The Sutherland Devil Read online

  Hmm.

  He placed her on his large bed, then stood staring down at her.

  She was no servant or crofter, and not used to hard labor. It was impossible to imagine a lady in her current position, but her hands didn’t lie. If she was a Lindsay, was she one of the laird’s family? John’s cousin or sister?

  Or—Merrick’s hands fisted at the thought—his whore?

  Mayhap she was no lady at all, but another position used to ease. But why would she be spying for Lindsay dressed as a lad?

  There was no way of knowing until she recovered enough to tell him. Although it was hard to believe she’d wake before tomorrow, Merrick secured the weapons in the room before moving the food to the table beside the bed. He’d leave her in his room tonight and sleep elsewhere.

  She’d eventually tell him what he needed to know.

  He vowed it.

  Chapter Four

  From the time she was a young girl, Saffy had woken easily. She’d shared a bed with various sisters over the years—sometimes all three!—and had gotten used to Citrine’s early-morning jolting-upright-in-bed. Saffy would then wake, but would often hold herself still while Citrine thrashed about, attempting to extricate herself from the coverlet. That’s how Saffy often got accused of having bony knees, although it was obviously not the case. It was just Citrine, flopping around.

  The memories of Citrine jolting the bed were what had Saffy confused this morning. She was lying on a comfortable mattress, aye, but she was perfectly still. Her twin wasn’t making her bounce about. Now that Pearl and Agata were married, Citrine would be the only one sharing a mattress with Saffy, and she was unnaturally still. Had she awakened already?

  For that matter, it was obviously well past dawn; the sunlight streaming in through the open window attested to that. Why had she slept so late? And where were the familiar tapestries she’d come to know over the years? The room looked completely different. These tapestries were done in reds and blacks instead of blues and greens, and showed battle scenes, like a warrior might prefer. And the goblets on the far table weren’t something she or her sisters might use.

  She blinked slowly, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

  This wasn’t her room, was it?

  Nay, she’d been…she’d left home, hadn’t she? Traveling to Dornach with Munro, then further alone. Dressed as a lad. Sleeping on the ground.

  Exhaustion.

  Being captured by the Sutherland and accused of spying!

  The dungeon!

  The hunger, the weakness, the hopelessness!

  The memories slammed into her, and Saffy pushed herself upright in the bed, the coverlet falling across her lap.

  She touched her hair, and wasn’t sure if she was relieved or horrified to know she hadn’t imagined being dressed as a lad. Despite the sumptuous bed, she was still wearing the surcoat and braies, and when she wiggled her toes, she could feel the stockings. Her hands were filthy, and she imagined the rest of her was as well.

  The days and nights in the Sutherland dungeon had taken their toll on her.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her of hunger, but surprisingly, it wasn’t as strong as she remembered. And there was a stale taste on her tongue—ale?

  There was…there’d been a man. She remembered being scared, but he’d held her gently and… She closed her eyes, the effort of remembering making her head hurt. He’d fed her, hadn’t he? He’d worn Sutherland colors, and she’d been terrified, but he’d fed her and spoken soothingly, as if she’d been a bairn.

  “Ye’re awake, then?”

  The voice—a low rumble—came from across the room, and Saffy’s eyes flew open. When she saw the strange man slouched in the chair, flipping the short dirk back and forth, she sucked in a breath. He was wearing Sutherland colors! Heart racing, she scrambled back against the headboard, as if the bed covers would offer her some protection.

  But instead of pouncing, the man chuckled as he pushed himself upright.

  And Saffy sucked in another breath for an entirely different reason.

  Dear God, the man was beautiful.

  His dark hair had flashes of silver at the temples and was cropped close. The color matched the short stubble on his cheeks, as if he hadn’t yet scraped his chin that day, as many warriors preferred. And his eyes…his eyes were striking. A blue so pale it looked like ice, but surrounded by a dark ring so that he looked at the world through a tunnel.

