Wicked Highland Ways

by Mary Wine

  Brenda quelled the urge to shift. “I do nae understand the fascination with red hair,” she replied with her chin held steady.

  Cormac’s lips twitched. It was a little cocky motion, one that momentarily transformed his face into something very handsome. But his expression hardened as Hamell grunted.

  “I’m here to wed her,” Hamell insisted. “As yer father promised me I might.”

  “My father is nae here,” Cormac informed him softly.

  Brenda felt the tension in the room rising. Cormac’s expression might not give anything away, but a glitter in his eyes made her suspect he didn’t agree with his father.

  Ye’re seeing what ye want to see…

  Maybe. Brenda held onto the flicker of hope as Cormac stared at Hamell.

  “Where did ye get her?” Cormac demanded.

  Hamell crossed his arms over his chest. “What does it matter? Yer father granted me the right to wed her.”

  Cormac gestured with his fingers. His men understood instantly, gripping her upper arms and pulling her back so he could move closer to Hamell.

  “It matters,” Cormac declared in a low tone. “The only reason my father agreed with yer suit was to keep peace between the Campbells and Sutherlands. Feuds are no good for any of us.”

  “She’s here,” Hamell said. “Ye needn’t look like ye’ve got a bug up your arse, man.”

  “Where did ye get her?” Cormac repeated. “Do ye think I’m blind, man? Ye’ve ridden yer horses half to death and she”—Cormac pointed at Brenda—“appears to have most of the road on her from the pace ye’ve been pushing yer men. I am no’ still on the breast, man. Ye stole her and brought her to Sutherland.”

  “So what if I stole her?” Hamell said, defending himself. “I had yer father’s permission to wed her. So it stands to reason I’d need to have her in me possession to do so. She’s hardly the first bride taken for her dowry.”

  “I would know who ye stole her from,” Cormac demanded. “My father wasn’t giving ye free rein to start a feud.”

  “She’s a woman,” Hamell hedged. “No’ even a maiden. The matter will be forgotten soon enough.”

  “He stole me from Chief Bothan Gunn,” Brenda interrupted. “Me husband.”

  Hamell growled and raised his hand to strike her. The retainers at her sides moved in a flash, putting themselves between Hamell and herself. Hamell froze, realizing he was beat, but there was a flash of promise in his eyes.

  “Aye, Chief Bothan Gunn.” Hamell shrugged and looked back at Cormac. “If a man can no’ keep a prize, he does nae have the right to it.”

  Cormac’s lips rose in a mocking grin. “If that is yer thinking, perhaps I should put ye outside the gates and see if ye can best the man when he arrives.”

  “He is no’ coming for her,” Hamell stated. His tone might have been firm, but he shifted, betraying how much he didn’t like what Cormac had said.

  “So ye do think I’m newly weaned,” Cormac growled. “Ye would no’ be riding so hard if ye did nae have a reason.”

  “My laird ordered me to wed her,” Hamell reiterated. He stepped closer to Cormac. “Ye jump when yer father tells ye to. I do nae have the blessing of being a firstborn son and heir. Me laird sent me out to wed Brenda Grant, and I dare not fail.”

  Brenda didn’t care for Hamell’s reasoning.

  But she could not refute it either. Her own father had bent beneath the demands of Laird Campbell.

  Cormac Sutherland might not have cared for the circumstances, but he wasn’t ignorant of the realities of life either. The castle they stood in hadn’t been built from good deeds. No, there had been marriages arranged for gain and power struggles. Blood had flowed, she didn’t dare doubt it.

  “My father,” Cormac said, “isn’t here.”

  Hamell wasn’t intimidated by the statement. “His word is still law. The earl gave Brenda Grant to me in marriage. I’m here with her, and I expect ye to abide by yer father’s decree.”

  “She claims she is married,” Cormac argued. “If she has a living husband, even the Earl of Sutherland cannot give her to ye in marriage.”

  Hamell smiled. The expression chilled Brenda’s blood. “They wed in England, so under the bastard Queen Elizabeth’s church. All we need is a priest.”

