The Sutherland Devil

by Lee, Caroline

  Miracle of miracles, Merrick snorted at that, obviously not ignoring them as thoroughly as he appeared to be.

  Giving up on his charade, he pierced the healer with a glare. “Are ye done here, Magda?”

  “Aye, milord,” the woman said, rising to her feet and bobbing in deference. “I’ve given my leave to most of yer men to return home. I’ll visit over the coming days. Gavin will need to stay in the healing room, and I’ll sit with him in between. I can change wee Saf’s bandage as well.”

  Merrick nodded, a Devil once more. Then, using his hold on Saffy’s shoulder, he tugged her to her feet. “He’ll stay in my chambers, and I’ll alert ye to any change.”

  The healer bobbed again in agreement, but Merrick was already pulling Saffy toward the stairs.

  He? Merrick had called her “he”. Saffy shook her head, not sure if she was confused or lightheaded or just exhausted. Did Merrick want her to remain Saf, his squire? Or…

  She stumbled over her own feet, and before she knew it, Merrick had swept her up into his arms. Why was he still treating her like his squire?

  In his chambers, he kicked the door closed and stomped toward the bed. She half-expected him to toss her on the mattress judging by how tense his shoulders were. But instead, he lowered her gently, not meeting her eyes.

  When he reached for her feet, she almost pulled them out of his reach, but then relaxed and remembered he knew her secret.

  Well, one of them, at least.

  That thought kept her occupied as he tugged her shoes off, pulled back the coverlet, and pushed her legs under. But when he reached for the tie of her shirt at her neck, she sucked in a breath.

  Was this…was this what she hoped? His knuckles brushed against her skin, and she damn near moaned in anticipation.

  Why wasn’t he looking at her? He was frowning as he studied the cords, then made a sound of satisfaction when they popped free.

  She wanted to echo it, and maybe she would’ve, except he distracted her by tugging her shirt up and over her head, leaving her sitting in his bed wearing only her breeches and the bindings around her breasts.

  At last!

  But nay, he only fisted his hand around the linen and stepped back.

  His pale eyes finally met hers, and although half-dazed with desire and exhaustion, she thought she saw wariness in them. “I’ll take—I’ll have this stitched and washed with yer surcoat,” he offered.

  She opened her mouth to repeat “washed?” incredulously, but all that emerged was a croak. He’d removed her clothes, he’d kissed her, and now he was leaving her alone?

  He cleared his throat. “I’ll bring ye food. For now, rest.”

  At that command, he spun on his heel and stomped to the door. Once he was gone, Saffy found herself sinking to the pillows.

  She was a scholar. She didn’t like being confused.

  Did he or did he not feel the same desire she felt for him? His reaction to her closeness indicated he did, so why wasn’t he acting on it? Mayhap he was concerned for her? But he had no reason to think she was anyone other than a free woman without ties, who knew her own mind.

  She closed her eyes on a sigh, hating this uncertainty, and hating the Lindsay who’d stabbed her just as much.

  Today she’d experienced her first battle—and handled herself fairly well, if she did say so herself—and her first painful wound. She’d also experienced her first kiss, which she liked much more.

  But despite the way her mind was whirling, exhaustion won out, and she found herself following her laird’s command to rest.

  It was hours later when she felt the bed dip beside her, and she instinctively rolled toward the newcomer, part of her thinking it was Citrine.

  But nay, the arms which wrapped around her were much stronger and larger than her sister, and the scent of leather and smoke was different—better—than anything she’d smelled before.

  Still half-asleep, she tucked herself under his chin, her injured arm curled between them. She wanted to kiss him again.

  They lay like that for long moments, her listening to his heartbeat, wondering if he was there to make love to her…but sleep crept in once more.

  His breathing lulled her, and his arms held her as if she were actually important to him.

  I’m no’ letting ye go.

  She fell asleep smiling.

  Mayhap another bastard wouldnae be that bad.

