by Madelyn Hill
When Gordon contacted him, Malcolm kenned ‘twas the only option in which both clans would benefit.
After he’d read through each and every paper, he pushed them aside.
Gordon thunked his tumbler onto his desk. Ale splashed over the rim and nearly soiled the contract. “Sign them, Sutherland.”
Malcolm leaned back and held up his hands. “We are not done with all of the details. First, we need to schedule the patrols and delivery of goods.”
Gordon nodded and sat. “Och, we’ve time for that later. Sign the contract.”
Why was the man so concerned? Malcom’s brow arched. He’d already wed Lady Rossalyn. “We’ll create a schedule or I won’t sign the contract.”
The laird frowned. “Aye, aye. We’ll do as you say.”
“My men will patrol the borders along with your men.”
Gordon shifted in his seat and seemed to contemplate what Malcolm had stated. He rubbed his stubbled jaw. “I’ve not enough men to spare the entire winter.”
“‘Twas our agreement, Gordon.” He glanced at the contract, resting like a poisonous snake between them. He’d not relent. Gordon needed protection and the Sutherlands needed food stores. While he loved his keep, the unforgiving terrain made for poor crops. The past few years had been particularly horrid with failed attempts at growing enough food for a clan the size of the Sutherlands.
“Och, I’ll spare ten and then come spring you’ll send some young lads to help with sowing the harvest.”
“Aye.” He’d plenty of young lads who’d do well to learn how to tend the land. Malcolm reached for the contract, wrote what they’d agreed upon, then signed and stamped his seal in hot wax.
While every instinct told him not to trust this man, each clan sought the security and resources the marriage would provide.
Wed to a woman he didn’t ken. A lovely woman, truth be told—a beauty. Yet, she could be a shrew for all his knowledge of her. Was he bargaining his future happiness in order to provide for his family? Not that he’d revealed to his people the uncertainty in which he’d made this agreement. They’d only see a happily married laird and lady and if Gordon held his word, enough food so they wouldn’t go hungry.
“Grand. ‘Twill be good for both clans,” Gordon said as he rose. A smile creased his aged face. “Celebrate, while I say goodbye to me dear daughter.” As Gordon left the chamber, he turned and waved a slight salute in Malcolm’s direction. With a flash of a wink, the man was gone.
Some of his men followed. Others remained and poured more whiskey or ale. They lounged and kicked up their feet upon the desk and other furniture.
Malcolm momentarily thought to follow Gordon as his behavior before the ceremony came to him. How he’d grabbed his daughter and acted in anger. He rose and went to the hallway outside the office. “Gordon,” he called to the man.
The laird stopped at the end of the hall and turned to face Malcolm.
“Would you like me to accompany you?” He was trying to be polite but firm as well.
Gordon waved at him. “Och, ‘tis me daughter and I’d like a few minutes alone with her to wish her good luck with her new husband and clan.”
While he doubted the man often wished his daughter well, there was naught Malcolm could do but nod and say, “Aye.”
He reentered the study. As he observed Gordon’s men, more doubt filled his mind. He needed crops. These men looked as if they hadn’t worked in ages. If Gordon was going to live up to his promise and the signed documents upon his desk, who did he have working for him? Obviously, not these men or any Malcolm had encountered during his brief stay.
Och, but instinct plagued him, yet he needed to ready his own men and ensure they were equipped to handle the long journey ahead.
He studied the papers, doubting their veracity. But he’d read every word and ‘twas what was agreed, promised. Rubbing the back of his neck, Malcolm resisted a sudden urge to tear up the contract. But he’d wed Lady Rossalyn. And his honor, his pledge, would not be broken.
Malcolm nodded to his men who’d accompanied him to the study. They left to ready for the journey home. Nary one of Gordon’s men bade them good travels. If they were in an alliance, each man would rely on another. A brotherhood and its camaraderie was imperative, especially when on patrol. The morale of the Gordon clan had best not be the death of any Sutherland. Malcolm trusted and would give his life for the clan. And they’d do the same for him.
