Highlander Unchained (9 page)

“And don’t forget you are also barred from helping with the laundry and the mending,” Mary said.

Flora pressed her lips together to keep from giggling. “It’s quite unfair. I thought his shirts smelled lovely.”

“Oh, they did,” Gilly said, amusement bubbling in her voice. “As lovely as any lass.”

Fitting, since Flora had dipped them in rosewater. “I thought it matched well with the embroidery,” she explained. She’d sewn large pink flowers all over his best linen shirt.

“Which might have been fine had you not sewed the arm closed,” Gilly said.

“And hemmed his trews too short,” Mary added.

Not to mention the nettles that she’d aired his plaid on. It had been worth every hour of drudgery removing the prickly leaves, simply to hear the bellow.

Ah yes, she’d been busy. But he was being infuriatingly calm about everything. No matter what she did, he demonstrated extreme patience. And steely control. Almost as if he were humoring her. Which only made her more determined to rattle him.

She hadn’t had this much fun in years. Though admittedly she’d had lots of practice. Even as a girl, Flora had understood her place in life and rebelled—with her mother’s encouragement—against the future that seemed to be predetermined. But by the time she’d arrived at court, what had started as a way to avoid her mother’s sad fate, by discouraging suitors with harmless misdeeds, had escalated beyond her control. She didn’t need to look for trouble, it seemed to find her easily enough. Unfortunately, her reputation for mischief didn’t discourage her bevy of suitors one whit. With her fortune and connections, they’d want her even if she had horns on her head.

But Flora intended to make sure Lachlan Maclean had no such inclinations.

Mary shook her head. “My brother is quite particular about his weapons.”

“Well then, won’t he be pleased to see them so bright and shiny,” Flora countered.

“He’ll be angry,” Mary warned. “And he has squires for that.”

“He hasn’t been angry about anything before.”

Mary frowned. “Yes, he’s been remarkably understanding.”

“Perhaps he feels guilty,” Flora offered.

Gilly laughed. “I doubt that. Lachlan knows exactly what he’s doing. When he makes a decision, he never looks back.” There was more than a touch of admiration in her voice.

“You can’t mean you think he was right to abduct me?”

Gilly flushed, looking uncomfortable. “No. Yes…” She twisted her hands. “He has his reasons.”

Flora decided not to press the matter. She did not want to put a wedge between the girls and their brother, even if she could. The girls idolized the laird, speaking of him in somewhat reverent tones. That he cared deeply for his two sisters was obvious, though it was equally obvious that he didn’t know how to show it. As her own brothers had done with her, he seemed to be trying to fill the position of father rather than brother. Understandable when the girls were young, perhaps, but Flora could see how desperately they wanted the teasing affection of a brother. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly tight. Just as she’d wanted.

Hector she’d never spent much time with, but Rory and Alex had fostered with their uncle, the Earl of Argyll, the present earl’s father, at Inveraray Castle, and returned often when she was a young girl. Rory and Alex, both so much older than she, had tried to stand in for the father she’d never known. Looking back, Flora realized they were doing only what they thought best, but at the time she’d resented their authority when she’d wanted desperately to be one of them.

Like her, Mary and Gilly were bound to be disappointed. Wringing affection from Coll would be like trying to squeeze water from a stone. But oddly enough, in some ways Flora found his gruff male awkwardness around his sisters charming. Watching him interact with the young girls had shown her another side of him. He was attentive and understanding, if firm, listening to their excited girlish prattle with remarkable patience. He cared. He might not like to think so, but he did.

He was different from what she’d first thought.

She’d often felt his gaze on her the past few days, watching her with an intensity that was both unnerving and exhilarating. Thrusting aside the odd sentiment, Flora took a minute to gather the necessary items from the storeroom, then turned back around to the two girls. “Well, what will it be?”

“I’ll go,” Gilly said.

But Mary wasn’t as easily convinced. “Are you sure you are only going to oil his swords?”

“Yes,” Flora assured her, neglecting to mention the kind of oil she would be using. But clearly Mary was still vacillating. “You don’t even need to come in,” Flora said. “All you need to do is watch for Odin.”

