My Fair Highlander

by Mary Wine

  Ula stopped and drew in a deep breath. “The laird was a kind man when he let her go. I know men who would have set a guard on that girl to keep the dowry she came with. Her own father knew she wanted to be a nun but forced her to wed because of the alliance it would gain him with the Barras clan.”

  It was a sad tale but not an uncommon one. Marriage was a business first. It was strange the way the world worked. A poor girl was granted the right to marry where her heart led her, but she longed for the better life that came with being born to a higher position. Those born to better, to titles, often discovered themselves envious of the chance to decide whom they would have affection for.

  “I’m glad to see that ye are nothing like Imogen. The laird has refused to open any of the offers sent to him from other clans. He claims that he cannot stomach the sight of ink on parchment when it comes to marriage. Ye’re different, lass. He’s taken with ye because he set his eyes on ye. ’Tis a good thing for the laird, and ye being kin to our neighbor makes it a good match for the Barras.”

  So simple, unless someone, anyone recalled that she had not lent her agreement to the match. Of course it was not needed; she might be wed by the clergy with only her brother’s word on the matter. Her dowry would be handed over, and Gordon would have the right to keep her on his land any way that he deemed appropriate.

  I’m not being fair . . .

  She truly wasn’t, but knowing that didn’t bring her any peace. It should have, for Gordon had treated her more than kindly.

  “Yer thoughts are too troubled.” Ula handed a stack of linens to her with a quick flick of her hand to indicate a large cabinet that stood open for them. It would be locked when Ula was finished ironing what had been washed the day before. There were enough linens to change them out with fresh ones from this storage cabinet, but it was kept locked because fabric was expensive.

  “Ye need some work to keep ye from turning matters over in yer head the way ye do.” Ula considered her for a long moment. “Go and fetch up the laird’s shirts that should be drying along the back of the west tower, and tell me if those laundresses are working or lying on the slope sunning their noses.”

  It was only midmorning, so it would be best if the laundresses were working. Jemma decided that she wouldn’t care to have Ula cross with her. Such was a good thing in a housekeeper. If she failed to keep a tight fist around everyone drawing pay from the laird’s coffers, there would be dark times ahead for the castle. More than one great noble family had found themselves bled dry of silver by servants who spent more time resting than working while still expecting their pay. Ula didn’t seem to be the sort to allow laziness to flourish under her watchful eye.

  Jemma made her way from the north tower where she had been working with Ula. The west tower was used for washing because the sun would shine on it last, allowing time for washing in the mornings. Laundry was left hanging all night if the weather was fair, and she heard dry cloth snapping in the breeze when she came around the side of the tower.

  “I warned ye, ye English whore!”

  Anyon was in a rage, the girl shoving at Jemma before she realized that an attack was imminent. The force of it sent her tumbling down the slope with its harsh stones that scraped and cut into her hands and face.

  “I warned ye that the laird was mine!”

  Anyon came down the slope after her, aiming a vicious kick at her head before Jemma regained enough of her senses to move. Pain shot through her neck and back, but she snarled and rolled out of the way of the next kick the girl sent at her.

  “Enough, Anyon! I am not going to fight with you.”

  “That’s because ye think yerself so much better than me, but ye aren’t! Ye’re a slut, and I will nae let ye take Gordon from me.”

  The edge of the river was mere inches from her nose and the ground muddy beneath her hands when Jemma tried to push herself off the ground. She staggered to her feet, wondering why Anyon seemed to be waiting for her to stand. Her ignorance ended when the girl lifted her skirt and stuck her foot directly in the center of her belly, shoving Jemma into the water.

  Jemma fell into the river, and the water rose up around her, burning her eyes and nose as she struggled to push her head back above the water’s surface. Her muddled senses caused her to flail about in the water, trying to decide which way was up.

  A hard hand hit her between her shoulder blades. The blow was harsh and sent her remaining breath out in a whoosh that filled the water in front of her eyes with white bubbles. Anyon didn’t stop there. The girl held her down, pushing with all her weight to keep Jemma beneath the water.

  She should have been frightened, but her temper rose in a burning rage. The water cleared, allowing her to see Anyon’s ankles. Reaching out, she grabbed one and used all the fury that was burning in her to yank it out from beneath the girl. Anyon fell back into the river with a huge splash and a startled screech.

  Jemma stood up, gasping for breath. Her lungs burned and her vision was blurry from the soap left in the water from the washing. Strong lye soap that made her eyes tear.

  “Stupid whore!”

  Anyon came up out of the water with her fingers curled like talons. She launched herself at Jemma like an animal attacking.

  “You still want to fight? Well, I won’t stand and let you drown me, that’s for sure.” Jemma balled up her fist and sent it straight toward Anyon’s face.

  Pain exploded in her hand, but Jemma carried through with the blow. Anyon howled with outrage, but her neck twisted and she fell into the water with a snarl. The water suddenly splashed all around her as men plunged into the river between them.

  “That’s enough out of ye, Anyon.” One of Gordon’s captains hauled his clanswoman out of the water with a disgusted frown while she kicked and fought them. Someone gripped her arm, and Jemma shrugged it off.

