by Mary Wine
He pressed a hard kiss against her mouth, but she returned it with equal strength. Her heartbeat had slowed but wasn’t completely normal, and she didn’t want to let the moment die. She wanted his strength, wanted him to ravish her.
He chuckled darkly, the sound rumbling through his chest as she gripped his head and kissed him. He caught the sides of her skirts and boldly lifted them until he could flatten his hands against her bare thighs. She shivered, overwhelmed by the sensation of his hands against such an intimate area. Her clitoris begged for attention, and she arched her back, shutting her eyes as he stroked her from hip to midthigh and then reached farther back to caress her bottom.
“I thought ravishing happened much faster.”
He gripped each side of her bottom, sending another spike of need through her. “Demanding, are nae ye?”
“As much so as you,” she countered.
He drew his hands around to her thighs once more. “Aye, ye’re that, all right, Clarrisa of the house of York.”
He lifted her off her feet, drawing a startled gasp from her lips. He pressed her back against the tree and kept her there with his body pressed against hers. He tossed her skirts aside and raised his kilt with more ease than she liked.
“Do nae frown, woman. I am nae quite as practiced in this art as ye are thinking.”
“I do not believe…”
He thrust smoothly into her, interrupting her thought process. A soft moan rose from her as she gripped his shoulders and savored the delight of being filled. It was delight too, a feeling of enjoyment so intense there was nothing else that mattered.
“I believe we both would rather be engaged in the business of ravishing…”
His tone was thick with need. His hands returned to her thighs and supported her while he made good on his promise. The pace was hard and fast with no hesitation, only the pair of them moving in unison to feed their need.
He cursed against when his seed erupted. She was struggling to draw breath, digging her fingers into his shoulders.
“That was too damned fast.” His head was buried against her neck, and both their hearts hammered away from the frantic pace they’d both employed.
“Well… if you cannot keep up, Broen…”
He lifted his head and eyed her. “There is spirit, and then there is hellish temperament.”
He let her legs down and pulled his sword off his back. He leaned it against the tree before lying down on the new spring grass growing between the tree trunks.
“Come, lass. Come lie with me in true May Day tradition.” He offered her his hand, and she took it. Soon she was nestled against his side, with her head pillowed on his shoulder. For a moment, they listened to the sounds of the birds calling to one another and the breeze gently rustling the new leaves. The grass smelled sweet and fresh. Somewhere, the earth was newly turned, and there was the scent of her lover’s skin too.
“Gaining an annulment will take time.” Broen stroked her hip. “Perhaps a long time.”
“I know,” she muttered.
He raised her face so she could lock stares with him. “Will ye wait, Clarrisa? I’ll no’ ask yer kin, for I cannae respect them for sending ye to be the king’s broodmare. So I’m asking ye to give me yer bond.”
He could do so much better, but he knew that. She might do better too, at least if she measured her success by titles or power.
“I’ll wait.”
There was no other answer, but her heart filled with happiness again when he smiled at her.
“I believe I’m falling in love with ye, Clarrisa, so it’s a good thing ye agreed.”
“Oh, is it now?”
He pressed her down when she tried to sit up all the way. “Aye, it is, for I’d have had to keep ye locked in me keep until I was sure.”
“And now that I’ve agreed to stay?” she asked.
“I’ll build another wall around me keep to ensure ye are well secured, for I do nae think I could bear to lose ye. I hope ye shall no’ miss yer home in England too greatly.”
“Oh, I was never anywhere for more than a season. My uncle feared I’d grow fond of one place over another, and he wanted to make sure I was willing to go wherever he directed. He also feared the Lancasters would overrun his lands.”
She meant it as a pleasant comment, but Broen stiffened. She lifted her head and witnessed his frowning. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I’m sorry ye do nae know what a home is, lass.”
He meant it—was angry on her behalf—and it touched her heart. He cared about her feelings, the single thing no one in her life had done since her mother died.
“Maybe you can teach me.”
He smiled and pressed her head back onto his shoulder. “I’d like to, lass.”
She smiled, hearing the echo of his promise as she drifted off into sleep. Broen MacNicols would do more than try; he’d succeed. She was sure of it.
***
“Norris Sutherland is at the gate!”
Broen stiffened and set her aside. He stepped in front of her, shielding her from the retainer who was running up the aisle toward them. The man stopped, laboring for breath.
“Norris Sutherland and his men are at the gate. He demands ye meet him.”
“Then he shall have it.” Broen sounded savage. “Two weeks was nae long enough for him to stay away from me gates.”
“Broen…”
“Mount up, lads!”
Broen turned to face her and cupped her face with a hand. It looked like he was trying to memorize her face, his gaze was so intense.
“Be here when I return, Clarrisa, as ye promised?”
It was a question. She heard it in his tone and nodded before she’d even thought about it. There was nothing to contemplate. Without a doubt, she never wanted to leave his side. The last two weeks had been pure bliss.
He was gone in another second, the longer pleats of his kilt swaying as he moved quickly across the hall. The men who’d been enjoying their meals all rose to follow him. Many paused to kiss their wives and children, but as the sound of horses came from the yard, all that was heard in the hall were muttered prayers.
