The Trouble with Highlanders

by Mary Wine

  Every muscle Norris had rebelled against stopping, screaming to charge down into the valley where the sheep had been penned, but he was not a fool or some beardless boy who had never seen a battle. The advantage was on the high ground.

  “What in the name of Christ?” Gahan muttered as he surveyed the sheep milling about below them. Two of the pens were open, allowing the animals loose.

  “It was a trap,” Norris pronounced in a deadly tone.

  Gahan took a second look at the pens and sheep then nodded.

  “That fool woman ran straight into their hands,” Norris added.

  “But why leave the sheep?” Keith asked.

  “Because Comyn does nae need to steal the animals. He can have anything he wants off yer land once he has yer mistress wed to him.”

  It was a ploy as old as time.

  “What are ye planning to do?” Keith asked.

  Norris surprised him by grinning, but a closer look showed him just how unholy the curving of his lips was.

  “By God, I plan to take her back.”

  ***

  “Agree to wed me this morning.”

  Morrell Comyn stood in front of her while his men ringed them. The morning sun was brightening the day, but all she saw was the ugliness of his expression. It was cold and calculating.

  “If ye want to wed me, best ye go back to MacLeod Tower and discuss it with me overlord, Norris Sutherland.”

  “Sutherland’s son is here?” Morrell scanned the rocky terrain behind her, losing some of his confidence for a moment, but he quickly regained his arrogance. He reached out and slapped her, to the delight of his men. “Best ye learn that I do nae tolerate scheming well. Sutherland would nae bother with ye until yer brother arrives. If the savage is still alive, that is.”

  Her hands were bound behind her back, and she turned with the blow, stumbling and then regaining her balance. Pain threatened to rob her of her vision, making dark spots dance before her eyes, which she blinked away. Her cheek throbbed, and she knew she’d have a bruise to mark the spot.

  “Ye’ll wed me, Daphne MacLeod, and I do nae mind so much just how much pain ye have to endure before agreeing.” The tip of his tongue appeared and swept along his lower lip. Morrell wasn’t a bad-looking man; some might even see his dark hair and square jaw as comely. Nonetheless, the lust twisting his features made him hideous in her opinion.

  “And yer fortune of a dowry will be mine just as soon as ye swear before the priest that ye take me for yer husband. Since yer father is dead and yer brother is nae here, we need no contracts. Only the blessing of the Church and witnesses of a consummation.”

  Several of his men snickered.

  “I have no dowry.”

  He raised his hand, and this time she only turned her head with the blow. Oh, it hurt just as badly, but she was ready for the sting and stared right back at the man in spite of the pain. Morrell smiled brighter, a gleam of appreciation lighting his dark eyes. “I do enjoy testing the strength of any beast I plan to master.”

  “Wedding me will gain ye naught but hungry people to provide for until me brother arrives to confirm that there is no gold.”

  He reached up and removed a long riding crop from his horse’s saddle. The animal snorted and stepped away, obviously having felt the sting of the rod.

  Morrell slapped the crop into his gauntlet-covered palm. “Swear to wed me.”

  “I will nae.”

  “I think ye will, Daphne,” he taunted her. “But ’tis a shame to ruin yer fine face. I’m going to enjoy yer beauty while I labor to plant me son in yer belly. So yer bruises will have to be on other parts of yer body—some place that will nae ruin me enjoyment of yer flesh.”

  He continued tapping his palm with the riding crop. Daphne battled to maintain her stony expression, but the sound of that leather meeting leather sent a chill down her spine. His men were all watching, and not a single one looked disturbed by their laird’s actions. More than one was leaning forward, eager to get a good view.

  Morrell walked behind her and slapped the crop harder. She jerked in spite of her resolve to remain still. He chuckled softly, sickeningly.

  “Yes. Yer back. Just think, me lovely Daphne. The priest will nae see any bruises along yer back. But ye’ll feel them with every thrust.”

  He tapped her gently with the end of the riding crop, drawing it down her spine until her bound hands interfered.

  “Neither will they gain ye a single bit of silver, for me clan has naught. Ye’ll be saddled with a bride without a dowry.”

  He let out a sharp whistle.

  “Unbind her, and hold her steady.”

  Two of his men obeyed quickly. One sliced through the strip of fabric they’d torn from the bottom of her skirt to bind her, and separated her hands. They pulled her arms out to her sides, crushing her wrists in their grips because they didn’t temper their strength.

  “Swear to take yer vows.”

  “Nae.”

  The crop landed on her back and sent her pitching forward as pain burned through her. While the men held her in place, she sucked in a deep breath and held it to maintain her dignity.

  “Think of how much pain ye want to endure tonight, when I have ye on yer back beneath me, Daphne. I promise to ride ye half a dozen times before dawn.” The crop sailed through the morning air again.

  She jerked as it landed, and pain tore through her once more. It felt like it lasted longer this time, but she refused to believe it. She could endure.

  She must.

  “Ye’ll feel every bruise while I fuck ye.”

  The crop sliced through the air and struck a third place, and then a fourth quickly thereafter.

  “Laird!”

