The Highlander's Wicked Ways, page 5
I drew a steadying breath, feeling the weight of all I had risked coming here. My brother would be frantic, as would my parents. And I still had to travel to Liam after this. Imagining more nights in the dark woods alone, listening for any strange sounds, made a sob rise in my throat as well as gooseflesh pepper my arms. Yet it was easy to make a choice when only one led back to the future I had mapped out for myself.
“Fine,” I said, lifting my chin and meeting his gaze directly. “I’ll share yer bed.” I expected to see triumph flash in his eyes, but he looked more wary than anything. That gave me the courage to add what I’d intended. “But nae yer body,” I said, my voice growing more confident with each word I spoke. My innocence was for Liam. “Ye’ll have my presence, nae my submission.”
His eyebrows rose, and the wariness on his face gave way to what appeared to be grudging respect, but it was there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it.
“Bold,” he said, leaning forward in his chair, his gaze sharpening as he studied me anew. “Most women would slap my face and storm off.”
I had the oddest feeling that was the reaction he’d been hoping for. “I’m nae most women, Laird Munro,” I replied. His right-hand man shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flicking between us as if watching the uncertain outcome of a dangerous wager.
“That much is apparent,” he said dryly. “If ye’re to share my bed, ye may as well call me Munro, and I’ll need ye to tell me exactly what ye require protection from. Should I expect an army of warriors to come looking for ye? Will protecting ye drag me into a war?”
I hesitated, the carefully prepared explanation I’d rehearsed during my journey suddenly seeming woefully inadequate. The truth was impossible—he would think me as mad as everyone else did. But a lie might unravel with time.
“A witch’s magic,” I said finally, and winced internally at how I sounded.
His laugh confirmed my fears, a harsh bark of sound that echoed in the empty hall. “Magic? Ye expect me to believe in such childish nonsense? Next ye’ll be telling me ye fear the faeries will steal ye away.” He shook his head, bringing his goblet to his lips once more. “If ye wish for my protection, ye’ll need a better tale than that.”
The voices stirred then, as if summoned by my anxiety, a low murmur at first, like the distant rumble of thunder before a storm.
Bernard poisoned the well. Ye must tell his son before more die.
The bairn is nae Graeme’s. Tell him the truth.
I pressed my lips together, willing the voices to quiet, but they only grew louder, more insistent. My head began to throb with the effort of containing them, of appearing normal before these men who held my fate in their hands.
“The witch Morgana cursed me,” I persisted, clinging to a half-truth. “She’s powerful and vengeful. I need a haven until I can break her curse.”
“Morgana,” James said suddenly, his voice sharp with recognition. “The witch of the Dark Woods? There are tales of her, even this far north.”
Munro cast a glance at his companion, clearly irritated by his intervention. “Tales told to frighten children and fools,” he said dismissively. He turned his gaze back to me, his eyes narrowing. “If this witch is so fearsome, why did ye nae travel with a guard? And where were ye travelling to?”
“I lost my brother, as I said. He was taking me to a convent,” I added, praying my voice didn’t betray my lie. “We became separated in a storm, and I can nae return to my home, as my parents cast me out.”
“Why would yer own parents cast ye out?” he demanded. Beside him, James began to cough. Suddenly, Munro flushed and nodded as if James had silently reminded him of something. “Verra well,” he said finally, setting his goblet down with deliberate care. “I’ll provide ye shelter and protection for one month. Ye’ll share my bed each night, though I’ll nae force myself upon ye.” A mocking smile curved his lips. “I do nae lack for willing women, so ye do nae need to fret that I’ll be taking ye unwilling now.”
The relief that flooded me was so intense I nearly swayed on my feet.
“Thank ye, Munro,” I said, feeling strange about using his given name, but he was right that using titles after striking such a coarse bargain was odd.
He waved a dismissive hand as his gaze traveled over me once more, lingering on my damp hair and then moving to my travel-stained cloak. “I’ll have a servant show ye to chambers where ye can refresh yerself. Tonight, ye’ll come to my bed clean and rested.” He lifted his goblet again in a mocking toast. “Let us begin our bargain properly.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak further as the voices swelled once more, pressing against the inside of my skull like prisoners against the bars of their cell. I had one month to find a way to fulfill the witch’s task to break my curse and reclaim my carefully ordered life.
I had to. There was no other path left for me.
Chapter Five – Munro
I watched her, this flame-haired woman with her stubborn chin and desperate eyes, standing in my hall like a half-drowned cat that had somehow maintained its dignity. I admired her boldness in refusing to accept my proposition without my agreeing to her own conditions, and I had not lied. I would never take a woman who wasn’t willing. But I had no doubt I could make her so. A touch here. A caress there. My fingers would find her secret spot and stroke it just right. The thought of awakening her desire stirred true need in me, whereas all the women I’d been with since Isabella had been simply to forget my wife, and not because of real intrigue for the women.
As I sat there, I thought about her claim that she needed safe harbor until she broke a witch’s curse upon her, and I almost snorted. I had no use for witches’ tales. I was about to call for a servant to escort her from the hall when the sound of children’s laughter stopped me. It was light and clear as a bell, and the merry noise cut through the heavy air of the great hall.
