by Caroline Lee
She tugged her hand away, but he refused to let her go. When she tried to avoid his gaze, he made a warning sound deep in his throat.
“Who are ye, Saf?”
She was staring at his chin, and he watched her swallow.
“I—My sister tried to teach me to wield a sword, but I preferred working in my father’s solar, reading the clan histories.”
A lady. She was a lady, but not a Lindsay.
“God’s wounds, Saf,” he whispered hoarsely. “Yer father could be looking for ye even now!”
She shook her head slightly, her expression looking panicked. “He’s no’. He doesnae ken—”
Merrick tried to keep his breathing even, tried to trust her. But the thought of Mary alone in another keep, without knowing where she was… He squeezed Saf’s hand. “Who are ye?”
She met his eyes and shook her head. “I cannae, Devil.”
And damn her eyes, but she sounded apologetic. He dropped her hand and stepped back. “Why?” he snarled. “Because ye do nae trust me?”
“Aye,” she said sadly. “Because I ken ye are a good man, and if ye ken my family, ye’d send me back to them.”
“And ye donae want to go?”
“Nay…” She swallowed. “I miss them terribly. But I came here for a reason.”
“Which ye willnae tell me.”
She didn’t answer, just stared at him with sadness in those big blue eyes.
He cursed himself for a fool and strode for the door. He was keeping her secret for her, but she wasn’t trusting him. He needed a good fight, another drink, and a quick release.
And at this point, he didn’t care how he got them.
Chapter Nine
Mayhap she should have told him who she was.
Merrick’s bad mood lasted for days, and Saf knew she was partially responsible. Aye, there’d been no word from Lindsay, and aye, Gavin was still too faint for a reckoning from Merrick. In fact, the Sutherland second—poor man—couldn’t sit up for long and would become dazed within a few words whenever Merrick confronted him. But Saf suspected there was more to Merrick’s temper, because the easy camaraderie they’d built over the last weeks was gone.
She still served him meals, still trained with him, but he no longer singled her out. Her arm had healed well enough, although she was careful not to jostle it until Magda told her the stitches were ready to come out.
But Saffy hadn’t moved out of Merrick’s bed. She supposed it was a quiet sort of rebellion, forcing him to command her to leave.
He hadn’t yet.
Every night, they performed her ablutions in silence, and she did her best to remind him she was a woman. Last night, she removed her shirt, unwound her breasts while standing at the table, and pulled her shirt back on. When she’d turned around, Merrick had been staring at her, breathing heavily.
And as she’d done every night since the battle with the Lindsays, she crawled into his bed and waited. And as he’d done every night, he stood there in the darkness, obviously debating with himself, before cursing under his breath, crawling in beside her, and hauling her up against him.
This morning she’d woken with his hands cupping her breast and his hard member nestling against her rear end. The intimacy had sent a spike of warmth straight to the secret area between her legs, and she’d smiled and pretended to stretch as she pushed back against him.
“God’s wounds, Saf,” he’d hissed as he jerked away from her and rolled out of bed. “Ye’re making this too hard.”
This?
She’d had to stifle her laughter as she watched him wind his kilt around himself—and his jutting erection. He’d done a good job of hiding what she most wanted to see, and she still wasn’t sure why.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t continue to tease him.
Of course, outside of his chamber, and in the clan’s eyes, she was still just his squire. He was keeping her secret, despite her refusal to answer his questions. She decided that had to be the noblest thing she’d ever experienced, and it made her feel even worse about not trusting him with the truth.
But he was the Sutherland Devil. He’d once been engaged to marry Saffy’s youngest sister. Pearl had broken that contract because she’d refused to leave Sinclair land, and had later realized a deep and abiding love for one of Da’s warriors. But that hadn’t helped Merrick, and until Saf understood his feelings about that broken betrothal, she couldn’t risk telling him her real name.
Or why she was here.
