Page 17 of Married to the Cruel Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #5)

17

“B raither,” Lucas said, traipsing into the study, his shiniest boots on display like some strange peacock.

“Lucas,” Keith gritted out, eyeing the rest of his brother’s ridiculous outfit.

Lucas was putting himself on display that day. The clashing colors of their clan tartan with a strange muted brown riding cloak made Keith’s face contort.

“What?” Lucas asked, admiring himself in the looking glass.

“Is that what ye are wearin’?”

“I suppose? I couldnae find me black riding cloak, so this will have to do.” He shrugged.

Keith shook his head and set the report he was reviewing down on his desk. “Grab mine, just there,” he said, pointing to the cloak stand in the corner of the study.

“Ach! Thank ye, Braither!”

As if sensing Lucas had something else to say, Keith remained silent, waiting for him to spout his nonsense.

“Is Lady Ersie joinin’ us?”

Even hearing her title on his brother’s lips made his skin crawl.

“Aye, she will be down shortly,” Keith said, walking out of the study, Lucas hot on his heels.

“I look forward to ridin’ with her again, Braither. She really is?—”

Keith stopped abruptly and turned to face him, his fiercest scowl aimed squarely at his brother’s chest.

The threat hit so hard and so fast that Lucas’s hands flew up, palms facing forward.

“Ridin’ what, Braither?”

“Woah! I was just sayin’ that she’s somethin’. Nothin’ untoward!”

Keith grumbled in response, his teeth impossibly on edge, before he turned to head down to the courtyard.

* * *

The morning air caressed Ersie’s arms as she stepped out into the courtyard. She wore a stunningly gorgeous, robe-like dress. It was one of the garments Isla had left, folded neatly atop her trunk, with a pair of fresh black trousers and a laced corset.

A compromise .

The robe-like dress snugly hugged her ribs and was a bit too fine for her taste, but the trousers and the corset accentuated her curves in the most interesting way. She made a mental note to purchase more of them when she went back to MacAitken Keep.

These I can get behind, but the full, cumbersome skirts… nay.

She felt him before he arrived. Keith’s eyes burned into her back, no doubt taking in the sight of her in a dress, and then she turned to face him.

“Ye clean up ni—” Lucas started to say with an easy grin, before his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Woah! Very nice, Lady Ersie.”

Keith’s jaw ticked as he studied her, as if she was something he’d lost and found.

Ersie forced a smile and turned to him. “Shall we, Me Laird?”

“Aye,” Keith muttered, offering her his arm. It was stiff. Formal.

And then he led her toward the stables.

“Nice dress ,” he eked out as they both prepared to mount.

“Did ye nae send it up yerself?”

“I didnae,” he clipped.

“It was laid out on me bed this mornin’,” she said defensively.

“Isla must have snuck it in, kennin’ that ye cannae be trusted to do even the smallest task.”

“Task?” she asked incredulously. “Here I thought ye sent this up for me. It was the only option.”

“Sure,” he muttered and pulled himself up onto Brannoc.

Ersie gritted her teeth and pulled herself up onto the dappled mare next to him, her anger simmering.

First, he demands that I wear a dress, and then he gets mad at me for wearin’ a dress. Have ye ever heard of such foolishness?

“What are ye cross about? It cannae be about the damned dress.”

“Aye, it’s nae.”

“I havenae escaped to Kitarne, see.” Ersie gestured to herself. “Still here.”

His grip tightened on the reins as he nudged Brannoc ahead of her. She pulled her mare up alongside him, leaving Lucas a few paces behind them.

“Out with it,” she hissed, “or else yer scowl will permanently put a damper on the day’s events.”

“Do ye nae wish to ride with Lucas, then?”

“What are ye talkin’ about?”

“He told me what ye did after ye broke yer fast the other day when I left ye. In me own keep, as me own guest, with me own braither.”

“Well, I’m nae certain what he told ye exactly, but I ken for sure what happened, and it was nothin’ untoward or improper,” Ersie huffed, wishing so badly to turn around and throw her dagger at Lucas.

“Why did ye go on a ride with him in the first place?”

“I didnae go on a ride with him. I went alone, and he joined me later. Why does it matter to ye anyway?”

“It matters because ye are me guest, nae his. What if someone saw ye and word got out?”

“What word? What is the big deal about word getting out about him and me and nae ye and me?”

