Brina took the bowl of stew, and her belly rumbled in response to its aroma. The cook muttered before returning to whatever she was working at on the top of the kitchen table.

  “What clan do ye come from?”

  Brina had to swallow the food in her mouth in order to answer. “Chattan.”

  The cook raised one of her eyebrows. “And whose daughter are ye? That my laird would take such interest in ye?”

  “I’m Laird Chattan’s third daughter.”

  The kitchen went silent; every head turned toward her. The cook propped her hands back on her hips.

  “My laird stole a bride of Christ?”

  “Actually it was Laird Lindsey who stole me on the way to the abbey, and yer laird stole me from him. I do nae understand it myself.”

  The maids’ eyes were wide now, and even the cook looked as though she was having a difficult time setting it all straight inside her head.

  “Ah well, Lindsey is a good man. He’s been here plenty of times, and the Lord knows that his family treated him unkindly for too many years to count. I suppose the man had his reasons for taking ye.”

  Brina returned to eating, even as disappointment went through her. The maids would follow the cook and believe that their laird was innocent of wrongdoing. That meant that any of his friends were likewise innocent too.

  It drew her back to the conversation she’d had with Connor. He’d been honest with her, and he knew how to survive in the politics of Scotland. She was just a pawn, but somehow she had never felt so much like a material possession until she had been taken away from him. The difference was in her heart. She felt something there, something that warmed her even as she tried to ignore the doubt beginning to attempt to smother that flame. It was a fact that Connor might have to allow Quinton to keep her.

  It was possible Connor wouldn’t want her back now that there would be questions about her virtue. His words about Deirdre rose from her memory to torment her.

  There would be rumors about her now…

  She shivered. That thought was too horrifying to maintain her calm composure over.

  It was far too possible to ignore.

  ***

  “I do nae care about Connor Lindsey’s bride.”

  Archibald Douglas, the fifth earl to hold that title, sniffed with disdain at Quinton Cameron. He leaned forward and pointed one of his thick fingers at him.

  “If ye brought her here, she’s yer problem. So fuck her if that’s what’s behind yer actions.” He waved his hand. “I do nae care.”

  “Ye’ve been sitting in that chair long enough to start running to fat.”

  The earl roared and surged up out of the throne he’d been sitting in. It took him a moment to step off the raised platform before he got close enough to take a swing at Quinton’s chin. They began to circle one another, their knees bent and their arms out wide. Archibald snarled.

  “I should have ye tossed into the mud outside my gates for that!”

  “Except that ye would be proving me right because ye need yer guards to deal with whatever unsettles yer stomach.”

  The earl snorted but straightened up, a dark frown marring his features. “Curse and rot ye, Cameron! Ye have a point. I’m stuck inside these walls too much, but I still say yer a fool to bring that lass here. Connor will no doubt be pissed.”

  “He’ll most likely want my balls served up on a platter.”

  The lieutenant general chuckled, and it wasn’t a nice sound. “Careful, laddie. I like the sound of that.” He returned to his throne, sprawling out in it like a king. “Why did ye take her if ye knew he’d be angry? I thought ye valued the man’s friendship.”

  “I value a united Highlands more, and so should you.”

  Archibald grunted. “Ye have a very annoying habit of telling me what I should do too often, man.”

  Quinton shrugged, unrepentant. “I’m right. Someone has to have the spine to tell ye that ye cannae afford to have the clans fighting among themselves over women while Scotland has a lad on the throne and England’s king is making peace with France. What will the man do with his armies do ye think? What with his cousin being our sweet queen, someone I wager the English would like raising our king more than ye.”

  “England would like the clans fighting one another, I agree. Joan Beauford will nae be teaching her son to love the English while I’m alive.” The earl growled low and deep, his hatred for the English clear. “What has the Chattan girl to do with it?”

  “Yer cousin Melor blackened her sister’s name to strike at Connor.”

  Archibald smirked. “So what? If he didna rape her, I do nae care. Chattan should have kept a shorter leash on his daughter.”

  Quinton stood silent, and the earl frowned.

  “Fine, tell me why it matters that Melor had a woman?”

  “What’s important is that Connor took the third daughter so that he can pressure you to make Melor and his uncle release Vanora Lindsey once Connor’s able to claim the Chattans as relatives by marriage.”

  “That girl is going to marry a Douglas even if it’s one on the other side of my family. Connor managed to claim the lairdship against the odds but I won’t let him build an empire through alliances.” Archibald shrugged. “Maybe I’ll let the man challenge ye, and ye can do me the service of killing him.
” The earl snickered. “Rather fitting, considering ye have stolen his woman.”

