Bedding the Highlander

by Sabrina York

  Tied them to a bluidy tree.

  Kate was unable to sleep. She shook with rage and embarrassment. Her mind spun with outrage. She felt entirely abused.

  And that such treatment came from him—the man she’d clung to, given herself to, ached for—only made it worse.

  Still, all that anger and affront faded before the true terror skirling in her belly as, around late afternoon on the next day, they took a rise and Rannoch Castle hove into view.

  It was a stone fortress, nestled on a hill overlooking Loch Rannoch. As cold and heartless as the beast who ruled here.

  Chapter 13

  Kirk sat up straighter in his saddle at first glimpse of Rannoch Castle. Damn, it was good to be home.

  He paused on the rise to take in the familiar sights and smells he loved so much. The loch was beautiful today, glimmering in the kiss of the afternoon sun. The small village of Rannoch perched at the edge of the water, and beyond, in the distance, the desolate Rannoch Moors surrounded their land.

  His gaze fell on the castle and warmth swelled in his chest. His exhilaration rose as a horn sounded in welcome. They’d been spotted. He shot a grin to Brodie, one that spoke to his utter satisfaction. Not only had they succeeded in his mission, bringing Katherine Killin to her groom, but Kirk had claimed his Ann as well.

  And no mistake about it, she was his. He intended to make that clear.

  He would keep her and he would teach her to love him.

  Even if it took forever.

  He must have closed his arms on her too tightly because she drew back that lethal elbow and landed it in his gut. She’d been even more difficult the closer they came to their destination. But it hardly mattered. He’d become used to the jabs. They would never be enough to make him give up his prize.

  With that thought, he spurred his horse to a gallop and closed the distance.

  The bailey was busy when they rode in. Busier than usual. With a frown, Kirk eyed two coaches, both emblazoned with fancy crests.

  He stilled as he recognized them. The Earl of Tay, his brother’s overlord, had arrived and—to Kirk’s shock—the Duke of Glencoe as well. None of them had ever even met the duke, the great lord who had commanded this wedding between Ben and his enemy’s daughter.

  Well, now it seemed they would.

  In addition to the coaches, there was practically an army of men milling around, wearing colors from various houses, some of which Kirk could not place. If the castle villeins hadn’t been sending him cheerful welcomes, Kirk might have thought his castle had been invaded.

  He and Brodie wove through the crowd to the stables and then dismounted. Kirk glanced up at the women, whose feet and hands were still tied.

  “Are you going to behave?” he asked them.

  The women exchanged a glance and then snorted in tandem.

  Kirk sighed. “Because if you are no’ going to behave, we’ll have to toss you over our shoulders and carry you in.” He focused on Katherine. “Is that how you want to meet your groom?”

  Praise God, this realization seemed to sink into their stubborn heads.

  “We’ll behave,” Katherine said through stiff lips. Though she nearly spat the words.

  “Excellent.” He nodded to Brodie and the two men untied the ladies’ feet and helped them down from the saddles. Their hands, however, remained bound. Mostly because Kirk was not a fool. He recognized the glimmer of rebellion in Ann’s eyes.

  As they made their way to the castle, Kirk took Katherine’s arm. He would much rather have entered with Ann at his side, but his mission had been about Katherine Killin. It was his duty to personally deliver her into his brother’s hands. Brodie followed with Ann, and given his friend’s grunts, her elbow was still in good form.

  The great hall was bustling and the trestle tables were filled with uniformed men. Servants skittered around, keeping cups full and plates tended. Kirk’s gaze shot to the lairds’ table, at the far end of the cavernous chamber.

  His brother, Ben, sat there with a coterie of lairds, their station made plain in the elegance of their dress.

  He recognized the sandy brown head of Paden Tremaine, Earl of Tay, Ben’s good friend who had come to Rannoch on many occasions. The tall, dark, and ominous man in the embroidered tunic had to be Nicholas Lennox, Duke of Glencoe. He exuded such power that it sent a shiver down Kirk’s spine. An older man, dressed in clothes nearly as fine as the duke’s, sat with them. He was a stranger. Kirk assumed he was one of the duke’s men.

