Her Highland Protector (Scottish Highlander Romance)

by Barbara Bard

The serf didn’t speak, but dipped into a quick bob of acknowledgement. Receiving the stitches hurt like hell, and the ale failed to help ease the pain. Yet, he held still for her ministrations, and tried not to groan too much. Though he hardly cared what she thought, moaning and groaning like a wench in childbirth demeaned him in his own eyes.

  At last she finished. Bobbing another curtsey, the old woman departed on rheumatic legs, and closed the door quietly behind her. Primshire sat in the chair by his window, gazing out over his lands, and got quietly drunk. He now knew that riding into Scotland to perhaps scope out the village fortifications in the hopes they had relaxed their guards was a terrible, ghastly mistake. The MacEilish boy had informed him the Scottish knew he was behind the killings, and it was only a matter of time before they could prove it to King Edward’s satisfaction.

  And they will find their proof, sooner or later.

  The black-haired wench was the key. Primshire knew he had to kill the serf. But how? She said she was under the protection of the MacEilish Clan. He could hardly ride in to demand the return of his runaway servant. Not only would they laugh in his face, they’d shoot him down immediately, proof or no proof of his activities in their land.

  Darkness crept across the land and his soul both. His head spinning from the ale he drank, his cheek on fire, Primshire rose unsteadily from his chair. Staggering slightly, he made his slow way down the stairs, trying not to fall and perhaps break his neck on the stone steps. None he passed dared offer their assistance, as he was as likely to cut their throats with his knife as accept it.

  The stunningly beautiful Duchess of Greenbriar awaited him at the high table as he entered the hall. She watched him with her dark, sloe eyes as his people rose from their chairs to bow as he passed among them. His eyes unwilling to focus, he managed to climb the steps to dais and reach his chair without making a complete fool of himself.

  Jessica Howard, the Duchess of Greenbriar, half smiled as he lifted her hand to plant a kiss upon her knuckles. “Hello, Marsden,” she cooed as he took his seat beside her.

  That signaled the servants to begin serving the meal. One of them poured wine for the two of them, and Primshire eyed him suspiciously. After all, he planted a man in the MacEilish castle to poison the clan laird, so it stood to reason someone would seek his life the same way. He recognized the man as one who had served in his household for years, and relaxed.

  “What are you doing here, Jessica?” he asked, his words slurred slightly.

  “Howard is in London yet again.” She sighed. “I wished to see you, perhaps have a little fun.”

  Primshire lowered his voice, his eyes shifted quickly to observe anyone close enough to listen. “That wench is still alive.”

  “What wench?” Jessica asked, then Primshire noticed her face grow still.

  Taking a long sip of her wine, her rich brown eyes on the castle folk below. “I hope you can take care of that little problem. You know what my husband will do to me should he find out about us.”

  Primshire studied her profile, her high cheekbones, and her pale cheeks with just a hint of a blush riding them. He had never before seen such a beautiful woman in his life, and felt lucky he pleased her in bed so much she kept coming back for more. “I will. I have as much riding on our secret as you do.”

  She glanced at him. “What happened to your face?”

  “A run in with the Scottish.”

  “I would think you’d have sense enough to stay away from them,” she observed critically. “After all, they have a serious grudge against you, Marsden.”

  He froze, his wine cup in hand, a mouthful already taken. He swallowed. As a servant arrived to place platters of meats, breads, cheeses, pies and puddings on their table, he dared not speak. Instead, he watched her carefully, seeing the spark of malice deep in her eyes, even by the light of the candles. “You know about that?”

  “About your little hobby? Of course I do.”

  Primshire wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling sweat trickle down his ribs. “Just how do you know about it?”

  “When you left my chamber in the middle of the night, I decided to follow you. You should really be more careful, Marsden.” She smiled, a very wicked little smile. “If I can watch you butcher a Scottish peasant, so can just about anyone. And letting that serf survive after seeing us together, why that was just carelessness on your part.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, still watching her, drinking his wine.

  “And should you think to add me to your victim pool, you’d best think again.” Jessica’s smile widened. “Should that happen, a certain sealed scroll will be delivered straight into the hands of His Majesty, informing him of everything you’ve been up to. You won’t make it out of England.”

  “I see.”

  “Oh, now, don’t pout, Marsden,” she said, patting his hand. “Your secret is safe enough. Just as long as you continue to pleasure me whenever I demand it. Beginning tonight.”

  Primshire finally filled both their plates with the hot food, his predator’s instincts on high alert, his brain whirling. I shouldn’t have drunk so much. I need all my wits about me with this vixen. “That is all you require of me?” he asked politely, stuffing bread into his mouth.

  “Of course. What else would I want from you besides your delectable body?”

  “I don’t know. My wealth, my lands. My head.”

  Jessica tittered. “If I took all that from you, Marsden, then I would never have any fun.”

  “There are other lovers.”

  She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “None that I can trust to remain silent. But I can trust you, dear Marsden, as you have as much to lose by our affair as I do.”

  “That is true.”

