by Adams, Alisa
Alexa noticed the look at once since she had become very familiar with it in the last few months, but this was Graham, the boy she had idolized since childhood.
He was not that boy anymore though. Now, he was tall with a thick mane of golden-brown hair, light hazel eyes, and broad shoulders. He was very close to her, and she took an involuntary step backward, feeling threatened by his nearness. He noticed, and bowed slightly, stepping back. Alexa would have curtsied politely but felt that it was foolish to do so while dressed in men's clothes.
"I'm sorry for standing so close," Graham said, "but I feel protective when I stand near a lady in such a dangerous place. There are outlaws nearby."
She smiled and loosed another bolt into the tree. Then, almost too fast for him to see it, the dagger jumped into her hand, and she was holding it at his throat before he could do anything to stop her. He froze. She looked into his eyes steadily for a moment, and the fierceness of her gaze made him want to beg for mercy. Then she lowered the weapon and put it slowly back in its sheath. She took a slingshot from one of the panniers on her horse and placed a large stone in it.
"See that rock over there?"
Alexa pointed to a boulder about fifty yards distant, then spun the slingshot around and above her head. When she loosed it, the stone bounced off the rock with a loud crack and chips of stone sprayed into the air.
"If that had been someone's head," she informed him, "the skull would have been shattered."
She put the weapon back in her saddlebag.
"Would you like to see my sword?" she added, smiling mischievously.
"I think I have seen enough, Miss Montgomery," Graham replied. "But even all these weapons will not protect you against a dozen armed outlaws."
"Mayhap you are right." She nodded in agreement and mounted her horse. "But they would have to catch me first, and my Jenny is the fastest steed for miles around. Where are you going?"
"To see the Laird Drummond." He still felt a bit shaken, in more ways than one.
"Would you like me to be your escort?" she offered politely. "You look as if you need one!"
Graham gaped at her in amazement. This was not the little girl he had once known, who ran wild in the castle’s courtyard. Alexa Montgomery had grown up into a fierce, beautiful warrior woman, and at that moment he knew he wanted her, and wanted her forever.
The Sutherlands
Hector Sutherland may have been the patriarch of a large family, but not one of them loved him. He was a greedy, ruthless, capricious man whose only loves were power, riches, and the eldest of his four daughters, Mairi. Despite the cruelty of his nature, he was not ugly. Indeed, he was a fine-looking man with gray-streaked black hair and dark gray eyes.
Mairi could almost twist her father around her little finger, but not quite, for his cruelty knew no bounds. She was like him, in looks, not in personality, being brown-eyed and dark-haired with shapely, almost masculine features but with a feminine cast.
She was tall and strong, and from a distance could have been mistaken for a man, but she had feminine wiles aplenty. She had to suffer the attention of the other bandits, though, who made very free with their roaming hands all over her body. Her father always struck out if one of them tried to go any further than a caress though.
In some ways, he was very protective, and he had never struck her, unlike the others.
Her brothers and sisters were terrified of Hector, and her mother cowered every time he came near, for his method of discipline was cruel in the extreme. He used his fists, a wooden rod, a leather strap, and the sheer force of his brutal personality. The most trivial of infringements could result in a dozen or more strokes of the lash, even for little Sam, who was only three years old. Often one of the older children would have to hold him down under pain of being beaten themselves. Mairi often pleaded for mercy for them, but it never came.
Mistress Donella Sutherland had already suffered three miscarriages on account of his violence, but she thanked God for them because she had no wish to bring another life into the world to suffer as much as the family she had. She had often thought of smothering the little ones in their sleep and jumping off the high walls of the Sutherland house, but she had never had the courage.
Now, the oldest of her sons, also called Hector, who was twenty-one, was growing up to be just like his father, violent and abusive, especially after a few drams. There were signs that the other two, Alec and Bearnaird, who were twenty, were going the same way too.
Every night Donella Sutherland prayed for deliverance from her husband's wrath, but God had either been rendered deaf or was ignoring her pleas. She thanked him that she was at least too old for childbearing any more. She had nine living children and had endured one stillbirth as well as all the miscarriages.
When Hector came in with plunder from neighboring farms, he was always in a state of high excitement, and these were the times Donella dreaded the most, for then he used her body in the worst way, and clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her screams. Donella tried to acquire some milk of the poppy during those times both to numb her pain and put her to sleep.
But her husband, for all his savagery, was not stupid. Hector took livestock, crops and sometimes even women from the farmers, but he left them enough to live on so that they could always sustain his and his family's needs. His 'estate' as he liked to call it, stood on the plateau of a low mountain with almost sheer sides, almost impregnable from attack by the forces of the two lairds in the valley, and the others, whose land was more distant but in just as much danger.
Despite this, it was heavily fortified and inhabited not just by the Sutherlands, but by any outlaw who proved his worth to them, so the large compound, made up of four different houses, could hold about forty men if need be, and enough sheep, goats, and pigs to feed them all. If they needed more, they simply went on a raid and took what they wanted, and because they never struck in the same place twice in a row, it was impossible to guess their next target.