  When Ben saw Kirk, he stood and said something to the others that caused all their heads to whip around. Without delay, Kirk led Katherine Killin toward the dais.

  As they passed through the hall, a hush fell. It would have been chilling, but Kirk was focused on one thing and one thing only. Handing off the Sabin lass so he could claim Ann as his own.

  He bowed as he stopped before the table. “My laird,” he said to his brother—but to all the lairds as well. “May I present Katherine Killin?”

  The Duke of Glencoe stepped forward; his gaze flicked over Katherine Killin and he frowned. “Why are her hands tied?” he asked in a remote, rigid tone.

  More shivers skittered across Kirk’s skin, but he forced his spine to straighten. “Your Grace, she dinna want to come to Rannoch.”

  The duke’s frown melted into confusion. “I don’t understand,” he said. “I commanded her to come.”

  “Aye, Your Grace. She attempted to escape from us several times.”

  “Escape?” The older man let out an outraged bellow. He didn’t elaborate on his indignation, merely glared at the duke, who was attempting to calm the man by patting his arm.

  “The lasses stole our horses,” Brodie added, and Kirk glared at him. That was one bit of the story he hadn’t intended to share. And, aye, titters rounded the hall.

  It was mortifying.

  “And after they did so, they were attacked by brigands,” Kirk felt the need to add. “And we saved them.”

  He had no idea why Ann muttered an indignant Ha! His accounting was indisputable.

  “Excellent work,” Ben said, shooting him an encouraging smile. He came down from the dais and stood before Katherine, gently untying her hands. When he saw the red marks there, he shot Kirk a frown—which was hardly fair—and then proceeded to kiss each of her wrists. “I am verra sorry for your inconvenience, my lady,” he said. “I swear, you shall never be wounded again under my care.”

  Heat crawled up Kirk’s nape. He tried not to punch his brother. While he understood Ben’s need to mollify his new bride, the fact was plain. The women had needed to be bound. Hand and foot.

  The old man shuffled up to Katherine and studied her, nearly nose to nose. “Who is this girl?” he asked, which caused Kirk to wonder if the man was in his dotage. Kirk had very clearly introduced her.

  “Katherine Killin,” he repeated, though slowly, assuming that would help.

  The old man scowled and shook his head. “This is no’ Katherine Killin.”

  The words were horrifying enough, without the scrape of a hundred chairs and the clink of armor behind him. Kirk glanced over his shoulder to confirm that, yes, half the men in the hall had drawn their weapons.

  He shot a panicked glance at Ben, who seemed stunned as well. Then Kirk frowned at Katherine—or the woman he thought was Katherine.

  Hell. Had these women lied to him to gain his protection on the dangerous road? Or, worse, had they lied simply to have a better chance at nicking their horses? What confirmation had he had that she was, indeed, Katherine? What confirmation had he asked for? Had he been taken for a fool? Had he gone through all this…for nothing?

  Worse yet, was Katherine Killin still out there somewhere? Alone and afraid? Or worse?

  The heat on his nape crawled onto his scalp. Fury at the women flooded him.

  “She told us she was Katherine,” he snarled. To her. The woman in question merely opened her eyes all wide and innocent, and blinked. Her lips twisted into a smug
smile that made his gut roil.

  Ben cleared his throat. “Did Killin present her as Katherine?” His suspicions were clear in his tone.

  Kirk hurried to disabuse him of the notion that Killin had handed them the wrong lass. As hard as it was to accept, the fault was all on Kirk. “Nae. Killin claimed she’d run away to avoid the marriage—”

  “I beg your pardon?” Clearly the Duke of Glencoe worked under the delusion that no one would dare disobey his authority.

  “We came upon these lasses in the woods—”

  “Actually, they came upon us,” Brodie corrected. “To steal our horses.”

  Kirk glared at him again. Brodie was not helping matters at all.

  The duke stepped forward and addressed the old man. “Are you certain this woman is no’ your granddaughter, Laird Tummel?”

  Kirk stilled. Bile surged in his throat.

  Ah. Fook. The old man was none other than Calder Sabin, Laird of Tummel, their neighbor and mortal enemy. And Katherine’s grandfather.