  I must kill her, I must. But if I do, I sign my own death warrant. Once her message reaches Edward, there is nowhere in the kingdom I can hide. He believed her utterly when she said she had written the information on his “hobby” down to be given to Edward upon her death. Jessica would never risk telling him unless she had the armor to protect herself with.

  “How is your meal?” he asked out of politeness.

  “Delicious.”

  He hardly tasted anything that went into his mouth, and the ale and wine he had drunk had gone straight to his head. Primshire knew they made some conversation as they ate, but when he tried to recall it later, he had no idea what they talked about.

  As the meal ended, Jessica rose, forcing Primshire to stand with her. She gave him her hand to kiss, saying, “Do not disappoint me, Marsden. I will be waiting for you.”

  Bending, hardly able to focus his eyes, Primshire bent at the waist to land a moist kiss on her knuckles. “I will not, Duchess.”

  His people stood to bow low as she stepped down from the dais to walk from the hall, her slender hips swinging from side to side, catching his attention. At last he blinked several times, taking his eyes from her. Returning to his chair, he gulped down the rest of his wine and signaled the servant to refill the cup. Tossing his better sense out the window, he sat and drank three more cups as his people slowly finished eating and gravitated out the hall.

  At last he stood up, belching wine and ale, and almost tripped over his own feet as he descended the dais. Unable to walk a straight line, Primshire struck his hips against tables, bounced off them only to hit the door when it failed to open. Remembering he needed to pull on the handle, he finally managed it, and slowly staggered up the stairs toward where the Duchess’s guest quarters were.

  As he made his way up them, his misty thoughts ranged to her deliciously naked body waiting inside. His trousers filled with his hard erection, and he was forced to pause and adjust himself more comfortably. Knowing she would have sent her maid away in preparation for their encounter, he didn’t bother to knock on her door.

  Opening it, Primshire found her rooms lit with only a single tallow candle on a table by the door. Picking it up, it showed him the way to her bedroom, and her pale, naked bod
y spread upon the bed. Jessica smiled when she saw him, her hand fingering herself into arousal. Seeing that sent blood rushing to his loins. Too impatient to fully strip himself of his clothes, he pushed his trousers and small clothes down past his hips.

  Jessica spread her legs further apart as Primshire pounced on her, his heavy weight pinning her to the mattress. He stroked inside her in one smooth thrust, making her cry out in sheer lusty pleasure. Her teeth nipped his throat and neck as he pounded into her, her sharp nails raked his back. The alcohol in his blood didn’t permit him to orgasm quickly, and he knew she climaxed at least twice while he sawed in and out of her, gasping in his pleasure of taking her.

  He at last grit his teeth in sheer ecstasy, groaning in her ear, and poured his seed deep into her body, his shaft spasming. Primshire, exhausted, drunk, his face burning, finally rolled off her, breathing hard. Jessica, too, lay on her back drawing in sharp gasps for breath. After a few moments, the Duchess sat up, unconcerned about her nudity.

  “I am finished,” she declared. “You may go now.”

  Primshire hiked his trousers up over hips, staring at her slender back, glowing softy in the light of the candle. For the first time since their illicit liaison had begun, his anger at her careless dismissal of him after sex rose. “You dare treat me like your pet stallion? I am here simply to service you, then depart?”

  Jessica gazed imperiously over her shoulder. “Yes.”

  “You abide here in my castle,” he said, a low growl in his voice. “Perhaps I should change the rules.”

  “You will not,” she replied, standing to walk to a chair where she sat, as regal as any queen on her throne even in her nudity. “Not while I hold your life in my hands.”

  Primshire stared at her, at her deep eyes, her dark hair falling about her body like a shroud. “You play a dangerous game, lady.”

  “As do you. Now leave.”

  He rose from the bed and made as though to walk past her. Pausing, he briefly stroked his finger down her cheek to the line of her jaw. “I obey you now, Jessica,” he said. “But have a care how you treat me in the future. You may wish to consider your fate if I choose to disregard your paltry threat.”

  With that, he walked from her chamber.

  Chapter 17

  Leading Myra by the hand, Greer strode into the castle’s keep, searching for Kerr. A clansman directed him to the vast hall where they ate their meals, finding his father with Leith and Fiona. They sat not at the high table, but at one below it, talking while a servant poured them ale and mead. A fire burned on the huge central hearth, and Greer lifted his hand to the servant to request drink for himself and Myra.

  The three glanced up in surprise as Greer and Myra joined them. “We must talk,” Greer said tersely, sitting beside Kerr while Myra sat beside Fiona.

  Kerr frowned. “Who put a nettle under yer saddle, lad?”

  “Myra did,” Greer replied as the servant poured mead into two cups, handing one to him and the other to Myra. “Go oan, lass. Tell them what ye told me.”

  Myra first sniffed the drink suspiciously, then took a tentative sip. “Mmm. That is good. Well, the night the Earl of Primshire tried to bash my head in, I saw him with someone.”

  “With someone?” Kerr asked. “What do ye mean?”

  Myra blushed furiously. “Must you make me say it? He was, you know, having – sexual relations. With the Duchess of Greenbriar.”

