by Caroline Lee
Shaking her head and still smiling, Saffy straightened. She needed to continue her search.
She was approaching the last chamber on this level—one she knew belonged to the children—when she heard murmurs. She stopped and cocked her head, hoping to determine who it was, but had no luck.
Well, they already think ye a spy, lass. Prove them right!
Smirking, she shook her head, knowing her inquisitive mind was going to get her in trouble.
Still, she cautiously stepped closer, hoping the clomp of her shoes wouldn’t alert whomever was speaking. Mayhap it had, because the voices had stopped.
To be replaced by a damp, squishy noise.
What in the world?
Slowly, she poked her head around the edge of the open door and was surprised to see Mary in Andrew’s arms.
Kissing him.
Ah. Well, that explains it.
The couple suddenly broke apart, Andrew shoving the lass behind him, his hand reaching for the dirk at his belt.
When Saffy stepped into the doorway, neither relaxed.
The three of them eyed each other warily, but Saffy’s eyes were on Mary. Merrick’s eldest daughter had struck her as intelligent and loyal, and had looked at “Saf” with far too much interest. At first, Saffy had thought the lass might’ve thought her a handsome lad, but once she realized Mary’s heart belonged to Andrew, had become worried Merrick’s daughter had seen through her disguise.
Saffy had avoided Mary since that realization, and wasn’t comfortable with the calculating look in the girl’s striking eyes now.
“What are ye doing here?” Andrew finally blurted.
He was clearly on the defensive and hadn’t lowered his hand from his dirk. Saffy shrugged and told the truth.
“The laird gave me the morning away, and I’m interested in tapestries.”
“Tapestries?” Andrew repeated skeptically.
Saffy jerked her chin toward the wall. “Those colorful wooly things. They insulate rooms, aye, but they’re useful for—”
“I ken what tapestries are!” Andrew snapped. “Why are ye looking at them?”
“Because they tell stories,” Saffy said slowly, as if the young warrior was hard of understanding. “And I like stories. Do ye like stories, Andrew?”
God’s teeth, but it was hard not to laugh at the flash of fury in Andrew’s face. Served him right for throwing her in a dungeon for three days!
Growling, Andrew stepped for her threateningly, but Mary pulled him back.
“Peace, love,” she murmured soothingly. “Saf is just teasing ye.”
He blinked and frowned. “He is spying. He’s a spy, sent by Lindsay, and now he’s poking around the keep, looking for information.”
Saffy nodded solemnly. “Aye. Yer laird’s enemy is verra interested in what his daughter is doing with his former squire.”
While Andrew paled, Mary pressed her lips together. In disapproval? Or to hide a smile?
Saffy sighed. “I’m really just looking at the tapestries. I like history.”
“Ye’re no’ spying on us?” he asked.
Part of her wanted to make him squirm, to pay him back in part for the misery he’d caused her, but it almost wasn’t worth the effort.
“If I were spying on ye, I wouldnae be reporting to Lindsay. Do ye no’ think Mary’s father would be more interested in what I’ve seen?”
Andrew stiffened. “Laird Sutherland trusts me!” he declared, but there was a trace of doubt in his voice.
“Then ye have nothing to worry about.”
“Are ye going to tell him?” Andrew pressed.
Saffy met Mary’s gaze over his shoulder. There was something in the lass’s eyes…a knowing. It was hard to identify, but Saffy knew she wouldn’t betray Mary’s confidence. Not if there was a chance Mary could betray hers.
She shook her head. “Nay. Yer secret is safe.”
Instead of looking relieved, an expression of confusion crossed Andrew’s face.
As Saffy ducked out of the room and continued her search, she realized what it’d meant. The young warrior had captured her, declared her a spy, damn near caused her death in the dungeon…and now she held power over him and had promised not to use it.
Poor Andrew obviously didn’t like being in her debt, and she chuckled about it all afternoon.