  Her own eyes widened at the sight, mesmerized by his features.

  And then his lips twitched, and his amused gaze was so intriguing, she swore she stopped breathing.

  Her sisters had mentioned this, this wanting when a beautiful man smiled. Agata and Citrine had talked about the way a man could make heat pool deep in their bellies, to make a woman want to squirm. And Saffy had seen attractive men before, of course, but this one…

  Mayhap it was his age. He looked like a man experienced enough to know what a woman wanted. Mayhap it was his eyes, or his smile, or those high cheekbones.

  All she knew was that she was sitting in a strange bed, dressed as a lad, and on a mission to save her family…and she very much wanted to touch this man.

  Sutherland or not, she wanted to kiss him. And that was something she absolutely could not do, not if she wanted her mission to be successful.

  Slowly, he stood. Her eyes went wider as she took in all of him, from his simple linen shirt to the plaid slung low on his hips, to the way he slipped the long dirk into the sheath on his belt, to his strong legs and boots.

  Her gaze lingered on his hands, and she had the strangest feeling they’d touched her before.

  “Aye, Saf,” he said with a rumble. “I was the one who fed ye yesterday.”

  Yesterday? She glanced at the window. It was late afternoon already. She’d been asleep for more than a day? Her stomach growled again, and he jerked his chin in reaction.

  “There’s more food for ye.”

  He crossed to a table and picked up a tray, which he carried to the bed. “Can ye feed yerself? Or do I need—”

  “I can do it,” she hurried to reassure him, alarmed at how rough her voice sounded.

  As much as Saffy wanted the man to sit beside her and treat her gently, Saf the lad wouldn’t want that. Boys were independent, and would hate to have him fussing over her.

  Him.

  Whatever.

  She scowled at her own thoughts and reached for the bread. After dipping it in the ale, she took a small bite, and the flavor brought back a memory. Her gaze flashed to him.

  He had fed her, hadn’t he? She remembered him carefully pushing a piece of ale-soaked bread between her lips. He’d treated her so gently, and he knew her name.

  The man was stretching, as if his muscles were kinked. She chewed slowly and watched him, trying to keep the interest out of her gaze, afraid she was revealing too much of her feelings. When he finished, he crossed his arms and propped his hip against the windowsill. Lit from behind by the late afternoon sun, he looked like some kind of…

  Saffy shook her head. She definitely did not believe in the fairies and little people, but couldn’t deny he looked otherworldly. Angelic? Nay, harder than that.

  The longer he watched her eat, the more his silent stares began to unnerve her.

  “Thank ye,” she managed to croak. “I was…I needed…”

  “Food, aye. And water.” He gave a curt nod. “I’ve come in several times since last night to make sure ye drank water, but I didnae think ye’d remember.”

  He’d given her water, even if she was asleep? That would explain the way her now-full stomach was pushing against her bladder. Still, she could do naught about it until he left, so she reached for the hunk of cheese and bit into it, trying to distract her mind.

  She could swear he’d narrowed his eyes. “’Twas the least I could do,” he said entirely too nonchalantly, “after Andrew locked ye in my dungeon.”

  My dungeon.

  Saffy froze, th
e bite of cheese turning sour on her tongue.

  My dungeon.

  He was… Her heart began to pound again. He was a Sutherland, and called the dungeons his? Did that mean the keep was his, too? If so, he was… He was…

  Oh, dear God.

  His brow twitched. “I’ve surprised ye? Allow me to introduce myself.” He stepped away from the window and bowed briefly. “Merrick Sutherland, laird of this clan.”

  The Sutherland Devil.

  Saffy began to choke on the now-dry cheese in her mouth, and reached for the flagon of ale to wash it down. Forcing herself to concentrate on not choking to death, she closed her eyes and tried not to think of what this meant.

  She was in the same room as the most ruthless laird in the Highlands! A man she’d heard horror stories about! A man she absolutely did not want to be at the mercy of.

