The Warrior of Clan Kincaid

by Lily Blackwood

  “You go too far,” said Cull, leveling a look upon Buchan’s son that made the smile fade from Duncan’s lips, replaced by a glare of outright hatred.

  “Aye, Cull, and I will take it further—” he snapped.

  “Stop it, the both of you,” Robert warned, leaning forward, his expression fierce and concerned. “Must the two of you always provoke each other?”

  Buchan chuckled, from where he sat.

  Sorcha stood, and placed a hand on Derryth’s shoulder. “Come, my new dearest friend. Let us leave these men to their boorish bickering.”

  Though Cull had all but ordered her to remain by his side, she wanted nothing more than to escape her present company. Eagerly, she stood and allowed Sorcha to hook her arm into her elbow, as if they were indeed friends.

  “This way,” said Sorcha grandly.

  Another woman stood as if to join them. “I’d like to come as well.”

  “Unfortunately, you are not invited,” Sorcha sniffed, and in a rustle of silk, led Derryth away.

  They passed through another curtain, into a small chamber littered with cushions and chairs, before going to another where a large bed was visible in the light of a wide bowl-shaped brazier. Wind pushed against the sides of the tent, and the walls moved.

  “Stand there,” said Sorcha, pointing to a circular carpet. Going to a trunk, she searched for a moment before returning with a garment of gleaming silk, the color of a male peacock’s feathers. She lay the garment over the back of a chair.

  Glancing into Derryth’s eyes, she smiled and helped her remove her kirtle, and her léine, so that Derryth stood only in her undertunic, hose, and shoes.

  “Oh, just look at you. They are perfect.” Before Derryth could react, Sorcha ran her hands over the linen, cupping Derryth’s breasts and squeezing them. “I’m so envious I could cry.”

  Startled, Derryth stepped away with a gasp, and blocking any further touch with her arms. “Please don’t touch me like that.”

  Sorcha looked at her, as if momentarily confused.

  “Oh, forgive me.” She bit her lip, and clasped her hands into tight fists, looking truly mortified. “Sometimes I forget myself, and the wanton I have become. I promise, I will remember myself from this moment on.”

  True to her word, without any further trespass of her hands, she laced Derryth into a fitted scarlet léine, and atop that, the blue kirtle, before standing back and walking in a slow circle around her. “I knew the gown would suit you. Now sit. I can see you have done everything possible to hide your hair.”

  She gently pushed Derryth down into a chair, and Derryth wondered what would happen if she simply jumped up and ran away. Aye, she loved pretty clothes, and hair and woman talk, but she felt very strange with Sorcha, almost as if she was allowing herself to be seduced in some way, into the sort of life Sorcha lived.

  It made her want to return to Cull immediately, and beg for him to take her away from this place.

  “So … tell me the truth about Sir Cull. Though you both tried very hard to deny it … I can see there is something between the two of you.” She tilted her head. “A delicious tension, which only comes when two people are lovers.”

  Derryth’s chest tightened. Lovers. No, they were certainly not that. There had only been the kiss.

  Sorcha leaned close, so close that Derryth could see the golden flakes dusted across her nose and her cheeks, and whispered conspiratorially.

  “Is he good in bed?” She smiled giddily. “Does he make love for hours on end? I have heard told that he can make a woman scream in pleasure, but I do not know if it is the truth or if those women merely tell lies to make others, like me, jealous.”

  Some part of her felt relief at hearing Sorcha’s words. At least she knew she and Cull had not been intimate, which was what she’d feared when they were at the table. And yet imagining Cull giving pleasure to any other woman made hear heart grow cold. She did not want to talk about him anymore.

  “I know nothing of that,” Derryth answered stiffly, averting her gaze. “He is nothing to me, nor I to him.”

  “You’re such a sweet child. You lie! I know you do!” The woman loosened the braids at Derryth’s nape, setting her tresses free to fall down her back, while the rest remained in place. “Such a beautiful color. Rather like angel’s wings, I would think, while mine is the color of sin.”

