Page 20 of Married to the Cruel Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #5)

20

I t was a wee, scrawny thing—a bundle of gray and white fur with a pitiful mewl that burrowed straight into Ersie’s heart. She had heard the cries in the small hours of the morning, and it quite literally pulled her from the realization of being wrapped in Keith’s arms… and liking it.

Since when did I like being soft?

Ersie tried to avoid thinking about why she felt warm and soft. She had barely escaped the need to be submissive to him.

She stroked the kitten’s soft fur as she remembered the feel of Keith’s warm body next to her, the rise and fall of his broad chest, the way he smelled… and it all heated her blood.

The kitten swiped playfully at her hand, again pulling her back to the present.

Wee thing. I’ll take care of ye, laddie.

“Undone by a ball of fur,” Keith continued to tease.

“If ye truly think I willnae end ye, ye are mistaken,” she said, shooting him a sideways as sharp as the blade at her thigh.

The creature purred so loud that it rattled against her chest, before nestling in her cloak.

“We ought to name him,” Ersie said finally.

Keith raised an eyebrow. “We?”

She ignored him. “How about Trouble?”

He chuckled. “Aye. Fitting.”

As they wove their way through the sleepy village square, Ersie tugged at Keith’s sleeve, nodding toward a small group gathered near the ale cart. “Still some stragglers…”

“Aye, that’s always the case with these things,” Keith said, his eyes scanning the crowd, sharp as a hawk.

“Ye ken, that lad I danced with,” she muttered, “he said somethin’ odd…”

Keith angled his body slightly to shield their conversation. “What?”

“He said somethin’ like, ‘I’m light on me feet, much lighter than me braither, who gets paid to lift things from the k—’ I reckon he was goin’ to say ‘keep,’ but he clammed up.” She kept her voice flat, but her blood boiled beneath her skin.

“And?”

“Well, I asked him how would one even do that, and he told me that his braither kenned the many twists and turns to lift what he was paid to lift.”

Keith was silent, mulling over her every word.

“Last thing I asked him before ye butted in was where his kin was. But again, ye butted in, didnae ye?”

Keith cursed under his breath and swept his gaze over the villagers again, dark and calculating. “The lad in yellow, with brown hair and a scar?”

“Aye, that’s the one.”

He grunted. “Need to tell Lucas.”

“He looks like the lad, but nae quite. Blue sash,” Ersie said, her eyes flickering over his shoulder.

She watched as he subtly glanced at the group of men by the cart once more.

“Might be a relative—it’ll be a good place to start, anyway.”

Keith twisted back around, catching the eye of the chief of his guard. A silent order with just a look, before he pulled Ersie toward the stables.

The two of them mounted quickly, Ersie following Keith’s lead as he urged Brannoc forward. The kitten tucked safely against her chest kept her warm as the biting morning chill nipped her cheeks and made her eyes water.

* * *

Never one to not sleep in his bed, Keith knew his brother was lurking somewhere in the keep.

When they reached the castle gates, Keith dismounted quickly and ordered a footman to fetch Lucas.

His brother stalked out of the main archway a few moments later as if he had been waiting for them, munching loudly on an apple. “Ye wish to see me?”

“Aye. There’s a man at the ale cart in the village square. Tall, brown hair, blue sash. Bring him to the keep, along with any of his kin. I want them here by nightfall.”

Lucas gave a lazy salute and turned toward the stables, tossing the apple core to the side. He mounted his horse bareback and took off toward the village mere moments later.

“I’ll meet up with ye after luncheon, lass. I’m behind on some business, havin’ spent the evening in the village.”

“Aye, all good. I’ll… explore with Trouble,” Ersie said coolly, petting the tiny tuft of fur sticking up from the folds of her cloak.

Keith huffed a laugh and then disappeared into the keep.

Ersie made for the kitchens. The scent of roasting meat and fresh bread hit her, and the heat was welcome after the chilly morning.

“Is that a cat?” one of the maids gasped, clutching her apron.

“Aye,” Ersie said in an unbothered tone.

Whispers fluttered up like startled birds.

“A gift?” one of the maids asked another.

“Stayed in the village, they did…” Ersie overheard on the far end of the kitchen.

“Married by winter,” another maid tittered. “Heirs by next harvest.”

Ersie’s cheeks burned. She kept her chin high and requested some milk.

