by Mary Wine
She had no idea when such a moment might present itself, but she would have to look for it and hope it came while Quinton was away.
She lifted her head and listened. Soft steps came across the floor of the solar above. Deirdre stood up and climbed the stairs. One of the other girls who had appeared a time or two was setting out a meal on the table. There was still no sign of Amber.
The girl looked up and lowered herself. “The laird says to bring ye yer meals here while he’s away.”
“How considerate of him.”
“What have ye there?”
Deirdre held out the clothing. “Some common robes that I’d like taken to my bedchamber. I’ll need something warm to sleep in with the laird away.”
“I’ll take them.”
Deirdre handed off the robes and sat down to avoid having the girl see how relieved she was to be able to get the wool garments someplace where she might use them to escape.
But she missed the look the maid gave her. It was sly and calculated. The moment the girl left the solar, she hurried to a little-used room in one of the oldest keeps. There, hidden among the forgotten things that no one used any longer, was a small writing desk. She pulled a piece of parchment from it and began to pen a letter.
Once it was done, she folded it and tucked it into her bodice. She took the robes to the eagle tower, but only after she slipped the letter into the hand of her cousin, who would take it out of Drumdeer.
She didn’t allow her guilt to bother her any too much. Her mother had been a Ross before her father stole her during a raid. So keeping Mary Ross informed of what happened at Drumdeer wasn’t so hard a thing to do; it was only a letter, after all, and the lady paid well for the information.
***
Amber returned empty-handed from the kitchen.
“The cook refused me. She said it was a sin to prevent the laird’s seed from taking root, because God placed him in his position. I went to the brewmaster, but he turned me away as well.”
“I see.” And she did. There were traditions in the Highlands older than the church. When the laird fathered a babe, it was considered good luck for the clan and a sign that God favored them. The farmers would all anticipate a good harvest if she conceived, and there would be weddings among the Cameron girls, because their mothers believed it was a blessed season.
And she would be guilty of bringing a child into the world who would bear the stain of her sin for its entire life.
Well… she would not sit idle and wait for it to happen. Since she had failed so miserably to resist allowing Quinton into her bed, she’d just have to devise a way of escaping the cage he’d closed about her.
She had to… it was her duty to her conscience.
***
“Hold!” Quinton held his hand up, and the men behind him reined in their horses. In front of him, he could see the dust rising, telling him there were horses on the road behind the hills.
“Most likely Hay retainers,” Coalan announced.
“I agree.” But Quinton still felt his palm itch to draw his sword. He watched the road, waiting to see what colors the men approaching were wearing. The letter he’d received from Archibald Douglas had been full of threats. The man was desperate to stop the queen from marrying again, and Quinton doubted he was the only Highland laird who had gotten such a letter.
The Douglas were always happiest when they could manage to stir up the clans and pit them against one another, because it meant they wouldn’t unite against the Douglas.
That was exactly why he’d made it his personal mission to keep the clans from fighting. Quinton didn’t trust the Douglas, and he never would. Scotland needed her king, not the Douglas growing powerful enough to depose the young James II, because they felt there wouldn’t be enough unity among the other clans to do anything about it.
“It’s Roan McLeod.”
Quinton relaxed, and so did Coalan. Roan McLeod was the eldest son of the McLeod laird. His father was old, and Roan led the clan, even if he wasn’t laird just yet. He was also the man who had been set to wed young Kaie Chattan. Quinton had had the duty of telling him the girl harbored a true calling to serve the church. Some men would have kept her anyway because of the alliance she would have brought with her, but Roan had released her, despite his father’s displeasure.
“And what brings the Cameron riding out today?” Roan asked when he’d closed the distance between them.
Quinton grinned and reached into his shirt to pull the letter from Archibald Douglas from the pocket sewn to the inside of the garment.
“Well now…” Roan reached into his doublet and produced a similar letter. “Have one of those myself. What do ye make of the fact that our good queen seems to be making her escape?”
“I caught a lass wearing Joan Beaufort’s gold and silk.”
Roan’s expression hardened, and he edged his horse closer, but the stallion took offense at being urged so close to another male horse. Quinton snorted and dismounted. He didn’t care for the position of weakness being on his feet put him in, but Roan followed suit, and it was clear from the man’s face that he liked it even less.
“Me men caught Deirdre Chattan on the road in the queen’s clothing.” Quinton informed his fellow laird.
Roan cursed. “I wish I’d known that, for I passed a couple of nuns riding up to the high ground, and I thought their horses mighty fine for their sackcloth robes.”
Roan snorted and growled when he realized Quinton was grinning. “They will have made it to the black knight of Lorn’s castle by now. Why do ye find that pleasant news?”
Quinton eyed the man. “Because I think the Douglas are going to find it harder to plot against the rightful king with the queen wed again.”
Roan relented. “Aye, it is better for the McLeod and the Cameron. I agree.” He suddenly grinned. “So what have ye done with Deirdre Chattan?”
“I kept her. After all, by wearing the queen’s clothing and never identifying herself, she allowed my men to labor under a misconception. I couldnae have my lads working so hard for naught, you understand.”
“Certainly no’,” Roan agreed with a smirk.
