by Terry Spear
***
The next morn, Sorcha dreaded seeing the woman that Ronan planned to wed. Sorcha had tossed and turned all night long, hating that she couldn't shut her mind down as she fretted about the whole disagreeable business. She expected the Montgomery woman to be a dark-haired beauty with exquisitely dark eyes. Someone whom Ronan only had eyes for.
Sorcha had heard rumors that as a wee lass, Ita Montgomery had been a beauty. So, hoping that she had outgrown her bonny youth and was now a dowdy hag, Sorcha was disappointed to see the woman eating at the head table with Ronan and his brothers and the lass's da. She was just as beautiful as Sorcha had heard. Except now she was a fully grown woman.
Elspeth patted her on the shoulder. "He will see naught in her like he sees in you." Even though Elspeth was supposed to join her brothers at the head table, she had been sitting with Sorcha after the burly warriors were no longer required to remain beside her. Elspeth had told Sorcha that she preferred a woman's company to that of her brothers. Sorcha loved Elspeth for it, and thankfully Ronan hadn't seemed to mind.
Openmouthed, Sorcha stared at Elspeth. "You dinna think he intends to wed her and then attempt to treat me as his mistress, do you?" Which was just what had happened with her sister's husband.
"Nay." Elspeth's face turned ashen. "Oh, nay, Sorcha. He wouldna."
Sorcha felt so sick to her stomach that she couldn't eat any more. Partly, it was from watching the Montgomery lass flutter her long, dark eyelashes at Ronan, smiling sweetly, and nodding, but never saying a word—probably so she would look to be the perfect wee wife—unlike Sorcha who would speak her mind. But partly, it was the fear that Ronan might treat Sorcha like her sister's husband had done once he had married Akira and wanted more than just the willing lasses. Especially since Sorcha had said no to him so many times before.
Sorcha swallowed the bile rising in her throat, and rather than get sick here in front of everyone, she would do what no one would consider doing without permission: leave the feast while the laird was entertaining his honored guests.
"I am going to be sick." Sorcha didn't say anything else to Elspeth, but hurried from the great hall. And noticed, to her dismay, that everyone got awfully quiet, when she had hoped with all the grand celebration going on, no one would notice.
But where she was concerned, she could never seem to get away with anything without someone noticing.
She hastened out of the keep and into the cool morning air and took several deep breaths to settle her stomach. And felt a bit better.
Then she headed for the stable. Whenever she felt bad, seeing her horse would comfort her. She wasn't supposed to ride without an escort, but everyone was either at the feast, or busy on guard duty.
When she stalked inside the stable, she had the greatest urge to ride her, to feel the wind in her hair, the soft and supple connection through the reins, the way her hips moved in time with the mare's gait. And the momentary thrill of being free. She wouldn't go far. She had never ventured very far from Dunloch. Not after the experience she'd had when she'd escaped Craigly Castle. She had always had the fear of meeting up with some of the MacNeills, and them spiriting her away and returning her there where she could have more trouble with her sister's husband.
None of the Daziel clan members came to check on her, so she assumed no one was looking for her. The men on the wall walk were watching the lands surrounding the castle, not the inner bailey. She saddled her horse, glad she'd always done these things for herself.
Then she climbed onto the saddle and rode her out of the stable. The morn was cloudy, but the sun was peeking through. She only planned to ride around the outside of the castle walls a few times, to exercise her horse and just enjoy the lovely weather. Anything, to avoid seeing Ronan spending time with Ita.
Sorcha feared when he did wed the woman, her heart would break. But she had no place else to go.
She rode Milis through the gates and saw the gate guard running to stop her, his scabbard slapping his side, his blue eyes narrowed as his red brows furrowed. "Nay, lass! You canna leave!"
