by Mary Wine
She found a small river to allow the animal to drink. She lay down, intending to close her eyes for only a moment while the mare drank its fill. But sleep smothered her intentions, taking control of her the moment her body was at ease. Her will ended up succumbing to the needs of her body and the warm weather. The grass felt perfect against her cheek while the scent of new plants made her sleep deep and restful.
***
Riding all night didn’t normally bother Quinton. The dawn showed him his castle, and it was a fine sight, made even better by the knowledge that Deirdre was inside. He didn’t make the mistake of thinking she was waiting on him. Well, he wouldn’t say she’d admit she was anticipating his return.
But part of him wanted her to.
He paused, holding his stallion back while he contemplated the towers turning gold in the rising sunlight. His stallion snorted, eager to return to his stable.
He was itching to find his bed too—the one he’d shared with Deirdre. He cursed the time it had taken him to return, for it had cost him the dark hours of the night. Those hours when he might have pulled Deirdre close and there wouldn’t have been any fight left between them. Now that the day had begun, she’d be ready to spit at him once more. He’d been ignoring her attempts to talk. Maybe that was cowardice on his part, but avoiding any possibility of her talking her way into leaving him was what he wanted. He didn’t understand his need for her, but he knew that he dreaded seeing her leave.
His cock stirred even as he regretted missing the opportunity to simply savor having her near.
He chuckled softly, amused by his own contrariness. He set his heels into the sides of his stallion, and the animal surged forward toward Drumdeer.
Beware, hellion…
***
Amber struggled to stifle a yawn on her way into her mistress’s chamber. It wouldn’t do for the lady to think she was not up to the challenge of serving her. She opened the shutters and listened carefully for any sounds from the bed, but the chamber remained silent.
Too quiet, really. Tension began to creep through her, and she turned to look at the bed with suspicion. The feeling that something was not right refused to leave her. It twisted in her belly, making her move toward the bed in spite of the fact her mistress had yet to call for her.
A snap made her jump and sent her heart pounding at a frantic pace. She turned to find her laird standing behind her. Amber pressed a hand over her lips to seal her cry of surprise inside. Her laird winked, and she lowered her hand while staring at him in confusion.
Try as she might, she couldn’t recall seeing Quinton Cameron, Earl of Liddell and laird of the Cameron, ever do anything as playful as wink. He grinned at her and chuckled softly while gesturing her toward the door.
“I’ll wake yer mistress up, lass,” he whispered when she passed him.
She had to lift her hand and press it against her lips again to avoid laughing while she was still in the chamber, but once she made it down the first few steps, she giggled. The girls on their way up to help her looked at her with confusion on their faces.
“Let’s go to the hall. The laird just returned.”
Understanding dawned on them all, and knowing gleams entered their eyes. A few more giggles floated up the stairs to amuse the men outside the chamber door.
***
Quinton grinned, anticipating Deirdre’s annoyance with him waking her up. But the idea of what that fiery temper might be used for sent him toward the bed. He needed her before the demands of his station began to nip at him once again. In fact, it was amazing how strong his desire was to seek her out.
“Ye’ll have to admit that I wore ye out or that ye remained awake waiting for me last night, since ye are still in bed,” Quinton muttered softly. He tugged his shirt over his head and tossed his boots aside.
“But I am no’ complaining. The idea of waking ye up is most pleasant….” He crawled into the bed, sending his hands beneath the covers in search of his lover.
All he encountered was cold sheets. He searched the bed, disbelief coursing through him. He felt her loss like a cut, and it stung too much to contain. He bellowed with rage, while throwing the bedding to the floor to make sure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him.
But Deirdre was not in the bed. He stared at that certainty as rage began to burn inside him so hot, he knew without a doubt why some men went insane over women.
She’d left him, and it hurt.
So fucking badly, he wished there were a man taking her from him, because he wanted someone to kill.
