Eight

Eight

“We’ve received a ransom demand for Lairds Chisholms and Matthews from the remains of the royalist ranks.”

The royal guards jumped, pointing their weapons at the young prince as he came hurrying through the door. The guards escorting him drew their swords, bristling.

“What happens here, Lord Home?” the prince demanded.

“Lord Home was just hearing about the ransom demand from Laird MacNicols and his clever plan to trade Clarrisa of the York family for our men.” Norris Sutherland spoke up from behind the prince, pushing himself into a seated position. “Incredibly clever to trade an English royal bastard for good Scots lairds.”

The prince smiled. “A wonderful idea, and it warms our heart to see ye recovering.”

James turned to stare at her. He moved forward, looking more mature than his fifteen years. “I understand my father wanted to have a son with you.”

Norris watched her from behind the prince, warning her with a stern look. Lord Home was quiet, obviously unwilling to admit he’d been making execution decisions without the prince’s approval. She lowered herself in front of the prince.

“I did as commanded by my family.”

James considered her for a long moment. “Every child owes obedience to their parents. It is written in the scriptures.” The prince lost his composure for a moment, grimacing as though he was in pain. “Something I have recently learned I am guilty of not doing. I will forever strive to repent for the sin of being part of my father’s death. The circumstances do not excuse me from the commandments.”

Everyone in the tent waited for the youth to recover his poise, which he did quickly. He turned and walked to a large chair and sat down in it. Clearly he’d been raised to rule, for he looked like a king at that moment—poised and calm as he considered everyone in the pavilion.

“My prince…” Lord Home muttered. “She is a threat to you. Her kin will only arrange another match for her, with another man who thinks to challenge your place.”

“Which is why ye should allow me to wed her,” Broen interrupted. “I’ll take her into the Highlands, and our children will be loyal to ye. I’ve proven my loyalty these past few days by fighting on yer behalf.”

“But you have a betrothed, Laird MacNicols,” Lord Home declared, his skin flushing with agitation. He pointed at Daphne where she stood silently watching the entire exchange. “Daphne MacLeod is bound to you and in just as much need of controlling, for her father fought with the royalists. I’m happy to report he fell in battle and will no longer trouble us, but the man had no sons. The MacLeods need controlling by a laird loyal to our prince. Besides, what the church has blessed cannot be undone so simply.”

A strangled gasp came from Daphne. She slapped a hand over her mouth, but her eyes were wide with grief. Tears began to slowly fall down her cheeks.

“A betrothal must be honored.” The prince spoke gravely. “There is no way to avoid that truth.”

“I failed to honor it,” Daphne interjected. “The disgrace is mine. Broen has the right to renounce me for refusing to take my wedding vows.”

“As I said, the MacLeod need controlling, beginning with this girl who needs to honor her father’s word, but another match can be made for her,” Lord Home sputtered. He made a slashing motion with his hand. “MacNicols hopes to breed sons who will have a claim on your throne, and we have no need of men who plan such treason.”

There were several snarls in the tent, sending the royal guards reaching for their pikes once more. Clarrisa couldn’t tell who made the threatening sounds first, only that Broen, Kael, and Norris were all growling with rage.

“I’m covered in blood still from the battle I waged to see the prince gain his rightful place, and no man will label me a traitor,” Broen spit out.

“Ye will nae say any vassal of mine is a traitor while he’s been proving the opposite by coming to this field to stand behind ye,” Norris argued.

“Enough!” Lord Home barked. “I will hear no more of this. She is a bastard of Edward the Fourth—and a York one at that. She cannot be allowed to produce another generation to needle us. My prince, there have been countless lives sacrificed to ensure yer position. This is but one more. A necessary one. Have her put to death, immediately.”

The royal guards were unsure whom to point their pikes at. They looked between Lord Home and the prince before raising their weapons and stepping back to wait on the whim of their new monarch.

“Ye have served us well, Lord Home, a fact we shall not forget.” The prince spoke soberly, but he lifted a hand to keep everyone silent. “But Laird MacNicols has also served me well, and I shall nae repeat the mistakes my father made which led to this sad event of Scot fighting Scot. There will be justice even when the correct course of action goes against our personal wishes.”

Broen, Kael, and Norris all nodded and inclined their heads. Clarrisa breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the horrible tension in the room easing. Or perhaps it was only the worry strangling her that released, as the prince appeared to be ready to ensure Broen was recognized for the nobleman he was.

Highlander… She took a moment to soak up the sight of him standing with his fellow Scots.

“The horse I gave my father helped identify him in battle,” the prince muttered. “It matters not that I meant well. I helped cause his death, so I shall do penitence.” James looked at her. “My lairds who fought so bravely beside me shall be given their due. Ye shall be returned to yer kin in exchange for lairds Chisholms and Matthews.”

“Yer Majesty—” Broen raised his voice.

“I respect yer courage, Laird MacNicols, but ye should no more cast off yer duty to yer father. Ye are betrothed to Daphne MacLeod,” the prince said.

“She’s the daughter of a traitor.” It was Norris who spoke up, moving to stand near the prince. “The match agreed upon before sides had to be chosen. It’s a fair-enough reason for the match to be renounced.”

James looked at Daphne, pausing for another moment. “It’s true the scriptures say a child of a traitor is tainted, but if that is so, half our countrymen would be considered unfit to be my subjects. We shall consider them all misguided until now and give them the opportunity to prove themselves. None shall be reproached until they give reason for such. My men shall see to the ransom.”

“By God, no one shall—”

There was a heavy thud, and Broen crumpled to the floor. Norris Sutherland tucked a short dagger back into his belt, the hilt of which was a large brass ball. His expression was furious, but resignation flickered in his eyes. “It’s best I see to me vassal.”

The prince nodded, his eyes wide. Norris’s face was white, but he held his ground and looked at Daphne. “Ye’ll come along now and take up the duties of caring for the man yer father bound ye to. Since ye are to wed Laird MacNicols, ye’re me vassal.”