His command made the decision for her. She was just going to walk around the castle, but instead, she kicked her horse and headed for the river. It was close by, so no real danger. She wasn't part of the Dalziel clan. She worked for them, aye. But she wasn't kin. And she didn't have to stay here if she truly didn't wish it. Certainly not to watch Ronan courting the Montgomery lass.
Resigned, she closed her eyes briefly as she heard shouts on the wall walk. Apparently, the Dalziel kinsmen didn't think the same way that she did.
She'd nearly reached the river when horses' hooves clomped the ground from the direction of the castle. Now, she would be in the worst sort of trouble. When she shouldn't be! It was her horse. Her decision to ride. And she wasn't bothering anyone!
What she didn't expect was for two of the men to ride up alongside her, one who leaned over and seized her reins and the other who seized her! She screamed as she was pulled into a man's arms, and she immediately reached for her dirk. Until she realized the man holding her as he pulled his horse to a stop was the laird himself.
She couldn't believe he'd leave the feast and his honored guest and not just send someone else after her.
"You were ill and yet you ride alone beyond the castle walls?" Ronan asked incredulously.
She couldn’t tell if he was irritated with her or just surprised. He had to have been furious with her when he left the meal and not stayed with the bonny lass he was courting.
"Riding settles what ails me." She glowered at him. "I am sorry I disturbed your celebration. But I was feeling—"
He leaned down and kissed her then. Hot and passionately on the mouth, like no man had ever done. She was so shocked, she didn't respond at first. And then giving into a need she should have banked for all time because nothing good could ever come of it, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with just as much passion, desiring this more than anything else in the world.
From that first moment when he was lying against her body when they'd been in the woods by the loch—hot, and hard, and oh so fine—she'd wanted this. And now…now she was in heaven.
His mouth was warm and soft against hers, urgent and hungry, just as much as her kisses were. She loved him with all her heart. She realized it had been so when she'd waved her dirk at him, and he had given her a chamber, not locked her in the dungeon. He had protected her from the MacNeills. He had brought her horse to her. He had taken care of her.
He pressed his tongue between her lips and she allowed him to explore her as she savored every minute of this, feeling the pleasure in his touch, recognizing the darkening of his eyes meant he desired her more than anything else.
Except for clan concessions. She pulled away from him, wondering if her eyes were just as dark. Her heart was beating just as fast as his. She swore he looked at her with an expression akin to love. Or was it just lust?
"You are marrying her, aye?" Even voicing the question nearly killed her because his clan had to come first above anything else, and she feared he would make it plain to her that he intended to once and for all.
He didn't answer her, and that infuriated her because he had kissed her with such passion, she thought he was reconsidering marrying the Montgomery lass. Before she could think over her response, she fisted her hand and hit him in the chest. Hard. Not giving him time to react to her punching him, she leapt off his horse and returned to her own.
That's when she noticed Alban and six other men had witnessed the whole fiasco. Fagen quickly dismounted to help her into her saddle, and then she rode back to the castle…without them.
They were sure to be discussing her actions and what they would do with her next. She had ruined everything. After Ronan married Ita, the new lady of the castle would not want Sorcha there. Not if she knew what had just happened between Ronan and her.
***
Sorcha had put Ronan in a fine mess of a situation when he had to e
xplain to Laird Montgomery why one wee lass had caused him to suspend the first meal of the day to go after her. Laird Montgomery had thought Sorcha was Ronan's sister!
In silence earlier, Ronan and his men had watched her ride back to the keep, no one saying a word, thankfully keeping their thoughts to themselves. Though he was certain they'd talk amongst themselves plenty later. And he knew his brothers would be speaking with him about the matter.
He didn't know what in the world had possessed him to kiss her. And yet, he'd wanted to do that every day for the last six weeks she'd been living here. If he hadn't been the clan chief, he would have married the lass and bedded her already, and known it was the right thing to do. But he had to think of his clan first, and that took priority over everything else. Which was the reason he was the clan chief in the first place. He had been voted in after his father had died in a battle with the Mackintosh. Ensuring they had allies when they needed them was one of the most important aspects of his marrying the Montgomery lass.
