The Highlander’s Bride Trouble Read online

  His destination became clear.

  Her eyes opened wide as he smoothed over her collarbone and onto her chest.

  “Close yer eyes, Nareen…” he tempted her.

  She didn’t, because the sight of his fingers traveling lower on her chest was too erotic to miss. It shouldn’t have delighted her, but she was fascinated, unable to look away. He teased the top of her breast where her bodice pressed it up. She drew in a stiff breath and found herself holding it as delight drew its claws down her body. She felt it all along her spine, a twisting, churning delight that begged for her to arch and increase the pressure between his hand and her breast.

  He pressed a kiss against her neck, this one firmer and full of hunger. One she felt inside herself as well.

  Her eyes fluttered shut, and everything intensified.

  She leaned her head back, and Saer boldly stroked the swell of one breast. Her nipple was still puckered, but it felt like it was drawing tighter. Nareen reached behind her, seeking his thighs through the pleated fabric of his kilt. She needed more of him, craved the feeling of his hard body.

  He kissed his way up her neck and across her jawline until she was turning in his embrace, his hands guiding her until he could cover her lips with his own. He closed his embrace around her once more, and she purred with contentment. Every inch of her was humming with delight, and she reached for him, sliding her hand along the side of his face until she threaded her fingers through the strands of his hair.

  He growled softly, his mouth pressing harder against hers. She opened her lips, anticipating the touch of his tongue this time. When it came, she shuddered, her entire body responding to the touch. She fisted her hand in his hair, holding him to her as she tried to mimic his motions and taste him, just as he was tasting her.

  Her actions sparked a response in him that was uncontrollable. For one wild moment, he claimed her mouth like a prize. His lips played across hers with a demand that had her clitoris throbbing between the folds of her sex and her hips straining toward his.

  Suddenly, he put her away from him, cupping her shoulders and setting her back a full pace. He held her there as she heard him draw in a ragged breath. His eyes glittered with hunger, and frustration needled her.

  “Concede the point, Nareen.” He stepped farther back and offered her his hand, the meaning unmistakable.

  He wanted submission now that he’d proven her flesh was weak.

  Of course he did. All men craved such from women. The kindness was over, and now the claiming would begin.

  She shook her head and grabbed the front of her skirt. “I shall never concede any victory to ye.”

  His eyes narrowed and glittered with a promise that made her lips tingle. It was more than a look. She felt his determination as much as saw it flickering in his eyes. It stole her breath and sent her heart racing. An insane urge to bare her teeth at him surfaced, terrifying her with how intense her feelings were.

  Wild…like him.

  She ran.

  Maybe her pride demanded she stand her ground, but there was something churning in her insides that convinced her she had no hope of prevailing against him. It was urging her back toward him, back into his embrace where she might be enchanted once again.

  The blush stinging her cheeks had nothing to do with her running. She’d enjoyed his kiss and wanted more. It was a dark and wild craving, rising up from some place deep inside her, a feeling that overwhelmed logical thought, leaving her prey to her instincts.

  She wouldn’t be a creature of weakness. Not like Abigail, and not like those who had come to Ruth with gold in order to purchase something that they craved uncontrollably. Most of them weren’t evil at their core. Lament often shone in their eyes when they were finished, but they were slaves to their needs.

  No, she would not be like that.

  Ever.

  ***

  “Me father will be at supper.”

  Nareen took the pot of rouge away in response. Abigail had an affection for court and its lavish ways. Even in the Highlands, she still painted her face every night. Preparing for supper took the lady a full two hours.

  Except for when her father was going to be at the high table.

  “I’ll have to wear something boring,” Abigail groused.

  Nareen opened a wardrobe and sorted among the dresses. There were many made of silk, which crinkled when she moved them. Rich velvet, as well as costly brocade, was soft beneath her fingertips.

  “Not the wool,” Abigail instructed. “I detest it so.”

  Wool was the fabric of the Highlands. Abigail was a foolish brat to shun it. When it was wet, wool would still keep the body warm. No other fabric offered its wearer such an amenity, or protection from the harsh Highland climate.