Clarrisa was halfway across the tent when Norris stepped into her path. She froze, raising her gaze from the crumpled form lying on the fine Persian carpets to the face of the man preventing her from touching Broen.

“Ye shall do as commanded, madam. Ye are on Scottish soil, and so subject to the Scottish king’s will. Just as I am. Laird MacNicols is me responsibility now.”

Norris snapped his fingers, and several of the royal guards came forward. They lifted Broen and carried him from the pavilion. The oddest feeling filled her. It was overwhelming relief, reinforced by the sight of Broen’s chest rising and falling until the canvas wall prevented her from seeing him. But she was also filled with white-hot pain, as though part of her were being cut away by the sharpest of knives. She stood there, twisting her hands into the fabric of her dress until her hands ached.

Norris offered his king a lowering of his head before he pointed Kael toward the door and followed him out. She was left facing Lord Home, but the man was busy reading the ransom notice.

She suddenly laughed. A dry, brittle sound of irony.

“What amuses ye?” James asked, some of his somberness lifting now that he wasn’t facing his grown subjects. When she turned to look at him, she could see a hint of playfulness on his face.

“Naught, Your Majesty. I am simply glad there is no blood spilled, for I was sure it would happen. I laugh because I am glad to find myself proven wrong.”

Lord Home scoffed. “Women have no business speaking their minds in the presence of men. Yer prattle is a waste of our time.”

The prince frowned but said nothing. For a moment she felt a kinship with him. She could see in his eyes the same look of resignation she so often felt herself. They were both born into a world full of people who wanted to use them. To survive, they endured what they must and hid their true feelings.

She was not sure she would survive being parted from Broen, but the knowledge that he would live was balm for her wounds. It numbed them enough for her to remain still, when inside part of her was screaming with the need to flee. Yet if she could not go to the side of the man she loved, she cared not where she went.

***

He had to wake. Broen battled the fatigue demanding he rest, fighting to regain consciousness. When he lifted his eyelids, soft hands held a cup to his lips. His vision was blurry, but he saw the short, fair hair and drank from the cup offered. Clarrisa…

He relaxed back into sleep, confident in her arms.

“Are yer tears true?” Norris was taunting her. Daphne raised her face and stood. She left the goblet near the bed Broen was sleeping in, the remains of the sleeping draught pooling in its bottom. She felt the stain of her transgression burning across her soul. He would hate her for her deed, but she would detest herself far more.

“They are, for I’d prefer to have none of this affair.”

“Why?” Norris demanded in a soft voice full of arrogance. “It will make ye the wife of a Highland laird, ensure ye are mistress of a fine castle and mother of the next chieftain. A fine position many would like to have.”

She was suddenly so angry she didn’t care if he was heir to the earldom of Sutherland. She would grant him no submission.

“I want it not. They love each other. Parting them is a sin against the heart God gave us to feel love with. All I have ever brought to Broen is suffering: first when he took to fighting with his best friend over what came with me, and now because the prince used me to separate him from the woman he truly desires. Would that I could make it so he’d renounce me.”

His lips twitched, his color better than she seemed to recall. “Well now, Daphne MacLeod, if ye want something else for yerself… ye shall have to take a hand in carving out what ye desire of fate. Most women do nae have the courage for such action.”

“And ye doubt I do?” She laughed, stepping closer—so close they were only a single pace apart. There was a fire brewing in her belly, one she didn’t understand, but she wanted to let the heat build further. Maybe it would burn away the feeling of being strangled.

“This match is poison.”

One of his eyebrows lifted arrogantly. “The prince is set in his thinking. Broen cannae refuse a royal command.” He stroked her cheek. “So make the best of it. Take a lover or a dozen once ye’ve secured yer position by giving him some sons. Since he has affections for another woman, I doubt he’ll mind very much.”

His touch should have shocked her; instead, it fanned the flames licking at her insides. She needed to break free of every rope binding her, so she smiled at the ripple of sensation traveling across her skin—because it was forbidden.

“Ye understand nothing.” She spun away from him, but Norris grabbed her upper arm and pulled her back against him with a strength that surprised her. He chuckled softly. “Ye are nae weakened,” she accused, jerking against his hold and finding herself caught.

“And ye are crying out against fate and her cruel nature instead of taking action.”

There was a tone in his voice that made her freeze. “What do ye mean? Speak plainly.”

He released her, moving past her until he stood over Broen. He lifted one of his eyelids and studied Broen’s pupil. “He’ll sleep until sunrise, but nae much longer, no’ with his attachment to young Clarrisa eating at him.”

Daphne followed Norris, wanting, not actually needing, to know what he wasn’t telling her. She could feel something drawing her to him; it was as instinctive as stretching out chilled fingers to be closer to a fire.

Norris turned to face her; his hand cupped her jaw before slipping over the surface of her cheek. It was a bold touch. She lifted her hand but never delivered the slap such forwardness deserved.

“Why are ye toying with me?” she muttered, irritated by the way he was watching her. His green eyes shimmered with a need that tugged at her heart for some reason.

He offered her a dry chuckle and stroked her cheek once again. This time his eyes narrowed as though he was trying to memorize the way her skin felt against his own. “Because I am a blackguard.”

She stepped back but didn’t move very far away, because she felt the separation between them keenly. It made no sense, but her instinct was to return to where he could touch her again. “A touch on the cheek hardly labels ye a blackguard.”

“I’m a knave for thinking to help ye and my friend Broen by satisfying me own need to touch life.” There was heat in his tone; it bordered on desperation, as though he was starving.

“I do nae understand…” But she wanted to. She stepped closer and put her hand on his chest, drawn to the need in his eyes. He quivered, her fingers detecting the tiny response to her touch.

Norris massaged the back of her neck, slowly sliding his fingers along the tender skin. “Watching men die is nae an easy thing. It dries out the soul, sending ye searching for the life that flows through a woman.”

He leaned down, touching his lips against hers. She might have retreated, but his kiss seemed to satisfy the cravings inside her. He teased her lips until she mimicked his motions and kissed him back.