Since she’d recovered enough for Merrick to allow her out of his chamber—although she was sure had she really been a lad, he would’ve given her permission a day earlier—she’d finished examining the tapestries. No references to the Sinclairs were found. She’d spoken to the seneschal and a few of the elders, too, keeping her questions as innocuous as possible.
Whereas a fortnight before, the Sutherlands would’ve reacted with suspicion to her questions, now they were answered freely. Many of the clan knew of her actions in the battle with the Lindsays, and more than a few approached her to apologize for thinking her a spy.
Apparently, despite Andrew’s embarrassment, he hadn’t hesitated to tell everyone of her…well, she was hearing it called a “brave deed,” and although she appreciated the praise, she secretly agreed with Merrick that it had been idiotic to put herself in so much danger.
But when she saw the way Mary smiled at Andrew, Saffy knew she’d save the lad’s life again, if called on to do it.
Although she didn’t mind making him squirm in apology.
“Where in the hell is Andrew?”
Merrick’s question, roared in exasperation, jerked Saffy out of her thoughts. She was sitting in the afternoon shade as the laird trained with his most experienced warriors, and hadn’t expected Andrew to be there.
Judging from the confused look Farran shot her way—as if asking her if she knew what was irritating the laird so much—he hadn’t either. “Milord, Andrew hasnae trained with us before. He was here this morning with the rest—”
With a growl, Merrick sheathed his sword. “If he ever wants to reach your level of skill, he should be here whenever he can.”
There was nothing Farran could say in reply, so he merely bowed his head in agreement. Saffy frowned, wondering why Merrick was taking his anger out on Andrew in particular. Or was he just frustrated at the stalemate with the Lindsays?
Or with her?
When he stalked past her, she leapt to her feet to offer him a drink from the skin of water she carried. He tossed her his weapon and drank from the skin as he walked.
She tried not to notice the way the drops ran down his chin and dripped onto his chest.
Ye’re noticing, lass.
She swallowed and tried for levity as she hurried to catch up. “For an auld man, ye certainly can run.”
He didn’t slow as he headed toward the courtyard. “And for a lad, ye certainly donae move fast enough.”
She chuckled as she caught up to him. “I’m twenty-two, ye ken.”
That stopped him. He whirled so suddenly, she almost ran into him. Although she’d rather be pressed up against him, she shuffled back so she could tilt her head and meet his gaze.
“Truly?” he finally asked.
She nodded.
He slowly exhaled, his eyes difficult to read. “As a lad, ye looked younger than Willie, but I thought ye closer to Mary’s age,” he muttered.
“Twenty-two,” she repeated. “A woman of that age is auld enough to ken her own mind, aye?” Old enough for marriage and bairns, certainly, although that wasn’t what she was asking from him.
“Auld enough to ken what she wants might no’ be what is best for her clan.”
She frowned. Was it? By laying with Merrick—which is what she wanted—she might lessen her father’s chance of making a marriage alliance with another clan. But there was no reason for her father to learn of this dalliance, was there?
So, she lifted her chin and boldly
stared at this devil of hers. “I’m auld enough to ken what is best for me, and ken how to get it without mucking up clan politics, Grandda.”
And, saints be praised! The man actually smiled at her insult. “No’ yet, wee Saf. Unless Mary or Willie does something stupid, I’m a long way from being a grandda!” He poked her in the shoulder, and it felt almost playful. “I’m no’ even twice yer age, ye ken, and I’m no’ walking with a cane yet.”
With the way the afternoon sun glinted off his wide shoulders, and the weight of his sword in her arms, Saffy knew he wasn’t anywhere close to decrepit, so she smiled right back.
And that might’ve been the end of it—since she’d banished his sour mood—except Andrew and Mary chose that moment to emerge from the stables, their arms around one another, laughing.
There was hay in Mary’s hair, and a love-bite on Andrew’s neck.
Merrick must’ve realized it the same moment Saffy did, because he let out a roar, dropped the waterskin, and snatched his sword out of her hands. As Andrew instinctively pushed Mary behind him, Merrick started across the courtyard.
