by Mary Wine
“I’ve clasped yer brother’s wrist and called him friend. Honor is not absolved by words.” He stepped closer. “But that is nae the only reason I will ride out after ye, Nareen Grant.”
His voice had deepened and his tone made her knees go weak. She detested the reaction, willing herself to ignore it. Yet it persisted, turning and twisting through her like some sort of dark suggestion she couldn’t ignore because it was inside her.
“I must return to me mistress.”
“Ye’re hiding in yer position,” he accused softly. “Ye are the daughter of an ennobled laird, nae a serving lass.”
“I made a place for meself when the one me noble family sent me to was sordid,” she defended.
“Something ye are to be admired for.” His expression changed, the hard set of his lips softening as he moved even closer. She lost the battle to ignore her response. He was too near to ignore completely; the soft night breeze carried the scent of his skin to her.
She stepped back. His lips parted, flashing his teeth as victory filled his eyes.
“Ye intrigue me, Nareen Grant. Ye are noble-born, yet ye did nae meekly accept yer plight with yer cousin.”
“Of course I did nae, I am a Grant,” she answered with pride. His dark eyes brightened with approval and something that looked like intent. “Do nae be intrigued.” She stepped to the side, to place more space between them. “For I am nae interested in ye a bit.”
One of his dark eyebrows rose. “I’m willing to wager I can change yer mind, lass.”
Her eyes widened, a sickening twist of nausea shooting through her belly. “I am nae something to be made sport of.”
And she couldn’t bear it. The need to retch was growing as she battled the image of him taking her on the ground while his men ignored them.
There was nothing to stop him. Once more, she had only her wits, and it shamed her to know that was by her own doing. Reckless choices often delivered harsh consequences. But she was nae going to submit easily.
“Ye claim me brother is yer friend,” she reminded him. “I believe he would nae care to know ye are trifling with me.”
His expression hardened. “Yer cousin Ruth has paid for her deeds, but I wonder if stripping her of her freedom and placing her and her entire estate under the guardianship of a trusted man was enough. She bred a fear in ye. For that, she has nae been punished enough.”
It was true, but she couldn’t share such a thing with him. Not with anyone.
“Ruth no longer rules her estate?”
Saer shook his head. “Her choices are limited to what fare she might enjoy from the kitchen and what dress she may wear.”
For a moment, Nareen recalled the gleam that always brightened her cousin’s eyes when she was laying out her plans. The staff lived in fear of being singled out by their mistress. “Ruth thrived on control. She’ll hate having none.”
“Then it was well done.”
His voice had a deep timbre that struck her as too familiar, too kind, too focused upon her. She recoiled from it, shaking her head because she didn’t want anything about Ruth to matter to her. “I do nae care what became of her. She means naught to me.”
He reached out and stroked her cheek. “’Tis a sad thing to see how hard yer feelings are. But there is naught more to fear, she’ll nae have the opportunity to inflict such ills again.”
Nareen jerked away from the contact. She even took a swipe at his hand, but he moved faster, withdrawing in time to avoid being struck. Someone chuckled from where his men clustered near the fires, but Saer was watching her from narrowed eyes.
“I am nae afraid of anything,” she assured him.
“Is that so?” Saer inquired in a silky-smooth tone.
Nareen nodded. Satisfaction began to fill her, but it was cut short as he reached out and stroked her face again. She jumped, completely unable to control her reaction.
“Ye are making sport of me in front of yer men, like a savage.”
His eyes glittered, but it wasn’t with the outrage Nareen had intended to provoke. Instead, there was an unmistakable pleased looked in those dark orbs.
“I am a savage, Nareen.” He stepped forward, placing himself within touching range again. “I do nae let words stand alone. If ye truly have no interest in me, there is no reason to avoid me touch. Stand steady and prove ye are nae moved. I have no taste for a frigid woman.”
She laughed at him but stepped back again. “Then it seems we have a common ground, for I crave no man’s touch.”
His lips thinned. “Now that is something ye shall have to prove as well.”
“I will nae. Me word should be enough on the matter, if ye truly are me brother’s friend.” She didn’t care to hide behind her brother’s name, but the circumstances offered her few alternatives.
“As ye noted, I am a savage, and I always demand proof before I believe.”
This time, she was ready when he reached for her cheek. She stepped aside, avoiding him. She was just beginning to smile with her victory when he closed his hand around her wrist. He really was huge. His fingers closed easily around her smaller wrist, clasping it in an iron grip. She braced herself for pain, but there was none, only a secure hold that defied her attempt to break it.
“Release me.” Her voice had risen, and she shut her mouth before revealing any more of her unsettled state.
“Prove ye are unmoved, lass, and I shall be content to accept yer dismissal.” His tone had deepened, becoming something hypnotic.
“I am irritated.” And remaining still was proving too difficult. She twisted her hand, trying to break his hold again.
“Aye, ye are that.” He lifted her hand to his face and pressed a kiss on the delicate skin of her inner wrist. She shuddered, the touch intensely intimate. She’d never realized her skin might be so sensitive. The simple touch of his lips unleashed a bolt of sensation that shook her all the way down to her toes. His eyes filled with satisfaction.