  “Lord a mercy.” Kerr sucked in his breath. He exchanged a long look with Leith.

  “This is important?” Myra asked, taking another drink of her mead. “He saw me, and tried to kill me, so I expect it might be rather significant.”

  “I wi’ say it be important,” Kerr said, his shocked expression slowly changing to humor. “The Duke o’ Greenbriar be one o’ the most powerful men in England, lass. He find out Primshire be plowing his Duchess’s fields, he be well nigh angry enough to put Primshire doon like a mad dog.”

  “He be the second most powerful laird in England outside o’ Edward,” Leith added. “From what rumors say about Primshire, he isnae very popular with them.”

  “What if we were tae inform the Duke o’ his Duchess’s infidelity?” Greer asked. “Let the Sassenach deal wi’ him.”

  Leith stroked his chin, nodding. “It be worth thinking aboot. Let Greenbriar wage war oan Primshire.”

  “Edward dinnae like his nobles fighting amongst themselves,” Kerr answered, shaking his head. “We dae, it just may mean the Duke locks his lady up and that be the end o’ it.”

  “It be worth a try, Da,” Greer said. “Primshire nae ken Myra witnessed him wi’ the Duchess, and he ken she be dangerous tae him. He all but confessed he be the killer.”

  Kerr peered at Myra. “What exactly did he say?”

  Myra set her cup down. “I called him a coward for killing women and that shepherd,” she said. “He then told me, ‘So you know about that, eh? Then perhaps I’ll put you on my list for slaughter’.”

  “His exact words?”

  “Yes, then he told me I was going back with him. I told him I was under the protection of Clan MacEilish, and that if he touched me he would die. I missed his hand with my knife, but still got him in the face.”

  Kerr drank from his cup, staring into space. “That nae be enough of a confession, I fear.”

  “And the word of Myra as a commoner would nae be listened to against that of an Earl,” Leith added.

  “It cannae hurt, I expect,” Kerr finally said with a shrug. “I wi’ write a letter under me seal, telling the Duke aboot his wife’s doings. Maybe I wi’ tell him we believe Primshire be doing the killing. Nothing may come o’ it, but then, maybe something wi’.”

  “Da, what if we set a trap fer him?” Greer asked, remembering William’s suggestion. “Tempt him in wi’ a lass, then grab him afore he can dae harm.”

  “Possible,” Kerr admitted. “But I fear it be risky fer the lass.”

  “I volunteer,” Myra said, her voice eager.

  Greer shook his head. Though he should have expected that from her, he was still caught flat-footed. While he may have just agreed to cease his overprotectiveness toward her, he didn’t intend to use Myra as bait.

  “Remember what I told ye about being cocky, Myra,” he said sternly. “Ye thinking because ye won today dinnae mean ye’ll win tomorrow.”

  “It’s not that,” Myra insisted. “It’s that I trust you all in your ability to keep me safe.”

  “He dae wish her dead badly,” Leith pointed out. “She make a very tempting target.”

  “What ye plan tae dae?” Fiona snapped. “Parade her up and down the moors until he take a snap at her? Nay, I forbid it, Myra, ye dinnae even think aboot this.”

  Myra merely nodded, and Greer knew that was a very bad sign. She had a backbone of iron and a will to match it, and he knew that by not making a solemn word to obey Fiona, she would do what she wanted. Yet, Leith’s words made perfect sense. Primshire desperately needed Myra’s death if he was to escape either war or execution.

  “What if we were tae dress up a young lad tae appear as Myra?” Greer asked.

  Kerr nodded reflectively. “Black tail from a horse, a gown, might serve oan a dark night.”

  “But still, Fiona be right,” Leith said. “We walk her out oan the moors and he wi’ suspect a trap. What reason would she hae tae be out there? And how we ken where he be?”

  “The road tae London be straight past his estates,” Greer said thoughtfully. “What if she were tae be oan her way there tae testify against him?”

  Kerr’s brows shot up. “That would tempt him beyond all reason indeed.”

  Lieth shook his head. “She would have only a small escort, easily overwhelmed by his forces. And he can claim she be trespassing, or that she be a runaway serf, and under his jurisdiction tae execute.”

  “Leith be right,” Fiona said. “He must be caught in Scotland trying tae murder a lass.”

  “If you were the Earl of Primshir
e,” Myra asked slowly, “and desperately needed to kill me here in this castle, how would you do it?”

  Now Greer’s brows shot up. “How indeed.”

  “He cannae invade,” Kerr said slowly, “he be in violation of the peace treaty a’tween Scotland and England.”

  “She be behind stout walls,” Fiona said.

  “Trickery,” Leith announced. “Stealth. Plant an assassin as he tried tae afore when he tried tae kill ye wi’ poison, Kerr.”

  Greer nodded. “Exactly. We must be oan guard against that.”

  “Or carefully lure him in,” Myra added. “He will want to kill me himself, wouldn’t he? Make sure the job got done right.” She gestured toward Kerr. “He left Kerr’s assassination in the hands of a servant and it didn’t work. He knows this.”