***
“Maybe I’m just getting used to it, but it seems like this lot looks a bit meaner than the last two armies we faced.” Shaw’s voice lacked true humor. Broen couldn’t blame him, because he agreed. Norris’s men did look ready to draw blood, but Norris took to the center of the field, leaving his men behind.
“The man still has archers,” Shaw warned.
“And I still will nae be called a coward.” Broen kneed his stallion and let the animal have its freedom. Normally he enjoyed the surge of speed; today, all it did was twist the tension between his shoulder blades.
“What do ye want, Norris?”
“The look on yer face dares me to say ‘the York woman.’”
Broen cursed. “Over me dead body.”
Norris grew serious, staring at him for a long moment. “Are ye sure ye want to be so attached to her, Broen?”
“It is nae a question anymore. Those who want to quarrel with it will have to recall they had the chance to stand up when yer father asked for a man to step forward. I stole her, and I’m keeping her.”
“As yer leman?” Norris asked soberly. “Her family will nae give up a dowry easily.”
“They can keep it. I have what I want. I plan to wed her as soon as I gain an annulment,” Broen insisted. “Ye’re the one with the noble title to worry about bringing home a bride with more than her charms.”
“Kindly do nae remind me. Me father does so often enough.”
“If ye are nae here for Clarrisa, what brings ye with yer men looking ready to die?”
Norris reached into his doublet and pulled out a letter. A broken wax seal was still half-attached. “Lord Home has called to the Highlanders. The royalists are massing near Sauchieburn.”
He offered the letter, and Broen took it. The words were there, the ones that would tear him away f
rom Clarrisa—possibly forever, if the battle didn’t go well for him.
“Then we go and pray for an end to this madness.”
He looked up at Deigh, battling the urge to go back inside and turn his back on the war getting ready to rage. It was not his way—had never been—but he was tempted to kiss Clarrisa once more before he rode out to uphold his duty.
***
A young gillie brought the news back to Deigh Tower. Women cried, and Edme collapsed into a chair. The few retainers left behind lowered the gate.
“The waiting will be hard to bear,” Edme muttered. Tears glistened in her eyes. Clarrisa took her hand, soothing it gently.
“It will not be so terrible, for we’ll have each other.”
Edme nodded, but the woman didn’t agree. She was going through the motions just as Clarrisa was. All the inhabitants of the castle shared the strain of knowing their fates were tied to the men who had just ridden out. There would be no mercy for the kin of traitors, and that would be their lot if the royalists won.
Clarrisa sat in the dark long after she’d pinched out the candle. How could it be so short a time since Broen had lain in the bed with her? Now it was a cold, desolate place that offered no haven nor comfort. Sleep didn’t come for hours, and even then, it was troubled. She saw the king’s face, with lust flickering in his eyes. Her sole comfort was the knowledge that she’d given her purity to the man of her choice.
A man worthy of it. The choice might cost her her head when James found her, but she would not regret it. If Broen died, she’d rather join him than live to further James’s ambition.
***
“Ye can stare at the camp all day, but ye’ll be left wondering if we have enough men or no’… Just like the rest of us.” Norris’s voice betrayed his frustration. The moment was too dark, too brooding for anything such as hope to brighten it. Well, there was one thing that would lift all their spirits—victory.
“I never thought the day would come when the MacNicols would rise up against their king,” Broen muttered.
“Or that ye’d lead them,” Norris finished. “A sentiment I share. Yet here I am, drawn here for the same reasons ye are. No matter how justified I remind myself I am, it still sticks in me throat.”
“Aye.” Broen ducked under the open flaps of the canvas tent that Norris lived out of. It was a large pavilion but not overly grand. Only a fool announced his fortune or title in a military camp. Or possibly a king.
Across the camp, the pavilion of the prince was flying the royal standard. Such was a clear statement from the young James, one his father couldn’t fail to understand, but there were rumors of talks between the prince and his father. There must have been substance to them, because no call to arms had been given.
“Eat with me, Broen. ’Tis a sad man who sups alone,” Norris remarked when one of his men brought in bowls of steaming soup.
“A sadder man who lets his friend eat his last meal alone,” Broen remarked.
“Aye, it might be that for both of us.”
The fare was bland and rustic, but it was hot, which was more than what a good number of the waiting ranks of men could expect. Every day they camped, the conditions worsened. The stench would rise from waste both animal and human. Food stores were guarded. The bowl of soup in his hand was the only thing Broen had consumed all day. Lack of provisions would take its toll on the strength of the force waiting to clash with the royalists.
“What are ye planning to do with Daphne MacLeod?” Norris asked.
Broen looked at him in surprise, but it quickly faded. “Kael spills details quicker than I’d believe he would.”
“I’m his ally, and I was very curious as to why Clarrisa left ye when it was plain it pained her greatly.”
Broen leaned forward, pointing a finger at Norris. “Ye’re fishing, man. There’s a reason I stay far away from court. I’ve no patience for the games of intrigue.”
Norris’s expression darkened. “Ye might be surprised to learn how much I agree with ye, but fate was nae so kind to me on where she placed me in this life. I have to play the games of court. Me clan would suffer if I did so poorly.”