Supper was much the same as always, except Merrick spent his time speaking in a low voice to Gavin. She didn’t mind; it gave her a chance to observe him. Her eyes skimmed over the silver at his temples, and she wondered how old he was. Pearl had called him “twice her age” but Saffy was several years older. Surely, she and Merrick weren’t that many years apart?
Why? What do ye care?
She frowned. She didn’t care. It was mere curiosity. If Merrick wasn’t so much older than her, then…
Then ye might no’ feel wrong about lusting after him?
Lust? Was that what he was making her feel?
Aye, mayhap. He was a well-built man, and watching him train, or watching him stretch right after waking, or watching him bathe in the loch with his men…the sight of his body made her feel warm. And imagining touching him, touching his body, it made her ache.
She was no fool; she knew what it meant, and more than once had resented this ridiculous costume, because it meant she couldn’t pull up her skirts and relieve the ache with her own fingers.
And sometimes, when he looked at her with that too-knowing gaze, she wondered what he was seeing.
“Saf!”
His call jerked her out of her reverie, and she jumped forward with the wine pitcher. But he waved her away.
“Nay. I’m retiring early.”
She glanced at the arrow slits in the wall, surprised the sun hadn’t set yet. “Aye,” she agreed.
“Aye?” he prompted with a glare.
“Aye, Devil.”
He growled.
She grinned.
“Merrick,” Gavin began in a warning tone, but Merrick held up his hand to his second.
“I ken.”
What had they been speaking of?
Merrick’s gaze swept over his children, who were being surprisingly well-behaved. Usually they finished supping long before the adults and were ushered off to bed by Nell. Today, though, they all smiled cherubically at Merrick.
“Donae make me regret trusting ye all,” he warned.
“Aye, Da,” came a chorus of replies.
Mary nodded to her father, as if acknowledging his warning, but Andrew was strangely subdued. He glared at Saffy, but when Merrick’s gaze landed on him, he flushed and turned his gaze to his trencher.
And Saffy didn’t bother hiding her smirk, even as she trotted after Merrick, carefully balancing the pitcher of wine.
By the time he’d washed his face and hands, the sun was barely on the horizon. Instead of pulling back the cover on the bed, he settled in front of a small table in front of the window, which held a chessboard and a bowl of summer berries.
He picked up one of the tiny carved soldiers and rolled it idly between his fingers. “Do ye play, Saf?”
She looked up from where she was spreading out her pallet. “Chess? Aye.”
His snort was unexpected. “Of course ye do. Pour two goblets and play me.”
She raised her brows, but did as he commanded, settling herself in the chair opposite him. When she realized he was staring at her, she discovered she was sitting as a lady might—back straight, hands folded in her lap. Forcing herself to relax, she tried to mimic his easy slouch.
’Tis far more comfortable!
A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he nodded and placed the pawn back on the board. “Ye’re sure ye ken the rules? We could play something simpler like Fox and Geese.”
She’d found a carved board for the strategy game, along with one for Nine Man Morris, while straightening his trunk a few days ago. While both were easier games, she’d always enjoyed chess.
She shrugged. “
Or Naughts and Crosses, if ye think the wine will loosen yer focus, milord?” Her smile was innocent—she was sure of it.
He glared, likely offended by her insinuation he couldn’t handle the simplistic game. “Ye take the oak,” he growled.
His pieces were carved from a dark-colored wood, while hers were light. His were smooth in her hand when she took one of his knights—the small man sitting tall on his horse—and she didn’t bother hiding her smile of satisfaction.
Instead of moving one of his pieces, Merrick settled back in his chair and reached for his goblet. “Ye play well.”
Had he sacrificed his knight to discover that about her? Her smile faded. “Ye’ve been playing recklessly,” she shot.
His lips twitched again, but he lifted his wine. Once he’d finished swallowing, he shrugged. “With nothing at risk, ’tisnae as much fun.”
Her heart began to pound. “What would ye risk?”
“Secrets.”
