The Sutherland Devil Page 2

  He’d be happy to kill the man himself, bastard brother or not. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?

  “Thomas says it’s no’ likely to rain again,” Gavin offered helpfully. “Mayhap Lindsay’s next raid will happen soon, and we can track him.”

  Merrick’s hand, resting beside his trencher, clenched into a fist until his knuckles whitened. Aye, they’d find the bastard. They’d track him down, and Merrick would spill his blood as payment for the pain and destruction the man had wrought. Last summer, he’d been merely a nuisance, but even before the snow had melted this year, John Lindsay had begun his raids again. More than a few Sutherland farmers were homeless now, or hadn’t been able to plant their crops. It was up to Merrick and his warriors to protect their clansmen, but they’d been unable to find the damned Lindsay.

  Soon, he vowed.

  “What happens if you cannae find him, Father?”

  Merrick’s gaze swung to Mary, sitting a few places down from him. “What?” he snapped, his scowl still in place.

  His eldest never seemed to mind his dark moods. She shrugged daintily, the movement sending her brown curls swinging. Since her best friend Elana—Gavin’s younger sister, who worked in the kitchens—had gone south to visit family, Merrick noticed his daughter was paying more attention to her hair and clothing choices.

  Or mayhap that had nothing to do with Elana…

  Mary smiled peacefully. “If ye donae track Lindsay, Da, do yer warriors just have to wait—”

  “We’ll find him.” Merrick’s tone brooked no argument.

  “Aye, Lady Mary,” young Andrew hastened to add. “If yer father says we’ll do something, we’ll do it. Have some more venison, please.”

  The lad had been Merrick’s squire for years, and only now risen to the rank of warrior. At eighteen—a year older than Mary—he was obviously proud to be seated with his laird’s inner circle, but Merrick’s frown deepened when he saw how solicitous the lad was being to Mary. And damn if Mary wasn’t blushing. He vowed to sit Andrew on his other side tomorrow, away from his daughter.

  Hell, this is what I’m reduced to planning these days?

  God willing, Gavin’s men would soon have a trail, and Merrick would be able to actually do something useful instead of sitting here in the keep, worrying about his daughter’s virtue like an old woman.

  I’m no’ ready to be a grandda.

  Gavin distracted him by muttering, “She’s right, ye ken. With Lindsay’s raids, we’ll be stretched thin. Now that Mackenzie’s married one of the Sinclair Jewels, we’ll have to contend with both of them, and can ill afford—”

  “Is there a reason ye think I donae ken this?” Merrick snapped, his appetite waning by the second. “A reason ye think I need ye to explain it all to me?”

  The Sinclairs were a powerful ally, and he’d known Duncan Sinclair for years. Making a marriage alliance with one of the man’s daughters had been common sense, although Merrick had dragged his feet, not wanting to bother with another wife. But then Duncan himself had broken the engagement when his daughter had married a common warrior from his own clan. It had been a bit of a relief, honestly, up until the Mackenzie’s regent had married one of Duncan’s other daughters. Now, he had to contend with united power on either side of his borders, while Lindsay made their lives miserable within his lands.

  If Mackenzie chose to attack anytime soon, with the Sutherland warriors already having so much to do, they’d be in trouble. But Merrick would never let his men see he was concerned. He held Gavin’s gaze long enough for the man to lower his chin in submission.

  “Aye, milord,” Gavin said quietly and reached for the haunch of meat on his trencher.

  Blowing out a breath, Merrick slumped back in his chair and allowed his fist—and the rest of his muscles—to relax. He knew he was defensive because he was frustrated at being unable to find Lindsay. But he’d never been any good at hiding his bad moods.

  It was why he was called Devil, after all.

  At that moment, a commotion broke out from the end of the table where the rest of the children sat. Merrick blinked, his brooding interrupted.

  “Beck!” screeched nine-year-old Adelaide. “How could ye?” The girl stood, a splotch of gravy spreading across her kirtle.

