by Mary Wine
Oh… the laird was waiting for her, was he?
“I am too fatigued to appear at the high table. Please extend my apologies to yer laird.”
“Ye are?” the girl asked without thinking. She covered her mouth with her hand when she realized she had spoken her thoughts.
“Well… of course… reading takes skill… no wonder ye’re tired…”
Deirdre paced back and forth while the girl tried to agree with her. It was clear the Cameron maid didn’t think reading would tire anyone. Deirdre itched to march into the hall and tell Quinton Cameron what he might do with his insistence that she be treated like a lady.
But the man was laird at Drumdeer.
That was something she’d do well to remember when her temper was hot. Confronting him in public would no doubt earn her the scorn of his people along with the judgment of the church. As a noble, she’d be expected to respect the fact that God had placed him above her. She might find herself doing time in the stocks for disrespecting him.
“Would ye show me to where I’ll be sleeping and maybe fetch me a bit of something to eat?” Deirdre forced her tone to be sweet. “I’d be in yer debt.”
“Aye… I’d be happy to serve ye… the others are speculating who ye will choose to be yer lady’s maid. I’m Amber, and I’ve been serving here at the castle since I was seven. Me mother still serves in the kitchens along with me sister.”
Amber chattered on as she turned and headed out the door. Deirdre forced herself to keep her eyes on the girl’s back so that the two retainers standing on either side of the door wouldn’t see her glaring at them.
Quinton Cameron was responsible for their presence. Besides, she’d never escape the castle if they thought she had the spirit to try it.
Well… she did. That was something she was going to tighten her fist about and pull it close enough to feel the heat from it. She would join the queen and take the position offered her. It would be something she’d earned, which made it very precious.
Amber took her down the stairs to the bottom of the eagle tower and through a hallway to the next tower.
“It’s up here—a fine chamber. I’ve had the chance to turn the sheets a few times, so I got a look at it. The laird had it furnished well, and it’s facing the river that comes over the hills before it goes under the rocks Drumdeer is perched on.”
That explained the plentiful water supply. Deirdre picked up the front of her robes and climbed behind Amber. The girl was excited, and her pace was brisk. The wound on Deirdre’s leg began to burn as she pushed herself to keep up.
“There… ye can hear the sound of the water now.”
The sound of rushing water came in through the arrow slits. Amber climbed to the third floor before opening a door.
“Here it is… I mean to say… welcome, Lady Deirdre.”
The chamber smelled of beeswax candles. Stepping inside, Deirdre saw three long tapers sitting on a long table with their wicks lit. Amber followed her and reached for the lacing at the back of the overrobe. In a few moments, she had the tighter overgown unlaced and removed. Deirdre sighed, because the underrobe was much more comfortable in spite of how flimsy the fabric was.
“I’ll go and fetch ye some supper.”
Amber turned in a swirl of her wool robes and the length of Cameron plaid that was draped down her back as an arisaid. Every member of a Highland clan wore their colors. It was a way to discourage trouble, because when you trifled with one, you were taking the chance the rest of their clan might retaliate.
Of course, that fact had led to more than one feud, each clan repaying every raid in a chain that became so long, it was hard to recall why it had begun.
The water sound was stronger in the chamber, but Deirdre suddenly realized she was alone. She looked toward the door but stopped when she discovered herself facing one of the men who had been outside the solar doorway. He reached up and tugged on the corner of his hat before closing the door.
Deirdre snarled. She didn’t think she had ever been so frustrated or so full of energy at the end of a day.
She turned around slowly, the idea of investigating another chamber that Quinton had prepared for his bride disgusting her.
But she couldn’t maintain her displeasure. Everything in the chamber was designed to please. She’d have to be spoiled not to notice the thick bedding that waited on the bed to keep her toes from being chilled during the night. The edges of creamy sheets peeked out, and she could tell they had been pressed.