  “I don’t need restraining. It wasn’t my idea to fight, but I’ll surely not stand idle while someone is attacking me.”

  Jemma turned and discovered that the laundresses that Ula had set to working along the riverbank were lined up watching her. More men came around the tower at a dead run with a couple of women trailing them, telling her how they had known about Anyon’s attack.

  But there were far more standing and watching.

  That was the blow that hurt most of all. Jemma wiped the water from her eyes and took a second look. These were Anyon’s friends and blood. The fact that Anyon had tried to drown her didn’t seem to distress any of them too greatly. None of them had tried to stop her.

  Of course not, she was English. No doubt most of them had lost kin to her countrymen.

  “What manner of devil play is this?” Gordon’s voice made all the women flinch. Their eyes widened as they turned to face their laird. He came around the corner and swept the scene, his keen gaze stopping when his attention landed on her still standing knee deep in the river.

  He snarled something in Gaelic and turned a furious look on Anyon.

  “Put her in the stocks. She’s to be lashed.”

  The laundresses gasped, gaining them their laird’s attention. “And the lot of ye will join her for standing about while this savageness was being done.”

  “I don’t need you to rescue me, Laird Barras.”

  Gordon turned an incredulous look on her, and the laundresses gasped in unison once more.

  “Oh, enough of that gasping. The lot of you seemed to be sturdy enough to watch one of your own try and drown me; I hardly see why you are so shocked by a few disagreeing words now.”

  Jemma trudged out of the water. Her legs felt weak as though they might crumble beneath her at any moment. She drew a deep breath to fend that off.

  “No one disrespects my orders, Jemma.”

  Gordon was furious, but she refused to bow her head. “Of course, but I need to make it clear to your clanswomen that I do not need anyone coming to my aid simply because I am English. I took care of Anyon well enough, and I will defend myself if any of them find
it necessary to attack me, even if I do find it horrible to harbor such hatred for complete strangers based only on where they were born.”

  Several sputters arose from the laundresses, and Jemma turned her head to glare at them. “Do you deny it? There is nothing that you object to in me but the fact that I was born ten miles from here on land that is considered English. It is naught but something you learned from your—”

  She lost focus of what point she was attempting to make, her mind simply going blank. Shutting her mouth, she stared back at the laundresses until she forgot why she was looking at them. Turning her head, she discovered Gordon standing only a foot from her.

  “Well, as you see, I handled everything myself. I meant no disrespect of course.”

  “Aye, of course.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Her thoughts began to turn hazy. “I believe so . . . hmm . . . what did I say again?”

  His blue eyes suddenly fascinated her. He caught her arms and she sighed, because it was the most perfect moment. His gaze settled on the top of her head, and he reached up to touch her, triggering a startling pain that spread through her head.

  “Yer head needs stitching, Jemma.”

  She offered only a soft mutter before everything became a blur of morning sunlight. Bright and perfect with each point of light shattering into a brilliant display of colors that she smiled at.

  “So why is she still sleeping?”

  Jemma winced and opened her eyes to see Gordon pacing. He didn’t pace like any other worried person she’d ever seen walk the floor. Gordon stalked. His feet taking huge steps that covered the length of the bed she lay on in three short strides. He froze when he noticed her looking at him.

  “There, ye see? Exactly as I said. The girl is fine. She was lucky to sleep through the stitching.”

  Gordon grunted. Ula stood near the bed along with another woman who had white hair. She seemed unimpressed with her laird’s disgruntlement.

  “Leave yer head be, girl. I had to stitch ye up, but it’s in yer hair so the scar won’t bother ye any once it’s healed.”

  “Stitched me up?” Jemma didn’t stop, but reached for the throbbing spot on the top of her head. She fingered it gently, wincing at the pain that bled out from the light contact.

  The woman grunted. “Ye don’t mind very well. Maybe the laird is right to be suspicious. Could be her mind is wounded.”

  “My mind is not wounded.”

  Gordon snorted, but there was relief in his eyes. “She sounds quite normal to me. Ye have my gratitude for yer service, Vanora.”

  “Seeing the lass well is enough for me. Do ye want me to get on with inspecting her so that ye can marry?”

  “I didn’t promise to marry him.”

  Vanora turned a curious stare toward her. “Well now, girl, if that’s so, I wonder where ye get the idea to argue so publicly with the laird. I thought surely ye were his bride, and even then, I still wonder how ye thought to escape being chastised for such. But if ye are nae his bride-to-be, well, I believe that Anyon will have a bit of company in the stocks.”

  “Give us a moment alone.”

  Ula and Vanora both inclined their heads before leaving the chamber.

  “I shouldn’t have argued with you in public, I know that, but I’m not saying it to avoid the stocks, either.”

  “Then why are ye saying it, lass?” Gordon crossed his arms over his chest, looking far too forbidding. It was another glimpse at that part of him accustomed to being in command.

  “Because it is true. This world needs its rules. Without authority there would be nothing but lawlessness.”

  His expression softened, but that only drew her mind back to what had happened the last time he was alone with her in the chamber.

  “That doesn’t mean I agree that Anyon should be lashed on my account.”

