Highland Storms

by Christina Courtenay

  ‘One what? Oh, yes.’ He came out of his trance and took her fingers, pulling her back towards the other dancers.

  They hadn’t taken very many steps, however, when Marsaili was suddenly yanked out of Brice’s grip. A strong hand encircled her wrist and pulled her away. ‘My turn, I believe. You don’t mind, do you, laird?’

  Marsaili stared into the hazel eyes of Seton and suppressed a shiver. There was something lurking in their depths, a glimmer of menace which frightened her even though she knew he couldn’t do anything to her here. She glanced towards Brice, wondering if he would make a scene, the way Iain always did whenever someone tried to dance with Kirsty. Brice only bowed and smiled at her. ‘Not at all. Thank you for your time, Miss Buchanan.’ Then he melted back into the crowd. Marsaili forced herself not to stare after him, but she felt almost bereft at his leaving so suddenly.

  Seton dragged her into the dance, performing his steps energetically and with much grace. It occurred to Marsaili that he was like a wildcat, his sinuous strength awesome, but terrifying to his prey. And she felt like prey, the way he’d pounced on her and claimed her. He had no right to do so without asking her first, and it was as though he’d been trying to show Brice that Marsaili was out of bounds. Only she was entitled to tell him though. This man had no authority over her whatsoever.

  ‘So you’re making eyes at the laird now, are you?’ Seton sneered. ‘Won’t get you anywhere. He’s been telling everyone he’s not the marrying kind, so the only way you’ll ever be a fine lady is if you marry me.’

  ‘Are you asking me?’ She couldn’t quite keep the surprise out of her voice. He must be getting desperate if he was willing to wed her to have his way.

  ‘I might be. The point is, the laird never will.’

  She knew there was no point arguing with him or correcting his assumption that she’d thrown her cap at Brice. He would believe what he wanted to. She could and would refuse his offer, however, just as she always did. Although a marriage proposal showed more honourable intentions, she still didn’t want him. Not on any terms.

  ‘You may find this hard to believe, Mr Seton, but not all women wish to be fine ladies. Especially not if it means having to wed someone who is repugnant to them.’

  He pulled her hard against him, even though the dance didn’t call for such a move, and she was trapped for a moment. His body was firm and unyielding, a steel vice that made panic well up inside her. She tried to struggle against his grip, but stood no chance against his superior strength. ‘Let go of me,’ she grated out from between clenched teeth. ‘You have no right to –’

  ‘Repugnant, am I? We’ll just see about that. I’m sure you’re your mother’s daughter and she wasn’t hard to persuade. What you need is a real man as I’ll soon prove to you.’

  Marsaili gasped and flinched as if he’d hit her. She had known her mother had lain with several men before she finally married, but she’d never realised Seton was one of them. And for him to want to wed the daughter of someone he’d bedded long ago somehow made it all worse. She made an angry noise and kicked him hard in the shin. Thankfully it was enough to make him loosen his grip and she shoved him away. ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘You little vixen,’ he muttered, but she saw to her consternation that his gaze was still blazing with desire and he smiled at her. ‘I shall enjoy taming you and it will be soon, I promise.’

  He turned around abruptly and pushed his way through the crowd, heading for the drinks table. Marsaili was left standing among the dancers. She received a few pitying glances, but she didn’t stay to endure them. With her head held high, she marched off towards the house and went straight to her room, followed by Liath who’d been waiting by the door. She lit a candle with fingers that shook, then threw herself down onto the bed and wrapped her arms around the dog’s shaggy neck.

  ‘Oh, Liath, what am I to do?’ she whispered. ‘Why won’t he give up?’

  The big canine whined softly as if he understood her turmoil and leaned into her, calming her with his solid warmth. He was her only protection, but could he keep Seton away for ever?

  Not if Seton could help it.

  Brice watched surreptitiously as Seton manhandled Marsaili into the dance. The man was an oaf who needed to be taught some manners, but Brice didn’t think this was either the time or the place. Everyone was enjoying themselves and picking a fight with the factor would ruin the harmony of the evening. Most of his tenants seemed to have accepted Brice now, albeit cautiously, and he was reluctant to change their favourable opinion by asserting himself so blatantly.

