by Mary Wine
She shoved at his wide chest. “Get yer hands off me, brute! I do nae care if ye are an earl. Ye do nae have the right to handle me like some child who has displeased ye.” She gained her freedom but stumbled over the train of the overrobe. She recovered quickly, turning in a swirl of velvet to face the man glaring at her. He was growling, and it touched something inside her that unleashed a need to stand up to him. She snarled in return.
Quinton’s face registered surprise, but only for a moment before his eyes narrowed and his lips thinned in a purely sensual way. She felt a prickle of warning move through her, but it was also exciting. Part of her wanted to run, simply because she could see in his eyes his desire to chase her.
She was insane to think such a thing…
“How should I handle ye, Deirdre?” His voice was soft and menacing. “That robe is cut to flatter every part of ye so a man might admire yer curves.” One of his dark eyebrows rose as he took a step toward her and then another one.
“It’s lying smoothly over yer hips, showing me that my hands would fit perfectly around them.”
“Stop it.” She retreated, unable to stand firm when his eyes were glittering with promise.
“Ye should nae wear something so provocative, if ye do nae want the attention it was designed to capture.” His gaze dropped to the neckline. “Yer breasts look plump, and I’m very interested in discovering how they feel against me palms.”
Deirdre crossed her arms over her chest. It was a protective instinct, one she performed without considering how it might undermine her determination to face him boldly. “Ye’re being crude just to injure my feelings. That’s a coldhearted thing indeed. Is no’ yer power enough for ye? Or do ye enjoy grinding yer heels on the backs of those who do nae have retainers to force ye to treat them decently?”
Fury tightened his features. “Ye dare a great deal with yer insults, Deirdre. Ye’d best be aware that Douglas would nae tolerate such from any woman, even the queen.”
“Which is why she wanted to flee from him.” Deirdre felt her sense of balance returning as the topic shifted away from what he thought of her figure. “Surely ye can agree it is better she is no longer near the lieutenant general to needle him with her lack of humility.”
“Aye, I can.” He eyed her from behind a guarded expression. “Do nae make the same mistake me men did, lass.”
His voice was rich with warning, but she was too curious to not ask him what he meant.
“And what might that be?”
His eyes flashed with satisfaction. “To assume that because I agree with ye that it’s better for the queen to be away from Archibald Douglas means I consider it right for ye to be involved in this mess.”
Deirdre felt her eyes narrow. “Well then, I wish ye joy of yer discontentment with my action. Ye are nae the first man to feel such, but ye are nae my father, and I have no husband.”
Quinton lifted a single finger between them. “Ah, very true. Which leaves the position of being yer lover open for me.” His eyes flashed a warning at her once more. “Now does it nae?”
“It does nae.” She informed him in a tone that made her grateful for the closed door. She didn’t need any witnesses to carry tales to the priests. Quinton was an earl as well as laird of the Cameron. She’d end up on her knees for a solid week if the church heard her disrespectful voice.
That bit of knowledge only made her more determined to face the brute down. His position had spoiled him too much.
He laughed at her, the sound bouncing off the stone walls of the solar chamber. “Ye tempt me, Deirdre.” He shook his head but unfolded his arms and spread them wide. “Ye cannae expect to play such a dangerous game without tasting a few bitter consequences.”
The brute was trying to intimidate her. He loomed over her with his arms outstretched. It would have been simple for him to pounce, but she propped her hands on her hips and stood her ground. He couldn’t chase her if she did not turn and run.
“If ye’re saying that yer attempting to charm me into allowing ye to be my lover would be bitter, I agree. It would be distasteful indeed.”
He chuckled, his teeth flashing through his lips. “Is that a fact, Deirdre?”
“A solid one in my opinion, Laird Cameron.” She spit out his title in defiance of the way he was using her name so familiarly. Deirdre tossed her hair back over her shoulder and felt the silk veil flutter about her ears. “So I will be on my way.”
Quinton masked his feelings once again behind a stony expression, but there was a flicker of determination in his eyes, which slashed at her confidence. Warning rippled down her spine once more in spite of her determination to remain unmoved by him. He was a powerful man, and no amount of confidence would help her overlook it.
“Will ye now?”
“I shall indeed leave yer land, sir, for there is naught here for me.”
He turned his back on her, walking back toward the chair. The man didn’t hurry, leaving her with the opportunity to do exactly as she had claimed she would.
Part of her was disappointed.
That knowledge stoked her temper, and she turned around to face the closed doors.
“I doubt Coalan will be allowing ye to leave.”
Deirdre spun around so quickly that the velvet robes lifted to show her ankles. Quinton Cameron took the opportunity to notice, and a smug grin appeared on his lips, infuriating her.
“Since I am no’ the queen, there is little point in yer men keeping me here.”
Quinton grasped the arms of his chair and leaned forward, all traces of amusement gone from his expression. “Ah, but I’d have to be telling me men ye are in fact no’ the queen.”
He sat back and considered her. “I ken ye do nae know the ways of court, Deirdre Chattan, which is in yer favor. It’s a place full of plots, ones that often claim the lives of innocents such as yerself. I’ve no doubt Joan pleaded her case well to ye. Ye’re a kind lass to be helping out someone ye thought sincere.”
