by D. K. Combs
Saeran smiled uneasily. He didn't give her a bad feeling—as in, he wasn't coming off as lecherous. The boy was simply curious. That, she could understand.
"The king has many family members. It's easy for him to get confused," she said, feeding the lie Blaine and her had agreed on.
"Yes, well. That's interesting enough." He leaned against the wall, gazing at her still. Saeran heard her sister vaguely call her name and he raised a brow. "Don't tell me you'll go running after her like a pup."
Saeran frowned.
"She is my sister. I have to escort her."
"There are plenty of people here that could take her to the village. She needs another woman to do the shopping with her." He frowned. "Although, the laird won't like her going to the village at all right now."
"Why is that?"
"I am not sure if I should tell you," he said ruefully. The charming, boyish smile drew her back.
Saeran, ever curious, leaned forward. "You can tell me. I'm an excellent keeper of secrets." She might be an excellent keeper, but lying for them...not her specialty.
"No, I think it best that I keep it to myself for now. The laird wouldn't be so pleased to have his fun spoiled."
She couldn't stop her derisive snort. "The laird would not know how to have fun if a jester were dancing in front of him."
He frowned sharply. "You cannot say such things about him, especially in the open. It's highly offensive."
"It's the truth. I saw the way he thundered into the hall like the devil himself was on his back. All that was missing was the horns." Saeran watched a reluctant smile come over the boy's face, a charming one that made her want to smile. "May I be frank?"
"Yes, of course," he said, leaning forward conspiratorially. If it hadn't been for the gleam of humor in his eyes, she would have walked away. His interest in her was intense, but not enough that she couldn't overlook it and see a future friend.
She had never had a friend, not besides Blaine and a boy she'd known when she was younger. Her sister liked to keep Saeran to herself, and she didn't mind. Books and her sister was all she had needed after their parents death.
"I am worried for my sister's safety," she said quietly, glancing down the hall. She hadn't heard or seen her sister in a couple of moments, and with Blaine's fickle mind, she might get off the hook just this once.
The boy burst into laughter. Just like his smile, it was charming, though there was a tone to it she'd never heard. It wasn't unpleasant, but it made her curious.
"Trust me when I say that your sister does not need to fear the laird."
"What about myself?" she asked. "Should I fear being sent away? He would not let me be his squire. I'm merely a chaperone for my sister. The second they are married, he'll send me away."
His laughter returned with full force. "Oh, you're killing me here! Listen," he said, choking down his amusement. "I swear to you, you do not have to worry about being sent away because of a marriage."
She frowned. "You say that strangely. Why?"
"For private reasons," he said, chuckling. He covered his hand with his mouth, an oddly feminine gesture. "Soon enough, you'll know everything."
"Aye? How soon? What is there to know?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "I ought to be like my sister and demand answers."
His eyes rolled. Again, a very...feminine gesture, at least the way he did it. She looked closer. Was that...was that blush, upon his cheeks?
"I've heard much about your sister and her demands. I do not think I could handle them from her brother as well, unfortunately."
Saeran laughed despite herself.
"For some reason, I agree with you."
Their laughter fell into an odd silence.
Finally, when it became too much for Saeran, she bowed her head. "It was nice to—"
"My name is Connor," he blurted, sticking his hand out. She stared at it. "Laird Shaw's squire."
Tentatively, she held out her hand. As a lady, she never "shook hands". It was bowing, nodding, and curtseying. He didn't comment on how utterly foolish she looked as she worked the dynamics of the manly handshake. If anything, his smile widened.
"Would you walk with me?" he asked, gesturing down the hall, in the direction her sister had went. Now that Blaine had forgotten about her, she didn't want to put herself in Blaine's vision, but nodded, knowing that if her mother saw her refuse a gentleman's offer, she'd be horrified.
"How long have you been a squire?" she asked. Saeran had no clue how small-talk was made, especially between two men.
"For as long as I can remember."
