The Trouble with Highlanders

by Mary Wine

  Keith pulled a leather strap tight before granting her a grudging nod. “I agree ye did a good thing there, even if they be the ones who should be ashamed for acting like lads no higher than me waist. We do nae need a feud, especially one started over a woman, even a laird’s daughter. I find meself liking that bit of action on yer part.”

  She used the stall rail to help her mount and suffered the harsh looks of some of the men. She bit back the tart response she would have liked to make. Pointing out that she was a foot shorter than any of them would serve only to remind them she was a female trying to take on the duties of a man.

  “But the way I heard it…” Keith continued as he led his stallion out of the stable, “the second time, ye defied even the young king by refusing to take yer place as Laird MacNicols’s bride.”

  Daphne flattened her body across the horse’s neck to make it through the doorway of the stable and into the yard. “Which gained us Laird MacNicols’s good will. The man is in love with another woman. He’d have wed me sure enough and resented me.”

  Keith mounted and reached up to adjust his knitted bonnet. He’d been her father’s head of retainers and still wore one of his three feathers upward. By tradition, he should have lowered the feather, since the new laird would be the one deciding who claimed the privilege of serving in such a high position. It was just one more detail that screamed out the lack of respect her father’s men had for her.

  “The marriage contracts were agreed upon by yer father and Laird MacNicols. The man should have kept his word or at least made recompense to us, nae left it to you to disgrace yerself so he might be happy.”

  “He didn’t. I made the choice.” And she refused to regret it. “Enough. I know yer position on the matter. Ye’ve told me plainly enough. Let’s get the sheep.”

  Keith surprised her by grinning. He was a fair-enough-looking man when he wasn’t scowling at her. His hair was a dark sable, and his eyes a warm brown. There was a thin scar running along the right side of his cheek, but it served only to make him look capable.

  “I do respect yer ability to recognize what we need to survive.”

  She turned her horse toward the gate and rode through it. A smile graced her lips even as she leaned low to flow more fluidly with the motions of the animal. She rode a mare, but a young one with plenty of spirit. The animal took to the uneven ground easily as Daphne guided her toward the border of her father’s land. The wind was warm, and it tore at her blonde hair. She’d cut it off a year ago, and the strands were only a foot long now. They didn’t want to stay in the braid Gitta had woven at sunrise, but slowly worked free.

  Well, it suited her, for her hair wasn’t the only part of her that didn’t want to be contained. She’d grown up with Broen MacNicols and hadn’t wanted to be his wife. The single kiss he’d pressed against her lips had left her cold.

  Norris’s kiss had sent her heart racing…

  She might never have known the difference—or worse, learned of it after she was wed. Maybe the Church was wrong about infidelity. Maybe those who strayed from their wedded partners were to be pitied because they’d been locked into unions with the wrong person.

  Ye’re going to get locked in the stocks for thinking like that…

  Well, only if she was foolish enough to voice such ideas. She raised her head and felt confidence rising inside her. Over the last year, she’d learned a thing or two about keeping her thoughts to herself.

  Ye’ve also learned how to take a hand in yer own destiny…

  Maybe she was meant to be alone in life. The Church also preached that women should remain humble and yield to a man’s authority. Well, she was far past yielding. She wrapped the reins around her fists and urged the horse faster. Maybe she wasn’t humble, but her father’s people needed someone to take action now.

  Maybe she was exactly what she needed to be.

  ***

  “Was there something unclear in me orders?” Morrell Comyn asked in a low tone. His retainers eyed him hesitantly. He slammed his fist into the table, and dishes clattered. A mug turned over, but the serving wenches were all cowering in the kitchen.

  “Damn fools! Why do I suffer ye wearing me colors?” He sat back in the huge throne-like chair that had belonged to his father. The back rose a full foot above his head, so the carved stag was clearly seen. “Get out of me sight.”

  The retainers tugged on the corners of their bonnets and hurried away.

  “Ale!” Morrell roared. “And send it with someone pretty!”

  He frowned when his second-in-command climbed the two steps to the high table with a mug for him.

  “The lasses are all too afraid of young Katie to serve ye,” Ranald informed him before tugging on the corner of his bonnet.

  Morrell snickered and grabbed the mug. He took a swig of the ale, wiped his mouth across the sleeve of his shirt, and pointed at the chair beside him.

  “They should be. Katie is a little savage, but I like her wild ways.” He slurped his next measure of ale and belched. “I wanted that MacLeod bitch caught. Why do ye think I lured her sheep onto me land?”

  Ranald sipped his own ale. “Sure ye want her when ye just said Katie is a savage?”

  “Oh, she is, I assure ye of that!” Morrell answered gleefully. “But I’m her master, sure enough. Katie will warm me cock no matter what bitch I bring here as me wife. I want that dowry, and I’ll bed whom I fancy, as well. I am master here.”

  “Ye and half the Highland lairds sought that treasure, but not one could find it.”

  Morrell waved his hand. “No one breached the tower. It’s there for certain. Why else would the MacLeod be willing to put up with a woman running the clan? They are doing it to keep the gold in their coffers.”

