The Trouble with Highlanders

  Copyright © 2012 by Mary Wine

  Cover and internal design © 2012 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Tricia Schmitt

  Cover image by Jenn LeBlanc

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  From To Conquer a Highlander

  From Highland Hellcat

  From Highland Heat

  From The Highlander’s Prize

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  This one is for Sharon Robinson. A golden friend and a whole lot of fun too! You’re a gem, and so is your camel-herding man!

  One

  MacLeod land, late summer 1488

  “Ye are nae me husband…”

  “Maybe I want it just that way, marriage is boring…”

  Daphne MacLeod kicked at her bedding, but the dream held her tight. Part of her was content, maybe even eager to sink down into the memory of being in Norris Sutherland’s arms.

  “I want ye demanding and passionate, nae filled with duty, lass…”

  She twisted again, feeling his arms around her. His strength had been impressive and arousing. Never had she imagined how much she’d enjoy being pressed against a man, beneath him or when she decided to straddle his hips and take charge of their pace. Just as long as she felt his hands holding her as though letting her go might devastate him.

  “And I want ye to stop telling me what to do…”

  Need and yearning filled her. It traveled along her body, teasing parts of her she hadn’t known could feel so good. The sensation was building, twisting tighter as her body neared the point where it would burst into a shower of pleasure.

  Instead, she jerked out of her sleep, escaping the hold of the dream only to discover that her freedom was cold and dark. She pressed her fist against her mouth to silence her cry. The chamber was silent, and yet it felt as though Norris was in it. She could sense him, would swear she felt him close enough to reach out and touch.

  But there was no need to light a candle. The wind rattled the window shutters, blowing inside through the broken glass to chill her arms. She lay back down and pulled the bedding up. Her thick comforter was a luxury, and she snuggled beneath it gratefully. But her belly growled, reminding her there had been little comfort set out at supper. The stew the cook produced had been more water than anything else, but it had needed to fill many bowls.

  It was a sure bet Norris Sutherland, heir to the Earldom of Sutherland, wasn’t awake in the dark hours of the morning with an empty belly. Even his accommodations in a military camp had been grand, the bed on which he’d taken her maidenhead a comfortable one.

  Ye mean the one ye joined him on as his lover…

  She closed her eyes and ordered herself to sleep while she might. The summer days were long, and there was much to do. Once winter closed its icy fist around the Highlands, there would be naught to do but seek out her bed for warmth.

  She certainly wouldn’t be seeking out Norris Sutherland. No. She might have enjoyed the time she spent in his bed, but she could not ever forget that she had gone there to avoid wedding a man who loved another. She must not forget, because a man such as Norris certainly did not lack for willing bed partners. She would not join the ranks of his mistresses.

  Even if she did dream of the man.

  ***

  Dunrobin Castle, Sutherland

  “Is there anything else ye desire, me laird?”

  The serving girl was pretty, and she had curves in all the places Norris liked women to have them. Her dress was open enough to allow him a generous view of her breasts.

  “Nae.”

  Disappointment flashed across her face, her gaze sweeping his chest before she picked up his empty mug and placed it on her serving tray. When she turned around, he was treated to a view of her backside as she descended the four steps leading down from the high-table landing to the floor of the great hall.

  Yes, definitely curves in all the right places, and she moved with a sultry motion that should have sent heat through his veins. But his cock lay slack and uninterested beneath his kilt. He reached for the fresh mug of ale the serving lass had delivered but didn’t lift it to his lips. This was becoming tiresome—exceedingly so.

  He scanned the hall, catching the smiles of other lasses all watching him to see if he would summon them forward. There were dark-haired ones and blondes, even a redhead, but none of them sparked even a twitch from his cock. The thing had been useless for nearly three months.

  “I’m growing worried about ye, me boy.”

  There was only one man who would call him boy and not get smashed in the face for it. Norris stood as his father appeared from the archway that led to his private study that was hidden behind the raised floor at the end of the great hall. Norris had helped outfit the room to give his father a sanctuary when he needed a few moments of rest. It would never do for the Highland earl to appear fatigued in front of his clan. The chamber had become the earl’s favorite for business, but Norris did wonder if part of the appeal was being able to sneak up on his son.

  Lytge Sutherland walked straight to his chair, even if he did it slowly. Norris didn’t sit until his father was settled in the huge, ornately carved chair set at the center of the high table. Even so late at night, they showed respect to each other, for there were many watching.

  “Ye have naught to worry about, Father.”

  Lytge reached for the mug of ale Norris had left untasted and drew off a long draught. He nodded then set it down. “Nonsense. Ye have nae been the same since returning from Sauchieburn.” His father settled against the high back of the chair. “I went to so much trouble to secure ye that royal-blooded bride. Ye allowed her to ride out of here wearing the colors of the MacNicols.”