  “And a stronghold to protect ye from the wrath of Bothan Gunn while ye conduct yer wedding and consummation.” Cormac wasn’t going to yield so easily.

  “Ye think to deny me what yer father promised?” Hamell asked. “My laird will no’ be happy to hear about it.”

  The threat hung in the air. Every man in the room heard it. Brenda curled her fingers into fists as she watched Cormac. He was playing a dangerous game. One that might spell disaster for Sutherland if a clan the size of the Campbells decided to take offense. He might personally wish to do something different, but defying his father would have consequences.

  Dire ones.

  Cormac suddenly looked up. A retainer was standing in the doorway.

  “Chief Bothan Gunn is arriving,” the Sutherland retainer declared.

  “She is mine!” Hamell declared loudly. “Yer father said it was so! Lock yer gates, or I swear the Campbells will hear of yer interference in this matter.”

  The retainers in the room didn’t care for Hamell’s tone.

  Or perhaps it was his threats.

  It didn’t matter which offended them; they shifted closer to Hamell, seeking any excuse to deal with him.

  “As ye are so very quick to point out,” Cormac informed Hamell, “my father is the earl. I would no more deny one clan under him entrance to Sutherland than another.”

  The heir to the earldom of Sutherland stepped up until he was only a step away from Hamell.

  “Such a thing,” Cormac continued, “would be for me father to decide.”

  Cormac looked at Brenda. He was a serious young man. It was clear he’d been raised to be the Earl of Sutherland’s successor. His expression gave nothing away. Not even a single shred of hope for her to latch onto. In his world, decisions would be made with the political situation firmly in mind.

  Oh, she understood the reasoning.

  And it was hardly the first time she’d lamented that hard facts would dictate the direction of her life.

  Today, though, she felt the sting more deeply. As though her heart was being torn from her chest.

  “I will receive Chief Gunn,” Cormac declared. His tone left no room for argument.

  But Hamell wasn’t wise enough to heed the warning.

  “Ye will nae!” Hamell insisted.

  Hamell made the mistake of stepping toward Cormac. The Sutherland retainers reacted in a flash. They surged forward, grabbing Hamell and his men. Brenda was tugged back by a hard pull on her skirts as the two Sutherland retainers behind her came around her and placed themselves in front of her.

  The fight didn’t last long, and there wasn’t any doubt who the victor would be. At least Brenda saw the reality of how badly the Campbells were outnumbered. Any levelheaded person would have recognized the folly of trying to win against the Sutherlands inside their own castle. Hamell, though, didn’t seem to acknowledge any of those facts. He fought hard but was dragged out of the room by the Sutherland retainers.

  Cormac wiped his mouth on his sleeve, a vicious smile of enjoyment on his face. It vanished just as quickly as the fabric of his shirt soaked up the trickle of blood from his split lip. He caught her watching him. Something flashed in his eyes. It looked a lot like pleasure, but he covered the lapse in composure without admitting anything to her.

  “Ye seem to bring out an interesting trait in the men who attempt to claim ye, Mistress Grant,” Cormac told her.

  Brenda offered him a slight scoffing sound. It earned her a twitch from one side of his mouth, which might have been called a grin if it hadn’t me
lted away by the time she took her next breath. He looked at the Sutherland retainers still in the room.

  “Keep her here,” Cormac ordered.

  It wasn’t that Brenda had believed she had any freedom before, but once Cormac spoke, the retainers nearby moved closer. They were rigid and immovable.

  And she was very much their prisoner.

  * * *

  Cormac Sutherland met Bothan in the yard. Bothan reached up and tugged on the corner of his knitted bonnet. The single gesture was as formal as Bothan planned to be.

  Bothan climbed the steps until he was eye to eye with the man. “Expecting me, are ye, Cormac?”

  “I would be disappointed if ye were no’ following close behind Brenda Grant,” Cormac replied.

  Cormac turned and walked into the tower. Sutherland retainers were guarding the doorway.