“Slap me and leave.” He was angry, but it appeared to be with himself. He brushed past her and sat on the bed against the other side of the tent. The ropes creaked as he sat down.

“It’s rather hard to slap ye when ye walk away.”

He untied one boot and tossed it aside. “Then come here and do yer worst, Daphne…” The second boot followed. “I dare ye to come within me reach, for me stomach has been turned with the sight of too much blood spilled for selfish ambition. I want to feel yer heart beating while I discover what yer lips taste like, and no’ because of any affection I feel for ye but for the sake of assuring meself that I’m still alive. So come over here if ye dare.” There was an unmistakable challenge in his voice. He opened his doublet and tossed the garment aside with more force than necessary.

“Why do ye dare me? Do ye truly believe I’m so impressed with yer title that I’d no’ take ye to task if I wanted to?” She was growing warm and had trouble keeping her attention on his face. He ripped his shirt up and off next. Her discipline failed, and she let her gaze wander over his bare torso. Only a strip of white bandaging kept her from seeing every inch of him exactly as nature had crafted him. Magnificent…

“I’m daring ye to do what ye please with yer future, Daphne.” He stood once more and pulled on the end of the wide leather belt securing his kilt. It fell down, but he caught it, bending with only a tiny grimace. His cock stood hard and ready, and the man didn’t even blush. Instead, he tossed his plaid aside and faced her with a challenge on his face.

“I’m daring ye, Daphne MacLeod, to come lie with me because ye want to choose who will ride ye.”

“That is nae why I do nae want to wed Broen. It’s because the match me father offered was like poison between him and Faolan. I do nae want such a stain on me conscience.”

He shrugged and pushed the bedding aside before lying down. The damned man looked more powerful once he was stretched out—Daphne noticed her mouth had gone strangely dry.

“I warned ye. I’m a blackguard, Daphne.” He patted the surface of the bed beside him. “I want ye to come here and let me seek solace against yer sweet flesh. The only courtesy I’m offering is the fact that I will nae overwhelm ye with me greater knowledge of seduction by getting up and chasing ye around this tent.”

“But ye could…” She shouldn’t have spoken aloud, but the words tumbled past her lips.

“Aye, easily.” The words rolled so easily from his lips, but what shocked her was the fact that she did not doubt him. Not one bit. Her belly quivered as she recognized just how easily he could seduce her. The man knew his way around a woman’s body and that was for sure.

She propped her hands on her hips. “Someday someone is going to knock some of that smugness out of ye, Norris Sutherland. I’ve a mind to try me hand at it.”

He smiled at her, the rogue in him unrepentant. “Well, it will nae be ye, because ye’ll be bearing Broen MacNicols’s babes. Unless ye come to me now and give the man the only reason the prince will accept to renounce ye: lack of virtue.”

Rejection surged through her. “Do ye think I lack the courage?”

His expression became serious. “I think ye know ye are trapped, and it sickens ye. But the prince is young, and he’s unknowingly left ye with a slim opportunity to escape his decree. But such will not come freely. Broen can only renounce ye for losing yer maidenhead, and I’m a blackguard for no’ offering to help ye deceive him.”

“But ye would welcome me to yer bed.”

Norris nodded. “As I said… a blackguard.”

“A choice…” she muttered, glancing back at Broen. He wasn’t sleeping restfully. The bedding was rumpled about his feet where he kicked at it. He didn’t want her, and her pride bristled beneath the weight of the knowledge. Combined with the memory of how he and Faolan had fought over her, she turned back to stare at Norris. Oh, the man was a blackguard, but at the moment he was also her friend because he offered the one thing she wanted most of all.

“Well now, Norris Sutherland, it seems ye do nae know all that much about this seduction matter, for I cannae loosen me dress on me own, and I rather thought seduction included more than simply tossing me skirts… yet ye’re the one claiming to be the experienced one.”

Something appeared in his eyes. She wasn’t exactly sure what it was, because he sat up so fast. Her belly tightened, a bolt of fear spiking through her as the man approached her. He was somehow larger than she’d noticed before, more menacing perhaps.

Yet he was also intriguing. She wanted to know what it was like to feel his heart beating against her. A craving to lose herself in the moment, while she forgot about everything the world around them expected of her, was licking across her skin. He slipped his hands beneath her short hair, gripping the silken threads just hard enough to send little ripples of discomfort along her scalp. She gasped from the intensity of the sensation. It wasn’t pain; it was deep enjoyment rising up from some place inside her she’d never noticed before. He pressed his mouth against hers, surprising her with how gentle the kiss was.

Her choice, and she was pleased with it.

***

“I have not seen you since you were learning to walk.”

Sir Richard Scope wore his knighthood proudly. He circled Clarrisa, studying her from head to toe before settling himself down with his comrades once again. They were watching her with a similar familiar glint in their eyes, gauging her worth to their cause. She was still on Scottish soil, but among the English—at least, men who believed themselves to be English. She wasn’t sure. After all, they had fought with the prince to overthrow his father in the hopes the young boy would assist them in pushing Henry Tudor off the throne.

“She isn’t worth what we gave up for her,” one man groused.

“I disagree,” Richard answered. “Since the young Scottish prince has given us sanctuary here, we would have had to return his lairds for naught. Now we have another blooded heir to help us push that pretender Henry off the throne.”

“She’s a bastard, and a female. That will be no help now that Henry has an heir.”

Richard picked up a mug and took a swallow. She continued to stand before the three men, no offer of chair or stool for her. Of course not, for she was a commodity to them, something with value to be used to gain what they wished.

“Babies die often. So do women. If Elizabeth of York dies in her next childbed, Edmund shall be king. Clarrisa will be used to secure a good alliance for his cause. We’ll dangle her blood in front of the noses of some of these Scots, or perhaps a French lord or two who seek connections with royal houses. There will be someone willing to pay us for her.”

