Highland Hellion Page 12

  “He strikes me as that sort of man.”

  “Aye, he was raised to be laird and does nae have anything but his clan.” Rolfe moved back toward her. “That time, I was forced to shoulder the weight of the clan. Made to face the fact that I’d been living the life of a man who was no’ completely a man because I had nae been forced to make choices. I chose me father’s life over me honor, told him I’d leave him to starve abovestairs. Ordered the staff to obey me over him, and the McTavishes followed me. I understood I could no’ play games any longer. Everything I did had consequences, repercussions.”

  “You are better for it.” She could not deny that she admired the man he was.

  “Well, no’ so perfect.” He was looking at the fire now, but turned to lock gazes with her. “I should have thought harder upon the matter before bringing ye back to McTavish land. I overlooked yer English blood. That was a grave error.”

  The moment shattered into a thousand tiny shards that felt like they sliced her on their way to the floor. “I am sorry you find me so. Yet you are the one who kissed me.”

  His lips curled into an unpleasant grin. It sent a shiver down her spine because it was pure intention.

  “And I pulled away from ye because I was acting like a youth who had no concern for the harm it would do yer reputation. Preaching to ye of honor when I was forgetting that a decent man does nae ruin a woman. If we’d been seen, ye’d no’ only be English but branded a slut as well.”

  He’d closed the gap between them again, reaching out to stroke his fingers across the crimson surface of her cheek.

  “Ye captivate me, Katherine,” he whispered, looking down into her face. Only a single step remained between them.

  “Yes.” The word slipped out as she shivered. Strange how a sensation such as shivering could have more than one purpose in the body. She wasn’t cold, wasn’t horrified; no, that same little jolt of awareness was now a beginning of her response to him.

  He slid his hand along her cheek and into her hair. Never once had she realized how sensitive the skin of her face could be. Beneath his touch, it felt as if she’d never been fully awake.

  “A lass should no’ be kissed as I kissed you in the stable.” He took that last step while he cradled the nape of her neck in his hand. “No’ the first time.”

  He leaned down, easing her against him when she shifted, full of uncertainty. It wasn’t a hard hold, but his body was so solid that she sighed as he moved so she was in contact with him from knee to head. She felt his breath teasing the delicate surface of her lips before he pressed his against them. The moment while she waited for the contact seemed impossibly long, while anticipation twisted her insides.

  Then he was kissing her, controlling her head with his hand as he pressed his opposite one against her lower back to keep her in his embrace. Sensation went swirling through her, touching off a hundred different points of awareness inside her. Her heart was thumping in hard beats that drove her blood faster through her body. Her breathing increased, and she caught his scent. Before, it had merely been a small part of him, but now she felt intoxicated by the combination of his kiss and scent. Her thoughts were falling away, leaving something else exposed, some part of herself that had been dormant in her heart.

  “That’s the way a first kiss should be.”

  Her eyelids felt heavy, but she lifted them and found him watching her. There was a flicker in his eyes that unleashed a ripple of need inside her. She’d laid her hands on his chest, and it was suddenly not enough. She curled her fingers into his doublet, trying to pull him closer.

  His expression tightened, the look in his eyes brightening. He leaned down and kissed her again, but this time it was harder, more demanding, as he abandoned his need to handle her like a fragile bird.

  It suited her perfectly.

  She rose onto her toes, kissing him with every bit of desire flowing through her. He rocked back, absorbing her motion before his fingers spread wide and he clasped a handful of her hair to hold her in place.

  A half sound of delight escaped her lips before he was taking them in a searing kiss. There was no gentle exploration. He wanted a taste of her and intended to take it.

  But she wanted one of him as well. She opened her mouth as he teased her lower lip with the tip of his tongue, unleashing a new sensation that gripped her with a need that went rushing down her body to clench her belly. A throbbing began at the top of her sex, an awareness of that part of her she’d never encountered before.