“Aye, Me Lady,” the cook said. He brought the milk over in a dish, before shooting the chatty maids a scolding look. “Och! Dinnae fash, Me Lady. Hens will cluck.”

Ersie grinned widely, amused by the analogy and also grateful for the reprieve.

The dish was warm to the touch, and she quickly thanked the cook before departing.

Trouble’s nose peeked out of the folds of her cloak as she fled the kitchens without another word. The quiet corridor did nothing to drown out the berating words that the cook imparted on the kitchen staff, and Ersie couldn’t help but smile.

Serves them right, speakin’ out of turn like that. Cannae even imagine it… nae right now anyway.

Her thundering heart easily betrayed her thoughts.

Married.

Heir.

“Is that all anyone sees me for?” she whispered to herself, her trepidation echoing off the cold stone between the gentle lapping of the kitten at the milk bowl. Gently setting both on the floor, her mind kept racing.

Trade me sword for a cradle? Nay…

Her brother and Doughall were happy, but they were different. They were lairds—they were expected to marry and sire heirs.

There was no expectation for her to marry, as any discussion of alliances was squashed by Ciaran long ago. He made it quite clear that Clan MacAitken was in no need of marriage alliances.

But that was before I told him that I was ready to leave his service, and now I’m trapped in another laird’s service. But this is different…

“Would Keith even wish to marry me?” she mumbled, running a hand through her hair angrily.

The entire topic drove her mad.

She was a respected warrior .

She would not let anyone take that part of her away. Ever.

The kitten, drunk on warm milk, staggered toward her boots, and she bent down to lift it back to her chest, not realizing just how much she had missed its warmth.

“Come now, Trouble. Off we get to earn yer name.”

* * *

“Ye shouldnae have stayed the night there. Talk about a ruined reputation!”

Keith’s grip tightened on the arm of the chair he sat in while Lucas paced the length of the study, ranting about Ersie of all things. A topic on which his brother felt he had a right to opine. But Keith thought differently. Nor did he appreciate his younger brother’s condescending tone or his plain disgust when he said her name.

Er-sie Barc-ley. Said staccato with a sneer. Judgmental. If Keith didn’t know any better, he would have thought that something improper occurred between them.

“She’s nae from our clan, Braither! We are still searchin’ for the men who murdered yer son?—”

“That has nothin’ to do with this conversation,” Keith warned sternly.

“Ye arenae listenin’, Keith. Ye put a lady from another clan—a rather dangerous clan—in harm’s way by staying there and letting her out of yer sight for even a moment.”

“She can take care of herself, Lucas. Please stop with this nonsense,” Keith said coolly, waving him off.

“She’s still a lady. Are ye so done with yer life that ye wish for her beast of a braither to declare war on us? Or are ye so selfish as to parade her around and then nae care about her expectations and reputation?”

Keith laughed harshly. “Her reputation? She’s kenned throughout Scotland as the deadliest woman who has ever wielded a blade. Her expectations? She dressed as a man to train with the guards. She’s served as second-in-command to two lairds. I would assume someone like that doesnae wish to marry,” he snapped.

“And ye mean to tell me that ye would have her be yer… second-in-command ?” Lucas asked, his meaning clear.

“Watch yer tongue,” Keith sneered, jabbing a finger at his younger brother in warning.

“But—” Lucas started, but Keith had heard and said enough.

“This conversation is over, Lucas. Dinnae ye need to complete the task I gave ye earlier?”

“The man in blue is being watched. His kin are yet to be located.”

Keith looked out the window, the sun high in the sky, before leveling a sharp stare at his brother. “Ye have until nightfall, remember.”

“I ken that well enough.”

“Then why are ye nae out there, searchin’?”

“I have men scouring. They will report their findings or deliver the man to me before yer deadline, Braither.”

“Good. Leave me, now,” Keith said, even more done with the conversation that he had been just moments ago.

What he wished for now was just solitude.

Ear-splitting quiet.

He watched his brother leave the study with a tyrannical stride that brought a gloating smile to his face as the door slammed shut with such force that the ink in the inkwell rippled.

Keith stood up then and stalked over to the whiskey tray in the far corner of the room. Through the window, he watched his brother storm across the courtyard, mount his saddled stallion, and tear through the glen toward the village.

Came back in the saddle and had a question.

Keith scoffed, recalling the miserable excuse Lucas gave as he entered the study. The question was less of a question and more of an inquisition, and he was the inquisitor.