  Merrick slouched at the head table, his untouched trencher before him, and the noise of the meal swirling around him, staring into his flagon of ale. It was the day after the battle with the Lindsays, and nothing had changed; Andrew was still sulking, Gavin was still unconscious, and Saf…

  Saf was still half-naked in his bed.

  She’d woken with him this morning and had stared with bright eyes at his rock-hard cock before he’d reached for his kilt. It hadn’t been fear or disgust he’d seen in her expression, nay. It’d been want, the same want that had been coursing through him for days now.

  That kiss didnae make anything better, fool.

  Cursing himself, he took a draught of the ale, wondering if he should’ve eaten something first. Was he trying to get drunk?

  A squeal from the other end of the table caught his attention, and he lunged forward in time to catch the roll Maggie had lobbed at Adelaide. When he glared at the wild twelve-year-old, Maggie paled and sank back into her seat.

  Beside him, Mary chuckled low in her throat and leaned over to pluck the bread from his hand. Still clutching the goblet, he turned his glare on her, but she merely patted his arm and took a bite of the bread.

  “Ye’re no’ fit company this afternoon, Da.”

  “Aye,” he growled, collapsing back in his seat.

  “And ye’re getting drunk, which isnae good. Are ye feeling guilty?”

  Why? he wanted to snap. This daughter of his was perceptive. He raised a brow in her direction, and her lips twitched.

  “Well, I donae ken why any of ye brave warriors would feel guilty, but Andrew’s been moping about, too.”

  “He’s feeling guilty because he needed to be saved by a—a lad.”

  He’d almost blurted Saf’s secret. Last night, he’d treated her as his squire, as they’d been before she’d thrown herself off a horse to protect one of his warriors. Before he’d kissed her.

  I’m no’ ready to reveal her secret.

  And he vowed to himself he’d discover why she’d come to his home dressed as a lad in the first place.

  But Mary was shaking her head. “Nay, he’s feeling guilty because Saf had every reason to want him dead, but instead she—I mean he—saved Andrew.”

  Merrick’s eyes darted up to his daughter’s, who didn’t look at all uncomfortable by her slip. Had it been a slip? Or intentional?

  He frowned, wondering who else had seen through Saf’s disguise.

  “Da, I stopped by to chat with Saf today. He said ye’ve locked him in and commanded him to rest.”

  She wasn’t asking, but he nodded. “He lost a lot of blood,” he mumbled, looking into his flagon once more.

  Mary made a little noise of dismissal. “He’s lonely, Da. And ye’re terrible company. I’ll sit in yer chair and glare at the bairns, if ye’d like, so ye can retire.”

  “Is that what I’ve been doing?”

  She frowned fiercely, obviously an attempt to mimic him. “Aye,” she growled in a low voice. “Ye’re giving everyone indigestion.”

  With a snort, he slammed the flagon to the table. “And here’s me thinking mayhap another bairn wouldnae be so bad. I cannae stand the sass I get from the ones I’ve already got!”

  Mary leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “I ken what ye were thinking, Da, and I ken ye deserve to be happy. If another bairn would do that, then ye have my blessing.”

  Merrick was frowning slightly as he pulled away and stood up. He stared at his eldest child for a long moment, trying to understand her words. She just smiled sweetly and turned to Beck,
who was trying to pick his nose with his knife.

  I ken what ye were thinking.

  Did she? Could his daughter guess how much he lusted after his own squire?

  His frowned deepened. The fact that his sweet girl knew anything about a man’s lust was a sin laid at Robbie’s feet, and his brother was already burning in hell for it.

  With a stifled sigh, Merrick turned from the table. Mary was right; he was unfit company.

  And the fact he was trying to convince himself having another bastard might be nice was enough of a hint he was in desperate need of release. He needed to take himself in hand, the way he’d tried that night with Saf sleeping at his bedside. Mayhap he could find some privacy in his solar.

  Aye, that was what he needed. A quick release, and he’d remember why taking Saf to bed would be a bad idea.

  But his traitorous feet took him toward his own chamber, and when he pushed open the door, he sucked in a breath. She’d whirled from where she stood at the table, the chess board spread before her. The late-afternoon light coming through the window had turned her short hair honey-blonde, and he liked the way her eyes lit up to see him. She was wearing one of his shirts over her breeches, and the sleeves were rolled up to reveal one slim arm.