***
Amber was pushed into the wall by Coalan as he rushed up the stairs in response to his laird’s cry. It was one of rage; there was no mistaking that. People in the yard heard it, and more Cameron retainers took the stairs at a run in their efforts to get to their laird’s side. Amber followed, horror flooding her when she reached the top floor and found only men inside the chamber. The bedding was strewn across the floor, proving that her mistress was nowhere to be found.
“Saddle fresh horses and do it fast, because I’m riding out!” Quinton roared. He turned a deadly look toward Amber.
“When was the last time ye saw yer mistress?”
The men surrounding their laird parted, leaving her facing him. There was no hint left of the teasing man who had winked at her. Fury danced in his eyes. He snarled as he shoved his foot into one of his boots, but it was the word “mistress” that stiffened Amber’s spine. She wanted the position of lady’s maid, and it wouldn’t be given to a coward.
“Just before sunset. The lady claimed that she wanted to eat here.” Amber looked over at the table where the forgotten meal still sat. Coalan knocked the linen cloths covering the dishes aside to see what lay beneath. But Amber was the one who knew exactly what was missing.
“She took the bread and cheese… and one cloth,” she announced, but a hint of silk velvet visible over the table made her pause and lean down to pick up the discarded overrobe. It was wrinkled from having been lying in a puddle on the floor all night long, and the delicate slippers were beneath it.
“What is she wearing?”
Amber crossed to the large wardrobe that contained all the finery Deirdre had arrived with. She had hung each robe there herself, and she counted them twice before turning back to look at the laird.
“Nothing is missing, no’ a single veil.”
Quinton grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head. “Well, I sure as hell hope the men on the gate would have noticed a naked woman walking through it. Find out who gave her the clothing I forbid her to have.”
There was a gasp from one of the girls who had followed Amber. Every head in the room turned toward her. She turned white, shaking visibly beneath the weight of so many stares.
“Speak up, girl. Tell me what she’s wearing and how she came to have it. I told ye to keep her in her silks for a reason.”
The girl shrank beneath the tone her laird used, but one of her friends shoved her forward with a hiss.
“I… I… well… the lady… she found the stack of… of… maid’s robes that were made for… yer bride… in the storeroom, beneath the solar… She bid me bring them here, because she’d be needing something warm to wear while ye… were away.”
Quinton tilted his head and suddenly lost a great deal of his rage. Oh, he was furious, no doubt about it, but he just couldn’t help but be impressed by Deirdre’s cunning. He propped his hands on his hips.
“Well, lads… she will nae get far on bread and cheese. Someone get down to the stable and see if she took a horse. The rest of ye, out until I’ve finished dressing.”
There was a shuffle toward the door, but Coalan remained. “Why are ye intent on following her, Laird?”
Quinton pulled his bonnet on and shot his captain a knowing look. “For the same reason yer eyes follow young Amber around like a toddler watches his mother.” Quinton secured the cuffs of the shirt with a soft growl. “And I don’t care to admit it any more than ye d
o, Coalan, so kindly grant me the privacy to deal with it in me own way.”
“Riding out after her isna private.”
Quinton grunted. He wanted to curse the man for arguing with him, but Coalan was in his position because he didn’t shirk away from facing him when his mood was dark.
“Well now… if ye’re of the mind to let me ride out alone, so be it.”
Coalan made a low sound in his throat. “No’ while I’ve got breath in me body,” he announced. “Hate me all ye like, Laird, but I’m going with ye. I do nae need those cursed Douglas trying to claim Cameron land because ye went and got yerself killed before having a son.”
Quinton snorted. “I rather like ye, Coalan. Why else would I forget to mention ye were the one who left that wound on my mistress’s leg?”
Quinton pointed to the unsheathed dagger that was tucked into his belt.
Coalan looked stunned, his expression becoming perplexed as he thought about what his laird had said. Rage suddenly darkened his complexion.