  Nareen selected a brocade dress with silver trim.

  “I suppose I must,” Abigail complained when Nareen brought it to her.

  Nareen gave her no reply but got on with helping her dress. Abigail was older than she was but often reminded Nareen of a child.

  ***

  The Great Hall was lit with over a hundred candles. The scent of beeswax floated through the air as the Ross retainers and castle residents settled onto the long benches to enjoy the evening meal. With the sunlight gone, it was their opportunity to relax and enjoy one another’s company. Only a fool wasted the daylight hours, one who would learn their lesson when they had empty bellies and leaking roofs during the winter.

  The kitchens began to send in platters of hot meat pies and fresh bread. Since it was summer, there were greens and berries. Pots of fresh butter and even honey sat on the table.

  The Great Hall was large and filled with long tables. At the end of the Hall was a raised platform that held the high table. The Earl of Ross presided over the evening meal from a chair that had a high back. It rose above his head and had the Ross coat of arms carved into it. From the back of the Hall, there was no missing who was master. He had a benevolent smile on his lips and looked strong enough even though his hair was gray.

  Saer MacLeod sat next to the earl. He actually wore a doublet, but it was open halfway down his chest, and the sleeves were open and tied behind his back.

  Nareen shivered and bit her lip to distract herself.

  Did the man never feel the night air?

  He’d certainly looked at home in the darkness the night before. He was at home behaving like a savage, too. Kissing in church was for those who didn’t fear the wrath of the priests and their love of sentencing offenders to the stocks.

  Of course, a laird didn’t often suffer the same penalties as the rest of the congregation. Saer could buy his way out of a public reprimand if it came to it.

  Her cheeks heated, and she aimed her gaze at Abigail’s back to keep her thoughts off him. But it was not so simple to erase the memory of his kiss from her mind. She still felt the steady grip on her neck and the way she’d irrefutably enjoyed it.

  That was a sin.

  “There’s me lass.” The earl looked up from his meal. He pointed a small eating dirk at Abigail. “Ye’ve kept me guest waiting, Daughter.”

  Abigail stopped at the foot of the stairs that led up to the high table. She lowered herself, if it were possible to call the quick bob she made such a thing. It certainly lacked any sincerity. Her father frowned at her, but she flounced up the steps to take her place beside him.

  “Laird MacLeod is nae here to see me, Father.” Two burly retainers stepped forward to assist the lady. They pulled her chair back and waited while she fussed with her skirts before pushing it up to the table. Nareen fell into place behind her mistress’s chair.

  “He’ll make no offer for me,” Abigail said.

  “What’s this ye say, Daughter?”

  “He was watching Nareen Grant back at court.” Abigail held up
her hand for her goblet. A young lad retrieved it from the cupboard and brought it to her. “And kissed her in the chapel this morning.”

  Nareen’s cheeks burned, but she had to maintain her position behind her mistress. More than one sly look was aimed her way.

  “What’s this?” the earl demanded.

  Abigail took a long drink, then smirked at Saer. “It is simple, Father. Laird MacLeod was raised among the isles and lacks any sort of refinement—”

  “On the isles, children do nae use such tones with their parents,” Saer interrupted. “If that is a lack of refinement, I am content with me rough ways.”

  “Ha!” The earl laughed. “What have ye to say to that, Daughter? Laird MacLeod is nae impressed with yer tart words and, unlike the last few whelps who sat at me table and tried to call themselves yer suitors, Saer MacLeod speaks plainly. That is nae a lack of refinement. It is the mark of a Highlander.”

  Abigail pouted. “I have no suitors any longer because ye insult them. Which is why I must return to court, to find another.”

  Saer’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t the only man in the room who cast disapproving looks toward the highborn daughter of the house. “If a few harsh words were enough to banish them,” Saer informed her, “ye are better off not wed to a coward. A Highlander should speak only the truth. If a man cannae look the father of the woman he desires in the eye, he is nae worthy of her.”

