Undeniable

by Violetta Rand

  “I canna be parted from the contract,” Duncan insisted.

  “The document is safe,” Alex assured him. “I willna have ye intimidating my secretary or harassing Lady Helen while Petro completes his work.”

  “Tis unacceptable, sir.”

  Alex grinned and signaled for his two favorite guards. “Hugh. Bruce. Escort our guest to a cell and see that one of the maids prepares a tray of food for him. Make sure he has a clean place to sit and plenty of water to drink.”

  “Ye are imprisoning me?”

  “Nay,” Alex said. “I’m protecting ye and myself.”

  After the guards dragged Duncan away, Jamie turned to his cousin. “Ye wish me to stay with Lady Helen?”

  “Aye.”

  “What changed yer mind?”

  “The look in yer eyes when Duncan insulted her. I believe ye capable of protecting her for now.”

  Jamie stood. “Thank ye, Alex.”

  Alex nodded and placed his hand on Jamie’s forearm. “Tread lightly, Cousin.”

  Chapter Five

  Once seated in the comfortable solar, Helen waited patiently while Laird MacKay’s secretary worked diligently with the forged contract. To her left sat her maid, and to her right stood the red-haired man she had first seen last night in the great hall. He wore traditional Highland garb, a clean linen shirt with the black and blue tartan of the MacKays. His very presence made her feel safe, though his blue eyes intimidated her to the point of making her squirm uncomfortably in her chair. She tried to avoid his lingering gaze but found it impossible not to look at him.

  “Thank ye,” she finally whispered. “I feared I had been followed.”

  Jamie’s big hands were folded across his stomach. “I doona know why they let ye escape.”

  “Perhaps Duncan preferred playing cat and mouse with me.”

  His red brows shot up. “Ye are hardly a mouse.”

  “Nay?” she asked with a smile. “Sometimes I feel like one. Unimportant and easy prey, surrounded by all these men who make demands of me.”

  Jamie relaxed his stance. “I am Jamie MacKay, cousin to Laird Alex.” He bowed respectfully.

  “I know who ye are,” Helen said. “I am Helen Sutherland, the earl’s daughter.”

  “Aye. And if I may say, yer father is a fool for giving ye reason to flee yer home.”

  She sighed in complete agreement. “Money and power means more to my sire than his own children. I doona blame him overmuch, my grandfather did the same to him.”

  “Tis the way of Highland lairds. Something I came to dislike greatly during my travels in Constantinople—reminds me too much of the slave markets.” His handsome features showed true revulsion.

  “Ye have been to Constantinople?” How fortunate he was to have such freedom. “Tell me what it is like, please.”

  “Oppressively hot.”

  She grinned.

  “If ye dinna know sand dominated the landscape as yer ship entered the harbor, ye’d swear the place was made of gold.”

  She sat on the edge of the padded chair, his simple description as exciting as he was. “And?”

  “The ancient buildings are cut from stone with wide arches and decorated with colorful tiles. There’re bath houses and endless markets, white mosques where Muslims worship Allah, palaces filled with riches beyond imagination, and…” he paused.

  “Aye?”

  “Forgive me, milady. I lost myself.”

  “Ye canna stop now.”

  “Nay?” he eyed her speculatively. “I doona wish to overwhelm yer delicate senses.”

  Did he mistake her as weak? “I assure ye, sir, I am capable…”

  He smiled, revealing straight, white teeth and a dimple in his chin. “Veiled women who will dance for ye upon command.”

  Her eyes widened in fascination. “Are ye teasing me?”

  “Nay. Dancing is verra important.”

  “What sort of dancing?”

  He rubbed his chin. “Not a Highland dance.”

  “I doona understand.”

  “They doona dance with men.”

  “Nay? Then how…”

  Jamie moved his hips in a strange manner. “I canna do it.”

  Just then, Petro rustled some papers on the table and cleared his throat. “What are ye doing, Master Jamie?”

  “Trying to show Lady Helen how dancers in the palace entertain.”

  Petro frowned. “Perhaps the lady would prefer to hear about the food or palace ruins in the desert. Or maybe about the Bedouins?”

