Highland Master

by Howell, Hannah

  Or had he? she wondered, glancing around at the men who had dragged her to Sir John and dumped her on the ground at his feet. She did not recognize any of them as Gormfeurach men, although she could not really claim to know every one of those men by sight. Instinct, however, told her that these were not Sir John Grant’s clansmen. That meant that he had gotten himself some hirelings who would fade away once paid and dismissed.

  “If ye think ye and your hired swords”—she noticed the fleeting look of surprise on Sir John’s face and knew she had guessed right—“can steal me from my land, force me afore a priest, and nay suffer some consequence for this madness, then ye have truly lost your wits, Sir John.”

  Triona fought the urge to scramble backward when he glared at her and clenched his fists. She refused to cower before this man. It would only give him even more power over her. Her father had taught her how to deal with a man who tried to beat obedience into a child, and Boyd had taught her how to deal with a man who used aloof condescension to keep a woman under his boot. She had managed to do just as she pleased most of the time while under the rule of those men. What she wanted to do now was to get as far away from Sir John Grant as possible. All she needed was a small chance, a short moment of distraction on his part.

  “Ye will wed me, lass,” he snapped. “’Tis the easiest, surest, and quickest way to get back the land your late husband’s first wife’s family stole from mine.”

  “They didnae steal anything. The land was given to them by the king himself, a reward for saving him from some foolish plot your ancestors had devised. And they also saved most of your kin from dying for that foolishness. Wheesht, ye probably wouldnae be here if it were nay for the McKees.”

  “All lies! Lies told by the McKees to get their greedy hands on the best part of Grant land! They used false accusations to fatten their own purses.”

  “So it wasnae your kinsmon found standing o’er the king’s bed, sword in hand, and all ready to plunge it into the king’s heart?”

  “’Twas nay but a madmon acting alone. The whole clan shouldnae have been made to suffer for what he tried to do.”

  “Nay e’en the ones caught thieving from the king whilst that kinsmon went in to kill him? Or the one caught still working on the speech that would declare the king’s murderer the new king? Or the ones who slipped into the queen’s bedchamber, thinking to dishonor her and all the lasses serving her? Or . . .”

  “Be quiet!”

  Triona was not surprised when Sir John’s bellowed command echoed through the wood. The way his men glared at him or grimaced and shook their heads in disgust told her they shared her thought: Sir John had just sent out a clarion call to anyone out there looking for her. She prayed someone had been close enough to hear it.

  “It will nay be easy to drag me before a priest, Sir John,” she said. “’Tis best if ye give this up right now. I said nay when ye first told me to marry ye, and I still say nay.”

  “I dinnae have to drag ye anywhere. I brought a priest with me.”

  She watched as he signaled to one of his men, who quickly ducked into a small tent and came back pulling along a tall, thin man with gray hair, a priest she recognized because he occasionally came to Banuilt when they desperately needed one. “Father Mollison!” She glared at Sir John. “Ye are forcing a poor village priest to commit this crime? Our own liege laird’s cousin?”

  “I commit no crime,” said Sir John. “I but take a reluctant bride. It has been done before. E’en our liege laird thinks it wrong that ye, a lone woman, play at being a laird as if ye ken what needs doing. That will end today. Once wed and bedded, there will be no changing it, nay matter how loudly ye protest. I will become the laird of both Banuilt and Gormfeurach. Most men will congratulate me for doing what is both right and wise.”

  There was too much truth in that statement to argue with it. The moment the vows were exchanged and a blessing given, even that could be enough to leave her bound to Sir John for the rest of her life. Bedding her would only affirm her fate. She would also find few if any allies when she tried to have the marriage ended simply because she had said no.

