by Terry Spear
As soon as he opened the door, she stood fast.
"A room to sleep in. Naught more."
"You promise?"
He frowned down at her, suspecting the worse. That some knave had molested her or had attempted to. "Aye, lass. Well, and to talk. I would know who your kin are. Then you need to sleep. I will have food sent up to you when you are awake and wish it."
She walked inside the room then, and sat down on the bed, not on the chair as he had thought she would. He couldn't help but think of her in that bed, with him. Only because they had already been so intimate before.
He cleared his throat. "First, you are no' from the Chattan clan."
She shook her head.
"Then which?"
"Barclay."
He frowned. "The Barclays I have heard of are Franks, who came over with William when he conquered England. Some of the Barclay families settled in Fib. Are they your people?"
"Aye."
"So you are Sorcha Barclay?"
She sighed deeply and nodded.
This time he believed her, as far as who her family was. Four different clans held land that bordered his. But that concerned him. The Barclays were not one of them.
"Fib is far too distant from here. You couldna have traveled that far, lass. They are even farther away than the Clan Chattan."
"Aye." She was looking at the rushes at her feet now.
"Lass, where have been staying?"
"With your enemy, Laird Parthalan MacNeill. He married my sister and…and he isna a good man."
Relieved she had not run away from a husband and all the trouble that could cause his clan because if she had been abused, he would not be returning her, he said, "But he leads his clan well, from what I know of him. His men are behind him."
Sorcha glowered at him. "Oh, aye, and some of the women, too. Or beneath him." Her cheeks turned a brilliant red.
"He attacked you?" Ronan was furious. There were always women willing to pleasure a clan chief if he so chose, that no man ever had to resort to forcing a lassie to his bed.
She looked again at the floor and nodded.
"Did he…succeed?" Ronan wasn't sending her back there no matter what. If she chose to serve his clan, she was welcome to stay, as long as she remained unarmed.
"Nay." Her eyes brimmed with fresh tears.
"Ahh, lass. Dinna fret. You can stay here with us for as long as you wish. Unless you want to return to Fib and rejoin the Barclays."
"Nay." She brushed away more tears trailing down her cheeks.
"They…didna want to pay a dowry to someone to marry you off," he guessed. "Instead, Parthalan agreed to wed your sister and take you in." To take advantage of her later, he suspected.
"Aye. But you are enemies, I thought." Her eyes were so wide with astonishment, he couldn't believe she thought he might treat her ill because of her association with the MacNeills.
"Nay. And even if we had major disagreements, I wouldna hold that against you, lass. They have no' stolen our livestock…" He paused, then frowned. "Did you see the men who stole your horse?" He realized that she must have truly had a horse, but had the men who stole them actually been searching for the lass? Had they been some of the MacNeill men looking to return her home?
She shook her head. "By the time I woke enough, the men had moved off, and I only saw their torches deeper in the woods. I didna see them. Only heard their voices."
"Did they mention your name?"
"Nay, of course no'. How would they know me by name?"
"Did you recognize any of their voices?"
Her eyes grew wide again. "You…you think they were some of Parthalan's men?"
"Mayhap."
She shivered.
Ronan saw Fagen out of the corner of his eye as he moved into the entryway, waiting for an order. "Sleep, Sorcha. The room is yours. Fagen will guard the door, but except for opening it if you ask him to bring you food, he willna intrude on your sleep."
"You are having the chamber guarded so that I dinna leave."
Liking the canny lass, Ronan smiled. "And so that you feel safe. I promise no one will bother you. Rest well. We will decide on the morrow what you might feel comfortable with doing within the clan."
"Work in the kitchen?"
He chuckled. "I think somewhere else. I need not warn Fagen that if you do open the door or he does, that he will keep his weapons out of your reach." He bowed his head to her, but before he could close the door, Fagen gave her a smile and a wink.
Fagen closed the door and Ronan said to him, "You know to let no one in or out."
