The Trouble with Highlanders

by Mary Wine

  But it wasn’t fair. Norris shook hands briefly with Broen before leaving Deigh Tower. His men looked grim as they waited for him. To be sure, he agreed with them. There was nothing to be happy about.

  ***

  Dunrobin had been a long time without a proper mistress. The earl had a private secretary who kept some of the estate books in good order—but only those accounting for armor and gunpowder; things men thought of. The cook had a page who was crafty with numbers, and the lad kept a fair accounting of the goods used by the kitchen. That left several areas unaccounted for.

  Daphne began with the cloth accounts. Everything from bed linens to staff livery needed to be recorded. There were stable boys who hadn’t been given new shirts in two years. They wouldn’t ask, for that would be an insinuation that the laird was not running a competent house.

  It was something the lady of the house attended to. One of the many duties that made her worthy of respect. When a man such as Norris negotiated for a bride, he was looking for a female who came educated in mathematics and languages, and was experienced in running a large household. Her days would be full of ensuring everyone had enough—be it shelter, clothing, or food. Overlooking even the lowest stable boy was unacceptable. The bond between laird and servant was ancient. The servant gave service, and the laird made sure they had all the essentials.

  When the bells began to ring in the village in the afternoon, Daphne stretched her back and stood up from where she had been hunched over the table in the lady’s solar. “Who is it?” she asked.

  One of the maids Asgree had sent up that morning to attend her under Isla’s command put the shirt she was sewing aside and looked out the window.

  “Fraser colors, mistress.”

  The girl stumbled over the last word, but Daphne found it odd too. Not as odd as hearing who was riding through the gates.

  “I believe I should greet them in person.”

  Isla frowned but followed Daphne down the stairs. Cam joined them too, and by the time they reached the ground floor, retainers were pushing open the doors. Sandra Fraser swept inside like a princess. Dust clung to her from the road, and she was wearing a dress too fine for travel.

  “I would see the earl”—Sandra noticed Daphne and shot her a look full of impending victory—“for I seek justice for the wrong his son has done me.”

  A chill raced down Daphne’s back. The nightmare that had woken her suddenly played across her memory. She had been standing in the church while Norris took his vows with Sandra.

  From the look in Sandra Fraser’s eyes, it appeared the girl believed herself heading for marriage with the earl’s son. The man Daphne loved.

  ***

  “Me son is nae here,” Lytge declared in a steady voice from behind the large desk in his private chamber. The gray hair on his head seemed almost a camouflage, for his tone didn’t lack strength. Sandra Fraser wasn’t impressed with the high-backed chair he sat in, which had his family crest carved into the wood. No, the girl had marched right into his private space without lowering herself and begun to make her case.

  “He used me after making promises he’d wed me,” Sandra insisted. “I’ve come to demand justice from ye. Make him wed me before yer honor is sullied by his actions.”

  The earl studied her for a long moment. “Since ye just accused Norris of nae having the honor to keep his promise to wed ye, what makes ye believe he will honor me by taking ye to wife if I decide to request it of him? He is no lad.”

  “He always does what ye command,” she muttered, disliking the look in the old man’s eyes. “Every clan knows it too. Norris might be a rogue, but he gives ye respect and honor.”

  Lytge nodded. “Aye, me son is a rogue, and ye are nae the only woman inside Dunrobin who has lost her battle to refuse him. Why would I insist he wed ye, when I have nae insisted he take Daphne MacLeod to the church for the holy blessing? He spilled her virgin’s blood after the king himself ordered her wed to Broen MacNicols.”

  “Daphne MacLeod?” Sandra sneered. “Her clan is disgraced, and she has nae a single piece of silver to her name. She brings naught to ye.”

  “I am more concerned with what she leaves behind, which is peace and happiness. Ye leave a trail of relief, because yer shrewish temperament drives me staff near insane.”

  Sandra gasped, her focus on her goal slipping from her grasp. The old man might be an earl, but he had gone too far to insult her.

