Greyloch emitted a noise that sounded like a cross between hacking free something caught in his throat and an irritated growl. “Those two have been with us nearly a month now. I doubt their plan includes leaving today.”
He studied the chief closer. Robert Greyloch seemed a decent man. He liked him and hoped the man liked him, too. Maybe the chieftain felt the need for a confidante. Wouldn’t that turn the tables on his daughter? “Their plan?”
“My advisors, mainly Raibert Pearsley from what I’ve been able to surmise, invited Lady Culane here from Edinburgh.” Greyloch’s eyes narrowed, and his beard twitched with his soured look. “It appears to be their opinion that if the lady bore a son once, she would be apt to do so a second time.”
“They wish ye to take her as wife.” He hoped the chieftain had better sense than to become Lady Culane’s fifth husband. Who knew how the previous four had died?
“Aye,” Greyloch said with another huffing growl. “That they do.”
“Tell them to go to hell.” Sutherland tilted his head in Sorcha’s direction. “Yer daughter can run this clan as good as any man. She’s braw, canny, and fearless. I’m sure she’d be able to take yer place when the time comes.” He shifted his stance. The need to march across the room and knock Garthin away from Sorcha agitated him like an itch he couldn’t reach. “And that bastard needs to step back from the lady.”
“Why ever do the two of ye look so serious? Has my Garthin done something else to displease ye, my chieftain?” Lady Culane sidled close enough to Greyloch to straddle his leg.
Both Sutherland and the chief edged away, putting an arm’s length of space between themselves and the relentless woman.
“It appears a storm’s coming, m’lady,” Greyloch said with the strained politeness of a servant toward a master he despised. “I fear ye wouldna keep ahead of it if ye left this late in the day for Edinburgh.”
The vixen laughed and fluttered a hand, rattling her abundance of bracelets like shackles. “Ah, well, we’ve been here this long. We might as well ride out the coming storm here, too. We’ve plenty of time since I cleared our calendar when we planned our visit to Castle Greyloch.” She looked over at her son and smiled. “I know my Garthin will be thrilled.” Again, she closed the distance between herself and the chief. Looping an arm through his, she locked him to her side. “Garthin is quite smitten with Lady Sorcha. Verra determined to win her hand.” She aimed a narrow-eyed smirk at Sutherland.
Smitten, my arse. Sutherland clenched his teeth to keep from responding to the wench’s bait.
Chieftain Greyloch extricated himself from the temptress’s clutches and stepped away before she could latch onto him again. “Excuse us, m’lady. Master MacCoinnich and I must speak of business unfit for mixed company. I shall see ye at dinner, aye?”
Acting crestfallen with downcast eyes and pouty lips, Lady Culane hesitated long enough to make Sutherland fear the wench would decide to hold fast and stand her ground. Finally, with a gracious nod at each of them, she turned and sashayed away, heading for the tower stairway.
“I have come to the conclusion that it’s high time for a thinning out of my advisors,” Greyloch said as he watched her go.
“Do ye truly have business to discuss, or were ye merely creating a farce to get rid of Lady Culane?” Sutherland asked with another glance in Sorcha’s direction. He yearned to join that group and do a bit of thinning out himself.
The chief gave him an unsettling look. He nodded toward the area that Sutherland and Lady Culane had just vacated. A bottle of whisky sat on the table along with a pair of glasses. “Let us sit by the fire and have a drink while we talk. Shall we?”
Instincts tingling, Sutherland joined the chieftain and returned to his seat at the table. He gladly accepted the generous glass of whisky the man poured and held it aloft. “Slàinte mhath!”
“Slàinte mhath!” Greyloch downed the contents of his glass as though it were water. He poured them both another, then leaned forward, propping his forearms on the table. His unsettling look of earlier returned. “A man, a good man anyway, is always verra protective of his child, ye ken?”
“Aye.” Sutherland risked a glance over at Sorcha, more than a little pleased when she hurriedly looked away. At least the lass was finally watching him, too. Even while she seemed to be talking with the others, she still had eyes for him.