Clarrisa stopped listening. Edmund was her cousin, his older brother having been killed in the last battle with Henry Tudor. He was a boy no older than the prince of Scotland and she had never met him. But she felt kinship with him; it seemed he was living a life much like her own.

“She’s likely no virgin.”

Richard snickered. “Who cares? James Stuart paid for her, and if she produces a child, it will have uses.” He snapped his fingers, and one of his men came forward. “Take her and see that she is guarded well until we depart for the tower we’ve been promised.”

Clarrisa left the tent gladly. Outside the day was dying, night falling over the camp. With the wind blowing in their favor, they couldn’t smell the stench of death from the battlefield. But she felt it.

Despair ripped at her heart. It threatened to steal her breath, the weight of it so great, it felt as though it might crush her. The Scottish camp was not so far away, but it might as well have been halfway to London. She could not return to Broen. He was as trapped by circumstance as she. The breeze turned her tears cold but she was sure fate was colder. Richard and his friends were busy deciding who to sell her to next.

By morning, the tents were being taken down and a long line of wagons began to carry away the remains of the battle. She mounted a mare while the sun was still only half risen and followed her relatives.

She wanted to kick the sides of the animal and urge it to run back toward the man she loved, but the retainers flanked her, keeping her as surely as any chest of gold they’d discovered. Yet it wasn’t the men guarding her she felt she couldn’t escape from. It was the certainty that Broen was not free to wed her or even keep her as his leman. Lord Home would surely demand she be taken from Deigh Tower if she returned there.

So it was better to face her fate sooner rather than later. Courage was after all within her power to grasp. She lifted her chin and refused to glance over her shoulder again. Broen’s face filled her thoughts anyway. She smiled in triumph because her kin could never force her to relinquish her memories.

***

Broen ripped himself from slumber’s grip at last. He wasn’t very well rested, his muscles aching from his restless night. With a curse, he rolled out of bed and tried to decide what it was that had been hounding him all night long.

The tent was low, and he frowned when he looked for his boots. He saw a pair lying on the floor that he didn’t recognize. His memory was slow to return, and he rubbed his eyes before reaching for one of the boots.

“I believe that one belongs to me.” Norris was still in bed, but the man didn’t sound sleepy. In fact, he sounded fully alert, which drew Broen’s attention to the man’s face. Sure enough, Norris was watching him from the other bed, his green eyes clear and focused. “Daphne put yers under the stool.”

Broen didn’t reach for his boots. Instead, he watched the rumpled head of blond hair snuggled against Norris’s chest begin to stir. Norris stroked the woman’s neck gently as she stretched and turned. Daphne blinked and reached up to rub her eyes.

“What in Christ’s name is happening here?” Broen exploded.

Daphne opened her eyes wide and sat up. He got a fine view of her small breasts when she left the bedding behind in her haste.

The tent’s door flaps were flung open, Norris’s men and Shaw all looking in to see why he was yelling.

“Ye tell me what’s happening, Broen.” He stood and swept Daphne out of the bed. He bundled her in the comforter, leaving the soiled sheet on display.

“God damn ye to hell—” Broen shut his mouth before finishing, the look of relief on Daphne’s face distracting him. Glee or fear, he’d have understood, but she gently pushed herself away from Norris and sighed as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

“Close the flaps,” Norris barked at his men. “Ye’ve seen enough.”

There was grumbling from Shaw. “Go on, Shaw,” Broen muttered before sitting back down and yanking his boots out from where they sat under the stool. The tent flaps closed, and he spied the cup sitting on top of the stool. One sniff and he cursed.

“Ye doused me with a sleeping draught.”

“That was my doing,” Norris answered as he shrugged into his shirt. “It seemed the only way to keep ye from getting run through when ye went after Clarrisa in defiance of the prince’s order.”

“Something I’ll still be doing. Do nae have any doubt about that, Norris Sutherland.”

“And now ye can,” Daphne muttered softly. She’d donned her chemise and was lifting her underdress over her head, still looking relieved. No blush stained her cheeks, only firm resolution flickered in her eyes. He’d missed something about her when she’d revealed to him that she was alive—Daphne was no longer a girl. She was a woman willing to shoulder the weight of her own choices. She no longer feared the challenges life presented.

“Christ in heaven, ye did nae have to go to such lengths, Daphne.”

“Did I nae?” She turned to stare at him while holding her underdress over her breasts because it needed lacing up her back. “There was no other way to end this contract between us. Ye must renounce me, something ye would nae do without cause.”

“I would nae have taken me freedom at the expense of yer good name, woman,” Broen muttered with a bitter taste filling his mouth. “It was me duty to resolve the matter, no’ yers.”

She lifted her overdress from where it rested over the arm of a chair. “I knew ye would say such. So it fell to me to end this before we drove one another to bitterness because neither of us wanted to wed. I’m going home now. Perhaps I am a poor daughter, but I will take me father home to be buried on MacLeod land.”

She left the tent, having to wait as Norris’s men and his own shifted out of her path. Daphne held her chin high as she went, the open back of her underdress speaking clearly to every man watching. The flaps closed, and Broen slammed his fist into Norris’s jaw.

“Damn ye, Norris! Ye should have tied her up and kept her from doing such a thing.”

Norris rubbed his jaw but didn’t retaliate. Guilt shone in his eyes. “I know well I’m a knave for taking advantage of her, but I am nae a liar. No’ now, no’ ever, Broen MacNicols. Ye can hate me for the things I do, but ye will never have to wonder if I’m telling ye the truth when ye ask what me position is.”

Broen sat down heavily, the bed ropes groaning beneath his weight. He stared at Norris and the soiled sheet, and God help him, he felt relieved, but guilty because Daphne had been the one to resolve the situation.

“I’m a damn bastard too,” he muttered.

“Ye’re a lucky fool, for I swear I’d no’ take a blow from any other.” Norris rubbed his jaw before searching for his boots. “But ye’re entitled to a few. Lord Home took that damned letter from me doublet when I was too weak to notice. He sent his men up and convinced Clarrisa to leave the protection of Deigh.”