The bed was also surrounded with curtains that would make for a fine place to spend winter evenings. Across from the bed was a fireplace that didn’t have a fire in it, due to the spring weather. The sound of the river was quite soothing, and she crossed the middle of the chamber to one of the windows, which had its shutters closed. Lifting the small bar that kept it closed, she opened it and smiled. The moonlight shimmered off the water and the rocks surrounding it. The sight was magical, the river wide and rushing fast enough with spring runoff to turn frothy with millions of tiny bubbles. She laughed, low and softly, at the magic of the scene. She couldn’t imagine a sight more perfect.
“Ye are a Highland lass, sure enough.”
She jumped and whirled about to face Quinton. She had to blink, because it felt as though she’d imagined his voice, but the man who stood in the doorway was too real to ignore.
“No one loves the Highlands like a lass born here does.” He moved into the chamber, as bold as could be. “I can see the enjoyment shimmering in yer eyes.”
Deirdre propped one hand onto her hip. “What ye see in me eyes is annoyance with the way ye walk in here like I’m yer mistress and being alone together in a bedchamber is commonplace for us.”
His lips split in an arrogant smile. “I never called the attraction between us common, Deirdre Chattan. I know it for the rare treasure it is.”
He was very serious, the tone of his voice deep and even. She looked away to hide the pleasure that flared up inside her. She was disgusted by just how much she enjoyed hearing him praise her ability to attract his attention. His title alone would have every mother in Scotland pushing their daughters forward in the hope he’d take a fancy to them. She’d happily have the man give some attention to her reputation instead and seek out another.
But turning her gaze away from him was a mistake. He was no soft nobleman. He cupped her chin, having crossed the distance between them while her attention wasn’t on him; his warm fingers closed gently around her jaw to turn her back to face him. Sensation snaked down her spine, and she jerked away from him, earning a soft chuckle.
“Besides, I am nae so sure being alone with ye is no’ more of a danger for me.”
She stepped to the side, the wall behind her back making her nervous. The man might be teasing her, but there was a promise lurking in his eyes, which unleashed another ripple of awareness that moved down her body and awakened yearnings she had spent most of the day telling herself to forget.
“Being in here with me blackens my name, and ye know it, Laird Cameron.”
His smile faded. “If ye wanted to be formal, ye should have followed young Amber to the hall, Deirdre.” He spoke her name in a deeper tone of voice that bordered on husky. “But I admit I prefer sharing supper with ye in a more private setting.”
She didn’t miss the warning he was giving her, or that he was showing her his power without the slightest hint of remorse. But she realized she would have been disappointed if he’d taken her dismissal of him and left her in peace. It was the truth she enjoyed his boldness, but that only sent a shaft of nervousness through her, because it was dangerous for her to like anything about him.
It might very well be disastrous for the future she had planned and had risked so much for. It was doubtful the queen would have a maid with scandal clinging to her skirts.
“I am nae breaking bread with ye,” she informed him.
He crossed his arms over his chest. The pose made his upper arms bulge. He was on
ly wearing a shirt and his kilt. She stared for a long moment at his uncovered hair, as shiny as a raven’s wing.
“And why no’?”
The door suddenly opened, and Amber appeared with a bright smile on her lips. She carried a large platter covered with a silver dome into the room. Behind her came three other girls, all carrying things they took to the table. They set two places, and one girl poured ale from a pitcher into two goblets before she and her companions all lowered themselves and fled. But the door didn’t close fast enough to stop Deirdre from hearing the giggles the girls released once they had made it to the stairs.
“Oh… ye see? They all think I’m yer slut.” She threw her hands into the air and turned her back on Quinton.
But she whirled back around when he tipped his head back and laughed. Her temper sizzled, and she crossed the distance between them without thinking about it. The only thought in her head was the impulse to thrash him.
“Toad! Slime-covered, muck-caked leech…”
Her first blow landed on his shoulder, popping loudly, but he ducked, and her next slap went over his head. With nothing solid for her hand to land on, she lost her balance and tumbled forward. Quinton bent his knee, and she fell right over his shoulder.
