Surrender

by Sophia Johnson

  Broccin must have seen where the women stared, judging from his snarls.

  "Get back to yer beds else ye'll be set to scrubbing floors afore day's light. Ye men! Return to yer duties." He turned to the last man. "Domnall, get this rutting eejit up and bring him to my solar." He whirled and stamped away, the sound of furious bare feet slapping the cobblestones followed him.

  Graemme took a deep breath and dared to swallow once the sword left his neck. The man named Domnall was the one who had lifted the squirming bundle of flesh off him. At least the fear of having his head loped off had kept his cock from springing to life at her movements. Had it done so, likely the sword would have been at that part of his body instead. Domnall leaned down and offered a helping hand. Graemme shook his head and hoped his legs didn't wobble when he sprang to his feet.

  Two men stood nearby with their swords drawn. Did they think him foolish enough to run? Huh. They were grinning.

  "'Twas a foolish choice for bed sport, lad," Domnall said, the corners of his lips quivering.

  "Do ye think me daft? Had I known 'twas the chief's daughter, I would have jumped in the well, not stood by it."

  "Too bad you already bathed. You're in deep shite now." The man chuckled and shook his head.

  He sent one of the grinning guards to fetch something to cover Graemme then tossed Graemme's boots and helmet to him. Walking over to the well, Domnall retrieved the sheathed sword waiting there, slowly pulled it out and hefted the steel, testing it for his own strength. When he slid it back in, he tilted his head to the side, listening to the metal sing. He studied the scabbard and ran his fingers over the snarling, black wolves burnt into the leather. He raised a brow at Graemme.

  "Shame. You made an excellent choice of a sheath for your killing sword but not where you thrust your lusty cock. I'll carry this for now."

  Graemme quickly shoved on his boots. After stomping them into place, he heaved a deep sigh of resignation. The solder returned on the run and handed a drying cloth over with a snicker. "I couldna find a kilt; all the men were sleeping in them. 'Twas the biggest cloth that wasna wet."

  Graemme looked at it in disbelief then shrugged. "Was it meant for a child?"

  He stretched it around himself and it met at his left side, though barely. Once he'd donned his sword belt, the several layers of leather held the cloth in place. Satisfied, he buckled it low on his waist. Carrying his helmet in the crook of his arm, he looked down and saw how little the cloth covered his bulging sex. Feigning unconcern in his disarray, he moved his helm before him in hopes of covering more of his private parts.

  "Where to?"

  He rolled his head to relieve his stiff neck. His forehead ached and pulled, likely swelling the size of a fat goose egg from the way it felt. He didn't bother wiping away the blood that had welled in the little valley at the base of his neck. 'Twas probable he'd be spilling a lot more afore this night passed.

  o0o

  Elyne stood beside her bedside table, undecided whether to sit on the ample ledge at the window opening or climb on the bed. She eyed Aunt Joneta, and Ada, the servant who was more friend than maid.

  "I fell out of the tree," she said for the third time since they had walked back with her to her bed chamber. She scowled when her aunt grinned.

  "Did you fall or did you jump, love. It has been many a year since I have seen such a splendidly naked man," Lady Joneta said.

  "He pulled my leg and I fell!"

  "Maybe we're going about this in a backward way? Instead of starting from what we saw, tell me why you were not here in your bed?"

  Elyne groaned and tried to kick the wet clothing crumpled on the floor, but Ada snatched it away in time. Though she now wore a dry smock and gown, she had pulled the man's green, black and blue kilt across the small of her back and draped it over her arms.

  Lady Joneta studied Elyne, making her want to squirm.

  "Come, love, we had best prepare a good excuse for your father."

  Ada tilted her head, her eyes alight with curiosity. She nodded, guessing the reason.

  "Ye had a walking dream, again, eh?"

  Elyne sighed and climbed up on the bed to sit, legs crossed in front of her. Mayhap they would believe her. They had not made fun of Elyne's dreams near as much as others had.

  "Aye. I woke in the bailey, sitting beneath the apple tree. The dream had startled me awake. I did not go there to meet that man."

