My Fair Highlander

by Mary Wine

  “Silk. Rare and coveted and worth every bit of effort it takes to get yer hands on it.”

  She suddenly stiffened, recalling the musicians. Jemma turned to look across the room to where they had been. Gordon turned her face back to him with a hand on the back of her head.

  “They’re gone and not a moment too soon. I need to kiss ye.”

  Yes . . .

  It was the only thought in her head. Her lips parted and her chin lifted, even without the hand on the back of her head guiding her. The first touch of his mouth against hers sent a shiver down her back. Just a brief touch, a mere whisper of a kiss that teased her more than it satisfied.

  “I needed to kiss ye the moment ye entered this room with yer hair down.”

  His mouth returned to hers, this time lingering longer. He pressed a light kiss onto her lips, slipping his along hers and filling her with delight. A soft murmur escaped her mouth, and he pressed her lips farther apart to deepen the kiss. Now his mouth demanded, gentle at first and then increasing pressure. The hand cradling her head was tilting it so that their lips fit together even more. The tip of his tongue slipped along her lower lip before it thrust smoothly into her mouth, teasing her tongue in a long thrust. She shivered again, her entire body quivering in his arms.

  “Aye, lass, now that is courting at its best.”

  She was suddenly free, Gordon stepping away from her. Frustration burned through her, but she clamped down the urge to demand that he return when she looked into his eyes.

  Desire burned there. It was no mere flicker but a roaring blaze that she witnessed testing his control.

  “I’ll bid ye good night, lass.”

  “Yes, good night.”

  The church bell tolled at dawn, bringing an end to her dreams of Gordon. For everyone it was another day to struggle to finish all the tasks that needed doing before winter arrived. Jemma followed them to church and then into the hall for her morning meal.

  But her temper turned her cheeks pink when she watched the same maid push the others aside so that she might serve Gordon.

  How could she dream of the man?

  How could she not?

  Jemma rubbed her head before going to find Ula and something to take her mind away from the man occupying too much of her time.

  “He is mine.”

  Jemma jerked her head up to find the girl she’d watched serving Gordon standing around the corner of where the hallways crossed. Jemma had to look around the stack of newly ironed sheets to see her. What she saw was a close-up view of the scowl that the girl had sent toward her fellow maids that morning.

  “So keep yer English hands off him or I’ll make ye sorry ye ever set eyes on him.” There was venom edging each word and the girl inching closer with each one.

  “What are you talking about?”

  She laughed. “I’m Anyon and ye’d better dispense with yer innocent airs. The laird might believe such, but I know the truth.”

  “Which is what?” Jemma felt her temper rising. She was not going to suffer Anyon’s wrath meekly.

  Anyon propped her hand on her hip and sneered. “That ye are nothing but a doxy at heart. Ye dangle yer chastity in front of men, hoping to get them to bid against one another for the right to plow ye. But beneath it all, ye’re selling yer flesh just like the rest of us.”

  “What do you suggest? That I refrain from polite behavior while you press your breasts into the man’s face during his meal?”

  Anyon snickered and actually rocked her bosom back and forth. “The laird likes me tits good and well. You wouldn’t know the first thing about pleasing a man like him, nor would ye ever learn. He’d plow ye to keep yer dowry, and then come to my bed where he might gain true satisfaction.”

  “Well, I have no intention of wedding the man, so you may take comfort in that truth.” What did a man like Gordon need to be satisfied? Her gaze swept the Scottish girl from head to toe, trying to judge what it was that she knew about pleasing men. Anyon smiled with glee.

  “Ye know that I am right. I can read yer horse face very well. Don’t be swayed by that display he put on for you last night. He is nae a gentleman, but a wild Scot who likes his women knowing how to please.”

  “Fine then. Be content.” Jemma took a step away from the nasty creature. If that was what pleased Gordon, well, Anyon was welcome to him. She stiffened and refused to show the disappointment that surged through her. Instead she forced herself to look at the girl and see that she was not lying about knowing her way around Gordon’s body.

  It was very likely that he’d gone to her last night after leaving her standing there with her eyes wide and her body softly throbbing.

  Anyon stepped into the hallway directly in front of her with both hands propped on her hips. “Ye are so stupid, English chit. Ye think I will swallow yer lies about not wanting the laird, but ye stay here, and that tells me that ye are a lying bitch. Ye’re just trying to sway me with yer words, but ye remain here tonight just the same, tempting the laird as you try to snag him.”

  “I’ve heard enough of your spite. If you want that man, I suggest you go and find him. If I had the means to leave this place, I would, but I will not stand here and listen to you spit your venom at me for something that I cannot change.”

  And if the man spoke one further word about wanting to court her while his mistress lived beneath the same roof, she was likely to hit him.

  Anyon scoffed at her. “Don’t have a way? Another lie, not that I expect anything else from yer English lips.”

  “I do not have a way to leave, and if you know otherwise I would appreciate you sharing the information with me.”

  The Scottish girl smirked at her, obviously enjoying her moment of knowing that she possessed something that Jemma wanted to know.