  His gaze flicked to the bairn’s nurse, old Nell, who was whispering urgently to six-year-old Beck, the wildest of them all. The lad didn’t look at all repentant. In fact, he was already reaching for another onion, obviously intent on firing another volley at his sister.

  But before he could, eight-year-old Eva shot to her feet, a roll in her hand. “Ye have the manners of a pig!” She screeched as she lobbed the bread across the table.

  Of course, Beck took that as an opening, and flicked the onion in her direction. Honestly, the lad had remarkable aim, which meant that since he hit Nolan, he’d probably planned to do it. But Nolan was as stoic as Eva was wild, and just grunted as he continued to eat. In fact, the sturdy lad picked up the onion which had bounced off his shoulder and popped it into his mouth.

  Eva screeched louder in offense, reaching for a piece of cheese. Little Isobel began to bounce up and down in Nell’s lap, laughing and clapping, while twelve-year-old Maggie scooped up her knife and leapt to her younger brother’s rescue.

  In a matter of moments, chaos reigned. Merrick pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if this was normal. Did other powerful lairds have to put up with this amount of disorder at their supper tables? Or was it just his luck, with so many bairns?

  He waited for Nell to get the lot of them under control, but the old woman had her hands full with three-year-old Isobel. Not only that, but baby Emma had woken and began wailing in her basket, so Nell was trying to quiet the wee thing.

  It didn’t help that Merrick’s men had immediately began calling out encouragement, and in some cases, taking bets on which of his unruly offspring would prevail. Most of them had a soft spot for Maggie and Beck, who spent their time watching the men train and mimicking their techniques. But Eva was fierce, and lacked Adelaide and Mary’s control, and Merrick heard more than one of his men refer to her as “Wee Lightening.”

  Chaos. Utter chaos.

  And despite his earlier mood, Merrick felt a smile tug at his lips as he slouched in his chair, watching his children throw food at one another gleefully.

  Any moment now, he’d put an end to this, he vowed. Any moment…

  Isobel was trying to climb off Nell’s lap and reach for a chunk of the thick, brown bread, while Maggie used Beck’s trencher as a shield. Of course, this meant their supper had spilled all over the table in front of them, but at least she was protecting the lad as he fired missiles at his older siblings. They made a good team.

  Eva was screaming insults, lobbing food back across the table, while Nolan ignored most of them. When he finished his own venison, he reached for his sister’s—maybe there was a reason the lad was so stocky. Bookish Adelaide appeared close to tears as she lectured her siblings at the top of her lungs, and Mary huddled close to Andrew, while the young man gallantly shielded her.

  Merrick’s smile slipped away at that sight.

  Definitely time to separate those two.

  Mayhap Beck felt similarly, because he switched his aim to his eldest sister, flicking onions in her direction in between ducking Eva’s volleys. Andrew was doing a damn good job of batting the missiles out of the air, Gavin was roaring with laughter, and Merrick shook his head in exasperation.

  Mackenzie breathing down my neck, Lindsay raiding my lands, and my own children are no better than a lawless band of reivers themselves.

  Still, at least it kept the meal from being boring.

  Time to put an end to this. He sat forward abruptly, ready to roar his irritation—mayhap a trifle more feigned than real, in order to show the bairns he was serious. And he would’ve, except at that moment, an onion sailed out from behind Beck’s trencher, headed not for Mary or Eva, but Merrick himself.

/>   He hadn’t spent over a decade as the Sutherland laird with poor reflexes. Before the gooey orb could connect with his shoulder, Merrick snatched it out of the air.

  Instantly, silence descended. Every one of his unruly offspring, every man in the great hall, immediately ceased their raucous noise and watched him warily. Only baby Emma hadn’t seemed to notice the interruption—her wails continued unabated while Nell watched her laird with an open mouth.

  Sure, he had their attention; Merrick held Beck’s gaze and slowly squeezed the onion until he felt it pop and the juices flow between his fingers. It was satisfying, to find a way to release some of his earlier irritation. But not enough.

  “Beck,” he growled.

  His son swallowed audibly. “Yes, milord?”

  “Come. Here.”

