The Sutherland Devil

by Lee, Caroline

  Dear God in Heaven.

  Saffy was sure the exhaustion was overtaking her. Surely that explained why her limbs felt so weak, why her heart was pounding so fast, as she stared at the lips which had just uttered those impossible words.

  Stay with him? Attend him? She managed a little head shake.

  Those arrogant, devilish lips curved upward just slightly. “Oh, aye, wee Saf,” he growled. “And ye’ll sleep here in this chamber. With me.”

  Saffy’s knees gave out.

  And before she could hit the ground, he was there, scooping her up. Before she could blink, she was cradled in his arms, tucked safely against his chest.

  It was the oddest sort of horror and anticipation, wrapped up in warmth. Did he intend for her to share his bed now? As intrigued as she was by the possibility, she couldn’t afford to assuage her curiosity about the Sutherland Devil.

  Besides, he thinks ye a lad.

  She began to kick. “Put me down,” she demanded, as fiercely as she could manage, trying to twist out of his grip.

  He merely held her tighter and chuckled. She stilled when she felt his laughter where her shoulder was pressed against his chest.

  And then he was placing her on the bed once more, pulling the cover up around her. “I’ll give ye one more night here alone, Saf. Starting tomorrow, I’m taking my bed back, and ye can have the pallet.” He stepped back and stared down at her thoughtfully. “And I willnae be here when ye wake, ye have my word. There’s always water in that ewer”—he jerked his chin toward the far table—“if ye need to wash. And since ye’ll be attending me, ye will wash.”

  Laying as stiff as a corpse, Saffy could do no more than gape at him. He hadn’t meant for her to share the bed with him? He was allowing her more rest? He wanted her to be clean?

  Relief shot through her so fast, she thought she might faint again. “Aye,” she whispered.

  He looked as if he might say more, but then snapped his mouth shut and spun toward the door. She heard him bellowing orders as soon as he was in the hall, and didn’t miss the sound of something heavy being pushed in front of the door.

  To prevent her escape?

  She stared at the ceiling and exhaled heavily. She had no need to escape. While meeting the Sutherland laird had been the very last thing she’d wanted to do—ever—she’d done it and was still alive. And he’d given her an excuse to stay here in the keep! Being by his side all the time meant she wouldn’t have time to search for her family’s jewels, but surely, she’d be able to sneak away a bit? And being with him meant she’d hear everything he heard. She might be able to glean information which would help in her search.

  Her eyelids felt heavy. Escape? She smirked as she rolled over on the comfortable pillows. She was well-fed and exhausted, and looking forward to the chance to be clean again. There was no way she’d try to escape.

  Merrick Sutherland thought she was a lad. It was odd to think of the Sutherland Devil having a first name, but if she really was going to attend to him, she’d have to stop calling him devil. While he’d laughed the first time, he might not the next. From the stories she’d heard, he’d respond with a swift blow, especially since he believed her a lad.

  And he’d called her Saf, so her secret was still safe.

  I will learn yer secrets.

  When he’d said that, it had sounded more like a promise than a threat.

  She closed her eyes, her mind too numb to work through the logical outcomes of this situation. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she’d be rested and fed and clean and then she could figure out how she would find the next clue to the jewels’ whereabouts.

  Merrick.

  He’s called her his, which should’ve terrified her. But as sleep claimed her, Saffy knew one thing: she’d felt safe in his arms.

  Chapter Five

  She healed well. After that first encounter in his chamber, watching her sleeping so peacefully in his bed, Merrick had kept his distance. Not because he was being kind—he’d told her she’d be attending him every moment, after all—but because of his reaction to her.

  She was filthy. She was dressed as a lad. He had no idea what she looked like under those ridiculous clothes.

  But when he’d touched her, it’d felt…right.

  Holding her, even just holding her hand, had made his skin itch and his muscles tense. A tightness deep in his belly reminded him of the long-ago way Anna had made me him feel.

