by Terry Spear
"I would speak with you after you have a bath." Ronan turned to Ward, but before he could say a word, Ward lost his grin, mostly, and nodded.
"I will take care of it at once." Ward smiled at Sorcha, turned on his heel, and returned to the keep.
Sorcha curtseyed to Ronan and stalked past him.
Smiling, the men cast glances her way, but didn't dare say a word.
Alban shook his head. "She is a hellcat, Ronan. Marry her and put us all out of our misery."
Chapter 5
Sorcha wanted Ronan to see her as intriguing and desirable as she found him. She couldn't deny the growing attraction she felt for him. Yet she'd learned he was interested in marrying some woman from another clan, and he had only seen her once when she was nine winters.
On the way up to her chamber to take a bath, as dictated by the laird, Elspeth, his dear, sweet, always agreeable sister, hurried to catch up. She stared at the mud on Sorcha, then smiled. "Dinna tell me you were helping repair the north wall."
"Aye. It needs repairing. I thought I could assist."
"And my brother caught you at it." Elspeth chuckled. "I dinna think any woman has ever vexed him as much as you do."
Exasperated, Sorcha didn't know what to do to catch his attention. In a positive way. She'd tried doing everything to please him. Except washing the clothes. She hated that work. She wouldn't mind cooking, but they still didn't trust her with knives. Sewing? The same thing. She'd even offered to teach the lasses how to use a dirk and that had met with a quick nay. When she observed the men working on the wall, wishing she could see Ronan in the same way like she had the day before, his belted plaid resting low on his hips, half-naked, his bronzed muscles working hard, fascinating her in the morning sun, she thought to help out.
"You dinna need to help me with my bath."
Elspeth often assisted her with plaiting her hair, though Sorcha didn't want to be considered anything more than a servant herself. Her own da had not made arrangements for a marriage for her, just given her along with her sister to Laird MacNeill as if she was part of the dowry.
"Nay, you know how much I love plaiting your hair. 'Tis so silky."
"Aye, and willna stay up no matter how much you pin it."
Elspeth stayed with her in Sorcha's chamber until after the men and women finished filling the tub with water. She had golden hair like Sorcha's, except she had blue eyes instead of green. But she was around Sorcha's age and was the same height. Sorcha thought they looked like sisters, though it made her sad to think she could not see her own.
"Are you no' needed elsewhere?" Sorcha wanted to be left alone, glad she was here and far away from the MacNeill clan, though she missed her sister and niece and nephews. The servants didn't treat her as one of them, which was part of the problem. She'd overheard them talking about her as if she was someone important to Ronan, but they couldn't give her the respect she would deserve unless she was married to the laird. Not that she wanted to wed him for that reason, nor did she need anything more than to feel she belonged.
She had learned what he had said to the MacNeill men. How he had lied to protect her. She would love him always for it. And bringing her horse home to her. Home, she had begun to think of Dunloch Castle as her home. Ronan had never moved her from the chamber to stay with the servants. She wondered when he would recall that she was up here, but she wasn't mentioning it to him if he had forgotten.
She couldn't help but remember the protective and appealing manner in which he had touched her when he was trying to keep her from battling him in the woods by the loch that first day.
"Nay. The others know that I am here saying what needs to be said," Elspeth finally remarked in response to Sorcha's question about needing to be somewhere else.
Sorcha climbed into the tub. "And what is that?"
"Ita Montgomery will be here on the morrow."
Sorcha had learned this already. Not that anyone had openly told her. Again, she'd overheard whispered words when the women thought she had been out of their hearing. While they normally acknowledged Sorcha with smiles or words of greeting, once they knew Ita was coming, several of the women avoided Sorcha's gaze, as if they were afraid she'd be hurt by the truth.
Sorcha knew that Ronan would wed the woman to establish clan ties with her people. Sorcha didn't have to be happy about it. And that was another reason she had been working on the wall before Ronan forced her to stop. She was hopeful that one of the other men in the clan would show some interest in her, if she couldn't find favor with Ronan. She couldn't bear to see him wed another if she didn't have a husband who would love her. Oh, aye, the men were interested, but they wouldn't go beyond polite conversation or simple shared smiles.