"Is that...bad?"
He gave her a look. "In some eyes, yes. The laird has been very generous and understanding. My father and he were friends, and once my father realized I had no intention of becoming a knight, he made it his goal for me to become one."
"Why would you not wish to become a knight?"
He gave her a small smile. "I've proven to these highlanders that lowlanders are just as lazy as we appear."
Despite the barb at her own people, Saeran snickered. "Your humor is most dry. I'll have you know, my sister and I come from the Lowlands. It was not all that bad."
Connor ran his eyes over Saeran, then turned a raised brow to her. She flushed. "If you'd have grown up here, you would not look like a leaf."
She scowled. "You're not much better yourself!"
"Yes, well, I'm a squire in partial-name-only. I am not required to be buff and masculine. For you, on the other hand...you're out here chaperoning your sister. One should have some skill in combat for that sort of thing. The men out here are like rabid dogs. If one of them so desired Blaine, they'd take her without a second thought, and bully you for being a leaf."
"I am not a leaf, sir," she said, though she was trying her best not to laugh. "I am but a las—lad who has taken the slender side of the family. 'Tis not a crime where I come from."
"That is true. However, in the Highlands, it's kill or be killed and you, my lord, are of the size to be killed."
"What if I were smart? Would I be more likely to survive then?" His words were no longer amusing her. Images of being ran through with a sword played in her mind and she shuddered. Blaine was a rare find—men would come for her left and right before they learned who she was intended to. And Saeran! Saeran was expected to protect her sister's honor by defending her.
Connor laughed. "Half the men in these parts have more muscle than brain, my lord."
So basically, she was not in luck's favor. Saeran's shoulders slumped.
"Do not worry. I happen to like men who are more slender than burly. It's refreshing."
"You like..." She stopped before she could finish the sentence. Not only was it ridiculous, but it made her feel like a fool for beginning to suspect something that couldn't be possible.
But he blushed. Sweetly. Adorably. Confirmingly. She moved away from him so quickly that she bumped into the wall. Saeran stared at him with wide eyes.
"'Tis not a secret around here that I do not prefer women."
"What—"
He came close to her, bracing his hands on either side of her head. Suddenly, all of those odd gestures made sense, the look in his eyes when he'd first seen her, the way he'd gazed at her as if she were a piece of meat to be devoured.
Saeran was so stunned that she couldn't move as his head dipped to her neck.
"Sir, this is—"
"The laird has always been tolerant of my ways," he murmured soothingly. "He will not care if we share something like this."
"This is—too fast—I'm not like that—"
He chuckled, reaching up to rub a thumb over her cheek. "There's no need to lie about it. Your flirting was enough for me."
"What on earth—" He puckered like a fish and moved in for the kill. Quicker than she'd ever moved in her life, Saeran ducked under his arms and backed away from him. He whirled around, face full of confusion, and reached for her arm. She expected a wall to catch her as sur
prise shook her, focused solely on what Connor had just tried to do to her.
There wasn't. All there was to save her was a banister—which her fingers missed.
Fear locked in her throat, but before she could tumble to her death, Connor grabbed her by her shirt, right in the center. His fingers curled not only around her shirt, but the binding that spread over her breasts. The shirt tore under his fingers, revealing the binding.
His quick grab was enough to give her time to grab the banister, and thank The Lord, because a second later he was swiping his hands on his thighs as if he'd touched fire.
The look he gave her told her everything she needed to know. She quickly gathered the edges of her shirt together, cursing herself. She hadn't put on the shift after her bath because of the way it clung to her body, and now, she might just pay for her lapse.
"Why," he hissed, "do you have breasts?"
THT | 8
"Did ye' talk to the king about the MacLeods?"
He looked up at Brodrick, a man he'd known since they were but bairns. His face was cast in shadows because of the darkness in the hall, and it was just how it should have been. The windows were covered and the only source of light came from the candles and the fire in the hearth. Though it was Spring, the Highlands became chilly easily, and with the two children that were now running around his castle, he didn't want his castle to be an ice block.
