Chapter 3

Marcus sighed and rubbed his eyes before splashing a little water on his face. He was tired, but he needed to stay alert if he was going to keep his word to help Erin MacDougall seduce his stern, aloof-acting brother.

Though he’d never let her know it, several things she’d said had gotten under his skin and made sleep difficult to find. Her comments about his way with women, for example.

He enjoyed bedsport, and the company of a willing lass. He made no secret of that, or of the fact that he had any number of light o’ loves that he went to when he was in a mood. They were happy enough to welcome him, and none of them ever seemed to mind his lack of devotion. In fact, some of them seemed pleased with the arrangement, as it meant they had no feelings of obligation, and were free to seek another lover or even a love interest of their own, without forgoing the pleasures of the bedroom in the meantime.

But Erin was right that it came with a price. He had a reputation as a rake and he’d heard rumors about some of the women whose company he enjoyed, that they were deemed just one step up from being considered working light-skirts. Some of the older ladies of the keep murmured about ‘loose women’ and watched him and his paramours with judging eyes.

He shook his head. “They dinnae understand, and neither does Erin MacDougall.”

He’d seen what a ‘love’ match had done to his parents, the cost when love soured and turned to indifference, or even hate. He’d also seen what a demon obsession could be in the madness that had driven his mother to her death, his father into his brother’s blade, and his youngest brother into exile.

He’d also seen how his younger brother had endangered his own life, and how Darren and Keegan had come to blows over Keegan’s affections for Isobel Stewart. He’d no desire to find out if he possessed the capability for that dark, jealous madness within himself.

Love and the sort of single-minded devotion it could inspire, was a far more destructive force than any army, so far as Marcus was concerned. He might sometimes regret the lack of connection and close affection he saw between couples like Keegan and Isobel, but not enough to want to risk his own heart in the pursuit of it.

For that matter, he’d have warned Erin away from attempting to seduce his brother, had it not been for a few critical facts. For one, he knew Darren wasn’t like him. Darren might be cool and reserved on the outside, but he had a strong, loving heart underneath the mask. Darren yearned for a true attachment, and a lass he could love and receive love from in return. He’d said as much, more than once, and Marcus was in no way interested in depriving his brother of such comforts, no matter what reservations he had on the matter.

On the other hand, he also knew full well that Erin would never heed him. If he’d tried to warn her away, she’d pursue Darren even more forcefully. And, as likely as not, made a terrible mess of it. The girl was altogether too unpracticed in the art of seeking a man’s attention, that much was evident. She was nervous when she tried to flirt, and stumbled over her words like the shyest milk-maid. And she dressed like a man, or a lass who was thinking to go into holy orders, rather than a confident woman.

It was clear from the way she carried herself and the clothing she wore, that she was used to ignoring her femininity at best, and regarding it as a nuisance at worst. As much of a hardened warrior as Darren was, such an approach wouldn’t work with him. He might admire a woman who could fight, but those weren’t the qualities he’d look for in a lass he wanted to share his life and his bedchambers with. He appreciated a little softness when he wished to relax, as one might expect from a man who’d faced far too many difficult trials in his years.

If Erin MacDougall was to have a chance at capturing his brother’s heart, she’d need to find a way to embrace her beauty and soften her manners, while remaining who she was – a warrior princess, strong and bright and bold. Trying to change too much would fail, but surely so would trying to change too little.

Fortunately, Marcus was familiar with the difficulties of walking between two uncomfortable positions. He’d had recent practice, after all, in the early days of trying to build peace between Keegan and Darren.

He dried his face and checked himself in the mirror to ensure that he looked no worse for his late night, then turned and left his quarters. It was still appallingly early, but he had a feeling he’d need all the time he could spare, if he was going to transform Erin from a warrior maid to a woman who might catch his brother’s attention, and possibly his heart.

Erin woke to darkness, and the feeling of someone watching her. For a moment, fatigue clouded her mind. Then she was wide awake, her hand sneaking toward the sheathed dagger she always kept at her side when she slept.

Stealthy footsteps moved closer. Erin kept herself still and seemingly relaxed, uncertain how well the intruder would be able to see her. She’d only get one chance to catch them off-guard, and she had no intention of wasting it.

One step closer, then two. Erin listened carefully until the footsteps paused within a foot or so from her bed. Under the sheets, her muscles coiled tight, ready to spring into action.

She heard the rustle of cloth as the figure leaned over her, and pounced. One hand tossed the sheets up to obscure her assailant’s view and avoid hindering her movement. The other flicked the blade to one side to cast the sheath away before she pushed herself off the bed and rammed the shadowy figure in the gut.

The two of them went down in a welter of cloth, and Erin scrambled into a crouching position over the prone form with her blade readied. She was just about to put it to the man’s throat when a familiar voice spoke. “Gods above woman, dinnae even think o’ sticking me with that thing.” There was a soft, annoyed groan. “’Tis nae as if ‘tis needed. Ye hit like an ill-tempered mule when ye’re awakened.”