  The reminder of her risk caused him to scowl.

  “Ah,” she drawled. “There’s the Devil I was expecting.”

  He reached out and slammed the door closed. “Why are ye out of bed?”

  “Because I was bored. And with no one to join me, there was nothing to do.”

  The twinkle in her eyes told him she knew exactly what she was hinting at. And curse his traitorous cock.

  He stalked toward her. “Who are ye?” he breathed, coming to a stop in front of her, his eyes raking her face. “Ye’re no’ a spy. A whore?”

  “Is that what ye call any woman who enjoys a man’s company? One who kens her own mind?”

  He blew out an exasperated breath and ran his hand through his hair. What kind of idiot turned down an offer like Saf’s?

  One who has enough bastards.

  But he didn’t back up fast enough. She stepped closer and placed her hand on his chest. “I’ll stop teasing ye, Merrick. Only tell me this, ye didnae plan to kiss me yesterday, did ye?”

  “Nay,” he growled. “No’ at all. Ye might no’ be a spy, but ye’ve been keeping secrets from me.”

  She nodded, as if he’d told her something she’d already known. Was she thinking about what he’d revealed there beside the stream? That her death would’ve mattered to him?

  Would’ve broken him.

  Before she could pull away, he grabbed her hand, the one resting against his chest, and turned it over. This was her right hand, the uninjured arm. His forefinger traced the fresh calluses she’d earned from training with him over the last weeks, but there were others…

  “This is from a stylus,” he said, remembering that first night in his chamber, when he’d examined her and wondered who she was. “Ye’re no crofter.”

  She tugged her hand away, but he refused to let her go. When she tried to avoid his gaze, he made a warning sound deep in his throat.

  “Who are ye, Saf?”

  She was staring at his chin, and he watched her swallow.

  “I—My sister tried to teach me to wield a sword, but I preferred working in my father’s solar, reading the clan histories.”

  A lady. She was a lady, but not a Lindsay.

  “God’s wounds, Saf,” he whispered hoarsely. “Yer father could be looking for ye even now!”

  She shook her head slightly, her expression looking panicked. “He’s no’. He doesnae ken—”

  Merrick tried to keep his breathing even, tried to trust her. But the thought of Mary alone in another keep, without knowing where she was… He squeezed Saf’s hand. “Who are ye?”

  She met his eyes and shook her head. “I cannae, Devil.”

  And damn her eyes, but she sounded apologetic. He dropped her hand and stepped back. “Why?” he snarled. “Because ye do nae trust me?”

  “Aye,” she said sadly. “Because I ken ye are a good man, and if ye ken my family, ye’d send me back to them.”

  “And ye donae want to go?”

  “Nay…” She swallowed. “I miss them terribly. But I came here for a reason.”

  “Which ye willnae tell me.”

  She didn’t answer, just stared at him with sadness in those big blue eyes.

  He cursed himself for a fool and strode for the door. He was keeping her secret for her, but she wasn’t trusting him. He needed a good fight, another drink, and a quick release.

  And at this point, he didn’t care how he got them.

  Chapter Nine

  Mayhap she should have told him who she was.

  Merrick’s bad mood lasted for days, and Saf knew she was partially responsible. Aye, there’d been no word from Lindsay, and aye, Gavin was still too faint for a reckoning from Merrick. In fact, the Sutherland second—poor man—couldn’t sit up for long and would become dazed within a few words whenever Merrick confronted him. But Saf suspected there was more to Merrick’s temper, because the easy camaraderie they’d built over the last weeks was gone.

  She still served him meals, still trained with him, but he no longer singled her out. Her arm had healed well enough, although she was careful not to jostle it until Magda told her the stitches were ready to come out.

  But Saffy hadn’t moved out of Merrick’s bed. She supposed it was a quiet sort of rebellion, forcing him to command her to leave.

  He hadn’t yet.

