’Tis a hell of a time to notice his thighs, Saffy.
An enemy—they must be Lindsays!—lunged for his rear, but before she could shout a warning, Merrick had thrown himself sideways and stabbed upward, catching the man in the gut.
Saffy remembered to inhale and yanked her horse’s head toward Merrick. She didn’t know what use she’d be to him, but couldn’t bear the thought of him being wounded.
“Saf!” he bellowed again.
Apparently, he thought she should be by his side as well.
Time sped up again as her animal wove its way between the clumps of fighters, and she kept her attention on Merrick, swallowing down her terror at the screams of pain and clashes of metal.
She would reach him. She had to.
And she would’ve, had Andrew not stumbled in front of her horse then, defending himself from a much larger Lindsay warrior who landed blow after blow on the weakening young man.
Saffy knew she couldn’t allow Andrew to be hurt, not when she could help. Merrick might’ve wanted her by his side, but surely he’d rather know Andrew was safe?
Her mind made up, she took a deep breath as the battling pair passed to her left, then raised herself in her stirrups.
With a battle cry which would’ve made Citrine proud, she threw herself out of her saddle toward the Lindsay warrior.
When he saw Saf throw herself off the horse, Merrick went a little mad.
It had been bad enough knowing he’d ridden right into an ambush. What the hell had Gavin been thinking, to lead them this way? Merrick had already been frowning as he followed his friend, knowing this pass was a dangerous spot…but he’d trusted Gavin not to be so stupid.
Then, when the Lindsays had attacked, there’d been a moment of elation. Aye, he and his men were under attack…but he finally had the chance to engage his brother face-to-face!
It was long moments before he realized John wasn’t with his men.
And a few very short moments before Merrick realized Saf was in danger as well.
He’d yelled her name, but the lass had just sat there, staring wide-eyed and terrified at the battle around her. He’d begun fighting his way toward her then, no longer caring about the Lindsays, or John, or even the fact that Gavin’s forehead was bleeding.
He was only thinking about reaching her.
Holding her.
Kissing her.
Ensuring she was safe.
It was hard to keep an eye on her with the battle raging around him, but he continued to fight his way toward her. His horse was well-trained, as was hers. Despite the scent of blood and the screams in the air, her animal wouldn’t panic.
And then, thank God, she’d drew her sword and began to move toward him, and he knew she was at least able to function. He’d be able to reach her and keep her safe.
Aye, everything was looking up…right until the daft lass threw herself off her horse.
Merrick had shouted her name again, just as she slammed into the back of a Lindsay warrior, her short sword plunging into the man’s back up to its hilt. She rode the body to the ground, only to be snatched up by the hood of her surcoat by an extremely angry-looking Andrew.
Angry she’d interfered with his battle, or angry that she’d saved him?
Merrick fended off another attack, irate the Lindsays seemed to be focusing on him, keeping him from her side.
Still, as his men cut the attackers down, he watched Saf. She stood back-to-back with Andrew, doing her best to fend off blows with her large dirk. Darting forward and back, she slashed and stabbed, incapacitating at least two Lindsays who’d underestimated her abilities.
Despite the danger all around, Merrick found himself smiling grimly.
I taught her that move.
Finally, his last attacker lay dead at his feet, and Merrick whirled to take stock. Gavin was sitting on the ground, holding his head—in pain or shame? The rest of his men were standing, or finishing off their opponents…
Except for Andrew. He was still locked in combat with a Lindsay warrior. As Andrew spun out of the way, Saf darted in to take his place. But before she could attack, the tip of the man’s sword sliced across her forearm.
Blood bloomed from the wound, and her face paled as she stumbled to the side.
Before Merrick could move, Andrew had lunged back into position and thrust his sword deep into the enemy’s unprotected neck.
Just like that, the battle was finished, the Lindsays defeated.
But as much as he wanted to rail against Gavin, or to hold Saf and ensure she was safe, he needed to be the Sutherland Devil first.