  But damn it all, the man was touching Marsaili as if he owned her.

  Just as he thought he might have to intervene after all, judging by the furious look on Marsaili’s face, she once again solved the matter herself. She kicked the man on the shin with considerable force. This was apparently enough to make him let go of her and then disappear out of sight. Brice saw her stand alone for a moment, in the grip of some strong emotion. Her fists clenched and unclenched, but then she noticed the curious glances being thrown her way and stalked off towards the house. He wondered whether to follow her and make sure she was all right, but decided against it. She would want to be left alone.

  Feeling restless and not in the mood to dance with any of the women gazing at him with inviting looks in their eyes, he headed for the stables. He hadn’t had time for any early morning rides during the harvest week, so he thought he’d check on Starke. The big horse was being given special care by Archie, but he still liked Brice best. Halfway to his horse’s stall, however, he became aware he wasn’t alone in the building. There were murmurings coming from a stall further along. A courting couple, he thought, and turned to leave. The last thing he wanted was to intrude on someone’s privacy. Starke would have to wait.

  A voice he recognised stopped him in his tracks. ‘No, Iain, not like this. I’m not having it, I told you.’

  Kirsty. Was she in trouble? Brice hesitated. If her beau was trying to seduce her against her will, he’d have to do something about it. Although they were as good as betrothed, it didn’t give Iain the right to force her. Brice came to a decision – he’d have to at least find out what was going on.

  He headed for the furthest stall and cleared his throat loudly. ‘Kirsty? Is everything all right?’ he asked.

  A lantern hanging on the wall cast a soft glow over the scene and Brice saw his cousin blush bright red as he stuck his face round a wattle partition. Iain, who’d had one hand up her skirts, dropped them as if he’d been scalded, and scowled at Brice.

  ‘We’re fine,’ he snarled. ‘And if you don’t mind, we’re a wee bit occupied.’

  Brice raised his eyebrows at the man. ‘I was talking to my cousin. Kirsty, do you need rescuing?’ He smiled at her to show that she need not feel embarrassed at being caught like this, but the colour in her cheeks deepened nonetheless.

  She shook her head. ‘No. Like Iain said, we’re fine.’

  ‘Good. You’re both fine. I’m glad to hear it. I’ll, er … see you outside then. Or not.’ Brice chuckled and turned to leave again, but Kirsty’s voice stopped him.

  ‘Wait. There is something.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘No, Kirsty. It’s nothing to do with him,’ Iain hissed.

  ‘Maybe he can help. Please, Iain, we can’t go on like this. You know that.’

  Brice looked from one to the other and waited. Iain’s mouth was set in a mulish line, but at another pleading look from Kirsty he shrugged and muttered, ‘Oh, very well, but you’re wasting your breath.’

  Kirsty bit her lip. ‘It’s Iain’s father. He’s against our marriage for some reason and Iain doesn’t want to go through with it until we have Mr Seton’s approval. Can you help us persuade him? We’ve waited ages already.’

  Brice almost laughed out loud. He was probably the last person on earth Seton would listen to on such a matter, but then the man would never take advice from anyone, of that Brice was sure. ‘
I’m sorry, Kirsty, but I don’t think I should interfere between a father and his son.’ He saw his cousin’s shoulders slump and she blinked away threatening tears. ‘Perhaps there’s another way, though? How about if I let it be known I’m arranging a dowry for you, one big enough to tempt any man’s family?’ Brice gazed Iain straight in the eyes. ‘Would that persuade him, do you think?’

  Iain nodded, the sullen expression being replaced with dawning hope and perhaps even a measure of admiration. ‘Money would sway him, definitely. But can you get your hands on a large sum?’

  Brice grinned. ‘I didn’t say I was actually going to show it to him. We can put him off by pretending it has to be sent for from Sweden. In the meantime, we’ll hint that you’ve anticipated your vows a little and the marriage needs to go ahead immediately. We’ll have to hope your father is blinded by greed and gives his consent.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t? What if he insists we have to wait until the money arrives?’