  “That makes sense. I hear there are three claims to the lairdship, but nothing has been settled as yet.”

  “Nae yet, but soon,” Morrell grumbled. “Which is why I need to catch that bitch and make her me wife before any single man has the backing of the entire clan. It’s nae as strong as it was before Sauchieburn, but there are still more MacLeods than Comyns.”

  “Well, she has her sheep,” Ranald answered. “Ye’ll need to think of another way to claim her before those MacLeod get finished fighting among themselves.”

  Morrell laughed. “Ye’ve hit the nail on the head, Ranald. The MacLeod are squabbling. A bit of action, and I’ll have that dowry.”

  “She’s still got a castle to take shelter inside of.”

  “I know that.” Morrell shot his companion a hard look. “It’s the only reason she still has her dowry. We’re going to set another trap for her, and this time, I’m going to see to the deed meself.”

  Anticipation warmed his blood. His cock thickened with need, so he stood. “But tonight, I’m taking me cock to wild Katie.”

  ***

  “Go on with ye.” Daphne wiped her hair out of her eyes and tried not to let frustration get the better of her. The sheep were unruly and foul tempered. She guided her horse around the ram, who was trying to return to the Comyn land.

  “They’ve got his attention for sure.” Keith helped her block the animal. “Damn them for laying out feed for him. We’ll have to pen them, or they’ll return to Comyn land.”

  “I’m going to enjoy selling the fleece the Comyn fed me sheep to produce.”

  Keith’s eyebrows rose, and he laughed. The other retainers looked on before relaxing their stern expressions. As the men became more accepting of her, the tension that had drawn Daphne’s shoulders tight released. She wouldn’t say they were happy, but at least they no longer sent her cutting looks. By the time they got the flock near the castle, sweat had soaked her. The summer was warm, and she envied the men their bare knees. The sun beat down on her, and her wool skirts were a torment.

  But she was pleased when
they herded the sheep into a makeshift holding pen for the night. The younger boys were set to hauling grass down from the hill for the penned animals. They used sickles to cut it and piled it high on lengths of MacLeod plaid.

  “In a few days, they’ll learn to stay on our land,” Keith remarked.

  “We can shear them while they are here too.”

  The wool should have been cut a month before, but the men had marched away at their king’s command. So the summer had come and almost gone while everyone was dancing to the tune of politics. But it was over now, and time for the living to get on with preparing for winter.

  Daphne smiled at the hundred or so sheep. It was not much, but it would be something. Her aching muscles didn’t seem to hurt as much when she weighed the sting against the satisfaction of knowing she had been productive.

  “Let’s wash the sweat off our backs, lads!” Keith announced. The men cheered and set off for the river. It was a short ride, and several of the women doing laundry came running up the bank with smiles on their lips.

  Daphne turned her horse toward the gates of the keep. Perhaps fate was ready to bestow some kindness on her at long last. But when she slid from the back of the horse and turned to look at the keep, she discovered herself facing the priest. Her happiness froze beneath the chilling look Father Peter gave her.

  ***

  “I had to heat the water again because Father Peter kept ye so long,” Gitta said. She used a large iron hook to pull the kettle out of the hearth where it was being licked by flames. “He looked powerfully unhappy with ye.”

  As Gitta poured the water into the waiting tub, it sizzled. Daphne worked a brush through her hair then stepped into the bath.

  “Father Peter doesn’t share yer hope that I’m with child.” The water felt wonderful against her skin. “In fact, he threatened to write to the bishop and tell him of my transgressions. The good father believes I’m setting a poor example for every woman in the clan.”

  As well as telling her straight that she was on a path to damnation.

  Gitta made a harsh sound and lifted a cupful of water to wet Daphne’s hair. The hearth was a small one, used mostly in the wintertime, when firewood was precious. It was set into the back of one of the towers, which allowed her privacy when she bathed. The tub was made of copper with a high back so she could relax while in it. Daphne tried to, but her shoulders were knotted again. Even the hot water washing over her skin wasn’t enough to ease her.

  “I can hear him saying such a thing, but there is more to this life than just the ways of the Church.”

  Daphne smothered a giggle behind her hand. “Ye’re going to get us in trouble with talk such as that.”

  Gitta rinsed the soap from Daphne’s hair, and went to retrieve a length of toweling. “I’m more concerned with what we’ll fill our bellies with once Samhain comes and goes. It would be a blessing if yer brother would arrive and settle the matter of who will be laird. There will be bloodshed if Saer does nae show himself soon.”

  Daphne walked toward Gitta but had to reach for the toweling, because the older woman was busy looking at her belly.

  “I understand why yer mother put his mother out. She was a savage from the isles and had no decency when it came to the fact that yer father was wed to yer mother. She thought to take that place for herself simply because ye were a girl babe.” Gitta shook her head. “Yer father must have done something to displease fate, else his only son would nae have been a bastard born to a woman in exile.”

  Her father hadn’t had a happy life. Daphne tried not to dwell on it, but it was true. She dried herself and picked up a clean chemise. Broen would never know just how much she’d dreaded following in her parents’ footsteps. She’d have truly taken vows as a nun rather than live the way her mother had while watching Broen turn bitter as her father had.

