by D. K. Combs
“I think you meant to say something else,” Blaine snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “I do not appreciate being lied to, especially by my own blood! What kind of sister are you, Saeran? If you have something to say, then say it!”
Saeran clenched her hands in her lap. She wouldn’t fuel her sister’s anger, she wouldn’t do anything to worsen the situation. Blaine was only confused and angry and Saeran had spoken out of turn.
She wearily stood, giving her sister a demure smile. The smile was the only block from unleashing the pent-up anger inside of her. “I will retire for the night.”
Blaine watched her with an open mouth, up until she had her hand on the door, ready to escape.
“Oh, no you won’t.” Saeran felt the sharp sting of her sister’s hand slapping against her arm, then her nails dug into Saeran’s skin. She gasped, yanking herself out of her sister’s grip. “You’re only alive because I saved you. You owe it to me to listen to my concerns, Saeran! Or should I go to the laird and tell him who you really are?” Blaine threatened maliciously.
“What is wrong with you?” she burst out, clutching her arm to her chest. It was like Blaine had known she had a bruise there! Blaine opened her mouth to speak, a sneer on her face, but Saeran had had enough. The pain in her arm only furthered her anger. “Nay, do not answer that. I don’t care what is wrong with you. You’ve been acting like a harpy lately and I’ve had enough of it!”
Blaine snapped her mouth closed.
“Instead of making a victim out of yourself where the laird is concerned, maybe you should go to him. You act like everyone has to cater to your every need. Do I have to remind you that he is the laird of these lands? Do I have to remind you that he answers to no one, including you? Goodness, Blaine!” she shouted, throwing her hands up. It felt so amazing to get this off her chest. The whole entire month, she’d been dying to say something, dying to let her sister know how she felt. For the first time in her whole life, Saeran was finally doing it.
“The only thing you do is order people around and complain about them from behind their backs! I’m tired of it, and until you can act like the kind woman I know you can be, I want nothing to do with you. I’m sorry, and I love you, but I’ve simply had enough.” She whirled around, throwing open the door.
“We live in the same castle!” Blaine hissed after her. “I’m of the mind to go to the laird right now and tell him about—”
“Do it,” Saeran snapped. “I dare you to. He’ll be angry at you for cooking up the lie, and then you’ll have to go against me in earning his affections. And if you haven’t noticed, I’ve spent more time with him than you have, and Brodrick already likes me.” Every single word out of her mouth was a bluff. She knew that if the laird found out she was lying to him, he’d be furious, and definitely not considering her for a wife. Connors words came back to her, the ones where he’d said the laird would understand. On the off chance that he was correct, she let her words fly free.
Saeran was sick and tired of being her sister’s lap dog.
Going by the look on Blaine’s face, she believed what Connor did—that the laird wouldn’t mind if Saeran was a woman. She gave her sister a tight-lipped smile and stepped out of the room.
“Unless you want competition with a woman who actually knows how to run the lands she lives on, I suggest you leave me alone and keep your words to yourself.” She slammed the door in her sister’s face, then raced to her room.
The breath she’d been holding was only released once she was leaning against the cool stone wall. At first, she was almost numb to what had just happened. She began to undress, undoing the belt and then sliding up her shirt. Once she had the trews off and was yanking the nightgown she kept hidden under the bed—along with the rest of her womanly clothing—she began to realize what had happen.
That’s when the shock began to settle in.
The nightgown slid down her body. Her hair fell around her shoulders as the pins came out. Panic made her heart pound like a race horses. How had the fight escalated so quickly? Saeran had always been good at keeping herself calm and collected. She had always been able to listen to her sister without complaining.
What had made tonight different?
The relief over realizing that Connor wasn’t an enemy, but an ally? Her sister’s constant demand for everything and anything? How selfish her sister was beginning to appear?
