Highland Vixen

by Mary Wine

  She tried not to think about being free from the four walls because she would be foolish indeed to hope for good favor from the Earl of Morton. No, it would be the flash of his temper she felt, but it would be worth it. Marcus would be well away now, on his way back to the Highlands.

  “Ye bitch.”

  Brenda lowered herself before the earl, and he backhanded her. She stumbled because of the strength he’d used, righting herself as pain went through her jaw.

  “Where is Katherine?” the earl demanded.

  “With Marcus MacPherson.”

  The earl was still breathing heavily from how quickly he had come to see the truth of his guard’s words. His face was flushed, and it darkened as he absorbed her words.

  “Ye bloody Highlanders,” he raged. “The lot of ye will bend. Mark me words, ye will.”

  Ambition was an ugly thing, Brenda thought as she observed the earl. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. There was little reason to. A man who was in the grip of greed wasn’t one to bargain with.

  “I suppose ye agreed to this because of that girl’s age?”

  She hadn’t expected him to ask any questions. After all, he was a man who believed his opinion was superior to everyone else’s, especially a woman’s.

  “Katherine was a child still. Did ye no’ think about the fact that having a babe might have killed her? What sort of alliance would that gain ye? The English do nae need new reasons to loathe us.”

  The earl grunted and swept his eyes over her from head to toe, making her shift uncomfortably as his gaze lingered on her breasts. “Ye are a woman, and a handsome one at that.”

  He wasn’t paying her a compliment. No, the man was calculating his next move. A chill touched her nape as she witnessed the way he contemplated her the same way he might a mare.

  “Widowed as well?” He waited for her to nod. “Is it true ye warmed Bhaic MacPherson’s cock?”

  The earl was being base on purpose. The man wanted to frighten her, and Brenda knew she had best save her true fear for later. Coarse language was hardly the worst a man such as he might press upon someone in her position.

  “I was his lover for a short time.”

  The earl chuckled. “With that face, ye might serve as a fine whore for me when I need to hear what a man is saying while his cock is inside ye.”

  Brenda had expected vengeance from him, but she still felt the color drain from her face. He didn’t miss it, chuckling at her horror.

  “Aye, ye’ll do as told, or I’ll find a man to wed ye to who will make yer last husband look like a bloody saint.”

  He turned and left the cell. The guard shut it, and Brenda heard the lock turning. The sound actually pleased her, allowing her to collapse onto the stool and let her mouth drop open in repulsion. Indeed, she enjoyed knowing the door was locked because it meant she was forgotten.

  The true fear would begin whenever Morton had her taken out of the cell.

  * * *

  Marcus MacPherson would have to be taught a lesson.

  Morton returned to his receiving chambers and settled into the throne chair. Scotland hadn’t had a king in almost a century—not a real one, anyway. Oh yes, there was always a whelp somewhere with the right royal blood, but the regents were the ones who ruled. Even Mary Stuart had been crowned as an infant and sent to France at the age of five. Her return had nearly pushed the country into civil war, but she’d managed to keep Scotland from becoming the property of France, and she had whelped another infant king who needed a regent.

  Morton intended his regency to be long.

  So the Highlands would have to be tamed and brought under royal rule. Marcus couldn’t be allowed to slip through the plans Morton had made for him. It was simply a matter of the earl maintaining his position. No one obeyed a man they saw as weak.

  So, Marcus MacPherson would have to be taught a harsh lesson. It was only a matter of deciding upon the means.

  Three

  “Skene, man, either spit it out or I’m going to smash ye in the jaw.”

  Skene didn’t take offense. No, the burly retainer flashed a grin that showed off his cracked front tooth before he nodded at Marcus.

  “Well now, some of the lads were wondering if ye’re wed or no’.” Skene asked his question diplomatically.

  “Amuses ye, does it?” Marcus asked.

  Skene shrugged. “It’s the truth that some of us can nae help but enjoy the similarities between yer brother’s wedding and yer own.” Skene was grinning like a man who had just walked in on two naked and eager women in his bed. “More than one of us has decided we’d be a great deal better off if we’d never crossed paths with the Earl of Morton.”

  Marcus couldn’t help but snort in response. “He’s more bastard than I am.”

  “What can ye expect from a Douglas?”

  It was the sort of comment Marcus was accustomed to, but the earl had prompted one change that was not altogether bad by forcing Ailis Robertson on his brother, Bhaic. Morton had started to put an end to the feud between the Robertsons and MacPhersons. To be sure, Marcus had told the man the truth—it would take years to see the matter finished. Skene’s easy acceptance of what everyone thought of the Douglases was proof of that.

  “So we, the lads and I, were left wondering just what ye are thinking to do with that Grant woman.”

  Now there was a question. Marcus found himself looking toward Helen and considering her. He’d been doing his best to avoid looking straight at her because she was a handsome woman. It wasn’t so much her features that drew him to her; he liked her brazen refusal to back down from him.

  Skene let out a low whistle. Marcus snapped his attention back to the man, only to hear his retainer chuckle at his expense.