  Daphne was suddenly free. She stumbled and turned around to see Morrell looking behind them.

  “God damn ye!” he snarled, jerking back to glare at her. “Sutherland is here!”

  And the man was in a rage too. She could hear Norris roaring. His men echoed the battle cry. It mixed with the pounding sound of the approaching horses. Morrell ran to his stallion and swung up onto the back of the beast. With a vicious jerk, he sent the animal charging straight at her. Too late, Daphne turned and ran, but Morrell leaned over and hooked her. Agony twisted through her back, but she refused to yield to it. She kicked and twisted, prying at the hand holding her against the side of the horse. She might well end up trampled beneath the hooves of the beast, but she preferred it to submission to Morrell Comyn.

  “If ’tis a broken neck ye crave, so be it!”

  Morrell Comyn cursed her and released her. She tumbled to the ground, curling into a ball to try and protect herself. As new agony raced through her body from the impact with the ground, all she heard was the thunder of the horses’ hooves. Blackness didn’t offer to take her away this time, maybe because the pain was too intense. But she was aware of every second that she tumbled along the ground, of all the rocks she hit and the sight of horses’ hooves tearing into the earth all around her. Time seemed to slow down, giving her the chance to notice the way a hoof tore a chunk of grass from its roots and flung it up into the air.

  She rolled and rolled, and finally there was nothing but silence, the thunder of the horses in the distance. When she stopped, she was lying on her back, staring up into the sky. It was a beautiful day, the sky blue with only a few clouds lingering from yesterday’s storm. The ground beneath her back was moist from the rain, and the grass smelled fresh and new.

  The thunder stopped, and she sighed, happy to know the sky would remain clear. But a shadow fell across her, and a moment later, Norris was beside her.

  “Where did ye come from?” she wondered aloud, but then recalled the way he’d been roaring. “Ye are a fearsome man when ye want to be, Norris Sutherland.”

  �
��And ye are vexing,” his words were too soft for how somber his expression was. He was smoothing his hand along her arms, touching her as if she were a babe.

  “I am quite fit,” she announced and sat up to prove her point. Pain stabbed into her from too many places to count. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out because her entire body was frozen in agony. She could not draw breath, couldn’t do anything but endure.

  “What ye are is luckier than any soul has a right to be.”

  He boldly flipped up her skirt and ran his hands along her legs. Then he covered her again and cupped her jaw to look into her eyes. “But ye’re reeling, and that’s no mistake.”

  “I am nae,” she argued. “Me wits are in order.”

  He hooked her under her arms and lifted, still handling her like a child. She barely felt it when he put her on her feet, because the man was supporting most of her weight.

  “I can stand.”

  He grumbled something, and there were other voices in agreement. She looked around to find Gahan and the rest of his retainers ringing them.

  “What did that bastard want of ye?”

  It took her a moment to realize Norris had asked the question, and still longer for her mind to decide on the answer.

  “He… He wanted me to swear to wed him. Today. At the church.”

  “That accounts for why he stopped to beat her,” Gahan muttered from behind her. “The priests are holding to the law when it comes to brides taking their vows.”

  “Well… I was doing…” Her brain felt fuzzy, but she demanded it to function. “Fine,” she offered, satisfied with completing her thought.

  Norris cupped her jaw, gently bringing her attention back to his face. Surprise went through her when she looked into his eyes, because she saw the unmistakable shimmer of relief there.

  “Lass, when ye have yer wits back, I’m going to be pleased to tell ye just how badly ye have misjudged yer performance.”

  “I have?”

  He nodded, and her brain refused to allow her to decide just where his thinking was wrong. In fact, a warm wave was sweeping over her body. It was hotter than warmed bath water, and it smothered her with its heat.

  ***

  Norris caught her when she sagged, cradling her easily as Gahan watched. His men had turned their attention away to watch the Comyn.

  “Damn fool thinks we can’t best him,” Gahan offered as Norris handed Daphne to him.

  “Even on the high ground we could take him, but he no longer holds the prize.”

  Norris swung up onto his stallion and reached down for Daphne. She slept on, another kindness of fate, because the ride back to MacLeod Tower was going to be a painful one for her.

  He glanced up to where Morrell Comyn was beating his shield with his sword. It was a challenge he would dearly love to take. Running the bastard through would please him mightily. But he had never risked his men’s lives needlessly. Today would not be the exception.

  “Leave the fool to his acting,” Norris declared. “He’s little better than a tone-deaf English troubadour. Certainly nae worth a drop of Sutherland or MacLeod blood. We have what they stole. Retribution can wait for a better setting. Fight hard, lads, but do nae forget to fight wisely. I’ll nae see Sutherland women wailing for the benefit of a fool.”

  His men agreed. But Norris realized he didn’t.

  He wanted to run Morrell Comyn through. Rage was tempting him to do something his father had trained him since his earliest memory not to do. Use the Sutherland men to extract personal vengeance. He glanced back at Morrell and watched him lift his kilt.

  Fool. The man was so drunk on his own pride, he was insane.