“Because ye arenae under his protection. Ye are under mine .” His voice dripped with malice and frustration, and the hairs on Ersie’s arms stood on end.

She winced slightly before clearing her throat, but pushed forward anyway because she was sure that he would snap out of it long enough to realize that she was joking . And if not… it served him right.

“I didnae ken ye cared much about it as long as I worked on the investigation. Why would I nae… take advantage of every opportunity? Anyway, ye locked me in me room last night. How can ye even be mad?”

His head snapped in her direction, his green eyes ablaze. She recognized the lie in his gaze before the anger took over.

Better this than ignoring me, I guess.

“What do ye mean, ‘take advantage?’”

Ersie lied so easily, laughter lacing her tone where anger laced his. She knew it was a low blow, but this was the only thing she knew how to talk about that would keep his attention focused solely on her.

“I’m only sayin’ that a girl has needs, ye ken? Needs, just as men do.”

“If ye ken what’s good for ye, ye will drop this topic. Ye arenae a good liar, Ersie Barcley, and all ye are doin’ is makin’ a fool of yerself.”

Her skin burned. “How dare ye insinuate?—”

“I’m only followin’ yer lead,” he interrupted.

Turning away, he urged Brannoc forward again, attempting to put distance between them, but she followed.

“Ye believe him and nae me?”

“What have ye done to make me believe anything ye do? Ye are forcin’ me to trust ye with this investigation. That doesnae mean I have to trust ye with all things.”

Ersie sat stiffly in the saddle, her chin held high, though her stomach churned. She could still hear the low rasp of his voice just before she’d shoved him out of her room and slammed the door in his face. She could feel his hand around her thighs as he carried her upstairs and how close he was last night as she slid down from his shoulder.

Keith rode beside her like stone, his gaze unyielding, his jaw set hard enough to break teeth. Not even a glance her way.

“I willnae go to Kitarne as ye have requested so politely . I will just have to find another suspect then.”

“Good.”

Good.

“Lovely mornin’, is it nae?” Lucas called from behind them, his voice far too chipper for the frost in the air. “Bit chilly though, eh?”

Ersie didn’t turn.

Keith said nothing.

“Might be just the wind, I suppose. Or perhaps someone’s feelin’ a wee bit frosty this fine day.”

Still no reply.

Ersie growled to herself. She knew Lucas was talking about the two of them, but Keith’s silence only added fuel to her fire.

Let him stew in it.

She didn’t regret it, not one bit. Well, maybe just a little. Whatever else Lucas told him, she would have to deal with eventually. But if Keith was in any way cross with her because she wanted to find Rona and sneak into Kitarne, then he deserved it.

She glanced at him sideways. He looked rough, like he hadn’t slept a wink.

Still, she couldn’t help the curl of her lips as the village rooftops came into view. They had a festival to attend, and no matter how frosty Keith Dunn was, she would play the part just fine.

* * *

The festival was in full swing when they arrived. Children ran around with sweet bread in their hands, and older women clucked over tables piled high with roasted boar, bannocks, and salted fish. Ale barrels rolled freely between hands, and musicians played near the bonfire, their pipes and fiddles lively and joyful.

They were welcomed warmly, the villagers bowing low, thankful to see their Laird after quite a long time.

“Laird MacAuley!” called Tomas Craig, the village leader. He was a broad-shouldered man, with a thick white beard and merry eyes. “We didnae expect ye here?—”

“I was invited, man,” Keith replied, his voice hoarse with annoyance and with guilt—the former, undoubtedly, due to their conversation on the way over.

“Aye, well,” Tomas said, eyeing Ersie with interest. “Seems ye have brought someone stronger by yer side, and Master Lucas—Good to see ye again so soon, Sir.” The man tipped his hat toward Lucas.

Ersie dipped her head. “Ersie Barcley, Sir. Just here to help.”

“Aye,” Tomas said with a wink. “Better watch this one, Me Laird.”

They engaged in some small talk before moving on. Ersie took in everything—the way the children played, the way the younger lads looked at her, the warmth of the people.

She let herself pretend for a moment that she belonged here. That she might be more than a sword at someone’s side.

* * *

Keith plastered on a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Ersie sipped the mulled cider silently.

“Reminds me of when we were lads,” he observed. “Before any of it went to hell. Remember, Lucas?” He raised his cup to his brother.

“Aye, I remember…” Lucas said, his tone dreamy.