  “Why—”

  The earl held up a hand, and his men moved toward her instantly, proving he had simply been granting her his time. It was a blunt reminder of how much power he held.

  “Go on with ye, Sandra Fraser. Asgree will see ye have a chamber, and ye may wait on me son’s return. That is all I offer ye for the moment. Yer brother knew full well I was undecided in the matter of me son wedding ye.”

  He waved her off, but for a moment, the urge to launch herself over the table and lock her hands around his throat was almost too much to contain. The retainers reached for her, and she jumped back out of their reach.

  “Yer son was nae so cold upon the matter, I assure ye. I will be waiting, yer lairdship.”

  She lowered herself and left. Her temper boiled, and the moment the old head of house left her alone, she threw herself onto the bed and beat it. By the time her rage was spent, two of the fine pillows were torn, their goose feathers floating gently through the air. Sandra didn’t spare a second glance for the costly items she’d destroyed. She would have a dozen more pillows given to her and do whatever she wished with them. She would be mistress of Dunrobin—she would.

  Maybe Lytge needed to be helped on his way to the afterlife before she might see her plan to fruition. Her temper slowly faded, and her confidence burned brightly once more. Yes, if the old man would not help her by ordering Norris to wed, perhaps he might still assist her by dying in such a manner as to make sure Daphne MacLeod was blamed for his death.

  Two problems solved with a single solution. Yes, that cheered her up very nicely.

  ***

  Norris pulled up his horse.

  “What’s the matter?” Gahan asked. He scanned the horizon and returned a questioning gaze to Norris, because there was nothing in sight.

  “I feel like I’m going in the wrong direction.” In fact, he was certain of it.

  “Aye, I share that with ye,” Gahan agreed. “There is something nae right about all of this.”

  Norris looked behind him, straining against his discipline. Duty had never been such a burden before. To be sure, there were Highland lairds who would tell the king to wait until spring for their oaths of loyalty, and he did want the king’s blessing on his wedding to Daphne. But something was pulling him back toward Dunrobin. The sensation had been building all day, and looking at the setting sun made his mouth go dry.

  He felt as though he’d left something unprotected. He felt the pull stronger and stronger with each passing mile, and it was burning a hole in his gut. Damn his duty, for it damned him to journey on in spite of his suspicions.

  Damn him…

  ***

  Sandra Fraser was waiting for Daphne when she went down to the bathhouse. “I told ye I’d have him for me husband. Ye might think yerself so grand with that brute Cam guarding yer door, but I warned ye what would happen once I was mistress of Dunrobin.” Sandra flicked her fingers. “He’ll be tossed into the gutter, like ye.”

  There was victory in Sandra’s eyes. Daphne looked away, trying desperately to fend off the doubt that had been stalking her since Sandra arrived. “I suppose ye’ll do as ye please.”

  “Oh yes, I always do what I please.” Sandra came closer. “I want Norris for me husband, and he’ll have to wed me now. Unlike ye, me clan is powerful, and he will nae risk having a feud over me soiled name. I will be mistress here, and ye will be gone.” />
  Daphne backed away from the girl, because in that moment, Sandra looked insane. There was an unholy light shining in her eyes that sent a shiver down Daphne’s back. Without a doubt, Sandra’s heart was as dead as a stone. She was a law unto herself.

  Despite her misgivings, Daphne lifted her chin. “It will nae be the first time I have made me own way in this world, and I promise ye one thing, Sandra, ye do nae control me ability to fend for meself.”

  Sandra apparently wasn’t accustomed to having her victims fight back. Her face turned red, and she bared her teeth.

  “Ye shall be what I say… Do ye hear? What I say!”

  “No’ if I am nae beneath Dunrobin’s roof.”

  Sandra sputtered, granting Daphne a small sliver of satisfaction. It wasn’t much, but she’d make do. The sun was sinking on the horizon, and she felt as if it was heralding the approach of death. Perhaps that was dramatic, but she couldn’t deny the feeling in her belly that doom was looming over her. She felt its shadow and the touch of its icy breath on her neck.