She dropped the knife to her side and glared down in the direction of the man’s face. “I do when I’m startled out o’ a sound sleep, aye.”

“’Tis a habit ye’ll have tae break afore yer wed, unless ye intend on fighting yer husband fer control o’ his bed every night he comes seeking his rest after ye.” Marcus snorted. “I can tell ye now, that’s nay way tae endear yerself tae a man. Bedsport is bedsport, but getting yer throat nearly sliced every time yer wife is startled is nae so attractive, nor entertaining.”

Marcus paused, and she could hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke again. “Though I dinnae mind the way ye’re sitting on top o’ me, ye may nae want tae stay there much longer, or I’m like tae be getting ideas ye dinnae want me getting.”

Annoyed, she hit him in the shoulder with her free hand, then rolled off of him and to her feet. She knew where the hearth was, and it was the work of a moment to light a candle from which she could apply sparks to the tinder, and coax the banked embers back into flame.

It was only as the light brightened and she saw his expression – eyebrow raised and a small smile tugging at his mouth – that she realized she was still in the long nightshirt she wore to bed instead of the more flowing gown her sister preferred. The shortened hem and the way the fabric clung closer to her frame made movement easier. However, it also revealed far more than she was used to or comfortable with.

Her face went hot as the growing fire, and she dove for her discarded sheets. “Brute! Bad enough ye accost me in me bedchambers at this hour, which is also the reason why I attacked ye, given ye just lectured me about how to act with me future husband. But do ye nae even have the decency and courtesy tae look away when ye ken I’m nae dressed fer company?”

She hurriedly tucked the blanket around her frame. “And what the devil are ye doing in me bedchambers anyway, afore the crack o’ dawn?”

Marcus twisted and got smoothly to his feet. “We’re starting tae work on yer plan tae seduce me brother. I’ll be working with the war leaders o’ yer clan and mine fer the majority o’ the daylight hours, and I’ll have nae time tae work much with ye.”

Erin blushed, but forced herself to meet his gaze. “I dinnae see what ye need tae be in me quarters fer, at least nae so early.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, but went to the drawers she’d placed her clothing in. Before she could even start to voice a protest, he began pulling shirts and skirts and trews out, along with the two dresses she’d brought. “Tae start with, what were ye planning on wearing when ye seduce Darren?”

She snatched a skirt and blouse from the pile and clothed herself. “I suppose I could wear one o’ the dresses.”

Marcus snorted. “Aye, ye could, if ye were looking tae apply for a servant’s position, or tae a convent.” He tossed one of the dresses onto the bed. “Ye’ve a close collar, close sleeves, a long skirt and nae much in the cut that accents yer curves.”

“And what o’ it? It’s still a perfectly good dress, and the skirt gives me plenty o’ room tae move.”

“Ye can have room tae move and still wear something that doesnae look like ‘tis a stitch or two away from being a pretty linen smock, or a sack.” Marcus bent and took a charred stick from the fire. He began making markings. “Ye can trim the sleeves near tae the shoulders, show off those arms o’ yers. And take some inches off the hem, tae show off yer calves and the lines o’ yer legs – they’re shapely enough tae catch a man’s eye.”

She understood both suggestions, but she balked when he began to sketch out lines across the waist and bodice. A few places where the seams could be tightened to accent the lines of her waist and hips were followed by a sketched line that removed most of the collar and drew a ‘V’ from shoulders to the base of her ribs. “What are ye thinking with that?”

“I’m thinking ye’re a pretty lass with a good figure. This will help show it off.”

“I dinnae need tae be showing off that much!” She stared. “’Tis hardly decent.”

“Ye’ll have lacing across the top, if ye want it.”

“I’d rather ye leave the neckline o’ me dress alone, instead o’ having me dress like a hussy, or an empty-headed chit.” She huffed. “I’m a warrior. I dinnae see why I need tae change me clothing tae try and look like aught else.”

Marcus laughed, and she felt a furious blush rising to her cheeks, followed by a rising tide of embarrassment and irritation as he smirked at her. “Lass, ye’re too modest tae catch a man, the way ye dress. Doesnae matter how ye want tae argue it, ye need tae show off a little if ye want tae draw a man’s attention, and I dinnae mean demonstrating yer fighting skills.”

Appraising eyes drifted over her. “Ye’re a pretty lass, with clear skin, lovely hair, and an elegant shape tae yer face. As for yer figure... ye’ve good hips, a slim waist, and a fine set o’ breasts. Show it off, and ye’ll catch many a man’s eye, even if they dinnae see aught else.”

The leering gaze and frank appraisal startled her, and she reacted without thinking. She flushed crimson as the firelight, and slapped him hard across the face. “Dinnae even think about it, ye brute!”