  His day would come. There was another thing his father had taught him. No one transgressed against the Sutherlands and prospered. Satisfaction wouldn’t be his today, but Norris grinned as he contemplated crushing the throat of Morrell Comyn.

  The rest of the world would think it was because he’d raided one of Sutherland’s vassals. Norris was going to do it because the piece of filth had struck his woman.

  And he was going to enjoy it.

  ***

  Her dreams were powerful.

  Daphne twisted and cried out when she moved, because her body ached so viciously. She wanted to wake up, but sleep held her down like a thick comforter, one that was heavy and confining. She struggled to push it aside, knowing she wanted to wake up but unable to escape her dream.

  The dream swirled around her again, changing back to something pleasant. Norris was there, stalking her across her bed, and she smiled. Happiness filled her, and she giggled as he sent her that cocky grin she had never told him she enjoyed so much. She turned, and he pounced. The bed shook as they tussled like lovers. He won the day, turning her over with little resistance until she looked up into his face.

  Instead of green eyes, she stared into the hard black ones of Morrell Comyn. He licked his lower lip and laughed at her. She tried to scream, but her throat was silent no matter how hard she strained to send a cry past her lips. Pain began to burn along her back, increasing as Morrell licked his lip again.

  I promise to ride ye half a dozen times before dawn.

  “I will nae swear!”

  She broke through the hold of the dream. It took every bit of strength she had, and she tumbled right over the edge of her bed, catapulted by the strength she used to escape the clutches of the nightmare. She fell to the floor in a tangle of bedding as the door to her chamber was pushed inward. A rush of cold air came up the stairwell, but that wasn’t what made her grab the bedding back, it was the sight of one of Norris’s retainers peering at her. And the fact that she wasn’t wearing a stitch.

  “I was… having a nightmare,” she muttered, not sure why the man was lingering outside her door. She looked up at the bed. Norris wasn’t there, but the retainer was very real when she turned her attention back to the door. She gathered up the bedding to cover herself and stood.

  He reached for the door handle, offered her a nod, and pulled it closed. She sighed with relief, but it didn’t last long, because her long mirror showed her a reflection that was startling. She let the bedding go and crossed the chamber to get a closer look at herself. There was a huge black bruise along the right side of her jaw and another purple one covering her left cheek. She reached up to gently probe it, wincing as pain erupted from even that gentle contact.

  That wasn’t the extent of her injuries. There was something brown in her hair, and she turned her head to see a spot of dried blood on the back of her head. She flinched when she touched it, surprised by the neat row of stitches.

  “Yer back is worse.”

  She spun around and gasped when the movement sent pain stabbing through her.

  “Do nae bite yer lip. Ye have enough broken skin.”

  Norris looked more formal than she’d ever seen him. His kilt was newly washed and pressed, something a more common man would never waste time on. His boots were clean, not a hint of mud on them, and they were crafted of black leather, proving again that he had coin to spare. But his doublet was made of wool, showing him to be a man of action, not useless finery. The only opulent item on him was a broach holding the feathers to the side of his bonnet. It was made of gold, with two hawks and a polished ruby the size of her thumb.

  “Yer brother has arrived,” he offered in explanation of his formality.

  “Oh. I should dress.”

  He stepped closer and inspected her jaw. “I doubt ye can tolerate a dress against yer back.”

  “Of course I can. It is nae so terrible.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he folded his arms across his chest. “Is it no’? Why do nae ye have a look?”

  He obviously intended to stand there while she bared herself. Of course he’d seen her body more than once, but she still hesit
ated.

  “Unless ye’re too shy.”

  She frowned. “Ye needn’t take such a tone with me, Norris Sutherland. Ye admitted ye were a blackguard to tempt me into yer bed the first time, so do nae be insinuating I’m loose and accustomed to having men in me bedchamber. Ye just enter anytime ye please with no respect for me privacy.”

  She turned her head around to look at the mirror, while her temper gave her the incentive to forget about her modesty. She ordered herself to release the bedding, pausing when she uncovered bruises along her shoulders. Her mouth went dry, but she let the fabric go, and it slid lower, baring her back. She heard the sound of the riding crop and flinched as she uncovered the first point of impact. The bruise was black and brown, with red still showing in the center.

  “Perhaps I like privacy as much as ye do, and like ye better in private, Daphne.”

  She wanted to take exception, wanted to be cross with him, but his voice was deep and husky, betraying just how much he meant what he said. He stepped up and reached around her shoulders to tug the bedding completely from her grasp.

  “I find I do nae care for the way ye leash yer true nature below stairs.”

  His words were a deep whisper next to her ear, but she heard the heat in them.

  “Ye must be as mad as they say, for no man likes a waspish female.”

  He chuckled and placed a kiss against her temple. “Perhaps I’m hiding behind yer chamber door because me men will nae disturb me when they believe I’m intent on bedding ye.”

  She turned her attention back to him, surprised by his suggestion. He was the picture of strength and authority. The idea that he felt the need to hide away from anything was almost impossible for her to grasp, and yet it seemed to touch something deep inside her. Some sense of compassion, because she realized he had as few choices as she did when it came to what life he would lead.

  “Have ye and me brother already opened the whisky?”