“My daughter is my world, Master MacCoinnich. I would kill anyone who threatened her or her happiness.”
His attention jerked back to the chieftain. The man’s tone had changed, darkened to a dangerous rumble. “Aye, sir,” Sutherland politely agreed. “I would expect no less from a man such as yerself.” He hazarded a slow sip of his whisky. What was Robert Greyloch trying to tell him?
The chieftain’s eyes narrowed as he kept his unnerving glare locked on Sutherland. “I am aware of yer reputation, Master MacCoinnich.”
Sutherland downed another drink. He had already apologized for that damn bet and his foolishness of last summer. All had seemed good between them. What had caused the man’s sudden change of heart? “I would never dishonor yer daughter, sir, and I have already begged yer forgiveness for the ill-mannered behavior of my last visit.” He shifted in the chair, wishing he were anywhere but there. “Let me assure ye, I admire the Lady Sorcha and hold her in my highest esteem.”
“My daughter has no need of yer esteem. She needs yer name.” Greyloch downed his second whisky and poured them both another. “She’s turned down more suitors than I’ve got hairs on me arse. Good suitors.” The chieftain paused and gave a half-hearted shrug. “Well…they were more acceptable than good, actually.” The man’s calculating smile spread. “But she’s different whenever she’s around ye. I think she likes ye well enough and might even accept an offer from yerself.” He gave a curt nod. “I’ve watched ye close since yer arrival. I approve of such an offer.”
“An offer?” Sutherland’s last swallow of whisky went sideways and hit the wrong spot. He turned aside, coughing and wheezing for air. Lungs afire, tears in his eyes, he stole a glance back at the devious leader of Clan Greyloch. The damn man had a smile bigger than the Earl of Hell himself after claiming a soul. “I have made no offer, sir,” he forced out between wheezes.
“Well, ye should then.” Greyloch relaxed back in his chair, toying with his half-empty glass on the table. “Yer brother is chieftain of Clan MacCoinnich. Upon my death, my daughter and yerself could lead Clan Greyloch.” He lifted his drink with his self-satisfied look strengthening by the moment. “Quite the alliance that would be. Our prized cattle. Yer sought-after horses. Quite the alliance, indeed.”
“I am honored, Chieftain, but…” Sutherland suddenly found himself at a loss for words. He had never thought of marrying anyone. Not ever. He’d never been inclined to give up his freedom. But this was Sorcha they were talking about. Maybe for her. For the first time in his life, he actually considered it.
“Begging yer pardon, sir,” said a sweet but icy voice to his left. “I dinna mean to be rude and interrupt what I’m sure is an important conversation, but I need to speak with my father.”
He looked up, rendered speechless by Sorcha’s sudden appearance beside their table. How much had the lass overheard? At first, he wondered if this had all been a thinly veiled plot, but the lady’s scowl convinced him otherwise. Nay. She was still angry that he had hit her friend. He hurried to compose himself before he looked any more the fool. “By all means, m’lady.” Sutherland stood, then bowed as he backed up a step. “I shall give the two of ye privacy.”
Greyloch stayed him with a shake of his head. “No need.” He turned in his chair and gave his daughter a look that dared her to defy him. “I’m certain my daughter wouldna mind yer staying. After all, we have not yet finalized our business.”
Shite. Whoever had said Robert Greyloch teetered on feeble-mindedness was a damned fool. The old warrior was cannier than a fox and a damn sight more dangerous. Sutherland nodded in Sorcha’s
direction. “I leave it to the lady to decide. Yer wishes, m’lady?”
Sorcha waved him away as though he mattered less than a midge. “Whatever ye wish. I dinna give a da…Ye may stay since Da wishes it.”
Sutherland suppressed a smile at Sorcha’s barely withheld need to curse. “Very well, m’lady.”
The Greyloch’s broad smile returned. “What is it, my daughter?”
“Is there no way,” she began through clenched teeth, then paused and cast a glance back over her shoulder. “Is there no way ye can clear the keep of our visitors?” Stiff and tense, she marched a step closer. “They have begun to take root like weeds.”