Kane grunted. "Every time I come in contact with the king we talk of those bastards."
"Ye' didn't tell him about the latest attack?" Brodrick grunted. The two of them were in the hall, watching the maids right it to its original glory, and drinking some ale. He didn't normally turn the spirits, and after his brilliant plan on his way home, he'd thought he was done with them, but now things were different.
Very, very different.
"The king willna understand these matters," he commented, knowing it was the truth. He never did. Just like the rest of the Lowlanders, he had no notion of what it took to be a cheiftan, thinking it only fun and games. That opinion coming from a man who ruled far more lands than Kane was chaffing, which was one of the contributing reasons why he didn't bother the king with the MacLeods.
The MacLeods, however, didn't think twice about running to the higher power, and since Kane didn't bother with them like he should, they took advantage of it.
Like right now.
"They're trying to gain the other clan's favor," Brodrick said. "The Blacks haven't sided with them, but the Campbells have."
Kane set down the chalice.
"Why the hell would they be finding allies? Everything is done. The wars are done as far as I'm concerned."
"They donna think it's over," Brodrick said. "Black sent his son here with the warning."
"Ye' can't be serious."
"Unfortunately, I am. The McGregors are coming to talk to you about the feud within a sennight, as well. I do not think the clans are taking well to being petitioned like this." The McGregors were long-time allies of Shaw. Laird McGregor had been the one to pick-up the pieces for Kane after his father's death. He knew without a doubt in his mind who the McGregors were siding with.
"I donna even want this," Kane growled, swiping a hand over his face. "The Campbells are the second largest clan in the Highlands. To go to war with them would be...God damnit. The MacLeod men need to realize that this is over."
Brodrick gave him an arched look. "I had expected ye' to be happy about this. They've been asking for it since the day your sister was betrothed to Hans Grayham, and ye've not been so chaste about battle lately."
"I had planned to be done with it all. Marrying Blaine was to be a cure-all for the clans." He didn’t elaborate. Brodrick stared at him. The story of how the Shaws had almost became extinct by kingly order was well-known—and gave everyone reason to fear Kane.
"Why would the Campbells side with MacLeod, is what I'm wondering," Brodrick grunted. "If it hadn't been for the Campbell's hot-headedness, Helen would be here today. The Campbells are the last people I'd expect the MacLeods to ally themselves with."
"The MacLeods are weak. They haven't been to a proper battle since my parent's marriage. The only clan strong enough to have a fighting chance with us is the Campbells."
"Aye, but we have the McGregors on our side. The fight has already been won."
"Something tells me that MacLeod dosna think anything is over. He's desperate if he's going to Campbell. He's the reason my mother was sent away in the first place."
"I feel like there's something more to this than MacLeod craving blood," Brodrick bit out. They shared a look. Kane couldn't help but to agree with him. MacLeod knew who the greater force was.
Could the king be siding with them again? Though Kane and King James were 'friends'—he used the term lightly, especially after the recent events—the king was always a lover of drama.
"I say we cut them down before they can attack. I donna want my family being put in danger because Alasdair has grown soft in the head."
"Aye," Kane agreed. "But what of the Campbells? Ye' said the McGregors were coming within a sennight. Campebell might have the patience it requires to start an effective battle, but the MacLeod dosna."
"Mayhap less than a sennight. His squire arrived a couple of days ago with news that McGregor was approaching fast." Brodrick paused. "Ye donna think the McGregors are concerned about this, do ye'?" His question held a subtle meaning that was not lost to Kane.
"This battle will not be as bloody as you fear. I can send to the king—"
"I suspect the MacLeods have already done so, and I know ye' do, too, my laird. Though he's your friend, he has always catered to the MacLeods."
"Like a father does with his daughter," Kane grunted.
"Aye, well, the MacLeods are a bunch of wee, undeveloped lassies. They wave their swords around with the vigor of bairn with a feather, and it does just as much damage."