  Spinning away, she returned with a small metal basket.

  In the following moments, Derryth submitted to having her eyes lined with kohl, and her lips stained, but when Sorcha sought to dab more color on her cheeks Derryth shook her head. “No more.”

  The smile faded from Sorcha’s lips, and Derryth sensed the sudden downturn of her mood. Suddenly, the woman knelt beside her, and looked up into her face.

  “Though he is called Cull the Nameless, Buchan often calls him Cull the Incorruptible. Is that true? If he has not claimed you, one might surmise that perhaps he prefers men—”

  Derryth shook her head, and moved to stand. “I would like to leave now.”

  But Sorcha held her in place, both hands gripping her arm. “Or is he the finest kind of man? One with honor, who does not abuse the heart or body of a woman.”

  Derryth stilled.

  “Friend, listen to me.” Sorcha took Derryth’s hands in both of hers and squeezed them tight. “Be careful here, with these men, and even the women. If allowed to do so, they will smother your soul, as they have done mine, and you will find yourself dressed in the richest garments and wearing jewels bestowed from their favor, but there will come a time when you are left alone with your finery and cast off by all who once celebrated you, and you will want nothing but to die.”

  Sorcha’s green eyes now glittered with tears. Her face, without its smile, seemed transformed, and sad. She was young, Derryth realized. No older than herself.

  Sorcha continued. “If there is any chance to take a man like that for your own, to claim his heart, and win his protection, then you must do so. Do not let him go.” She stood and turned from Derryth, as if gathering her emotions. “But come, we must return to the others. We have already been gone too long.”

  They left the chamber, Derryth eager to return to Cull’s side, only to be confronted with a shocking sight, illuminated by the light of a lantern. Duncan, sat on a padded bench, his booted legs spread wide as he clenched he head of the dark-haired woman who knelt on the carpet before him.

  “Ahh!” he groaned, staring downward, as her head raised and lowered at the juncture of his thighs.

  For a moment Derryth was confused about what she was seeing, but then she saw his trousers unlaced, and realized Duncan’s sex was in the woman’s mouth. A wicked smile turned the corners of his lips.

  Looking up, his gaze met Derryth’s, dark and unblinking, and his smile broadened.

  “Yes,” he urged. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

  “Mmmmm!” the woman moaned in response, and her head bobbed faster.

  “Duncan!” Sorcha exclaimed, laughing, having resumed her guise. Claiming Derryth’s wrist, she dragged her past, muttering, “Men! They can never get enough of that.”

  Flames burned Derryth’s cheeks. She hurried past, trying to block out Duncan’s moans of pleasure.

  The moment they passed through the curtain, Derryth felt Cull’s eyes fix immediately on her, as if he had been watching for her return.

  To her surprise, he stood. The room fell silent.

  Sorcha led her to him. “Just look what I found hiding under that ugly garment. Isn’t she a jewel? She is my gift to you.”

  “She was just as lovely before,” said Buchan, his eyes narrowing on her with sudden interest. “Cull … where did you say you found her?”

  Sorcha, smiling, attempted to pass Derryth’s hand to Cull, but Derryth refused, not wanting to be anyone’s “prize” or “gift” to be treasured one moment, and when she lost her shine, to be thrown away.

  She seized her hand away, and moved past him to sit on the
bench in the same place as before, wishing more than ever that she had never stumbled into the path of Cull the Nameless, and those with whom he kept company.

  * * *

  Cull did not answer the Wolf’s question, pretending not to have heard.

  He did not want to share one detail about Derryth. As the night had gone on, he had only wanted to protect her from these hard-eyed, sometimes vicious people whom he’d spent his life observing, and learning to understand.

  He had already intended that they would leave upon Derryth’s return. He could barely suffer the present company when he imagined them through her eyes.

  Something had upset her. He saw it in her averted gaze, her flushed cheeks and blanched skin. Had Sorcha said something? Or Duncan, who some time ago had, along with his companion, disappeared?

  Aye, she looked beautiful in Sorcha’s rich garments—a bright-eyed queen in blue—but the stricken look on her face demanded some sort of intervention from him.