“But ye are also affected.”
He released her, and she stumbled back a pace because she’d been resisting his hold so greatly. Laughter erupted from his men. Saer stiffened, and he crossed his arms over his chest.
“What?” she said. “Are ye trying to impress me by controlling yerself now that ye see yer men are enjoying the sport ye are making of me?”
“Aye, I am,” he answered darkly. “I am nae the one who chose this setting for our meeting, Nareen. Ye should nae have refused to see me again at court. That left me no choice but to chase ye.”
“Ye have no right to chase me, nor take me mare’s reins.”
He offered her only a slight tilt of his head. “Riding through the night hours is nae safe.”
“Ye were doing it,” she pointed out.
He reached back and grasped the pommel of the long sword that was strapped to his back. “I am more prepared than ye, lass.”
“So ye think,” she warned.
His eyes narrowed again, this time sweeping her from head to toe. He wouldn’t find her dagger. At least, not until it was too late.
“I can see to meself,” Nareen assured him, her confidence was high when it came to protecting herself. The knowledge restored her balance, and it was a relief.
She turned and made to go after her mare. She felt his gaze on her, but he didn’t try to stop her. The young lad who had taken her mare watched as she untied the knot that secured her bridle to the other horses. No one spoke a word, but they watched her, some of the retainers stroking their beards.
Nareen mounted and turned her mare toward the path that led away from the hidden campsite. She pressed her knees into the sides of the mare to get her moving.
Saer was no longer in sight. The urge to look around for the MacLeod laird was almost irresistible, but she lifted her chin and headed up
the path. Her jaw was aching by the time she gained the high ground, because she was gritting her teeth.
But she was satisfied.
She was on her way, going where she wished.
Once out of the woods, her mare picked up speed, crossing the open space that allowed the Ross fortress to see invaders coming—the site for the castle had been chosen because of the natural clearing. The gate watch made her wait while they scanned the land. She glanced behind her, looking back toward the wooded area. For a moment, something moved, and Saer emerged for just a split second.
“Open the gate,” she called up.
“Ye’ll wait on the captain’s word,” a retainer called back down. “Do nae say the Grant leave their gates open in the dark of night.”
Of course they didn’t. No one did. The only reason she was allowed out was because the Ross truly did not care if she returned. A servant was replaceable, especially one from another clan. She’d taken solace in that fact, but now, she realized how foolish she had been.
Saer MacLeod could have kept her, and no one would have bothered to send out even a single rider to look for her. As much as she detested the facts of the world, she could not deny that the Grants had enemies—every clan did. Even on Ross land, she might find herself under attack from one of her brother’s enemies. If Saer could find her, so could others.
It was time to think about her circumstances.
“It’s clear,” the captain of the watch called from the top of the corner tower.
The portcullis was raised just enough for her to enter. But the moment the gate closed behind her, she realized she was there only because Saer had allowed it. His stallion was capable of running her mare to ground.
He’d allowed her to return.
That knowledge unleashed several emotions she wanted to ignore. But as she returned her mare to her stall and rubbed her down, there was no way to hide from her own thoughts.
Saer MacLeod had allowed her to decide what she wished. His fellow Highlanders might call him a savage, but he was far more accommodating than she expected of a man.
It was what he wanted, no doubt. All men craved the same thing from women.
It was more than a word. The idea whispered through her thoughts and along her skin, raising goose bumps. She shivered, but realized she was actually trembling. She hissed, letting her temper flare in the hopes it would burn away the memory of his touch.
Another emotion teased her, warm as a flash of temper, but it wasn’t anger. She frowned as she failed to understand it. Even if she detested the man and everything about him, the memory of his lips against her wrist filled her thoughts, leaving behind a slight sting on her cheeks.
She shook her head and made her way toward her bed.
She would not think about his touch or the way it made her feel. There would be no lament over the choice she had made to reject him.
There would not be.
***
“I’m surprised ye let her go back into that fortress,” Saer’s captain remarked when he joined him at the edge of the clearing. “I do nae think she’ll be making it simple for ye to catch her again.”
“I hope not.”
Baruch chuckled. “Are ye sure ye want that one, Laird?”
Saer cut his captain a hard look. “That is what I’m here to discover. She intrigues me, and I confess I’ve never been impressed with a lass’s strength before.”
“Her brother agreed to yer suit,” Baruch reminded him. “It would be a lot simpler to learn what it is ye want to know if ye had kept her.”
Saer looked back at the Ross fortress. “If I did that, she’d be able to dismiss me the same as those her cousin allowed to make sport of her.” His tone betrayed his anger. “She will come to me.”
“And how do ye figure to make that happen?”
Saer turned his stallion to head back to the camp. “She craves freedom. Nae the inside of that fortress.”
Baruch slowly smiled. “And ye’ve cleverly made it so she is the one who has caged herself. Well played, Laird. Even a spitfire cannae claim ye forced her inside that gate.”