  “Which will leave ye with a clan that does nae want to be absorbed by the Douglas. Even if that man is wed to Connor’s sister.”

  “So I’ll hang the rebellious ones, and the rest will settle down.”

  Quinton chuckled, drawing a glare from the earl.

  “They’re Highlanders.”

  “I do nae care. They will become Douglas or die Lindsey.”

  Quinton snarled, “Well, ye should, but I wonder if I’m no’ wasting my time to try and save ye from yerself.”

  He turned around to leave, disgusted with the man who couldn’t see past his own clan colors.

  “Hold.”

  Archibald Douglas really had been acting like a king, because his tone was one that only a monarch would use. Quinton turned back to face the man, and this time Archibald’s expression was serious instead of taunting.

  “The Lindsey will nae be so easy to absorb. I know that, man, but that doesna mean I’ll be telling my Uncle to be giving up the Lindsey’s sister.”

  “Of course nae. Ye crave an alliance with him, which is exactly why Connor stole a girl promised to the church instead of taking the one who Melor besmirched. He’s making alliances too, and don’t forget that Robert Chattan has his second daughter promised to the McLeod.”

  The earl grunted. “I see yer thinking; three clans standing against the Douglas will nae be a good thing for Scotland. Robert Chattan is too cunning by far. Why did the man have to have three daughters? One of them needs to go to the church for certain.”

  Archibald reached up to stroke his beard. “I’ll think on it, for ye have made a fine argument. Keep the Chattan girl here. I may have to give Connor his sister back to keep the peace, but I’ll demand that the Chattan lass be taken to her abbey so that the Lindseys do nae come away with everything they want.”

  ***

  Night fell and dawn broke again with no sign of Quinton Cameron. Brina knew every inch of the chambers by noon the next day, and the cook scolded her for putting so much wear on her shoes.

  In all her days, she had never been one to squander the daylight hours with idleness, but she refused to clean anything that belonged to Quinton Cameron. Likewise, she would not cook for him.

  The cook finally huffed her way toward a chest hidden in a back room and fit one of the keys hanging from her belt into the lock that secured it. She lifted the lid and began sorting through the items inside.

  “Here. Put yer hands to work if ye know anything about using a needle. Yer wandering is going to give me nightmares of ghosts.”

  The cook laid a piece of folded fabric on the table and set a box next to it. Once Brina lifted the lid, she could see it contained everything for sewing. Needles were carefully stuck through a small square of wool with a full two dozen pins. A long pair of shears shone in the afternoon light, their edges sharp, without any burrs to ruin a delicate fabric.

  “I could nae take fabric that does no’ belong to me.”

  The cook shook her head. “Then ye’ll keep wearing clothing that was paid for by Laird Cameron.”

  Brina felt her jaw drop. The cook was a wise woman, and she smiled in victory before returning to her kitchen. Of course, the woman had a good point. Everything Brina wore had been paid for by Quinton. At least if she did the labor herself, it would be that much less that she owed. Reaching out, she ran her fingers along the fabric, smiling at the softness of the linen fibers.

  Her lips suddenly rose into a smile that was full of mocking humor.

  She unfolded the fabric and began contemplating it with a critical eye.

  ***

  “Ye do nae tolerate waiting very well, Connor Lindsey.”

  Connor jumped and turned to face the man who had sneaked up on him. Roan McLeod laughed at the expression on his face.

  “Ye do nae take surprises well either.”

  Connor forced himself to swallow his snarl and offered the man his hand. Roan McLeod was only a few years younger than he, but his father was still laird, which gave him a carefree nature that often had Connor fighting the urge to hit him.

  On second thought, it had nothing to do with the fact that his father was still alive. Roan did his share of handling the more difficult matters that faced the McLeods, and he was still a wiseass.

  “I did nae expect to see you, Roan.”

  “Of course ye didna, but ye see, the thing is this, my father is beset by this idea that Robert Chattan is going to try to murder ye for taking his youngest daughter.”

  Roan took a mug of ale offered by Connor’s staff. The small house was only a few blocks from Holyrood Palace, for he detested staying in the palace itself. A man couldn’t belch there without it being reported to someone.

  “Now mind ye, I think that Robert would only castrate ye, but I cannae go arguing with my sire.”

  “We’ll see when he arrives.”