  “Bedouins?” she asked.

  “Aye,” Jamie said. “Nomadic people who travel the desert and live in tents.”

  “That canna be verra comfortable.”

  “Doona think of the kind of tents we use. These shelters are made from goat or camel hair and supported by multiple poles. The chiefs live in large tents with silk pillows and thick carpets on the floor. His wives serve him night and day, seeing to every creature comfort. Guests are welcomed like royalty, fed fresh meat and fruit, given wine and honey-sweetened camel milk, entertained as princes.”

  Helen tried to imagine what he meant, and when she pictured the beautiful dancers Jamie had spoken of, her cheeks heated. “Apples?”

  “Nay,” Jamie said. “Think every color—as brilliant as a bird’s wing. Pomegranates. Peaches. Lemons. The sweetest grapes.”

  “And what is a pomegranate? What does it taste like?”

  He hesitated at first, staring at her mouth. “Tis red and plucked from a small tree. Once it is halved, there are hundreds of small, plump seeds inside. Ye suck the juice from the seeds.”

  “Is it sweet or bitter?”

  “Sweet.”

  She closed her eyes. “And a lemon?”

  “As yellow as the sun, oblong in shape. Children eat them as a treat, but I prefer to squeeze the juice onto my fish.”

  She opened her eyes and gazed at Jamie. A long sword and several dirks of different lengths were sheathed at his hips. He was a warrior, not a poet. But the way he described things, the way he painted vibrant scenes in her mind, suggested he was an artist.

  “I envy yer travels, Master Jamie,” she said.

  “Doona,” he said softly. “For every beautiful thing I saw in those strange lands, something violent or evil overshadowed it.”

  “The slave markets?”

  “Aye.”

  She wouldna press him for more information. He’d been kind enough to amuse her with stories. But someday, she promised herself, she’d hear more—understand what haunted the virile man standing before her.

  “Lady Helen?” Petro said.

  “Aye?” She turned to the scholar.

  “If you would please sign this parchment…”

  “Of course.” Helen stood and walked to the table. He handed her the implement already wet with ink, and she carefully provided him with her signature. “Is there anything else ye need?”

  “No. This might take some time.” He looked at Jamie. “Perhaps the lady and her maid would like to take some air?”

  Jamie nodded. “If ye wish…”

  “I do,” she said.

  Jamie walked across the room and opened the heavy, wood door. “I will escort ye to yer chamber to get a cloak.”

  Chapter Six

  Once outside with Helen, Jamie decided to find out more about the lady and her family. Why would the only daughter of one of the most powerful men in the Highlands flee her home because she dinna like the marriage her sire had arranged for her? Intelligent, reserved, and hopelessly beautiful, Lady Helen seemed more than capable of standing up for herself. Yet, Jamie knew not everything was what it seemed. Perhaps there were dark secrets—fears the lady had no choice but to run away from. Desperate men committed atrocious acts, often hurting the ones they loved most.

  If her father needed to forge new alliances to safeguard his holdings, twas no wonder he chose Laird Munroe. Like the MacKays, the Munroes were famed warriors—with one difference: a Mu
nroe would stab a man in the back while smiling to his face. Something Jamie couldna fathom. Honor ruled Clan MacKay as much as God did. And Jamie’s cousin, who had always been more of a brother, presided over their clan with fairness. A better laird dinna exist.

  He gazed at Lady Helen and her maid. A bonnie sight in the bright, winter sunshine. If he dinna know better, Jamie would swear Lady Helen’s hair was spun from the purest gold, with streaks of red in it. Her eyes were a rare crystal blue, and she was unafraid to meet his bold stare. Did she expect a man not to steal a long look at her? No sane man could resist. His gaze dropped to her slim waist, noticeable even in her fur cloak. He guessed she had long legs, for she stood a head taller than most lasses.