  Her only hope was to delay the marriage for as long as possible. There had to be someone hunting for her, and she needed to still be unwed when they arrived. Fighting and perhaps killing a kidnapper could be explained and excused, especially with so many witnesses to the event. Killing a new husband could rouse a lot more questions and doubts, especially as that would leave Gormfeurach needing a new laird, as Sir John had no heirs. One look at the pale, trembling Father Mollison told her that she was on her own. The priest did not have the courage to protest this travesty. Triona braced herself for a good long fight and prayed that a rescue was on its way.

  Brett waited tensely as Harcourt searched the ground for the trail they needed to follow, while Callum disappeared into the trees. It slowed them down each time they had to hesitate like this, but he knew it was necessary. There was nothing to gain in racing about the countryside bellowing Triona’s name as a nearly uncontrollable part of him wanted to. He had had to wrestle hard with himself to keep his hunting skills keen, trying to keep diverted by talking to Brian or thinking of ways to end the troubles with Sir John.

  The thought of how humiliated he would be if he gave in to the blind panic gnawing at his insides helped as well. He took a nearly sinful pride in his ability to remain calm in battle, in his hunting and fighting skills, and he refused to lose them now, even if he had good reason. Brett also knew he had to find the time to think on how fierce his fear and concern were for Triona, and why.

  “Found them,” said Callum as he rode up beside Brett.

  “Then why have I spent all this time looking for a trail when ye obviously could just wander up to them?” asked Harcourt as he joined them.

  “Wasnae sure if the birds were acting strangely because of a predator or because of men. Needed to look first. It was men.” Callum looked at Brett. “The lady is hale, so hale she is shredding Sir John with a sharp tongue, but he is about to try to force her to say vows afore a terrified priest. That poor mon will do naught to stop the marriage.”

  “I cannae believe his men would stand beside him in this,” said Brett. “Everything we have seen and learned has revealed that Sir John’s people dinnae like what he has been asking of them.”

  “I dinnae think these are his people, nay all of them. I think the mon has gone and hired himself a few swords, paying strangers to do this dirty work for him.”

  “And dragged a terrified priest along as weel. Let us go and end this before he finds a way to force Triona to say those vows.” Brett frowned when a cry echoed through the wood. “What was that?”

  “A bellow of rage, I believe. The lass is doing a verra good job of making Sir John verra, verra angry.”

  “Then we best get there before she drives him to the point of hurting her.”

  It was slow work slipping through the trees, trying to stay in the shadows and move as silently as possible. Their horses were well trained for such work, as they themselves were, but it took only one snapped twig to alert someone with keen ears. Or a guard watching for them, Brett thought as he heard someone crashing through the woods. A moment later there was a bellow of warning. Brett looked at Callum.

  Callum shrugged. “Missed him,” he said and then, unsheathing his sword, he let go a battle cry that sent every bird in the woods flying up in panic.

  Brett cursed as Callum charged toward the sounds of men attempting to run for their lives. He unsheathed his own sword, kicked his horse into a gallop, and followed his cousin. The other eight men with them did the same. A stealthy approach might have been a better strategy, but Brett had to admit that this way appeased some of the fear and anger knotting his insides.

  Sir John and what was left of his band of men came into view just as Triona punched Sir John in the face, forcing him to release her. The man had been dragging her to his horse, she fighting and cursing him every step of the way. Br
ett felt his anger flare hot again over the way the man was so roughly handling her. Sir John was mounted and fleeing before Brett got close enough to make him pay for mistreating her, however. He paused in the chase only long enough to look Triona over and assure himself that she was unharmed.

  Triona stood up and brushed herself off. She looked up as Sir Brian walked up to her. The man was grinning, and she had to admit that he was a handsome man with a smile that undoubtedly had led to Arianna’s falling in love with him. She was not sure what he was grinning at, though.

  “A weel-delivered punch, m’lady,” he said and then turned to the priest. “They didnae hurt ye, did they?”

  “Nay, sir,” said the priest. “I was but roughly dragged along to this place to perform a wedding between Sir John Grant and Lady Triona McKee.”

  “A forced wedding,” Triona said. “Ye should have been protesting that as heartily as I was. Ye should have been doing something, anything, to help me.”

