The Highlander’s Bride Trouble Read online

  “Make certain that does nae make its way back to Mistress Grant.”

  Saer growled, low and ominously. “Ye do it, Baruch. I need to know that woman is here, nae running across Comyn land for that bastard Morrell to get his hands on.”

  Baruch took the clothing back, but his expression was one of disagreement.

  “What is yer argument, man?” Saer demanded loud enough to be heard throughout the inner yard.

  “Having an excuse to run Morrell Comyn through would be right welcome.”

  Saer poked the wadded-up dress with a thick finger. “Nareen belongs to me. Ye’ll have to find another reason.”

  “Aye, aye,” Baruch agreed, then smirked. “We heard that plain enough last night. Although I think it was more of a wee-morning-hours sort of thing. I’m guessing she was nae waiting to give ye a warm welcome last evening.”

  Baruch didn’t flinch when Saer sent him a deadly look. He just bundled the clothing tighter against his chest. “I’d best get to service. Father Peter is a strict one. Hands out penance far too easily for a man of poverty.”

  “I’m going to service,” Saer snapped. “Ye deal with that dress before ye show yer face.”

  “Aye, Laird.” Baruch tugged the corner of his bonnet with a twinkle in his eye. The man would never be subservient toward him, but Saer wasn’t looking for that in a captain. He needed a man he could always trust, no matter the situation.

  Even securing a damned dress. Saer felt his temper straining as he watched Baruch carry the clothing away.

  He wanted to go back up to his chamber, but he fought the urge. Winning a fight took more than brute strength; it took strategy. Especially when it came to Nareen.

  His pride was stung, and something else, but he ignored it as just more injured pride. He could not allow himself to feel more than that. Love had been his mother’s downfall. He could not make such a mistake.

  That gave him the discipline to move toward the church and enter it. The service was in progress, but Father Peter still noticed him. Saer pulled on the corner of his bonnet.

  Women loved. It was something that allowed them to settle into the changes life demanded of them. But it was still damned frustrating, because he had no idea how to cultivate something he didn’t have.

  But he’d never backed away from a challenge, and Nareen wouldn’t be the one to change him.

  She’d settle in.

  ***

  Nareen screeched at the closed door.

  She ran toward it, but the slap of her bare feet made her stop.

  The beast had even taken her boots!

  The door wasn’t locked.

  She could still leave. But she didn’t move toward the door. Maybe the man didn’t have his retainers posted to keep her inside the chamber, but she didn’t doubt she’d be returned there the moment someone noticed her. It would hardly be difficult to notice her if she appeared below in a dressing robe.

  She snarled and stomped across the room to one of the sets of doors that led out to the terrazzino. Sunlight was washing over the inner yard. Everyone was in the church, which was through the old gate and inside what was the outer yard. The masons had worked up until the last of the daylight the night before, their tools lying where they had been working. The huge wooden wheels that worked the cranes stood with loads of cut stone stacked neatly on their load-bearing platforms, waiting to be lifted up to the growing walls.

  Only a few retainers were posted on the walls. They moved back and forth as they scanned the cleared area surrounding the castle. None looked in her direction, because the loch was behind her. There had to be a man posted above her to keep watch for water invasion.

  All of it was impressive. And she detested it completely!

  That was a lie…

  And it shamed her.

  She couldn’t begrudge Saer the respect he’d earned. She’d never heard of such a feat, never thought a clan might find a way to recover so quickly from the loss the MacLeod had suffered. So many of their number had perished at the battle of Sauchieburn that it should have taken a generation to rebuild their ranks. Saer was making it happen within five years.

  People began to return from the church. The yard was soon full of conversation and sound as they ate. No one lingered over the meal, though. Soon, the steady clip of the hammer and chisels was heard again. Beyond the inner yard, she heard men calling the young men to training. Some of the youths eating with their families below her hurried to grab their wooden swords and run toward the gate.

  Saer offered them a great deal. There were not many places where a mason’s son might be trained to be a retainer. A stoneworker simply didn’t make enough money to pay for the training or to outfit his son with a sword and mail.

  Saer was making sure it happened. It told her more about him and his struggle with life than any conversation might have. He was a survivor and intended to make sure his clan survived too. The masons took to their work with zeal in gratitude for everything being offered to them. Loyalty would never be a problem for Saer.

  There was a soft rap on the door. A moment later it opened.

  Gitta held it as two maids and the young boy entered again. Nareen tightened the robe’s belt and stayed on the terrazzino while the boy performed his duties. Gitta was quick to point him toward the door.

  “I see why ye were nae at services,” the head of house remarked as she oversaw the maids.

  They finished setting the table and moved onto the bed.

  “I need a dress to wear,” Nareen said sweetly.

  Gitta offered her a slow shake of her head, proving Saer had already spoken to the woman.

  “But I did bring ye something to keep yer hands busy.”

  Nareen watched as the woman unfolded a bundle. It was soft and creamy linen. Nareen reached out to run a finger across its surface, smiling at the texture.