Aye, she’d saved Saeran’s life by making doing this, and she’d said she’d done it out of love. But if she had done it out of love, she wouldn’t throw it in Saeran’s face every day. She wouldn’t make a point out of it to her whenever she wanted something or didn’t like something that Saeran did. If she really had done it out of love, the “sacrifice” wouldn’t need to be brought up every minute!
Saeran didn’t want to seem ungrateful for what her sister was doing for her, but what was there to be grateful about?
Her life was not better than it had been.
She was bruised and beat on every day. She had to hide who she really was. She couldn’t enjoy the comfort of books and numbers because she was so busy cleaning up horse shite. She rarely got done with her duties in time for dinner.
While Saeran was living the life of a boy, Blaine was living the life of luxury. Not just the life of a woman, but the life of real, live luxury, and all because the laird was too busy to tell her otherwise.
Saeran plopped herself onto the bed, glaring at the door she’d previously leaned against. She wasn’t ungrateful in the least—she was just tired of putting up with the injustice of her treatment.
She sighed.
Blaine was going to approach her in the morning, with big fat tears on her chubby face, and Saeran was going to melt. All of the anger she was feeling right now? Useless. Blaine would somehow manage to wheedle her way back into Saeran’s good graces, and then...well, then she would have to go back to listening her sister complain about things, like how the laird is never there, or how the laird always glares and growls and yells, or how the laird doesn’t offer her a plate of food like a real man should, or…
Food.
All thoughts of Blaine fled.
She hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Her stomach growled so painfully that she moaned and got to her feet. As she crossed to the door, intent on finding that apple she’d thought about earlier, she vaguely realized that her hair was down and she looked like the woman she was.
Even as she passed the tossed clothing she’d been wearing earlier, the need for food was more pressing than dressing. If someone found her and it came down to it, she could say she was a maid. The castle had plenty of them, courtesy of Blaine and her neediness. Her modesty had been thrown out the window the second she started wearing trews and bathing in the river, and the chances of anyone seeing her this late, coupled with the darkness, was close to zero.
Still, she paused, looking at the trews. Then her stomach cramped and she shook it off, throwing open the door. Not only did she need to find some food, but she needed to clean up the mess she’d made with Blaine’s water.
It was late and dark and she’d be as quiet, quick, and stealthy as a mouse. Aye, no one would find her.
THT | 12
“They left us a present,” Brodrick said, storming into the hall. Kane looked up from his chalice.
“What kind o’ present?”
“Daniel Duncan’s boy was found dead in town. He’s down there now, tending to the body.”
Kane closed his eyes. “Are ye’ sure it was them?”
“Aye. No doubt. They left a piece of their plaid behind, a clear message. They’re gearing for battle faster than yer preparing for it, my laird. This is the second sign in the last fortnight. Surely ye’ aren’t thinking about letting this go. Daniel is demanding blood.”
“They’re trying to get my men riled,” he murmured, swiping a hand over his face. He pushed the chalice away from him, glaring into the fire.
“It’s working. James and Daniel have both be
en affected by this. Their lads were their world, my laird. Two of yer own clansmen, dead. Ye’ canna sit back and let this go on as if ye’ donna notice it.”
“I donna plan on it,” he growled, glaring at Brodrick. The man stared at him, his jaw clenched and his fists at his side. He knew his friend’s concerns and wanted to act on them, but it was not the time. The MacLeods expected him to retaliate immediately. They were impatient, unskilled, and unknowing in the world of battle. If they thought killing two lads who’re barely two and ten warranted immediate war, they were wrong.
Nay, his clan would wait. They would wait until it would hurt the MacLeods the most to attack—after the next storm. They were downhill, and the creek rose to raging heights when Mother Nature tempered with it. When the next storm came, their lands would be flooded, their village at a loss of supplies, and their men tired from working at recovering what had been damaged.
Once they were weak, Kane would attack with a fury so strong and swift, it would be over as soon as the fight had begun. He wanted to waste no time in giving Daniel and James their justice over their boy’s deaths. By the end of the next storm, the MacLeods would no longer be a threat.