  And she didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to contemplate what was right or wrong. All she knew for certain was that she hated their clothing. She pulled at his doublet, pushing the buttons through the holes as she tried to make contact with his skin.

  “I’ll not ruin ye,” he rasped, pulling her back and keeping her away from him as she let out a frustrated sound.

  “No one believes I am not soiled.”

  His lips twitched. “That does no’ mean it is acceptable for me to take ye, lass. Surely ye see that?”

  Standing still seemed impossible. She wrenched herself from his embrace, her body tight with frustration. “Aye. And yet, I wonder if it is foolish to save myself for the fate Morton would plan for me. Any man who will agree with his plans is only concerned with power and gain. It seems such a poor pairing, maintaining my virtue so it might be bartered to a man who merely wishes to collect Morton’s approval.” She ended up facing the fire. “As you noted, maturity holds more moments of duty than anything else.”

  Along with disappointment.

  But she didn’t loathe the frustration nipping at her insides, at least not completely. No, she was enjoying the flickering of heat, recognizing it as passion, along with the more blunt reality of what acting upon it would entail. What made it worse was the certain knowledge that she was savoring her time with Rolfe because she knew her future would be dim indeed. Although she’d accepted that the world was not always a pleasant place, she hadn’t wanted to give up on happiness completely.

  But it seemed that she had.

  * * *

  The Earl of Morton was the regent for King James the Sixth of Scotland.

  Mary Stuart’s son was Scotland’s monarch, but the boy was too young to rule, and there was no way the lords of Scotland were going to allow the boy to be raised by his mother. In a way, it was sad, because Mary had been raised in France from the time she was five years old. She’d been crowned as an infant and smuggled out of the country to save her from the English.

  Morton took a moment to enjoy his success. Scotland was Mary’s country once more. The English stayed on their side of the border, and he wouldn’t apologize to anyone for the means he had employed to make it so.

  He was Scotland’s leader.

  His only true fear was that James was growing into a young man. His blood entitled him to the crown, but Morton couldn’t help but wonder if it might be better if the boy never succeeded.

  Well, he must, at some point.

  And Morton would serve Scotland until the boy was a man.

  Morton recalled his thoughts to the issues that needed his concern. There were the Highland clans, a topic that took a great deal of his time. For years, he’d invested his time in quelling the fighting between them. Scotland needed to be united if she were to remain strong. England’s Virgin Queen had shown him the value of letting go of wars in favor of trade.

  England flourished under the rule of Elizabeth Tudor, in spite of the fact that she had not wed. In fact, she had ignored all of the rules that should have applied to her as a woman.

  Morton admitted to admiring her, because her country was strong and her people fat. It made them forget she wore the crown alone and seemed in no hurry to produce an heir. In fact, the nations of Europe were all loath to make advances on her realm, so they sent suitors to try to win England by way of marriage to its queen. El
izabeth played her part to perfection, never granting a clear answer to any of those men, and so she maintained her throne without firing a single shot. The battle for England was being fought in the queen’s court, with dances and flattery.

  He wanted the same for Scotland. A state of peace that would produce a society with time to invest in producing goods for trade. So the clans would cease their feuding. He’d begun on that path years before, forcing a union between the Robertsons and MacPhersons to stop their fighting. He smiled as he looked at a letter from one of his spies in the Highlands. That feud had truly been put in its grave. He wasn’t fool enough to think that the Robertsons and MacPhersons were friends, but the bloody skirmishes had ceased. They contented themselves with stealing cattle now.

  That brought him to the matter of Katherine Carew.

  Strange how Fate delivered matters into his hands at the proper time. Marcus MacPherson had taken the girl home with him instead of wedding her as Morton had ordered the man to do. True, she’d been too young, but when it came to securing Scotland, Morton couldn’t afford to be too particular. He had to use the means available. Katherine was the natural daughter of the Earl of Bedford, one of Elizabeth Tudor’s privy councillors.