  His thoughts returned to her pomegranate-colored lips, lush and expressive, the very place he wished to put his own mouth. Would she taste as sweet as fruit? Or would there be a trace of bitterness? Nay. He shook his head. Nothing could spoil Lady Helen’s taste. Even her gait bespoke of things Jamie dared not talk about openly. From what he could gather, the lady was unaware of her feminine superiority. Or if she did know, she chose to remain humble about it, which in Jamie’s view, only made her that much more desirable. He had no use for vanity. Hell, he had no use for women, really.

  But Lady Helen Sutherland might change his mind—if he let her.

  “And where are yer thoughts, Master Jamie?” she called, stopping a few feet in front of him, smiling.

  He waved her query off. “On matters of soldiering. Nothing a true lady would wish to hear.”

  She cocked her head. “That is where ye’re mistaken. I would very much like to hear anything ye have to say.”

  Jamie took a deep breath. If she dinna attempt to seduce him with her body, she’d surely succeed with her mind. For every word from her luscious lips intrigued him. “We are recruiting new soldiers.”

  “Oh?”

  “Aye,” he said. “One can never have enough warriors.”

  “My father would agree.”

  “Do ye?”

  She thought about it for a long moment. “Do ye plan on waging war on someone?”

  “Nay.”

  “Expanding yer holdings?”

  Jamie chuckled softly. “What laird wouldna if he could? Unless my cousin plans on marrying me off to a lady with lands attached to her dowry, there is little property to be had in the northern Highlands.”

  “Another observation my sire would agree with. I have always encouraged my father to spend some of his wealth more wisely.”

  “On what?”

  “Education.”

  “Education?” Jamie repeated. “For who?”

  “His men and servants, of course.”

  A pretty dream from a very lovely woman. Jamie’s respect for Helen grew even more, for she had a charitable heart, too. “What need do servants or warriors have to read and write?”

  Helen’s eyes were keenly focused on his face. “How many of yer men are literate, Master Jamie?”

  He rubbed his chin. The members of the council. And the cook. Keely and her maids were well educated. “Ten, maybe eleven.”

  “And if ye were not around to oversee their needs…”

  “Laird MacKay is a lucky man. Petro is a capable secretary and acts on behalf of Alex in his absence.”

  “Aye,” she agreed. “But if ye, or Laird MacKay and Petro were indisposed, who would preside over the needs of yer men, of yer household?”

  “We keep an elected council that aids our laird in such matters. Even if I agreed with yer thinking, Lady Helen, no clan could spare capable hands for learning. There’s too much to be done.”

  Helen looked about. “Tis the dead of winter, Master Jamie. The women and children spend most of their time inside keeping warm. Yer soldiers train every morn, that I understand. But what is done with the rest of the day? In the evening hours?”

  “Ye canna expect a grown man to sit at a table after a hard day’s work and practice letters.”

  Helen crossed her arms over her chest. “Is there anything more important?”

  “Tis a dangerous question to ask,” Jamie said. “And even more treacherous for me to answer.”

  “And why…” Confused at first, as the answer dawned on her, her expression changed. “Relations outside of wedlock…”

  Jamie held up his hand. “I dinna say anything about that.”

  Helen’s cheeks reddened instantly. “Ye hinted at it, sir.”

  “Nay, I dinna.”

  “But ye did.”

  Obviously embarrassed, Helen signaled for her maid to follow her further down the pathway that led to the loch. Jamie couldna control his laughter, and the sound echoed all around them. Helen stopped abruptly, frowned back at him, then continued walking to get away from him. He let her go, giving her room to recover her dignity.

  So, the lady knew what a man and woman did together at night. Her maidenly reaction pleased him immensely. Had she ever been kissed? Caressed? Held? Nay, she was too pure to let a man touch her. And her father would no doubt never allow her to go anywhere alone.

  Of course, what kind of man fantasized about bedding a maiden like Helen Sutherland when there was a keep full of willing maids? “Me,” he said aloud as he walked to catch up with the women.

  No common woman would do for Jamie. He had the blood of nobility running through his veins. His beloved mother, Lady Mary, was a distant cousin of King Edward IV of England. A fact that both benefitted and harmed Jamie at different times in his life. His father had never let him forget about his connection to the English throne, but when he was angry with his mother, his sire used it against him—calling him an English bastard that could never be trusted—or denying him his birthright as a legitimate Highlander.