“She’s secure in one of me towers, where such a delicate female belongs.”
Roan snorted with amusement. He bent over and braced his hands on the tops of his thighs as he shook with laughter. Quinton raised an eyebrow.
“What? Do ye nae believe me?”
“Oh aye…” Roan wiped a hand across his face. “I’ve never known ye to be a liar before, but I’ll admit I’m tempted to argue with ye about whether or no’ Deirdre Chattan is delicate.”
“Well, ye have me there. She’s a hellion.”
Roan grunted. “Most men would say that word like a curse.”
Quinton shrugged. “I am nae most men.”
“No, ye are nae, but she isna just any woman. She’s Chattan’s eldest daughter, and her dowry went to the church. A fact ye helped bring about. What do ye plan to do with her?”
“Why do ye ask me in that tone, Roan McLeod? What should I do with her?” Quinton demanded.
His fellow Highlander stared him down, offering him no quarter as the tension thickened between them. The men waiting on them grew quieter as they noticed the stand off. Roan suddenly chuckled, amusement returning to his eyes.
“Well now, Quinton. Seems a true shame that ye need to be asking what to do with a fiery lass like Deirdre Chattan. But I suppose I could give ye a few instructions on what a man does with a fine woman like that after sunset—”
“Choke on them,” Quinton replied. “I shared her bed last night, and since I’ve confirmed the queen is now another man’s problem, I plan to return to warming myself next to Deirdre’s spirit. So forget ye know where she is, man, for ye will nae be making amends with yer father for giving up yer bride by taking Deirdre. She belongs to me.”
Roan snorted and pointed at him. “I agree it’s a good thing the queen is settled, for it means I can get on with find
ing a way to deal with Robert Chattan, but I do nae for one moment believe Deirdre would agree she belongs to ye. No’ after one night; no man is so memorable.”
Roan began to return to his men, but Quinton reached out to stop him. “What do ye mean ‘settle accounts with Robert Chattan’? His daughters are taken now.”
“No’ the one whom Ruth Hay bore him.”
“And how does yer father feel about ye wedding a bastard?”
Roan shrugged. “Erlina would nae be illegitimate if her mother wed Robert Chattan, now would she?”
“I hear the woman refused him.”
Roan grinned. “Well… ye see… so much time has passed, I feel the two should be reunited so they might discuss the matter now that tempers have had time to cool. Think of it as a Christian duty I’m about. The two really need to wed and wipe the blight from their souls, as well as legitimize their daughter.”
Quinton frowned. “The Hay will nae take it kindly if ye take one of their kin. Ruth Hay is Laird Kagan Hay’s aunt.”
“Does nae change the fact that I need her and Robert Chattan wed because me father has asked little enough of me in this life. He wants a Chattan alliance through my marriage, and I cannae be taking Kaie away from the church.”
“Ye could take her, and the church would no’ be able to argue with ye since she was contracted to ye, but I respect ye for no’ forcing the girl into yer bed. She has a true calling.”
“I seek more from my marriage than just what me father wants,” Roan muttered, the frustration clear in his voice.
“That’s plain enough, or ye would have kept Kaie Chattan instead of granting her plea to go to the abbey.”
Roan grunted. “Well, it’s time for the church to repay my generosity and help me see Ruth Hay and Robert Chattan wed.”
“What does Robert Chattan have to say on the matter?” Quinton asked.
Roan suddenly grinned. “I have nae asked the man. I sort of figured he’ll find it harder to argue with me if he is blinded by the sight of his beloved at the time I ask him.”
Quinton grunted, but determination flashed in Roan’s eyes. He offered Quinton a wink. “Ye’ll also be owing me a debt of gratitude for keeping Robert busy while ye’re settling the details of just what Deirdre is to you.”
“Is that a fact?” Quinton demanded.
“It is, for it would certainly put a strain on yer courtship if her father showed up at yer gate.”
“That it would,” Quinton agreed.
Roan McLeod wasn’t in the mood to budge on his plans. Quinton recognized the firm look in the other man’s eyes. Roan wasn’t laird yet, but his father’s health was poor. The fact that Roan wanted to please a man who wouldn’t likely live through the winter was a testimony to how much honor he had. Ruth Hay would be facing that determination, but Quinton wasn’t worried Roan would harm her.
In fact, it had long been a mystery why she had run from Robert Chattan, for the two had been set to wed. Some liked to say it was because she had borne a daughter, and at the time Robert hadn’t been laird of the Chattan. His father had been a strict man who believed Ruth failed in her duty when she birthed a female child. Rumor was that Robert’s father had forbidden the marriage until Ruth produced a son who would carry on the Chattan line. Such a practice hadn’t been unheard-of in those days; it was still in practice in some places. It was a custom many claimed came from hell’s army and the Norsemen who had settled in the Highlands instead of taking their plunder back to their frozen countries. A laird only wed a woman who had already given him a son, because when it came to the laird’s bloodline, there might be no chance taken on a marriage that would not yield male heirs.
But Ruth Hay had run from Robert Chattan, not been put out by his father, so the mystery persisted. She’d never married another either, and the alehouses were often filled with the gossips debating just why.