  On the other side, Brenda stood behind the crossed pikes of another set of Sutherland retainers. Bothan took a moment to look her over. His temper had been kept in check as he rode and made sure he was using his wits to solve the matter instead of charging headfirst into a fight. He knew the value of keeping a cool head, but the sight of the dirt smeared down his wife’s clothing threatened to break his hold.

  Bothan looked at Cormac. “What game are ye playing, Cormac? Brenda is me wife.”

  Cormac stood up to Bothan’s direct gaze. Unlike Hamell, Bothan wasn’t using the names of his relatives to sway the next in line to the earldom.

  “This is no’ a matter of politics, Cormac,” Bothan stated firmly. “Perhaps before I wed her it might have been, but the deed is done now. Blessed and consummated. Stealing a bride is one thing. Brenda is me wife and might well be carrying me child. The matter is done.”

  Cormac let out a grunt.

  “My father is more than my sire,” Cormac informed Bothan. “He’s the Earl of Sutherland and overlord to both of us.” He held up a thick finger when Bothan started to speak. “And he is no’ here.”

  “So?” Bothan questioned the man. “Me wife is, and I’ll thank ye to tell yer men to get out of the way between what is mine by law of the Church.”

  “But ye wed her in the English church,” Cormac stated firmly. “Hamell Campbell is using the lack of Catholic blessing on yer union as a reason to declare it null and void. Since it is Brenda’s second marriage, ye cannae hold her by physical relations alone.”

  Bothan let out a grunt. “I’ve had a belly full of kings and politics! I’ve served Sutherland well, and I never thought getting a bridle on Brenda would prove to be a simpler task than dealing with everyone’s ideas of what constitutes a wedding.”

  Bothan was close to losing his temper, but he remained facing Cormac. “I pledged meself before God and witness to this woman.”

  “Ye should have consummated the vows with witnesses,” Cormac answered. “When land is concerned, ye know well men will fight dirty to gain the upper hand.”

  Bothan grunted. “When the bride is a redhead, a man is wise to let her think she’s got a choice.”

  He looked across the room at Brenda and the way her cheeks were turning red with temper.

  “The truth is I was giving her slack before pulling her in. An English wedding meant Brenda rode into Scotland with me and gave me time to ease me way into her bed.”

  Brenda let out a sound that was very close to a growl.

  Cormac made a choking sound. “Take Mistress Grant abovestairs.”

  The retainers didn’t hesitate to act. Brenda let out a huff as she was turned and taken out the doorway behind her.

  “Stay,” Cormac ordered Bothan when he went to follow her.

  Bothan turned to face Cormac slowly. “I’m dangerously low on patience, man.”

  “I understand,” Cormac replied, stepping half in front of Bothan. “For I feel the same.”

  Bothan grunted. “Explain, Cormac, and I warn ye, I’m in need of killing someone. So do nae press yer luck.”

  Cormac grinned. It wasn’t a friendly sort of curving of his lips. No, it was more of the sort of expression Bothan wanted to see on the face of a man who was going into a fight next to him. There was a flash of comradeship in Cormac’s eyes.

  “Ye have reason to think yer wife might be carrying yer child?” Cormac asked.

  Bothan felt his own lips curving. “It is a definite possibility.”

  Cormac’s lips split into a wide smile. “As I told ye, my father is no’ here. Perhaps he’ll arrive by tomorrow. I cannae make any choice between ye or the Campbells concerning this matter. Mind ye, if there is a question of there being issue from yer union, I believe my father would see the matter as a handfasting in need of the sacrament.”

  Bothan nodded. “More than one man would agree with ye.”

  Cormac reached out and slapped Bothan on the shoulder. “Hamell Campbell will be spending the night in the Sutherland dungeons for attacking me. I cannae have a man with such a lack of control over his temper loose in my father’s castle while me sister is here.”

  “And me?” Bothan asked pointedly.

  “Ye have stated yer position,” Cormac replied. “And I’ve told ye I cannae decide the matter because it was me father who gave permission to Hamell to go after Mistress Grant. It seems ye will have to wait upon me father’s return.”