“Farran!” he barked, singling out Gavin’s second. “Lead the retreat. Each man pair with a wounded comrade. Let no Sutherland fall behind!”
Then, because he knew it was expected, he swung his bloodied sword in a circle over his head. “Without fear!”
His warriors—even the wounded—screamed the clan’s words back. “Without fear!”
Farran pulled Gavin up behind him, and turned his horse to gallop toward the distant keep. Others helped friends up or began to wrap wounds.
Merrick turned his horse toward Andrew and Saf.
His former squire was bent over Saf’s arm, clearly trying to check the wound, but she kept pulling back. Finally, Andrew sighed and swung up on his horse, then offered her his hand.
Merrick reached them before Saf could reach for the lad. “Go, Andrew,” he commanded in a stern voice. “Ride in the rear and watch for stragglers.”
Andrew’s eyes darted between his laird and Saf, and Merrick could see he wanted to argue. Finally, he lowered his chin in acceptance.
“Ye saved my life, Saf,” the young warrior choked out.
“Aye,” she croaked, her face still pale. “Twice.”
Andrew held her gaze. “I’m sorry I doubted ye.”
Merrick could tell Saf was in no condition to stand around and talk, and he was in no mood to allow Andrew to continue ignoring his orders. “Andrew!”
The young man yanked his horse around and galloped for home.
Alone now, Merrick took a deep breath and looked to Saf.
She seemed so tiny and vulnerable, clutching her right forearm to her chest. Blood stained her sleeve and the front of the surcoat, but it wasn’t so much he was worried about her passing out. Nay, it was fear which had her pale and shaking now.
With a muttered curse, he leaned down, grabbed her under her arms, and pulled her into his lap. He wrapped one arm around her, tucked her against his chest, and kicked his horse after his men.
Miles had gone by before he heard her say something. They were safe enough now, beyond the reach of the Lindsays and in the open. He knew his men were on their way back to the keep.
He could afford a few moments to set his heart at ease.
Yanking the horse’s reins, he turned the animal toward a stream, thinking only to allow Saf a drink, and maybe check her wound.
“What did ye say?” he asked gruffly.
She pulled away from his chest, where she’d been snuggling. “I said, I left my sword there.”
The image of her jumping off her horse, the flash of her blade as she plunged it into the Lindsay’s back, slammed into him once more. He stiffened, unconsciously tightening his hold on her.
“Ye’re hurting me.”
Hurting her? When they reached the stream, he pulled he horse to a stop and swung his leg over, without loosening his hold.
Hurting her?
Carefully, he let her legs drop until she was supporting herself, then forced himself to step back, before he exploded at her.
“Hurting ye?” he repeated in a deceptively quiet tone. “Hurting ye?”
Her chin rose, and she met his hard gaze. “Aye, but now my arms hurts more.”
“Hurting ye! Do ye have any idea how much pain ye would’ve caused had more than just yer arm been injured? Did ye even stop to think before ye threw yerself from yer horse?”
So much for his c
ontrol. He scrubbed both hands through his hair. “Ye could’ve been wounded much worse, Saf! Ye could’ve been killed!’
Her eyes rounded, and her mouth made a little “oh” of surprise. Thank God, she was finally understanding what danger she’d been in!
But then she took a deep breath and ruined his relief.
“Would that have bothered ye, Merrick, had I been killed?”
It would have broken me, lass.
The thought—the sudden realization—was more than he was willing to admit. He’d known her such a short time!
But it was the truth. Knowing she’d been hurt had caused him pain. If she’d been killed…
“God’s wounds, Saf,” he growled, reaching for her.
He pulled her against his chest, one hand splayed across her back, and the other cupping her hip, then crushed his lips down over hers. He swallowed the adorable little noise of surprise she made, and let his body show her how much she’d come to mean to him.
He knew the moment she relaxed from her shock and moved under him. Her uninjured hand turned against his chest, and she traced circles on his skin, which just made him moan again. She matched him with a little whimper, and when his tongue pressed against her lips, she invited him in.