  And Kirk had brought the wrong lass. Could this get any worse?

  It could. Because that was when a bold, familiar voice from behind him spoke. “She is no’ Katherine Killin.” He whipped around to stare at Ann, trepidation clogging in his veins. He willed her not to say what he knew was coming. But indeed, he could not stop those fateful words from issuing forth. “I am Katherine Killin. I am Fiona’s daughter.”

  Chapter 14

  It was difficult having all those eyes on her, but Kate refused to be cowed. Especially now. She’d suffered and sacrificed too much.

  All she’d ever wanted was to be reunited with her mother’s family.

  This was the day she’d dreamed of for years.

  She caught her grandfather’s gaze. Though his eyes were rheumy and his expression fierce, she dared him to recognize her.

  And he did. As he studied her features, his lips began to quiver, a tear beaded in the corner of his eye. “Fiona,” he whispered, and then he pulled her into his warm embrace. Kate reveled in it. This was her grandfather. Her kin. Someone who accepted her.

  “So this is Katherine?” The Duke of Glencoe asked.

  “Ach, aye.” Her grandfather cupped her cheek. “She has my Fiona’s face.” He turned then and scowled at Kirk—who had turned a delightful shade of green—and bellowed, “Untie my granddaughter!”

  It was amusing how quickly he complied, bounding over and working at her knots with trembling fingers.

  When their eyes met, she couldn’t help giving him a small smirk. It grew when he—clearly running through the situation in his head—grimaced. As the bonds fell away, they stared at each other for a moment. Kirk’s lips moved, as though he wished to say something.

  Perhaps an apology.

  He owed her that.

  Not that she would accept it. He’d treated her abominably, especially in the last two days.

  But he did not apologize for his barbarism. He said nothing. He whipped away, raking his hair with his fingers, his entire visage consternated.

  She very nearly laughed out loud.

  She was fairly certain she knew what he was thinking. He’d despoiled his brother’s bride. Now, he had the option of keeping silent and watching his brother wed a ruined woman, or admitting to his crimes. It hardly mattered to her which he chose, because she had no intention of keeping her mouth shut. She had no intention of marrying Ben Rannoch. In fact, now that she had been reunited with her loving grandfather, she could return to Tummel and live out her days there, free of marital bonds.

  There were definite benefits to being a ruined woman.

  It wasn’t lost on her that Ben Rannoch was watching his brother with a curious intensity. When his searing attention landed on her, her smirk faded, as if burned away by his glare.

  He was a tall, broad, and powerful man.

  It would not go well for her when he learned the truth about her forsaken virginity. She could only hope her grandfather’s presence would keep him from backhanding her across the room.

  The Beast of Rannoch nodded to his brother. “Are we certain, then, this is my bride?”

  “Aye,” Kirk croaked.

  “My lady.” The laird bent over her hands, almost kissing them. He rose and took her arm. “You must be hungry after your journey.”

  “Aye,” she said, forcing a smile up at him. She batted her lashes, not for his benefit but for Kirk’s, who was watching her with a dark frown. “They barely fed us, you know.”

  She ignored Kirk’s burbled protest.

  “Come to the table, then. Your, ah, friend as well?” He gestured to Elise.

  “My sister,” she clarified. “Come along, Elise. These men would like to feed us.”

  Ben Rannoch sat her between him and her grandfather. While the Beast’s looming presence dampened her appetite, she appreciated the opportunity to speak with her grandfather. Although she was not inclined to answer any of his questions. Indeed, he probably did not want to hear the answers.

  How did Killin treat you?

  Had Fiona been happy?

  Are you pleased with the match I’ve made for you?

  Aye, all uncomfortable questions. She made do with vague answers. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to mind.

  From her place next to Ben Rannoch, Kate had a good view of Kirk as he took his seat at the far end of the trestle. Poor Elise was seated between the duke and the earl, but her sister dealt with that discomfort by focusing on her plate. Elise—who had never enjoyed oatcakes and dried meat—seemed to be delighted at the offerings on the table.

