My Fair Highlander (15 page)

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Authors: Mary Wine

BOOK: My Fair Highlander
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Anyon was waiting on him again.
The sight of her did nothing to soften his mood; in fact it sent him to growling. His mistress smiled. Somehow, he'd failed to notice that the woman was very crafty. She knew him better than he believed and had used that knowledge to secure herself a position in his bed. Now that he was thinking about it, he had never asked her to be his mistress, but he knew that everyone thought she was. After all, he had done nothing to prevent it being said.
“Anyon, I do nae want to be unkind to ye, but I will seek ye out no more.”
She fluttered her eyelashes, but the motion only struck him as another ploy to bend him to her will.
“I'll be marrying Jemma Ramsden.”
Anyon offered a disgusted look. “Why would ye wed a woman who just tried to run away from ye?” She walked toward him, her body wiggling in all the places that normally pleased him. Tonight even the extreme amount of cleavage she had on display failed to snare his attention. His mind was full of the soft rose-colored nipples he'd left behind the chamber door. Thinking of those buds sent a fresh bolt of need through his cock.
Anyon pressed her hands flat on top of his chest and rubbed her breasts against him. “Ye deserve a woman who values ye. I would nae shame ye.”
“Enough. I told ye, I'll not seek ye out again.” He clasped her wrists and set her away from him. Anger flashed in her eyes, but she lowered her lashes to conceal it.
“I will nae set ye out, Anyon, and I'll see ye settled with enough coin to get yerself a husband who pleases ye.”
“The only one who pleases me is you, Gordon.”
He didn't care for the sound of his name on her lips. How had he never noticed that she used his name to secure her own position? There was no hint of wounded feeling in her eyes, only taunted ambition.
“And ye'll mind how ye address me from hence forward. Ye were nae pure when ye came to me, Anyon, and ye are the one who came to me.”
“Something ye seemed plenty happy about at the time.” Anyon failed to keep her temper under control, and it flashed at him.
“As were ye, but it is past. I'll have a bride very soon, and she shall be yer mistress.”
Anyon laughed. “You may call her what ye will, but that weak-kneed creature will never be my mistress. She'll hide in her chambers or run away from ye, mark my words on it. Then ye'll be back looking for a woman who does nae whimper because yer grip is too tight.”
“Anyon—”
She blew out a hard sound, interrupting him and not caring if it was a slight to his authority as her laird. “I am a woman, Gordon, and that is what the beast inside ye needs. That girl will never satisfy ye. Never.”
Chapter Six
“
T
ell me about the girl Gordon was wed to.”
Ula jerked her head about, looking more startled than Jemma had ever seen her.
“Who told ye about Imogen?”
It was clear that the housekeeper wouldn't tell her a thing unless she answered the question in a way that she deemed acceptable. The warning in her eyes spoke of loyalty to her laird. “Gordon did. He said he was wed and that the girl is now a nun. I believe this is a matter that I need to know about if he is considering marrying me.”
“The laird should have told ye, but I agree that 'tis something ye have the right to understand.” Ula drew in a deep breath and looked about to make sure they were alone. “The girl was no good at being a wife, did nae care for it at all. She cried until her eyes were puffy every time he told her he intended to enter her chamber. She claimed that bed sport was sinful, and the awful truth was that she believed it.”
“Many think that. Why do you say it is awful?”
Ula stopped looking tired for the first time. The housekeeper placed her hands flat on the top of the stack of ironing she had been working to fold.
“That poor girl had her thoughts twisted beyond what normal parents do with their daughters. I'm no talking about instilling a healthy respect for remaining pure, that is right, but Imogen took to lashing herself every morning after the laird left her.” Ula lifted her face and shot Jemma a hard look. “'Twas a horrible sight what that girl did to herself because someone twisted up her thinking. She could nae tolerate knowing that she enjoyed being a wife. Her back was a bloody mess when we discovered what she was about.”
Ula stopped and drew in a deep breath. “The laird was a kind man when he let her go. I know men who would have set a guard on that girl to keep the dowry she came with. Her own father knew she wanted to be a nun but forced her to wed because of the alliance it would gain him with the Barras clan.”
It was a sad tale but not an uncommon one. Marriage was a business first. It was strange the way the world worked. A poor girl was granted the right to marry where her heart led her, but she longed for the better life that came with being born to a higher position. Those born to better, to titles, often discovered themselves envious of the chance to decide whom they would have affection for.