  “Well, speak up, I am listening.” Jemma refused to put up with the girl’s surly nature. Sometimes it was necessary to show that you were not meek if you did not wish to become the victim of those who enjoyed being nasty. “If all you are going to do is insult me, I was given a task to do by Ula.”

  “Proving what a good little wife ye will be? Is that yer game, English slut?”

  “Enough! I am not a slut, and you have no right to call me something that your behavior says you are.”

  Anyon’s face turned red. “I am the laird’s mistress.” The girl growled each word. “Ye’d better understand something about Scotland, English slut; here even the king has been known to wed his mistress. Scottish men like to know what they are getting before they marry.”

  “Well then, since I have no intention of showing your laird what he will get with me if we were to wed, you may go on your way, free of concern.”

  “Prettily spoken, but those words do not change the fact that you are still here, doing Ula’s bidding while yer mare is standing idle in the stable.”

  “What?” Jemma felt her face heat. The Scottish girl smirked at her, but Jemma wasn’t in the mood to be toyed with any further.

  “Where is my mare?”

  Anyon raised an eyebrow at her tone. “Listen to ye. Ye’d think ye were already the mistress of this castle, the way ye demand.”

  Jemma cast a quick look toward the window. The light was now coming in at an angle, telling her that sunset was approaching. She feared the coming night because it would bring Gordon back to his fortress for certain, and she doubted her ability to resist him.

  “If you want me gone from here, tell me where my mare is and how to leave this place.”

  Anyon abandoned her taunting stance when she heard the determination in Jemma’s voice.

  “Yer mare is in the back stable, the one closest to the gate. Saddle her if ye know how and no one will stop ye from taking what is yers and leaving.”

  So simple. Jemma swallowed and fought the urge to sputter with outrage. Gordon had never said that her mare wasn’t in the stable. The man had cleverly avoided giving her that bit of information, and she had been too blinded by his presence to realize
that she wasn’t asking a direct enough question.

  “Well, are ye going? Or just spinning more lies?”

  Jemma thrust the stack of sheets at the Scottish girl and didn’t wait to make sure Anyon took them. She relinquished her hold on them and turned her back on the woman. Urgency filled her, pushing her to quicken her pace. She resisted the warning that was trying to stop her. She had ridden every day for months; one bad encounter was not going to turn her into a quivering-kneed coward who hid behind the walls of a tower. Life was too full of wonderful things. Besides, she could feel Gordon. Actually feel the man tightening the circle he was walking around her. It wasn’t the man she was running from.

  It was her response to him.

  Most men had a mistress, and she would have to accept that from any husband she wed, but there was something inside her that wanted to scream at him for having one. It made no sense, so leaving was the only logical thing to do unless she wanted to risk going insane. There was no controlling her responses to him, and that frightened her.

  There was still plenty of activity in the main yard. Boys were training under the supervision of older men. They wielded wooden swords, and the sound of those blades striking against each other echoed off the curtain wall. Women were hurrying to bring in the last of the drying laundry near the south side of the yard where huge water wheels lifted water from the river to pour through slots in the curtain wall. Men were stationed up on that wall, but their attention was on the horizon. The scent of roasting meat drifted to her nose. The cook had a deer roasting in one of the huge hearths that served the kitchen. She had been carving strips off it all day long so that the meat underneath would roast. What she cut was diced and combined with vegetables to be cooked into pies for supper. The Barras clan ate well, which was yet another indication of their power. Lesser clans would not cross them for fear that they could not appeal to them in the dead of winter when their own stores ran low. Alliances were most often based on need. Her own sister-in-law had been handed over to Gordon because her cousin wanted to prove his loyalty to the laird of the Barras clan.

  Jemma scanned the yard once more, seeking any hint that she was being watched. But she didn’t find any. Everyone seemed intent on completing their tasks before the cook rang the supper bells. The older men training the boys were pushing their young charges to teach them perseverance.

  Just as she needed to persevere.

  Entering the stable, she slowed down and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. The smell of fresh hay and alfalfa filled her senses. The sunlight illuminated hundreds of dust particles floating in the warm air. Horses snorted and pawed at the floor. Jemma forced herself to move slowly among them. She reached out to rub a muzzle here and there, soothing the beasts before they alerted anyone to her presence. Her eyes were becoming more keen, able to distinguish colors in spite of the low light. It was not dark, merely dim. She scanned the stalls and smiled when her mare appeared. Standing near the back exactly as Anyon had said.

  For all the insults the woman had thrown at her, Jemma decided she would have to think kindly of her for giving her the means to leave.

  Lament rose up from inside her, but she refused to let it stop her. She reached for her saddle, making sure it was well seated before placing the reins on the mare’s head. She smoothed a hand over the soft neck and offered her a soft sound that made the mare’s ears twitch with recognition.

  “Yes, my beauty, we’re off again.”

  “No, ye wildcat, ye are not.”

  Chapter Five

  Jemma cursed. The words rolled out of her mouth instantly, and she meant every one of them. She turned to find Gordon standing in the aisle, his chin tucked low so that he could see her in the dim light. His body was tense and imposing, and she felt a ripple of apprehension cross her skin.

  “Ye have a very bad habit of disregarding wise advice that is given to ye, lass.”