  Katherine sat quietly as well, when she wasn’t sharing pleasantries with her grandfather. She ignored Laird Rannoch, despite his constant attention.

  She knew she’d have to admit the truth to him. It seemed like a good idea to fortify herself first.

  But then, during a lull in the conversation, he spoke. “Katherine,” he said in a low rumble.

  She shot a glance up at him, the Beast. Contrary to what she’d heard, he had a handsome face. If he had horns, she failed to see them. Beyond that, he had gentle eyes that were similar to ones she knew well. She would never have expected the Beast of Rannoch to be so…pleasant.

  She dabbed at her lips with her serviette. “Aye, Laird Rannoch?”

  He chuckled and she blinked, stunned by the transformation of his beautiful face as he smiled. Little crinkles formed at the corners of his blue eyes and dimples blossomed on his cheeks. “Call me Ben.”

  Oh dear. Was that a sultry tone?

  She flicked a glance at Kirk, to find him glowering at her. His fist opened and closed on the table. Could that be jealousy?

  There was no need for it. Ben was attractive, but not nearly as captivating as his brother. She returned her attention to her betrothed’s face. “Ben, then.”

  “Ach. I like the way you say that.” He winked. And then he sobered. “I know we both have reservations about this union, but we shall be happy together. I promise you.”

  He was so sincere and gentle that she couldn’t help but believe he was being truthful. It was a shame she had to shatter his illusions.

  With a sigh, she set down her serviette. She steeled herself for his reaction, the explosion she knew was imminent. “Laird Rannoch, I canna marry you.”

  Ben’s jaw dropped open and he gaped at her. “What?”

  “What?” Apparently her grandfather overheard. His interjection was something of a roar. “What do you mean, you willna marry him?”

  She patted her grandfather’s hand and shot him a sad smile. “I dinna say I wouldna. I said I canna.” She turned back to Laird Rannoch and said softly, “I’ve been…deflowered.”

  Good glory.

  She never expected the tumult such a whispered confession could wreak. Both the Beast and her grandfather leaped to their feet, drew their swords, and howled, in tandem, “Give me his name. I’ll gut the bastard.”

  Aye, it was shocking. Not just Laird Rannoch’s outraged snarl…bu
t that it was on her behalf.

  No man had ever vowed vengeance for her. No man had ever fought for her.

  Well, except one.

  She didn’t intend for her gaze to drift to Kirk. In fact, she tried very hard not to look at him. But she failed.

  Ben followed Kate’s gaze and his attention fell on his brother.

  Kirk Rannoch, despite his admirable qualities, was not good at prevarication. As his brother pinned him with a furious glare, a red tide rose on his cheeks. His lips moved, though no words came out. It was clear in his expression that he was guilty…of something.

  “Kirk?” Ben said in a distraught growl.

  To his credit, Kirk must have figured out what was going on—her grandfather’s snarl gave it away, perhaps—for he jumped to his feet and began backing away from the table with his hands raised before him.

  Her grandfather—belying his age—pounced across the room and flattened Kirk against the stone wall with a shuddering thud, then braced his burly arm over Kirk’s throat. Kate’s heart leaped. Her pulse sizzled.

  Aye, she was furious with Kirk, but she didn’t want him dead.

  And her grandfather seemed about to slaughter him.

  Kirk struggled for breath. His eyes bugged out, as a man three times his age choked the life from him. Kirk had no weapon, and even if he had, to use it on a neighboring laird in the presence of his army would result in nothing less than utter carnage.

  Kate knew she had to intercede before Kirk was dispatched summarily—or a war broke out. She ran after her grandfather and grabbed his arm. “Stop. Please!”

  “Nae,” Calder Sabin howled. “He dies.”

  A wail rose, unwillingly, within her.

  “I say,” said the duke from somewhere behind her. Everyone ignored him.

  “Please, Grandfather. He dinna know,” she cried.

  Her grandfather turned to her with a frown. “He dinna know?”

  “Aye.”

  His thick brows bristled. “He dinna know what?”

  She tugged on his sleeve until he released Kirk, who dropped to his knees, gasping for air. “He dinna know I was Katherine. We lied to him.”