“She will not,” Saer confirmed. “Nareen Grant will notice exactly what I did. She is no simpleton.”
Baruch let out a low whistle. “Careful, Laird, a spitfire is often more trouble than she’s worth. Once the passion cools, ye’ll be stuck with a harpy for a wife. One that will have the care of yer daughters.”
“Or I might just have found a woman who is nae afraid of me.”
Which was what he truly craved. Now that he was Laird, there were offers of brides, but he didn’t have the stomach for a shivering woman in his bed. His father’s bride had been one of those, a daughter offered up by her father, and white as a ghost on the day of her wedding. His father had turned to Saer’s mother for passion when the years went by and his noble wife never warmed toward him.
Saer wanted nothing to do with a marriage like that.
Nareen trembled, but she also spat at him. What he really wanted to know was would she reach for him once she surrendered to passion?
It was a gamble, one that carried a large risk. Saer wasn’t blind to the facts. But he also couldn’t ignore the way Nareen blushed for him. Her cheeks had been hot, even in the cold night air, just as they’d been when he’d encountered her at court.
Every moment they’d shared was branded into his memory. If he was given to superstition, he’d suspect her of casting spells. Court ladies had reputations for bewitching men with their wiles.
He grinned, the burn of a challenge warming him. If Nareen had enchanted him, he was going to make sure she suffered the same fate.
“Where are ye going, Laird?” Baruch inquired.
“To introduce meself to the Earl of Ross,” Saer answered without looking over his shoulder. “It would be terribly rude of me to cross his land and nae clasp his hand. Such an action might start rumors about me lack of social graces.”
“Well now, we wouldn’t be wanting that,” Baruch agreed as he followed his laird toward the castle. “But ye know, ye do nae have to spend the night inside the fortress. The summer night is fine.”
“Aye.” Saer continued toward the gate.
Baruch snorted behind him and abandoned further argument. “She’s under yer skin,” he groused instead.
“Perhaps.” Saer ignored the temptation to wait until morning to enter the castle. There was one thing he disliked more than being surrounded by stone walls, and that was ignoring a challenge. “Since I plan to claim her, it matters not.”
“Aye,” Baruch answered.
Whether or not Nareen was teasing him was not the reason he moved closer to her refuge. He wanted to know why she invaded his dreams. He’d stand in her path until she faced him. The answer would be revealed only when she stopped running.
***
Saer MacLeod blended with the night. Where other men braved the darkness, Saer was comfortable in its velvet embrace. It was enticing, alluring in a way that was sure to be wrong. How could it be anything else when it sent such a rush of heat through her?
Nareen jerked awake, disoriented as she tried to disengage her mind from her dream.
The image of Saer MacLeod didn’t fade quickly or easily. It lingered, keeping her from waking up completely. She saw his dark stare, probing her eyes and forcing her to acknowledge him.
She kicked her bedding aside and sat up.
She would ignore the man.
The sun was rising, and she could hear the bells calling the inhabitants of the inner castle to morning Mass. She reached for her stockings and pushed her feet into them. Now that the summer was fully upon them, she lamented being forced to wear so many layers. But there were standards to be maintained.
Next she pulled her boots on and worked a lace around the
antler-horn buttons sewn along the sides, knotting the laces in place. When she stood, her chemise fluttered to her calves. It was creased from sleeping in it, but no one would see the lack of ironing. Not that she had time for such vanity anymore.
Nareen reached for her simple wool skirt and lifted it over her head, using a tie to belt it at her waist. Her bodice was unfussy, with boning sewn into it instead of a separate corset, and it opened up the front. Nareen threaded a lace through the eyelets and tugged it tightly closed. The stiff front supported her breasts. Her sleeves attached to her bodice and were also simple in design.
There had been a time when she had been the mistress. Dressing took more time when there were more layers. Like underskirts and overskirts, inner sleeves and outer sleeves all decorated with trim and lace. She did not miss it.
Well, perhaps she missed her silk gowns from time to time. But not enough to return to her father’s house.
A stab of regret pierced her heart as she brushed the tangles from her hair. Her father had not been in his right mind for many years. He’d begun losing his grip on facts, and it had only grown worse. He was Laird of the Grants, but her brother, Kael, had kept him above stairs to keep his illness from being known. As his daughter, she should be there to tend to him. But to do so, she’d have to return to where her brother was master.
Her brother had sent her to Ruth. Even if she believed Kael had done so believing Ruth would instruct her on how to run a large estate, Nareen couldn’t stomach the idea of being beneath a roof where he ruled. So she stayed as Abigail’s companion.
She braided her hair and grabbed a linen cap before hurrying out of the chamber. At least she didn’t have to sleep in Abigail’s private chambers. Many personal companions did. But Abigail was at her nastiest at sunrise, so she allowed her kinswomen to dress her in the morning because she didn’t want Nareen to leave her service. Abigail was wise enough to know Nareen had somewhere to go if she became displeased in her position. So she gave concessions, such as a private place to sleep and a stall for her mare.
Yes, a good agreement.
So why was she so full of discontentment this morning?