  Jemma choked before she sputtered with her outrage. “Advice? You purposely misled me when I asked you where my mare was.”

  The barbarian had the audacity to shrug in the face of her temper. “Well now, I did do that sure enough.”

  Jemma tossed her head and maintained her grip on the reins.

  “So it is advice well ignored.”

  She held her chin steady and stared straight back at him. Their wills were clashing, and the friction produced enough heat to send a tingle racing down the back of her neck while Gordon considered her. Determination flickered in his eyes, but she refused to bend in the face of it. Her will refused to surrender while the feel of the leather was still against her palm. She was so close, and yet Gordon was such a large obstacle to overcome.

  “Ye are nae going anywhere except back into me tower, lass. The only choice is how ye go there.”

  “You have no right to keep me here.”

  “I have yer brother’s permission.”

  Her jaw dropped, disbelief flooding her. “That cannot be.” Her voice was a mere whisper, but the emotion lacing it caused her mare to dance. Gordon reached forward to grab the reins, and Jemma dropped them in order to step out of his reach.

  Why was it that she never seemed to judge just how close the man was until it was too late to avoid his reach? Frustration burned enough of her shock away, but an aching pain remained deep inside her.

  She glared at Gordon. “You have spoken to my brother since I have been here? Curan gave you his blessing on keeping me?” It was two questions fired off together, but her mind was working too fast to slow down.

  “It is true, lass, but I did nae seek out his permission to cause ye pain.”

  His voice was low, and she looked back at him to notice that he saw far too much of her true feelings for her comfort.

  “I care not what your or my brother’s reasons are.”

  She turned her back on him and left the stable. The pain followed her, digging into her heart like a dull knife. Curan was her brother. How could he grant such permission?

  She felt like her throat was being squeezed past the point of endurance. As far as the law went, Curan had every right to decide whom she married. If it pleased her brother, she might warm the bed of some man old enough to be her grandfather, or someone like Gordon who would use her to breed his children while continuing to enjoy his riding with any woman who took his fancy.

  But the memory of last night conflicted with her temper. There had been true effort applied to courting her, something that many a bride never received, especially in a time when two queens of England had lost their heads. Men followed their king’s example, doing what they pleased no matter what misery their actions loaded onto a woman’s shoulders.

  Gordon hadn’t treated her that way last night. The memory was precious, and she discovered desperation inside her to reach for it and pray that it was a glimmer of hope that would grow into a bright future.

  The chamber where she had slept was the only place Jemma’s wounded mind thought to take her. She really had no right to think that her brother would consult her on the matter of her marriage, or to believe that he would waste any more time deciding the matter. She would not be the first sister handed over without warning. Her agreement to meet with Barras had been more than enough discussion upon the topic.

  “Does it truly displease ye so much to think of remaining with me, lass?”

  Jemma jumped and stumbled when she turned. Her ankle complained as it twisted slightly, making her hop to relieve the odd angle she’d landed on. She growled and clenched her hands into fists because her frustration was so great.

  “Why ask me? Neither Curan nor you seem to think my feelings on anything matter in the least.”

  Relief shone on his face, and she felt some of her temper cooling. She couldn’t see what had troubled him so much, but something clearly had. Her heart leaped at the chance to think it might be her feelings. It had been a very long time since she had stopped to consider how she felt. Every hour had been about her father for so long, what he wanted,
needed, and how she might give him enough of herself to heal him.

  “Marriage is normally negotiated between men, lass, but I was hoping to change yer mind last night and get ye to want to stay here so that we might court a bit.”

  Jemma felt suspicion ripple through her mind because Gordon’s face was smooth and calm, telling her nothing about his mood.

  “I appreciated the effort you placed into last night, but keeping me here is not courting.”

  His lips split to flash his teeth at her. “Well now, I disagree with ye there, lass. Name me another man that would have dealt with ye instead of yer brother.”

  He was correct and she hated it. Helplessness assaulted her, and she shook her head to deny it. “I suppose you think your grand experience in ‘riding’ has taught you how to court, but I must quibble with you, sir, for ‘riding’ often is not the same thing as courting.”

  “Oh, well I see yer thinking, lass. Ye’re looking for pretty prose. Allow me to quote ye a few that I know . . . I once took a walk on a dock, Looking for to ease me cock—”

  “That is the wrong sort of prose for courting.” Heat returned to her cheeks because she instantly began thinking about his cock.

  His lips were curled up in a mocking smile now, and it had spread to eyes sparkling with mischief. One of his dark eyebrows rose innocently.

  “It is? Would that be the dock part or the—”

  “Both,” Jemma shouted, to drown out the word “cock.” She didn’t need to think about his cock. Knowing what his kiss was like was torment enough for her to try to resist. But his cock . . . The excitement that had swirled and flared so brightly in her leaped in response to that single word. She suddenly knew exactly what she craved. It wasn’t her belly, but her passage, and it felt empty.

  “Well now, lass, it does tend to cut the courting time down and get right to the point of the matter.”

  Jemma felt her cheeks burn bright with a blush. “You are the most audacious man. Go and find your mistress if you want to talk about your . . .”