Everyone knew there had to be a secret entrance to the stronghold, but no matter how anyone searched – and there had been many searches – the entrance had never been discovered, so an ambush by stealth was impossible.
The garrisons of all the lairds had tried to attack the fortress, but Hector Sutherland had been alerted by a spy beforehand. No one knew their identity. He had kidnapped a farmer and his family and held them hostage, threatening them with death unless the soldiers backed away. They did, but the father of the family was murdered anyway, and his head thrown down to the army below. That had earned Hector Sutherland and his three oldest sons a death sentence, but until they could be wrenched from their stronghold, they were as safe as they could be. Even a siege was impossible as long as the entrance to the place was unknown.
So the Sutherlands ruled, and that was the fact of life which had been all but accepted in the region. Short of posting a guard on every farm in the valley, which would have required more manpower than they had, it was impossible to do anything to stop them, so they continued to terrorize the community whenever it suited them, which was often.
Many of the farmers were now laying aside a portion of their harvests and livestock as tribute, to pacify them and safeguard their families from harm, but it did not always work. The Sutherlands were power-hungry and bloodthirsty. Not only was violence a means to an end, but an end in itself. They enjoyed it.
Mairi Sutherland had never been seen in daylight by any outside eyes. She emerged only at night and even then was swathed in dark clothing that completely covered her face.
She emerged from the secret entrance in darkness and did not light her lamp till she was a hundred yards away from it – since she knew the path like the back of her hand. She had no desire to waylay or rob anyone. She simply needed a breath of fresh air outside the compound to enjoy the wide-open space, the sigh of the wind and the pleasure of her own company. Sometimes if it was dry, she went to sleep and woke up just before dawn with dew on her face and a
feeling of dread in her heart that she had to go home.
Like all the others, Mairi was terrified of her father, even though she knew that she was his favorite. That could always change, though, because he was a changeable, temperamental man, likely to explode at a moment's notice. How she hated him!
One day when her father was sleeping off a particularly bad hangover, Mairi found her mother sitting by the kitchen garden, weeping silently.
Donella knew that Mairi treasured her place as her father's favorite, not so much for herself, but for the tiny bit of protection she could give the others. She did this by distracting his attention from everyone else, and only her mother knew the emotional cost of this.
Now she sat down by her mother's side and looked into her prematurely lined face. She took her worn hand and kissed it, then Donella leaned her head on her daughter's shoulder. They sat silently for a moment.
"I hate him," Mairi hissed out. "I hate him wi' everything that's in me, Mammy. My soul is black wi' it."
"I do too." Donella nodded in agreement.
"An' I am goin' tae dae somethin' aboot it," Mairi said grimly. "I am goin' tae kill him, Mammy."
"But ye cannae dae that!" Donella protested.
"An' why not?" Mairi demanded. "He beat Rose this mornin', an' she is only five years old, Ma! Is one o' us gaunnae hae tae die afore he stops?"
"He is the only one puttin' food on the table," Donella pointed out.
"Aye – stolen food! He takes the bread oot o' the mouths o' other wee bairns tae feed his ain. Then he beats them half tae death for nothin'."
Mairi sat, breathing heavily, then added, "I will find a way tae make money, Mammy! An' then I will take yon horsewhip in the stable, tie him tae a tree, an’ whip him tae death – an' I dinnae care if I die an' all!"
She paused, and when she spoke again, it was as if the words were coming from the throat of a demon.
"Mammy, when I lash him, I want tae look straight intae his eyes, an' when I give him the last stroke o' that whip, I will pray tae God tae pit him where he belangs – in the deepest, darkest dungeons o' hell wi' the murderers an’ rapers o' women an' wee ones. An' I swear by the blessed virgin that the last hand that touches him will be mine an' the last face he sees will be mine – an' I will be smilin'."
Alexa's Suitor
Graham could not stop thinking about Alexa's blue eyes. They were the last thing he thought about at night and the first thing in the morning. He tried to think of excuses to go to the castle and see the laird, but she was never there, and there were only so many things he could find to talk about, particularly since Laird Drummond was a taciturn man, not inclined to talk about anything except business and the weather.
But one day it seemed that Laird Drummond had come to the end of his tether.
He looked grimly at Graham under his lowering brows and said, "Mr. Hamilton, you have come to see me five times in the last two months. Each time about a trivial matter which you could have taken care of yourself. Please tell me now – what is the real reason for your coming here? I have more to worry about than the problems of a young man who obviously has too much time on his hands."
Graham felt himself flush. He sat very straight in his chair and looked Iain Drummond straight in the eye.
"I would like to ask your permission to court Alexa, sir," he said gravely.
Iain cast his eyes heavenward. "Is that all?" He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Why the hell did you not say so in the first place, you stupid man?"
He sat for a moment looking at Graham incredulously.
"Why are you asking me? Ask her!"
This is not going at all well, Graham thought.
"Where is she?" he asked, sounding somewhat desperate.
"Probably shooting that crossbow of hers," Iain replied with a touch of harshness. "Go and look for her in the field behind the west wall. She usually sets up targets there. But be careful you don't get in her way. She is a crack shot."