Ersie took another sip of her cider, tilting her chin up slightly as if to let the liquid roll down her throat. “Aye, even the Mad Laird needs good cider.”

Keith gave her a look. “Ye still think I’m mad?”

She smirked, running her fingers over the fabric of her skirt, but didn’t answer. They all walked together until Lucas was distracted by a stall that had not caught their interest.

Keith followed her for a while longer, watching as her green robe billowed slightly with her every step.

It wasn’t the dress, but the way the dress hugged her every curve that drove him mad. She was anything but modest, even in a damn dress.

If ye can even call it a dress, that is.

Why he thought a dress would be better than breeches was now beyond him. All he could think about was her delicious curves, when he should be thinking about his people, the festival going on around them, and… the investigation.

“Good mornin’, Me Laird!” a woman called, leaning on the edge of her stall.

“Good mornin’,” he said coolly.

The woman grabbed Ersie’s hand and shook it aggressively, coaxing a wide smile from her.

“How are ye?” Ersie said easily, and Keith stood beside her protectively.

“I’m well, and it’s good to see ye, Me Laird.”

“How long have ye lived here, Miss?” Ersie asked.

The woman blushed immediately. “Och! Miss? Ye are too kind, Ma’am. I’ve lived here me whole life.”

“Have ye always worked in the village?”

“Aye. But at some point, I worked at the keep for the late Lady MacAuley, God rest her soul—and the bairn’s, too, of course.”

Keith placed a hand on Ersie’s back, a sign of reassurance that he felt her lean into.

“Excuse me,” he whispered in her ear, before he left the two women, hopeful that Mrs. Craine would divulge something to Ersie… at least more than she had with him.

Five years ago, she weaved a tale of the town fool, named Duncan, who they all knew to be off-his-rocker. She said that he had been spouting off after seeing the Laird’s bairn in a boat on the loch, but it was days after his son was found and declared dead. The fool was looking for a payout for the information but swore on his ole mum’s grave, no less.

“Thank ye for trustin’ me, Mrs. Craine,” he overheard Ersie say quietly as she took the woman’s hand into her own.

He turned, facing her then, her slender body demanding his attention as she walked toward him with an attractive air of nonchalance.

“What did the woman say? Anything different from before?”

Of course, she knew exactly who she was speaking with after learning her name. She remembered all of the ledgers he gave her. All thirty-seven of them.

“Nothing different from before, only this time she changed the date that Duncan saw the bairn… even apologized for giving the wrong date before. Said I could talk to anyone in town; they’d agree on the amended date that the man saw the boat on the loch.”

“Interesting,” he whispered into her hair as he pretended to pull something from the loose strands.

They continued to walk around the festival, enjoying the sights, even catching Lucas flirting shamelessly with one of the stall owners across the dancing area.

“What is yer next move, lass?” Keith asked quietly as he lifted a flower to her nose, encouraging her to inhale the scent.

She obliged, her eyes never leaving his. “Tomas kens more than what he lets on.”

He watched as she inhaled the scent of the blooms, her eyes closing slowly and a slight smile tugging at her mouth. “I do love the rose.”

Of course, she does… thorns and all.

“Thorns and all,” she said softly, echoing his thoughts.

He felt a tug deep in his belly that made his hands clench into fists, before setting a coin down on the stall counter and handing her the rose. Ersie took it with surprise and tucked it behind her ear.

“Ye should go find Tomas, and I will go wrangle in me braither.”

He watched as she moved stealthily around the stalls. Although all eyes were on her, her predatorial grace was undeniable. She was deadly when she wanted to be.

She finally reached Tomas, who beamed at her as she approached. Lucas, on the other hand, grimaced as Keith approached him.

“What is it, Braither?”

“Are ye nae me man-at-arms?”

“Of course, but?—”

“ Be me man-at-arms, then.”

“It’s a festival , Braither. What’s the problem? Can I nae have some… fun?” Lucas asked, twirling a strand of hair around his finger.

Keith’s eyes darted between his brother and the woman on his arm, and he recognized her instantly.

“Are ye nae already acquainted?” Lucas asked knowingly.

Before Ersie charged like a bull into his life, Keith had taken a few… women into his bed. A man had needs, after all. It was actually Lucas who had brought them to his chambers, the first one being this woman who stood before them both, a blush creeping up her exposed chest and neck.

“Aye,” Keith said, with sharp finality. “We must away,” he added.

But then his eyes landed back on the spot where he had last seen Ersie. Only, Ersie was not standing next to Tomas.