  “She was in love with Broen MacNicols…”

  Lytge stroked his beard. “Ah yes. The same reason young Daphne MacLeod used to explain why she did nae wed Broen MacNicols as her father arranged. Ye seem to have helped Broen twice in the matter: once by taking Daphne to yer bed so she could be disgraced, and again when ye allowed yer own bride to escape the consummation of yer union.”

  Norris reached for the mug and took a swig. “I wondered how long it would take ye to hear of the part I played in helping Broen out of his betrothal with Daphne.”

  His father grinned, as arrogant as any man half his age, but his hair was completely gray now. “I’ve known, boy. Everything ye do is important to me.”

  There were men who would have bristled, but
Norris returned his father’s grin. “Sometimes helping out a friend is a pleasant duty.”

  His sire’s eyebrows rose. “I imagine it was a fine bit of fun to help Daphne MacLeod lose her virtue so her betrothal might be broken, but what did ye gain from it? What did you bring home to yer clan, me boy?”

  Norris felt the bite of his father’s displeasure. It was there, glittering in the older man’s eyes. What made it sting was that his father wasn’t railing at him. The subtle stab was more wounding than a raised voice rich with insults, because his father was speaking to him like the future leader of the clan. A laird never forgot to weigh the benefits of any situation.

  “Securing the loyalty of Laird MacNicols is worthy of note,” Norris offered.

  His father nodded. “Aye, it is.”

  “And Clarrisa may have been royal-blooded, but she did nae come with a dowry,” Norris finished.

  “True enough. But blood has its worth. Why do ye think I keep Gahan near? He’s me bastard, and Sutherland blood is valuable. Yer bride may have cost me, but she was a York bastard, and yer offspring would have been kin to the King of England.” His father tilted his head to one side and returned to stroking his beard. “The MacLeod lass, according to Gahan, she’s a fair sight to behold.”

  “A fact she despises.”

  His father chuckled. “That’s her youth blinding her. Time will steal her beauty soon enough. Ye learn that by my age. Best to enjoy what ye have when ye have it. I hear ye did that well enough when the lass was in yer keeping.”

  She’d been passionate too. Norris looked toward the hearth and signaled one of the serving girls forward to avoid having his father witness the flare of excitement that went through him. Daphne had blonde hair but dark eyes, which fascinated him. When he locked gazes with her, he had the sudden feeling he might lose himself in those dark orbs and be shielded from all life’s travails. He’d never been one to shirk his duty, but he would not deny how tempting it was to seek her out again and lose himself in her enchanting embrace until dawn broke the spell.

  “Gahan seems to have had a great deal to tell ye,” Norris groused.

  “As I said, he has his uses, and being the head of yer retainers is one of them,” Lytge stated. “But he is nae the only source of information I have. In fact, Daphne MacLeod is the subject of interest at many a table in the Highlands. The rumor is that the lass has a fortune for a dowry, one nae discovered when the MacLeod land was raided by those clans who claimed victory at Sauchieburn.”

  “Who raided her lands?” Norris demanded.

  “Comyn, Campbell, Lindsey. Does it matter? Her father fought on the losing side, and those who backed the young king took their pay out of the lands of those clans who did nae make so wise a choice.”

  Rage heated up inside Norris. It turned white-hot before becoming a rapid boil.

  “Why do ye care, Son?”

  His father was astute and too keen for Norris’s mood. The serving girl delivered another mug of ale, and he lifted it to his lips. “It does nae matter.”

  “A fortune for a dowry matters. I hear her father had a bastard, and the man is set to inherit the MacLeod lairdship. Being wed to his only sister would be a good alliance.” Lytge leaned forward and lowered his voice. “If there is a fortune involved, that is.”

  Norris sat up, the idea immediately taking root in his head. He realized he shouldn’t, but still he couldn’t seem to squash the urge to see Daphne again. No, he wanted to let that urge loose and follow it.

  “Perhaps I’ll ride out and see if it’s true.”

  His father grinned. “And ye think she’ll tell ye? Do nae be thinking one night between her thighs will endear her to ye.”

  His cock was hardening. His temper rose along with the organ. Still, he stood. Becoming a slave to his impulses was dangerous, but the opportunity was simply too tempting to ignore. He winked at his father. “Then maybe I’ll have to charm me way into her bed again.”

  ***

  “I do nae take orders from ye.”

  Daphne MacLeod had heard the same from more than one of her father’s retainers. She sweetened her expression, fighting back the urge to call the man a fool.

  “I am suggesting ye recognize the logic in helping me round up the sheep before they stray too close to Comyn land. Their wool will be one of the few things we can harvest this season.”