Kane laughed. "You're correct. Truely, if we were to leave now, just the two of us, we would reach MacLeod land in less than a night."
"I donna see the point of us walking out of the lion's den when there are plenty a lass to be found. Ye' haven't taken a moment to yourself in the whole last moon. What could we be leavin' here for if the McGregors are coming?"
Kane grinned. "A little foreplay blood-shed never hurt anyone."
"Were no' ye' just saying ye' didn't want this?" Brodrick said, shaking his auburn head. "Now yer wantin' to play with the girls across the creek. Och, poor Kane. Yer starting to contradict yerself, my friend. Mayhap I should try for lairdship. That way it would be women galore, instead of all this bloodshed."
Kane snorted, then pushed the ale away from him with a rueful shake of his head. "It takes a certain kind of man to be put in my position and not lose his head."
"You've already succumbed to the madness. It's my turn now," Brodrick laughed.
If it had been any other man speaking to him like this, Kane could guarantee that they wouldn't make it away from the table without a black eye. Fortunate for Brodrick, they've been friends since they were wee lads. Kane knew that Brodrick did not envy him his responsibilities, and as far as Kane knew, no one in the clan would dare try him. The feud with the MacLeods was too much of a threat as far as they were concerned, though Kane didn't see it.
The MacLeods were a bunch of bairns waving around a feather. Besides their feeble attempts at attacks and riling Kane to retaliate, they were not a threat. A bee held more promise of danger than that sorry lot.
A sharp, feminine voice jerked him out of his thoughts. The look on Brodricks face made him raise a brow.
"Saeran!" the voice snapped. He recognized it as Blaine Sinclair's voice. The irritation in her voice made him frown. One of the maids, one he'd never seen before, came rushing by him. "I swear, he gets on my nerves so much that I feel as if my head will explode."
"Aye, my lady," the servant murmured, bowing her head and taking Lady Blaine's hand to help her with the final steps.
&n
bsp; "She does that," Brodrick said almost bitterly. "Has the servants help her with every little thing. The last steps of the stairs, lifting a pot. 'Tis like the lady canna support herself." Kane grunted, watching the woman, finally getting a good look at her.
She was quite...thick. Not lean like her brother or small, either. She had seemingly long and thick black hair that could have been pretty, but it was powdered nearly white. The only reason he could tell that it was black was because there was a spot on her head that had been missed. He wondered if the lady knew it was there.
Her gown was a deep red and her neck was filled with jewelry. Even her fingers contained so many rings he imagined it'd be hard for her to bend them. She stopped chattering about Saeran the moment she saw him studying her. A fine blush came over her cheeks, one that could have been becoming, had it not been for the filthy words coming out her mouth.
"My lord!" she said, walking towards him with a ladies gait. His lips pressed and he looked down at his ale.
"Ye' get the same feeling from her that I do, don't ye?" Brodrick muttered. He nodded his head to Kane and then stood to his feet. "I'll leave ye' to it, then."
Kane watched his long-time friend, a man he'd been to battle with countless times, run away from the thick, rounded lady who was striding towards him as if he owned the place. This wasn't how he'd wanted his day to go, if he were honest with himself.
Talk about the clans, find out who the golden nymph swimming in his creek was, and avoid talking to Blaine at all costs. That had been his plan. Now that there was only one sister to deal with, his plan felt foolish—but he was not ready to marry, especially with this lady. She wasn't the bonny girl who'd been swimming in the creek.
She was a viper with a poisoned tongue.
Kane wondered if her brother knew she harbored such thoughts about him. By the way she slyly hid her rancor, he doubted the lad did.
Aye, he definitely had no intention of marrying the chit, but he still had to get her to say yes to the betrothal.
"I've been meaning to talk to you!" she exclaimed, sitting next to him.
"Have ye'," he muttered, grabbing the chalice that he'd just pushed away.