  “I was in fear for my life and wasnae about to lose it just because some lass doesnae wish to be wed to a mon, a laird no less, and one with his own lands.”

  Triona had not realized that she had curled her hand into a fist, until Sir Brian leaned closer and said, “I am nay sure ye should show the priest how weel ye deliver a punch. It might be a sin, ye ken, and one with a high penance cost. Although I wouldnae mind watching ye do so.” He winked at her when she looked at him.

  She laughed and shook her head. It was evident that in the time she had been the laird of Banuilt, she had lost all tolerance of men who thought they knew what was best for a woman. Being laird and not doing too badly at the job, all without a man’s assistance, gave one a great deal of confidence. Ignoring the priest, she waited for the other men to return. It disappointed but did not surprise her when they came back without Sir John. Triona did not know how the man was doing it, especially since she was confident in the skills of Sir Brett and the others, but he was proving to be very good at disappearing and staying out of reach.

  Without a word, Sir Brett held out his hand, and she let him pull her up into the saddle behind him. Triona wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his broad back. Slowly all her anger and fear melted away. It seemed weak to find such comfort in a man, but she did, and it was too good a feeling to push aside just because she feared it, perhaps even resented it just a little.

  In fact, she mused, there were a great many good feelings Sir Brett Murray caused her to experience, which she was weary of running from or trying to ignore. She had just been faced with a forced marriage to Sir John Grant, a man who left her cold—if she ignored the anger he stirred in her heart. She knew he would have consummated that marriage as quickly as possible to make it even more difficult to protest it. The very thought of that man taking her to his bed made her shudder with revulsion. She also knew that until he was caught, she could face that threat again, and yet she had turned aside the passion Sir Brett stirred inside her, again and again. Triona decided it might be time to reconsider protecting her virtue from a man she wanted. It did seem rather foolish, when there was another man she hated, trying so hard to steal it away.

  “Now we may seek justice for ye,” said Brett.

  Triona sighed. It was not time to seek justice, for Sir John had been trying to make her do what nearly every man of power in the area, including their liege laird, had advised her to do—get a husband. Brett was not going to understand her reluctance to bring any attention to herself for her continued refusal of Sir John, not without hard proof of crimes other than his attempt to marry her. She knew she was about to enter into an argument that could last a very long time.

  “Nay, we cannae. ’Tis still Sir John’s word against mine.”

  “And the word of every mon who went to get ye back from Sir John, a mon forcing ye to marry him.”

  “What Sir John did was nay more than what every mon of any power and influence in this area believes ought to be done.”

  “He kidnapped ye.”

  Triona turned to face Brett, ready to continue the argument they had started on the way back from where Sir John had taken her and continued over the evening meal. He wanted her to send word to her liege laird, and she would not do it. It would be the surest way to starkly remind her liege laird that she had yet to take his advice to find a husband, but Brett was not heeding her fears about the trouble that could bring down on her head. Then she suddenly realized that they were in her bedchamber, that Brett had followed her right into her room. She opened her mouth to tell him to leave, only to watch him shut the door, lean against it, and cross his arms over his chest.

  The argument she had been so determined to continue fled her mind, and all she could think of was that she had just come far too close to having to accept into her body another man who would give her no more than soreness and seed. Yet now, right in her bedchamber, was a man whose kisses promised her a great deal more. She had spent six long years with a man who had used her as no more than a breeder, and almost two years working her fingers to the bone to keep her people fed and safe. Now she fought to stay out of the grip of a man who wished to force her into marriage so that he could claim her lands. Ella had been the only true bright spot in her life. Maybe it was past time she did something just to please herself.

  Brett tensed and studied Triona. There was a glint in her eyes that he was certain was caused by a growing desire. He knew men could have their lusts stirred by a battle or a heated argument, but he had not considered the possibility that women could as well. He was not sure he ought to trust in his own judgment on the matter.