The quickness of his reply made her wonder if he’d been planning this all along. Secrets? “One for every piece taken, I assume?”
He held her gaze as his chin dropped, and the promise in his eyes made her want to lick her lips.
Wagering secrets. It was a risk, indeed, especially because she had so much she couldn’t tell him. But there was much she wanted to know about him: the stories of his children, his dead wives, his brothers…where her family’s jewels were.
And ye are a verra, verra good chess player.
She grinned. “Aye, accepted.”
He shot forward and immediately moved one of the soldiers—a pawn—and she countered with one of her own. He was right; the play was more exhilarating knowing what was at stake.
The clouds were a brilliant red on the horizon when he took her next piece, a pawn. It had been a sacrifice to get his castle into position, but she still shifted uncomfortably at his wolfish, expectant look as he settled back against his chair.
“Hmm.” He rolled the pawn between his fingers. “A secret. What shall I ask…”
She swallowed and sat straighter, knowing what he would ask, and wondering how she could deflect the question.
“Who are yer people?” he asked directly. “Yer clan?”
She shook her head, then took a deep breath. “People who would nae like to ken I am here.”
“Ye came without their permission?”
Her father’s, at least. “Aye.”
“Lindsays?” he snapped shrewdly, obviously hoping to catch her.
“Nay, I’m…from the Highlands,” she said carefully.
He eyed her too-warm surcoat derisively. “Ye’ve told me no worthwhile secrets. Tell me of yer family.”
She could do that, at least, without naming herself as a Sinclair or a laird’s daughter.
“My father is doting, but understands duty. My older sister and younger sister have both been married. I have—I have a twin sister.”
She said the last part tightly, surprised at the wave of emotion which crashed over her at thinking of Citrine and this mission they’d vowed to undertake. She hadn’t sent word to her twin in over three sennights. Was Citrine worried? Was Da still ill?
“Citrine?” he asked quietly.
Her eyes snapped to his. “How—who told ye?”
He shrugged. “Ye speak in yer sleep sometimes, and ’tis a memorable name.”
Aye, and dangerous if he connected it to the Sinclair Jewels. “’Tis a worthwhile secret,” she said as she reached for her bishop.
As they took their turns, the tension slowly drained from her shoulders, and she found herself breathing easier and admiring his style of play. His hands were constantly occupied with the fallen pieces or the goblet, but he watched the board and her moves with a hawk-like glare. But rarely did he deliberate his own moves. Nay, it was as if he held a collection of options in his mind, and as soon as she made her own moves, he reacted with lightning speed.
He was swift and brutal and a worthy opponent, and there was only one way to play with someone like that: lure him into a position where each path required sacrifices.
She managed not to crow with glee when she eventually took his castle, but didn’t bother hiding her smile.
His chin dipped in concession. “One secret,” he said carelessly, his hand wrapped around the stem of the goblet.
And if she hadn’t seen how white his knuckles were, she might’ve believed he was unconcerned.
Lifting her own goblet to her lips, she sipped at the sweet, dark wine and contemplated.
She could ask why his children all looked so different. She could ask if he had more children spread throughout Sutherland territory. But that wouldn’t advance her mission here.
She could ask if he was aware his oldest daughter was in love with his youngest warrior. Knowing how Merrick felt about Mary, it would be sure to cause Andrew trouble, but as much as she wanted the lad to pay for his accusations, she knew that wouldn’t help her either.
She wanted to know about Merrick. Wanted to know why they call him Devil. And there was one rumor she needed confirmed.
“Did ye kill yer brother?”
He was silent for a long moment, eying her from under hooded lids. Finally, he dipped his chin. “Aye.”
“Why?”
Hooking his arm over the back of his chair, he shifted position slightly, and began to twist the goblet in his other hand. His attention drifted to the distant sunset, and he took a deep breath.
“My father and uncles had many children out of wedlock. Their father did as well. There are Sutherland bastards spread all over the Highlands, from what I’ve heard.”
