by Mary Wine
“If ye’re a true subject of the king,” Robert announced, “ye will give her to me.”
“So, ye think to call upon me sense of justice.” The earl spoke clearly, even if his tone was edged with age.
“Aye.” Robert pointed at the parchment. “That is the will of the Earl of Morton. Regent of Scotland. I am a loyal subject.”
“Ye are nothing of the sort,” the earl snapped back, betraying just how quick his wit still was. “Ye were part of the assassination of the Earl of Moray and a supporter of Bothwell and Mary Stuart. Now that ye know yer cause is lost, ye are licking Morton’s balls like the cur ye are.”
There was a round of crusty amusement from the Sutherland retainers.
The earl wasn’t finished, though. “However, I do nae care what this piece of paper says. Ye came to me home after doing murder and stealing another man’s wife. If ye think I am going to grant ye shelter from the justice of the man ye wronged because of some piece of parchment, ye are nae as intelligent as some of me hounds.”
“I took her by order of the Earl of Morton,” Robert insisted.
“Did he instruct ye to do murder?” Marcus asked. “Ye ran a woman through, under me father’s roof.”
There was a ripple of anger among the Sutherlands.
“At least I am no’ the one who snuck into this castle after taking off me plaid so no one knows who I am.” Robert made sure his voice was heard throughout the hall. “Ye are spying on the Sutherlands.”
“No, ye bastard,” Marcus snarled softly. “I’m making sure ye do nae escape, no matter who ye try to hide behind. Ye’ll no’ scare me into letting ye live. Ye ran Duana through in a sewing cell.”
“Ye should hang him.” Robert turned to address the earl. “Before ye find yer castle overrun by the MacPhersons and all yer throats cut.”
The earl was still, his face tight as he contemplated both men. Helen felt her blood running cold because his will would be done. More than a hundred men were looking on, just waiting to do their laird’s bidding. She felt as though her breath was lodged in her throat as the earl raised his hand for silence.
“Marcus MacPherson,” the earl said, “I do nae care very much for ye sneaking into me home.”
There was a ripple of angry agreement from those pressing forward. Marcus adopted his favorite pose—feet braced shoulder-width apart, arms crossed over his chest—and stared straight at the earl without flinching.
“But I admire ye for having the balls to do it.”
There was a scoffing sound from Cormac.
“It’s a Highlander’s way sometimes to do what needs doing, no matter the risk,” the earl continued. He made a motion with his hands. “Back up, lads. No Sutherland will be interfering in this fight.”
Marcus smiled. It was a slow, menacing expression. Helen gripped her skirt, staying in place only by sheer force of will. She needed to interfere but knew it was a lost cause. She’d be asking him to discard who he was, and that wasn’t something Marcus would ever do.
And Duana deserved justice. No matter how bitter the woman had been, Robert had murdered her simply because she was in his way. Marcus couldn’t let the injustice go, and that was the part of him that she realized she’d always known was there.
Marcus spared her one glance and Robert took full advantage of it, launching himself at Marcus. There was a grumble from the watching Sutherlands, but Marcus proved himself worthy by lifting his foot and planting it in Robert’s midsection while he rolled back under the force of the attack. They hit the floor, and Marcus kicked Robert up and off him before flipping over with a motion that showed how strong he was.
“Ye like to hit yer enemies when they aren’t looking, do nae ye, Gunn?” Marcus moved in a slow circle, taking the time to unbutton his doublet and shrug out of it.
“I like victory.” Robert pulled a dagger from his boot. “I’m going to fuck yer woman tonight, while ye’re rotting in a grave.”
He raised the knife up high, proving he knew how to use it. Both men were hard and trained. It was going to be a matter of who made a mistake first.
Helen’s fingers ached from how tightly she was clenching them into fists. Cormac had made his way behind her and caught a handful of her skirt at some point, but she never moved, never made a sound, hardly even drew breath as the fight went on.
It seemed to last forever. Robert drew first blood, slicing a path across Marcus’s forearm as Marcus blocked the blow. Marcus turned and smashed Robert in the groin with his foot, to the delight of those watching. Robert stumbled back, and Marcus pressed his advantage.
The two men ended up on the floor, grunting as they tried to kill one another.
That was of course their common goal. But the similarities ended there. Robert fought to claim a victory that wasn’t rightfully his, so he was choosing to win through might. Marcus refused to allow him to claim it. From the outside, there was little difference between them, but inside, there was a great divide. Honor separated them, and Helen prayed it would be enough.
But Robert’s men weren’t willing to lose. One of them threw a dagger that sank into Marcus’s shoulder. He growled, turning instinctually toward the new attack. Robert lunged forward, his dagger raised high to sink its blade into Marcus’s exposed throat.
Helen surged forward, breaking Cormac’s grip. She watched that dagger moving toward Marcus, the tip looking deadly sharp.
Marcus whipped around, dropping his own weapon as he clasped his hands around Robert’s wrist. Robert jerked as Marcus twisted and turned the knife on him. Robert recoiled, and the two men fell back onto the floor.