“Where is she?” The relief transformed into a raging need to claim the woman he loved. “Where is Clarrisa?”

“They traded her for Faolan last night. I hear the prince has granted her kin sanctuary from Henry Tudor’s desire to wipe all York blood off the face of the Earth. They will be staying in Scotland.”

Broen stood up, but Norris blocked his path.

“Get out of me way, Norris, or ye’ll sample a few more blows from me hand I doubt ye’ll be so quick to forgive.”

“Stealing her will nae solve yer dilemma. Think, man. This is nae as simple as stealing the woman. Is yer desire for her so great ye’d risk her life as well as yer own? Once ye’re dead for treason, it will nae take long for Home to finish her off.”

Broen let out a frustrated growl that sent the tent flaps opening again. He waved Shaw away and waited for Norris to do the same with his men.

“There are times I hate needing others too, Broen, but alliances keep our clans strong. I need ye as much as ye need me. Ye’re smart enough to know a bride with royal blood must be contracted. And that ye would no’ be the only man wanting her wed into yer clan.”

“That’s a fact, one I plan to make into reality.”

But it would not be simple. In fact, it was most likely impossible. But Broen refused to think about the facts. He’d find the way because the thought of failure sent white hot pain through his heart. The steady look on Norris’s face assured him he wouldn’t have to do it alone. He offered Norris his hand and his friend took it.

“Let’s make a plan,” Norris muttered.

***

“Oh now, I’ve been so worried about you,” Maud muttered. She busied herself with snapping her fingers at the two maids pulling lengths of sheeting off the furniture in the chamber.

“This tower is older but it is made of stone. That gives me good solace, it does, seeing as how we’re still in Scotland and on the border of the Highlands no less. God is testing us, I have no doubt.”

Clarrisa walked to the window. The keep looked north. TotheHighlands… All that much better for her to dwell upon happier times.

She busied herself with helping to clean the chamber. It helped her to not dwell upon the fact that her last link with Broen was gone. Her monthly courses had arrived to confirm her brief sojourn into free will had not resulted in a child.

“The master is beginning to receive offers for ye, and ones which include marriage this time,” Maud continued to babble. She stopped and rubbed her hands together. “Your obedience has paid off, indeed it has. You’ll be a proper wife, of a nobleman possibly…”

Her place, her duty, her fate.

It still wasn’t enough to steal the last bit of joy from her heart. The only thing she feared was that it would grow cold with time. Still, for the moment she was grateful for the impulse that had seen her following her heart into Broen’s embrace. Love did exist; she’d felt it as sure as holding her hand over a candle flame.

What sobered her was the certain knowledge that she could not expect her future to hold such a wonderful feeling. She’d be fickle to believe she’d love the man Sir Richard sent her to, because true love wasn’t something that ever died. She could not discard the feelings burning inside her heart for Broen and expect them to grow for another man at her whim. Love could not be directed, which was why matrons such as Maud spent so many hours trying to prevent their young charges from meeting anyone they might form affection for. It was better to be kept away from temptation, so she might be content when she was sent off to wed the man who contracted her.

Clarrisa smiled, because Highlanders such as Broen obviously didn’t obey such rules of common sense. She preferred him that way. Wild and untamed by civilization. Well, Broen would have to obey his king; being a Highlander would not keep him from his duty.

She’d go wherever her kin sent her, because Broen was likely already wed to Daphne. It would be better to have her own place too since she couldn’t take one beside the man she loved. Such would be the practical thing to do.

But she grinned, looking up toward the Highlands. Amusement tickled her almost beyond her endurance to maintain her composure as she considered just what Sir Richard might make of the fact that she was docile, only because the man she loved was bound to another.

She’d wager the pompous Englishman would turn purple and choke on his arrogance. Another pleasant thought.

***

“A pleasant night to ye, mistress.” Clarrisa looked up because the maids seldom spoke to her beyond a yes or no response. Like a ghost in the keep, she was there, but not really the same as the other inhabitants. She felt as though she was waiting—but for what? The summer was half gone, and she couldn’t distinguish the days one from another. The excitement in the maid’s tone was the first thing different from the routine she’d fallen into.

“Thank you.”

The girl’s eyes were shimmering, and she fingered her skirts for a moment. “Och well… I hear in England a servant does nae speak unless spoken to, but I just want to say how happy I am for ye. The eldest son of the Earl of Sutherland for yer husband. Now there is something to celebrate. Yer kin has done right well for ye. I know more than one clan was hoping to place their laird’s daughter there.” The girl smiled brightly. “But ye’re the daughter of a king, and blood is blood.”

“Enough,” Maud snapped. “Get on with you.”

The girl drew in a stiff breath, her elated expression becoming tense. Clarrisa looked at the old matron suspiciously.

“Sir Richard was going to tell you of your good fortune soon.” The note of superiority in her voice kindled Clarrisa’s temper. She looked at the maid.

“Thank you for telling me.” She raised her voice just enough to make it clear she was putting Maud in her place. “You are very kind.”

The girl beamed before lowering herself quickly. Her skirts bounced behind her as she moved quickly out of the chamber.

“Exactly why you have not been told of your impending marriage. The news polishes your pride. You’ll become difficult.” Maud shook a finger at her. “My position is to ensure you are raised to be properly respectful—”

“You mean subservient to whoever pays the most for me.”

Maud began turning red; her mouth opened and closed a few times before she managed to form her thoughts into words. “Now see here. You will remember your place.”

“Enough, Maud. Why are you so surprised to hear me speak my mind? It wasn’t a docile nature that kept me alive in the Highlands.” Clarrisa sat on her bed and took off her slippers. She longed for the boots Ardis had crafted for her, but Maud had taken them away, declaring them rough and uncivilized. “Besides, it cost nothing to be kind to the girl, unless you want it whispered that I believe myself too good for a Scots groom. I don’t think it wise to anger those who call this country home.”