"Aye, my laird. And to hold onto my weapons around the lass."
Ronan smiled, then headed down the stairs. Before he reached the great hall, he saw Alban, who quickly closed the gap between them. "Where is Ward?" Ronan asked.
"Here." Ward stalked toward him. "What did you learn about the lass?"
Ronan related the news to his brothers. "Change of plans. I would recover the lass's horse, but I would rather not have her brother by marriage learn she is here if the men who took her horse are some of the MacNeill clansmen. They know no' to trespass against us. So instead of looking at this as if we have the lass and know they have taken her horse, we will ask them who they are and why they are traveling on our lands."
"You want us both to go now?" Alban asked.
"I want Ward to stay and be in charge while you and I see to these men." Ronan knew Ward would have preferred going, but he was the second eldest and always in charge when Ronan left to take care of business that could have deadly implications for the clan. Ronan had to deal with this issue himself, not hear secondhand what had happened. "After the meal, we leave."
Chapter 4
Ronan, Alban, and fifteen men rode in the direction Sorcha had said she'd traveled. Though he wasn't certain if she had been all that sure herself. For three hours, they searched for the men who had taken Sorcha's horse when he saw movement near one of the rivers—ten men on horseback—and a spare horse, a red roan, just like Sorcha had described.
He didn't want to fight the men, but rather tell them they weren't welcome here and return to their own lands.
As soon as one of the men spied them, he let the others quickly know. Just like Ronan and his men, no one drew swords, wanting to attempt a peaceful resolution. Ronan and his men stayed where they were, keeping their distance.
"We are no' here to fight ye," one of the men called out to them.
"I am laird here. Ronan of the Daziel clan. What is your business on my lands?"
"We search for a lassie, who was riding this horse," the man said, the breeze tugging at his shaggy, long, brown hair. He motioned to the roan. "We found her horse, but we havena been able to locate her."
"Your name and clan?"
"Tuathal with the MacNeill clan."
"Who is the woman and why would she be traveling across my lands without an escort?"
"Sorcha of the Barclay. She is sister to our laird's wife. We were her escort and became separated during a storm."
"One lassie was separated from ten men," Alban said skeptically for Ronan's ears only.
"Aye. I believe the lass." To Tuathal, Ronan said, "Where were you escorting her then?" Ronan assumed the man would have a good answer for that also, probably having thought it over in the event they ran into any of Ronan's men.
"She wished to see her Barclay kinsmen. She must have been thoroughly turned around to have traveled this far from the direction we were headed."
"Aye, well, I dinna wish any bloodshed between our people, should my men run into yours traveling across my lands in the future. I will have every available man searching for the lass. Should we find her still alive, we will escort her to Craigly Castle. If we find her otherwise, we will send word. If we dinna locate her, you willna be hearing from us."
Tuathal frowned at the notion. "A word with you in private, laird?"
"Aye."
Alban's brow furrowed. "Do you wish for m
e to stay with you?"
Ronan said to his brother, "Nay, I will speak with the mon and see what he has to say. I will let you know shortly."
Ronan and Tuathal rode off some distance to join each other and speak in private. When they stopped, Ronan said, "What have you to say? The truth mayhap?"
Tuathal's eyes narrowed and his mouth turned down. "If you suspect I dinna tell the truth, mayhap that is because you dinna." The man's shaggy brown brow quirked.
Ronan smiled darkly. "So tell me the truth then."
"Do you have the lass?"
Ronan wasn't about to tell the man the truth, but he suspected the MacNeill already knew what had happened. Maybe because Ronan had taken such a force to scour his lands looking for a horse? And the horse thieves who had stolen the lass's horse?
"I dinna believe you that she was traveling to the Barclay lands, nor that you lost her in a storm." Ronan waited for the man's response.
The man looked hard at him, as if he was trying to determine what to say to make this work in his favor. "I take it you found her and she has told you some tale. Lady Akira, her sister, is desperate to receive news of her."