  It was almost comical the way the lad scrambled away from the table. Beside him, Maggie sat down heavily, her guilty gaze on him, as if wondering if she would be punished. Eva stood defiantly, her shoulders heaving with exertion, while tears of frustration dried on Adelaide’s cheeks.

  Every present clan member watched as Beck shuffled around the table to reach his father. As he passed Mary, the girl leaned away from him, and for the first time, Merrick noticed Andrew had his arm around her back. But he didn’t have time to react before his troublesome son stood before him.

  Merrick shifted in his large chair until he was glaring directly at the six-year-old, who met his gaze bravely. The lad’s blond hair was dotted with breadcrumbs from a volley Maggie hadn’t been able to block in time, but he managed to look unrepentant.

  And—despite Merrick’s fierce glower, he could admit the truth—damn cute. Had Willie looked like that at six? It was hard to remember. Merrick was certain he’d never been so cherubic, but Robbie probably had. Robbie had always looked so innocent.

  The knowledge Beck might one day follow Robbie’s path leant anger to Merrick’s scowl. Without speaking, he reached out and wiped his oniony hand on the lad’s shoulder, smearing the gravy and onion juice across Beck’s shirt, so he matched Adelaide.

  And the boy, damn his eyes, lowered himself into a courtier’s flourishing bow. “Thank ye, milord,” he breathed reverently, as if Merrick had knighted him.

  Around them, his men began to murmur, and Merrick heard a few chuckles at his son’s impertinence. Even while he himself was battling the urge to smile at the lad’s attitude, he knew he couldn’t become the clan’s laughingstock. He commanded his men with absolute certainty and was respected for it. His children would feel the same, by God.

  “Beck,” he growled, “If ye make it to manhood, ye will have to ken respect. Yer commander will demand it, and ye will start now, by showing yer laird and father what is deserved.”

  Apparently his tone got through to the little hellion, because Beck’s expression immediately sobered, and he hunched his shoulders as he dropped his gaze to Merrick’s chin. “Aye, Father,” he whispered.

  “Ye disrespect yer nurse and yer sisters by acting as ye did, and ye disrespect me.”

  Beck swallowed again. “I’m sorry, milord. I only meant to lighten the mood.”

  Merrick allowed the silence to stretch just long enough for Gavin across the table to shift uncomfortably, before he nodded to release the tension. “Apology accepted.” But before the lad could breathe a sigh of relief, he continued, “Ye’ve made a mess, lad.” Merrick nodded at the woven cloth covering the table, now splattered with venison and gravy from Beck’s trencher. “Ye, Maggie, and Eva will have no more meals until ye scrub this cloth and Adelaide’s kirtle. One of the scullery lasses will no doubt show ye what needs to be done.”

  Beck’s brown eyes flashed toward Maggie, who was looking livid at what she no doubt saw as servant’s work. Eva was whispering furiously to Nolan, who was ignoring her. But Beck just nodded slowly.

  “Aye, milord.”

  Merrick liked that the boy accepted his punishment without whining or arguing. He clasped the six-year-old on his shoulder. “Remember this, lad. A real warrior takes what is meted out with grace and determination to do better.”

  Beck nodded, chewing on his lower lip. Under Merrick’s hold and gaze, the lad shifted on his feet. Was he aware that most of the Sutherlands in the room were watching him now? Was he embarrassed? Good. That would go further toward teaching him restraint than anything else, likely.

  For his part, Merrick was pleased he wouldn’t have to exert his control any further. He didn’t want to break this mischievous boy any more than he wanted Mary snuggling up with his former squire. But he would not allow his power to be doubted, not in his own great hall.

  John Lindsay, his own brother, was already pulling this clan apart. Merrick would not allow his control to be questioned, not by a six-year-old, and not by the men watching what was happening.

  He would remain strong. In command. And if that meant having the reputation of the Devil himself, so be it.

  “Well, lad?” he asked quietly. “Is there anything else you need to say to your laird?”

  “Aye,” Beck whispered, his hands twisted in front of him.

