Highland Heat (17 page)

Amber nodded, but she looked unsure. “I should ask the laird about that before fetching it. Ye’re his mistress, by his own word. I heard and saw it myself.”

Deirdre turned to look back out the window to hide the temper that colored her face. “He is no’ here. Besides, a man marries for children.” She turned to offer Amber a shrug. “Most nobles do nae care so much for the burden of bastards. I’ve no wish to spend my years worrying that my sons will resent their sire for the fact that they shall no’ inherit his position.”

Amber abandoned her suspicions. “I’ll go for ye.” Her voice carried a note of understanding. She left with a determined stride.

Deirdre hurried to descend the stairs, wincing as her wound protested the steep angle of those steps. Once on the floor below the solar, she went and opened one of the windows so more light would fill the room. She frowned when she scanned the room and only found one door. She’d seen it from the other side when passing it on the way to the upper floor. The men set to watching the solar door wouldn’t miss anyone leaving from that door.

She shrugged aside her disappointment and began to look through what was in the chamber. She couldn’t help smiling, because it was a bit like being a child on the morning of the New Year when gifts were given from parents to children. All around the room were bundles and chests. The scent of rare spices such as cinnamon and cloves gently filled the room. A large fabric loom was leaning in pieces against one wall, just waiting to serve in case the lady wanted to use her time to produce something more practical than a tapestry.

Deirdre began to touch bundles, gently pushing aside the coarse sackcloth that bound them, to see what was covered for protection. There was more velvet and silk, the amount of fine fabric shocking her, for she suspected Joan Beaufort might not have as much herself.

But what made Deirdre smile was the neat stack of wool robes she discovered on one side of the chamber. There were five of them, all sewn in the same design and cut of the same color of wool. They looked new, and she felt her smile fade when she realized Quinton must have had them made in preparation for his bride’s arrival. They would have been given as honorary tokens to the girls whom the lady of the manor selected as her personal servants.

That was the position Amber was striving so diligently to gain from her.

She moved the bundle of lady’s maids’ robes and lifted the lid of a simple chest. It had no lock but was constructed to keep the moist weather away from whatever was inside. She smiled once again when she found the fine boots that had been made to go with the robes. They were only ankle-high, made for inside the castle, but at least they were constructed of leather. She eagerly anticipated being able to wear them.

She had no idea when such a moment might present itself, but she would have to look for it and hope it came while Quinton was away.

She lifted her head and listened. Soft steps came across the floor of the solar above. Deirdre stood up and climbed the stairs. One of the other girls who had appeared a time or two was setting out a meal on the table. There was still no sign of Amber.

The girl looked up and lowered herself. “The laird says to bring ye yer meals here while he’s away.”

“How considerate of him.”

“What have ye there?”

Deirdre held out the clothing. “Some common robes that I’d like taken to my bedchamber. I’ll need something warm to sleep in with the laird away.”

“I’ll take them.”

Deirdre handed off the robes and sat down to avoid having the girl see how relieved she was to be able to get the wool garments someplace where she might use them to escape.

But she missed the look the maid gave her. It was sly and calculated. The moment the girl left the solar, she hurried to a little-used room in one of the oldest keeps. There, hidden among the forgotten things that no one used any longer, was a small writing desk. She pulled a piece of parchment from it and began to pen a letter.

Once it was done, she folded it and tucked it into her bodice. She took the robes to the eagle tower, but only after she slipped the letter into the hand of her cousin, who would take it out of Drumdeer.

She didn’t allow her guilt to bother her any too much. Her mother had been a Ross before her father stole her during a raid. So keeping Mary Ross informed of what happened at Drumdeer wasn’t so hard a thing to do; it was only a letter, after all, and the lady paid well for the information.

***

Amber returned empty-handed from the kitchen.

“The cook refused me. She said it was a sin to prevent the laird’s seed from taking root, because God placed him in his position. I went to the brewmaster, but he turned me away as well.”

“I see.” And she did. There were traditions in the Highlands older than the church. When the laird fathered a babe, it was considered good luck for the clan and a sign that God favored them. The farmers would all anticipate a good harvest if she conceived, and there would be weddings among the Cameron girls, because their mothers believed it was a blessed season.

