by Mary Wine
“If anyone marries her, it will be me.”
Connor glared at his friend. “Why? Because ye stole her or because ye kissed her?”
“Both.”
“That may not be enough to save her from the noose, my friend. There will be many who say her blood is tainted.”
Connor was correct, but Torin didn’t want to admit it out loud. He debated the situation, his mind trying to work it into something easier to deal with. Wedding Shannon would not be an uncommon way of dealing with the matter. But Connor was very correct that there would be many opposed to leaving any alive who were kin to the traitors who murdered the king.
Baeth wasted no time getting to her ordered task, snapping her fingers at two others and pointing at the laird’s captive. Shannon McBoyd was not impressed with his order that she be offered better. She shook her head and resumed cutting with a stubborn set to her lips.
Lips that he knew tasted sweet. His fingers curled into a fist, and he struck the top of the table. Connor chuckled at his frustration.
“That one burns hot enough to melt sand into glass. Keeping her will nae be a simple matter.”
“Aye, that’s a fact.”
The only part he did not like was that he was beginning to look forward to clashing with her.
He stood up and covered the distance between him and Shannon quickly. The women stepped away from him, knowing the look on his face and the fact that it promised he was not in the mood to be challenged.
Shannon lifted her multicolored eyes to stare into his. There was a hint of heat in those orbs, but stubbornness outshone it.
“Ye may have noticed that I rise to the challenges ye cast toward me, lass.”
She hissed at him, but her cheeks began to turn pink. She wanted to argue with him, but he reached out and plucked a tuft of wool off her shoulder before she made her protests. Her eyes widened when he held it up.
“I refuse to believe that ye enjoy being filthy or being left to sleep wherever ye could find a space. Such will be corrected. Baeth will see to ye, or if ye persist in refusing her offer, I will do it myself.”
***
Each word was edged in solid promise. She should have been familiar with the man’s unyielding nature, but she still wanted to argue. Shannon bit her lip instead. She felt the weight of too many stares resting on them. Torin was laird here, even if he wasn’t her laird. Since she could not leave his holding, his word would be carried through.
Her gaze dropped to his hands, the same ones that had touched her so tenderly and yet imprisoned her so completely.
“I dinna need help tending to myself, so tell yer women to leave me be.”
He drew in a stiff breath. “And I’ve told ye before, Shannon McBoyd, yer kin have been killin’ mine, so ye will go where I say until the Earl of Douglas sorts out this matter.”
Shock held her tongue still for a long moment. “You sent word to the Douglas that I am here?”
He nodded. Relief flooded her. It swept away the fear that she hadn’t even noticed was gnawing away at her insides. Once it was gone, she blushed with shame for the rude manner in which she had been speaking. His keen stare didn’t miss the emotions that crossed her eyes, and he let out a frustrated grunt. With a flick of his fingers, he sent Baeth and the other women away from them.
“I’m a Highlander, true enough, but that does nae mean I am without honor. Quite the opposite.” Pride edged his words. “But I’m owing ye an apology for no’ telling ye that I sent to Douglas. There will be justice done, but no’ revenge. I brought ye here to keep yer wedding from happening.”
Which was a kindness, and a great one. She doubted many other men would conduct themselves so honorably. But she could hear the women near the hearth whispering now, and she would have sworn that she felt their cutting looks on her back.
“Yer people want revenge.” However justifiable, it stung to feel their glares on her.
“Aye.” He stared straight into her eyes without pity for the fact that they were talking about her own kin. “But revenge will nae bring peace, and that is what we need in Scotland.”
She couldn’t help but respect him for saying that. It was such a contrast to her father. She could not resist the urge to admire him. Her feelings must have become visible on her face, because one of his dark eyebrows rose in question.
“Does that mean ye find me more to yer liking, Shannon?”
His words were edged with a temptation that she would be wise to ignore. The man began to grin at her, and she found the expression too mocking to tolerate.