“Good luck to ye, Roan McLeod, but I do nae owe ye, for if I’d nae told ye of young Kaie’s calling, ye’d have a weeping wife to keep ye company tonight,” Quinton informed him. Owing favors could get a man in trouble fast, and he wasn’t interested in accumulating debt if he could avoid it.
Roan frowned. “Fair enough. I am thankful for that service.”
Roan turned his stallion, and his men followed. The dust rose up as they headed toward Hay land. Quinton smiled, for the first time content with not having anything pressing to keep him away from home.
“Drumdeer!”
***
Deirdre heard the bells ringing. A bolt of excitement raced through her, banishing the gloomy spirits she’d spent most of the day enduring.
“The laird is back,” Amber announced. “No doubt he could no’ stay away for even a night, because ye are here.”
“Amber, that would be foolish for me to allow ye to believe.” Deirdre meant to instruct the girl on what was proper, but Amber was on her feet and out of the small chamber behind the kitchen before she had the opportunity to mention how improper her relationship with Quinton was.
She battled more guilt, because she was now setting a poor example for the Cameron women. No doubt the church would want her locked in the stocks for her immorality.
Of course that would be amusing if Quinton landed there along with her.
She smiled at her own jest, for there was no possibility of it becoming a reality. Quinton was a noble. The priest might lecture him, but there would be no physical chastisement.
No, such a painful corrective measure would be reserved for her.
She shook her head and dipped her quill into the inkwell once more.
“How can I believe ye missed me when ye are paying more attention to that book than the fact I have returned?”
Deirdre jerked her hand away from the ink before she spilled it. “Do nae surprise me like that, Quinton Cameron,” she declared as she rose from her seat. “I might have ruined the ledger, and it has taken me two days to make sense of it.”
He looked surprised, and for a moment, she watched irritation flicker in his eyes over the tone she used. But his gaze swept down her body, sending heat into her cheeks. The low neckline of the overrobe granted him a full view of the swells of her breasts. His lips curved into a sensual grin as his attention settled on the creamy display.
“I should annoy ye more often, lass, for I like that pose ye’ve assumed full well.”
Giggles erupted from the kitchen.
“Oh… I need decent clothing, ye insufferable man.”
He raised his attention to her face, a question in his eyes. “Insufferable?” He clicked his tongue in reprimand. “Now, lass, ye cannae complain about what ye reap from the seeds ye sow.”
She stood straight to minimize the amount of breast he might see. “Is that so? Well, Quinton Cameron, I’ll—”
She never finished, because the man reached across the narrow table and plucked her off her feet in a moment. He tossed her up and over his shoulder, to the delight of the maids peeking around the arched doorway. She sputtered, but he smacked her backside, and the sharp pop bounced between the walls of the kitchen while he carried her through them.
“Ye’re a beast,” she whispered so only he might hear her. A soft chuckle was her response as he strode through the hallways and up the stairs to her chamber, with her hanging over his shoulder.
“And ye are a hellion,” he declared once he’d tossed her into the bed she’d spent too many hours thinking about. It bounced as it took her weight, but she only managed to push herself up to her elbows before Quinton joined her.
“And my lover,” he whispered against her ear. His voice was hot and full of intent, which sent her body quivering with eager anticipation. She turned and embraced her lover.
Damn her reasons for needing to avoid his touch.
***
“Ye need to listen to me, Quinton.”
He lifted one eyelid and growled softly, “We’ve communicated quite well for the past few hours, Deirdre.”
“I want so
me different clothing, and yer people will nae allow me to have it without your approval.” She detested having to ask him for such a thing.
He cupped one of her breasts and rubbed his thumb back and forth across the nipple. “I like ye just like this.”
The man wasn’t taking her seriously. His voice was lazy and still gruff with drowsiness.
“Quinton…”
He rolled over her, pushing her down into the bedding and sealing her demands beneath his kiss. Her mind abandoned thought a few moments later.
***
Simon Smithson heard the door open with a squeal from the rusty hinges. His men all tightened their expressions. He stood up first, stepping forward to face whatever their fate was going to be. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on the stories he’d heard of how the Highlanders liked to toy with their prisoners before killing them.
He’d take everything as it came.
Cameron retainers pushed him and his men out of the cell they’d inhabited for the last week and through the musty dungeon. Simon blinked as the sunlight hurt his eyes and blinded him. When his vision finally returned, he discovered himself facing the Earl of Liddell.
“Ye’re free to go.”
Simon frowned, wondering if he’d heard the Scot correctly.
“Get off me land.” The earl pointed Simon toward his horses, their fine leather saddles still on the animals’ backs.
“That’s right. Ye leave with what ye came with,” the earl continued.
“Then where is the lady?” Simon asked. His men hissed at him, fearing his impertinence might gain them the hanging the earl seemed willing to spare them if they left.
“She’s a Scot and belongs here.”
“She’s earned a place with my mistress, and I should take her with us.”
The earl glared at him, narrowing his eyes. Simon didn’t retreat, even when the Highland laird looked like he was considering running him through.
“Do you truly believe only Scots understand duty?” Simon asked. “The lady was in my charge.”