Yet, he'd avoided Sorcha, or scolded her for all the trouble she'd caused—from throwing a drenching wet tunic at the head washerwoman when she didn't like being told she wasn't washing the clothes correctly, to making candles from tallow, placing the animal fat into a melting pot, then pouring it into molds, and hating the odor so much, she had stalked off in the middle of the process.
Not that he blamed her entirely in either case.
A bonny lass, Ita proved eager to please him. Unlike Sorcha, who, at every turn, caused him grief.
And now his brothers were about to give him a difficult time over the matter, he thought morosely as Ward rode out to join them.
Ronan dismissed his men, not wanting them to hear what he discussed with his brothers. The men bowed their heads in acknowledgement and returned to the castle.
"Dinna say it." Ronan gave each of his brothers a warning look.
"What? That you have gone and kissed Sorcha like you truly love her? After what she has been through in her sister's clan? You know that our people love her, do you no'? That they want you to wed the lass? What will become of Sorcha, if you dinna?" Alban asked. "If she will have me, so be it. I will wed the lass and be happy to do it. She may not look at me with the same adoration as she does you, but I will do everything in my power to show her that I will love and cherish her like her husband should."
Ronan couldn't believe Alban would offer to marry her.
"You kissed the lass?" Ward shook his head. "She should be with me."
Had his brothers gone mad?
"Laird Montgomery asked me who Sorcha was, worried when you said she wasna your sister that she might be your mistress," Ward said.
"God's wounds, brother."
"Aye, Ronan, but it did look a bit odd. If she had been a mere kinswoman when you were entertaining the woman you were to marry—"
"We havena made such an agreement."
Ward raised a brow.
"We havena."
Ignoring his comment, Ward continued, "But you see, Laird Montgomery is concerned you have some fondness for Sorcha, beyond what a kinsman would have. When he learned she was of the Barclay clan and wasna kin at all, he was eager to negotiate a contract with them, and have her marry his son."
"That young whelp who has barely been weaned from his mother?" Ronan couldn't believe the turn of events. "No' to mention that Montgomery would be looking for a dowry and the lass doesn't seem to have one. Beyond that consideration, nay."
"If you wish to wed the Montgomery lass, her father insists—though his daughter instigated it—that Sorcha leave Dunloch Castle when he and their entourage depart here. He fears you have some attachment to Sorcha and will take her as your mistress after Ita is with bairn."
"Nay. Absolutely no'. Sorcha has found a home with us and here she stays."
"I would wed her then and leave here, if 'tis necessary to keep the peace." Alban looked bloody serious.
"Enough! Nay, neither of you are marrying the lass—as if she would have either of you—and she is no' leaving. Just like neither of you are leaving." How had Ronan's world turned so upside down?
The answer was Sorcha, of course.
Chapter 6
Sorcha returned Milis to the stable and brushed her, loving this special time with her. Taking care of her mare or riding her always relaxed Sorcha whenever she was stressed. One of the grooms hurried inside, his face flushed as if he was afraid he would be in trouble if he didn't take care of her horse for her. Or maybe because she'd removed her horse from the stable, and he hadn't caught her at it before she escaped the bailey.
Horses clomped in the inner bailey, and Talbot, the groom, bowed his head to her and ran off to take care of the men's horses.
"She is in the stable, combing her horse," Talbot said, before anyone could ask.
After a brief time, more horses' hooves pounded the ground in the inner bailey.
Talbot again reported her whereabouts. "My laird, she is in the stable with her horse."
"Lock the gates," Ronan said.
The sound of a couple of men tromped back to the keep, while two others headed for the gates.
As if she planned to take another ride. She could just see that Ronan would lock her in the dungeon, or make her stay in her chamber under guard the rest of the day.