“I'm glad to see that ye are nothing like Imogen. The laird has refused to open any of the offers sent to him from other clans. He claims that he cannot stomach the sight of ink on parchment when it comes to marriage. Ye're different, lass. He's taken with ye because he set his eyes on ye. 'Tis a good thing for the laird, and ye being kin to our neighbor makes it a good match for the Barras.”
So simple, unless someone, anyone recalled that she had not lent her agreement to the match. Of course it was not needed; she might be wed by the clergy with only her brother's word on the matter. Her dowry would be handed over, and Gordon would have the right to keep her on his land any way that he deemed appropriate.
I'm not being fair . . .
She truly wasn't, but knowing that didn't bring her any peace. It should have, for Gordon had treated her more than kindly.
“Yer thoughts are too troubled.” Ula handed a stack of linens to her with a quick flick of her hand to indicate a large cabinet that stood open for them. It would be locked when Ula was finished ironing what had been washed the day before. There were enough linens to change them out with fresh ones from this storage cabinet, but it was kept locked because fabric was expensive.
“Ye need some work to keep ye from turning matters over in yer head the way ye do.” Ula considered her for a long moment. “Go and fetch up the laird's shirts that should be drying along the back of the west tower, and tell me if those laundresses are working or lying on the slope sunning their noses.”
It was only midmorning, so it would be best if the laundresses were working. Jemma decided that she wouldn't care to have Ula cross with her. Such was a good thing in a housekeeper. If she failed to keep a tight fist around everyone drawing pay from the laird's coffers, there would be dark times ahead for the castle. More than one great noble family had found themselves bled dry of silver by servants who spent more time resting than working while still expecting their pay. Ula didn't seem to be the sort to allow laziness to flourish under her watchful eye.
Jemma made her way from the north tower where she had been working with Ula. The west tower was used for washing because the sun would shine on it last, allowing time for washing in the mornings. Laundry was left hanging all night if the weather was fair, and she heard dry cloth snapping in the breeze when she came around the side of the tower.
“I warned ye, ye English whore!”
Anyon was in a rage, the girl shoving at Jemma before she realized that an attack was imminent. The force of it sent her tumbling down the slope with its harsh stones that scraped and cut into her hands and face.
“I warned ye that the laird was mine!”
Anyon came down the slope after her, aiming a vicious kick at her head before Jemma regained enough of her senses to move. Pain shot through her neck and back, but she snarled and rolled out of the way of the next kick the girl sent at her.
“Enough, Anyon! I am not going to fight with you.”
“That's because ye think yerself so much better than me, but ye aren't! Ye're a slut, and I will nae let ye take Gordon from me.”
The edge of the river was mere inches from her nose and the ground muddy beneath her hands when Jemma tried to push herself off the ground. She staggered to her feet, wondering why Anyon seemed to be waiting for her to stand. Her ignorance ended when the girl lifted her skirt and stuck her foot directly in the center of her belly, shoving Jemma into the water.
Jemma fell into the river, and the water rose up around her, burning her eyes and nose as she struggled to push her head back above the water's surface. Her muddled senses caused her to flail about in the water, trying to decide which way was up.
A hard hand hit her between her shoulder blades. The blow was harsh and sent her remaining breath out in a whoosh that filled the water in front of her eyes with white bubbles. Anyon didn't stop there. The girl held her down, pushing with all her weight to keep Jemma beneath the water.
She should have been frightened, but her temper rose in a burning rage. The water cleared, allowing her to see Anyon's ankles. Reaching out, she grabbed one and used all the fury that was burning in her to yank it out from beneath the girl. Anyon fell back into the river with a huge splash and a startled screech.
Jemma stood up, gasping for breath. Her lungs burned and her vision was blurry from the soap left in the water from the washing. Strong lye soap that made her eyes tear.
“Stupid whore!”
Anyon came up out of the water with her fingers curled like talons. She launched herself at Jemma like an animal attacking.
“You still want to fight? Well, I won't stand and let you drown me, that's for sure.” Jemma balled up her fist and sent it straight toward Anyon's face.
Pain exploded in her hand, but Jemma carried through with the blow. Anyon howled with outrage, but her neck twisted and she fell into the water with a snarl. The water suddenly splashed all around her as men plunged into the river between them.
“That's enough out of ye, Anyon.” One of Gordon's captains hauled his clanswoman out of the water with a disgusted frown while she kicked and fought them. Someone gripped her arm, and Jemma shrugged it off.