“Ye think to protect her from me?” Merrick growled, reaching the couple as Saffy ran after him. “Ye’re the one who’ll answer for yer sins!”
“Nay, Da—” Mary began, but Andrew interrupted her.
“I’ve no’ sullied her, Laird.”
But Merrick was drawing his sword. “Being with her is sullying her! I trusted ye to—”
Was the man really going to cut Andrew down? Here in front of the gathering clan members? Mary looked torn between hysterics and anger, and Saffy knew she had to do something.
“Merrick,” she said softly. “Look at yer daughter.”
Maybe it was the fact she’d used his name, a first in public. Andrew glanced at her in surprise, but she kept her attention on Merrick. He jerked back, as if irritated by her interruption, and when he glared at her, she kept her expression as neutral as possible, willing him to understand her point.
Saffy was someone’s daughter. She knew how it felt to have her life planned out for her, whether she willed it or not.
He was the Sutherland Devil, feared and admired for his swift justice. Heaven knew she was fascinated by his quick decisions and intellect. But there were times when he needed to stop and consider another’s point of view before he meted out that justice.
Finally, Merrick swung his gaze to Mary, and spent far too many heartbeats staring at his daughter. Was he remembering how it felt to save her from Robbie? Was he wondering about guilt and anger and heartbreak? It was impossible to guess.
Merrick slowly lowered the sword, and Saffy knew she wasn’t the only one to breathe a sigh of relief. Andrew, for his part, kept his arms spread wide to prevent Mary from rushing around him. But she pushed against him, her pale eyes locked with her father’s, half-pleading, half-defiant.
It was a long moment before Merrick spoke. “Mary?” he asked, his tone deadly.
“No matter how much I begged, Da, Andrew wouldnae go too far.”
She said it proudly, her chin up as tears ran down her cheeks. Around them, murmurs started, and Saffy could tell from Merrick’s wince that he understood what his daughter had done. Mary had taken the entire blame for the situation on her shoulders.
“And ye, lad?” Merrick said in that same low tone.
Andrew swallowed, meeting his laird’s gaze bravely. “I ken she deserves better than me—”
“’Tis true,” Merrick interrupted, scowling once more at his daughter. “Ye do deserve better than him.”
Mary smiled softly. “And I love ye for thinking so, Da, but I need you to see him the way I see him. He’s a good man, one ye taught to be good.”
No one moved for several long moments. Then, to Saffy’s surprise, Merrick flicked a glance her way and cocked a brow.
Was he asking for her opinion?
Saffy mirrored his expression, hoping he’d clarify.
He didn’t. Both of his brows lowered into a scowl, and his irritation at her not answering was obvious.
She swallowed down her grin, knowing that, despite how happy the realization she could understand him without words made her, this wasn’t the time for levity.
She sighed instead. “Devil, the lad is stubborn and needs more training, but”—she hurried to clarify as more than a few bystanders sucked in shocked breaths—“I ken ye donae have a more loyal or more ardent warrior than Andrew.”
Merrick was holding his sword in one hand and lowered it until the tip was pointed at the ground. He stared at her with those eyes as if he couldn’t understand her.
Saffy nodded, hoping she was making sense. “He’s a good man, Devil. Or, he will be, assuming ye let him live. Mary loves him, and she’s old enough to ken her own mind.” Would he remember their earlier conversation? “And she’s strong enough to make sure he’ll never dishonor her or the clan.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Mary straighten proudly, but Saffy didn’t nod encouragement the way she wanted. Aye, her words were about Mary, but they were about herself, as well.
“She’s strong, Devil,” she whispered, “because she’s yours.”
Quicker than she could blink, Merrick reached out, fisting his fingers in the front of her surcoat. She barely had time to let out a surprised “eep!” before he yanked her toward him, until she half-dangled, nose to nose with him.