  Roan frowned, something flickering in his eyes that hinted at a very serious matter. “So ye sent for Robert Chattan? Good. I’ve words to have with the man.”

  Connor lifted an eyebrow.

  “He sent my bride to me.” Roan’s tone left no doubt that he was displeased with Kaie Chattan.

  “What’s wrong with the girl?”

  “Nothing. She’s meek and obedient,” Roan growled softly. “And I owe Quinton Cameron a large favor for telling me that the girl has a true calling to serve the church. I do nae need a brokenhearted nun in my bed.”

  “Ye didna wed her?”

  “No.” Roan spit out the single word. “I’m no Viking, nor do I favor having a bride whose heart is already taken. I sent her to the abbey.”

  “What of the alliance?”

  Roan tilted his head to the side. “Aye, my father is no’ pleased with me, but that girl kissed the hem of my kilt before she ran toward the gates like I was a demon.”

  Connor frowned, and Roan glared at him. “Now do nae you go fixing me with that look, Connor Lindsey. I know ye want an alliance with the McLeod through yer marriage, but I’ve got as much right as ye do to refuse the daughter Chattan set me. Besides, I still have one option to present to the man when he arrives.”

  “His bastard daughter?”

  Roan grinned. “Aye. Since the man is a widower now, he can wed the mother and give me that daughter. But I’m here to stand beside ye against the Douglas; that much hasna changed.”

  “I thank ye for that.”

  Roan grunted. “Oh, be sure that ye will be thanking me. I do nae care for the way my father is looking at me, and I’m planning on having ye help me appease him.”

  “After I retrieve Brina.”

  Roan drew in a stiff breath. “I’m here to help ye try, Connor, but only a fool would fail to notice that the odds are nae in yer favor.”

  He knew it well.

  Connor began pacing. He was a man of action and didn’t care for having to deal with politics.

  It wouldn’t be simple, that much he could count on, which was why he was waiting for Robert Chattan. The alliance he had worked so long and even challenged the church to gain was going to be put to the test. The only difference was that he was going up against the Camerons instead of the Douglas. Quinton Cameron was more than a fellow laird, the man was a titled earl. In the Highlands, that might be dismissed but at court it set Quinton above the other lairds.

  Robert Chattan didn’t make him wait much longer. The Chattan retainers came up the street with enough speed to send the market venders scurrying out of their way. They pulled up in front of Connor’s house, and he felt Robert glare at him.

  “I’ve a score to settle with ye lad, laird or no laird.”

  Connor stood face-to-face with the man once he’d dismounted.

  “We had an agreement, Chattan, and one that we both need i
f we do nae want to have the Douglas raiding both of us come spring.”

  Robert growled, as menacing as any man half his age.

  “I hate to admit that ye have a valid argument, but ye had better be treating my Brina with gentle hands, or I’ll break yer nose.”

  ***

  “Ye’re making the man a shirt?”

  Brina stiffened and looked up from the cuff she was setting a sleeve into. Quinton Cameron stood in the doorway, watching her from half-closed eyes.

  “So ye are alive. I was hoping maybe ye’d died in the last few days.”

  He laughed at her. “I thought ye were the one raised to serve the church.”

  “I was taught to adjust to any situation I might find myself in.”

  Quinton only nodded before walking farther into the room. He reached out to finger the sleeve that was lying on the tabletop.

  “I think ye have done that better than Connor deserves. Are ye quite sure ye harbor affection for a man who stole ye?”

  Brina didn’t bother to answer. She drew the needle through the cuff in her hand in reply. A wife was expected to sew her husband’s shirts as a service that said she accepted her position as his servant, but for an unwed woman to make a shirt for a man declared affection. It was an intimate thing.

  “Return me to him, Cameron.”

  “I hope to.”

  Brina tightened her fingers on the thin needle to keep from dropping it. Her hands wanted to tremble with relief, but she didn’t care to show Quinton her emotions so easily. Every hour of every day had dragged on so slowly, she wasn’t sure if she was sane anymore.

  “Is that a fact?”

  Brina jumped, and the needle fell from her grasp. A second later she was lifted right out of the chair she sat in and deposited behind Connor Lindsey. She stared at his wide back a second before she was pulled even farther back by Shawe.

  Quinton chuckled softly. “I wondered when ye’d show up, my friend.”

  “Friend? Are ye sure about that?” Connor snarled. “Ye bloody stole my woman.”

  Quinton straightened up and maintained his distance from Connor. That meant circling with him, because Connor was edging closer to him with his body tense and ready for battle.