God’s wounds.
When did the lass learn to kiss? Merrick couldn’t complain. With her pressed against him like this, despite the danger, he felt himself hardening. He wanted nothing more than to lay her down beside the stream, peel off that ridiculous disguise, and love her the way a woman should be loved.
But he couldn’t. She wasn’t ready for it, and he… It had been too long to start now.
She kissed like a woman who knew what she wanted, and he desperately wanted to give it to her.
Maybe one day he would.
With a groan, he pulled away from her, and when her lips followed him, he almost gave in.
Instead, he pressed his forehead against hers, panting.
Her eyes were open, and she ground her pelvis against his.
He tightened his hold on her and on his control. “Easy, lass.”
That was what did it. With a gasp, she reared back, jerking away from him. “Lass?” she repeated.
He straightened, and when he saw her incredulous expression, he began to chuckle.
“Aye, lass. I’d no’ kiss a lad the way I just kissed ye.”
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Finally, her shaking fingers lifted to her lips.
“How long?” she whispered.
His expression softened, and using his hold on her hips, pulled her closer. “Since the first, Saf. I held ye that night, and I kenned it,” he admitted gently.
“Ye knew I was a—a lass? Ye’ve been teaching me, and treating me like a…like yer squire.”
“Aye.” He nodded. “I wanted to get close to ye, to make ye trust me.”
He carefully pulled her injured forearm away from her body and turned it over, examining the wound. It appeared clean, and although she would need stitches, it would likely heal well.
“And once I trusted ye?”
Still holding her, he met her eyes. She was staring at him with the most serious expression.
“Do ye?” he whispered. “Trust me?”
“Do ye trust me?” she fired back.
It took a long moment for him to admit the truth. “Last night ye swore ye weren’t Lindsay’s spy. Today I saw ye risk yer life”—he wiggled her wounded forearm—“to kill Lindsay’s men. I donae think ye’re one of them anymore.”
“I never was.”
“Aye, ’tis what ye’ve been saying all along. I donae ken why ye came to my land…”
He twined his fingers through hers and pressed her hips against him once more. They still had several hours of riding ahead of them. He needed to cleanse her wound to ensure it wouldn’t fester before the healer could tend to it. He needed to deal with Gavin and the other injured men and determine what to do next when it came to Lindsay.
Aye, he had plenty he should be considering. But standing here beside this stream, his lips still tingling from her kiss, and his skin still tingling from her nearness, there was only one thing on his mind.
I donae ken why ye came to my land…
“But now that ye’re here, I’m no’ letting ye go.”
It was a vow.
Chapter Eight
I’m no’ letting ye go.
Saffy couldn’t decide if it was a threat or not. Still, when he kissed her again, hard and desperate, she decided she didn’t care. Being in Merrick’s arms made her forget everything else.
Especially insignificant concerns like he’d known she was a lass.
But if it resulted in her being pressed against him like this, his tongue caressing her lips, she couldn’t be too irritated that her disguise wasn’t as good as she’d hoped.
After, he pulled her toward the stream and washed her wound, his hands gentle, even if he didn’t meet her eyes or say a word. Then he lifted her up on his horse, cradling her on his lap as he nudged the animal toward home.
Nestled against his chest, Saffy gave a secret smile when she felt his hardness pressed against her bottom. She knew what that meant, and couldn’t help her little wiggle of excitement.
She’d accepted that she was attracted to the man, but had bemoaned ever doing anything about it. But now it turned out not only did he know she was a woman; he was attracted to her as well. So, who was to say he wouldn’t do more than kiss her? Was he taking her to his chambers right now? Would he peel her clothing off and lick her skin the way she wanted him to?
Her breaths were coming faster, and she wiggled again, unconsciously trying to ease the ache between her legs.
“Stop that,” he growled, tightening his hold on her.