  Brice shrugged. ‘Then I’ll hand some of it over to you, enough to keep him on side. Once the marriage has been entered into, your father won’t be able to have it annulled.’ He smiled again. ‘I’m sure you’ll see to it all the legal requirements are met.’

  Kirsty blushed once more and punched her cousin on the arm, muttering under her breath, but Iain and Brice exchanged a look of male complicity.

  Brice sobered. ‘After the marriage, you’ll have to tell your father I’ll be the one keeping the money safe for you. He’ll have no claim to it.’

  Iain nodded. ‘For sure.’

  ‘So is that agreed then?’ He held out his hand and Iain took it and shook it firmly.

  ‘Aye, it is.’ Then he snatched up Kirsty and whirled her around. ‘Now can I tell him to get lost?’ he laughed.

  ‘No, I will. Be gone with you, Brice, and wipe that smirk off your face before I do it for you.’ Kirsty’s eyes were sparkling with happiness and Brice shook his head at the sight.

  ‘What a pair of lovesick fools,’ he said, but he took the hint and made himself scarce.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Back outside the stables, Brice stood for a moment, debating whether to seek his bed or join the revellers for a while longer. Before he could make up his mind, a voice rang out and he saw someone walking towards him from the direction of the ceilidh. Seton. Damn!

  ‘There you are, laird.’ The last word was said in a sneering tone, as always, but Brice ignored this. His main priority was to steer the factor away from the stables, or he might stumble on Iain and Kirsty the way Brice had done. Then all hell would break lose.

  ‘Were you looking for me?’ he said and went to meet the man halfway.

  ‘Yes, some of the men want you to join a little game. I hope you have a taste for whisky?’

  ‘A drinking game? Why not.’ Brice had been thinking of seeking a cure for his restlessness with a dram or two of the local brew, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to do it in company with Seton. If there were to be others present, however, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. ‘Lead the way,’ he said and pretended not to notice the other man’s smirk.

  He soon found out what Seton had been grinning about. The game consisted of seeing how many cups of whisky a man could down and still walk along a narrow beam, which had been set up between two trestles, without falling off. The cups weren’t huge and held only about three mouthfuls. But since most of the men present had already had more than their fair share, they lost their balance at the first or second attempt. Seton was as agile as a cat, however, and got as far as six, as did Brice and his childhood friend Rob.

  Following his seventh cup, Seton’s luck turned. Although he almost made it to the end, he misjudged his last step and went tumbling off. ‘Damn it all!’ he bellowed, predictably a sore loser. He’d landed on the grass with a thump and swore long and hard while rubbing at various parts of his anatomy. Someone helped him up and he went and sat slumped on a bench.

  There were shouts of, ‘Robbie, Robbie!’ and slightly less raucous ones of ‘MacCoinneach, MacCoinneach!’ as Brice and the other man took their turn. Both succeeded, making Seton glare from one to the other as if they had offended him personally. When Rob failed his next attempt, Seton just nodded. He then watched with narrowed eyes as Brice tipped his eighth cup down his throat and climbed up to attempt the balancing act yet again.

  ‘Eight, eight, eight!’ the onlookers chanted. ‘MacCoinneach, MacCoinneach!’

  Brice hid a smile. He was confident he could do it and he had the advantage of having been more or less sober when they started the game. There were two other factors in his favour as well – he was used to the even stronger Swedish brännvin and he’d had to balance on many a beam in rough weather while sailing to China.

  ‘Go mon, go!’ The voices grew louder, egging him on. He didn’t want them to think he was showing off though, so he took it slowly, weaving a bit and pretending to almost lose his balance a couple of times. When he finally reached the end of the beam, the cheers were deafening. He accepted the congratulations and slaps on the back, but noticed Seton didn’t come forward. The man had closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

  Brice didn’t care. ‘Thank you all,’ he shouted. ‘If I can find the way, I think I’ll seek my bed now. Goodnight!’

  A few of the women called out to him as he made his way towards the house and he wondered if any of them would have offered to accompany him. He wasn’t tempted though. He didn’t want to acquire a reputation for seducing the local girls.