And she would be guilty of bringing a child into the world who would bear the stain of her sin for its entire life.

Well… she would not sit idle and wait for it to happen. Since she had failed so miserably to resist allowing Quinton into her bed, she’d just have to devise a way of escaping the cage he’d closed about her.

She had to… it was her duty to her conscience.

***

“Hold!” Quinton held his hand up, and the men behind him reined in their horses. In front of him, he could see the dust rising, telling him there were horses on the road behind the hills.

“Most likely Hay retainers,” Coalan announced.

“I agree.” But Quinton still felt his palm itch to draw his sword. He watched the road, waiting to see what colors the men approaching were wearing. The letter he’d received from Archibald Douglas had been full of threats. The man was desperate to stop the queen from marrying again, and Quinton doubted he was the only Highland laird who had gotten such a letter.

The Douglas were always happiest when they could manage to stir up the clans and pit them against one another, because it meant they wouldn’t unite against the Douglas.

That was exactly why he’d made it his personal mission to keep the clans from fighting. Quinton didn’t trust the Douglas, and he never would. Scotland needed her king, not the Douglas growing powerful enough to depose the young James II, because they felt there wouldn’t be enough unity among the other clans to do anything about it.

“It’s Roan McLeod.”

Quinton relaxed, and so did Coalan. Roan McLeod was the eldest son of the McLeod laird. His father was old, and Roan led the clan, even if he wasn’t laird just yet. He was also the man who had been set to wed young Kaie Chattan. Quinton had had the duty of telling him the girl harbored a true calling to serve the church. Some men would have kept her anyway because of the alliance she would have brought with her, but Roan had released her, despite his father’s displeasure.

“And what brings the Cameron riding out today?” Roan asked when he’d closed the distance between them.

Quinton grinned and reached into his shirt to pull the letter from Archibald Douglas from the pocket sewn to the inside of the garment.

“Well now…” Roan reached into his doublet and produced a similar letter. “Have one of those myself. What do ye make of the fact that our good queen seems to be making her escape?”

“I caught a lass wearing Joan Beaufort’s gold and silk.”

Roan’s expression hardened, and he edged his horse closer, but the stallion took offense at being urged so close to another male horse. Quinton snorted and dismounted. He didn’t care for the position of weakness being on his feet put him in, but Roan followed suit, and it was clear from the man’s face that he liked it even less.

“Me men caught Deirdre Chattan on the road in the queen’s clothing.” Quinton informed his fellow laird.

Roan cursed. “I wish I’d known that, for I passed a couple of nuns riding up to the high ground, and I thought their horses mighty fine for their sackcloth robes.”

Roan snorted and growled when he realized Quinton was grinning. “They will have made it to the black knight of Lorn’s castle by now. Why do ye find that pleasant news?”

Quinton eyed the man. “Because I think the Douglas are going to find it harder to plot against the rightful king with the queen wed again.”

Roan relented. “Aye, it is better for the McLeod and the Cameron. I agree.” He suddenly grinned. “So what have ye done with Deirdre Chattan?”

“I kept her. After all, by wearing the queen’s clothing and never identifying herself, she allowed my men to labor under a misconception. I couldnae have my lads working so hard for naught, you understand.”

“Certainly no’,” Roan agreed with a smirk.

“She’s secure in one of me towers, where such a delicate female belongs.”

Roan snorted with amusement. He bent over and braced his hands on the tops of his thighs as he shook with laughter. Quinton raised an eyebrow.

“What? Do ye nae believe me?”

“Oh aye…” Roan wiped a hand across his face. “I’ve never known ye to be a liar before, but I’ll admit I’m tempted to argue with ye about whether or no’ Deirdre Chattan is delicate.”

“Well, ye have me there. She’s a hellion.”

Roan grunted. “Most men would say that word like a curse.”

Quinton shrugged. “I am nae most men.”

“No, ye are nae, but she isna just any woman. She’s Chattan’s eldest daughter, and her dowry went to the church. A fact ye helped bring about. What do ye plan to do with her?”

“Why do ye ask me in that tone, Roan McLeod? What should I do with her?” Quinton demanded.