  Now and then, she lifted the kilt to her face and inhaled. An enticing scent. Pine and sandalwood blended together.

  "Ah." Joneta's eyes smiled at her. "At least you were not kneeling in the muck of the pigs' sty."

  "Or sitting on cow pies in the middle of the pasture like last summer." Ada's grin spread from ear to ear.

  "True, but snuggling atop a naked man brings a lot more trouble than needing a hot bath," Joneta said as she shook her head.

  "I dreamt about the black wolf again. Only this time, he turned into a man." She stopped and shrugged. "Almost a man. All but his head."

  "How did you go from sitting under the tree to being atop him?"

  Ada looked eager to learn it all.

  Elyne shrugged her shoulders and spread her hands wide.

  "I heard his boots striking the stones and did not want anyone to see me. So, I climbed the tree."

  "He didn't have boots on when we got there." Joneta looked at her, and seeing her blush, nodded. "You watched him bathe? Your brother Ranald has told you many times that your curiosity was going to get you in trouble."

  Elyne sighed. She rubbed the kilt across her nose again, pretending she scratched an itch, and took a deep breath. Likely, he slept beneath the stars and traveled through forests for many days to have such a fresh, exciting scent.

  "You think I meant to spy on him? I couldna very well tell him I was in the tree near nekid, now, could I?"

  She blurted out the rest of what happened after the man undressed. But not all of it. Why, he had taken delight in handling his secret parts until he spent himself on the ground! She couldn't tell anyone about that. She cleared her throat.

  "I truly did not expect him to strip and bathe. No man but Ranald would wash at the well when the water is near ice," she added, knowing her face flushed. "He, um, looked up at the night sky when he scrubbed, his, uh, stomach. That's when he spotted me. He believed I was a servant girl seeking a bed partner and grabbed my foot."

  "Ah. The limb broke." Joneta looked down at her hands, then back up to study Elyne's face. "Did he take advantage of your inexperience and mayhap, um,..."

  "Nay!"

  Joneta's eyes sparkled. "Well, now, if I were many years younger, I would gladly change places with you."

  Ada giggled. "Mayhap we could lure him to the well again?"

  "Not if he looked at you as if he wanted to slit your throat, you wouldn't." Elyne huffed in annoyance.

  "Hm. There is that." Lady Joneta sighed and nodded.

  "Father won't kill him, will he?"

  "Nooo. If that was my brother's intention, he would have done it right away."

  Elyne had to agree. Unfortunately. Not that she wanted the man dead. But she didn't like the other solution, either.

  If her aunt had not been visiting Raptor Castle, Elyne would be below listening at the door to her father's solar. With Ada beside her. When she was alone again, perchance she should gather supplies together in case she had to flee in the middle of the night.

  Her stomach gurgled at the thought.

  This time, it seemed unlikely she'd find an easy way out of her problem.

  Chapter 3

  Graemme stood in the dim solar, a guard on either side, and eyed the large, heavy man sitting in near-shadow across from him. A brace of candles stood no more than five paces behind the chief. Their weak light accented the stubborn set of the lord's jaw on the right side of his face. Graemme knew from earlier this eve when he had entered the keep, that the man's hair was dark brown or near-black like his eyes. For certs, his neck l
ooked strong enough to support the head of a bull.

  This angry Scot was not unlike Graemme's own father in coloring. Huh. Not unlike in body build, either. They both could be mistaken for Zeus in human form.

  "Ye'd best tell me how ye lured my daughter to swive with ye right out in the open where any randy bastard could watch!"

  Chief Broccin slammed his fist down on the table, causing the pewter cup to tilt and splash near half the ale onto the wood.

  "I have told ye times aplenty that we were not swiving. She fell out of the tree and landed atop me." Graemme's jaw snapped together.

  Just mentioning it, Graemme remembered the feel of her soft body stretched atop his own hard flesh. With little thought, he could also see her wet smock revealing ivory skin and small, beautiful breasts—and the dark triangle guarding that honeyed place when Domnall snatched her away. Feeling his shaft stirring, he shifted the helmet over his sex.