  He’d been so young then, barely twenty-two when he’d planted Mary in her belly. And Anna had been a vivacious and lusty wench, who met his passions head-on. It’d been no wonder he’d fallen hard for her, no wonder he still remembered those feelings.

  But Saf—or whatever her name was—couldn’t be more different than Anna. She was skinny where Anna had curves, pale where his leman had been dark…

  And she had the most incredible eyes. Large and bright blue, the color of sapphires. They’d flashed open that afternoon in his chamber, and he’d been afraid he’d fall into them.

  She’d met his warnings with sass, and in an effort to intimidate her, he’d gotten too close.

  When he’d threatened to have her sleep with him, he saw the understanding in her eyes. She’d thought he’d meant to bed her, and God help him, but that’s exactly what he’d meant. Of course, it’d been easy to claim he wanted her only to sleep on a pallet beside him, and he hadn’t missed the flash of something in her expression then. Relief? Disappointment?

  All he knew was that placing her back in that bed—alone—had required remarkable willpower.

  She’s a lad. Remember that.

  He’d gone out to the training fields and beat Gavin, which made him feel a bit better. Of course, the next day, Gavin gave as good as he’d gotten, and they were both sporting new bruises.

  Which was good, because lying there in his dark chamber that night, listening to her breathe softly on her pallet beside the bed, Merrick was glad for any distraction.

  Four days after his return from his futile chase of his half-brother, Saf finally was well enough to venture from his chamber. She still wore that surcoat and breeches, but everything—including her—had been washed. Someone had given her a thong to tie her hair back, and freshly scrubbed, she looked much healthier.

  That first evening at dinner in the great hall, he sat back in his chair and watched her bustle around the high table, rushing from one flagon to the next to refill ale, and he had to admit he was impressed. When she wasn’t needed, she stepped down from the dais and just observed.

  Those blue eyes flicked over all the children, lingering, flashing back and forth between him and Beck, who was one of the bairns who looked nothing like Merrick. He imagined he could hear her brain working.

  What kind of woman corrected graffiti in a dungeon?

  Unbidden, a smile flashed across his lips, and when she saw it, she flushed and looked away.

  “Ye’re in a good mood tonight, milord.”

  For the loyalty he’d shown in protecting the keep and Merrick’s family, Andrew had been granted the honor of sitting at the high table once more. Merrick had been certain to place him opposite Mary this time—And why the hell do I have to think about this kind of thing?—but his former squire seemed eager to please.

  Merrick lifted his flagon in acknowledgment. “Just thinking about tomorrow’s training.”

  The young man nodded. “I’m looking forward to sparring with ye. And in a few days, ye’ll be joining me to teach the lads, aye?”

  Andrew was one of the youngest Sutherland warriors, although skilled. Attending Merrick for all the years he had, the young man had proven to be a fast learner, and now could hold his own against many of the older men. But Merrick had also put him in charge of training the lads who were not yet warriors, and was eager to see how they’d progressed.

  He nodded and eyed Andrew’s empty flagon. “Aye. And ye have need of more ale. Saf!” he bellowed.

  When she came hurrying over, the pitcher in her hands, she was gl
aring at him. “Ye donae have to shout. I was right there.”

  Andrew gasped in shock at her cheekiness, and Merrick bit down on his smile. Not only could he not afford her to think he was easy to charm, he didn’t want his men to know how amusing he found her.

  He kept his voice mild when he reminded her, “Milord.”

  She scowled as she topped off Andrew’s flagon. “Aye, milord. Anything else, milord?” Taking a small step back, she gave a flourishing curtsey.

  Mayhap it was an accident. Mayhap it was part of her sarcasm. Had she bowed, it would’ve been obvious, but a lad curtseying had more than a few men erupting in laughter—Gavin the loudest.

  Merrick had to lift his own flagon and take a long draught to hide his smile.

  After she’d stepped back, Andrew seemed to regain his voice. “Laird! Allow me to train him. I’ll beat some respect into that thick skull of his! He cannae speak to ye—”

  “Aye, in good time,” Merrick said with a casual wave. “We’ll start the day after tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m learning plenty about our little interloper.”