“I find ye fair, which is more than I expected and a compliment to be sure, but that has nothing to do with liking. So ye can just remember that. I told ye before that I am nae a light skirt, so ye can stop being so brash as to use my name so familiarly.”
He chuckled, barely loud enough for her to hear. She caught herself leaning toward him and stiffened. His eyes flickered with approval and that same hunger that had fascinated her when they were alone. Only they were far from alone now, and she heard the whispers increasing over at the hearth. Her cheeks turned hot, and the worst part was that Torin noticed, his attention moving to the growing spots of color and lingering there for a long moment. Shannon berated herself but seemed to be powerless to control the physical response. Her blush burned hotter.
“Aye, lass, ye have told me that, but it’s the fact that ye find me attractive that I’m finding more interesting.”
“I do not… find you any such thing.” She had to stop and lower her voice. The women might have moved away, but it was clear that they were doing their best to hear every word. Merriment danced in his dark eyes, and she realized that she’d leaned toward him in her attempt to keep their voices from drifting. It brought him too close for her comfort. She was keenly aware of him, noticing little details about his face and lips that she’d never taken interest in with other men. Sensation rippled across her skin beneath her clothing, touching off little flickers of excitement.
“Enough. Ye are imagining things. You brought me here with rope around my wrists. Attraction is not what is between us.”
His expression darkened, and she was almost sorry to know she’d caused it. Regret nibbled at her, reminding her how handsome a man he was when his eyes sparkled like the stars against a moonless night sky. But he suddenly shook off his ill temper, offering her a mocking grin once more.
“Well now, lassie, since ye are nae a light skirt, tying ye around me was the only way to bring ye home with me, and I do have me reputation as a Highlander to think of. Stealing brides is tradition.”
She slapped the tabletop, drawing a few gasps from those watching.
“Trust a man to say something like that. You gain from my loss of reputation, and I am not yer bride.” She stumbled over the last word, excitement threatening to embarrass her by making her voice unmistakably cheerful over the idea of being wed to him.
He tilted his head slightly, clearly enjoying her temper. But he suddenly rolled the wool still clenched in his hand. Lifting it up, he stared at it for a moment, his face becoming pensive.
“Ye were in the back hallways last night during supper.”
A tingle went down her nape, and she straightened up, withdrawing, back across the table. But that wasn’t nearly far enough. Torin shifted his keen stare away from the wool to her face, his eyes burning into hers.
“The wool is stored in the back workrooms, and no McLeren woman goes there when me and my men return. But ye would nae know that, would ye, lass?”
Shannon willingly held her tongue, but she felt her cheeks turning scarlet. His dark eyes moved to the stain, studying it. When he looked back into her eyes, there was a flicker of hunger lighting his gaze. Excitement flared back up deep in her belly.
“Well now, Shannon McBoyd, I believe I’ll no’ be offering any apology for this morning.” Hi
s lips rose into a mocking curve. “And I’m going to enjoy the compliment ye paid me good and well.”
“I offered ye no words of praise.”
He shrugged, his wide shoulders moving easily beneath his shirt. Shoulders that she had seen last night and was still thinking about despite the bright light of day.
“On the contrary, lass, ye have paid me the sweetest form of praise a lass can offer a man.” He flattened his palms on the tabletop without a care for what he might touch. The tender skin of her lips actually tingled as she watched him leaning closer and closer. The man was completely mesmerizing.
“Ye kissed me back because ye liked what ye saw last night, and that is the highest form of praise from a virgin.”
Shannon stiffened, backing away from the table and the glaring truth of his words. His expression was smug, and it irritated her immensely. No man should be so confident of her. Especially not Torin McLeren. It was too much for her pride to bear, too much to stare at, so she turned her back on him. The women watching sucked in stiff breaths, but what sent her teeth to grinding was the warm male chuckle that drifted over the worktable to her ears.
Brute. Highlander brute!