But he kenned in his gut Gordon’s men would not, damn them.
Aye, he’d made the deal with the devil, to be sure.
We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready, her husband had said.
Rossalyn raced to her chamber, more than ready to depart the keep and her life here. She had no one to say goodbye to, no friend to miss, or family since her mother had died five years ago. Not that it mattered; she was going to a better place and leaving behind the wretched memories of her past.
Liddy was in her chamber, straightening what was already straightened. The keep might lay in shambles, but her chamber was a sanctuary and she did what she could to ensure it was clean and not befouled by the rest.
The kitchen maid blanched and looked to the floor. Rossalyn stopped and fisted her hands at her waist. “You knew? Dear God Almighty, why didn’t you warn me?”
Why wasn’t she cautioned about the handsome man she’d been set to marry? About his blue eyes and broad shoulders? Her father had told her she was to wed just moments before he ordered her to the main hall. She’d balked, of course, but the man was bound and determined to make the alliance and be rid of her. And Rossalyn kenned such an alliance could very well be the answer to her prayers.
The maid twisted her hands. “I had no choice, m’lady. Yer father warned me not to.” When her shoulders trembled, Rossalyn sighed.
“I ken.” And she did. Her father knew how to get others to do what he wanted, to be sure. He’d likely threatened Liddy, along with her husband or son. And Liddy now stood quivering as if she feared her own shadow. Poor thing.
A bit of guilt assailed Rossalyn even as she rejoiced at leaving the keep. There were others who deserved a chance of a better life. And while the clan was well fed and filled with drink, their existence seemed so bleak to her.
She looked at the gown she wore and would wear on their trip. The blue was her best gown. ‘Twas her wedding gown not only to Laird Sutherland, but to her Daniel as well. She shook her head to stop the memories of her marriage. Although four years had passed, the pain over losing her husband had just started to lessen. All she wanted was to slip on trews and an old liene, rid herself of the memories of auld and new. Then she’d sneak out the rear of the keep and hide within the dense forest, mayhap hunt for a grouse or two.
“My lady.”
She lifted a brow.
“Shall I help you pack?” Liddy asked.
“Nay,” she said as she caught her reflection in the looking glass. It had been many months since she’d bothered with her appearance. But her curly black hair shone and her cheeks were pink with anticipation. She touched the flushed skin and stared for a moment. She blamed the kiss and the . . . the possessive embrace of her husband.
Clearing her thoughts of the stranger who was now her laird, Rossalyn began gathering her few belongings.
“You may go, Liddy. And be well.”
Liddy curtsied. “Best wishes to ye, m’lady.”
A knock interrupted the packing and she bade entry.
“Yer ready to leave?” her father questioned with a hard glint in his eyes.
She nodded and began folding clothing to shove into a bag. ‘Twasn’t much, but she cared not.
“She’ll no’ be going with ye.”
Rossalyn stilled. Had the man had lost his mind?
Sorcha, wife of the cl
an’s smithy, entered, holding wee Mairi’s hand.
Her heart raced as rage tore through her body. “Nay, my daughter comes with me.”
Her father nodded to Sorcha and she turned to leave.
Rossalyn raced toward them. Her father grabbed her, held her tight against him no matter how hard she struggled.
“Nay, she is mine!” What was she to do? Her daughter, her lovely daughter. She’d never leave her behind.
“She stays. The laird will nae accept another mon’s whelp. I swore ye were a maiden.”
Why did he vow such an untruth? Laird Sutherland would find out soon enough her father had made an alliance built upon lies. Tears raced down her face and clogged the back of her throat as panic gripped her. “I won’t leave.”
Her bones nearly cracked as he squeezed her arm. “I need the warriors more than I need to please ye. Haud yer wheesh.”
“Nay, I’ll not be quiet,” she cried. “Mairi’s my daughter.”
He shoved her against the wall, sneered in her face. “I’ll no’ have a woman telling me what to do. I’m laird and ye’ll do as I say.”