“It’s nae a good habit, I know, but it’s never caused a problem before…”
“It was nae intentional, and ye might like to know that Deirdre was the one who told me such.”
“That does nae excuse me actions.” Coalan took the dagger and pushed it into the top of his boot where it belonged. There was look of self-incrimination flickering in his eyes that Quinton had to respect. Every man made his own choices and the best men held themselves accountable for their actions.
“I’m going after her, and I do nae want to think about why.” It was honest and harsh. Call him a possessive bastard, fine. But he was going to chase Deirdre down, and maybe, after he caught her, he’d be able to understand why the need was threatening to burn him alive.
No one noticed the maid who lingered in the bedchamber. She offered the bare chamber a smug smile. Wasn’t it just like a noble laird to dismiss a girl like herself and never see her? She shrugged and reached down for the letter that was sitting on the seat of the laird’s chair. Thank goodness she’d seen it first and shoved the chair beneath the table in time to keep it hidden. She picked it up and tucked it into her bodice before swiping some dishes off the table and carrying them through the doorway. No one paid her any mind, and she smiled brighter, this time with victory.
***
Someone pushed her.
Deirdre moaned, her head aching from too little sleep. She didn’t want to rise yet.
The next nudge was harder.
“I’m tired, Quinton Cameron… go away… I need to sleep, no’ to deal with yer demands.”
“Now there’s an interesting bit of information.”
Deirdre’s eyes flew open, because the male voice didn’t belong to Quinton, and it was far too smug for her comfort. She scrambled to her feet but discovered that she stood facing several men who were all intently staring at her. Their plaids were green and cranberry, giving her a slight bit of relief because they belonged to the Hay clan.
But only a tiny amount of comfort, for the Hay clan and her own were not friends, not since her father had been handfasted to the laird’s sister. It had happened when she was very young herself, and she didn’t recall much of what had caused her father not to wed the girl.
“Who are ye to Laird Cameron?”
The man who spoke wore a bonnet with three feathers sticking straight up. She stared at them for a moment, cursing her lack of luck.
“That’s right,” he continued. “I’m Kagan Hay, and I want to know what ye are doing wearing the crest of the Earl of Liddell so plainly but without any escort near ye.”
Deirdre looked at her overrobe and noticed the carefully embroidered crest of the Earl of Liddell placed prominently on the sleeve. She’d been so excited over finding the robes that she hadn’t looked at them completely. It had been a grave error on her part, for to wear the crest was to use the authority of the earl. A person might be hung for such an offense if the nobleman demanded it.
“I’m on my way…”
“Oh aye… I can see that ye clearly rode the night through, for that’s about how long it would have taken ye to make it to me land from Cameron’s.” Kagan’s gaze swept her from head to toe. “And it explains why ye were dead to the world about ye too. Now answer me. Why are ye wearing that shield?”
Kagan Hay loomed over her, his dark eyes as hard as the sword he had strapped to his back. His men aimed similar looks at her, condemning her before she even had the chance to speak.
Well, she hadn’t come so far to be stopped by men who only wanted to help out a fellow laird. She raised her chin and faced them with every bit of fiery spirit Quinton had ever accused her of having.
Some curses had good uses after all, it would seem.
Six
“It is nothing for ye to be concerned about, Laird Hay,” Deirdre informed him. “Unless ye are so possessive of yer land that no one might sleep upon it without yer permission.”
A hint of amusement entered his eyes. “I would nae say that about me, but I’ll admit I am rather defensive of me fellow lairds. Wearing that shield carries the authority of the Cameron clan.”
“Ye think I do nae know such a thing? Well, I do, and there is no need for ye to stand in me way while I’ve places to be going.” She was being brazen, but there was no way she was going to get past Kagan Hay without demanding it. He was clearly no fool. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be handled by the right woman.
“I’ve places to be,” she informed him and went to walk past him, but he hooked a hand around her upper arm and held it tight while he studied the shield.