  Every night, they performed her ablutions in silence, and she did her best to remind him she was a woman. Last night, she removed her shirt, unwound her breasts while standing at the table, and pulled her shirt back on. When she’d turned around, Merrick had been staring at her, breathing heavily.

  And as she’d done every night since the battle with the Lindsays, she crawled into his bed and waited. And as he’d done every night, he stood there in the darkness, obviously debating with himself, before cursing under his breath, crawling in beside her, and hauling her up against him.

  This morning she’d woken with his hands cupping her breast and his hard member nestling against her rear end. The intimacy had sent a spike of warmth straight to the secret area between her legs, and she’d smiled and pretended to stretch as she pushed back against him.

  “God’s wounds, Saf,” he’d hissed as he jerked away from her and rolled out of bed. “Ye’re making this too hard.”

  This?

  She’d had to stifle her laughter as she watched him wind his kilt around himself—and his jutting erection. He’d done a good job of hiding what she most wanted to see, and she still wasn’t sure why.

  But that didn’t mean she couldn’t continue to tease him.

  Of course, outside of his chamber, and in the clan’s eyes, she was still just his squire. He was keeping her secret, despite her refusal to answer his questions. She decided that had to be the noblest thing she’d ever experienced, and it made her feel even worse about not trusting him with the truth.

  But he was the Sutherland Devil. He’d once been engaged to marry Saffy’s youngest sister. Pearl had broken that contract because she’d refused to leave Sinclair land, and had later realized a deep and abiding love for one of Da’s warriors. But that hadn’t helped Merrick, and until Saf understood his feelings about that broken betrothal, she couldn’t risk telling him her real name.

  Or why she was here.

  Since she’d recovered enough for Merrick to allow her out of his chamber—although she was sure had she really been a lad, he would’ve given her permission a day earlier—she’d finished examining the tapestries. No references to the Sinclairs were found. She’d spoken to the seneschal and a few of the elders, too, keeping her questions as innocuous as possible.

  Whereas a fortnight before, the Sutherlands would’ve reacted with suspicion to her questions, now they were answered freely. Many of the
clan knew of her actions in the battle with the Lindsays, and more than a few approached her to apologize for thinking her a spy.

  Apparently, despite Andrew’s embarrassment, he hadn’t hesitated to tell everyone of her…well, she was hearing it called a “brave deed,” and although she appreciated the praise, she secretly agreed with Merrick that it had been idiotic to put herself in so much danger.

  But when she saw the way Mary smiled at Andrew, Saffy knew she’d save the lad’s life again, if called on to do it.

  Although she didn’t mind making him squirm in apology.

  “Where in the hell is Andrew?”

  Merrick’s question, roared in exasperation, jerked Saffy out of her thoughts. She was sitting in the afternoon shade as the laird trained with his most experienced warriors, and hadn’t expected Andrew to be there.

  Judging from the confused look Farran shot her way—as if asking her if she knew what was irritating the laird so much—he hadn’t either. “Milord, Andrew hasnae trained with us before. He was here this morning with the rest—”

  With a growl, Merrick sheathed his sword. “If he ever wants to reach your level of skill, he should be here whenever he can.”

  There was nothing Farran could say in reply, so he merely bowed his head in agreement. Saffy frowned, wondering why Merrick was taking his anger out on Andrew in particular. Or was he just frustrated at the stalemate with the Lindsays?

  Or with her?

  When he stalked past her, she leapt to her feet to offer him a drink from the skin of water she carried. He tossed her his weapon and drank from the skin as he walked.

  She tried not to notice the way the drops ran down his chin and dripped onto his chest.

  Ye’re noticing, lass.

  She swallowed and tried for levity as she hurried to catch up. “For an auld man, ye certainly can run.”

  He didn’t slow as he headed toward the courtyard. “And for a lad, ye certainly donae move fast enough.”

  She chuckled as she caught up to him. “I’m twenty-two, ye ken.”

  That stopped him. He whirled so suddenly, she almost ran into him. Although she’d rather be pressed up against him, she shuffled back so she could tilt her head and meet his gaze.