“Now there’s my hellion.”
A smothered sound of rage bounced off the stone walls as he surged upward with her hanging over his shoulder like a sack of barley. One arm clamped across her thighs. Pain spiked through her in a white-hot jolt that sent her straightening up as stiff as a tree trunk.
“Put me down, Quinton!”
He did so, tossing her onto the bed with a frown darkening his face. She rolled from side to side, unable to do anything else because the pain was so intense. Sparkling lights danced before her eyes, and she couldn’t seem to force enough breath into her lungs. Her entire body was as tight as a bowstring. She reached for the wound, unconsciously covering it in an urge to protect herself.
“What ails ye, lass?”
Deirdre drew in a deep breath as the pain settled into a throb that was bearable. Quinton didn’t wait for her to answer him. He knelt beside her, and she felt the brush of his hand against her bare skin as he swept her clothing up in one swift motion.
“Quinton—” Deirdre sat up, but he pushed her back down with one hand flattened against her belly. Shock raced through her as she tried to decide how she’d managed to end up in bed with the man’s hand on her bare thigh.
“Get yer hand off my thigh.” she insisted and struggled back up, propping her elbows against the bed to make it harder for him to push her down. “And lower my robes this instant.”
She froze when she meet his gaze. His eyes were icy now, and she shivered but still reached for the fabric bunched up near the top of her thigh.
“Who cut ye?” Each word was razor sharp. He pressed his hand down on top of her robes, stilling her efforts to cover her leg. He used his free hand to tug at the wrapping Tully had bound the wound with. Once it was free, he tossed it aside and studied the damage.
“This is fresh.” He wasn’t asking a question, and Deirdre discovered herself ill at ease with the anger she heard in his voice. It wasn’t directed at her but that bothered her, because it hinted at the man caring about her for more than just easing his lust.
“Ye shouldna be baring my leg like this.”
He growled, the sound menacing, but she refused to be intimidated by it and struggled against the hand he was using to hold her down. With a snort, he stood. She shoved her robes back into place but couldn’t hide the wince that resulted when she sat up and the muscle in her leg was forced to help her rise.
“Who did that, Deirdre? Ye’ll answer me.”
“Or what?” She stood and walked past him, needing to put the bed behind her while he was in the chamber with her. “Ye are nae my laird—”
“Or yer father… or yer lover, but we can certainly change that one if that is what it takes to gain a bit of cooperation from ye.”
His arm came around her, pulling her toward his body. She gasped and turned to fend him off, only to have her action aid him in trapping her against his body. Her head only reached the top of his shoulders, and she suddenly felt the difference in their strength. Her body quivered, but he didn’t press a savage kiss against her lips as she had expected.
It was worse than that.
Quinton cupped the back of her head, raising her face so their eyes met. For one moment, she felt like a bolt of lightning shot into her eyes from his. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against her temple, the skin feeling more sensitive than she had ever noticed it being before.
“Ye smell good.” His lips landed on her cheeks next, directly on the spot that flushed hot in response to his first kiss. “And ye taste delicious.”
“Stop this nonsense.”
He lifted his head, and she stared into his eyes once more, but this time, they had turned dark blue, passion narrowing them. She stiffened, her body responding to that look without any conscious decision. It was pure response, her flesh yielding to the touch of the man holding her.
It felt delicious…
“We mustn’t, Quinton.” Her words were a softly spoken plea, torn from the last shred of rational thought she possessed.
He leaned down, his breath brushing against the delicate skin of her neck before she felt the press of his lips. She found herself anxiously waiting for the touch of lips. Her heartbeat accelerated as she stopped attempting to push him away. Instead she spread her fingers wide over the hard expanse of his chest, delighting in the feeling of his body.