Cormac grabbed Helen from behind, pulling her to a stop, while the fight ended as quickly as it had begun. Helen searched both men for signs of life, her eyes widening with horror as a puddle of bright-red blood began to seep across the stone floor.
Helen felt her heart stop. Everyone in the hall seemed frozen, waiting to see which man would rise. Marcus’s shoulder was turning red, the thrown dagger having fallen out to leave the wound open.
He moved. Helen blinked, thinking she had willed him to do so, but he flattened his hands on the floor and pushed himself up and off Robert, who lay staring at the ceiling, his eyes lifeless.
Marcus fixed the Earl of Sutherland with a hard look. “Would ye be so kind as to summon yer priest? I have need of the man.”
Helen broke loose and went to him, inspecting the wound, but she discovered that although it was bleeding heavily, it was not dangerous. Marcus pulled her in front of him.
“It seems we need to be married again.”
* * *
Finley and the other MacPherson retainers were reluctant to come inside the Sutherland stronghold. Marcus rode out with Helen to meet them, not bothering to explain the fresh blood on his shirt. They rode long and hard for the next few days, stopping only when they had left Sutherland land behind.
The tavern where they stopped was better than the last one Marcus had taken her to, but he still had Finley take her above stairs while Marcus tended to the horses. As soon as the door shut, Helen found her composure crumbling. All of the fear she’d refused to show escaped. Tears stung her eyes as she paced around the room, caught between relief that Marcus was alive and anger for the chance he’d taken with his life. Her control seemed exhausted, leaving her furious.
He came into the room without knocking, opening and closing the door with a look that made it plain he felt it his right to share the room with her.
Which it was, but that only made her temper flare when she spied the dried blood on his shirt. That just drove deep how close he’d come to dying.
“What were ye thinking?” she asked. “Going into the Sutherland castle like that? Ye might have been hanged.”
He walked over and put his sword and doublet on the table. “I was thinking I was rescuing ye.”
“Ye were,” she agreed, but her tone was sharp. “But ye should no’ have risked yer life.”
He considered her from behind an unreadable expression, but it broke as his lips twitched and he grinned at her. “Ye were worried about me.”
“Of course I was. Ye acted the damn fool.”
“I acted as yer husband,” he said in a low tone edged with hard certainty. It was hypnotic in a way, especially when she coupled the sound with the way he was looking at her. As though she were something precious to him.
“Come here, lass.” He crooked a finger at her. “I want to hold ye.”
She lifted her chin. “Ye would have been furious with me if I’d done something so dangerous.”
His expression darkened. “Ye can be sure I would. Do nae ye ever test me on that, Helen. I’d have to take ye to task for yer own good.”
“Yet ye expect me to come to ye now, when ye have acted with so little regard for yer safety?”
His lips slowly curled up, and he flashed his teeth at her. “I do.”
She propped her hands on her hips. “I warned ye I would nae be obedient behind closed doors.”
She watched the challenge flash through his blue eyes a moment before he intercepted her and pulled her close. She wiggled, squirming against his hold.
“Have done,” he demanded, clearly becoming exasperated. “It was me duty to see justice done.”
“I know that.” She sent him a hard look.
He let out a little huff and released her. The moment he unlocked his arms, she realized the problem was inside herself, and there was no running from that.
He’d crossed his arms over his chest. “If ye know me nature, why are ye so angry with me?”
“Why?” she asked. She caught the glitter in his eyes even as he controlled his expression. “Oh!” She went back toward him and slapped his chest. Her blow landed with a soft sound; she’d hit him with her open palm because she couldn’t truly hurt him. Indeed, the conflict was within herself, and that was a solid fact.
“Ye know me. Me duty is a part of me.”
“Yes.” She stepped back, feeling as exposed as if she were stripped to her skin. “That’s why I could never truly hate ye. Lord knows, I asked meself why I did no’, and now…”
He lifted her chin. “And now?”
The memory of how much she’d lamented not telling him how she felt tormented her. “I love ye.”
There. She watched her words impact him, saw the way his eyes flickered with emotion before brightening with satisfaction.
“Come.” He pulled her close again.
He nuzzled against her hair, drawing in a deep breath. The memory of him doing so before he left stirred, rising to smother her discontentment. He was hard and warm against her.
“Does that mean ye will have me, lass?” He tilted his head to the side so his lips were next to her ear. “I fear I will lose what little control I have left if ye say no.”
She could no more deny him than hold back the coming winter. “Good.” She slid her hands up his chest. “It seems only fair that ye understand how ye make me feel. As though me mind is no’ me own.”
He cupped her cheeks in his large hands, sending a ripple of awareness across her skin. Her flesh was awakening, becoming eager for his. “For all that it makes me sound like a savage, Helen, I will tell ye the only way I can think of ye is as mine.”
That was perfect. She smiled as his words sank in, and for a moment, their gazes locked together, making them feel as though their very souls were connected. And then he was kissing her, driving away every thought, sweeping them aside like items carefully placed on a tabletop, scattering them onto the floor in a tangle of unrecognizable things that meant nothing. She kissed him back, rising onto her toes so she could press her mouth firmly against his. He cupped the back of her head, keeping her in place while he teased her tongue with his own.