  “Do nae be thinking ye know all that much about what I think,” Marcus warned Skene.

  Skene shrugged, continuing to move his hands slowly over his horse’s flank. “What ye think? Nay. I do nae know much of that, but ye did fight Symon Grant, the laird’s son, for her, sure enough. There’s a bit I saw with me own eyes. Sure, some might argue ye done it to keep yer prize from being stolen, and no’ many would question it. Still…ye kissed her.”

  He’d done that and more. Marcus couldn’t help but recall how he’d kissed Helen before one and all in the hall. Indeed, his men were not fools, and still he felt a bit like the collar of his shirt had suddenly become too tight.

  “So then.” Skene refused to let the matter rest. “What should I tell the lads? Ye understand, none of them want to be flirting with a woman ye are planning to keep.”

  “And if I say I am no’ intent on seeing me marriage through?” Marcus growled.

  Skene looked him straight in the eye. “In that case, ye would no’ be such a hard bastard as to deny us the chance to win her favors while we are out here and away from the rest of the men.” Skene sent him a very knowing look. “That woman is a vixen and worth the risk of being bitten to gain her.”

  “Well, ye can tell the lads…” Marcus stressed the last word. Skene actually looked disappointed, making Marcus clamp his teeth together in temper.

  “Tell them what?” Skene pressed.

  “That she’s married to me.”

  It wasn’t truly an answer. Marcus felt that bit of knowledge nipping at him as he finished with his own horse. He stomped away from the animal as he contemplated why he was riled. The answer was standing down at the river’s edge, and he realized his pride was still wounded by the way she’d left him.

  Vixen.

  Skene had called her that justly, as well as making a fine point about how likely she was to bite any man who tried his hand at her.

  Well, that wouldn’t be any of his men.

  Marcus was surprised by how quickly that thought crossed his mind. It was like a brand had been pressed onto him before he’d realized what was a
bout to happen. Now it was sizzling as it cooled, the sting of it settling deep into his flesh.

  Vixen, indeed. But she was going to be his.

  * * *

  “How far is it to the Highlands?”

  Katherine tried not to sound weary. The girl was forcing a serene smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She had midnight eyes so dark they seemed to have a flash of blue in them, along with black hair to match. Coupled with her fair skin, it made a striking combination.

  “We’ve another few days before we cross onto MacPherson land,” Helen told her. “The pace should ease once we do.”

  At least she hoped so, because her backside was feeling the lack of time out of the saddle.

  Are ye sure of that?

  Helen didn’t care for that idea. Once Marcus wasn’t focused on getting them back to his father’s land, the man might just turn his attention toward her.

  She was looking across the camp toward him when she realized Katherine was watching her. “We’re on McTavish land at the moment.”

  “Are the MacPhersons feuding with these McTavishes?” Katherine asked.

  Helen leaned over and wrung out the linen cloth she’d been using to wash her face and neck. She plunged it back into the river, ignoring the chill in the water. It was worth the discomfort to be clean. Or, at least, cleaner.

  “No’ officially feuding,” Helen said. “However, among Highlanders, a bit of toying with one another can happen. If the McTavishes discover us, they may take us unaware while we’re on their land.”

  “Toying?” Katherine questioned.

  Helen stood and took a last sweep around her neck with the cloth. “They might take some of the horses and demand a ransom.”

  “I see,” Katherine answered. The girl wanted to ask something more—it was there in her eyes—and she finally gathered her courage. “Would they steal us? I heard the men talking about how Marcus stole you.”

  “That was an altogether different matter.”

  Katherine stared at her, likely trying to decide why Helen’s voice was tense. Katherine suddenly smiled. “Perhaps it is best you are wed.”

  “Naught could be further from the truth,” Helen informed the girl quickly.

  There was a soft male chuckle behind her that Helen recognized all too well. In spite of knowing who it was, she jumped and tried to whirl around, but she was too close to the water’s edge and the ground was soft. It gave beneath her feet, and she started to tumble backward.

  Marcus leaped forward, moving like a streak of lightning to catch her forearms. He jerked her to a halt as she felt her skirts being tugged into the water behind her.

  “Supper is ready, Katherine,” he said without taking his eyes off Helen. “Up to camp with ye.”

  Katherine immediately started up the hill to where the men had set up camp, far enough from the water so they might hear anyone approaching. Helen realized she’d made a critical error in lingering over her vanity and allowing Marcus to use the sound of the rushing water to get close to her.

  She had her footing now. “Thank ye,” she said to Marcus.

  He stepped back but blocked the path up to the camp. He was contemplating her, which made her cheeks heat with temper.

  No, that wasn’t it. Her eyes widened as she realized she was blushing.

  That unsettled her completely and she stepped to the side, edging away from him because she was so keenly aware of him. Her heart was accelerating again, making a mockery of her firm decision to tell him why he mustn’t kiss her again.

  “Come here, Helen.”

  She’d been looking away from him, so the tone of his voice startled her. It was a request, not his usual command, and she had no idea how to deal with such a thing from Marcus MacPherson. He was her captor, not her suitor. Just thinking that word made her blush deepen because she recalled their conversation in the dungeon very well.