  Merrick waited a moment, but the boy didn’t seem inclined to continue. He hated the thought that he might’ve crushed Beck’s spirit, but it had to be done if he wanted his men to know he was strong.

  “Beck?” he prompted, and squeezed the boy’s shoulder just a bit. “What would you say to your laird?”

  That’s when the lad looked up, and his dark eyes met Merrick’s. “I love ye, Da,” he whispered just before he threw himself toward Merrick.

  The man grunted just slightly when the boy slammed into his chest and wrapped his small arms around his middle. Then, accepting the inevitable, Merrick released his breath through his teeth, and tightened his hold on the lad, in something akin to a hug.

  “Aye, lad,” he murmured against the mop of blond curls. “I love ye, too.”

  It was the truth. No matter how much the lad reminded him of Robbie, no matter that he was going to drive Merrick mad with his antics and the way he incited chaos among his siblings, Merrick loved him.

  Him, and every single one of the bairns now staring at them with expressions ranging from irritation to smugness to anticipation.

  Even the Devil could love his children, aye? Although God help him if the word got out.

  He looked across the table and met Gavin’s eyes a moment before the other man lifted his flagon to his lips and looked away. Merrick found himself growling a warning.

  “No’ a word.”

  Gavin’s brows twitched, which told the laird his friend wanted to say something, but wouldn’t. His second had been with him since they’d both been lads, being a few years younger than Merrick. He was lucky to have Gavin’s support, and knew the commander would keep his secret.

  A cry from outside had Gavin’s head snapping up, the same as Merrick’s and half the men in the hall. Even young Andrew straightened away from Mary, already looking toward the main doors. Gently, Merrick set Beck away from him—the lad rushed to his oldest sister’s arms—and slowly stood.

  The doors burst open, and Daniel flung himself into the room, his face red, and his expression excited. “Lindsay, milord! He’s hit the croft at the bend in the river!”

  “How long ago?” Merrick growled, forcing down the burst of satisfaction until he was sure.

  “Just now! Murray’s eldest rushed to report.”

  Slowly, Merrick’s lips curved upward. It wasn’t a nice smile, but his men erupted in cheers anyhow. “We have him, lads,” he called.

  In a flurry of movement, the Sutherland warriors abandoned their meals and rushed for the stables, their laird among them. Merrick glanced back toward the bairns only once, to see them all watching with wide eyes. He nodded to let them know everything would be fine, then met Andrew’s eyes.

  His former squire still stood by the bench beside Mary, obviously torn. Had he been anyone else, Merrick would’ve disciplined him for putting a woman before his dut
y to his laird. But the lad had only recently joined the ranks of warriors, and while he was used to remaining at Merrick’s side, he knew he wasn’t seasoned.

  So, Merrick pointed a finger at him. “You will guard my family and this keep. If aught happens, if any of them come to harm, you will pay. Understood?”

  The dark-haired lad seemed relieved to have the decision made for him. He clasped his fist to his chest and lowered his head in acceptance. “I will guard them as if they were my own.”

  Probably exactly what he wanted. Merrick resisted the urge to sniff sarcastically. Instead, he narrowed his eyes. “My family will be your charge until I say otherwise.”

  “Without fear!” the lad shouted, and the clan motto was repeated by the few men who hadn’t left the hall already.

  Merrick nodded. “Without fear,” he confirmed, then strode out, having already put Andrew—and the bairns—from his mind. He had a job.

  Brother or not, John Lindsay would be caught. Caught and punished like the dog he was.

  The Sutherland Devil’s blood began to pump in anticipation.

  Chapter Two

  The shoreline of the small loch looked empty, but a fortnight of caution wasn’t easy to overlook. Saffy waited in the shadows at the edge of the forest, scanning the beach and the distant water.

  No one. She was safe.

  Still, her senses were on high alert as she scuttled from the safety of the trees to the water. While her disguise should be sufficient to fool any passersby, it’d be easier to just avoid as many people as possible, as she’d been doing for the last sennight. But her thirst was strong enough to conquer her fear of being seen.