  His former squire’s eyes flashed, and he leaned forward. Gavin did the same, but he didn’t look convinced.

  “Have ye learned Lindsay’s plans?” Andrew asked. “Has he told ye where the bastard will strike next?”

  Merrick shook his head. Nay, no matter how many times he’d asked Saf—no matter which combination of questions or how off-guard he caught her—she still denied knowing anything about John Lindsay.

  But he was learning all sorts of other things about her.

  Like the fact she muttered in her sleep, women’s names and talking about jewels. The fact her eyes flashed when she was irritated with him. The fact she not only could read, but enjoyed the trade agreements and treatises strewn over the desk in his solar. The fact she liked things tidy, and he often returned to his chamber and solar to find everything arranged much neater than Andrew had ever kept it.

  Aye, he was learning plenty about her, but nothing about what he needed to know.

  Andrew sat back with a scowl. “We need some way to break him,” he said, slamming his fist into his opposite palm. “He must tell us what he kens! Lindsay cannae—”

  “I said I’ll take care of Saf,” Merrick growled in warning, “and I meant it. Ye’ll leave him to me.”

  Andrew reluctantly nodded, and when Merrick glanced at Gavin, his second was staring at Saf with a thoughtful frown.

  Merrick stifled his sigh, and cast about for some change in topic. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of either of these two—or any of his men—paying special attention to Saf…it irritated him.

  “Is Elana enjoying her time with yer cousins?”

  As soon as he’d blurted the question, Merrick regretted the distraction.

  I’m pondering seating arrangements and his sister’s social life?

  What in damnation was going on with his mind?

  And Gavin seemed equally uncomfortable about the topic. “She’s fine,” he said, reaching for his ale. “I assume. I…havenae heard much from her.”

  He didn’t want to speak of his sister, and that was fine by Merrick. It had been a poor attempt at diversion anyhow. He nodded and turned to whatever Andrew was saying to the warrior on his right, and vowed to pay attention to clan matters.

  Not matters pertaining to a certain intriguing young squire of his…

  The next morning, she followed him to the training grounds. Per his instructions, Saf woke each morning before him and performed her own ablutions, then was ready to assist him. Of course, he needed no help, but he’d started to enjoy lying in his bed with his eyes cracked, watching her bustle around the room to put away her pallet and hurriedly wash herself.

  It’d been hard not to laugh at her reaction the first time she’d realized he slept nude. She’d all-but-tossed him his kilt, her cheeks a bright red.

  They started their morning with her serving him porridge and following him on his duties. This morning it was training with his warriors.

  She found a shaded spot and watched carefully. Although he needed to put her from his mind as he sparred, it was hard to ignore the fact she was staring at him. But rather than distract him, the knowledge she was watching made him work harder, pour more of his energy into the attacks and blocks, and even call out instructions as he saw fit.

  Ye’ve still got life, auld man.

  After, she trailed them all to the loch, but he noticed that as the warriors stripped and washed in the cold waters, she turned her shoulder and kept her attention firmly focused on the distant keep.

  “He’s no’ one of Lindsay’s men.”

  Gavin’s casual pronouncement drew Merrick’s attention. They were apart from the other men, up to their waists in the water.

  “What makes ye say that?”

  His second shrugged, frowning at Saf. “I cannae explain it. But…he watches everything ye do. Everything we do. I donae think he’s used to being around so many men at one time.”

  Merrick straightened and nodded thoughtfully. “And ye think if he were one of Lindsay’s men—a spy—he’d be more familiar with life in a band?”

  “Aye. And he’s nae crofter or servant, that much is obvious. So, who is he?”

  Merrick grunted and scooped up another handful of water to slosh over his shoulder. “’Tis the question. I havenae decided yet, but I tend to agree with ye.”