  She’d enjoyed that private glimpse at his person. Enjoyed even more the idea that he wanted to know more about her. It was so strange to think they might be more than captor and hostage.

  Yet she liked it very well.

  He extended his hand in invitation. “Come here. Let us try to be easier in each other’s company.”

  Something inside her leaped at that idea, excitement prickling across the surface of her skin. “That would be unwise.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and took a slow step after her and then another. “Why do ye think so, lass? Ye kissed me back, and I enjoyed it full well. So did ye.”

  “And yet”—she opened her hands wide—“surely ye must see that an annulment is the only logical solution to this marriage.”

  But he hadn’t agreed to an end to their union, and the realization made her stare at him in mounting horror. He’d kept her before; he might do so again.

  Marcus’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening, but he drew in a deep breath and extended his hand again. “I do nae agree. We are both at an age when a wedding is expected. We should be enjoying the fact that we were no’ pressed to consummate our vows immediately and have been given time to come to terms with the arrangement. Come here and learn to be settled near me.”

  She was stunned, shock holding her in a tight grip as she blinked and waited for him to say something else. But the man was standing there, fully expecting her to put her hand into his.

  Part of her wanted to.

  And the other completely balked.

  “I am no’ a mare to be broken to ride.”

  He blew out a long, frustrated breath. “Can ye nae notice that I am trying to speak to ye sweetly, woman? I am War Chief. Wooing is no’ a skill I have much practice at.”

  “Oh, I know that very well.” She couldn’t help but see the humor in that, as well as a bit of enjoyment for getting him to admit that he was not accomplished at something.

  Marcus didn’t miss it either. He grunted, the sound betraying his frustration. “I suppose ye’re due a bit of needling toward me.”

  “That is no’ what I am doing,” she answered. “I am speaking good, sound, logical facts. Ones ye would be wise to listen to.”

  “I’d rather try me hand at kissing ye,” he replied.

  He reached out and grasped a handful of her skirts. She’d expected him to reach for her upper arms, so he was pulling her against him and cupping her neck before she realized what he was about. He held her for a moment, so close their breaths mingled.

  “No’ that I am complaining, sweet wife. Kissing ye is something I find very pleasing.”

  He smothered her retort, controlling her attempts to push him away while he kissed her hard. His sweet kisses had slowly roused her before; now, the way he claimed her mouth sent her body into flames. The heat flared up, consuming everything she thought she knew and leaving her prey to the cravings that began to swirl inside her.

  Marcus held her head and angled his face so he could fit his mouth against hers. It was savage, and yet there was a hint of control because he stopped short of bruising her lips. There was no denying him though, and she didn’t want to. Her memory offered up a perfect recollection of what delight there was in his embrace, and she was hungry for more of it.

  She reached for him, gripping his jerkin and frustrated that the stiff leather wouldn’t allow her to get a good hold on him. It wasn’t really necessary—he was holding her so fiercely she’d never fall—but she realized she didn’t want to be his captive. She wanted to meet him and give him back as good as she got. So she opened her mouth wide, enjoying the male sound of enjoyment when he followed suit.

  He was tasting her, slipping his lips along hers and using his tongue to tease hers. She shivered, sensation shooting down her spine. He rubbed her neck, gently reassuring her. And then he was stroking her again, running his hands along her body and boldly cupping the curves of her backside through the layers of he
r skirts. A twist of enjoyment went through her that touched off a soft throbbing at the front of her sex.

  It was as if she were transparent to him, her needs and cravings something he could read like ink on parchment, and that was incredibly exciting. It was as if she had been asleep and had woken up in the middle of a festival. The delights for her senses were abundant and vibrant and so plentiful that she felt as though she was spinning around and around like a child in the middle of it all.

  Pure bliss. That was the only way to describe it, and she wanted more.

  But Marcus suddenly stiffened, his body going rigid before he slumped to the ground. Still dazed from his kiss, she watched him fall as though it were happening slowly. By the time she looked up to see what had felled Marcus, his attacker had his hand clamped around her mouth as he turned her and pulled her back against his body.

  Helen still tried to scream, but the sound was smothered beneath the hard grip against her lips. Fear was burning through her, but she refused to let it paralyze her. She kicked her feet up and off the ground, taking her captor by surprise. For a moment, she felt his grip slacken, felt freedom within her reach. She surged forward with every bit of strength she had, only to feel something strike her across the back of the skull.

  Time was still moving slowly, which allowed her to realize she was slipping into unconsciousness. She felt the blackness coming toward her, knew it was going to engulf her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  Nothing at all.

  * * *

  Marcus awoke with a roar.

  The camp erupted as his men surged to their feet. Partially eaten suppers went spilling into the dirt, and not a single man gave the food a second thought. They pulled out their swords and took positions that would give them the best chance to defend what was important. The horses, Katherine, and Marcus.

  Finley and Skene met Marcus halfway down the slope to the river’s bank.