Lifting his glass, Chieftain Greyloch assumed a shocked look. “Why, daughter, Master MacCoinnich and his associate only just arrived a few days ago.”
Sutherland bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud as Lady Sorcha closed her eyes and pinched her mouth shut. Her toe tapped on the floor as though counting off the moments until she dared trust herself to speak to her father respectfully.
“I am in no mood for teasing, Da. Ye ken as well as I which visitors are in dire need of ousting.” She swiveled her displeased look to Sutherland. “Perhaps, Master MacCoinnich could knock Lady Culane and her son on their arses like he did Heckie. That should insult them enough to get them to pack up and leave.”
“I already have.” He poured himself another whisky. “Sent the lady tumbling, at least.” He glared across the room at Garthin Napier. “I would be most happy to oblige ye with the gentleman as well.”
“What?” Sorcha jerked her full attention on him as though he had just dared to curse at her. “What did ye say?”
Taking a cue from the lady’s father, he pointed his glass at the turret stair where Lady Culane had exited. “Magnus and I were in a bit of rush to be shed of the weather and enjoy the fire. I didna see the lovely Lady Culane in time to avoid a rather unfortunate collision.” He shook his head. “Hit her so hard, knocked her slipper and her earring flying. Magnus had to fetch a torch so we could find them.”
“Ye think she’s lovely?” Sorcha no longer looked angry or frustrated. The dear lass looked insulted and, hopefully, a wee bit jealous.
He didn’t have the heart to tease her further. “Nay, m’lady. Trust me. When I use the word lovely regarding that female, ’tis merely a figure of speech.”
She brightened, even graced him with her first kindly look since the Heckie incident. “It pleases me to learn ye’ve seen through her and know her for what she truly is.” Her smile disappeared as her attention veered back to her father. “Unlike some folk.”
“Politics, daughter. We have talked of this.” Greyloch shook his head as he lifted his glass for another sip. “And none of our visitors can go anywhere any time soon. Storm’s a coming. Old Aderyn told me.” He winked. “I’ve already informed Lady Culane, and she said Master Napier would be delighted since it would give him more time to woo ye.” His pleased with himself look shifted to the stern glare only a father could manage. “And as I have told ye before, if ye were already betrothed, ye wouldna have to worry about such unpleasantness.”
His daughter’s expression sharpened to a venomous scowl. “Now is not the time to discuss such matters.” She turned back to Sutherland and held out her hand. “I should like to introduce ye to Heckie properly so the two of ye can make peace. Are ye willing to give him a chance?”
If it helped them both escape Chieftain Greyloch’s current plotting, he would be delighted to get an introduction to the devil himself. To the old chief’s credit, all that had happened had started Sutherland pondering about giving up his wandering ways. And Lady Sorcha was the only woman who had tempted him enough to even think such. But he didn’t wish to be forced to the altar as though marching to the gallows. He took her hand. “Aye, lass—”
“Too late,” the chieftain interrupted. “The lad’s already left to lick his wounds.” He flipped a hand as though shooing them away. “Give the boy some time for his pride to heal. Ye ken how wee Heckie can be.”
Sutherland tightened his hold on Sorcha’s hand before she had the chance to pull it away. He stepped to her side. “Ye could show me the gallery instead. We could watch the storm rolling in.”
He didn’t give a rat’s arse about the storm, but he’d watch a slug crawl across the room if it meant some private time with Sorcha. He scrubbed the tingling at the back of his neck. Old habits and footloose ways warned him to get as far from her as he could. But something warm and dangerous stirred in his chest as she smiled and fell in step beside him. Maybe it was time to face the truth. He could very well be too far gone to be saved.
Chapter Four
Sleet pinged against the windows. Gusting winds slashed it away with curtains of rain. The iron casings rattled with the rhythm of the deluge, filling the gallery with their song.
“I do love a good storm.” Sorcha pressed her hand to the glass, trying to soak in the iciness of the pane. Whether from Sutherland’s presence or the hearth fire’s below, the upper level seemed overly warm. She wasn’t a fool. It was definitely from the man beside her and not because she was still angry about him hitting Heckie.