  The heir to the earldom of Sutherland drew in a deep breath and let it out, still grinning like a boy intent on sneaking tarts from the kitchen under the eye of the cook. Not just for the joy of enjoying a treat but for the thrill of knowing he’d pulled something over on those around him who thought themselves so much more experienced.

  “Chief Gunn, ye’ve given me no reason to lock ye away. I cannae allow Mistress Grant to leave Sutherland, but since ye claim to have wed her—”

  “I did marry her,” Bothan insisted.

  Cormac shrugged. “Who am I to decide which church is the rightful one? It’s a matter for my father. He is the Earl of Sutherland.”

  There were both permission and warning in Cormac’s voice. Bothan reached up and tugged on the corner of his bonnet.

  Cormac’s grin twisted into a smirk, his eyes glittering with mischief. “Mind ye, I heard ye say ye intended to get a bridle on yer wife.” Cormac closed his fingers into a fist and hit Bothan on the upper arm. “If she throws yer body out the window of the chamber I had her placed in, I give ye fair warning…I am going to have a good laugh over yer plight. Do nae ye know better than to tangle with a redhead?”

  Bothan returned his friend’s grin, but he pointed at Cormac. “I’m sorry to see ye have no’ found the courage to try one.”

  It wasn’t a jest though.

  Bothan turned and left the room. Stairs rose up along the side of the tower. He took to them with a determined stride, the separation between him and Brenda becoming too much to bear now that he knew she was his to reclaim.

  * * *

  The chamber to which Brenda was taken was quite nice.

  But she found she had no appreciation for the fine furnishings. The doors were closed tightly behind her, the two retainers shooting her hard looks before they were blocked out by the solid wood. She crossed the area of the receiving chamber to look out of the window.

  It was more than three stories to the ground. A death sentence if she tried to jump.

  Not that she’d get too far without a horse. The Sutherlands would only run her to ground.

  But the doors opened again, and this time Bothan was there. He stood for a moment at the entrance as the retainers closed the doors again.

  Brenda found herself staring at him.

  The days of frantic travel suddenly dissolved as she took in the way he was looking her over. The fear that had gripped her heart during that time of never seeing him again and perhaps hearing he’d died there between those rocks finally dissipated.

  And his words rushe
d back through her mind as he came forward.

  “Need to get a bridle on me?” Brenda demanded. “Letting out some slack on the rope so ye can make me think I’m free?”

  She’d propped her hands on her hips as she confronted Bothan. He was watching her, letting her vent at him. The surge of emotion didn’t make any sense. But she was swamped by it, tumbled in the wave of relief and renewed worry over just what the Earl of Sutherland would say when he arrived.

  “Insufferable man,” she declared when he remained silent. Brenda went to turn her back on him.

  Bothan caught her, closing his arms around her as he came up behind her. She gasped, trying to free herself, only to suffer the knowledge that he was far stronger than she.

  Oh, but he is so wonderfully alive…

  “Have ye no’ learned yet, me lovely lass,” he cooed against her ear, “not to turn yer back on me when ye decide to take issue with me? I will take every challenge ye cast down, Brenda…count on it.”

  “Let go,” Brenda hissed.

  She stumbled when he complied, opening his arms so she ended up pitching forward because she’d been straining away from him. She caught herself, stopping with a little skidding sound from her boots. Her skirts swayed forward with her movement. Bothan scooped her up before the fabric settled back down.

  “I do let the rope out on ye,” he explained on his way toward the bed. He dropped her onto it in a tangle of skirts and limbs. “I let ye run because I love the sight of ye tossing yer head and daring me to try to ride ye,” he finished.

  “Why am I no’ surprised to hear ye say something such as that?”

  Bothan grinned at her. It was the most menacing curving of lips she’d ever seen. He tossed his doublet aside and opened his belt. Her eyes widened as she realized precisely what he had on his mind.

  “Do nae be thinking we’re going to—” Her tongue suddenly refused to perform as she started to push her way across the large bed.

  The length of wool that formed his kilt puddled around his ankles before he lunged after her in only his shirt.

  “What I think I am going to do,” Bothan declared as he landed on top of her, “is help ye use yer passion for something much more enjoyable.”