  Ye did nae mind yielding yer maidenhead to Norris Sutherland…

  She yanked the brush through her hair a little too fast, and it snagged on a snarl. The last thing she needed to think about was Norris. The man was certainly not spending his time dreaming about her. He was the heir to the earldom; women spent endless hours trying to think of ways to catch his eye. Half the lairds in Scotland were trying to secure a marriage contract between him and their daughters. Her own father had done the same. But she did not have as much noble blood as some others, and the Sutherlands always wed with an eye on advancement.

  Gitta helped her into a dress and began to braid her hair, when the bells at the gate began tolling.

  “Where are ye going?”

  Daphne didn’t stop. “I have to see who is here.”

  “What if it’s trouble? Better to leave it to the men.”

  “It’s me duty, Gitta.”

  Even if half her clansmen didn’t agree. She hurried around the outside of the keep and into the larger tower. As the bells continued to warn them of approaching riders, women and children were rushing into the great hall to take shelter. Daphne fought her way past them to reach the doorways. The walls surrounding the yard prevented her from seeing who was approaching. The MacLeod retainers were pulling on their helmets and climbing to the top of the curtain wall.

  She took a deep breath and followed them. There was more than one curse as she threaded her way through the men. Her small frame allowed her to pass them on the narrow walkway at the top of the wall.

  “What in the name of Christ are ye doing up here?” Keith demanded.

  “Seeing who’s approaching,” she spat back. “Like it or not, I’m the head of this family until me brother arrives.”

  “Well I do nae like it, but I like it more than listening to yer cousins squabble over who has the better claim.” He pointed down into the yard. “Nae a single one of those cowards is up here.”

  Keith didn’t lower his voice. Several of her father’s men looked at him and then scanned the yard. Daphne’s three male cousins were taking shelter below because there was no one to tell them to take their positions. The wind whipped at her dress, chilling her legs, but when the men standing along the ramparts looked back toward her, there was respect in their eyes. She couldn’t take time to enjoy knowing she’d impressed them. The curtain wall was topped with a facade to shield the men defending the keep from attack. She leaned around one to see the approaching riders.

  Her belly knotted. Twin columns of riders were heading straight toward them. The lowered gate didn’t seem to worry them at all. Their pace was even and their number impressive. There were sixty of them, and every one rode a full stallion.

  “They’re flying the standard of the Sutherlands,” Keith announced.

  “It cannae be.” Daphne reached for the spyglass Keith held. He gave it to her, and she held it up to her eye. Once her vision adjusted, she aimed it toward the lead rider and the pennant he was holding: the rampant lions, denoting the nobility of the man riding with them.

  “It is,” Keith assured her. “At least that is good news.”

  “Until ye consider we’ll be expected to feed them,” Daphne muttered, dreading having to tell Norris how little they had. Her pride was suffering under the weight of the knowledge, but there was no help for it. He was their overlord. She could not refuse him entrance or shelter within the castle for the night.

  The riders had made their way to the gate, and the man leading them held up one leather-gauntlet-clad hand. The horses were pulled to a stop, but the stallions pranced in spite of the tight hold their riders had on them. Full stallions didn’t stand still easily.

  Norris Sutherland wore a leather doublet with studs worked into it for protection. He looked like a Highlander sure enough, just as ready to defend himself as any man riding behind him. The setting sun illuminated the red in his blond hair, making him look as though he were some sort of fire god from the Highlands’ pagan past. He raised his head and found
her, his eyes narrowing.

  “Lift the gate.” His voice rang out clear and full of authority. But Keith delayed giving the order until she nodded. Her insides were quivering, and she bit her lower lip to try and distract herself from her emotions.

  He is nae here for ye… Why would he be?

  She hurried down the stairs as the gate groaned and began to be lifted up by the huge gears used to wind the chains. Someone pounded on the doors of the keep, and they opened to allow the women and children out. They hurried to claim a good spot to watch the arrival of their overlord.

  Her lover…

  She drew in a stiff breath and forced herself to stand still. She’d made her choice and had known she’d have to live with the consequences of her actions.

  Norris didn’t wait for the gate to rise completely. He leaned down across the neck of his stallion and rode into the yard the moment there was enough room. His men followed, their kilts flapping in the evening light.

  “Are ye insane, woman?”

  He was off his horse and standing in front of her in a flash. Somehow, her dreams hadn’t recalled to her just how large a man he was. The top of her head came only to his shoulder, and he was easily twice her weight. There wasn’t a hint of fat on him. His thighs were lean and cut with corded muscle, as were his forearms where he’d rolled up his sleeves.

  “I asked ye a question, Daphne MacLeod.”

  “It sounded more like a demand.” The women behind her gasped. Her belly did a little flip, but the words were spoken, so she lifted her chin and locked gazes with him. Father Peter could add being disrespectful to her overlord to the list of her sins.

  She’d forgotten how intense his green eyes were too…

  He frowned at her but scanned the men still up on the walls. “Who allowed a female onto the walls when ye had riders bearing down on ye?”

  “No one allowed me,” Daphne informed him. “I went up myself, since there is no one else here to see to this clan.”