Heckie had instigated the attack. But the main reason she had already forgiven Sutherland was because he had admitted, with no remorse whatsoever, to knocking Lady Culane on her arse. Without looking away from the fogging glass, she made a faint wave toward the great hall below. “What was Da scolding ye about when I interrupted? Ye looked like a lad in fear of a thrashing.”
“He informed me that if I hurt his daughter, he would kill me.” He moved closer, a half-smile curling those lips that gave the most thrilling of kisses.
“Indeed.” She bolstered her courage and faced him. He stood so close. His heat reached out and caressed her, giving her wicked wonderings of how it would be with nothing at all between them. Skin to skin. Held tight against his muscled hardness. The thought triggered a deep breath. He smelled of whisky and the mysteries of exciting manliness. Determined to bait her prey, she forged ahead with her plan. “And would ye ever attempt to hurt me?”
Moving slowly, as though he feared she would flee, he brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I would never hurt ye, m’lady,” he promised softly, his eyes flashing with heart-stopping honesty.
“I believe ye,” she whispered, resting a hand on his chest in a laughable attempt at holding him at bay.
His heartbeat thumped against her palm, silently tempting her closer, but she garnered every bit of strength she had and held fast. Not yet. She couldn’t fall into his arms until more was said between them. Promises needed to be made. “Ye understand I refuse to be trifled with and then abandoned. Any man who would attempt such willna have to fear the wrath of my father.” It was her turn to lean closer, but she kept her hand in place, staying any shifting on Sutherland’s part. “I would hunt that man down and kill him myself.”
“Of that, I have no doubt.” Sutherland swept her hand away from his chest and pulled her into his arms. Cupping her chin, he tilted her deeper into his embrace. “But ye’re already mine, Sorcha Greyloch. For all time and beyond. What say ye to that?”
Witty words escaped her. How could she effectively spar while drowning in those eyes and waiting for possession by that mouth?
Sutherland smiled and tickled his fingers along her jawline, then laced them into her hair. “Answer me, love. I would hear ye say the words I see in yer eyes.”
His command gave her the calming she needed to make certain he understood the woman she was. “I will only belong forever and a day to my husband. Now, what say ye to that? I would hear ye say those words since ye’re known to be a man who thrives on loving a woman, then tossing her aside like stripped bones for the dogs.”
This warrior she needed, this man she hoped to claim for all time, didn’t hesitate, just tightened his arms around her. A low throated groan, more like a growl in the back of his throat, rumbled as he spoke. “No woman has ever
held such a power over me as ye do.” He shook his head. “I fear I shall never escape ye, my fiery love.” His gaze searched her face, his brow furrowed with the effort. “And I swear by all that’s holy ye shall never escape me.” Then he kissed her, sealing the oath with a fire and a fury she had never known.
It was done. He had said the words—or at least implied them. Sorcha cast aside all her careful plotting and melted into him, wishing they were already wed so he might teach her the pleasures of a husband’s touch. Merciful heavens, how she burned for him. She longed to learn every secret he knew.
“That better be the kiss of a betrothal,” roared a voice loud enough to shake every stone in the keep.
Senses reeling and knees weak, Sorcha held tight to Sutherland as he lifted his head and smiled down at her. “Yer father isna a verra subtle man, ye ken?”
“That he is not,” she admitted, feeling suddenly very shy. She regained her footing and attempted to pull away.
“Nay, m’love.” His hold tightened around her. He turned them toward the banister overlooking the hall below and lifted a hand. “My offer for yer daughter has been accepted. Lady Sorcha has agreed to be mine.”
“Thank God Almighty,” Chieftain Greyloch boomed, then applauded long and loud until servants rushed in through every archway. “My daughter is at last betrothed!” he shouted. “She is betrothed! Tonight’s feast must be a fitting celebration.”
“He makes me sound as though I were as desirable as the plague,” she said dryly as she faked a smile and waved at the cheering folk below.
Sutherland chuckled, then went uncomfortably quiet, making her forget the noisiness on the ground floor. Had the realization of what he had just done hit him full force and changed his mind?
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