I know all too well! Graham thought, smiling.
On his way downstairs he met Moira, who gave him a pleasant smile.
"Estate business, sir?" she asked.
"No, I have come to see Alexa," he replied, then went on in a rush: "You might as well know, mistress, that I intend to ask Alexa to allow me to court her."
Moira clapped her hands and laughed. "She will be thrilled! She has loved you for the last twelve years!"
"Since she was six?" Graham asked with disbelief.
"Probably before. And I am thrilled too. I only hope she says yes. She is a girl who does not give her heart easily, and she has grown up a lot in those years. What a six-year-old girl feels and what an eighteen-year-old girl feels are very different things!"
Graham smiled grimly. "There is only one way to find out," he replied, clattering downstairs.
"Good luck!" Moira called, hugging herself.
Graham's heart was beating a wild tattoo as he walked around the field to get to the practice range, but as soon as he saw Alexa, he knew that everything was going to be fine. He walked up to her and admired the bolts she had just shot into the tree, so close together that they looked like one.
"You are a good shot," he observed, "but is this a fitting pastime for a lady?"
"Why should it not be?" She fitted another bolt to the crossbow. "And why should I care? I may have to defend myself someday."
He shrugged, smiling at her but saying nothing.
"Would you like me to reacquaint you with my dagger?" she asked mischievously.
"No, I think your dagger and I dislike each other," Graham replied, laughing, then the smile faded from his face. "May I call you Alexa?"
"You may."
"May I acquaint you with my lips?" he asked, his voice husky as he looked down into the blue eyes that had tormented him so often in the last few days.
"You mean – kiss me?" For once, Alexa was uncertain and took an involuntary step back, her eyes wide.
He nodded.
"I-I have never kissed anyone before – not a man, anyway," she confessed.
"There is nothing to be afraid of," he said softly, reaching out a hand to touch the tumbling curls that framed her face.
He put one hand on her waist and bent his head to touch his mouth to hers very gently.
A shiver went through her and a tingling sensation that left her feeling a little weak.
When his lips left hers, he looked down at her, smiling slightly.
"Another?"
He was exercising the utmost restraint. What he really wanted to do was pull her against him and kiss her with all the passion he had in him.
"Did you like it?"
"I did." Her voice was low and trembling. "Please do it again."
Exactly what I wanted to hear, he thought.
"Close your eyes, Alexa."
She did so trustingly, and he tilted her head up, then kissed her softly again.
"Open your mouth just a little," he instructed, ignoring the urge to ravage her lips with his.
She did so, and he pressed his mouth against hers a little harder, then pushed the tip of his tongue between her lips. She opened her mouth wider still, but he did nothing more, not wanting to frighten her.
When Alexa felt the pressure on her lips harden, she wanted to jump back in alarm, but his mouth moving against hers felt so good. She inhaled deeply, smelling the mixture of exotic perfumed oils that he rubbed onto his skin and another indefinable smell that was just him. Without thinking she moved closer to him so that their bodies were pressed together, and she felt his arms wrap around her protectively.
She touched her tongue against his and heard him give a long moan, then she was in a world where nothing else existed but the two of them, tongues entwined, lips caressing each other’s.
Eventually, they broke away from each other, and Alexa was amazed to find that she was breathless and trembling.
Graham was looking down at her with half-closed eyes, his lips curling upward in a s
atisfied smile.
"You won the contest with the dagger, my Lady," he murmured. "But I won the contest of the lips, did I not?"
"You will not the next time!" she said with defiance. "I will not allow it!"
Graham straightened up to his full height.
"We'll see about that." He pretended to be stern.
She pulled out the dagger, smiling. "You may be bigger and stronger, but I will always be cleverer!"
He sighed and held his hands up. "I am bested."
Then he looked at her so that he could ask her what he had wanted to from the beginning.
"Alexa." He took her hands in his. "I have asked Laird Drummond and your sister, and they have both given me their blessing. May I court you with the intention of getting to know you better?"
She was incredulous. Amazingly, the love she had borne him as a child had not changed, even though she had grown up. It had merely grown up with her.
"Yes," she replied, blushing. "Yes, you may."
His smile lit up his face.
"And now, my Lady Alexa, may I seal our bargain with a kiss?" he asked with mischief.
Alexa did not answer, but leaped into his arms and pulled his face down to hers. Only this time it was the kiss that Graham had wanted in the beginning – hard, passionate and hungry. He had the feeling that he had just lit a fire, which he had. Alexa had experienced her first introduction to womanhood.
They walked back into the castle again, and Alexa told him of her childhood beliefs about girls and boys.
"I used to think," she said, laughing, "that if I put on a dress, I would be a girl, and if I put on hose or a kilt, I would be a boy."
Graham looked in alarm at her decidedly masculine attire.
"I am so glad that is not true, lass!" He laughed. "But do you not have any pretty dresses to wear?"
"Yes, but they are all so thick and floppy and clumsy. I would rather be a boy outside and a girl inside."