Two distinct voices, one higher than the other, bubbling up from somewhere near the hall’s entrance. I froze, my cup halfway to my lips, as two small figures darted past the open doorway. A flash of dark hair, a glimpse of a blue dress, and then they were gone, leaving only the echo of their joy behind.
My daughters. My chest constricted, the wine now choking instead of soothing. I’d stayed away from them since James had them brought back, but I’d caught glimpses of them in the castle. Guinn’s face was already taking on the heart shape that had been Isabella’s. And Bess had Isabella’s large eyes with long lashes.
“I told ye to keep them away from me,” I snapped at James.
“Ye’re daughters,” James said, rising from his seat, “have the same proclivity ye do to refuse to listen to anyone. I imagine they escaped the servant I assigned to watch them and keep them from this part of the castle.”
“Then assign someone more competent,” I said to his back because he was striding toward the great hall door.
He disappeared into the hall, leaving me with Murieall, whose disapproving expression irritated me. She knew nothing of the pain the presence of my daughters caused me, and to try to explain it was like pulling a scab off a wound that wouldn’t heal. I couldn’t find the words or the courage. Instead, I drained my cup in a single, desperate swallow.
Another burst of their laughter came, and James’s deep voice mixed with a woman’s—no doubt the incapable servant assigned to watch the lasses. James stepped back into the great hall, closing the doors behind him, and strode toward the table.
“Sybil says the lasses are too much for her to handle,” James said by way of explanation. “She says they’re wild and need a good switch.”
An outraged gasp came from Murieall, which oddly pleased me.
“Ye tell Sybil if she lays so much as a finger on my daughters, she’ll find herself thrown out of this clan.”
“I told her,” James said, his lips twitching as if he were fighting a smile.
I didn’t need to ask what pleased him. He’d brought the lasses home to get me to feel again, and I’d just reacted to a threat to them. “I’m nae a monster,” I growled, to which James nodded. “I want ye to find someone else to watch the girls.”
James leaned close, his voice pitched low enough that only I could hear. “Ye could task Murieall with keeping the lasses occupied and away from ye for as long as she’s here.”
I scowled at James. I didn’t doubt for a breath he was up to something. The man was plotting, most likely to try to entrench this woman in my life by making her part of the lasses. Still, it was a good solution. Murieall unnerved me, and having her away from me in the day seemed wise.
I looked up and caught her studying me as if she were trying to uncover my secrets. Yes, keeping the woman away from me in the day was a good solution. I didn’t need one more person trying to fix me. “I’ve reconsidered our arrangement,” I said, watching her closely for her reaction. “In addition to sharing my bed, ye’ll be tasked with the care of my daughters during the day. Keep them occupied and, most importantly, keep them away from me.”
Her dark eyes widened slightly, the only sign of surprise she allowed herself. “Ye wish me to care for yer children?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral.
“I wish ye to keep them from my sight,” I corrected. “How ye accomplish that I do nae care, so long as ye keep them safe.”
She hesitated, and for a moment I thought she might refuse. Then she nodded, a single, decisive movement. “I agree to yer terms.”
Relief coursed through me, though I was careful not to show it. Let her think this was merely a laird giving orders, not a drowning man clutching at anything that might keep his head above water for one more day.
“Good,” I said. “James will introduce ye to them after ye’ve had a chance to refresh yerself.”
Her gaze flickered to James, who watched our exchange with a calculating expression. I would definitely need to speak with him and remind him that I didn’t need a woman, other than to bed. “As ye wish,” she said.
“Then our bargain is settled,” I said, raising my cup once more. “Welcome to Ross Stronghold, Murieall Buchanan. May ye find what ye seek here.”
Chapter Six – Murieall
The gown the servant had provided scratched at my skin, a wool blend far coarser than what I was accustomed to at home. I paced the small bedchamber, running my fingers over the rough-hewn stone walls that surrounded me like a prison. Or perhaps a sanctuary, depending on how one viewed my bargain with the laird. I could withstand one month of sharing Munro’s bed, but not his body, and by day, I would care for his daughters, whom he couldn’t bear to look upon. I could do this. I repeated it until I felt I believed it.
I moved to the narrow window, peering out at the grey northern sky. Wind howled around the castle battlements, carrying the distant crash of waves against the cliffs below. How strange that my fate now rested in the hands of a broken man who dulled his pain with wine and women. I needed to make him feel again, but the question of how loomed large as a mountain before me.
A sound outside my door pulled me from my thoughts. I pressed my ear close and listened to soft giggles, quickly hushed, and then the patter of small feet. I frowned, thinking about what Munro had said. James was meant to bring the girls to me, but these sounds suggested they had arrived without escort.
I pulled the door open to find two small figures frozen in surprise, their eyes wide as they stared up at me. The older girl had flame-red hair that reminded me of autumn leaves, while the younger had fair locks that framed a heart-shaped face.
“Are ye Murieall?” the taller one asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Aye, I am,” I replied, offering what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “And who might ye be?”