“These were made for Quinton’s bride to use. The Ross shield is below the Cameron one.”
“Release me.”
Kagan Hay shook his head. “I think no’, lass. Ye do nae belong in this clothing, but ye must have been at Drumdeer to get it. Yer comment when I woke ye told me that much.”
There was a knowing glint in his eyes that sent heat into her cheeks.
“I never said that I was nae at Drumdeer, only that I’ve places to go. I’m Robert Chattan’s daughter, and I have been granted a place by the queen.”
Kagan released her. Relief surged through her, but it didn’t last long. Kagan’s expression had darkened dangerously.
“You’d have something to prove that, if it were so.”
Deirdre pulled the folded parchment from her bodice.
Kagan wasn’t impressed. “This isna sealed.”
“The wedding never took place, so there is no reason for anyone to be so concerned about me wearing an overrobe that means nothing.”
“Robert Chattan’s daughter would know better,” Kagan informed her. “A daughter of any Highland laird would know that wearing the arms of any clan is the same as the plaid. Ye’re making a statement about who ye are, and if ye wear that crest and are nae loyal to the Earl of Liddell, ye might be intent on doing harm by using the respect other men have for him.”
He gripped her arm once more. “So ye’re coming along, because I’ll no’ be leaving ye loose to poison one of me fellow lairds. Do nae worry. I’ll send a letter up to Drumdeer.”
“I am Robert Chattan’s daughter. Send yer letter to him.” But the men riding with Kagan Hay didn’t believe her. They cast suspicious looks at her, because Kagan had made a good point. Wearing the crest on her arm would grant her entry into any castle in the Highlands. Quinton’s position was that high. No one would want to risk offending him by refusing her shelter. Failing to see the crest had been a grave mistake on her part. Kagan could lock her away in a cell, and none of his fellow lairds would think anything wrong with it, for they would agree that she might have been about murdering one of them under the protection of the crest.
“Are ye now? Well, that’s one thing—I know someone who can help me prove whether or no’ ye are telling the truth. There is no need to risk sending one of me men onto the land of a clan that is nae friendly with the Hay.”
“My father is nae feuding
with ye.”
“But we are nae friendly either. If ye were his daughter, ye’d know that.”
Kagan took a length of leather from one of his men. That same man grabbed her forearms so that his laird might tie her wrists together. Kagan knotted the leather but tested the binding to make sure it wasn’t too tight. She stared for a moment at the bindings, disbelief holding her in its grasp.
Her luck was rotten, and that was a fact.
Deirdre snorted at him. “What’s yer concern, Laird Hay? I thought ye have already judged me guilty. What matters a bit of pain?”
He slipped one fingertip beneath another loop of the leather. “It matters even if ye are a liar, because I am nae a bastard who does nae care how me decisions affect the people I make them about. Besides, ye might be telling the truth, and I’d hate to have the Chattan raiding me land by harvest moon because I treated their laird’s daughter badly.”
“Ye men think of naught but fighting.”
Kagan Hay grinned at her. “If the words ye spoke when ye woke are true, ye know Quinton Cameron thinks of other, more pleasing things too. I confess to having the same tendency from time to time. It might be interesting to see which man will thank me the most for sending him news of just where ye are.”
“I am no’ Quinton Cameron’s wife or even a Cameron. Ye should send word to me father.”
Kagan’s face became serious. “I understood very clearly what ye are to Quinton, and the fact that ye are wearing this robe tells me he liked having ye enough to give ye freedom among his private possessions. I think he will be looking for ye, for ye would nae be on the road alone even if he’d discarded ye. Quinton Cameron is an honorable man who would nae place a lass in such peril. So ye stole that robe with the intention of doing something that he would no’ approve, and that is a fact. Robert Chattan’s daughter or nae, I will no’ allow ye to roam free on me land.”
“Untie me, and I’ll happily leave yer land.”