“Are nae ye tired of shunning every touch because men in sackcloth robes tell ye to?” He placed twin kisses behind her ear before capturing her earlobe between his lips. She gasped, pleasure flowing down her body. “What happened to the lass who went after what she wanted?”
She laughed at him, and his arms slackened. She moved away from him, turning to face him with her hands propped on her hips. “Ye understand me well enough. I agreed to this charade because I want a place that is my own, and the queen promised me one in exchange for helping her.”
He grunted. “I believe ye, but that was nae the topic I was discussing with ye.” He curled one finger at her. “Come back here, Deirdre, and admit ye want me to be yer lover because my touch makes ye burn and ye recognize I would give ye as much as ye give me.”
“I do nae doubt ye’d be a good lover.” She gasped when she realized what she’d said aloud. “Oh… do nae start smirking at me like I shined yer ego with that comment. It meant nothing.”
He chuckled anyway and closed the space between them with one long step. “I disagree; it meant something to me.”
She moved away. “Well… enjoy it, then, for it is all ye shall have. Men are no’ the only ones with honor, ye know. Securing myself a place with the queen will make my father proud.” Her gaze returned to him once more, and passion tormented her with ideas of how good it would feel to go back to his embrace. “If I take another lover, even a titled one, that will only shame my sire more.” She forced herself to look away from him, and her gaze touched the meal that was laid out on the table.
“I am hungry,” she announced.
Quinton muttered an obscenity in Gaelic. “Aye, ye are, but no’ for food.”
She sent a hot look toward him before sweeping her silk velvet robe aside and sitting down. “Yes, for food. It’s little wonder yer contracted bride ran off, if ye were this crude when talking with her.”
One of his dark eyebrows rose. “Ye think ye know something about that because ye heard the tale?” He pulled his sword off his back, untying it at his waist so that even the scabbard was removed. She shivered in response, because that action meant it would be much easier for him to make use of the bed.
Oh stop it!
She had to gain control of her thoughts, or she might as well walk herself over to the bed and be done with it.
“The truth is she was a calculating bitch, raised by her mo
ther to find the highest bidder for her favors like any whore.”
His voice had turned harsh, and she stared at him and the pain that flickered briefly in his eyes.
“I contracted her, but the moment a higher-ranking man rode into court, her mother sent young Mary Ross off to charm him.”
“Is that why ye are still unwed?” she asked before considering the personal nature of her question. “Because ye do nae trust women?”
“I’ve been kept busy trying to keep the Highlanders from fighting with each other so we do nae find ourselves invaded by the English.”
Quinton sat down and moved a freshly ironed cloth aside to reveal a round of bread. He picked up the bread and tore it in half with ease.
“I could have pressed her father to honor my contract with Mary, but I have no desire to be watching me back for daggers every time me kin is near.”
“Most nobles wouldn’t care much about the feelings involved.”
He extended his arm, offering her half the bread. “Is that how ye see me, lass? A man who has a heart so hard, I cannae understand love?”
She took the bread, finding the moment strangely intimate. “Ye seem to be set against allowing the queen to wed the man she wishes.”
He sent another linen fluttering toward the floor with a flick of his fingers and uncovered a small dish of butter.
“Ye are making assumptions, Deirdre. Just because I sent me men after the queen does nae mean I am no’ in favor of her wedding.” He used a knife to spread some of the butter on his portion of the bread, but his eyes remained on her, and there was a hard promise lurking in them. “Save yer accusations for crimes ye know for certain I’ve committed.”
“Such as the fact that I am here, sir, and unable to depart by yer command?”
He opened his mouth and bit off a chunk of bread. He watched her while he chewed, making her wait for his response. It was a tiny torment, because she discovered she wanted to know what his reaction was going to be.
“So ye are, Deirdre, but if I were a blackhearted knave, I never would have allowed ye to lower yer robes.” He propped one elbow on the tabletop. “Unless ye want to accuse me of lacking the ability of being able to stroke yer passions.”