  "Ye expect me to believe ye walked up to the well, got yerself nekid and a beautiful young woman fell from the tree like a ripe apple and splattered on ye?" Broccin's glare at Graemme showed he wanted to sever his cock and stick it on a spear as a warning to all men.

  Shite! He'd best keep to the edge of truth in case the girl lacked sense and told him all. Agh! Hopefully, not all.

  "Not quite fell. A foot dangled near in front of my eyes. I grabbed it, thinking to prevent having my throat slit in the dark. I didn't know it was your daughter until you called her such."

  Broccin snorted in disgust.

  "That's just rat-brained enough to be true. What think ye, Domnall?"

  "We have found the lady in far stranger places, my lord. She didn't look to be too distressed. Not enough for you to maim or disfigure a man."

  "Distressed? Humph. Looked to be enjoying herself, to my eye." He scowled at his commander. "What think ye to twenty lashes?"

  "Ye canna thrash yer own daughter!" Graemme was sick at the thought.

  "Not her, dumb wit. Ye."

  He swallowed and tried not to flinch.

  "I dinna think yer son Ranald would forgive ye if that were to happen. He's sensitive to that, ye know," Domnall said.

  "Mayhap take a finger or two? Or the toes on one foot?"

  "Nay. No maiming. The lasses dinna take kindly to men leaving trails of blood when they run from the keep."

  "Well, then. I'll think of something that will satisfy me in another way." He snorted and jutted his chin at Graemme's bare sex peeping below the helmet. "And get him a kilt out of the chest!

  Domnall jerked open the wooden chest beside the fireplace and tossed Graemme a wide length of wool cloth.

  Keeping his back to the Chief, Graemme quickly changed his clothing. Once he'd draped the kilt over his shoulder, he tucked the end beneath the belt. He didn't know whether he was over the worst of it or not.

  Eying his sword, he could forget about asking for its return.

  For now.

  Broccin motioned for him to sit in a chair opposite him and spoke again as if he had not stopped before. "But I'll not have Ranald's temper disrupting things if he finds a new bastard at Raptor next summer."

  'Twas not the end of it. The worst was coming.

  "He'll wed her."

  "What?' Graemme sprang upright. Suddenly the thought that mayhap twenty lashes would have been easier, entered his mind.

  "Dinna play like ye have no ears. Ye heard me aright. Sit!"

  He stood as still as stone until Domnall shoved the chair to brush the back of Graemme's legs. He sat.

  "You may go," Domnall said to the two guards patiently waiting, and grinning, behind Graemme. "Check on his men in the stable. Make sure they have pallets for the remainder of the night."

  After the door closed behind them, Chief Broccin poured three cups with ale, slapped one down in front of Graemme then pulled his seat closer to the table opposite him.

  "Give me yer family name and holdings."

  "I am Graemme, the youngest son of Angus, The Morgan of Clibrick Castle in the Highlands."

  Broccin nodded, looking satisfied.

  Shock began to leave Graemme, replaced by cold anger. Had they been playing with him this entire time? He scraped the chair sideways and stretched out on it. Slowly sprawling his legs in a comfortable way, he swigged the ale pretending he had known they bluffed about the whipping and the maiming.

  He had no recourse but to marry. No one would believe he had not been ramming his cock into her when they had witnesses aplenty that he was nekid beneath her. With his hands on her bare arse as further proof.

  "Ye wish me to marry yer only daughter when ye know nothing about me?"

  "Aye. I wish it. I know enough. Ye are sprung from the loins of The Morgan of Clibrick."

  "Huh! Being The Morgan's son makes me a worthy husband for yer daughter?"

  "Nay. Dinna be a gowk. Ye are the first man she canna refuse to wed for her usual silly reasons."

  He thought Graemme a fool? Was the man dafty? From the sounds of it, this Elyne had suitors aplenty. He wondered what those silly reasons were. Mayhap he could use one of them himself.

  Graemme had no wish to wed. Had no time for it, either. If not for his brother Magnus' inflexible quest for revenge, Gramme would never have stopped at Raptor. He should have paid heed to the tales of strange happenings at the castle. Huh! He'd thought it naught but fanciful thinking. What man could turn into a black raptor at will? Nor did he believe if the lass didn't favor a suitor, she called on a frightful crone to roam the halls at the midnight hour to protect her.