***
The bathrooms were indeed on the opposite side of the great hall. Another set of waterwheels pulled water up from the loch here. Yet there was another large hearth with coals glowing ruby in the morning light. The water was dumped into another stone trench, but it wasn’t divided into sinks. Instead the water flowed along the wall past eight large slipper tubs. They were pushed up beneath the trough that the water flowed through, and directly above each was a section of wood that might be pulled up to allow the water to spill down into the tub waiting below.
It was ingenious.
Shannon looked at the design, impressed by its simple solution to hauling buckets. Large copper kettles hung over the hearth, telling her that the only water you needed to move was the hot water. The stories she’d heard about Highlanders bathing often suddenly took on more truth. With such a bathroom, she would gladly bathe often. Her skin suddenly itched, her undergown feeling grimy.
“Yer clothing will need to be washed, so we’ll find ye something else to wear for the day. I am Baeth, the head of the house.”
Baeth spoke softly but with a firmness that spoke of her confidence in her position. A large ring was secured to her belt, and from it hung an assortment of keys. Large and small, they were a symbol of her position.
Two other McLeren women had followed them, and one set a kettle over the hearth. The water dripped on the outside sizzled when the heat hit it, and then the room was filled with the sound of water hitting the bottom of one of the slipper tubs. They were copper tubs, yet another thing that proclaimed how solvent the McLeren clan was. Metal cost money. The row of tubs accounted for a hefty investment.
Well, she was going to enjoy the benefits of her captor.
The word “captor” stuck in her thoughts now. Torin might be a brute, but he was not dishonorable. He’d sent to the Earl of Douglas, and it was startling just how much that bit of knowledge was comforting to her. The man could have shut her away and ordered his kin to keep their lips sealed. It might have been years before someone spilled the secret at a spring festival. Years that she would have spent living as the lowest person on the land.
She was grateful for his honor but at the same time fearful of what would happen when the Douglas heard. With the king murdered, there would be blood demanded. Her father was deep into the plot, and it was very possible that she would share his fate.
Unless Atholl gained the crown, which was not such a difficult thing to agree with. His grandfather had married twice and dissolved the first marriage, but there were many who believed the children from that first union should have inherited the throne. James I was descended from the second marriage.
That idea surged quickly into her mind, filling her thoughts completely. If Atholl became king, anyone who opposed him would fall. The McLeren were strong, but not mightier than all the Lowland clans combined. It would be Torin who paid for interrupting her journey. The cost would undoubtedly be his life. Icy dread dug its claws into her, suspending her thinking while she fretted over what might happen to the laird who had brought her home with him. She suddenly gave a huff and reached for one of her shoes to begin unlacing it. The man didn’t need her efforts to shelter him.
No, he was already blessed with the strength of legend. She’d seen that so clearly last night.
Her cheeks burned again, frustrating her. Blushing had never been her habit, and it was one that she was not happy to discover becoming part of her every waking hour. She pulled at her shoes and clothing, removing it all quickly to keep herself busy.
She was spending far too much time thinking.
The last thing she did was untie the strip of leather that kept her hair in a braid. Once free, the strands began to loosen and rise up in an unruly cloud. Once she washed it, curls would appear, and they would be even harder to control. She suddenly missed Gerty greatly, for getting her hair combed and rebraided was going to be very hard without another set of hands. But she refused to remain dirty when a bath was within reach.
She gave no notice to the McLeren women watching her. Bathing was never private on McBoyd land either. But these women eyed her. She felt their stares moving over her, so she lifted one foot and stepped into the tub before the hot water was added.
A gasp passed her lips, but she steadied herself and picked up her other foot. Remaining on display was worse than the icy-cold water. Setting her teeth, she sat down and shivered when the water rose above her waist.
One of the women snickered.
“Meanness is a sin that I’ve little tolerance for.”