  He turned to Buchan. “Thank you for your hospitality, but the day will begin in just a few short hours and as you know, the camp will be moving toward Inverhaven. I’m sorry to leave so early, but—”

  Buchan stood and rested a hand on his shoulder. His dark brows gathered.

  “Nay, you cannot leave. Not yet. I forbid it.” He grinned, showing his teeth. “Not until I have shared my announcement. Sorcha, the food.”

  Cull forced his expression to remain unaffected, though inside he cursed at having been so flatly denied. He wanted to get Derryth away from here.

  Sorcha crossed the tent, her red hair shimmering in the lamplight, and within moments, Buchan’s servants arrived, bearing fragrant, steaming trenchers.

  Buchan rose again from his chair. “Everyone sit. Servants, refill their cups. I have something important to say.” His eyes narrowed, and he searched the room. “Where is Duncan?”

  “Here,” replied a voice.

  Duncan appeared, pushing through the curtain, followed by his female companion, both of them flushed and laughing. The woman’s hair was loose and wild at her shoulders, where before, it had been carefully styled. The color that stained her lips also stained Duncan’s cheek and neck, leaving no doubt as to what had occupied them.

  But Cull did not miss how Duncan’s eyes went straight to Derryth, darkly taunting—nor the way her cheeks further emptied of color.

  He returned to her side, and sat, gently touching her back—regretting when she flinched. Leaning close, he murmured in her ear. “What has happened to distress you?”

  Derryth looked up at him, her blue eyes flashing … and pleading. He saw that Sorcha watched them from across the table, and smiled as if pleased.

  Derryth did not reply before Buchan’s voice commanded his attention away.

  “Sir Cull the Nameless.”

  “Aye, lord,” he replied. He stood, wondering why his name had been spoken so loudly, and with such intent.

  Buchan’s eyes regarded him warmly.

  “I have been accused by some of showing you too much favor. You are young, that much is true, and I have always taken interest in your progress.” He tilted his head. “But you’ve earned your glories. Without a doubt you have proven your worth not just to me, but to whatever Stewart sits on the throne of Scotland. Know this bestowal of honors … this sworn promise, comes not just from me, but directly from the king.”

  Cull’s heartbeat quickened. Bestowal of honors? Sworn promise? To what did he refer?

  Chapter 10

  Cull bowed his head in acknowledgment. “I am grateful for whatever regard the king may have for me, as well as you, my lord. I always have been.”

  The room held silent, all watching and waiting.

  “Good,” said Buchan, his smile widening. “Because it has been decided that you will command all forces in this endeavor, from this moment on. Your company of men, and the two others which have joined yours here today, combined.”

  The warriors at the table, who were noblemen of the King’s Guards and the commanders of those three companies, raised their goblets to Cull.

  “Well deserved!”

  “Lead us to victory.”

  Cull had no chance to thank Buchan or even to speak because Duncan let out a bitter bark of a laugh, and addressed his father. “Unbelievable.”

  The room fell silent.

  Duncan pressed his hands against the table and stood, glowering. “It is I who specifically requested command.”

  Buchan’s eyes flashed, but he replied evenly. “You will have your chance to lead, Duncan, when the time is right.” He paused, taking up his goblet—which he lifted high. “But the siege of Inverhaven, and the reward for taking the castle there, will go to Cull.”

  Cull could only stand, and watch, stunned by what unfolded. He had not expected this at all, but took boundless pride at the announcement.

  Everyone stood, raising their goblets as well—except for Derryth, who stood stone-faced and with her hands at her sides, until Sorcha moved to stand beside her, and pressed the cup into her hand.

  “Reward?” Duncan spat. “What reward?”

  But it was to Cull whom Buchan spoke. “Take the castle, Sir Cull the Nameless, and the castle is yours—along with the lands, and a title … a name to be determined then, by the king and Parliament.”

  Warmth spread through his shoulders, and his scalp. He had not expected this at all. Buchan’s words promised everything he’d ever wanted. Land, and even a castle, which he could fill with sons and daughters. But most important, a name to give them.