“But no’ with me,” Broen insisted.
“As ye like,” Norris responded. “I wanted to know why that English lass left ye, and there were only a few reasons I could come up with. She obviously did nae hate ye, was nae greedy enough to jump at the offer I made for her—”
“Ye did what?” Broen demanded. The tent jerked as two of Norris’s retainers hurried inside to see what was happening. Norris waved them away, but they didn’t go instantly. They both eyed Broen suspiciously before tugging on the corners of their bonnets.
“Do ye think ye are the only one who has eyes, man?” Norris asked with a smugness that set Broen’s temper on edge.
“When it comes to Clarrisa, ye can bloody well aim yers elsewhere.”
Norris sat back in his chair, tapping his fingertips against one another. “Why should I do that? Me father has been hounding me for the last two years to bring home a match he’d approve of. A lass guaranteed to ruffle the fancy feathers of the new English king would do that full well.”
“Forget about her. She belongs to me.” He meant it with every fiber of his being, but Norris raised an eyebrow skeptically.
“Why? Because ye’ve had her?” He chuckled arrogantly. “I do nae care. She’s the daughter of a king.”
“She is going to be me wife as soon as the church grants me an annulment. Which I’ve already started the process for, since I know that will be yer next question.”
Norris smiled slowly. Broen cursed, realizing he’d played easily into Norris’s hands, spilling information without thinking.
“I do nae care what ye think ye’ve learned, Norris Sutherland. Tell yer father I’m going to wed her.”
“As soon as ye clear up the matter of yer betrothal to Daphne.”
Broen smiled slowly. “It will no’ be difficult now that the MacLeods are siding with the king.”
“We both hope for that.” Norris raised an eyebrow. “Daphne is content with yer plan to set her aside?”
Broen nodded. “I’m ashamed to admit she is the only one who saw sense when I was fighting over her with me best friend.”
“It is nae the first time such a thing has happened.”
Broen nodded. “Aye, but for the sake of greed, I am ashamed. I count meself a better friend than to allow a dowry to set me against a man I call friend.”
“That may not be a good-enough reason for the church. They will likely insist ye repent and wed her.”
“I know.” Broen growled the words, frustration eating at him. The church would most likely not grant him an annulment easily, because they’d blessed the union. They never liked recanting, because it set the example that what they did might be undone. Unless the bride with such a fine dowry chose the service of Christ instead.
“But I swear I’ll wed Clarrisa and no other.”
Norris tilted his head. “If ye live past this rebellion we’re taking part in.”
Commotion stirred outside the tent. Both men were on their feet and leaning out of the door to investigate.
“To arms! To arms! Negotiations have failed!”
The clans were massing, men opening their pouches of blue skin paint. Broen reached out and clasped Norris’s arm. “In case I do nae get the chance to wed her”—he reached inside his doublet and withdrew a folded parchment—“promise me ye’ll see any child she births before summer’s end legitimized as me heir.”
Norris clenched his fingers into a tight fist, but Broen sent him a hard look. Between Highlanders, a last request could not be refused, not when it came to the future of the clan.
“Ye’re me overlord, Norris, since yer father is nae here. Take the letter, me pledge that Clarrisa came to me pure and that I could no’ wed her because of the betrothal, but that I planned to. Do yer duty, man.”
Norris grabbed the letter and shouted for his secr
etary. “We might both be dead before nightfall.”
Aye, they might, but at least Broen would go to his grave knowing he’d done right by the woman he’d failed to confess his love to.
***
Time could be cruel. Each day was an eternity. Clarrisa tried to fill the hours with hard work, but sleep still eluded her when she sought her bed. She was not the only inhabitant of Deigh suffering so. After the supper dishes were cleared away, the women sat on the benches, none of them eager to seek their beds. The youngest children were immune to the unhappiness of their elders, but the hall still seemed too quiet.
They were all waiting. By day, the road was empty. The merchants normally expected during spring were missing too. The fields turned green as the animals carried on.
Yet they still waited.
Dawn became a blessing because it meant she could leave her bed. The floor was no longer icy cold when she walked over to the window to open the shutters.
“I thought ye’d be awake early.” Edme spoke quietly. “The cobbler finished yer boots. They are nae made of anything as fine as ye arrived wearing, but they will keep yer feet dry here in the Highlands.”
“They are perfect.” Clarrisa eagerly pulled on stockings so she might try out the ankle boots. They were made of butternut leather, and the first one slid onto her foot easily. It closed with a long length of leather, which was woven around silver buttons. “The buttons are too fine.”
“Nay, it’s important to show yer position to any who might think to trifle with ye.”
Clarrisa fought off a tightening in her chest. “I don’t have position here, and it’s the honest truth that I am relieved it is so. I am so tired of being mindful of my actions because someone in my family believes I will cost them their coveted positions.” She stood and tested the new boots. “I know I am being disrespectful, but I am not sorry.”
Edme was smiling when she turned to look at her. The older woman laughed when she caught sight of the confusion on Clarrisa’s face.
“Ye’re adapting to the Highlands well,” she declared. “A feat many a Highlander will claim is impossible for any English person.”