Deirdre moved back toward the man. “She wants to wed again. I’d think since ye are a man, ye’d agree that is her place.”
He slowly shook his head. “She’s considered a co-ruler with the late king by too many countries.”
“A king who is dead, and his son crowned, to the approval of all those same countries.”
“But James II is her only son, and he’s too young to wed,” Quinton said quietly. His voice was low and deadly, drawing her forward a few more steps to make sure she didn’t miss his next words.
“If something befalls that boy, there will be civil war. If his mother births sons for James Stewart, the black knight of Lorn, there will be many who say they should inherit.”
A chill went down her back. “That does nae give anyone the right to lock her away or keep me here. The queen has permission from the pope to wed.”
“Of course she does. The woman shares family connections with half the crowns of Europe.” Quinton rose and stepped toward her. She was too fascinated by the look in his eyes to back away from him. Part of her wanted to know his reasons, more than she wanted to be cautious by retreating.
Quinton stopped in front of her and looked down from his greater height.
“The queen knows very well how to play the game of maintaining power. She was raised to be a queen, and this new marriage will ensure she reclaims a powerful position. There are powerful men intent on controlling her son. She was the captive guest of one of them at Stirling until a few weeks ago.”
Deirdre gasped, shocked by the revelation. “She said naught of that.”
Quinton grinned. “Of course she would nae, for ye are no’ unintelligent.” He studied her for a moment. “And ye favor her in too many ways. It was a stroke of luck that she encountered ye. I can see why she took advantage of the opportunity.”
Deirdre didn’t care for the way his words made her feel. “Ye men may be concerned about matters of politics with good cause, but it does nae change the fact that the queen is a woman who w
ants to live her life while she has the chance. I helped her because—”
“Because ye know what it’s like to be used by men for the furtherment of their causes.”
She snorted and moved away from him. “Ye do nae ken so very much about me, Laird Cameron.”
When she looked back at him, he was watching her from the same spot, but there was a twinkle of something in his eyes again that warned her the man was making ready to be entertained by her once more.
“Well now, since ye’ll be staying here in my home, lass, we’ll be having the chance to learn more about one another,” he announced with solid certainty.
“I will nae be staying.”
His lips rose and parted in a smug expression of arrogance. His gaze traveled down her length once again, stopping at the hem of her overrobe with its trim pulled in several places from the rugged terrain of the Highlands.
“Well now. Those little slippers are suited to walking on Persian carpets, and no’ much else.”
Her feet agreed, renewing their complaints over how many sharp stones she had felt jabbing into her unprotected arches recently. Quinton raised his gaze to her face, and her throat contracted when she looked into his eyes. Determination blazed there.
“That velvet will nae keep ye warm in the spring rains. I believe the queen is more comfortable in yer undyed nun’s robe. Ye’ll freeze if ye try and cross me land.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
He lifted one finger between them again. “To do so, ye’ll have to escape me men, and I ordered them after ye. I believe ye’ll find they do what I say, because my orders are most often given for the benefit of every Cameron.”
“Ye sent them after the queen, and I am nae who ye seek.”
He waved his finger between them. “Ah, but ye allowed them to assume ye were the queen.”
“A mistake easily revealed for what it was.”
“Aye.” He nodded agreement. “But me men are Highlanders, lass. They will nae be happy to hear ye duped them. In fact, I suspect they just might wait to hear from me on the matter of whether or no’ ye are the one I wanted them to bring to me.” His grin faded. “I doubt they will allow ye to depart until they have my word that ye may depart.”
Shock held her in its grip. Words felt too large to force up her throat while she stared at the pleased expression on his face. She opened her mouth twice before managing to form her thoughts into words.
“Ye… ye must tell yer men I am no’ who ye seek.”
He turned his back on her. Deirdre watched as he returned to his chair and settled himself without a care for the way he was tormenting her.
“Ye must, Quinton.”
“Ah… I enjoy hearing my name on yer lips.” His expression became smug once more. “It’s the truth I am looking forward to having ye here so we might get to know each other better.”
“I will no’ remain here.” She shook her head and returned her hands to her hips.
“I cannae wait to see how ye plan to outwit me men, lass. Ye began this game, and I believe they will be happy to continue it so they might score a few points of their own. Highlanders do like to win.”
“I’m from Highland stock myself, sir.”
His eyes narrowed, and his attention slipped down her body once more. “Aye, lass, I’ve noticed that, more often than I should. There are no women like the ones who live in the Highlands. Ye have more than yer share of boldness, and I find it captivating enough to tell ye I shall nae make it simple for ye to ride out of here into the hands of men who might slit yer creamy throat.”
“Ye do nae have the right to keep me here.”
He stood up and came toward her. Deirdre didn’t retreat, but it wasn’t because her pride demanded she stand and confront him.
It was worse than that. She felt desperation clawing at her as the walls of Drumdeer seemed to be collapsing inward.
“I will nae clear the way for ye to leave, Deirdre. That is my final word on the matter.”