  Well… she’d endure.

  Well enough.

  As she always did.

  So why are ye fighting off tears?

  Because she loved Norris, and that idea brought calm to her at last. She smiled at Sandra before entering the great hall. Whatever happened, she would not live without knowing love. Small comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

  ***

  The tension in the great hall was palpable. The staff of Dunrobin whispered in the corners as they contemplated the high table. Lytge sat in the center chair at the table, the fine meal placed before him untouched. It didn’t tempt him in the least, even though several of his favorite dishes were waiting on him. The cook stood off to one side, waiting to see if his work met with approval. Lytge ground his teeth with frustration. He didn’t need to offend his staff.

  “Ye have brought discord to me house,” he muttered, not bothering to indicate which of his female guests the comment was directed at. “It pleases me not.”

  Daphne stood up, the page assigned to her chair having to hurry to pull the heavy X-framed piece of furniture out of her way.

  “This fine meal should nae be wasted. Many are nae so fortunate.” She lowered herself before leaving. Maybe it was the coward’s way out, but she couldn’t force a morsel down her throat, either. The opportunity to escape was too tempting. Sandra had not lied about her clan being strong. There was no reason to believe Lytge would not see the wisdom of insisting Norris wed her.

  “I am so happy ye have sent her away,” Sandra snapped. “She was spoiling me appetite, as well.”

  “Why are ye so sure Daphne was the cause of me discontentment?” The earl sent her a sidelong glance.

  Lytge stood up, and the hall quieted as he did so. “Mistress MacLeod.” Startled by the booming sound that came out of Lytge Sutherland, Daphne turned so fast her skirts rose up. He might look old, but there was plenty of strength left in his body. She lowered herself.

  “I would have words with ye, in private.”

  He turned and headed for the doorway behind the high table. The room beyond it was a place few females ever ventured. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and followed. She had been mistaken when she believed the hall full of tension while she still sat at the high table.

  Because now it was tight enough to snap.

  Every set of eyes was on her as she climbed the three steps to the high ground and then went around the table to follow the earl. His personal escort eyed her but allowed her to pass through the doorway into his private receiving chamber.

  ***

  The pages assigned to the high table took the opportunity to eat. The earl enjoyed long suppers, so it was a rare opportunity to stand closer to the fire and indulge themselves with personal conversation.

  “He’s going to send her back to her own clan, sure as can be.”

  “Ye do nae know that. I heard one of the upstairs maids claim the young master wants to wed her.”

  “He’s off to Court and nae here to stop his father from dealing with her. She has no dowry. The Sutherlands always wed for position and gold. I wager he sends her home before his son returns.”

  “Mistress Fraser is sour-tempered.”

  “Aye, we’ll have to suffer her, no doubt, since she has a dowry.”

  The cook began to ladle out hot stew, and all the pages turned to hold out their bowls. The musicians would play a fanfare when the earl returned, so they didn’t bother to keep the high table in their sights.

  Sandra smiled slowly, happy to be left unattended for a change. She reached for the earl’s goblet and hid it in her lap. The tablecloth assisted her and, when no one noticed, she withdrew her flower hair ornament and began to smear its contents along the inside of the goblet.

  ***

  “Now then,” the earl said as he sat down, “’tis time ye and I had a blunt discussion.”

  Lytge waved at his men. “Off with ye, lads.” They hesitated in the doorway, their gazes traveling to her. The earl stood up with a growl. “Do ye nae think me capable of handling one wisp of a lass?”

  His men tugged on the corners of their bonnets and quit the room.

  “Somehow, I do nae think I will have the good fortune of having ye attempt to strangle me, even if I might hope for the pleasure of feeling ye wrap yer body around mine.”

  Her jaw dropped open in shock. Lytge beat the table with his amusement and walked over to the cupboard. He lifted a pitcher and filled two mugs, bringing them back to the table.