"He doesna love her," Elspeth continued, washing the mud from Sorcha's hair.
"He may. He hasna seen her since she was a young lass." At least that's what Sorcha had overheard. Beyond that, she knew that love had nothing to do with it. Not when it came to the importance of clan alliances—just like her sister had to marry the laird of the MacNeill clan.
"But he cares for you."
Sorcha snorted.
Elspeth laughed, then washed the mud splatters off Sorcha's cheeks and the tip of her nose. She groaned, imagining what she must have looked like to Ronan.
"So much so that he marries another!"
"Nay. That hasna come to pass. You intrigue him like no other lassie has done. Believe me when I say that you have a chance. If you are so inclined."
"I have done naught else but tried to get his attention!"
Elspeth laughed. "And you have. The more you do, the more he canna ignore how much he cares for you."
"Och, he hasna spoken to me in the weeks I have been here, except to tell me what I canna do here."
Elspeth was quiet for a while. Then she smiled as she helped Sorcha out of the bath and handed her a towel. "Five of the women want you to show them how to use a dirk. A wooden one. Ronan willna allow the men to teach us. But a woman, such as yourself, could since you have the skills, aye? If we are ever besieged, we will want to be able to protect ourselves. One of the men carves daggers out of wood, much like the wooden swords he makes for the lads to use in training. And…well, we wish you to meet with us in the garden this eve and instruct us."
"Ronan has already said nay to my teaching the little ones how to use a dirk. If we get caught…"
Elspeth smiled.
Sorcha pulled on her chemise, then her spare gown. "Aye, very well. We get caught and once more I will gain the laird's attention, but no' in a good way."
***
At Sorcha's closed chamber door, Ronan heard Elspeth and Sorcha talking, but he could not hear their words. He thought he'd see Sorcha alone after she took her bath. He didn't wish his sister listening in on his business with the lass. Then he frowned. He hoped Sorcha wasn't teaching his sister how to become obstinate and unruly. He liked his sister just the way she was. As for Sorcha? He smiled. He had to admit he loved her just the way she was.
He knocked on the door and the women abruptly quit speaking. He wondered even more what they had been discussing. Probably nothing of importance, but still, he couldn't help but be curious. Everything about Sorcha intrigued him—way too much.
"'Tis me, Ronan."
He heard some hasty conversation. Then footfalls approached the door. Elspeth opened it, smiled sweetly, yet he swore she looked a wee bit devilish, then promptly made a hasty retreat down the corridor. He halfway expected her to stay, to—serve as a guardian of sorts. And he was glad she did not.
His full attention now on Sorcha, he thought how lovely she always looked, whether she was wearing mud on her nose and cheeks, her hair blowing free in the breeze like golden oats, or like she was now, cleaned up, her wet hair curling down to her waist—which made him think of her naked in the bath.
Her mouth was pursed and she folded her arms. If she had greeted him with a bright smile, he would have suspected her motives. But this was Sorc
ha, ready for a battle with him over what he had to say. And why that appealed to him so much, he wasn't certain, but he just wanted to gather her up in his arms and channel all that passionate anger into a passionate bout of lovemaking.
Though he shouldn't have, he stepped into the room and shut the door.
Her ready-to-battle-him expression slipped. She still stood her ground, but a small frown creased her brow.
"You willna work with my men any longer, whether they are half-naked or no'." There. He spoke his mind, when he wanted to take hold of her and kiss her again! But he couldn't do that to her. Not when he was meant to wed another lass, and he didn't want to give Sorcha any hope that anything more could exist between them.
"What if I wished to help Aindreas milk his cows? He is getting on in years. Sometimes he canna sit on a stool and do the task."
"That randy, old goat? He will never be too old to leave off with attempting to sweet talk the lasses."