  Until the words had left his mouth, Merrick hadn’t realized that was his feeling. He didn’t think Saf was one of his bastard brother’s spies? Why not? Because he knew she was a female? Did he not think females capable of treachery?

  Gavin had ducked under, and came up, shaking off his shaggy mane. “Ye havenae noticed him poking around the keep asking questions?”

  “Nay, but he’s only been well enough to be out of my chambers a few days.”

  “Keep an eye on him, Laird.”

  Merrick didn’t need to be told twice.

  He did keep an eye on Saf over the next few days, and not just because she was with him all the time. Andrew had never slept at the foot of his bed, like some sort of loyal hound. While Merrick had been the one to make the demand, wanting to ensure she wasn’t sneaking off, he was coming to realize it meant she’d always be guarding her actions. It would’ve been smart to allow her more freedom and set a watcher on her.

  But he’d grown used to having her in his room, in his life, and found himself making excuses to keep her close.

  Aye, he watched her.

  Watched her grow friendly with a few of his younger children. Watched her avoid Mary as much as possible—why? Was she afraid his oldest daughter would see through her disguise? He watched her charm his seneschal with her quick mind for numbers, and woo Corra into making Merrick’s favorite venison dish again, after he’d mentioned his fondness for it.

  She was taking her duties as his squire seriously, which was disconcerting.

  If she’d been a lad, he would’ve guessed either she was a brilliant player, to appear so serious about her new position, or she was genuinely honored to become his squire.

  But as a female, her reasons became much more tangled.

  He was still mulling it over when she followed him to Andrew’s training session a few days later. Andrew’s lads, some of them still needed at home most days, had eagerly gathered to watch his demonstrations.

  To their hungry stares, he spoke of how to counter strength and experience, and how to fight a much larger opponent. He taught them a few moves, then allowed a lucky few to practice on him.

  “Should we give yer new squire a chance, laird?” Andrew called out.

  Merrick could read his intent clearly. By giving Saf a sword and allowing her to attack, they might know if she really was a spy. But she was a lass! The thought made him frown, but he jerked his chin in agreement.

  “Saf, to me.”

  She dragged her feet in attending him, and unlike other days, didn’t wear a smirk. In fact, there w
as worry in her eyes.

  He held out the small sword the lads used. “Have ye held one of these afore?”

  “Aye,” she said quietly, reaching for it.

  To his surprise, she settled into the correct position, but didn’t seem comfortable.

  Without lifting his weapon, he beckoned her. “Ye were paying attention, aye? Show me what ye learned.”

  Her first attack was slow and clumsy, but she’d remembered his instructions, and hit him in the right places with the flat of her blade.

  He exchanged glances with Andrew, who was looking begrudgingly impressed, then nodded once in approval. “Again,” he commanded.

  By her third try, she was flowing properly. He incorporated some of the other moves he’d taught the lads, and she met him blow for blow. She was weaker, obviously, and not nearly as comfortable with a blade as he was, but she’d obviously had some experience.

  Interesting.

  “Now, lad,” he said, not even breathing heavily, “what would happen if I did this?”

  On her next attack, he twisted out of the way. She followed, but was disconcerted by the shift. That little fact made it easy for him to thrust out a hip, knock her off balance, and trip her.

  She rolled, of course, but he was tall enough it didn’t matter. In two steps, he was able to go down to one knee beside her, his other booted foot planted by her shoulder, and his sword at her throat.

  He’d done it for demonstration only. Not to get her at his mercy.

  Oh, of course.

  She should’ve been terrified. As far as she knew, he thought her a dangerous spy, and now she was lying beneath him, a blade to her throat. But her wide blue eyes were focused on his, and she seemed almost relaxed as she breathed carefully.

  And her expression said she was merely curious what he’d do next.

  Damn her and her inquisitive mind!

  In an effort to unbalance her, he leaned forward until his mouth was close to her ear. “We could always grapple, next.”

  She blushed. An honest-to-God blush, but she didn’t release his gaze as she quipped in return, “If that’s what ye want, Grandda.”