And there, in front of his daughter and Andrew, in front of his gathered clan, he kissed her.
Saffy kissed him right back.
She wrapped her arms around his neck for support, which allowed him to drop his hold on her and snake his arm around her back, pulling her closer. His lips crushed against hers, not the gentle nibbling and suckling he’d shown her beside the stream, but something passionate and primitive and glorious.
And she met him head-on, giving as good as she took.
It was long moments before the cheers penetrated her focus. She and Merrick pulled apart at the same time, and as he let her slide toward the ground, he seemed much more relaxed.
He stared down at her for a long moment, then shook his head, and looked around at his clapping and cheering clan members. “Well, lass,” he said loudly, “looks like I wasn’t the only one who saw through your disguise.”
Saf was too shocked to make sense of his words. He’d kissed her. In front of everyone. When she’d been dressed as a lad! But they were all cheering—did they all know she hadn’t been what she appeared? Andrew looked surprised, but Mary was grinning broadly and clapping enthusiastically.
Well, even if they hadn’t known she was a lass, Merrick’s words confirmed it.
It also meant he was no longer keeping her secret.
She should’ve been upset by that realization, but instead, she felt free. She socked him playfully in the stomach, and to her surprise, he grinned.
“Ye’re the worst squire I’ve ever had, Saf,” he said as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her up beside him.
“Nay, I’m the only one who will challenge ye at chess,” she corrected cheekily. “Although ye donae let me wash yer back nearly often enough.”
He’d never actually allowed her to do that, but that didn’t stop the hoots from the listeners.
Merrick rolled his eyes and steered them both toward the stables, pushing past Andrew and Mary.
“Ye are bold to speak up in the lad’s defense.”
“’Twas the truth I spoke.”
He was silent as he released her and they stepped into the shadows of the building. “Mayhap,” he finally said, heading toward his horse, “Andrew is a good lad.”
“And Mary is a strong woman, auld enough to ken her own mind.”
He paused in the action of strapping his sword to his waist and met her eyes. “The same as ye, Saf?”
“Aye.”
“Will ye tell me yer real name?”
Sapphire was no saint’s name. It was unique in the Highlands, mayhap in the world. If
she gave it, he’d know her.
But something had changed in him when he’d kissed her that way. She couldn’t keep pushing him away, not if she wanted a chance to pull him closer. To kiss him again. To see if he’d bring her as much pleasure as she was hoping.
So she finally said, “My sisters, my family…they all call me Saffy.”
It wasn’t the full truth, but it was enough. He jerked his chin once, and finished lashing the leather scabbard in place. Then he swung up on his horse and dug in his heels.
“Well, Saffy. Will ye help me wash my back?”
When he held his hand down to her, she knew she’d never get a better chance than this. She reached up, grasped his forearm as she placed her foot on his booted toe, and allowed him to hoist her into the saddle ahead of him.
And when they burst out of the stable, and his clan broke into cheers again, she was smiling.
Chapter Ten
To hell with good intentions.
He didn’t need any more bastards, but Clan Sutherland needed an heir. An undisputed son of his and his wife. It was why he’d married Elizabeth and Katharine, despite having young Willie in his heart already.
Aye, he needed an heir, and he’d have to marry to get one. In the meantime, though, he had a willing woman sitting on his lap, begging him to pleasure her.
Seeing Saf—Saffy, whoever she was—stand up to him—to him!—in front of his clan…
It had made Merrick see her in a new light.
She wasn’t just some lass disguised as his squire. She was brilliant and passionate and witty as hell. She teased in him a way no other woman had, not even Anna. Saffy met his irritation head-on, and had the guts to stay his hand when he was prepared to mete out justice.
She’d saved Andrew yet again, hadn’t she?
He was done fighting himself. She was unlike any other woman he’d known, and he wanted to taste her, to make her scream his name. He could do that without planting his babe in her belly.
He wasn’t sure who she was, but he was done fighting this attraction to her.