  “You can’t be serious,” Duncan muttered, in clear disagreement.

  “Congratulations,” said Robert, standing and coming near to grip his hand.

  But strangely … his smile did not reach his eyes, something that Cull felt could not go unmentioned.

  “You don’t agree that I should lead?” he said quietly, so that only Robert would hear.

  Robert gripped his hand and pulled him close, speaking into his ear. “There is no one more deserving than you. I am troubled by other thoughts, which have naught to do with you.”

  Robert squeezed his hand hard, and moved on. Cull made his way through the wall of well-wishers who encircled him, back to Buchan.

  He blinked, his heart still beating with excitement. “Thank you, my lord, for this opportunity. I won’t disappoint you.”

  “I know you won’t,” Buchan replied, staring into his eyes. “You’ve Ainsley to thank for this as well. She’s very persuasive you know, and sang your praises repeatedly to the king.”

  Ainsley … Buchan’s dark-haired, dark-eyed daughter and Robert and Duncan’s youngest sister, of whom he had barely thought about since departing on this campaign. Indeed, he could hardly call to mind the image of her face, because …

  From the first moment outside the bath house, there had been only Derryth.

  Aye, he was bewitched by the little Highlander. But what good could come of that? He returned to his seat, and her side, where she sat silent and alone, while everyone else laughed and talked around her.

  “Derryth—” he said.

  Her gaze fixed on him sharply. “I wish to leave,” she whispered, her lips turned into a frown. “You may return if you wish and stay as long as you like. Just please take me away from here.”

  Inwardly, he flinched. He needed no more proof that he should set aside his fascination with her, before it developed one degree more. They were from two different worlds, and she judged him for his. Moments before, he’d actually felt pride that she had been present to hear of the honors that were given to him, and even more that she, such a beauty, sat beside him for all to see.

  But she had refused to lift her goblet. She did not congratulate him as the others had, or even attempt a smile. Despite the hardness of his warrior’s heart and years of shielding himself from weaker emotions, he had desired her approval. But now anger sparked inside his chest, that she somehow expected him to be ashamed for his place at this table,
where other men would sacrifice anything to be.

  He was not ashamed. He was proud of all he had achieved and the opportunity he had been given, and he would not allow her to lessen his feeling of accomplishment.

  He turned in his seat, closing the distance between them, ensuring their privacy with the wall of his body.

  “Just a while longer.”

  “Then I will see myself back to your tent.” She moved as if to stand.

  He snared her wrist. “No.”

  Her head snapped toward him. “Let me go.”

  “Can you not glare at me as if I am some devil?”

  “You are a devil,” she whispered. “Just as much as he.”

  “He” being Buchan. He knew she despised the earl, for his impositions upon the clans, and aye, truth be told, even he had flinched at times, hearing of the Wolf of Badenoch’s cruelties. But his mood went black, hearing the condemnation on her lips. He was a warrior … a King’s Guard and a knight, not a diplomat. It was a life he valued and took great pride in, considering from whence he had come.

  “I wilnae apologize for who I am, Derryth,” he said, his anger rising.

  Her gaze flashed into his. “I want no apology, or anything else from you.”

  And yet in the same moment he saw heartbreak in her eyes that she desperately tried to hide. Tears welling against her lashes … the result of pain inflicted by him.

  All anger fled him, replaced by self-loathing. She was no warrior, adept at wearing false faces as necessary to advance and survive.

  “Cull, is something amiss?” said Buchan’s voice from behind, sounding amused.

  He turned in his seat to find a silent room, with everyone watching. Despite his determination to remain dispassionate, blood rose into his cheeks. Damn, but he’d let her get deep under his skin, here, where it was most dangerous to show it—both for her and himself.

  “Nay, sir.” He stood. “But I am fatigued from this long day, and doing my best to convince my companion to leave.”

  “Clearly she does not want to spend the night with you,” Duncan muttered.

  “Shut up, Duncan,” Robert muttered.