  “True!” The earl nodded. “I cannae stomach a man without courage.” He leaned toward Saer. “I growled at her last suitor only once, and he turned white! I cannae have that sort of blood in me grandchildren.”

  “Yer daughter should desire better,” Saer decided firmly. “The Ross are nae weaklings.”

  There were nods and grunts of approval from the people watching from the lower tables.

  “Well, I shall nae stand for a savage instructing me on any matter.” Abigail began to wave her hands at the retainers standing behind her father. “I shall sup above stairs.”

  “Ye’ll stay, Daughter.” The earl’s expression tightened. The soft old man had vanished. His fingers were clenched into a fist now, his gaze sharp. “And ye’ll mind that tongue of yers in front of me guest.”

  “Yer trust is misplaced, Father.” Abigail wasn’t willing to back down. “This savage kissed me companion in the church this morning. He has no sense of propriety, and I shall nae listen to him.”

  The earl pounded the tabletop. “Enough!” he commanded. “Where is this lass? Come around where I may see ye.”

  Nareen had no choice. She went around the end of the long table and lowered herself in front of the earl. He leaned forward to inspect her. His gaze was still sharp, and he made two passes up and down her length before nodding.

  “I believe I’d think less of ye, Laird MacLeod, if ye didn’t kiss such a fetching lass. If I were young enough to catch her, I’d do the same.”

  The Hall filled with laughter.

  “Father, ye are being a toad!”

  The earl turned and looked sternly at Abigail. “Ye need spend more time worrying about yer own sins! Ye are a gossip, and ye spend too much time thinking about what others are doing, when ye should be securing yerself a husband. A fortune has been spent on yer trips to court, and what do we have to show for it? Suitors who cannae sit through a single supper with me?” He chuckled and pulled on a gray tuft of his beard. “I am such a fearsome sight, after all. I will have me secretary sort through the offers I have for ye tomorrow, since it seems Laird MacLeod has eyes for another. I admit, I had hoped he was here to offer for ye.”

  Saer didn’t even try to hide his disgust at the mere idea of having Abigail for wife. Behind him, his captain’s expression was tight and disapproving. He even leaned slightly away from her.

  Abigail’s mouth hung open for a moment. She was fuming, but she closed her mouth and took a deep breath before speaking.

  “I will find a better match at court,” Abigail insisted in a tone that was far more respectful, even if one look in her eyes confirmed it was only a sham. “Please, Father, I beg ye to let me know what sort of man I’ll wed. Proposals written on paper are so cold.”

  The earl drummed his fingers on the table. “What of this scandal that had ye sent home to me? The king was most displeased. The Ross do nae need the king’s wrath. He sent ye home for me to deal with. Make no mistake, Daughter, I’ll keep me house in order, even as old as I am.”

  “It was a misunderstanding only.” Abigail aimed wide eyes at her sire. “I swear it upon me sweet mother’s memory.”

  The earl instantly changed his demeanor. His gaze became soft as he became lost in his recollections. “Yer mother was a spring blossom. She never said an unkind word. Never. Her heart was so tender, I could deny her nothing.”

  “Ye promised her I might choose me own husband.”

  Her father grunted before lifting his hand for his goblet. “Only so long as the man is a good match, Daughter! Marriage is a business.”

  “Of course, Father, which is why I must return to court. With the king nearing the age of his majority, everyone is there to make sure they are seen.”

  The earl gripped his goblet and peered at his daughter over its silver rim. “Aye, that’s sensible enough.”

  Abigail watched him take a long drink, and the corners of her mouth twitched. The earl wasn’t content, and continued to drink until he’d drained his goblet.

  “That’s how to enjoy supper!” he declared, turning his goblet over to show one and all it was empty. The moment he handed it back to his cup boy, the lad was rushing back to the cupboard to refill it. The earl kept his hand out, his fingers opening and closing restlessly as he waited for the goblet to be returned.

  “Ye are falling behind, Laird MacLeod.”