  Scotland needed alliances, and Morton wanted the Highland clans to be aware of the power of the crown. He looked over the demand from Laird McTavish. He didn’t care for it, but he admitted to admiration for the man’s ability to see the girl’s value.

  Which was her father’s blue blood.

  Morton snapped his fingers at his secretary. “We will send a letter to the Earl of Bedford.”

  His secretary never questioned him. The man withdrew a sheet of parchment and dipped a quill into his inkwell, waiting for Morton to begin. The chamber was full of the scratching of the quill until Morton was satisfied. He had the secretary read the letter back before moving over to the desk and waiting while the man lifted a small silver ladle sitting beneath a candle flame to keep the wax hot. The secretary poured it carefully onto a place at the bottom of the letter. It beaded, while the candle flame glittered off its surface. Morton curled his fingers into a fist and pressed his signet ring into the wax. It stung his knuckles, but didn’t burn because his skin had been toughened by the numerous times he’d sealed letters. When he lifted his hand, the crest of the King of Scotland was firmly displayed in the cooled wax.

  Yes.

  It was a good plan. The secretary rolled the letter and placed it in a leather case, ready for a messenger to carry to the border. Part of the Earl of Morton didn’t care for the English any more than his fellow Scots did, but countless centuries of war had yielded nothing and he’d be a fool to ignore that fact. Perhaps it was more a matter of better the devil he knew. The English were demons, and it would be better to have alliances with them than to deal with their armies marching onto Scottish soil.

  So Morton chose the alliances.

  And he would have one with the Earl of Bedford.

  * * *

  Rolfe didn’t ride to Edinburgh.

  Katherine found herself in yet another stronghold, with another clan filling the yard to stare at her curiously.

  A huge man came out to greet them. “Rolfe McTavish, what has ye darkening me day?” he asked.

  Rolfe slid from the back of his horse and turned to offer Katherine a hand down. He pulled her away from her horse once her feet had touched the ground.

  “Duncan Lindsey, Katherine Carew.”

  Duncan’s eyes narrowed as he considered her. He was every bit as large as Rolfe, but they were opposites because he had devil-dark eyes and midnight hair.

  “I’ve heard that name before,” Duncan said as he considered her.

  “Ye have,” Rolfe responded as he took her up the steps to a tower. “Morton tried to force Marcus MacPherson to wed her a few years back.”

  Duncan chuckled, his eyes sparkling. “Morton is a fool more times than not. He should have known he was on borrowed luck after forcing Bhaic MacPherson to wed Ailis Robertson.”

  “And he learned that lesson when Marcus left with a different wife and the lass in tow as well.”

  Katherine felt Duncan contemplating her. “And now the McTavishes have ye.”

  Inside the tower, the scent of supper was thick in the air.

  Duncan gestured to a woman, who came bustling over to him. “See to the lass.”

  The woman lowered herself before propping her hands on her ample hips and looking Katherine over from head to toe.

  “A bath first,” she said.

  Katherine started to lower herself but quelled the urge. Instead she moved away, determined to ignore Rolfe. It wasn’t a matter of what she wanted. No, it was a necessity that might protect her from the moment when he delivered her to the man she feared the most. Her feelings strengthened with every moment she was with him. It would be hard enough to leave him as it was.

  Better to remind herself of her fate. At least that way, she would not cry.

  * * *

  “I’m thinking ye should be thankful the little lass did nae have a dagger,” Duncan observed as he settled himself in a chair inside his solar. The Lindsey stronghold wasn’t as large as McTavish Castle, but that was because there was more than one fortification on Lindsey land. “The look she sent ye was sharp enough to draw blood, man.”

  “Best make yer men aware that Katherine knows how to use a dagger,” Rolfe responded as he settled in beside Duncan.

  Duncan had been lifting a mug to his lips, but he paused and locked gazes with Rolfe. “Ye’re planning on leaving her here?”