"All I can say is what I have said before. We will search for the lass. If we find her, we will return her. If she is dead, we will send word. And if we dinna ever find her, that will be the end of the matter."
For the longest time, Tuathal's black-eyed gaze held Ronan's. But Ronan wasn't revealing anything more to the MacNeill, especially when he said Sorcha had lied about why she had left the safety of Craigly Castle. Ronan knew from her fearful actions that she had run away against her will.
"All right. Here is what I believe. You have found the lass, she has told you that someone stole her horse, and you came searching for the horse thieves. But then you reconsidered, believing we may have been her escort."
Ronan smiled a little. He thought nothing of the sort. The lass had been alone, of that he was certain.
"I pray she is safe with you. If we leave here and take her horse with us, Lady Akira will surely believe her sister is dead. Lady Akira is much loved by all and I canna do that to her. If we leave Sorcha's horse with you, the lass will be pleased as she loves her as much as she loves Lady Akira and her niece and nephews. This way, Lady Akira will always have hope that her sister reached a safe haven while still riding her horse. If Sorcha is afoot, Lady Akira would assume the worse."
"As you wish. We will return both the lass and her horse should we locate her—alive."
"Take good care of her," Tuathal said.
"If we find her, you have my word."
Tuathal again studied him as if he was looking for a sign that she truly was safe with the Daziel clan, and then he bowed his head a little in concession, and rode back to his men. He spoke for a moment, and one of them rode back to Ronan with the roan's reins in hand.
With Sorcha's horse in tow, Ronan rejoined his men. They watched while the MacNeill clansmen spoke to each other, nodded at Tuathal, then headed in the direction of the MacNeill border three hours away.
Everyone looked to Ronan to tell them how he had ended up with Sorcha's horse. When the MacNeill clansmen disappeared behind a hill, Ronan and his men headed for home.
"What did you say to them?" Alban asked, wide-eyed.
"He suspected she is with us and they are leaving in peace. But he didna want to take the horse with them and upset her sister. This way, she can assume she reached safety. I believe there is more to it than what he said. That, though he said Sorcha had made up a tale about what had happened to her, I am certain Tuathal knows very well what the lass has suffered. He wanted me to take care of her, which, as long as the lass agrees, we will. He knows how much she cares for the horse, and her sister and her bairns. I believe he also wishes the best for her."
"So we keep her safe, but who is to keep our clansmen safe from her as she threatens everyone else with her sgian dubh?" Alban asked.
Ronan smiled.
***
Six weeks later, Ward sought Ronan out and he wondered what the matter was now. He suspected it had something to do with Sorcha. Ever since she'd rested from her ordeal and began working for the clan, they'd had trouble with her. But he would never forget the look of joy on her face when Ronan had brought her horse into the inner bailey and she'd seen him through the narrow window in her chamber. She'd forced Fagen to allow her to come greet her horse properly.
Ronan hadn't expected to see her burst out of the keep with Fagen trying to keep up, her lovely smiling lips and eyes bright with relief as she dashed to reach her horse. And her horse nickering in response. As soon as she was within touching distance, she stopped and allowed her horse to greet her, nuzzling her face, and Sorcha brought her head close to hers, in a way of greeting, love, and affection. He was surprised to see just how much she understood her horse, as if she were one of Sorcha's kin. Then, after sufficiently welcoming her horse, to his astonishment and amusement, Sorcha had thrown her arms around Ronan's waist and hugged him tight against her sweet, soft body, while Alban and many of their kinsmen had watched.
Instantly, his body had heated as if he'd been working on the repairs on the outer wall when the sun managed to shine brightly midday.
Which had resulted in rumors flying that Ronan and the lassie were soon to be wed. And that was the furthest thing from his mind.
"What now?" Ronan motioned for Ward to close the door to his solar so they could speak in private.