  “Are we done arguing?” he asked as he watched her eyes change to a deep, rich blue, a color he had seen each time he kissed her.

  “Aye, I believe we are. I think I would like to do something else right now.”

  “What?”

  “I would like ye to kiss me.”

  He had her in his arms so quickly she gasped. For one brief moment she wondered if she was about to make a very big mistake. Then he kissed her and she no longer cared. She wanted this, needed it. For once in her life she was going to be bold and daring, was going to reach out and take what she wanted without a thought to the consequences.

  There was something different in her kiss, Brett realized, a fierce lack of hesitation that had his heart pounding. “Triona, I believe we are past the stealing of a few kisses and naught else.”

  “Och, aye, I do hope so,” she murmured, and kissed him.

  Brett decided to see that as acceptance. He lifted her up in his arms just enough to get her feet off the floor, and started toward the bed, still kissing her. The sound of her shoes hitting the floor explained the odd little wriggle she made in his arms. It was, in his mind, yet another invitation.

  He gently laid her down on the bed. Watching carefully for any hint that she was about to change her mind, he shed his clothes. The way her eyes widened as he did so was rather flattering, especially when he saw no sign of unease. Climbing onto the bed beside her, he kissed her again and began to unlace her gown. He tightly grasped hold of all his control so that he could go slowly, for even though Triona was no virgin, he was certain she had not gained any true experience or confidence in the art of lovemaking from her husband.

  Triona closed her eyes and fell into his kiss, letting every stroke of his tongue in her mouth and faint nip of his teeth on her lips stir up the fire in her veins. The image of Brett naked was now seared into her mind. He was lean and taut with muscle. A small patch of black curls was centered on his broad chest, his long legs were well shaped and muscular, and he had only a few scars. He was all that was beautiful in a man. It both inflamed and intimidated her.

  The touch of his hand against her skin made her tremble with pleasure until she realized she was naked. She had never been naked with a man before, as her husband had left her night shift on her, simply pushing it out of the way. Then she suddenly thought of her birthing scars, but an attempt to cover them
with her hands was swiftly thwarted by Brett when he grabbed her hands and lightly pinned them to the bed. Then he kissed each mark bracketing her womb. She stared at him, both shocked and moved, as he lifted his head and smiled at her.

  “Ye shouldnae think ye need to hide these marks,” he said, releasing one of her hands to trace each mark with the tip of his finger. “They are the scars of a woman giving life to a child, scars as hard-won and honorable as any a noble warrior wears.”

  There was such sincerity in his voice that she could think of nothing to say. She murmured her pleasure when he kissed her again, a pleasure born of the way he ravished her mouth, the way the heat of his skin touching hers fired her blood, and the way his calloused hands sweetly caressed her body. It was not until he slid one of those beautifully skilled hands between her thighs that any hesitation occurred in her rapidly soaring passion.

  He was touching her there, she thought wildly. Her husband had never caressed her there, barely touched her there at all, even when he was preparing to join their bodies. Since Brett was not indulging in any fumbling attempt to join with her like Boyd had, she had to assume that he liked touching her there. The way her body was reacting to his stroking fingers alarmed her even as it pleased her so much that she could not make herself pull away from the shocking intimacy of his caress. Before she could make any sense out of her emotions and confused thoughts, Brett turned his attention to her breasts, fondling and kissing them, even suckling her, and every thought in her head was burned away by the fire raging in her blood.

  When he finally began to ease inside of her, her head cleared of desire’s fog just enough to remind her what she was supposed to do. She went still, as still as she possibly could, despite the aching need to touch him, to rub her body against his and to kiss him. When he also stopped, thrusting no deeper within her, she frowned and fought the fierce need to grab him by the hips and make him move.

  “Do ye ken, if your eyes were nay squeezed so tightly shut, nor your hands clenched so tightly at your sides, and your body nay weeping in welcome, I would think that ye had just swooned,” he said.