  With both of his parents gone, it mattered little. But harsh words hurt more than slashes from a sword. And in his darkest moments, Jamie remembered his father’s words as if only spoken yesterday.

  He found Helen seated on a boulder near the frozen water’s edge. “I have offended ye.”

  She dinna look at him but stared across the loch. “This is a wild place,” she observed. “Untamed and unpredictable.”

  “Did ye expect different when ye journeyed here?”

  “I dinna expect anything, Master Jamie.” She faced him then. “I have lived a privileged life, ensconced in luxury with little exposure to the real world. Just being able to choose where I sit is strange to me. There’s not a regiment of men within sight or a gaggle of old women following me everywhere. I am free to speak my mind, to take in the fresh air—to even refuse whatever I wish.”

  “And if ye could refuse anything, lady, what would it be?”

  “An equally dangerous question as the one I asked.”

  A grin tugged at Jamie’s mouth. She had a sharp mind. “Perhaps. And I doona expect ye to answer.”

  “Oh, but I want to.”

  He waited patiently for her to speak.

  “I believe there are two things I’d refuse if given the chance.”

  “Aye?”

  “My name. And Laird Munroe.”

  “Fine choices,” he said. “And if ye were just Helen of the Highlands, what would ye do first?”

  “Is it not yer turn to answer a question?”

  “Verra well,” he said. “I hide nothing.”

  “What would ye do if ye were just Jamie of the Highlands?”

  “Well that depends, Lady Helen.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether ye are a Sutherland in that moment, or just Helen of the Highlands.”

  She swallowed hard, her eyes narrowing.

  Jamie knew he shouldna speak so brazenly, especially in front of the maid his cousin had appointed to take care of Lady Helen. But their time alone together was short. And if he dinna voice his attraction, let her know that a spark of something indescribable had been borne between them, he might not get a second chance to do so.

  “Helen of the Highlands,” she whispered.

/>   Jamie stepped closer to where she sat, flexing his left hand, wrestling against the urge to touch her, just once. To finger one of her golden curls, to caress her soft cheek. To breathe in her scent. “I’d kiss ye.”

  Helen nervously shifted her plaited hair from her left shoulder to the right. And Miran the maid clicked her tongue in disapproval but said nothing as she turned her back to them and pretended to be interested in something along the shore.

  “Kiss me?” Helen asked breathlessly.

  He nodded, so close to her he could feel the heat radiating off her body. “Now ye owe me an answer, Helen of the Highlands. What would ye do with yer newly found freedom?”

  “I’d let ye kiss me,” she said as boldly as him, her confidence never wavering, her eyes never leaving his.

  Her answer sent a shockwave of desire through his body, forcing him to swallow the words he wished to say. Jamie closed his eyes, picturing what it would be like to have her in his arms, to spread her out beneath him, naked and willing—uninhibited and…

  “Jamie.” A masculine voice ripped Jamie from his dream.

  Lord. Who dared interfere with his precious time with Lady Helen? Petro waved as he walked down the path.

  Jamie eyed Helen with regret. He’d waited too long to claim that sweet mouth, but he’d find another way to get her alone. Without Miran trailing behind her. Where Petro couldn’t interrupt them. Where his cousin would never know.

  Chapter Seven

  “The signature is a forgery,” Petro confirmed as they walked back to the keep.

  Jamie frowned. “So, Lady Helen isna a liar.”

  Petro cast him a dark look. “Did you ever think she was?”

  “I doona know what to think anymore,” he grunted, still irritated by the missed chance to kiss Helen. “Liars come in every form—men and women.”

  “Perhaps,” Petro affirmed. “But not golden-haired beauties who have sought refuge in your home. What use would deception be for a lady in desperate circumstances?”

  Jamie could think of plenty of uses: to convince everyone that she was in danger, to cast her sire in a shadow of doubt… “My answer doesna matter. Ye have confirmed her claim. She dinna sign that contract, and the bastard sitting in that cell deserves a beating for lying to Laird Alex and me.”