He stroked the back of his hand across one side of her face. It was such a simple touch, and yet its tenderness stole her breath. So pleasing, in every way. Somehow, she’d forgotten how good it felt to be touched.
She gasped and made to step away from his touch.
“Quinton—”
He leaned down and sealed her protest beneath his lips. He cupped her nape, pulling gently so her face rose and his kiss might become bolder. She jerked, shaking her head to break the connection, but he moved as fast as a leather whip, twisting along with her as his other hand slipped over the curve of her hip and settled on the flat of her lower back to hold her in place.
She moaned, a tiny sound of panic, because she expected his kiss to turn savage. He soothed her nape with a slow stroke, but he did not release her. His mouth moved against hers, pressing her to open her jaw until she yielded. He deepened the kiss but didn’t thrust his tongue inside her mouth as she expected. Instead he teased her lips with his own, tasting her mouth like he might a fine glass of French wine.
She began drowning in sensation. Her senses were too full of him for her thoughts to penetrate. She raised her hands to push him away, but her fingers became too aware of how hard his body was beneath his clothing.
How could a man feel so good to only her fingertips?
Her heart was racing, and along with it, her lungs labored to pull more air into her chest. The scent of his skin flooded her senses, threatening to send another moan past their joined lips, because she enjoyed his scent.
She mustn’t…
Deirdre struggled against the overwhelming surge of enjoyment, pushing against his chest while she ducked her head to separate their lips. The tender skin of her mouth was too alive with desire for her to retain any grip on rational thoughts. She struggled out of instinct and the need to maintain herself. If she failed, she’d melt into his embrace without a care for where she might land when he finished taking his pleasure from her flesh.
“I will nae be yer slut!” Her voice was frantic, as were her attempts to twist from his grip. He snarled something beneath his breath before she felt his grip slacken. She took instant advantage, stumbling across the floor as she flung herself away from him as fast as she could.
“I swear it, Quinton. So tell yer men to let me leave, because I will nae warm yer bed.”
His eyes were bright with desire. “Ye enjoyed my kiss. So do nae act as though warming my bed would displease ye so greatly, woman.”
It was true.
Deirdre drew herself up, forcing her mind to resume rational thought. She refused to think about how much her lips wanted to return to having his upon them. She shook her head to dispel the sensations of yearning that were pulsing through her.
Quinton growled at her, “Ye kissed me back, Deirdre Chattan, so do nae be crying that ye didna.”
“Only one more reason why I am intent on leaving. The queen has promised me a place in her service, and I will take it because there will be no men to try their hand at using me.”
He laughed at her. His ice blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Ye’ve a thing or two to learn about court, lass. There will be plenty of men trying their hand at seducing ye with the hope ye will mutter important facts while they are muddling yer wits with their cocks.”
He was being blunt on purpose. But she saw his harsh words as more of a challenge, one she had no intention of failing.
“Ye see? There is the reason why I am intent on departing. Men think of women as nothing but things to be used. Yer coarse words prove it.” She glared at him. “Ye will take yer pleasure exactly as Melor Douglas did, and scorn me when ye are finished.”
Quinton frowned, his amusement vanishing. He considered her from narrowed eyes.
“I do nae care for being compared to Melor Douglas.”
He was furious too. Deirdre heard it in his voice and witnessed it on his face.
“Then tell yer men I am nae the one ye wanted brought to ye, for I will nae ever think of any m
an differently than I do Melor Douglas. Best I am gone from here, and soon.”
The chamber was silent, but Deirdre would have sworn she could hear him grinding his teeth with frustration. She felt the tension across the space between them, or maybe it was her own unhappiness that made it seem like each second lasted forever. He suddenly moved, startling her because she was so absorbed with the emotions swirling around inside her. He walked past her and reached for one of the double doors his men had closed to give them privacy.
Deirdre had to force a lump down her throat, because victory was bitter indeed.
“Thank ye.” The pair of words was torn from her desperation.
He turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. “Yer tone almost makes me regret I will nae allow ye to leave.” He pulled the door open. “But no’ quite.”
The moment his laird appeared, Coalan lifted his head up from where he was eating. The man was on his feet, along with the other captains who had been sitting with Quinton when she arrived.
“Ye’ve done well, Coalan. I’m pleased. Greatly so.”
***
Deirdre was stunned into silence. The Camerons sitting at the long trestle tables filling the hall all stared at her. But what horrified her more was the way they nodded. Approval of their laird’s actions spread through them like fire did in a summer field. The women serving the tables stopped to mutter to one another while they looked at her. Children pointed at her, and their mothers leaned down to explain who she was.
But she wasn’t the queen.
Quinton Cameron strode down the center aisle and out into the yard without another look at her. His captains followed him, and the retainers left their benches too. The hall soon became filled with the sound of dishes being cleared and women chatting now that the rush of seeing the morning meal set down was over.
“Would ye sit and eat, lady?”
Deirdre jerked around to discover a woman no older than herself standing behind her. She smiled in welcome and lowered herself.
“I do nae deserve such deference.”