Ward was grinning. "If you would just wed the lass, then all would be well. She could be in charge of the staff as your wife, and no one would disagree with her."
"What has happened now?" Ronan wasn't getting into this discussion again. He had plans to marry a clan chief's daughter. The marriage would help to unify the two clans so that they could call on each other in times of strife. That was the way it was done and love matches were not important.
Aye, the woman he would wed would have his bairns, and so he wished a wife who was appealing enough. And someone who was able to manage the staff because he fully intended to arrange a match for Elspeth, and then he'd have to have his wife take care of things here.
Yet, he couldn't help but think of what it would be like bedding the bonny lass. Sorcha was so passionate, so vibrant, so… well, desirable. But he had to think of the clan's needs first.
Ward folded his arms. "You said she couldna join the ladies who sew because that would mean she would need a knife to cut off threads and the like. Sewing is one of the things she loves to do best. She refuses to wash the clothes as she abhors the duty, mayhap because she canna be armed."
Ronan shook his head. "Maybe we should put her in charge of weapon's training with regard to handling a sgian dubh." But he wasn't serious.
"I fear she would agree and might injure someone."
"So what is wrong now?"
"She offered to help repair the wall."
Ronan frowned at Ward. "You canna be serious."
"Aye. She said she likes working in the mud, and she would be happy to do it."
"Nay, 'tis no' a woman's job." As if she would have ever been allowed to work at Craigly Castle in such a capacity. Certainly not here. No matter what, Ronan didn't want her working close to the men when they bared their chests in the heat of the summer day.
A knock sounded on the door and Ronan said, "Come."
Alban opened the door, wearing his belted plaid about his hips, his bare skin bronzed and sweaty, gray mud splatters all over it. "Did you tell Ronan the lass is helping us repair the wall?"
Ronan bolted from his bench and left the solar, giving Ward a scathing look for not having informed him she actually was working on the wall! "Whatever possessed the lass to do such a thing when I wouldna approve?"
"I think she is looking for a husband among us. She isna doing a bad job of working with the mud, as inexperienced as she is. But half the time she is watching us, and I dinna believe 'tis because she is attempting to learn how to apply the mud properly, eit
her."
Ronan growled. He couldn't imagine the lass married to one of his clansmen, sharing her cheerful smiles, taking rides near the castle with the man, making love to him at night.
When Ronan reached the outer baily where the improvements were being made, he found Sorcha laughing with his men as she smoothed the mud in place, while four of the men hoisted a stone in place.
One of the men spied him coming and quickly warned the others, "Our laird is coming."
They knew he would not permit the lass to work with them.
Everyone, including the lass, turned to see him approach. His men were giving him cocky grins as they stood too near the lass, half naked.
At least she was not half naked. Her golden hair had been pulled back, tendrils of it curling over her shoulders, splotches of mud on her cheeks and gown, her hands covered in it.
"Go," he said to her. "Wash up."
She scowled at him.
"If you persist in this foolishness…"
"They need my help."
His men chuckled, but when they saw his dark look, they quieted, still smiling though, and turned to work on the wall.
Ronan frowned at her. "This isna a job for a lass."
"Fine." She stalked off for the entryway to the outer bailey.
"Hold! Where do you think you are going?" Ronan couldn't believe she was thinking of going beyond the outer walls of the castle, alone, without her horse or an escort. She never did. He wouldn't allow it, and he didn't believe she would wish to. Or that she would give him further grief. He should have known better.
She turned, folded her arms across her waist, and scowled. "You commanded me to bathe. How am I to do that? Carry a tub by myself to my chamber? Carry all the buckets of water up there to wash with? I will wash in the loch. Much easier and I will be no trouble to anyone."
In disbelief, he stared at the wee hellion. All he could do was envision her naked in the lake, her ivory skin bared to heaven and all to see. Getting his thoughts where they needed to be, though it was a struggle, he realized what she was saying. The servants would not prepare a bath for her without his order.