His fellow Highlander stared him down, offering him no quarter as the tension thickened between them. The men waiting on them grew quieter as they noticed the stand off. Roan suddenly chuckled, amusement returning to his eyes.

“Well now, Quinton. Seems a true shame that ye need to be asking what to do with a fiery lass like Deirdre Chattan. But I suppose I could give ye a few instructions on what a man does with a fine woman like that after sunset—”

“Choke on them,” Quinton replied. “I shared her bed last night, and since I’ve confirmed the queen is now another man’s problem, I plan to return to warming myself next to Deirdre’s spirit. So forget ye know where she is, man, for ye will nae be making amends with yer father for giving up yer bride by taking Deirdre. She belongs to me.”

Roan snorted and pointed at him. “I agree it’s a good thing the queen is settled, for it means I can get on with finding a way to deal with Robert Chattan, but I do nae for one moment believe Deirdre would agree she belongs to ye. No’ after one night; no man is so memorable.”

Roan began to return to his men, but Quinton reached out to stop him. “What do ye mean ‘settle accounts with Robert Chattan’? His daughters are taken now.”

“No’ the one whom Ruth Hay bore him.”

“And how does yer father feel about ye wedding a bastard?”

Roan shrugged. “Erlina would nae be illegitimate if her mother wed Robert Chattan, now would she?”

“I hear the woman refused him.”

Roan grinned. “Well… ye see… so much time has passed, I feel the two should be reunited so they might discuss the matter now that tempers have had time to cool. Think of it as a Christian duty I’m about. The two really need to wed and wipe the blight from their souls, as well as legitimize their daughter.”

Quinton frowned. “The Hay will nae take it kindly if ye take one of their kin. Ruth Hay is Laird Kagan Hay’s aunt.”

“Does nae change the fact that I need her and Robert Chattan wed because me father has asked little enough of me in this life. He wants a Chattan alliance through my marriage, and I cannae be taking Kaie away from the church.”

“Ye could take her, and the church would no’ be able to argue with ye since she was contracted to ye, but I respect ye for no’ forcing the girl into yer bed. She has a true calling.”

“I seek more from my marriage than just what me father wants,” Roan muttered, the frustration clear in his voice.

“That’s plain enough, or ye would have kept Kaie Chattan instead of granting her plea to go to the abbey.”

Roan grunted. “Well, it’s time for the church to repay my generosity and help me see Ruth Hay and Robert Chattan wed.”

“What does Robert Chattan have to say on the matter?” Quinton asked.

Roan suddenly grinned. “I have nae asked the man. I sort of figured he’ll find it harder to argue with me if he is blinded by the sight of his beloved at the time I ask him.”

Quinton grunted, but determination flashed in Roan’s eyes. He offered Quinton a wink. “Ye’ll also be owing me a debt of gratitude for keeping Robert busy while ye’re settling the details of just what Deirdre is to you.”

“Is that a fact?” Quinton demanded.

“It is, for it would certainly put a strain on yer courtship if her father showed up at yer gate.”

“That it would,” Quinton agreed.

Roan McLeod wasn’t in the mood to budge on his plans. Quinton recognized the firm look in the other man’s eyes. Roan wasn’t laird yet, but his father’s health was poor. The fact that Roan wanted to please a man who wouldn’t likely live through the winter was a testimony to how much honor he had. Ruth Hay would be facing that determination, but Quinton wasn’t worried Roan would harm her.

In fact, it had long been a mystery why she had run from Robert Chattan, for the two had been set to wed. Some liked to say it was because she had borne a daughter, and at the time Robert hadn’t been laird of the Chattan. His father had been a strict man who believed Ruth failed in her duty when she birthed a female child. Rumor was that Robert’s father had forbidden the marriage until Ruth produced a son who would carry on the Chattan line. Such a practice hadn’t been unheard-of in those days; it was still in practice in some places. It was a custom many claimed came from hell’s army and the Norsemen who had settled in the Highlands instead of taking their plunder back to their frozen countries. A laird only wed a woman who had already given him a son, because when it came to the laird’s bloodline, there might be no chance taken on a marriage that would not yield male heirs.