“What is not wise is the tone you are using. I’ve devoted myself to helping you gain such an offer, and listen to the way you rail at me like some dockside strumpet.” Maud drew in a dramatic breath. “Why, it’s a wonder you’ve been blessed at all. It hardly seems fair when you are such an ungracious child.”

“Perhaps if you explained more of the details, I might be less ignorant of my good fortune.”

Maud was torn. Clarrisa could see the matron battling the urge to rail at her as the desire to preen over their newest accomplishment grew.

“I should allow Sir Richard to tell you, but perhaps that isn’t such a wise plan, seeing as how you are so prone to speaking whatever thought you have. Maybe you are simple-minded, for I know I have tried to teach you to hold your tongue.”

Clarrisa bit her lip to maintain her silence, earning herself a nod of approval from the sour matron.

“The Earl of Sutherland has been negotiating with Sir Richard. They opened a bottle of French wine today and looked quite merry.”

Maud clapped her hands together as Clarrisa battled the urge to speak her mind once more. She lay down and sighed when Maud pinched the candles out. Darkness was welcome, and she found it the only time when she felt Broen near her. Tonight, though, it felt like even his memory was being tugged away from her. In its place she recalled the way Norris Sutherland had looked at her. Well, it would seem he had his prized mare now.

She rolled over, wiping the tears from her cheeks with a frustrated hiss. Crying was for babes and girls too young to understand the way the world worked. She should be grateful to have a sanctuary so far from Henry Tudor and his quest to wipe out her blood.

What kept her up most of the night was the fear that she’d live to see her children drawn into the struggle for England’s crown.

***

Dunrobin was magnificent. The castle of the Earl of Sutherland was far north, but at least the summer made it a warm journey.

Clarrisa heard the surf long before she realized that the castle dropped off in back. There were three towers in the front, rising into the air some three stories, the center one rising even higher. A half curtain wall protected it, and there were cannons positioned every ten feet along the battlement.

Magnificent and cold-looking. They could be a law unto themselves here, for it would be very costly to march an army all the way up to the walls of this castle—all the while dragging the machines necessary to knock down the thick stone walls.

“Look at that. I feared we’d have to live in a hovel, but none of your relatives have a finer holding. The hallways might be moldy, though…”

Clarrisa had let her hood fall back, and Maud snapped her fingers at her. “Your cheeks are chapped from the wind and pink from the sun. What will your bridegroom think?”

“The man is a Highlander. I understand they like their women a little more natural.”

Maud frowned, although it honestly wasn’t much of a change from the disapproving expression the matron wore most of the day through. “He’s contracted you, which means he has more taste than his barbarian kin. Raise your hood, so you arrive as a lady should.”

Shewouldnotweep… Clarrisa ordered herself to remain firmly in control of her emotions. She could not go back to Broen, so there was no reason to lament taking her place beside another man. The church might have her, but without a dowry, she could expect no protection. It would only be a matter of time before someone stole her to either murder her or breed her. Wedding Norris Sutherland was better, a wiser choice.

Butitstillhurt… Every step the mare carried her closer to the man she’d have to lie with as intimately as she had Broen threatened her composure. Now that the moment was upon her, all her well thought out reasons deserted her. Her heart ached, the pain more powerful than she’d ever thought possible. It threatened to crush her with its strength as she fought to draw in even breaths.

The Sutherland retainers leaned over the battlements to gain a glimpse of her. Once inside the yard, maids and other members of the clan found excuses to come outside the inner buildings to stare at her. Maud didn’t allow her to linger. The matron moved with more speed than Clarrisa had guessed she had. She gained only a glimpse of the yard and then up the stairs into the first keep. The head of house stood with a large ring of keys secured to her wide leather belt.

“Welcome to Dunrobin Castle. I am Asgree.” Several maids stood behind her, all lined up and turned out in freshly ironed linen caps. They lowered themselves, earning a grunt from Maud.

“My charge shall require a bath before tonight’s celebration of her nuptials.”

Asgree nodded before leading the way through the maze of hallways. The castle was larger than it appeared. At last, they came to a chamber three stories up. “The earl has said ye shall have this chamber and the solar above it.”

Two maids were waiting in the chamber. They lowered themselves before straightening back up and remained poised in position in case they were called upon. But they didn’t look at her.

Edme had never run Deigh with such rigid formality. Perhaps in time she might change it, but the reality was, she had little authority among the household staff unless Norris dictated it so. Her husband.

She tried to say the word again, but her mind refused to acknowledge the firm reality of their union. It was already done, the vows taken by proxy. Sir Richard was no fool to allow her outside the keep he controlled until the union was sealed by the church. All that remained was the celebration of the union. The bedding.

She turned to look at the large bed on the opposite side of the chamber. The comforter was already turned down. The scent of rosemary rose from it, and amber burned somewhere in the chamber. Perfectly set.

There was nothing to find fault with except her discontentment. She was a fool indeed to recall a stormy May Day when she’d frolicked and lain with her lover. Her lips twitched up as the maids began to disrobe her. Maybe she should sink into her fantasy; it pleased her more than reality. Yet it would be unfair to Norris. No doubt his father was behind their match and he’d had little choice as well.

She took her bath and tried to force herself to enjoy the heather-scented soap. Asgree’s staff was flawless in their service, and she stood with her hair drying in the summer breeze before long.

“I did nae know yer hair was short, but I’ve brought up a caul for ye.” Asgree held the small cap gently. It was sewn of silk and adorned with pearls. It would fit over the back of her head, the band sitting behind her ears.

The maids were busy arranging her hair into braids, and then Asgree set the costly cap in place to conceal her short braids. The head of house pinned it in place and stood back to survey her work.

“Ye’ll be right pleasing,” she announced before the maids continued to dress her. A fine underdress and overdress were lifted above her head and then laced shut. Through it all, Maud watched, but not with the glee Clarrisa had come to expect from the matron. Instead, there was sadness in her eyes. The moment the maids finished, Maud waved them out.