Brodrick stared down at him, then stiffly squared his shoulders. Kane would tell him everything when the McGregors and he had his final meeting. Brodrick was ready to battle and waiting didn’t seem to be an option to him, but without Kane’s permission, he couldn’t do a single thing about it.
“Donna worry,” Kane said, waving a hand. “I have it taken care of.” Brodrick didn’t speak, but sat down. Kane grinned.
Brodrick grunted. “Ye’ give me that look like ye’ ken I’d get over it.”
“I did,” he said, chuckling. “Yer not the most stubborn of men, at least when it comes to yer allies.”
“Tell that to Saeran Sinclair. As far as he’s concerned, I’m as hard-headed as Ol’ Garry’s mule.”
He raised a brow. “What makes ye’ say that?”
“Och, but the lad is a wee wimp. He dosna seem to gain a bit o’ muscle and thinks I’m the devil. I see the looks he gives me when I send Cameron after him in the ring. I think he’s the only one here who hates me more everyone hates Blaine.”
“Do ye’ want me to have a talk with him?” he asked, purposely ignoring the mention of his to-be betrothed. Thinking about her gave him a sour taste in his mouth. “Ye’ know he’s to be taken off his normal duties. Connor pointed out to me that he’s cost me more in damages than he can repay in battle.”
Brodrick burst into laughter. “Oh, but he has! Almost took my head off once, too! The lad is a menace with a sword, but no’ the kind we are looking for. I should have brought it to yer attention beforehand, but ye’ve been too busy. I’d rather have him contained to an area where people will keep an eye on him than let him loose amongst the lands.”
“Is he that bad?”
“Aye, he’s that bad.”
“Poor lad. And he wanted to be my squire, too.” He started to laugh. Conversation with Brodrick had always gotten him out of the dark moods, though it had been harder of late. At least this Saeran provided something other than battle to talk about.
“Actually,” Brodrick said, “it was his sister that wanted him to be a squire. The lad was quite resistant at first, but I figured he’d rather play with the men than follow after his sister, ye’ ken? The woman is a terror.”
Kane grunted.
“Have ye’ not taken the time to find out for yerself and going purely by ear?” Brodrick asked, clapping him on the back. He reached for Kane’s discarded chalice and took a swig.
Kane grunted again. “If the lady is as much of a dragon as I’ve heard she is, I donna want anything to do with her.”
“But what about the dowry? Helen and Alex?”
“Let me correct myself. I donna want anything to do with her yet. Have ye’ heard her yell at Saeran? ‘Tis the most unpleasant thing. If she can yell at her brother, how far do ye’ think she’ll go in offending me? I heard she called ye’ a barbarian to yer face. I donna need a wife offending every damn Highlander she meets.”
“Aye,” Brodrick said, nodding with understanding. “Some o’ the Highlanders out here will think nothing of it silence her.”
“Out of obligation to my wife,” he said, shuddering at the word, “I’d have to wage war with yet another clan. I donna want to be stuck with a dragon for my first wife, ye’ ken?”
Brodrick shrugged. “Falling off a cliff the night of the wedding never raised suspicious, my laird. Hell, ye’ve done such a good job of being a beastly man that she may end her life before ye’ have to do anything about it.”
Kane chuckled. “Aye, well, the king promised me her dowry once we both agreed to the betrothal. He never said anything about going through with the marriage if she backs out from how ungodly barbarian I am,” he said mockingly.
“I donna think the king will let go of such a prize that easily. He’d have something to say to ye’ if she came to him in tears. Though as The Lion, I bet yer actions are expected from the women.”
“That’s what Saeran is here for,” Kane said, shrugging. He ignored his friend’s comment. He’d been acting like a beast without any help of Blaine’s. “If she has to complain about something, it’s normally to him.”
“Kane, that’s downright evil.” Still, Brodrick continued to laugh.