  Keith MacLeod frowned. “Better that ye should have used those honey-coated looks on Broen MacNicols. If ye had wed him, we’d nae have suffered being raided after the battle of Sauchieburn. If ye were the wife of another Highland laird, no one would have dared even to think about taking what was ours.”

  “My father stood on the defeated side,” Daphne argued, dropping all hints of sweetness. “We’d have been raided, have no doubt. My actions had naught to do with that.”

  “But we’d have a strong ally to protect us. One that might have made some of the smaller clans think twice before trifling with us. The MacNicols are vassals of Sutherland.”

  “So are we.” Daphne lifted her head, drawing her back straight and glaring at the men standing before her. “I believe we are strong, and I will go after the sheep myself. I am not afraid, nor am I content to sit here and pity me plight. We were raided and have lost much—all the more reason to make sure we lose no more.”

  She turned her back on Keith. She could feel him and his men staring at her, but she never faltered. Her cousins were still seated at the tables that filled the great hall. All three of them claimed they were the rightful heir to the MacLeod lairdship, and they were using their blood ties to her father to spend the day doing nothing of value. She passed them, but not without shooting them a hard look. They might label her many things, but they would not call her a coward.

  Gitta waited where the great hall ended and the hallway began.

  “Ye are nae endearing yerself to the men.”

  Daphne didn’t slow her pace. “If they cannae see the need for us to work together to pull in enough of a harvest to survive the coming winter, I have no time for them. Arrogance and pride will nae fill bellies. Me brother is nae here. I am.”

  Winter would close in on them too soon. Most of the seed grain had been stolen, and what fields were planted had been trampled. Some of the young plants were recovering, but time had been lost, and the yield would not be great.

  “Ye should nae go riding. What if ye’re carrying?” Gitta whispered, panting from the exertion of keeping up with her.

  “I am nae with child.” However, Daphne did slow her pace, and her cheeks heated with shame for making the older woman rush.

  “Ye’ve nae bled,” Gitta insisted. “A Sutherland bastard would give us an alliance—a great one, if it were a son. The Sutherlands keep their blood close.” Gitta looked at Daphne’s belly, reaching out to smooth the fabric of her skirt flat.

  Daphne flinched, jumping back a step. “Enough. If I am with child, it will nae be a matter to worry about for many months. Today our sheep are happily on their way off our land with their winter coats still on their backs. We need that wool to buy seed for next year. I will return soon.” She left Gitta at the tower steps and stalked toward the stable.

  She couldn’t think about a possible child. Norris Sutherland was wed. The news had traveled quickly. What bothered her most was how upset she was to know he was bound to another woman. Hadn’t she suffered enough at the expense of fate? Everything she’d done had been for the right reasons. If she were shallow or greedy she’d happily have wed Broen MacNicols without a care for the fact that he was fighting with his best friend over her, or that when he discovered her still alive, the man was in love with another woman. Oh no, she would not have cared one bit how unhappy he was in their marriage. Legally, the man had been bound to wed her.

  Yet she did not lament her actions to set him free of the c
ontract her father had made with him.

  Ye enjoyed the duty sure enough…

  Her cheeks heated, and her pace quickened. She’d let Norris Sutherland seduce her so Broen MacNicols might renounce her and wed the woman he loved. Their night of passion had served a purpose. She had no reason to be upset over Norris Sutherland’s taking a bride. The man owed her no affection.

  Keith wasn’t the only man wearing her father’s colors who resented her choices. But a child? She didn’t need the guilt of knowing she’d forced an innocent to wear the label of bastard. Even being the child of Norris Sutherland, heir to the earldom, wouldn’t save it from scorn. She smoothed her hand over her belly, searching for proof that it wasn’t rounding.

  What she needed was for her courses to arrive and silence the rumors, but they had never been predictable, so there was no way of knowing if she were late or not. If she bled, it would make her happy, but she feared it would be yet another reason for her people to resent her.

  At least the horses greeted her kindly. She rubbed the velvet muzzle of one and muttered softly to it.

  “Shall we go and sample some of the fine summer weather?”

  As if understanding, the horse tossed its head, sending its mane flouncing. No one would help her saddle the animal, but she knew the way of it. The stable master was a good friend of Keith’s and always sent his workers in the opposite direction when she appeared.

  They thought she should be ashamed.

  “Ye’ve a solid point about the sheep.”

  Keith startled her. She jumped and muffled a curse when the horse sidestepped nervously. Keith frowned, but she reached up and took the bit, controlling the animal with a steady hand.

  His disapproval softened. “Even if I think ye should have been thinking of yer clan when ye broke yer betrothal with Laird MacNicols.”

  More retainers walked down the rows of stalls. Horses tossed their heads and snorted as the men began to saddle them. The stable was full of the scent of straw and leather.

  “The first time I refused to wed him, I did it to prevent him fighting with Laird Chisholms. There would have been a feud.”