by Caroline Lee
What were yer wives’ names?
Tell me about yer father.
Do ye remember yer grandmother?
What’s yer favorite dish?
He answered them quickly, carelessly, thankful they were simple, and responded in kind.
The stars were out when he realized she’s maneuvered him into a corner. He could take her queen—which he saw now she’d sacrificed—but her bishop would take his king. It was the only option, which meant his question would have to be a good one if he was going to have any hope winning secrets from her as Gavin had suggested at supper.
Slowly, he reached across the table and moved his piece to take her queen, leaving his king undefended. Deliberately taking his time, he propped his elbows on the table and rolled the queen between his palms, staring at her.
There was really only one question he needed to hear the answer to.
“Ye swear to me ye’re no’ a Lindsay? No’ here at his behest?”
She shifted forward and mirrored his pose.
“Merrick, I swear it on my mother’s grave. I’m no’ spying for him.”
It was the first time he’d heard her use his name. Sometimes she’d called him milord, but mostly it was Devil or Sutherland.
Hearing his name on her lips was strangely…intense.
What would she look like in a gown? Her cropped hair perfumed and pinned? If she smiled at him, not in triumph or teasing, but in encouragement? As if she wanted him.
He swallowed, feeling himself harden beneath his kilt.
Best remind himself of her purpose here. “Ye’re still a spy, though?”
She didn’t reply, but held his gaze.
Cursing himself, he brought the queen to his lips, sliding the smoother oak across the sensitive skin and staring at her mouth. Aye, it worked; her lips parted on a slight gasp and her eyes widened.
She might not know it, but she desired him as much as he desired her.
“Why are ye here, Saf?” he asked in a low voice, willing her to tell him.
Mayhap he’d pushed her too hard, because she straightened quickly and reached for her bishop.
She hadn’t answered his question!
His hand darted out and closed around her wrist, stopping her. Under his fingers, her pulse pounded, telling him her reaction to him—or his question—was nowhere near calm.
Slowly, he dragged her hand toward him, until he was holding her fingers in his. That warmth made his arm tingle, and he noted she made no move to pull away, even if she didn’t meet his eyes.
“Answer me, Saf. Why are ye here?”
With her other hand, she used her bishop to knock over his king. Then she looked up. “To find something,” she finally said softly.
And when he squeezed her hand, he could swear she squeezed his back.
Aye, she’d found something, and so had he.
Chapter Seven
Saffy had never been completely comfortable on horseback.
Oh, she could list diseases of the horse, and how to care for them, and what the best riding techniques were…but actually getting on one was a different story.
Still, when Merrick came to her the day after their chess match and told her she’d be going with him and his men on patrol to look for Lindsay, she didn’t argue. It was the first time since she’d been in the keep that Gavin had found evidence of Lindsay’s raiders, and she was excited to be part of it.
It wasn’t until she was mounted up and riding with the men—concentrating fully on not falling off—that she thought to wonder why.
Because of what she’d learned about Lindsay? She wanted to help defeat him?
Or because she wanted to prove to Merrick she wasn’t a spy for his brother?
Last night, he’d asked her why she was on Sutherland land. She hadn’t been able to tell him—she knew how dangerous it could be to her mission. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. She suspected he was a good man, and the rumors of him being a devil were mostly exaggerations. His story about his brother Robbie’s death was a good example.
But she didn’t trust him not to put the good of his own clan above her mission to find the jewels, and if his clan was implicated in a theft of some sort, she couldn’t guess what he’d do.
Nay, it was better to keep up her disguise, and keep her mission a secret.
She’d found no evidence of the jewels so far, nor any history or tales which would indicate their hiding place was known. So, for now, she’d keep looking, and do her best to make Merrick trust her.
Gavin led their little band unerringly. She rode behind Merrick and beside Andrew, who didn’t speak to her at all. There were ten others in their group, all warriors armed and ready.
She saw nothing suspicious. The day was beautiful, the sun was bright overhead, and her stomach was tight with anticipation. Or excitement. Or just happiness because he’d shared so much with her last night.
Her mind wandered, thinking back on the stories they’d shared, mostly innocuous…and the way his hand had felt in hers.
He’d held her hand! She was no fool; she knew men had close friendships, the same as women. But the way he’d touched her, the way he’d squeezed her hand…it had been hard to remember he thought her a lad.
He…he did still think of her as a lad, aye?
She was frowning—her thighs already aching from the effort it took to stay atop the horse—when Gavin led them across a small stream. They were several hours from the keep by that point, and the terrain was rockier. In fact, the path they were on would lead them directly between a rock overhang and a tremendous boulder.
It would be a perfect place for an ambush.
But what did she know? She was a scholar, not a warrior.
Still, the closer they got, the more uncomfortable she was. As Gavin led Merrick through the pass, she worked up the courage to say something.
“Andrew, should we—”
That was as far as she got before the attack came.
With blood-curdling cries, the warriors attacked from either side of the hidden pass. Gavin went down, and Merrick whirled, his sword appearing in his hand as he hacked his way toward his friend.
As Saffy froze, forgetting how to breathe, the rest of the Sutherland warriors let lose battle cries and joined the fray.