The smaller one giggled, hiding partially behind her sister. “I’m Bess,” she said. “I’m seven summers.”
“And I’m Guinn,” the red-haired lass added. “I’m eight. We’re supposed to be playing tag with James, but he sent us to find ye instead. He said ye would join our game.”
I raised an eyebrow at that. Had James deliberately sent the girls to me rather than bringing them himself? I wondered if this was some ploy on his part. The man clearly had designs to see his laird restored to his former self, and perhaps he thought the lasses might be part of that transformation.
“Did he now?” I asked, glancing down the empty corridor. “And where is James?”
“He’s hiding!” Bess exclaimed, bouncing on her toes and grinning, dimples flashing. “He said ye should count to twenty and then come find us.”
I studied their eager faces, noting how Bess’s eyes were the same stormy blue as her da’s, while Guinn’s were bright green. They seemed starved for attention, these lasses, their eyes shining with excitement at the prospect of a simple game. My heart twisted at the thought of their da keeping them at arm’s length when they so clearly needed him.
“Verra well,” I said with an exaggerated sigh, as if the decision was a great burden. “I suppose I do nae have a choice but to play.” The girls’ faces lit up, and I couldn’t help but smile in response. “But I warn ye, I’m verra good at catching wee lasses who run too slowly.”
Bess shrieked with laughter, already backing away. “We’re the fastest in all of Scotland!” she declared.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I said, covering my eyes with my hands. “One… two… three…”
They scampered away, their footsteps echoing on the stone floor as I continued counting. When I reached twenty, I opened my eyes and stepped into the corridor. “Ready or nae, here I come!” I called and set off in the direction of their fading giggles.
The castle was a maze of corridors and staircases, with tapestries hanging on the walls depicting hunting scenes and battle victories. I followed the sound of stifled laughter, catching glimpses of small figures darting around corners or hiding behind columns. The game led me through parts of the stronghold I hadn’t yet seen—a library with cobwebs and two chairs by a fire that looked not to have been used in ages, and a narrow passage where the wind whistled through cracks in the mortar.
“I see ye, Bess!” I called, spotting her blue gown peeking out from behind a wooden chest. She squealed and darted away, her laughter ringing against the stone walls. Guinn appeared at the end of the corridor, waving her arms to distract me from her sister.
“Ye can nae catch us both!” she taunted, her red hair flying behind her as she turned to run.
The chase warmed my blood and lifted my spirits. For a moment, I forgot about curses and bargains, lost in the simple joy of the children’s game. I raced after Guinn, my skirts gathered in my fists, weaving through servants who pressed themselves against the walls to avoid being trampled. The girls darted ahead, nimble as deer, turning a sharp corner with me close behind.
They suddenly stopped and ducked to either side of someone, and before I could check my momentum, I crashed headlong into a solid wall of a man. My hands pressed against a broad chest, and strong fingers grasped my waist to steady me. I looked up, my breath catching as I met Munro’s stormy gaze.
“What devilry is this?” he demanded, his voice booming through the corridor. His hands still gripped my waist, the heat of them burning through the fabric of my gown.
I became acutely aware of two small bodies pressing against my back, seeking shelter behind my skirts. The girls had immediately retreated at their da’s anger, and something fierce and protective coursed through me. I had known these children for less than an hour, but already I felt a duty to shield them from harm—even if that harm came from their own da’s coldness.
“’Tis nae devilry, but a game of tag,” I said, keeping my voice deliberately light despite the rapid beating of my heart. I gently extricated myself from his grip and turned slightly, placing one hand on each girl’s shoulder. “The lasses were showing me the castle.”
His eyes narrowed, flicking from me to the children who peeked out from behind me. “I told ye to keep them away from me,” he growled, though his voice had lowered somewhat.
Bess trembled beneath my hand, and her fright at her own da, caused my temper to surge. I straightened my spine, meeting his gaze steadily. “Ye should nae bellow so around the wee lasses,” I said, my tone gentle but firm. “Ye’re frightening them.”
Surprise flashed across his face, as if no one had dared to correct him in a very long time. His mouth opened, then closed, his brow furrowing as he looked down at his daughters. For a moment, something like regret shadowed his features, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words. The girls remained half-hidden behind me, their small fingers clutching at my skirts. Munro stood rigid, his face a mask of discomfort as he regarded his daughters with the wariness of a man facing unfamiliar terrain. And there I stood between them. I was a stranger caught amid a family broken by something I didn’t yet understand.
“Guinn, Bess,” he finally said, his voice strained as if their names were foreign on his tongue. “Ye should nae be running through the castle like wild things.”
“We were just playing,” Guinn said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Munro flinched as if her words hit him. He looked at me, then back at his daughters, a man clearly caught in a situation he had no idea how to navigate.
Retreat flashed in his eyes before he even opened his mouth to make his excuses. His body tensed, shoulders drawing back as he no doubt prepared to dismiss both his daughters and me in one breath. I could not allow it. If I were to fulfill Morgana’s charge to make this man feel again, I needed to create moments when he and his daughters could begin to know each other once more, no matter how uncomfortable they might be.