Once she was done brushing Milis, Sorcha stroked her muzzle, then left to enjoy the beautiful day while everyone else had returned to the meal. Dirty tunics and léines were piled up next to wooden barrels filled with water, waiting for the women to wash them. Though Sorcha hated that chore most of all, beating on anything would surely make her feel better.
She stood in front of one of the washer barrels, then lifted a dirty saffron-colored tunic off the ground and dunked it in the water. She paddled the wet tunic with vigor, trying not to envision punching Ronan again. She still couldn't believe she had done that to him. Then again, after he had kissed her when he still planned to wed Ita, he deserved it.
She tossed the tunic over the edge of a bucket and began beating another when the head washerwoman joined her. The other washerwomen followed, taking care of more of the dirty clothes. Finished breaking their fast, other men and women returned to their chores.
She wondered what Ronan was doing with Ita and her father.
"Be off with you, lass. I have shown you several times how to wash the garments correctly. You dinna do it right," Taithleach said.
Sorcha beat the clothes even harder.
Taithleach smiled. "Aye, now that is the way to do it. Will you show us how to fight again this eve?"
"Gladly."
"Good. Mayhap this time his lairdship will take notice."
Sorcha didn't believe his taking notice of her was helping her win him over one whit.
***
That evening, Sorcha skipped the meal and stayed in her chamber, her back and shoulders aching something awful from pounding on the clothes while she bent over the washer barrels for hours. She again decided she did not like that job.
She was waiting for the noise to die down in the great hall, to signal that the meal was done, and then she would join the women in the garden to practice more defensive maneuvers.
For now, she was stretched out on her small bed, exhausted and sore and hungry, too.
She was sleeping when something disturbed her, a noise, she thought. Half groggy with sleep, she opened her eyes to see Ronan and Fagen standing in her doorway, candles in hand as they stared at her, right before Ronan bid Fagen guard the door and allow no interruptions.
As soon as he shut the door, Sorcha quickly sat up in the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. She was only wearing her chemise! "Dinna come any closer!"
"I only wish to speak with you." Ronan sat in the chair next to the table and studied her. Sorcha was fair whereas the Montgomery lass was dark. Sorcha pursed her lips and narrowed her green eyes, whereas Ita had smiled prettily and fluttered her lashes at him.
So why did he want to take Sor
cha to wife?
Because he loved her.
"You were no' planning on running away, were you?" he asked, unable to hide the irritation he felt. What if someone had attacked her? Not that she had gotten very far, but that was only because of his and his men's quick action.
She frowned at him. "Of course no'. If I had intended that, I would have been long gone."
He smiled at her comment. She might have done so at the MacNeills' keep, but she wouldn't have gotten far from here.
"Why are you no' with Ita and her da?" she asked.
"I needed to speak with you. My brothers have both offered to marry you."
She raised her brows. "Why? They dinna love me."
"Everyone here loves you. I suspect if any of the rest of my unmarried men thought they had a chance, they would offer for you."
She looked away then.
"If you had a choice…?"
She let out her breath as if she were deeply exasperated with him. "Why did you kiss me?"
Like everyone else, he loved the lass. He didn't know why he kissed her. To fulfil a cursed need that he'd had from the moment he'd laid eyes on her? To prove to himself she wouldn't taste and feel and look as desirable as she did? Every time he got near her, he wanted more of her. He wanted her to be his wife, his lover, and in his bed. His, no other man's.
"Who would you prefer me to wed? You tell me."
God's knees, none of them. And yet any number of his kinsmen would be good for her.
"Why are you here? The woman you will wed is beautiful and will give you bonny bairns."
He didn't want her!
"I willna be your mistress!"
Ronan's jaw dropped. "God's wounds, woman! When I take a woman to wife, she will be the only one I will be bedding."
Sorcha swallowed hard and looked on the verge of tears. He was reminded then about Laird MacNeill and how he'd tried to force himself on Sorcha.