What the ? —

She was being twirled around by one of the lads in front of the musicians. They danced a reel that turned quickly and spun faster and faster.

Keith seethed as he watched her agility. She kept her footing expertly, laughing more at herself than the boy, who tried to lead but obviously fumbled.

Nay laddie can lead a woman like that…

His gaze never left her, and as if able to sense his fury, her eyes flashed up to his. Her laugh faltered, and her face fell into a searing brand, as if she’d slapped him from meters away.

When the song ended, she tried to step away, but the boy’s arms tightened around her. Keith hadn’t even calculated his next moves.

“I believe it’s me turn, lass,” he heard himself say, wrenching the lad off her.

Ersie looked as if she wanted to spit in his face or slap him, and his chest vibrated with challenge. Instead, she let his arm wrap around her and the other pull her close.

The heat between them could have scorched the heather.

“Enjoyin’ yerself, were ye?” he asked, his tone deceptively light.

“Wasnae sure I needed yer permission,” she retorted. “Besides, ye and Lucas looked… preoccupied.”

“Ye dinnae need me permission, but I want to give it.”

“Who’s the lass?” she asked, assuming an air that was foreign to him.

Is she jealous? Am I?

“What did Tomas tell ye before that lad pulled ye away?”

“He told me about the Kitarne trade deal goin’ south.”

Keith scoffed. “Och! What does he ken about the trade deal?”

“Just told me that the only one who warned ye about the Kitarnes pullin’ out of the trade deal was Lucas. Did he?”

“Aye, he did—said he had heard about it in town, though.”

“Why are there no testimonies from Lucas in all of the parchments ye handed me?”

“He led the investigation last time. I guess he is still leadin’ it.”

“I see. What does he think about the man who… erm… escaped?”

Keith bristled, unprepared for the question. “He doesnae ken who it was, but he’s also helping to find him.”

“I see. Well, I hope he can find him, because I dinnae ken how I could possibly live kenning that I made ye lose that lead. Especially after he said what he did. Does Lucas ken about that?”

He doesnae.

For some reason, Keith had not shared that detail with Lucas.

“I’ve shared with Lucas all he needs to ken about the case to locate the man. He doesnae need to ken that the man told me the bairn wasnae mine.”

The music shifted, slower now, more intimate.

“He’s nae going to MacAitken lands himself, is he?”

“Let me handle that one, lass. Ye keep handling the other aspects of the case.”

Silence filled the space between them, the music caressing their limbs.

“About yesterday,” Ersie began.

“Ye shouldnae flirt with Lucas. Ever.”

“Ye deserved it,” she snapped. “The way ye spoke to me… demandin’ that I wear a dress to breakfast and then just tellin’ me that I’m going with ye to this festival when I could be doin’ other things.”

“Like what?”

“Like nae wastin’ me time at this ridiculous event and instead lookin’ for more clues. There are a lot of holes, Keith!”

His fingers tightened around her waist at the sound of his name.

Control yerself, man. Control yerself .

“All of the people ye need to speak with are here today.”

“Nae the guards at the southern border! Nae the merchant!” she hissed into the small space between them. “Maybe ye should stop workin’ against me!”

The fury in her words scraped his already high-strung nerves raw.

“I’m nae workin’ against ye,” he argued.

“The only one nae workin’ against me is Lucas!”

“Me braither? Ye cannae be serious. I’m the only one on yer side, Ersie.”

“Why are ye makin’ this harder than it has to be? Ye havenae helped at all! All ye have done is get in the way and make me follow this ridiculous maze of parchment and dead-ends.”

“So ye run into dead-ends in one day. How do ye think I feel after five years?”

“Ye arenae helping. What ye are doin’ is drivin’ me absolutely mad, Keith.”

That did it. It was small, but it was enough to snap his restraint. His name… again… on those lips.

They stopped moving, and the crowd spun around them. Keith’s breath was shallow, and his control was in tatters, hanging off his limbs in shambles.

“Come with me. Now.”

“Keith—”

“Now,” he growled and tugged her by the hand, leading them through the dancing bodies and toward the edge of the glen, behind the tents, and into the dense woods.

“What—what are ye doin’?” she asked breathlessly, trying in vain to yank her hand from his tight grip.

Keith’s voice was menacing. There was no stopping what was about to happen. “Showin’ ye exactly what it means to be driven mad.”