She froze, then realized what he was objecting to as his member gave another jump under his kilt. A small smile tugged at her lips.
“Aye, Devil,” she agreed in a teasing tone, her cheek against his chest.
Her arm burned, her pulse thrummed, and she was certain his I’m no’ letting ye go had been a promise of further pleasure. But despite everything buzzing through her head, she fell asleep.
When they reached the keep, she was startled awake. To her surprise, Merrick seemed to ignore her all together, or at least treat her no different than he had Saf, his squire. He swung her down from his horse before she was even fully awake, then strode into the great hall, bellowing orders and questions.
She scurried in behind him, trying to figure out what he was thinking.
It soon became apparent that, no matter what they’d shared by the stream, no matter his intense, choked whisper when he’d pressed his forehead to hers and made that vow, he was now thinking of his clan.
None were dead, and of them, Gavin seemed to be the most seriously wounded. His cut had stopped bleeding, but Farran had to support him completely, and didn’t seem to be fully conscious.
Gavin might’ve been Merrick’s friend, but it was the Sutherland Devil who demanded a reckoning as they waited for the healer to arrive.
And he might’ve tried to hide it, but Saffy could see how alarmed Merrick was when Gavin couldn’t answer for his failure.
The healer—a beautiful older woman named Magda—lived in the village but kept a fully-stocked healing room in the keep. Enlisting a few of the maids, she moved among the men, stitching and bandaging and offering light-hearted banter to keep spirts up.
She checked Andrew, who was unharmed thanks to Saffy, then moved on to Saffy. The older woman gestured to the surcoat.
“Well, lad, let’s have that smelly thing off, shall we? One of the lasses will have it washed up, if ye persist in wearing it.”
Reluctantly, Saffy began to pull the heavy wool from her shoulders, feeling as if she were removing armor. Merrick knew her for who she really was, so why was she still hiding?
Because he does no’ ken who ye really are.
Magda clucked impatiently, but her hands were car
eful as she helped pull material over Saffy’s wound. The healer’s eyes rested briefly on Saffy’s chest where the linen shirt hid the wrapping over her breasts.
Was it Saffy’s imagination, or had Magda winked before leaning over her sword wound?
She might’ve continued that line of thought had the healer not chosen that moment to prod at the deep gash. Everything went white-hot then, and Saffy was sure her whimper was pitiful.
And maybe she would’ve screamed, except at that moment, a heavy hand came down on her shoulder. She glanced up to see Merrick standing beside her, his attention on his men spread throughout the hall.
But his thumb was making tiny circles against the linen of her shirt, as if offering support. And that, more than anything else, relaxed her.
She turned her attention back to the healer and tried to pretend—as he was—that Merrick’s attention was no more than a laird to his squire. But it didn’t stop the spread of warmth throughout her.
It seemed like forever before Magda declared her wound treated, stitched, and wrapped sufficiently.
The healer sighed in contentment and sat back. “Ye’ll have a scar, but a young warrior like yerself shouldnae mind, aye?” That was definitely a wink. Maybe she just winked at all her charges? “But I heard it was bravely got, defending someone ye might no’ have had reason to.”
Saffy’s gaze darted across the hall to rest on Andrew, who was clutching a mug of ale and glaring broodingly in their direction.
Magda nodded. “Aye, young Andrew has already told the story. Ye saved his life, Saf, and the laird will no’ forget that.”
They both glanced up at Merrick, who didn’t respond, or even look their way. But his fingers did tighten briefly on Saffy’s shoulder, which might’ve been an agreement.
She cleared her throat and lowered her chin. “I only did what anyone would do for—for a fellow warrior.” The words felt dry in her mouth.
Magda chuckled as she folded up her linen bandages. “But would they do it for a man who’d accused them of treachery, thrown them in the dungeon, and left them to die?”
Saffy recognized the teasing and couldn’t resist quipping back. “They might, were they as good and selfless as I am.”
The Sutherland Devil Page 9