  He cleared his throat, hoping to clear his mind.

  "When yer daughter has naught but foolish dreams, how can she refuse to wed where ye wish?"

  "Did ye not talk to my daughter afore ye swived her?"

  "I did not..."

  He groaned hearing Domnall smother a laugh with a cough. Seeing the rage build in Broccin's face, he sought to cool it.

  "I meant to deny that I took advantage of yer dear daughter. It was a strange accident and nothing more."

  "Still, ye have ruined the girl. She must wed and even she canna deny that." Chief Broccin turned to Domnall and scowled. "Send for the little fool afore she has time to make up some ridiculous dream to get herself out of this scrape."

  Domnall was up and lifting the latch before he finished speaking. Graemme rolled his shoulders, wishing he was anywhere but here. A cold draft of air from the opening door blew between his bare legs and up beneath his kilt, tickling the hairs on his stones. He'd always thought Lowland Scots were soft as their neighbors in Northumbria. Not so this family. The window shutters stood open letting the cold night air gust into the room. The candlelight flickered and all but two lost their flames as Domnall returned.

  "Relight the cursed things. Too bad Ranald isna here to see to it properly."

  A strange thing to say. Domnall frowned at his lord and gave a slight shake of his head at the chief then bent to light a twig.

  The room was large, even compared to Clibrick Castle. They sat at a sturdy table, centered in the room. A vivid tapestry warmed the long wall behind Chief Broccin. It caught him up in it. It was so vivid he felt he was standing atop a hill gazing across a lush, green valley where an abbey or convent stood in the distance. He could not tell which, but the stone cross above the entrance signaled it was either one or the other.

  The wall opposite held naught but several battle weapons. A mace, a war hammer, a much-used bow and a broadsword flanked a shield. Two shiny, black eagles flew on a field of yellow; a red bar, painted diagonally across, divided it. There were dents in the shield. A rusty stain...

  He didn't ask about it.

  He had walked by a small table when he'd entered and saw what looked to be maps or parchments of some kind. One lying open showed sketches of hills, trees, castles and such.

  A man's room. He would relish hearing what went on within that room over the years. Huh! It would likely turn his straight, black hair to curly gray.

&nbs
p; The door burst open and Elyne hurtled in, stirring the air in the room enough to snuff out more candles. The lady Joneta followed at a more dignified pace. The guard started to go toward the hearth, but Broccin threw up his hands and gave a disgusted look.

  "Dinna bother. She'll flutter around and put them out faster than we can keep them alight."

  Elyne took in the scene the minute she entered the room. The Highlander sat across from her father, his body relaxed as he leaned back in the chair, his long, hairy legs sprawled comfortably in front of him. A kilt covered his pertinent parts, but it left from his knees downward bare.

  A soft repetitious sound drew her gaze to his left hand. 'Twas fisted until the knuckles were white, striking against his knee. Hm. The kilt slung over his shoulder sagged open and revealed the mat of crisp black curls that covered his chest. The pulse jumped in his neck, fast and strong.

  Agitated.

  His chin was far stronger than she remembered from her first glance of him. It was deeply shadowed as were his cheeks. His thick hair was a mess. Probably dealing with her father made him near pull it out in frustration.

  He looked tired and irritated. More than irritated. He glared at her as if he blamed her for his dire straits.

  She scowled back and rubbed her fingers over the soft kilt folded in her arms to keep herself from sniffing it one more time afore she returned it to him.

  As she dropped the kilt unceremoniously onto his lap, she glanced aside at her father and held her head high.

  "Ye suggested I flutter? I ne'er flutter."

  "Next ye'll be sayin' ye are sure-footed as a barn owl walkin' the rafters."

  "That I am."

  Why did the Highlander stiffen?

  Her father pounced on her answer quick as a hawk seizing a plump grouse.

  "Ha! Then ye didna fall out of the tree like a rotten apple. 'Tis good ye took a fancy to Graemme here since ye'll be weddin' him once we settle the time."