The Highlander’s Bride Trouble Read online

  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 ye 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 contract 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.”

  Keith pulled a leather strap tight before granting her a grudging nod. “I agree ye did a good thing there, even if they be the ones who should be ashamed for acting like lads no higher than me waist. We do nae need a feud, especially one started over a woman, even a laird’s daughter. I find meself liking that bit of action on yer part.”

  She used the stall rail to help her mount and suffered the harsh looks of some of the men. She bit back the tart response she would have liked to make. Pointing out that she was a foot shorter than any of them would serve only to remind them she was a female trying to take on the duties of a man.

  “But the way I heard it…” Keith continued as he led his stallion out of the stable, “the second time, ye defied even the young king by refusing to take yer place as Laird MacNicols’s bride.”

  Daphne flattened her body across the horse’s neck to make it through the doorway of the stable and into the yard. “Which gained us Laird MacNicols’s good will. The man is in love with another woman. He’d have wed me sure enough and resented me.”

  Keith mounted and reached up to adjust his knitted bonnet. He’d been her father’s head of retainers and still wore one of his three feathers upward. By tradition, he should have lowered the feather, since the new laird would be the one deciding who claimed the privilege of serving in such a high position. It was just one more detail that screamed out the lack of respect her father’s men had for her.

  “The marriage contracts were agreed upon by yer father and Laird MacNicols. The man should have kept his word or at least made recompense to us, nae left it to ye to disgrace yerself so he might be happy.”

  “He didn’t. I made the choice.” And she refused to regret it. “Enough. I know yer position on the matter. Ye’ve told me plainly enough. Let’s get the sheep.”

  Keith surprised her by grinning. He was a fair-enough-looking man when he wasn’t scowling at her. His hair was a dark sable, and his eyes a warm brown. There was a thin scar running along the right side of his cheek, but it served only to make him look capable.

  “I do respect yer ability to recognize what we need to survive.”

  She turned her horse toward the gate and rode through it. A smile graced her lips even as she leaned low to flow more fluidly with the motions of the animal. She rode a mare, but a young one with plenty of spirit. The animal took to the uneven ground easily as Daphne guided her toward the border of her father’s land. The wind was warm, and it tore at her blonde hair. She’d cut it off a year ago, and the strands were only a foot long now. They didn’t want to stay in the braid Gitta had woven at sunrise, but slowly worked free.

  Well, it suited her, for her hair wasn’t the only part of her that didn’t want to be contained. She’d grown up with Broen MacNicols and hadn’t wanted to be his wife. The single kiss he’d pressed against her lips had left her cold.

  Norris’s kiss had sent her heart racing…

  She might never have known the difference—or worse, learned of it after she was wed. Maybe the Church was wrong about infidelity. Maybe those who strayed from their wedded partners were to be pitied because they’d been locked into unions with the wrong person.

  Ye’re going to get locked in the stocks for thinking like that…

  Well, only if she was foolish enough to voice such ideas. She raised her head and felt confidence rising inside her. Over the last year, she’d learned a thing or two about keeping her thoughts to herself.

  Ye’ve also learned how to take a hand in yer own destiny…

  Maybe she was meant to be alone in life. The Church also preached that women should remain humble and yield to a man’s authority. Well, she was far past yielding. She wrapped the reins around her fists and urged the horse faster. Maybe she wasn’t humble, but her father’s people needed someone to take action now.

  Maybe she was exactly what she needed to be.

  About the Author

  Mary Wine is a multi-published author in romantic suspense, fantasy, and Western romance. Her interest in historical reenactment and costuming also inspired her to turn her pen to historical romance with her popular Highlander series. She lives with her husband and sons in Southern California, where the whole family enjoys participating in historical reenactment.

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