“I know you believe me a harsh woman without any care for happiness, but the world is not a kind place. You needed to be strong enough to endure. Affection for me would have made me happy, but it would not have prepared you for the fate I knew your kin planned for you. At least they have not bound you to an old man. You can enjoy the blessings that are yours if you try. I’m finished now, my task completed. These Scots do not want me near you in case I poison you against their ways. I’m bound for the Lowlands and the promise of a quiet home for the remainder of my days.”

The matron turned and left. Clarrisa tried to miss her but failed. It seemed Maud had performed her task well.

Ithinkitsadyehavenoplaceoroneyeholddear… Broen’s voice rose from her memory, sending two tears down her cheek.

“Are ye ready?” Asgree asked from outside the chamber door.

“There is no reason for me not to be.”

If the head of house found her answer odd, she failed to comment on it. Instead, she turned silently and led the way down the stairs.

***

The great hall was lit with an abundance of candles. The tables were crowded and the long head table filled with the lairds who owed the Earl of Sutherland allegiance. Their different plaids caught her eye as she paused in the doorway.

Broen was there. Ofcoursehewas. Three seats to Norris’s left with Shaw standing behind him. She should have expected it, but she felt as though her feet were nailed to the floor. Music began to play, and the people seated at the lower tables stood. The scraping of benches being moved back jolted her out of her shock.

Spirit was respected in the Highlands…

She forced herself to begin moving, trying to enjoy the harp’s happy melody. The Earl of Sutherland stood to greet her.

“Welcome, Clarrisa of the York family. I’m right proud to see ye arriving to become me son’s wife.”

She lowered herself, biting her lip to keep her gaze from straying to Broen. She could feel him watching her—only him, really, because everyone else was nothing but a sea of strange faces. The single empty chair at the high table was pulled back for her.

A cheer went up the moment she sat down. Norris reached over and covered her hand with his. Another cheer went through the hall before the feast began.

Since the harvest was beginning, there was an abundance of food. Vegetables and fruits were carried past on large platters. Freshly baked bread and cakes. There were the first of the squashes and plenty of greens along with berries and apples. But when a silver bowl with rare pomegranates was set in front of her and Norris, she was sure the color drained from her face.

Pomegranates were an aphrodisiac, an expensive one because they had to be brought from afar by ship. Lytge Sutherland laughed at her expression and reached for one of the ruby fruits himself. He broke it in two, revealing the plump seeds inside.

“Yer bride needs a bit of encouragement, Son,” he announced to the delight of his guests.

“Which is something I’ll no’ be needing help doing,” Norris declared.

His fellow lairds chuckled, raising their goblets before draining them. Every laird had his captain at his back to safeguard him from poison while the feast progressed.

A roasted pig went by to be placed on a table and carved. There was lamb and beef too. All of it made its way on to her plate. Asgree guarded her meal like a hawk, taking away what she picked at and returning with fresh selections to tempt her. Once the meal was well under way, the younger girls took to the aisles to begin dancing. They rose onto their toes and lifted their skirts to show off rapid motions of foot and ankle. All the while, the harps and pipes helped them keep time. More toasts were raised, and the candles burned down while the Sutherland people celebrated.

When Asgree finally tapped her on the shoulder, she was startled because she hadn’t realized how late it was growing. Becauseyoudon’t want to notice…

She stood up, and a cheer went through the crowd. A good number of them wore intoxicated grins now.

“Hurry now…” Asgree muttered. “Before the men have time to cause trouble.”

“What manner of trouble?” Clarrisa asked once they’d reached the hallways.

Two of the women walking with them laughed. They were not young girls but women of experience, obviously selected to inspect her once she was stripped and ready to be put to bed to ensure she was not deformed.

“Highlanders enjoy a healthy sense of humor. They’d enjoy making Norris retrieve ye from them.”

“But he’s their laird’s son.”

“Aye,” one of the women said. “But if he cannae outwit them, he’s no’ fit to lead them.”

They all laughed, enjoying the moment. Once back inside the chamber they quickly disrobed her. Clarrisa fought the urge to cover herself with her hands.

“Come now, into bed with ye before the men show up and see more than they should.”

Asgree clapped her hands, and the women all stopped staring at her bare form. They helped cover her with the sheets while sending each other knowing smiles. The scent of rosemary filled her senses a moment before the door burst open. Lytge was leaning on his son, clearly besotted.

“There she is, Son! A royal-blooded bride for ye. The Lindsey may be crowing about how their chief was made a duke by the late king, but David Lindsey does nae have a royal-blooded bride! All he has is a title he’ll no’ pass on to his son if he ever has one.”

Norris eyed her, something in his eyes sending a tingle down her back. It wasn’t apprehension, but suspicion. His father’s retainers gained his attention when they began to pull his kilt off.

“Enough, lads… I’ll see to the matter meself.”

He might as well have saved his breath, for the men paid him no mind. His father found another set of shoulders to loop his arm over and laughed at his son trying to keep his dignity.

Norris lost; every last article of clothing was stripped from him. His father’s men winked at her before they quit the room, singing loudly in the hallway on their way down the stairs.

“The least ye might do is no’ enjoy me humiliation, lass,” Norris admonished her. He surprised her by reaching for his shirt and shrugging into it.

“Would you prefer to find me weeping?”

One of his fair eyebrows rose. “I expect it. After all, I’m a barbarian Highlander.”

“Who worries about his modesty,” she muttered demurely before laughing softly. There was nothing remotely near worry on his face; the man was completely at home in his skin. But her hands tightened on the bedding, rejection filling her thoughts. What she knew she had to do didn’t seem able to slice through what she didn’t want to do.

He frowned at her. “Ye mock me, madam.” He pulled the shirt off and let it flutter to the floor. She looked away, gaining a soft chuckle from him.

“Be careful when ye challenge a Highlander, lass.”

The bed dipped, and a chill raced across her skin. She couldn’t bear it. Yet she must.