  Rolfe nodded. “Ye owe me a favor.”

  A memory crossed Duncan’s eyes, his expression drawing tight. “I do. Now tell me what is so important about this girl that ye’re calling in that favor.”

  Duncan placed his mug on the table and ignored it. Rolfe didn’t blame him. It had been years before, but Duncan owed Rolfe his life. Rolfe didn’t have any doubt Duncan would pay the debt, but that didn’t mean the man would be fool enough to think Rolfe would call it in for anything frivolous.

  “I’ll be straight with ye,” Rolfe said. “And no’ be surprised if ye tell me to take her and get off yer land.”

  Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “It’s been too long since ye’ve come down out of the Highlands, man. Ye seem to think me cock has shriveled up and I’m less of a Highlander than yerself. I might be closer to the border, but I’ve not taken to kissing Morton’s ass along with that lot clustered around him and our boy king.”

  Rolfe enjoyed Duncan’s brassy humor. “Katherine is English.”

  “Now I’m insulted ye think I am blind as well,” Duncan responded. “To think I’d overlook how fetching that lass is in favor of her blood. Now that wounds me, Rolfe, truly.”

  “I’ll be the one wounding ye if ye do more than notice,” Rolfe warned.

  Duncan’s eyebrows rose. “Is that so?”

  Rolfe nodded. Duncan picked up the mug and drew off a long sip. “Interesting, considering she looked as if she wanted to gut ye. I might just do as ye say, all in the interest of enjoying the spectacle of ye trying yer hand at changing her mind. That little lass does nae like Scots.”

  “That is no’ the reason she is thinking of drawing me blood,” Rolfe responded.

  Duncan tapped the tabletop. “I’m growing old waiting for ye to explain the matter.”

  Rolfe nodded. “Marcus MacPherson took Katherine up into the Highlands. He trained her.”

  Duncan absorbed those words. “Why?”

  “Because she’s English, and Marcus… Well, the man is ever practical.”

  Duncan nodded. “I suppose it makes sense, even if I doubt I’d be brazen enough to tempt the Church by doing something similar. Now tell me why ye think I’d send ye on yer way empty-handed after ye saved me life.”

  “Because me father has
a mind to trade her to Morton for a title, and I plan to leave Morton with naught.”

  Duncan took a moment to consider the matter. His lips started to rise into a grin that Rolfe recognized from their younger days, when they’d been hell-bent on embracing their wild natures.

  “I can nae wait to hear how ye plan to do it.”

  Rolfe’s eyes brightened. “I plan to have ye help me dupe the man.”

  Duncan chuckled again, only this time the sound was crusty and full of anticipation. “No one will enjoy it more than us Lindseys.”

  * * *

  There was a rap on her chamber door. Katherine turned and watched Rolfe enter. She cursed the way her heart leaped in response and then regretted her fickle emotions. There would be plenty of time to be unhappy in the future. Best not to impose such things upon herself.

  “I’ve business for ye to attend to, lass,” Rolfe said softly.

  There were men with him. They came through the door and tugged on the corner of their bonnets as they crossed into the room. One of them placed a writing desk on the table, lifting its lid and withdrawing a sheet of paper. He placed it on the top of the desk and withdrew the waxed rope stopper used to keep the ink in the small pottery jar.

  “Ye remember Duncan Lindsey?”

  Katherine nodded. The man offered her a grin that was as devilish as the color of his hair. There was a gleam in his eyes that set her on edge, because Rolfe’s jaw was set and his expression guarded.

  “Yes.”

  She started to venture closer to the page, intending to read it. Rolfe stepped into her path. “I am no’ taking ye to Morton.”

  To say she was surprised was an understatement. Katherine absorbed his words as she looked again at Duncan. The man was enjoying the moment far too much for her comfort.

  “So just where are you planning on taking me?”

  “To church,” Rolfe replied. He tapped the page of paper behind him. “I’ve had a contract drawn up.”