She laughed. And he realized just how much he loved hearing her laugh when it had to do with something he said, and not something the women, or other men of his clan, said.
"What about…"
He frowned. "No' with the men."
She cocked a brow.
"There are plenty of women you can work with."
"But I canna wed one of them."
Unsure if she truly meant it or not, he stared at her, trying to discern the truth. Was she truly interested in having a husband? For the most part, she'd stayed with the women, visiting and working with them. When she ate her meals, she always sat between two women, her choice. Except for today, and her outlandish behavior with working on the wall, he hadn't seen her once pay attention to the men. Except for him.
But he had the same trouble when it came to her. He'd caught her on any number of occasions studying him while he trained his men in sword fighting, or worked on the wall, even when he was eating at the head table. He'd wanted her next to him, sharing conversation, feeling the heat of her sweet body pressed against him as she whispered something in his ear.
God's knees, just the thought made his staff take notice. He just hoped that she didn't see his arousal and become fearful that he was lusting after her again. But he couldn't be anywhere without wanting to know where she was and what she was doing. He wanted to say it was because he wished to ensure she was happy here. But it was much more than that. He wanted to make her happy.
"Why did you really come into my chamber?"
To set down the rules…once more. But that wasn't really the reason. He wanted so much more, though he couldn't have her like he wanted.
"Why do you care who I work with as long as I work, just like everyone else?"
Because he did care, when he shouldn't. He took a step forward, wanting to unfold her arms that were wrapped around her waist and wrap them around his. Then he desired to pull her tight against his body and kiss her like he'd wanted to do in the beginning.
Someone knocked on the door and he whipped around and answered it. Standing in the corridor, Ward smiled at him. "I hope I am no' interrupting anything, but the meal has been served and everyone is waiting for you to arrive."
Bloody hell. How could he have forgotten about the meal!
Sorcha was the reason.
***
"Ronan canna keep his eyes off you, Sorcha. At the nooning meal and now this eve and every time in between." Elspeth smiled at her as she buttered a chunk of bread at one of the lower tables while the servants set out rabbit tarts and fish stew during the evening meal.
Sorcha sipped her ale. "At the meal? Probably making sure I dinna use my sgian dubh for anything else but cutting my meat. At other times? Most likely ensuring I didna cause other trouble."
Elspeth laughed. "I love your wit."
Sorcha wasn't jesting. For the first week she had been at Dunloch Castle, a burly warrior sat on either side of her at meals, cutting her meat up for her—which was aggravating enough—while Ronan had held her sgian dubh and her dirk hostage. Then after he returned the sgian dubh to her for a brief trial period, and she didn't threaten anyone with it, he'd finally allowed her to keep it.
"You say naught happened betwixt the two of you in your chamber, but I suspect—if it wasna for Ward's inconvenient timing when he went to remind Ronan we were waiting on him to arrive in the great hall—that something more would have occurred."
Sorcha's face felt like it was on fire. When Ronan had taken a step toward her in her chamber, she thought he meant to kiss her. The way his gaze had drifted from hers to her lips. The way he moved closer, when he had no need to. Worse, she would have thrown her arms around him and welcomed the kiss if he had pressed the issue, when she knew that would have been her greatest folly.
She wasn't sure if she had been more annoyed with Ward for stopping what might have occurred, or glad he had interrupted the moment.
Elspeth finished her pea soup. "Even now, while Alban is speaking to him, Ronan is casting glances your way. No one has ever garnered his attention more than you—unless, of course, he is in the middle of a battle."
Which it seemed that Sorcha and he were also in more often than not.
"I am no' the only one who notices, either," Elspeth continued, happily talking away, not noticing how uncomfortable the conversation was for Sorcha.
She would openly court the laird if he didn't intend to wed someone else.
"He willna marry her, I predict," Elspeth said.
Sorcha glanced her way.
Elspeth smiled sweetly. "He canna. Not when he feels something for you."
Sorcha snorted. "Animosity."