  “Agnes will be up with the sewing tools in a moment. She had to go across the yard to the old tower where the laird’s sister kept her solar. There were a few things that did nae get taken, and the laird is in need of shirts.”

  “I’ll nae be sewing the man a shirt,” Nareen declared with her hands on her hips. Such was a personal duty a wife or sweetheart did for a man. An intimate chore.

  Gitta drew herself up, folding her hands in front of her. Nareen swallowed and made sure her tone was even.

  “Perhaps ye might bring me some wool, for a dress?”

  Gitta shook her head. “All the fleece was woven into tartan this season for the new retainers.”

  Of course. Protection of the castle folk came before new dresses.

  “I have no authority to tell ye what to do, but it does seem a shame to have ye do naught for the entire day,” Gitta exclaimed.

  There was another knock on the door before Agnes entered with a small basket. She was a younger girl with freckles sprinkled across her nose and onto her cheeks. She smiled brightly and lowered herself.

  “Agnes has asked to serve ye,” Gitta explained. “Her mother serves in the kitchens and has taught her daughter well.”

  Agnes was beaming as she moved to the table set for Nareen’s morning meal, and inspected it. She straightened a dish, then moved to look at the bed.

  “I do nae need service,” Nareen said to Gitta.

  The head of house maintained her stern stance.

  “But I thank ye for thinking of me,” Nareen said at last, relenting.

  “It’s settled, then,” Gitta said firmly. “We’ll leave ye to yer morning, mistress. Agnes will bring ye a noon meal. Our laird has strict rules for everyone. We all have duties during the day, for there is much to build.”

  Agnes was shaking with happiness. The girl moved in front of her and lowered herself before following Gitta’s figure toward the door. The head of hou
se was the last one through.

  Nareen found herself eating to the sound of the stonemasons working below. The steady pace of their labor frustrated her as she ate. By the time she was finished, she was feeling the lack of activity. It was like an itch that was just out of reach in the middle of her back. She stacked her dishes, wiped the table clean, and found herself pacing.

  She used the comb to straighten her hair and braided it, but that took little time also. It was a shame to not earn her bread.

  A shame to be a burden on those who were working to make sure everyone had what they needed.

  A shame to be idle.

  “Oh, fie,” she groused and stalked over to the linen.

  She carried it back to the table and laid it out. She could make something for herself.

  But that would be stealing.

  No, no it was nae. The man had imprisoned her.

  But it would be dishonest to use the linen without permission. At the very least, she’d be taking a gift from him.

  She wasn’t in the mood to thank him.

  But she couldn’t do nothing for the entire day. She wasn’t doing it for Saer. At least not as a personal service. She was simply earning her meals, like everyone else.

  Aye.

  That was right.

  She went to the wardrobe and pulled out one of the two remaining shirts. One was in tatters. The edges were worn and fraying. Along the sleeves, there were holes from sword training. Many had been darned, but there were new ones. She laid it out and found a measuring stick in the basket. With a piece of charcoal from the hearth, she began to draw cutting lines on the fabric. In the Highlands, fabric was expensive. So she didn’t cut into it until she checked her measurements twice.

  Inside the basket, she found an iron and poked at the fire to find some coals. She found a log and let it catch so she might heat the iron. Every piece of fabric had to have its edges rolled and pressed and sewn before she might begin to assemble the shirt.

  But it was work, and she hummed as she listened to the stoneworkers in the yard.

  ***

  “Ye’ve a fine, steady hand, mistress,” Agnes said in praise that evening.

  Gitta and Agnes were both inspecting the pieces of the shirt she’d made. Her neck ached from leaning over, but two sleeves were finished, with their cuffs neatly attached. The body of the shirt had its neck gores in and was ready for the collar.

  “Fine work indeed,” Gitta remarked with a tone rich in experience. “Nae a bit wasted, either. That is how to make a shirt properly.”

  “It hardly seems hard enough work to leave me with such an appetite,” Nareen said as she began her supper.

  A knock sounded, and Gitta went over to open the door. Maids entered with fresh bedding in their arms. The head of house gestured them toward the bed as Agnes fussed around the table. The meal was simple—a piece of bread, some soft cheese that spread easily over the bread, and some small chunks of meat—so there was little for the girl to do. She finally lowered herself and left.

  “Is there any parchment and ink to be had, Gitta?” Nareen asked as the older woman pointed her maids out of the chamber. “I should send me brother word of where I am.”

  The head of house walked away from the bed and stood in front of the table.

  “I’m sure the laird will satisfy whatever needs ye have,” Gitta said sweetly.

  Nareen blushed as she realized what the woman was implying. There was a sparkle of merriment in her eyes as she lowered herself and made her way toward the doors. Nareen’s hand froze on the way to her mouth, because her throat had suddenly swollen shut.

  The man had no mercy. But it was her own nature that was turning traitor against her will.

  The night air was blowing through the open arches, teasing her with the freedom she was going to be denied now that Saer considered her his.

  She glanced back toward the bed, and it made her admit there were parts of the arrangement she did not find terrible. Yet she was torn.

