Highland Hellion

by Mary Wine

  “Ye aren’t fit…to speak her name…” Symon snarled.

  Niul staggered back under a hard hit, but raised his leg and drove his knee into Symon’s belly when the Grant laird tried to follow his first blow with a second one. “Ye are nae dead, man.” Niul smashed his elbow into the side of Symon’s jaw, sending him staggering away. “Stop expecting her to rise up and give ye children.”

  Symon wasn’t ready to listen yet. He charged at Niul, and they collided like bears. There was grunting and curses, but everyone stayed away. Niul finally broke free and threw his hands wide.

  “Look at yer men, Laird Grant!”

  Symon stiffened, his rage cracking as he did indeed cast a look around him.

  “They are no’ stopping me because they recognize the truth of me words.” Niul softened his tone. “Do ye think it brings me pleasure to say them? I nearly watched me brother die abovestairs when he lost his leg and would nae be seen. Bastard? If I truly were less of a man, I’d be after yer cousin in the hope that our children will inherit after ye leave the Grants without an heir.” He spat blood on the floor and wiped his mouth across his sleeve. “Instead, I’m trying to kick yer arse and drag ye kicking and screaming back into the light of life.”

  Symon slowly grinned. “Well, ye are no’ the smartest man, are ye?”

  Niul opened his arms wide and performed a courtesy, lowering himself. “The lot of a bastard—to please as often as I might while still being expected to fail at it due to me lack of breeding.”

  Symon nodded and slowly walked toward him. He offered his hand, and Niul grasped the Grant’s wrist.

  “We all have our lots,” Symon said as he finished shaking Niul’s hand. “I thank ye for reminding me of mine.”

  * * *

  Symon turned to see Brenda walking down the passageway with a tray in her hands.

  “Ye’re going to tend him?” he asked, surprise thick in his tone.

  Brenda only smiled at him. “Yes.”

  “Why?” Symon asked in a quiet tone.

  Brenda moved up next to him and cast a look at the portrait he’d been staring at. His wife looked back at them, the paint making her appear almost lifelike.

  “Because I could no’ give ye the thrashing ye needed to keep ye from following Tara into the grave.”

  Symon tore his gaze from the painting and looked at Brenda. She watched the pain still flickering in his eyes.

  “This is for ye.” She held out a razor. “I sent a maid up to yer chamber with hot water and soap.”

  Symon drew in a stiff breath and fought the urge to look back at the portrait. He took the razor and offered Brenda a stiff nod. He started to walk away, looking as though his feet were heavy, but he stopped and turned back toward Brenda.

  “Ye are right,” he said firmly. “I will shave this mourning beard off.”

  Brenda inclined her head.

  “And I am no’ the only one who needs to start living again, Brenda.”

  It was her turn to stiffen. Symon offered her no mercy as he nodded. “For all that I have no’ been able to move past that moment when Fate decided to take the woman I loved from me, I would no’ have learned what it is to love without her. It changes a soul, enriches the world around ye in a way, and no one can understand until they allow themselves to love another.”

  He pointed at her. “Ye need to move past yer history too. Let someone touch ye, and hopefully teach ye the pleasure of being a woman.”

  “Symon,” she hissed in a low tone.

  “I am correct.” He cut her off by holding up the razor between them. “Just as ye are right about me needing a thrashing. Ye’ve never chosen a lover. It can be more than duty, Brenda, and it falls to me to say so bluntly since yer parents are gone, and ye and I are the only kin we both have left. Do nae squander the years ye have on the ones who treated ye cruelly. We are both here and we must begin living, no’ simply going through the motions while we are chained to the dark elements of our pasts.”

  Brenda felt his words cut through something inside her. To be certain, she’d never thought to discuss such personal things with a man, yet he was correct. They had only each other, and the castle was a sad place because of it. Life was merely an echo in the stone hallways.