Baeth spoke quietly and without looking at either of the women, but they both straightened instantly. One turned to pull the kettle out of the hearth with a long iron hook. Steam rose from the spout now, and Shannon looked at the wispy white vapor with longing. A moment later, the hot water was poured into the tub. Moving it around with her hands, she smiled as her fingers encountered the warmth.
“I hear tell that you had a trunk with ye. I sent one of the kitchen lads off to see if any of yer things made it to the Highlands.”
“Thank you.”
Baeth seemed set on keeping a conversation going. Shannon suddenly realized how much she missed the little remarks that were so often part of her everyday routine. Since leaving her father’s house, she had been ordered, instructed, and told what was expected of her, but no one spoke to her.
Well, except for Torin, but the man only sparred with her. Maybe the lack of conversation was the reason she rose to contest his words so quickly.
Baeth lifted a ladle and dipped it into the water still flowing along the wall.
“Mind yer eyes.”
The water hit her head, clearing out any cobwebs that might have been there. Shannon blew out a stiff breath but smiled because her skin felt cleaner already.
“Spring will bring some welcome warmth.”
Shannon didn’t answer because she was busy scrubbing away the mud from traveling. She didn’t think she had ever felt so dirty, and she didn’t care if the soap stung her eyes. She scrubbed her face twice before sighing with relief. The kettle was brought back with only warm water to rinse her hair out. The woman holding the kettle stood watching in wonder as the water left behind hundreds of curls.
“Ye have lovely locks.”
“Lovely until you are the one who must try and keep them out of the fire.”
Baeth clicked her tongue. “As troublesome as it might be, ye’ll be the bonniest sight on May Day morning.”
Would she? Shannon lifted her face and looked up toward one of the open windows. They were set higher into the wall, with half shutters that kept anyone in the yard from looking into the bathroom.
“I’m not
allowed out of the tower.”
The two women looked at Baeth. The older woman considered her thoughts for a long moment while Shannon stood up and reached for a length of linen to dry off with.
“All the lasses go out on May morn. I think ye should be no different. That’s tradition.”
Yet she was different; she always had been set apart from even her own clanswomen on May Day. However, many believed in the rite of May morning. It was fabled to bring good luck to the land and those living on it. The belief was rooted in their druid past. The church might do its best to banish it, but the festival would be held.
“The lads will be watching ye for certain. That’s something that clan colors dinna hold any authority over. A lad likes what he likes, and many a father has tried to interfere, only to hear that his daughter has married who she loves.”
The other two women laughed, only it was a lighthearted sound now. Naughty smiles appeared on their lips, and that gained them a raised eyebrow from Baeth.
“Love is a fine thing, and that is not to be confused with lust, even if you younger lasses haven’t the wisdom to know one from another.”
Had it been lust that saw her kissing Torin back?
Heat curled through her belly, moving over her skin as she pondered that idea. The day was fair, and she dried quickly, but her nipples remained hard and tight. Hunger licked at her, and her lips tingled with just the memory of his kiss.
He’d labeled it attraction. Was that just a soft way of telling her that he knew she lusted for him?
A set of footfalls interrupted her thoughts. A younger woman entered the room, her arms draped with a set of gowns. The other two women wasted no time. They took up the garments and helped place the softer underrobe over Shannon’s head. The second one followed, and in spite of her pride, she couldn’t help but appreciate clean clothing. The last thing lying over the girl’s arm was a length of plain brown wool.
“I didna think ye would be wanting a McLeren plaid for an arisaid, but yers is in need of a washing.”
“It is.” There was an awkward moment that felt like it lasted an hour. Shannon broke it by reaching for the brown wool and draping it over her back. It was still too chilly to go without an arisaid, and the truth was that the McLeren girl didn’t think a McBoyd should be wearing McLeren colors. However, as they were both being civil enough, it would be best to allow the matter to pass without a comment. While she wouldn’t call it kind, she could agree that there was a lack of meanness among those in the bathhouse.