  He growled at her, low and deep, leaving no doubt that he was growing frustrated with her.

  “Since ye just agreed that rules are needed to maintain order, ye can nae disagree with me having her lashed. She tried to drown ye.”

  Jemma sat up and felt her muscles ache with the effort. She tried to conceal the pain, but Gordon read it off her face and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

  “She’ll be getting those lashes, and those who stood there watching will be paying for it, too. I won’t stand for having the women of this castle acting like a pack of wild dogs.”

  “To what end? Punishment will only make your people detest me more. Besides, I gave her what she deserved and I hope she has a bruise marking her face.” Jemma crawled to the edge of the bed, determined to make her point to the stubborn man. “So you can save your pampering, Gordon Dwyre. I have no need of it.”

  “Well now, Jemma, that would leave me only tenderness and passion to give ye.” His eyes flashed with hunger as his hands cupped the sides of her face. “I suppose I could yield to yer desire if ye agree to become my wife.”

  “But why would you want to wed me? Your people detest me.” She shook her head but stopped abruptly when pain shoot through her skull. “All you and I do is fight when we are alone.”

  And end up kissing . . .

  Her cheeks burned with her thoughts.

  “That is nae the reason ye hesitate to agree, Jemma. I would know yer reason to resist our union.”

  His eyes filled with challenge, but she shook off his hands to stand up.

  “You want to know my reason? Well, sir, I don’t believe I know it myself. You brought me here only a few days past and set me here to deal with your mistress while taking away my boots to keep me from leaving. The hallway is rather chilly in the morning on bare feet, I can tell you. However much you might say you are outraged, I notice that you said nothing of sending her away. Did you soothe your desire last night with her once you left me? That would account for her temper this morning.”

  Gordon crossed his arms over his chest. “She would have been content and smiling if I’d taken my hard cock to her yesterday. We had words last night that I should have realized might enrage her.”

  Jemma felt her eyes widen. “You admit that you went to her last night after leaving me?”

  Gordon shrugged, his body looking far too relaxed for the topic. Jemma felt as if her emotions were going to burst through her exterior and send her lunging toward him just like Anyon had attacked her. She was jealous and had no idea how to deal with it.

  “I’ll tell ye straight that she was waiting on me when I left ye last evening, and offered herself to me.” He lifted a hand and pointed a thick finger at her. “But I didna use her, which accounts for her rage this morning. She’ll receive her lashes, and that will make an example to anyone else who might think to argue against who I bring here as my bride. Ye’ll be mistress here.”

  “You mean I will be your wife.”

  His forehead creased with confusion. “My wife will be the mistress of this castle. They are one and the same.”

  “I don’t believe so. Those that you enjoy your riding with will always be considered more powerful than the Englishwoman you bring home for her dowry.”

  He shook his head, but there was anger burning in his eyes. “Didna I prove anything to ye yesterday, Jemma? ’Twas yer trust I was hoping to secure by leaving ye a virgin.” He snorted. “I can see that has nae happened yet, but I swear that I will have ye one way or another.”

  “Is that a threat?” She tossed her head and squared her shoulders. “Well, I am not frightened of you Gordon Dwyre.”

  Only the way you make me feel.

  He closed the distance between them, one hand cupping her chin in a firm hold.

  “Which is why I promise ye that I will be sharing yer bed tonight. Ye aren’t afraid of me because ye feel the same attraction that I do, ’tis a powerful thing and neither of us will be happy until we stop denying it. I wanted to give ye time to become accustomed to it, but I will nae have yer place here questioned again.”

  “Don’t you dare try to protect me.”


  “And why not?” he snarled through his clenched teeth at her, obviously frustrated. “Not only am I laird here, but I brought ye here, Jemma, so protecting ye is a point of honor.”

  “Would you allow me to step between you and any man that threatened you?”

  He drew in a sharp breath. “I would not.”

  “It is the same thing when you insist on stepping between me and your clanswomen. I’ll deal with the women who try their hand at intimidating me, and I want you to stay out of it. There will be no lashings unless I order them.”

  “That would only be yer place if ye are my wife, Jemma.”

  “Our courtship is not a classical one, grant me my will, Barras, even if you don’t agree it is my place to insist on it. I don’t want you sheltering me.”

  He stiffened but held his next words back. Jemma watched him fight back the urge to order her to accept his will. She was asking too much for the world that they lived in. A woman’s place was beneath the authority of a man. She might also end up in the stocks with her back lashed for saying that she did not want to follow that natural order. It was considered unnatural and obviously something that needed to be cured.

  Gordon suddenly chuckled. It wasn’t a nice sound but one of contemplation.

  “I’ll grant the women mercy because I see that the only way I’ll earn yer trust is to recognize that ye need some of the same things that I do. Ye need to know that ye aren’t helpless, ’tis something I can see the value of. That is the reason we’re so drawn to each other, Jemma, we’re very much alike.”

  “I disagree.”

  He snorted with male amusement. “Exactly my point. Ye disagree because ye do nae care for me telling ye what to think. I like to keep me own counsel, too. Ye can speak yer mind freely behind closed doors, lass, but when it comes to the others ye will recall what ye said about this order coming from there being rules.”