“Saf!”
It was Merrick yelling her name, which broke her trance. He was probably livid his squire wasn’t beside him, helping him fight.
She scrambled for the sword at her waist, cursing her sweat-dampened palms and wondering how in the world she was supposed to remember the few moves he and Citrine had taught her.
Her blade in her hand now, she kicked her horse into motion, and bless him, but he was obviously better trained for battle than she was. When one of their attackers—wearing a plaid she didn’t recognize—loomed over her, his sword raised, her horse swung out of his path, even as she ducked stupidly.
Sweet Virgin, ye’re going to die! Citrine is the warrior, no’ ye!
Her mind was not being helpful.
If Citrine could do this, she could. Merrick was counting on her.
Ahead, he was whirling and slicing, a blade in each hand as he controlled his horse with his powerful thighs.
’Tis a hell of a time to notice his thighs, Saffy.
An enemy—they must be Lindsays!—lunged for his rear, but before she could shout a warning, Merrick had thrown himself sideways and stabbed upward, catching the man in the gut.
Saffy remembered to inhale and yanked her horse’s head toward Merrick. She didn’t know what use she’d be to him, but couldn’t bear the thought of him being wounded.
“Saf!” he bellowed again.
Apparently, he thought she should be by his side as well.
Time sped up again as her animal wove its way between the clumps of fighters, and she kept her attention on Merrick, swallowing down her terror at the screams of pain and clashes of metal.
She would reach him. She had to.
And she would’ve, had Andrew not stumbled in front of her horse then, defending himself from a much larger Lindsay warrior who landed blow after blow on the weakening young man.
Saffy knew she couldn’t allow Andrew to be hurt, not when she could help. Merrick might’ve wanted her by his side, but surely he’d rather know Andrew was safe?
Her mind made up, she took a deep breath as the battling pair passed to her left, then raised herself in her stirrups.
With a battle cry which would’ve made Citrine proud, she threw herself out of her saddle toward the Lindsay warrior.
When he saw Saf throw herself off the horse, Merrick went a little mad.
It had been bad enough knowing he’d ridden right into an ambush. What the hell had Gavin been thinking, to lead them this way? Merrick had already been frowning as he followed his friend, knowing this pass was a dangerous spot…but he’d trusted Gavin not to be so stupid.
Then, when the Lindsays had attacked, there’d been a moment of elation. Aye, he and his men were under attack…but he finally had the chance to engage his brother face-to-face!
It was long moments before he realized John wasn’t with his men.
And a few very short moments before Merrick realized Saf was in danger as well.
He’d yelled her name, but the lass had just sat there, staring wide-eyed and terrified at the battle around her. He’d begun fighting his way toward her then, no longer caring about the Lindsays, or John, or even the fact that Gavin’s forehead was bleeding.
He was only thinking about reaching her.
Holding her.
Kissing her.
Ensuring she was safe.
It was hard to keep an eye on her with the battle raging around him, but he continued to fight his way toward her. His horse was well-trained, as was hers. Despite the scent of blood and the screams in the air, her animal wouldn’t panic.
And then, thank God, she’d drew her sword and began to move toward him, and he knew she was at least able to function. He’d be able to reach her and keep her safe.
Aye, everything was looking up…right until the daft lass threw herself off her horse.
Merrick had shouted her name again, just as she slammed into the back of a Lindsay warrior, her short sword plunging into the man’s back up to its hilt. She rode the body to the ground, only to be snatched up by the hood of her surcoat by an extremely angry-looking Andrew.
Angry she’d interfered with his battle, or angry that she’d saved him?
Merrick fended off another attack, irate the Lindsays seemed to be focusing on him, keeping him from her side.
Still, as his men cut the attackers down, he watched Saf. She stood back-to-back with Andrew, doing her best to fend off blows with her large dirk. Darting forward and back, she slashed and stabbed, incapacitating at least two Lindsays who’d underestimated her abilities.
Despite the danger all around, Merrick found himself smiling grimly.
I taught her that move.
Finally, his last attacker lay dead at his feet, and Merrick whirled to take stock. Gavin was sitting on the ground, holding his head—in pain or shame? The rest of his men were standing, or finishing off their opponents…
Except for Andrew. He was still locked in combat with a Lindsay warrior. As Andrew spun out of the way, Saf darted in to take his place. But before she could attack, the tip of the man’s sword sliced across her forearm.
Blood bloomed from the wound, and her face paled as she stumbled to the side.
Before Merrick could move, Andrew had lunged back into position and thrust his sword deep into the enemy’s unprotected neck.
Just like that, the battle was finished, the Lindsays defeated.
But as much as he wanted to rail against Gavin, or to hold Saf and ensure she was safe, he needed to be the Sutherland Devil first.
“Farran!” he barked, singling out Gavin’s second. “Lead the retreat. Each man pair with a wounded comrade. Let no Sutherland fall behind!”
Then, because he knew it was expected, he swung his bloodied sword in a circle over his head. “Without fear!”
His warriors—even the wounded—screamed the clan’s words back. “Without fear!”