“Now here’s the second time I’ve caught ye in bed with a woman who belongs to me without a stitch on, Norris.”

Clarrisa jumped and shrieked when Norris rolled right over her. He came up in back of her, draping a strong arm across her body as she stared across the chamber at Broen.

“By rights, this one is contracted to me,” Norris announced as he nuzzled her neck.

“But her heart belongs to me,” Broen muttered softly. “Get out of her bed.”

It was an insane thing to say but she couldn’t help smiling.

Norris groaned but rolled back over the top of her and landed on his feet. She sat up, trying to decide what to demand first.

“What… what is happening—”

Norris cupped the back of her head and pressed a hard kiss against her mouth. She sputtered, abandoning her grip on the sheet to push him away. He suddenly flew back, but it was because Broen had hooked his shoulder and yanked him away from her.

Norris laughed at her. “Ye wound me with that look, Clarrisa. No’ a single lass has ever complained about me kisses.”

She opened her mouth to change that fact but was distracted by Broen. He stood there, close enough to touch, and she realized she couldn’t stand not taking the opportunity to feel him against her. She made to rise, but he sat on the bed and pulled her close before she made it onto her knees.

It was perfection, a single moment that fed every longing she’d had since they’d been torn apart. Her hands roamed over him, stroking all the places she recalled.

“Well, I’ll just see myself out…” Norris groused.

“That was the understanding,” Broen muttered against her neck. He raised his head and looked toward Norris.

“What do you mean… understanding?” she asked, her voice a mere whisper because she feared she was dreaming and might wake any moment to discover Broen a figment of her imagination.

Norris sobered, his expression becoming serious. “An agreement between friends—and make no mistake, lass, I do nae call many men me friend.”

“But it means ye will be shouldering the burden of being called a disobedient daughter, Clarrisa.” Broen was forcing his words through clenched teeth. He set her back by her biceps, his expression hard. “It’s yer choice. Ye can stay with Norris if ye desire, but to leave him, he’ll need to have a reason to renounce ye.”

A smile split her lips, joy filling her so full, there was no way to contain it, but she suddenly froze. “What of Daphne?” she forced out at last.

“She made sure I could renounce her,” Broen muttered. “By lying with Norris and making sure both his men and mine witnessed the evidence of her lost virtue.”

Norris yanked on one of his boots and snorted. “Ye have a way with women, Broen. One I do nae envy.”

“Ye took advantage of it sure enough,” Broen accused his friend.

Norris shrugged and stood now that his boots were on. He paused for a moment to buckle a pleated kilt around his waist. His staff knew their duties well, for the wool had already been laid out on a table near the door.

“I did,” he answered. “And I’ll no’ apologize either. Ye are nae the only man who finds himself pulled to a woman when he is nae expecting it.” He turned and left. Clarrisa stared at the chamber door, too shocked to speak.

“I’ll go if ye like, Clarrisa.” Broen was forcing his words past gritted teeth once more. “But I wanted ye to know I love ye enough to try and regain ye. Daphne gave herself to Norris so I could renounce her. I’d never have allowed her to do such a thing—”

“I didn’t think you would.” There was too much honor in him. He shook his head, refusing to allow her to make excuses for him.

“I wanted to steal ye away again, but Norris was correct. Stealing ye will nae end this. The prince would only insist I return ye to yer kin.”

“So he’s offering to let me make the same choice Daphne did.”

His pride was wounded, and she could see him straining against the walls closing him in. The prince: her kin and his lord. She suddenly laughed, so relieved tears streamed down her cheeks. She kicked the bedding aside and stood, no longer feeling exposed, because Broen was the man she wanted to share herself with.

“Don’t hate it. I can see in your eyes how much you detest doing this.”

He snarled something in Gaelic and stood, pulling her against him with one hard arm.

“Ye reduce me to allowing another man to help me when what I want most is to take ye away because I cannae face the future without ye.” His tone was thick with emotion, the arm binding her to him quivering. Or maybe it was her body quivering, perhaps both.

“I can bear anything if it means being with you, Broen.” He shook his head, but she cupped the sides of his face to stop him. “Do not, for neither of us can hate the circumstances of how we have come together, not if we truly love each other.”

He slowly nodded. “Because to hate our beginning is to say we would prefer never to have met. Aye, lass, I cannae say such a thing, for ye’re the other half of me.” He gently stroked her cheek, looking at her as though he’d longed for her as deeply as she had for him. “But ye are going to marry me, Clarrisa of the York family, just as soon as yer marriage to Norris is annulled due to lack of consummation.”

A wicked gleam entered his eyes as he uttered the word “consummation.”

“Well now, my fine Highlander, that will leave us time to be lovers before we must become serious about our duties as man and wife.”

“Beginning now, lass…”

He kissed her at last, and it felt as though she’d been waiting for that touch of his lips for an eternity. She slid her hands into his hair, wanting to bind him in place and assure herself that he was real. He was. His heart beat strong enough for her to feel it as the scent of his skin filled her senses. Every detail she’d struggled to hold in her memory was there for her to experience anew. It was perfect.

It was love.

***

Norris poured himself a goblet of French wine but frowned when its rich aroma filled his senses. None of the enjoyment he normally experienced came with the first sip. He set the goblet aside, trying to decide what was irritating him. Everything had proceeded as planned, yet no sense of satisfaction was arriving to allow him to slip into slumber as a happy man.

He lay back in his bed and felt cold. Frustration was nipping at him like a rash—one that needed scratching for relief, but after you gave into the urge, pain was your reward. Daphne’s face rose from his memory, sending another round of frustration through him. His cock hardened and his mood darkened further.

Whyhadshebeensorelievedtoleavehim? That was what tore at him. The way she’d so easily left his bed after spending the night with him. She’d been pleasured, well and good, and still she’d walked away without so much as a longing look over her shoulder.

He was the heir to the earldom of Sutherland and a Highlander… what did she have to turn her nose up at? Norris stared into the darkness and realized he wanted to know.

A true Highlander went after what he wanted.