Lucas had always known what to say to bend his ear, even if only for a moment.

Keith knocked back two fingers of whiskey before pouring himself another glass and swirling it. The smooth aroma tickled his nostrils, and the warmth of the liquid hit the back of his throat and heated his chest. Everything reminded him of Ersie’s kiss. The venom in her bite, the warmth of her body, the sound of his name on her lips as she came around him.

Impossible . She’s a warrior .

“Couldnae pay her enough money to convince her to marry me anyway…” he trailed off, downing the liquor and letting the sting settle deep within him.

He would be seeing her later, but now that his brother had successfully gotten under his skin, he probably wouldn’t be seeing her until dinner.

Keith turned briefly and glanced at the impossibly high stack of parchment and folios on his desk that might, if he opened the window, blow away.

Parchment blowing away and disappearing wouldn’t be such a bad idea. His eyes flicked over the latch to the window and the swaying trees in the distance, then back to the stack.

Images of Ersie’s pile of parchment blowing in the breeze around her room, and her scrambling to secure them all, brought a smile to his lips.

I should ask her about those. She said she remembered them… How far had she gotten?

The windowpanes rattled slightly under the force of the gusts, and Keith sighed, deciding not to open the window after all. Instead, he poured himself another finger of whiskey and shuffled back over to his desk.

Images of Ersie flashed across his mind with each harsh flourish of the quill.

Correspondence from the guards at the northern border…

She was splayed on his desk, her strong legs hooked over his shoulders, all of his work scattered on the floor, offering herself to him like the sweetest meal he would ever have.

Immediate notice of wool trade amendment…

The sound of the quill tip scratching against the parchment raked down his spine and set his teeth on edge as if it were her nails. He rolled his neck to the side and curved his shoulders inward to try and release the building tension.

Market easement revision due to the…

His hands roved over her perfect body as he bent her over the arm of the sofa, and she gripped the leather fiercely, breathless, as he claimed her right there.

Approval for the investment in…

Ersie’s limbs wrapped around the rungs of the library ladder, anchoring herself as he thrust into her over and over.

Bloody hell.

He gritted his teeth as he slammed the quill down violently, breaking it into several pieces before he swiped at the parchment on the desk, clearing it completely with frustration.

His heart pounded wildly, caged in only by his ribs, but otherwise exploding through his body. He needed to hear his name on her lips again as she gasped for air and release.

His arousal pulsed painfully under the tight grip of his belt, and all he could think about was venom dripping from her perfect lips as she wrapped them around his length.

The glass of whiskey flew across the room and shattered in the fireplace, making the fire roar.

He roared along with it, frustration and tension tightening the coil inside of him with relentless strength. Keith had never been so tense at just the thought of a woman.

Ersie Barcley would be the death of him.

Thoughts of her blade pressed against his throat did nothing to ease the strain in his body.

“She’s still a lady.”

Lucas’s snotty voice echoed in his mind.

Somehow, even the inappropriate thoughts swirling in his mind seemed to jeopardize that reputation. Because he had tasted her. He had felt her scalding heat wrap around his fingers. She was a lady, but only he knew her—truly knew her.

Someone like that wouldnae wish to marry.

He knew it was true, and he hated it.

His recollection of what was said in frustration with his brother doused his heated body with ice-cold reality. Keith’s breathing evened out with a sharp resolution.

Enough.

He spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning up the mess he made in the study, deciding that any remaining clan matters would have to wait for a day. His promise to Ersie was broken, but dinner would have to suffice.

He hung his cloak on the peg before exiting the room and hurried down the corridor. The table was already set as he walked into the private dining room and took his seat, but what gave him pause was not the settings, but how little food was waiting.

Keith called for the maid and demanded that another place be set for Ersie and even for his brother.

The timid creature backed away slightly and spoke to the stone floor, “They have separately informed the staff that they willnae be in attendance.”

“What’s this? When have they said such things?”

“Lady Ersie notified the staff during luncheon, and yer braither only moments before going back to the village, Me Laird.”

Keith scoffed and waved the young maid away, strode over to the sole chair and place setting, and glowered fiercely at the archway Ersie should have walked through.

“Why is she avoiding me?” he grumbled, his hunger dissipating, replaced by scorn and anger.

His palms smacked the table fiercely, before he pushed himself back to his feet and stormed out of the dining room.