  “I will…will…think upon the matter…” Her composure failed her as her tongue felt graceless inside her mouth.

  “As will I,” Symon said. “We must both begin living again.”

  Symon pointed in the direction of their guest’s chamber. Brenda found her belly knotting as she began to move toward Niul. Did she desire him? Would she even recognize passion if it gripped her? Her thoughts were full of questions, and she felt an odd heat teasing her cheeks.

  Blushing?

  It stunned her and made her smile at the same time.

  Because it had been a very long time since she had felt so alive.

  * * *

  McTavish land

  “Where is Katherine?”

  William McTavish turned and eyed his son. “I’ve never had an Englishwoman at me table.”

  Rolfe considered the captains on his father’s right who were sending him cutting looks. “So, she is just locked away until the matter of her ransom is resolved?”

  His father took a bite of his supper and chewed it before answering. “It worked well enough for the other one ye brought home.”

  “Helen Grant was only here for a week.”

  “She did nae cause such a fuss, either,” one of his father’s captains declared with a frown.

  “That was good fun,” Adwin shot back from his place beside Rolfe. “Clever lass to stuff a dress with the bedding and send it out the window. Nice to see Scotland has influenced her. Ye can wager she did nae learn such spirit in England.”

  There were some chuckles in response, but Rolfe was more focused on his father. “I’ve been gone nearly a fortnight. Are ye saying she’s been locked in her chamber all that time?”

  “Nae,” another of his father’s captains answered. “We’ll no’ be wasting men on the guarding of that hellion. She’s down in the cellar, where she’ll not be—”

  Rolfe didn’t wait for the man to finish. He shoved his chair back and gave his father a single, hard tug on the corner of his bonnet before he was striding away.

  “Hey.” Adwin caught Rolfe by the bicep in the passageway between the hall and the kitchens. “Are ye certain ye want to be showing so much concern? The lass has a purpose, and so do ye. Or did ye no’ notice that yer sire sent ye out because of yer little tryst with the lass?”

  “It was a kiss,” Rolfe defended himself. “No’ a tryst. For Christ’s sake, what are ye all so concerned about? Do ye think she has the pox?”

  “Worse than that. She’s English, Rolfe.” His man gave him a hard shove in the shoulder. “Ye’re no’ daft. It matters. To some more than others.”

  “She’s a lass,” Rolfe cut back. “One I’m sorry I brought here.”

  But she was there, and he’d been gone a long time. Rolfe made his way through the kitchens, startling the women working there. The closest thing McTavish Castle had to cells were the cellars next to the buttery where the casks of ale were stored. Cells were generally unnecessary; the worst thing that could happen to a person on clan land was to be put out of the castle without his colors. Rolfe turned and descended belowground where the air was chilly year-round.

  “Angus?”

  There was a shuffled step on the hard floor. The massive form of the butler came into sight. A ring of keys hung from his belt, but his collar was open and the skin of his neck wet.

  Angus reached up and tugged on his bonnet, except that it was missing, so he settled for touching two fingers to his temple.

  “Where is the English lass?”

  Understanding dawned on the butler. “In the back. The laird said i
t had to be so. For meself, I would have placed her near the stairs, to keep her warmer, as well as give her more than bread and water. The laird was firm in his orders, though. Very clear. Bread and water, naught else. And only once a day at that.”

  “Of course he was.”

  Rolfe went down the dark passageway. Below the tower, it was narrow, the walls composed of rough rocks that were not plastered to make them smooth. He caught sight of a maid hurrying away before he recognized her, only half of her hair shoved up into her cap. At the end of the passageway, there was a very solid door. It was barred and locked. Angus came up behind him, the keys jingling as the butler sorted through them for the correct one.

  Rolfe peered into the darkness and cursed.

  * * *

  Time had never moved so slowly. Of course, it was difficult to grasp it when there was no sunlight. Katherine began to know the day by the visits from her jailer. Angus wasn’t unkind to her, at least not after their first meeting, when he’d made it clear he knew a great deal about causing pain, should she be any trouble and need a lesson in minding him.