A soft pink flush rose to Mary’s cheeks. “You shouldn’t call him that. His name is Allan.”

Flora lifted her brows. So that was the way of it. Mary was harboring a tender for the captain of the castle. “I know his name,” Flora said. “But you have to admit, he’s got the look of the Norse god of war.” She liked to make up nicknames. The laird was Thor—the Norse god of thunder—due to his expression.

“Flora’s right, Mary,” Gilly said. “He’s always terrified me.”

“You don’t know him,” Mary defended staunchly. “He’s really very…sweet.”

Flora let out a burst of laughter. “Don’t let your brother hear that. I don’t think he’d like to hear one of his fiercest warriors described as sweet.”

Mary blanched. “You won’t tell him—”

“Don’t be silly, I was only jesting.” But Mary looked so worried, Flora felt awful for teasing her. She took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Why don’t you stay here? Gilly can watch for Od—Allan—and we’ll be back before you know it.”

Mary shook her head. “I’ll come.”

Flora smiled. “Good. To the armory, ladies.”

Lachlan was itching for a fight. Even the hours spent in the yard training had barely taken the edge off. He felt like a caged lion, restless and agitated. The source of his discomfort wasn’t hard to identify.

The wee hellion had been here less than a week and had already managed to turn his keep upside down. She was a born troublemaker. Or his personal tormentor, he wasn’t sure yet. To think, he’d actually been happy at first, believing her interest in his castle was a good sign that she was becoming involved. He grimaced. One look at the termagant’s face and he knew exactly what she was up to. But he’d be damned if he’d give her the satisfaction of losing his temper. Countless times over the past few days he’d been forced to bite back his anger, although every instinct clamored to put her in her place. Too much depended on wooing the recalcitrant lass.

But her mischief was only half the problem. He couldn’t seem to look at her without getting hard. And Lachlan was not a man used to keeping his passions in check. Although some of the tension could be relieved with a long visit to his leman, he told himself that he refrained for Flora’s sake—not wanting to flaunt the woman before her. But there was another explanation far more troubling: The lovely and talented widow Seonaid held little appeal.

Not when all he could think of was big blue eyes in a delicate elfin face. It was a case of wanting what he could not have. Not yet, anyway.

The years of constant fighting and fending off attack had taught him to be careful. To plan. To appraise the situation before rushing in. He was doing his best to give her time to adjust to her presence at his keep, but he’d been patient long enough.

It was time to make his move.

As she hadn’t been in her tower room or the hall, he’d made his way to the
barmkin
. It was a fine day, and he thought she might have decided to take a walk around the courtyard. He looked across at the armory and noticed his sister Mary talking to Allan.

Lately, whenever he saw Mary or Gilly, Flora wasn’t far away. His sisters were enthralled by Flora’s sophisticated grace and refinement—which was obvious even without the fashionable wardrobe. He felt a twinge of regret. His sisters had suffered along with the rest of his clan. There hadn’t been the time or money to see to their instruction. At least Flora’s tocher would help with that. Two thousand merks. It was a bloody king’s ransom. He’d be a fool not to marry her for that alone.

He frowned, watching Mary converse with Allan. His captain was…hell, he was smiling. Mary’s eyes were sparkling, and her cheeks were pink. She was looking at Allan with…

Damn.
He strode across the courtyard, intending to put a stop to it immediately. He had other plans for Mary. What was Allan thinking? He should know better than to encourage the attentions of an impressionable young lass, barely out of the schoolroom—or what would be the schoolroom, if there had been money for such luxuries. Allan might be his most trusted guardsman and his fiercest warrior, but he was not for Mary.

As he drew closer, his sister caught sight of him and froze. Her eyes widened, and he swore a look of guilt swept across her features.

“What are you doing out here, Mary? And where’s Gilly?” He ignored Allan. He would have a wee talk with his captain later.

“Uh…I…,” Mary mumbled. Instinctively, she’d taken a step toward the door. Almost as if she were hiding…

The armory. Flora was in the armory. He let out an oath. “I’ll kill her.”

After moving his sister gently out of the way, he opened the door. The smell almost made him keel over. Both women looked up.

Gilly jumped up and came rushing toward him. “Brother, we were hoping to surprise you.”