  Saer leaned on his elbow so he might make eye contact with the earl. “Yer daughter is correct on one account. I was raised on simple fare and find it to me taste. I have no affection for French wine, but yer cook is talented.”

  The earl frowned then returned to eating. “It’s sad I am to hear that, but I suppose it shall leave ye clearheaded enough to nae allow me daughter too much rein tonight. She is spoilt, I confess. I should have remarried and provided her a mother. It’s me failing.”

  Abigail was turning red, but she didn’t argue. She smirked again when her father took his goblet and drank long and deep. Within an hour, he’d be senseless.

  Nareen had watched it all before. The earl was not a bad man, but he still mourned his dead wife. Another goblet of wine, and he would begin telling stories of their years together. Pinned to his shoulder was a gold-framed miniature painting of her. He’d pass out right in his chair with that painting cradled in his hands. His men would carry him to his chamber, leaving Abigail to her own devices.

  It was not her concern.

  And yet…it was. The memory of Abigail’s words needled her, undermining the trust Nareen had in her position. It might not be as safe a haven as she’d decided it was.

  That didn’t mean she would be taking Saer’s offer.

  No. The Highlander represented another danger, one that was far more personal, because she felt drawn to him. The only way to protect herself from that curse was to ensure she was nowhere near him.

  Nareen stood behind her mistress, waiting for the woman to finish supper. It was her place. She didn’t resent it, because she enjoyed the freedom being a servant provided. So what if she had to wait to eat until Abigail dismissed her?

  It was her choice.

  And that was worth everything.

  Nareen shifted her gaze to Saer MacLeod without realizing it. He represented many of the reasons she was happy with her position as Abigail’s servant. Saer MacLeod would likely please her brother as a match, and then she would become his servant, even her body no longer her own.

&nbs
p; But the memory of the way Abigail’s voice had filled with anticipation when she spoke of arranging a liaison returned, and it would not be banished. Perhaps Nareen couldn’t allow herself to be near Saer MacLeod, but she would be a fool not to heed his advice to leave her position. She had no intention of acting the fool.

  With either Abigail or Saer MacLeod.

  ***

  “Saer MacLeod is a beast.”

  Abigail was pacing the length of her receiving chamber. Beyond an arched doorway her huge bed awaited, the flicker of candles dancing over the costly cotton bedsheets.

  “I cannae stomach being here any longer,” Abigail wailed. “This banishment from court is intolerable!”

  “It is nae forever,” Nareen offered in a tone that betrayed just how little pity she had for her mistress. Abigail turned to glare at her, but Nareen offered her no apology. “It is only a single week longer.”

  Abigail huffed. “Yet it is too long. The king is a child! Insisting on virtues and pious behavior. Just wait, he’ll take a mistress soon enough. Just as soon as his beard comes in and his cock starts to keep him awake at night.”

  Abigail sat down and began to fuss with her letters. She reread them with bright eyes that glistened with unshed tears.

  Nareen’s belly rumbled, but Abigail was absorbed in her own concerns. It afforded Nareen the chance to slip away. Supper was long finished, and the tables cleared. Small groups of people lingered in the Hall, enjoying the warmth from the hearth. Only a few candles remained lit, allowing the night to creep across the space. She enjoyed the shadows. They offered refuge from those who might seek her out when she would rather be alone.

  Along one side of the Hall, Ross retainers had pulled out their pallets for the night. These were the younger men, the ones without wives. Each one had his sword resting beside him, and the portion of his kilt that lay over his shoulder during the day raised up to cover his head. At some point during the night, they would trade places with the men standing watch on the walls.

  Nareen only peeked into the Hall. The stairs ended at a junction. She could go right and be in the Great Hall or straight ahead to the armor rooms. Off to her left was the hallway that would take her to the kitchens. There were large hearths in the Hall itself for porridge and stews, but most of the cooking was done in the kitchens. They were built outside to protect the castle from fire. In the summer, it also served to keep the kitchens from becoming too hot to endure.