  An image of Marsaili suddenly rose in his mind’s eye and he stumbled slightly. Damn it, but I don’t want her either. Do I? He stopped for a moment in the great hall as his head was spinning. He wasn’t blind drunk, but neither was he sober and he cursed Seton, hoping the other man would wake up with a sore head. After his week of carousing in Gothenburg, Brice had vowed never to get into such a state again, but he’d had no choice tonight.

  Thoughts of Seton brought him back to thinking of Marsaili. Was she really all right? What had the whoreson said to her to make her so angry? Perhaps he ought to check?

  ‘Fool,’ he muttered to himself. ‘She doesn’t need you.’

  But was there really any harm in making sure?

  Marsaili found it hard to go to sleep as the thoughts chased each other round and round inside her tired brain. Just as she was finally beginning to relax, however, there was a soft knock on her door. She sat up, instantly alert, and panic washed over her like a sudden cold squall, while her lungs constricted with agitation. Glancing at Liath, she noticed he wasn’t growling. She frowned at him.

  A low whisper came through the door. ‘Marsaili? Are you all right?’

  Her heart did an odd double beat, but she breathed a sigh of relief that it was Brice’s voice and not Seton’s. ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she called softly. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Are you sure? Only … I noticed you and Seton had some sort of altercation. Would you like me to have words with the man? He’s in my employ after all.’

  Marsaili hesitated. She didn’t doubt Brice could make Seton stop harassing her, but she knew the factor wouldn’t leave it at that. He’d take some sort of revenge on Brice and for some reason she couldn’t bear the thought of that.

  ‘Marsaili? Talk to me.’

  She took a deep breath. It seemed as though he wouldn’t go away until he’d seen for himself that she was unharmed, but she knew opening the door probably wasn’t wise. Still, if it made him leave faster … She lifted the heavy bar and found him outside, frowning. The moonlight from a narrow window gave his features a strange glow.

  ‘I didn’t realise this was a fortress,’ he said. ‘Are we expecting invaders?’

  Marsaili felt herself flush. ‘I … this part of the house is, uhm … a little isolated. And I wouldn’t want anyone to walk in unannounced in case it gave Liath the wrong idea.’

  He looked past her at the big dog, who gazed back adoringly and thumped his tail against the coverlet. ‘Oh, hello boy
.’ Brice smiled and turned back to Marsaili. ‘It’s nice to know you’re protected. Should it be necessary, I mean.’

  She nodded. A strong smell of whisky emanated from him and she wrinkled her nose even though he didn’t appear particularly inebriated. Had he been swimming in the stuff, she wondered? Either way, caution was probably the better part of valour so she gripped the door and said firmly, ‘Indeed. Now as you can see, I’m perfectly fine so perhaps you should go back to the ceilidh? I need to sleep if I’m to be up in time for my duties tomorrow. I’ll bid you goodnight.’

  Without warning, he reached out a hand and stroked her cheek with two slightly rough fingers. ‘I thought everyone would have a rest day after working so hard this week. You deserve one too.’

  His fingers were barely touching her, but she was aware of nothing else. The contact made her skin tingle and the breath catch in her throat. She wanted to wrap her own fingers around his strong wrist and pull his hand closer. The fumes of whisky, combined with the fresh smell of

  the outdoors and his own unique scent, washed over her.

  It was intoxicating. Closing her eyes, she managed to

  resist the impulse to touch him, but she didn’t tell him to leave.

  He must have taken this as an invitation, because the next thing she knew his mouth was on hers. Butterfly kisses, slow and languorous, were dotted across her lips, each one lasting a little longer than the next. He was gentler than the last time he’d kissed her, and only placed his hands very lightly on her shoulders. If possible, she found this even more enticing. She knew the sensible thing would be to push him away and close her door, but she didn’t want to. Not yet. She was playing with fire, but it felt good. Wonderful, in fact, and she didn’t want him to stop.

  ‘This is a bad idea,’ he murmured against her mouth, then contradicted himself by putting his arms around her to pull her against his hard, lean body. Although it was an echo of what Seton had done to her earlier, Marsaili felt none of the revulsion or panic the factor had caused. On the contrary, having the length of Brice touching her almost from neck to knee fired her blood.