“I don't need restraining. It wasn't my idea to fight, but I'll surely not stand idle while someone is attacking me.”
Jemma turned and discovered that the laundresses that Ula had set to working along the riverbank were lined up watching her. More men came around the tower at a dead run with a couple of women trailing them, telling her how they had known about Anyon's attack.
But there were far more standing and watching.
That was the blow that hurt most of all. Jemma wiped the water from her eyes and took a second look. These were Anyon's friends and blood. The fact that Anyon had tried to drown her didn't seem to distress any of them too greatly. None of them had tried to stop her.
Of course not, she was English. No doubt most of them had lost kin to her countrymen.
“What manner of devil play is this?” Gordon's voice made all the women flinch. Their eyes widened as they turned to face their laird. He came around the corner and swept the scene, his keen gaze stopping when his attention landed on her still standing knee deep in the river.
He snarled something in Gaelic and turned a furious look on Anyon.
“Put her in the stocks. She's to be lashed.”
The laundresses gasped, gaining them their laird's attention. “And the lot of ye will join her for standing about while this savageness was being done.”
“I don't need you to rescue me, Laird Barras.”
Gordon turned an incredulous look on her, and the laundresses gasped in unison once more.
“Oh, enough of that gasping. The lot of you seemed to be sturdy enough to watch one of your own try and drown me; I hardly see why you are so shocked by a few disagreeing words now.”
Jemma trudged out of the water. Her legs felt weak as though they might crumble beneath her at any moment. She drew a deep breath to fend that off.
“No one disrespects my orders, Jemma.”
Gordon was furious, but she refused to bow her head. “Of course, but I need to make it clear to your clanswomen that I do not need anyone coming to my aid simply because I am English. I took care of Anyon well enough, and I will defend myself if any of them find it necessary to attack me, even if I do find it horrible to harbor such hatred for complete strangers based only on where they were born.”
Several sputters arose from the laundresses, and Jemma turned her head to glare at them. “Do you deny it? There is nothing that you object to in me but the fact that I was born ten miles from here on land that is considered English. It is naught but something you learned from your—”
She lost focus of what point she was attempting to make, her mind simply going blank. Shutting her mouth, she stared back at the laundresses until she forgot why she was looking at them. Turning her head, she discovered Gordon standing only a foot from her.
“Well, as you see, I handled everything myself. I meant no disrespect of course.”
“Aye, of course.”
“Yes, that's right.” Her thoughts began to turn hazy. “I believe so . . . hmm . . . what did I say again?”
His blue eyes suddenly fascinated her. He caught her arms and she sighed, because it was the most perfect moment. His gaze settled on the top of her head, and he reached up to touch her, triggering a startling pain that spread through her head.
“Yer head needs stitching, Jemma.”
She offered only a soft mutter before everything became a blur of morning sunlight. Bright and perfect with each point of light shattering into a brilliant display of colors that she smiled at.
 
“So why is she still sleeping?”
Jemma winced and opened her eyes to see Gordon pacing. He didn't pace like any other worried person she'd ever seen walk the floor. Gordon stalked. His feet taking huge steps that covered the length of the bed she lay on in three short strides. He froze when he noticed her looking at him.
“There, ye see? Exactly as I said. The girl is fine. She was lucky to sleep through the stitching.”
Gordon grunted. Ula stood near the bed along with another woman who had white hair. She seemed unimpressed with her laird's disgruntlement.
“Leave yer head be, girl. I had to stitch ye up, but it's in yer hair so the scar won't bother ye any once it's healed.”
“Stitched me up?” Jemma didn't stop, but reached for the throbbing spot on the top of her head. She fingered it gently, wincing at the pain that bled out from the light contact.
The woman grunted. “Ye don't mind very well. Maybe the laird is right to be suspicious. Could be her mind is wounded.”
“My mind is not wounded.”
Gordon snorted, but there was relief in his eyes. “She sounds quite normal to me. Ye have my gratitude for yer service, Vanora.”
“Seeing the lass well is enough for me. Do ye want me to get on with inspecting her so that ye can marry?”
“I didn't promise to marry him.”
Vanora turned a curious stare toward her. “Well now, girl, if that's so, I wonder where ye get the idea to argue so publicly with the laird. I thought surely ye were his bride, and even then, I still wonder how ye thought to escape being chastised for such. But if ye are nae his bride-to-be, well, I believe that Anyon will have a bit of company in the stocks.”

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