  “Sit, lass.”

  The chairs behind his table were ornately carved and too heavy to move. A stool was pushed beneath the end of the table, obviously left there by one of his secretaries. Daphne pulled it out and sat down.

  “If I’d invited young Sandra Fraser in here, she’d nae have missed the opportunity to sit herself down in one of me fine chairs. Ye may wager upon that fact for certain.”

  “This serves well enough.”

  He set one of the mugs in front of her and settled back into his chair. “I understand being tired of all the pomp and circumstance.” He drew a sip from his mug. “There is a satisfaction in doing a thing or two for oneself. But outside this sanctum, I must make sure there is order, else we’d end up as naught but a snarling pack of wolves, all intent on killing one another for the most gain.”

  The earl drew another sip and watched her over the rim of his mug. “What are ye thinking, lass?” he demanded softly.

  “That Norris learned a great deal from ye. Yer gaze is as sharp as his, and ye try to disguise how much ye do notice behind yer guise of entertaining and making merry. Yet ye are nae the aged man ye so often portray.”

  “And me son uses duty to me as his shield to keep the world from knowing just how much he does think before acting,” Lytge offered gently.

  “He does take his duty to ye to heart,” she made sure she stared straight into the earl’s eyes as she spoke.

  Lytge chuckled and drained his mug. “Ye have strength and a spine of solid steel. I did wonder if ye were naught but a spoiled brat.” He pointed at her. “Casting aside young Laird MacNicols might have been naught but a service to yer own petty preferences. It would nae have been the first time a laird’s daughter decided she’d have what she wanted no matter the difficulties it caused others.”

  “I was thinking of the difficulties and naught else,” she countered. “Broen MacNicols was growing closer to feuding with the Chisholms over the match. I refused to watch bloodshed because of my wedding.”

  The earl tilted his head to one side. “Aye, Faolan is as passionate as his father was. When it comes to women, they lose their heads.” He placed the mug on the table and aimed a hard gaze at her. “What do ye want of me son?”

  “To be near h
im.” It was a simple answer but one that crossed her lips instantly. It was an emotional response, and logic had no control over it.

  The earl grunted. “I noticed ye did nae say ye wish to wed him.”

  It was a baited comment, a test of her motives. Daphne slowly smiled, her confidence warming her. “If position was what I craved, I’d be Lady MacNicols. Twice I had the chance, and twice I chose to see the harm it would do. I understand how the world works, and I truly have no dowry, but I have something more important. Yer son’s affection. That is all I desire.”

  For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. She realized he had Norris’s green eyes, and they were full of a glimmer that touched her heart. He covered it quickly, clearing his throat as he stood up.

  “Me appetite has returned. Let us taste some of the cook’s fare before the man throws himself off the curtain wall.”

  “I doubt he’d do such a thing. The man does nae seem to lack confidence.”

  The earl raised an eyebrow at her as he came around the table. “He is a powder keg, is nae he? But the man can make even a Lent table appetizing. Ye have the spine to deal with him, but more importantly, ye have a clever enough wit to understand the value of nae crushing his spirit. That Fraser brat would crush him, simply for the sake of knowing she was being obeyed. ’Twould be a waste, I assure ye, and serving up bland fare would be the man’s vengeance.”

  The earl brushed by her as he made his comment, but there was a note of amusement in his tone that snagged her attention.

  “Ye are playing with me, Laird Sutherland.”

  He turned and winked at her, just as cocksure as Norris so often was. “As ye noticed, lass, I’m nae so old as I would let some believe. Nor am I as much of a miser. Me son’s happiness is something I hold close to me heart. But this business with Sandra Fraser is nasty. It will take a bit of doing to clear it up.”

  The stone that had felt lodged on top of her heart for the better part of the day suddenly lifted away. It seemed impossible to have so much tension relieved by so simple a conversation, but it was. Lytge was laird of Dunrobin. His word was law.