  She believed him. The butler bore the marks of too many fights to count and seemed to enjoy his battered appearance. As far as choices for guarding the buttery, she had to concede that Angus was a fine selection. No one would be getting into the stores of ale and grain without permission.

  Every house had such strictures, lest gluttony deplete the storerooms before spring arrived with a new harvest to fill them again.

  He came once a day and unlocked her door. If she wanted to be fed, she would be against the far wall and stay there. He left her plate and changed her toilet bucket before locking her back in. A crude sort of grayness made it into the room during the daylight, but by night, she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

  And so the days passed slowly, because she could only sleep so much and the chill kept her from ever being comfortable. She passed the time by coming up with escape plans or at least attempting to concoct a means of escape. Just because she hadn’t succeeded didn’t mean she wouldn’t.

  “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  “So, you have come to see me.” Katherine recognized Rolfe’s voice and did her best to sound as though it meant little to her.

  “I’ve been gone,” he said. “On me father’s orders.”

  She liked the sound of that. A ripple of relief went through her, and she didn’t bother to question it. Beggars couldn’t be too particular, and she was starting to smile when she heard the squeaking of the mice as though they were companions.

  “I did nae know me father put ye here, lass.”

  But he sounded as if he was sorry. She did bristle a little, straightening her back and setting her chin. “I’ve weathered it well enough.”

  He extended his hand. “Come, lass.”

  She started to reach for his hand but stopped when she noticed how filthy her nails were. They were a testament to how she’d crawled around the room, testing every stone for loose ones that might lead to a secret tunnel. His jaw tightened when she folded her hands together instead of taking his.

  “Truly, I did nae know, but I promise ye, I will be having words with me father.”

  He’d stepped out of the doorway, and she took the chance to leave the cell behind her. Rolfe seemed larger than she recalled, and she shied away from his form as she drew in a deep breath, but froze when she noticed Angus was watching her.

  The burly butler reached up and tugged on a tuft of his hair. “Do nae be cross with me for doing me duty.”

  “Yer duty is finished.” Rolfe reached across and grasped her by the upper arm.

  But now that she’d left the cell behind, she realized she reeked and pulled away from him. He stiffened but released her.

  “I’m filthy.” She wasn’t sure why she spoke; it was just another one of those impulses that seemed to take command of her thoughts when she was near him.

  Her admission earned her a softening of his features. He truly was a handsome man when he relaxed. Heat teased her cheeks as she walked beside him.

  “Well, that is something I can remedy.”

  He took her down the passageway and into the kitchens. She drew plenty of notice from the staff, who must have known what her fate was. The scent of food was strong, and her belly rumbled.

  Rolfe frowned again. “I’ll feed ye better than Angus did.”

  “I don’t want to be pitied.” There was a humph from one of the women working at a table near enough to hear. “I can make do when I must.”

  That earned her another grin from him, but this one was more knowing. “Aye, I can see that ye do nae take delight in wielding yer gender like some sort of weapon against us poor men.”

  “You’re so defenseless against me, after all,” she mocked him in return. But it stirred the memory of the last time that she’d seen him.

  And felt his kiss.

  Her pride was still tender from the encounter because she was not a match for him.

  “Here.” He’d stopped in a doorway. “It’s the bathhouse. There will be soap, and I’ll set one of the women to finding ye some fresh clothing.”

  There was a snap of fingers before an older woman came forward. She lowered herself before Rolfe.

  “I’ll see to her.”

  Rolfe nodded but locked gazes with Katherine. “I’ll be right here.”

  It was a warning and a reminder of her plight. Katherine ordered herself to move forward and take advantage of what she might. It would be foolish indeed to shun a bath simply because she didn’t care for her circumstances.

  “Having you waiting on me is a surprise I didn’t expect.”