“I hadn’t noticed,” he lied, taking back his chalice from Brodrick. He tilted it to his mouth, then realized it was empty. “First ye’ mock me, now ye’ drink all my ale? What kind of clansmen are ye’,” he growled, getting to his feet.
Brodrick followed suit. “The most loyal one ye’ can have. After all your lazyin’ around, ye’ need to get up, if only to get yer own ale.”
“I should beat you,” he said over his shoulder, on his way to the kitchen.
“Aye, but ye’ won’t!”
More like he couldn’t. Too many a night he’d been going to bed drunk, but with the weight of the MacLeods and the Campbells on his shoulders, and the added pressure of the McGregors and Blaine, there was only so much he could handle before seeking a moment of peace.
He started to his chamber. He’d had enough for the night, and tomorrow was the last day the McGregors would be there. He didn’t need to show up stumbling around like a lad who’d just had ale for the first time. That would give the McGregor something to laugh about.
The stairs loomed in front of him. His head started to pound. Sleep. He hadn’t gotten any lately, and his bed was calling to him. As he took the first step, a sound came from the left of him, from the kitchens. He frowned.
It was probably a servant. He took another step, and then the sound came again. He looked to the heavens and sighed. A servant or an intruder, and normally, servants were in bed by this time of night. Kane swiped a hand over his face and retracted his steps, storming into the kitchen. It was probably the cook’s children. They were always stealing pastries, and while he didn’t mind it, it was late. They should be in bed with their mother, not ransacking his kitchen like thieves in the night.
He entered the kitchen, he was prepared to deal with two little children.
Except, the person leaning over the counter with an apple in her mouth was not a child.
Recognition slapped him in the face.
The water nymph.
She was standing in his kitchen, eating his apple, and staring at him...as if she’d seen a ghost.
A panicked, high-pitch sound came from around the apple and then she was running across the kitchen, away from him.
“Wait!” he growled, furious that she’d run from him. He chased after her, taking her by the arm when she would have climbed the steps. “Donna go.”
She refused to look at him, trying to pull her arm from his grip. He loosened his hold so that it wouldn’t hurt her, but he refused to let her go. The object of his late-night fascination was standing in front of him—in nothing but a filmy shift.
His mouth went dry
. All of the blood in his head rushed to his cock, and the only thing he wanted to do was peeling the material away from her smooth flesh and gaze upon it. Her skin would still have that soft tan, her body as perfect for him as if he’d molded it himself. Against his will, be tugged her closer to him, his body demanding that a connection be made, demanding that after nights over dreaming about her, he touch her.
She didn’t struggle. All she did was stare up at him, eyes wide with fascinated terror.
“What is yer name, lass?” God’s blood, he’d been dying to ask that question. A whole month he’d gone to the same spot he’d seen her bath, every afternoon. She hadn’t been there and the question had remained unanswered. The only thing he had to think of her by was the brief view he’d seen of her by the creek, and her image had haunted him.
“I—Please, let me go,” she whispered, turning her face from him.
“Just tell me yer name, lass,” he said, reaching out and holding her jaw in his hand. He turned her face towards his. God, the clarity of her eyes was overwhelming. As blue as the creek he’d found her in, he knew that if he stared long enough, he could easily drown in them.
“My lord, I—”
“A name. A name is all I ask for.” She had to be a servant. Though he’d never seen her, it was the only explanation he could find that she would be roaming around his home. He slid his hand from her jaw to her neck, feeling the frantic beat of her heart. Fear entered her eyes.
“No. Please. I must go.”
“There is no’ a single thing ye’ could be doing this late at night,” he murmured, making her look at him again. She’d turn her head away as quickly as she’d look at him, as if she was terrified of him seeing her face.
“Sleeping,” she said quickly, yanking herself out of his arms. They felt cold. Empty. He clenched his teeth against the urge to draw her back into them. She was obviously terrified, though he had no clue why. He would never force a woman, and all he wanted was her name.
“Ye’ can spare a moment to tell me yer name, lass. ‘Tis all I’m asking for.”