Farran pulled Gavin up behind him, and turned his horse to gallop toward the distant keep. Others helped friends up or began to wrap wounds.
Merrick turned his horse toward Andrew and Saf.
His former squire was bent over Saf’s arm, clearly trying to check the wound, but she kept pulling back. Finally, Andrew sighed and swung up on his horse, then offered her his hand.
Merrick reached them before Saf could reach for the lad. “Go, Andrew,” he commanded in a stern voice. “Ride in the rear and watch for stragglers.”
Andrew’s eyes darted between his laird and Saf, and Merrick could see he wanted to argue. Finally, he lowered his chin in acceptance.
“Ye saved my life, Saf,” the young warrior choked out.
“Aye,” she croaked, her face still pale. “Twice.”
Andrew held her gaze. “I’m sorry I doubted ye.”
Merrick could tell Saf was in no condition to stand around and talk, and he was in no mood to allow Andrew to continue ignoring his orders. “Andrew!”
The young man yanked his horse around and galloped for home.
Alone now, Merrick took a deep breath and looked to Saf.
She seemed so tiny and vulnerable, clutching her right forearm to her chest. Blood stained her sleeve and the front of the surcoat, but it wasn’t so much he was worried about her passing out. Nay, it was fear which had her pale and shaking now.
With a muttered curse, he leaned down, grabbed her under her arms, and pulled her into his lap. He wrapped one arm around her, tucked her against his chest, and kicked his horse after his men.
Miles had gone by before he heard her say something. They were safe enough now, beyond the reach of the Lindsays and in the open. He knew his men were on their way back to the keep.
He could afford a few moments to set his heart at ease.
Yanking the horse’s reins, he turned the animal toward a stream, thinking only to allow Saf a drink, and maybe check her wound.
“What did ye say?” he asked gruffly.
She pulled away from his chest, where she’d been snuggling. “I said, I left my sword there.”
The image of her jumping off her horse, the flash of her blade as she plunged it into the Lindsay’s back, slammed into him once more. He stiffened, unconsciously tightening his hold on her.
“Ye’re hurting me.”
Hurting her? When they reached the stream, he pulled he horse to a stop and swung his leg over, without loosening his hold.
Hurting her?
Carefully, he let her legs drop until she was supporting herself, then forced himself to step back, before he exploded at her.
“Hurting ye?” he repeated in a deceptively quiet tone. “Hurting ye?”
Her chin rose, and she met his hard gaze. “Aye, but now my arms hurts more.”
“Hurting ye! Do ye have any idea how much pain ye would’ve caused had more than just yer arm been injured? Did ye even stop to think before ye threw yerself from yer horse?”
So much for his control. He scrubbed both hands through his hair. “Ye could’ve been wounded much worse, Saf! Ye could’ve been killed!’
Her eyes rounded, and her mouth made a little “oh” of surprise. Thank God, she was finally understanding what danger she’d been in!
But then she took a deep breath and ruined his relief.
“Would that have bothered ye, Merrick, had I been killed?”
It would have broken me, lass.
The thought—the sudden realization—was more than he was willing to admit. He’d known her such a short time!
But it was the truth. Knowing she’d been hurt had caused him pain. If she’d been killed…
“God’s wounds, Saf,” he growled, reaching for her.
He pulled her against his chest, one
hand splayed across her back, and the other cupping her hip, then crushed his lips down over hers. He swallowed the adorable little noise of surprise she made, and let his body show her how much she’d come to mean to him.
He knew the moment she relaxed from her shock and moved under him. Her uninjured hand turned against his chest, and she traced circles on his skin, which just made him moan again. She matched him with a little whimper, and when his tongue pressed against her lips, she invited him in.
God’s wounds.
When did the lass learn to kiss? Merrick couldn’t complain. With her pressed against him like this, despite the danger, he felt himself hardening. He wanted nothing more than to lay her down beside the stream, peel off that ridiculous disguise, and love her the way a woman should be loved.
But he couldn’t. She wasn’t ready for it, and he… It had been too long to start now.
She kissed like a woman who knew what she wanted, and he desperately wanted to give it to her.
Maybe one day he would.
With a groan, he pulled away from her, and when her lips followed him, he almost gave in.
Instead, he pressed his forehead against hers, panting.
Her eyes were open, and she ground her pelvis against his.
He tightened his hold on her and on his control. “Easy, lass.”
That was what did it. With a gasp, she reared back, jerking away from him. “Lass?” she repeated.
He straightened, and when he saw her incredulous expression, he began to chuckle.
“Aye, lass. I’d no’ kiss a lad the way I just kissed ye.”
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Finally, her shaking fingers lifted to her lips.
“How long?” she whispered.
His expression softened, and using his hold on her hips, pulled her closer. “Since the first, Saf. I held ye that night, and I kenned it,” he admitted gently.
“Ye knew I was a—a lass? Ye’ve been teaching me, and treating me like a…like yer squire.”
“Aye.” He nodded. “I wanted to get close to ye, to make ye trust me.”
He carefully pulled her injured forearm away from her body and turned it over, examining the wound. It appeared clean, and although she would need stitches, it would likely heal well.