  Katherine caught the flash of surprise that went across his face before she disappeared through the doorway. The woman behind her was snickering and trying to hold her breath to muffle the sound.

  “Lord, ye’ve a fine wit,” she said as she stopped in front of Katherine. “I’m Ceit, and I’ll tell ye straight that I did nae care to hear ye’d been locked in the cellar.”

  Katherine shrugged. “I suppose I frightened someone.”

  Ceit leaned her head back and chuckled. The sound was balm for Katherine’s lonely soul, bouncing around the room and lifting her spirits until she was returning Ceit’s smile even as her belly rumbled again.

  “Well, now,” Ceit said as she rubbed her hands together. “Let’s get ye bathed so ye can get on to having some supper. It’s the truth that I was after Angus for taking ye naught but bread and water.” There was a splash as she emptied a bucket of water into a tub. “The brute claimed the laird gave instructions for ye to be tamed.”

  “It will take more than that to break me.” It would likely have been wiser to remain silent, but Katherine didn’t much care. The tub was a large, round half of a barrel, coated with pitch on the inside to hold the water. The room itself was very warm, making disrobing a pleasure. They were behind the massive hearths the kitchens used to roast the meat for the tables in the great hall.

  But there was another novelty that gained her interest. There was a long trough running along one side of the wall. Water glistened in it, and Ceit was refilling the bucket from it.

  “A fine luxury, is it no’?” She poured more water into the tub. “There’s a longer trough outside that is fed from the water wheel. No fetching the water up from the river. Saves the hands.”

  “It does indeed.”

  Katherine hesitated and looked behind her, but Rolfe wasn’t in sight. He wouldn’t be.

  No, for all that she might think ill of him for bringing her to McTavish Castle, she could not accuse him of being dishonorable.

  So she stripped down and climbed into the tub with a shiver because Ceit had yet to add any hot water. Katherine didn’t care. She started to rub a lump of soap across her arm, delighted to feel the grime being washed away.
/>   * * *

  “Do ye nae worry about yer hair being wet after the sun’s gone down?”

  Katherine emerged from the bathhouse to find Adwin keeping watch. The captain was enjoying a thick piece of cheese he’d placed on a hunk of bread. His beard sported crumbles of bread as he chewed.

  “I find myself more focused on the fact that it may be a long time before I am able to bathe, so it’s best not to waste my opportunity.”

  Adwin swallowed. “It’s yer head, I suppose.” He jerked his toward the kitchens. “This way.”

  She didn’t care for being under guard, but Adwin led her away from the cellars, so Katherine moved along without complaint. She heard him smacking his lips as he chewed, and the sound was nearly her undoing. Her mouth began to water as the ache in her belly became painful. The scent of meat had never struck her as so delicious before.

  But Adwin didn’t stop in the kitchens. He led her through them as she fought to control her disappointment.

  Such seemed her lot among the McTavishes. Well, she’d weather it. Take what Fate was forcing on her. Just as she always had. The only true choice she had was how she stood up to it all.

  Hellion?

  It sounded far better than pitiful, so she would embrace it.

  * * *

  “Ye countermanded me orders.”

  Rolfe stood firm in the face of his father’s displeasure and looked him straight in the eye. “I did.”

  William snorted and lifted his mug, but he stopped short of drinking from it. “Ye brought her here for gain.”

  “Ye wanted to break her,” Rolfe replied. “I told ye, I owe her a debt of gratitude. She should be treated as her station demands.”

  “It was a necessary action, brought on by her own escape attempt,” his father responded firmly. “I’ll no’ have that hellion turning me house on its ear.”

  “The MacPhersons will no’ be happy to hear how she’s been treated,” Rolfe said softly.

  “Lecture me on that, will ye?” his father demanded. “Was it nae ye who told me that she needed a lesson?”

  Rolfe nodded, earning a grunt of satisfaction from his sire.