But that wasn’t enough. Both of them craved more than teasing and were impatient to be joined together. He turned her around, seeking out the lacings that held the bodice closed.
“I thought to give ye proper clothing…” Marcus exclaimed as he fought with the ties. “But now I’m rethinking the matter.”
The fabric made a threatening sound that made her squeal. “Do nae ye dare,” she warned him. “I’ve no’ had a proper dress in years.”
He yanked the laces free and the bodice slid down; at the same time she released the waistband of the skirt and reached inside to pop the little tie that held the hip roll in place. Her skirts slipped down her legs and puddled around her ankles, leaving her in a corset and chemise. Marcus cupped her shoulder and turned her, passion brightening his eyes, and he froze.
“I swear, I am going to make sure ye have a dozen of those contraptions,” he declared as he took in the sight of her with her breasts pushed up by the corset.
Helen stepped out of her skirts, putting distance between them. The look on his face made her bold, filling her with a confidence she’d never experienced. She teased the swell of one of her breasts where it sat plump and supported by the corset with just the edge of her chemise peeking out. “Oh, like it, do ye?”
He unbuckled his belt and let his kilt drop to the floor. His member was already stiff, pushing out the front of his shirt. “I do.”
“As do I,” she responded breathlessly.
She moved toward him, undoing one cuff and then the other. He reached over his head and tugged the shirt up and off before facing her in nothing but skin. Helen paused, her attention caught by the bandaging around his wound.
“It’s naught,” he informed her, scooping her up and carrying her to the bed.
They sank onto it in a tangle of limbs, seeking solace in each other’s embrace. Their skin warmed as their hearts accelerated and passion built. Helen couldn’t seem to touch him enough, couldn’t draw in enough of his scent, couldn’t move close enough.
Marcus kissed her again and again. Refusing to sink into her flesh as she craved, instead he cupped her cheeks and took a long time to explore her mouth with his. She made little sounds and listened to the way he growled gently next to her ear. Her need was raging. So was his, and yet he stroked her tenderly, slowly, making her feel cherished.
She returned the favor, showing him with every touch how deeply she needed to be near him.
“Mine,” she muttered against his neck, pressing a kiss to the place where she could feel the beat of his heart.
He caught her head and angled her face up so their eyes met. “Mine,” he said through gritted teeth.
He pushed her back at last, and she purred as he settled between her thighs. Her body was made to cradle his, to take the deep thrust of his hard flesh. Satisfaction was their reward, coming to sweep them both into bliss unmatched by anything else.
* * *
Every castle had its spies.
Sutherland was no exception.
The Earl of Morton read the letter twice before he cursed. Winter was raging around them and the letter had been written two months past, so the matter was well and truly done now.
Well then, Marcus could keep his wife, the earl thought. Of course, there was nothing he could do about it, but Morton had never been one to admit defeat.
Action had to be taken against the MacPhersons.
Some might advise him to allow the lesson to stand as it was. Their castle had been invaded, something no Highlander would sleep easy knowing. It was a good blow against those in the north who believed themselves so far removed from his reach.
Still, he was not content.
But that only made him chuckle.
A wise man was never willing to think he’d done all that he might to further his family. That was the difference between a noble and a commoner. Common men accepted their place, while men such as himself strived to climb higher, against the odds in many c
ases, and even in defiance of what was considered moral.
Still, he climbed.
The need set him apart, above other men. That was the reason he ruled Scotland: He’d earned it. Someday, he’d answer to God, but until then, he would make other men answer to him.
The Highlanders would learn to respect his will.
Seven
“Will winter never end?” Ailis stopped at a window and scowled at the sky. “It has never lasted so long.”
Helen didn’t answer Ailis, but she had Helen’s full attention.
“Oh stop it,” Ailis exclaimed as she turned around. She meant to do it quickly, but her belly was huge and it made her clumsy. She missed a step and ended up catching herself against the wall as Finley and Lyel both jumped forward to catch her.
“I warned ye.” Ailis pointed at the pair of retainers. They stopped and hooked their hands on their wide belts, making it plain they were not going to depart, no matter how much she snarled at them.
“Helen,” Ailis implored her friend.
“Oh, all right.” Helen stood up. “Ye need no’ sound as though ye are going to weep.” Helen sent Ailis a wink her mistress didn’t miss.
“Oh…but…it’s just that I am…so very tired of winter…” Ailis began to whimper.
“We’ll be nearby if ye need us,” Finley mumbled before he dashed through the chamber door with Lyel on his heels.
“At last.” Ailis rubbed her belly. “I swear, I am nearly mad from the way everyone watches me.” She collapsed into a chair. “As if this child is going to spring forth in a few moments and one of them might miss its arrival.” She snorted. “It would not be called labor if it were so simple.”
Helen laughed softly. Ailis looked at her. “Enough about me. Tell me what it is ye will not talk about.”
Helen pulled a needle through the skirt she was making. “Ye have asked me that question every day since I returned, and the answer has no’ changed.”