Lachlan looked right at Flora. “I’m sure you were.” God help her, the wee banshee looked as if she were going to burst out laughing. Anger whipped around inside him like a tempest. The carefully constructed façade of patience he’d built up over the past few days shattered.

The lass had oiled his swords—including his claymore—in fulmar oil. The birds spat the fishy-smelling oil on anything that drew too close. The damn odor lingered and stank like hell. He’d imported the oil from St. Kilda for lamps—which was no doubt how she’d known what it was. The remote isle of St. Kilda was part of her brother Rory’s lands.

Lachlan looked at the pile of gleaming weapons scattered across the floor. She hadn’t left a surface uncovered, including the horn hilt and leather grips.

Gilly wrinkled her nose. “It certainly does have a strong smell. But Flora said this type of oil is the best.” She sensed something wasn’t right. “Did we do wrong, brother?”

He turned to his sister, trying to control his fury. “Gilly, you and your sister go inside the keep and ready yourself for the evening meal. I would like to speak with Mistress MacLeod for a moment.”

When the door had closed, he was on her in a second flat, pulling her from the bench and jerking her hard against his chest. Blood pounded through his body. No one had ever brought him so close to losing control.

She tried to push away. “Let go of me.”

Anger and lust converged as she squirmed against him, and his body thickened with the heavy rush of heat. He didn’t know whether to shake her or drag her to his chamber and release the pent-up desire raging inside him. He couldn’t think straight. She was the most stubborn, willful woman he’d ever met. Yet when he held her in his arms, and she gazed up at him with those wide, defiant blue eyes, he was deeply conscious of her fragility. Of how easily he could hurt her.

She was just a lass. And from what he’d surmised, a scared and lonely one at that.

He let go of her, struggling to cool his rage. “You’ve gone too far. You will wipe these swords until every last bit of that oil is removed.”

“Did I do something wrong?” She gazed up at him from under her lashes. Lashes that curled thick and feathery against the ivory softness of her pale cheek. Despite its calculation, the sweetly feminine gesture was not without effect. But the twitch of that naughty little dimple near the corner of her mouth almost pushed him over the edge.

He leaned closer to her, inhaling the sweet fragrance of her hair. His body shook with restraint, and his erection throbbed hard against his stomach. Every instinct clamored to take her. To kiss the taunt from her lips, to sink his fingers through the long silk of her hair and devour her until she yielded to him. “Do not play with me, Flora. I’m not one of your pet courtiers. Poke me and I’ll bite.”

He saw the glint of satisfaction in her eyes. As if she’d wanted him to lose control. She’d thought she was safe from him. God, he ached to prove her wrong.

“I don’t know what you are talking about. I was only trying to be helpful. Didn’t you say that I should keep myself busy?”

“I know exactly what you are trying to do. Simply because I chose to tolerate your mischief doesn’t mean I don’t know why you’re doing it. But mark this: If I decide to have you, a little salt or a few flowers would not stop me from doing so.”

She sucked in her breath, her spine rigid. “Your threats do not worry me. If you want your castle back, you will not lay a hand on me.”

“I never make threats, my sweet. Only promises. You will obey me.”

“You’re a tyrant.”

“No, I’m chief. And while you are in this keep you will follow my rules. No more of your tricks, Flora. And do not think to involve my sisters again in your wee games.”

“Your sisters are bored. It was time they had some fun. This is no place for young women. Gilly should be getting some schooling, and Mary should be at court. They should be dancing, meeting others of their own age, wearing beautiful gowns.”

He stiffened, hearing the judgment in her voice. She didn’t know when to stop. “When I want your advice, I’ll ask for it. I would not see my sisters corrupted or turned into spoiled courtiers. They belong here, with me.”

He was furious both that he was defending himself to her and that she’d spoken aloud thoughts he didn’t want to acknowledge. His sisters did deserve more.

He stepped back and raked a hand through his hair. How did she manage to do this? He’d come to find her with the best intentions of wooing her, yet here he was arguing with her. But he wasn’t used to being disobeyed, and Flora was a beguiling termagant who defied him at every turn. Aye, and who confoundingly challenged and intrigued him in a way no woman ever had before.