“And the Lowlands?”
A smile flashed as he glanced back at her. “Aye, John Lindsay’s mother was the Lindsay laird’s wild sister. He’s older than me, so feels he should have a claim to my position.”
She knew most of this already from listening to him speak to his seneschal, but was pleased to hear it directly. “But he’s no’ legitimate,” she pointed out as she placed her goblet beside the chess board.
He shrugged. “He’s one of dozens. I suppose he feels he has the right to challenge, because his mother was a laird’s daughter.”
“Outside the bonds of marriage…” She frowned as she stood and crossed to the mantle, where she knew the flint was kept. “Ye’re no’ a bastard.”
“Nay, but unless Lindsay wins his campaign, Willie is my heir, and he’s a bastard.”
“Unless ye marry again.”
Her throat went dry as she considered the possibility. Why? Why did the thought of him marrying someone make her feel so uncomfortable?
Must be the wine.
Aye. That was it.
She concentrated on lighting the candle, then turned back to the table to find him frowning at her.
“Ye asked about Robbie,” he reminded her.
She let out a breath. Aye, the dead brother. So why was her mind still lingering on the thought of him marrying?
Marry again?
Why did the thought send a chill through him? He loved Willie, aye, but knew his son’s illegitimacy would cause problems for the clan in years to come. He’d always known it’d be easier if he had a legitimate son, which is why he’d married Elizabeth, then Katharine.
Which is why, when neither of them bore a living child, he’d tried to form a marriage contract with one of the Sinclair Jewels.
But now…the thought of remarrying soured the wine on his tongue and in his stomach. He hoped to draw her—and his—attention away from the thought.
“Ye asked about Robbie.”
When she eventually nodded and moved back to the board, the candle lit her face with a warm glow.
“Robbie was younger than me, but Da claimed him,” Merrick began. “His mother was one of the kitchen servants, so I grew up with him underfoot. He was…different.”
She placed the candle beside the board, then sat on the edge of her seat. “Different?”
“He lacked…” M
errick shook his head slightly, not sure how to describe it. “He would hurt animals sometimes, just to see what they would do. It wasnae bad when he was younger, but after Da died and I became laird, he was harder to control. He’d lash out and didnae seem to care he was hurting others.” There was one thing Merrick had never been able to forgive. “He lacked control.”
“So, ye killed him?” she asked, brows raised.
“More than once I’d wanted to, when his lack of understanding or care caused harm to one of my men in battle, and he always managed to explain his shortcomings…but nay.” He shook his head, then took a deep breath. “’Tis no’ why I killed him.”
She didn’t speak, just stared at him with those brilliant eyes with interest.
“I’d heard rumors about his lasses, how they hadnae always been willing. But nae one was eager to speak against him. Then one day…”
He swallowed and shook his head, the memory of that rainy afternoon creeping back into his mind, chilling him.
“One day I found him with Mary. She was barely twelve and was fighting him, but he had her skirts up already.”
He doubted Saf was aware of the way her hand rose to her throat, horror in her expression. It was a thoroughly feminine reaction, but he couldn’t appreciate it right now.
“His own niece?” she choked out.
It was a struggle to keep the memory of that failure, that disgust, from sweeping over him. “I didnae give him the chance to talk his way out of it. I slit his throat, then held Mary as she cried.”
He’d cried right along with her and begged her forgiveness, but had never told anyone that.
It was a long moment before he realized he was staring at the candle flame. He squeezed his eyes shut, then took a breath, and forced a nonchalant mien when he faced her once more.
Only to discover her watching him with a look he couldn’t identify.
Finally, she nodded firmly. “Good.”
Approval.
She approved of his actions? He’d cut his own brother down in cold blood, and she’d approved.
What a surprising lass.
Play began again, more subdued, but he was distracted. The wine held no more interest as he considered his opponent more carefully. She took the next few pieces, but it was as if his story had bothered her, because her questions were easier, less intrusive.