Elspeth laughed and patted her hand. "More than that, I surmise."
After the meal, when everyone was finishing up business, visiting a bit, and getting ready to bed down for the night, Sorcha and Elspeth slipped out to the herb gardens. Torches situated at strategic locations gave them a shadowy light to train by. It was cool and breezy, perfect for instruction.
Sorcha had been expecting the five women that Elspeth had mentioned, but there were ten women of all ages from six and ten to, well, she wasn't sure how old the gray-haired washerwoman was that had given her so much grief when Sorcha was stuck cleaning garments. Taithleach hadn't liked the way Sorcha washed the clothes any more than Sorcha had liked having to do it.
"I dinna believe our training will go without notice because so many more women have shown up than I expected," Sorcha warned,
"Aye." Taithleach smiled. Her hands were wrinkled even more so for having been immersed in soapy water for most of today as she held onto a wooden dirk. "Which is why there are so many of us." She grinned.
Sorcha didn't understand.
"We all want to help you win my brother over." Elspeth smiled.
Sorcha couldn't have been more astounded. "'Tis impossible." She sighed, wishing it was not so. "Let us do what we came to do." She saw movement on the wall walk and looked up to see three men gathered to watch them. Trying to ignore them, she was certain the word would soon reach Ronan and that would be the end of her training with the women. She couldn't help wishing he'd see her in a good way—as if she was really needed by the clan—but mostly by him. She was hopelessly in love with the rogue.
"Who is first?" she asked.
Astonishing her, Cook stepped up with a wooden dagger in her clenched fist.
Sorcha smiled. "Aye, so next time I come to your kitchen, you will be prepared for me?"
Cook laughed.
Sorcha began to show the women how to place their feet to get the best stance. How to react to swings and thrusts. How to defend and attack.
After showing three of the women how to do it, the others practiced while she observed and corrected their movements. They'd gotten loud, yelling and laughing. She suspected that any moment now Ronan would send someone, or come himself, which, according to the women here, was the whole plan. She'd really tried to ignore the growing number of men atop the wall walk who were observing the women and laughing.
She suspected Ronan was still clueless, or he would have put an end to the training at once.
After the women were thoroughly worn out, Sorcha dismissed them, realizing her plan to earn Ronan's wrath never even came to pass.
Elspeth smiled at her before they parted company. "We wish to do this again tomorrow eve, if you dinna mind."
"Aye. I enjoyed instructing the women. 'Tis an important skill to learn. "
That part of the plan was the most important, of course. But Sorcha still wished she had gotten Ronan's attention.
"I am surprised your brother never stopped us."
"Mayhap he has changed his mind about interfering in what you do. I will see you in the morn when we break our fast."
And that didn't bode well. Sorcha nodded, then headed inside to the stairs, and hated that the woman who would wed Ronan would be here on the morrow.
Within minutes of stripping off her clothes in her bedchamber, Sorcha collapsed in bed, vowing not to give the matter another thought. Yet, she wondered if she should just give up Ronan, as if she had any chance with him, knowing that the clan's interests outweighed her own, and for good reason.
***
Ward and Alban joined Ronan in his solar for another tankard of ale before they retired for the eve as was their usual routine to discuss the day's concerns.
"I was surprised you didna have one of us stop the lasses." Ward finished off his ale.
"I did as well. Sorcha is remarkably talented in using a dirk. Good thing you had a sword when she threatened you with her dagger," Alban said.
Ronan laughed. He couldn't have stopped her even if he had wanted to when she was training the women. She was a good teacher, well-liked by everyone. She'd won them over within days, when his people didn't warm up to just anyone that soon.
And Elspeth treated her like a sister, almost flaunting that she was closer to her than her own brothers. He'd been glad to see their friendship blossom.
No matter how hard he tried to see Sorcha as just another of their clanswomen, he couldn't. And he felt that, though marrying the Montgomery woman was the right thing for him to do with regard to the clan, he almost wished he was not the clan chief so that he could make a different choice.