Taken aback at the vehemence of his words, she tried to nod in agreement. Instead, her ire pushed her to counter, “You’ve taken all from me. You killed my husband. And now my daughter!”
“If he weren’t such a weak man, he’d have killed me instead.” Her father laughed, a sickening mix of a cackle and evil chuckle. “And now yer daughter will be raised by Sorcha. ‘Tis what she deserves.”
Rossalyn gripped his shirt with all the strength she possessed. “You cannot do this to me.” The words scratched the back of her throat as tears burned her eyes. She’d not lose another she loved.
Her father lifted his hand and started to bring it against her cheek. As if thinking better of it, he let his arm drop to his side. “Don’t want to be giving Laird Sutherland any reason to leave ye behind.”
He exited the room and before he strode the hall, Rossalyn heard him sneer, “Let the bairn say her goodbyes.”
When his footfalls no longer echoed, Rossalyn frantically searched for her mother’s jewels. She gripped the only item remaining from her dowry, since her father had demanded she return the other pieces to him, stating he might marry again one day and would need the gems for his new wife.
Doubtful anyone would wed him or willingly live with him in the keep, nonetheless Rossalyn’s fear forced her to comply at her father’s insistence. Now she held tight to the last piece of her mother’s jewelry. The necklace was worth more than Sorcha had ever seen. And Rossalyn would barter her life if it would save her daughter.
“Quickly,” she said to the woman. “Take this.” She shoved the necklace toward her and gathered Mairi into her arms. “Ah, my love. We’ll be leaving.”
Sorcha started to speak. But Rossalyn’s harsh glare stopped her. “I am taking my daughter. You will never tell my father. The necklace is to pay for your silence.”
Fear and uncertainty shadowed the woman’s eyes, but she nodded.
The laird would never be the wiser—fool that he was, he barely ventured from the main hall, much less visited Sorcha’s crofter. And if he did? They’d be safe with Laird Sutherland. Surely, her husband would protect them.
Rossalyn gathered herself and whispered to her daughter, “Let us meet where we play games every morning.”
Och, it broke her heart when her daughter smiled and skipped out of the chamber. ‘Twas truly a hiding place for when her father’s rage sought anything or anyone to wreak havoc upon.
She rubbed the back of her neck as she glanced about the chamber. There was nothing left—all of her possessions, and Mairi’s things, were packed in a few small bags. The single remaining token of a familial memory had just been given to Sorcha.
After this day, she might never see her father again, thank the Lord. But had she traded one tyrant for another? She pinched the bridge of her nose as she tried to think. Was he a just man? Did he treat women with kindness or as her father had? And did the man like children? As the laird of a keep, he’d need to have children to ensure the line. But many men, those like her father, did as they pleased and treated their children horribly. Tears filled her eyes as she worried about not only her future, but that of her wee Mairi.
Och, she kenned nothing of Laird Sutherland.
She only knew his kisses caused warmth to curl from her head to her toes. And when he finally explored her body, she would not be frightened. Nay, she would welcome his touch. She would want it.
And oh, how she needed it.
Laird Sutherland seemed equally enthralled with her, but men weren’t as picky with their companions as women were. And if he had a need for the alliance, he’d have most likely married anyone.
When he found out he’d been tricked? Dear God, she prayed they wouldn’t feel the brunt of his wrath.
Chapter 3
“Ready the wagons and horses,” Malcolm instructed his men. By his reckoning they’d be on their way within the hour.
He glanced up at the keep. Someone spied on him and he’d bet ‘twas Laird Gordon. The situation was unsettling. Yet, ‘twas too late to change his dealings with the devil. In the future, he’d send his steward to complete any transactions or secure forces. His steward and several men for protection.
“M’laird?”
He turned toward the soft voice and grinned. Aye, the deal with the devil may have been worth it. Foolish to think he could ken a woman in such a short time, but the kindness in her eyes and the way she kissed him spoke to him. Triggered a warmth in the pit of his gut he felt he could trust. Such a sweet lady didn’t deserve to remain at the keep with these sorts of men.