  Something caught her eye. She swept the bed twice before she realized the wardrobe had something hanging in it. Gitta had lit a small tin lantern on the far side of the chamber. The little slashes of light from the lantern danced over something hanging inside. Pushing the chair back, she moved toward it and smiled when she realized it was her dress. She reached for it and pulled it out, making a happy little sound when she found her boots as well.

  She tied her hip bolster around her waist and pushed it down into position around her hips. Next came her overskirt, which she laced closed with a few quick motions. She took a moment to adjust her chemise before pushing her hand into one sleeve and then the other. When she pulled her bodice into place, she let out a sigh. She’d never spent an entire day unclothed before. But once she began to lace the front of the dress closed, she almost lamented the need to contain her breasts inside the stiffly boned bodice.

  Tears began to sting her eyes when she started to lace her boots. It was ridiculous, but she couldn’t banish the sudden wave of reluctance moving through her. The dress being returned could mean only one thing.

  Saer was granting her her freedom. Shunning his marriage offer had shamed him, no doubt.

  It was for the best, and yet, she had trouble braiding her hair as tears escaped her eyes.

  The chamber door opened, revealing the man she’d spent so much time contemplating. He was so vital, it struck her like a blow. She drank in the sight of him, trying to memorize the details of his face, because she was sure it was the last time she might see him.

  “Come, lass.” He offered her his hand. “Let’s take a ride.”

  “A ride?” she questioned.

  He nodded. “I know ye enjoy them. So do I.”

  Confusion held her in a tight grip.

  “So, ye did nae return me dress because ye have tired of me resistance?”

  “I am tired of it, truly, but ye have always represented a challenge to me, Nareen.” He gestured her forward with a crook of his fingers. “We’ve talked enough and gained naught. Let’s try some action.”

  She was tempted, the invitation of his open hand delighting her and driving the sting of unshed tears from her eyes. In fact, she was suddenly pleased, the hunger growing inside her so quickly it was unnerving.

  It also made her wary.

  “Ye’re training me,” she muttered. “Offering me a treat for obedience.”

  “Is that nae life?” he questioned. “Does nae even holy salvation come only with penitence?”

  She wrinkled her brow as she contemplated his argument.

  “Why do ye make me a villain?” He opened the chamber door. “I strive to please ye.”

  “So I will wed ye.”

  With the door open, it was hard to recall why she’d argued. Now, she was the one keeping herself inside the chamber. It made no sense at all.

  “I want ye for me wife, Nareen, but by yer own choice. Is that nae what ye are struggling to maintain? Yer freedom of choice?”

  She sucked in her breath, and he chuckled. “Ye see? I do understand ye.”

  “I wish I understood myself.” The words slipped out before she realized what she was admitting.

  Saer tipped his head back and roared with amusement.

  “Enough,” she groused on her way past him. Somehow, it was easier to do when she didn’t have to place her hand in his.

  She heard the door close as he followed her. Excitement began to pulse inside her as she hurried down the stairs and felt the fresh air hitting her face.

  “This way, Nareen…”

  Saer took the lead, and she followed him eagerly.

  Aye, eagerly.

  ***

  Her mare was pleased to see her.

  The animal lifted her ears the moment Nareen ente
red the row of stalls she was in. She tossed her head and pawed at the ground when she recognized Nareen.

  “Me men took her out today, but ye would nae know it to see the way she is acting.”

  “I suppose I am to blame.” Nareen stroked the mare’s velvet neck. “The night has been our time together for the last year.”

  “I miss being able to ride as often as I used to,” he confessed.

  Nareen looked over the neck of her mare at him. “Ye should be proud of what ye are building here. It is a marvel.”

  He tossed a bridle over to her and grinned. “I am, but maybe nae completely for the right reasons.”

  Nareen fitted the bridle onto the mare, grateful for the chance to keep her eyes off him. The man had an unfair amount of handsomeness. Unfair because she needed her senses uninhibited by his dark and dangerous looks.

  “Why do ye say that?”

  He reached over and pulled the mare from the stall. “Because part of me enjoyment of what I’m building is knowing I am the man no one wanted taking the lairdship. Father Peter would likely have something to say about that if I had any inclination to confess it to him.”

  Saer took the mare into the yard, where his stallion was already waiting. He turned and clasped his hands around Nareen’s waist.

  “I can mount meself.”

  His eyes narrowed, his grip tightening and sliding to cup her hips. “Aye, lass, I know that well, but I thought ye wanted to get outside the castle for a bit?”

  Heat curled through her, sending her heart accelerating with excitement. “I do.”

  He pushed his lips into a pout. “Oh, well…” He lifted her up and placed her on the back of the mare. “Ye do have a talent for wounding me.”

  “Only because ye—”

  He held up his hand and shook his head. “Let us ride, lass, or I will take great delight in kissing ye until ye forget what it is we’re arguing about.”

  She settled her skirts and guided her mare away from him. “There…that is exactly why I do nae wish to wed. Ye’ll assume whatever I say has no meaning because ye can overwhelm me.”

  He swung up and onto the back of his stallion. The animal shifted as it took his weight. But he controlled it with the sure and steady command he seemed to have over everything.