For a moment, he worried she might be like her father. He searched her face, her eyes for any sign of duplicity. Then she smiled. ‘Twas like sunshine itself on a dreary day.
He had few demands of a wife. But one he wasn’t willing to negotiate on was a chaste wife. After his fiancée Trina had betrayed him, ‘twas the only thing that mattered. And not only Laird Gordon, but the doctor himself had sworn she was pure. Gordon’s word was suspect, but the doctor? He’d been willing to swear upon the word of God.
As he looked at her, enchanting and lovely, Malcolm was convinced he’d made the right choice, his distrust of her father be damned. She tipped her head to the side and he realized he hadn’t spoken, but had rudely stared at her.
“Aye,” he finally said.
“Will I travel in a wagon or on horseback?”
She bit at her lip and kept looking over her shoulder. ‘Twas obvious she wanted to quit the keep as quickly as he did.
“A covered wagon, to be sure. You’ll have one to yourself. The trip will be long and hard.” He reached for her and rubbed his hand along her arm. He couldn’t help himself—he wanted to touch her over and over again.
She glanced nervously toward the keep once more.
He furrowed his brow. “Or would you prefer a horse?”
“Nay,” his wife said with a quick shake of her head. “The wagon will suit.”
She smiled at him. Och, if he could have her smile at him like that for the rest of his life, ‘twould be worth it.
Damn, her lips distracted him and he leaned down. Just one, he promised. She moved toward him, anticipating his actions. They met in the middle, their bodies curved into each other, his hard, hers incredibly soft. Ah, so soft. Her breasts pushed against his chest and he wanted to rid her of clothing and just look, then touch, then suckle until she writhed beneath him.
Rossalyn whimpered when he parted her lips with his tongue. Hot, moist, and welcoming. She’d a bit of passion in her. Pleased at her response to his kiss, he moved toward her once again.
A throat cleared behind him.
Bollocks.
“We’re ne
arly ready, m’laird.”
He eased away and without looking replied, “Aye, Cam.” Malcolm held onto his wife for just a moment more. “Please tell me if you need anything.”
“Aye, m’laird,” she answered.
“Interesting,” his Sargent-at-Arms stated as his brow quirked upward.
“Haud yer wheesh.” Malcolm grinned despite himself as he watched her gather her bags and direct his men to load supplies. The graceful way she moved, her confidence when she spoke to his people, all put him at ease. Gordon Keep might rest in shambles, but his lady kenned how to get things done.
“Are you going to mount up or stare at your wife like a lovesick lad?”
He glared at his friend who merely held his hands up and bowed before heading toward his steed.
Soon they’d be home. He’d have a woman in his arms, a lady for his keep and hopefully in the months to come, a bairn to further the Sutherland name.
Rossalyn could barely breathe as she wrapped Mairi in a blanket and snuck her into her wagon. The lass was quiet, as if they were playing a game. She prayed her daughter’s presence would remain a secret until they left Gordon lands.
The laird had covered the wagon to protect her from the ever-changing Scottish weather. Aye, he seemed to be a kind man. From a slim opening in the cover, she regarded him as Mairi snuggled in behind her. He led his men firmly, but a smile graced his face more often than not. When there was a need, he heaved supplies or saddled a horse. And when a cow broke free of its tether, he chased the beastie until it was caught and once again secured. She shook her head in disbelief, for the man had laughed the entire time.
Her father, his men—they’d more than likely shoot the cow dead with an arrow before giving chase. ‘Twas the type of men they were. She worried the bargain he had made with Laird Sutherland would not come to fruition. Her father was a bastard of a man and rarely kept his pledge. Since she was now leaving, forever out of his way, she kenned he’d never hold up his end of the alliance. He was rid of her, a reminder of her mother and happier times at Gordon Keep. ‘Twas some of the reason her father loathed her. And when Mairi was born, his loathing often turned to rage. He wanted everyone as unhappy as he was. Rossalyn had refused to bow to his demands and instead made a life for her little family as if they were living in a different keep with a different laird.