  A man who held ye gently and made sure ye were fed and watered.

  The Sutherland Devil!

  He does no’ look like a devil.

  She forced steady breaths as she lowered the flagon.

  Nay, he didn’t look like a devil, did he? With those fascinating eyes and that otherworldly glow.

  The Devil is otherworldly, is he no’?

  Whose side was her mind on, anyhow?

  He was watching her reaction—and her internal argument, likely. He looked amused.

  “Ye were not expecting a laird to be watching ye sleep, waiting for ye to awake?”

  It was as good an excuse as any. “Aye,” she croaked. “That’s it.” She began to tear the bread into small pieces, hoping to hide her shaking hands.

  He shrugged and propped his hip against the window ledge once more. “Get used to it,” he said. “Ye’re in my keep, and I intend to learn everything I can about ye, Saf.”

  “Why?” she’d blurted before she could think better of it.

  “Because I want to ken what Lindsay is up to, and I think ye can tell me.”

  Lindsay? The lad who’d captured her—Andrew—had used that name, too. He’d called her a spy for Lindsay, but she didn’t know what he’d meant.

  Shaking her head, she tried to arrange her words. “I…I’m no’ a spy. Andrew called me that, but I’m no’. Truly.”

  His brow twitched. “That’s what a spy would say.”

  “Aye, and also what an innocent…lad would say.” She hoped he hadn’t noticed the slight hesitation and pushed on before he could, hoping to put him on the defensive. “I came to yer home, looking for work.”

  “Dressed as a Lowlander,” he shot back.

  Surprised, she glanced down at her clothing. “’Tis no’ such unusual dress. Men of my clan wear this in the winter.”

  “And what clan is that?”

  When she saw the hungry look in his eyes, she winced, knowing she’d given away too much. “I’d—I cannae say.”

  “Cannae or willnae?”

  He was no dullard, that was for certain. Saffy felt her palms begin to sweat, and unconsciously, swiped them down the woolen blanket.

  “I…I only wanted someplace to stay. A job.”

  He nodded briskly. “Aye, and ye’ll have one, here where I can learn yer secrets, Saf. Where are ye from?”

  She shook her head, knowing she couldn’t answer him. Things were getting hazy again. Dear God, this man—this gorgeous man—had been contracted to marry her sister Pearl! What would he do if he discovered her identity?

  He wasn’t discouraged, though. “Ye spent three days in my dungeon without food or water. I was the one who dragged ye out of there and saved yer life. Ye owe me.”

  “Nay,” she whispered, alarmed at how hard it was to think. She was still so very tired.

  “Aye, and now I own ye.”

  Own…

  He’s the Devil, remember?

  She shook her head.

  Suddenly, he loomed over her, pulling the tray from the bed and depositing it on the nearby table. She stared up at him mutely.

  “What did ye do during those three days, Saf?” he asked softer.

  Do?

  “To keep yer mind sharp, lad. What did ye do to keep from going mad?”

  It was a simple enough question, and at that moment, she couldn’t think of a lie to tell him. Couldn’t think of a reason to lie to him. “I corrected the graffiti,” she said simply.

  His teeth flashed as he grinned lightning-quick, his serious expression settling once more onto his full lips. “As I recall, my grandfather imprisoned his brother-in-law for a while down there, waiting for permission to marry his sister. My great uncle kenned quite the collection of curses.”

  Thinking of the things carved into the stone far below, Saf nodded silently.

  Quick as a flash, the Sutherland darted forward and lifted her right hand from where it rested on the coverlet. “A knowledge of Latin would also explain this,” he said as he flipped her hand over, his fingertips brushing against the callus on the outside of her forefinger.

  And for the first time ever, her mind was struck completely and utterly blank.

  Warmth from his touch spread up her hand and arm, filling her chest and making her gape at him. Dear God in Heaven, but his touch felt divine.

  Devil, he may be, but he made her shiver like a saint.

  And from the way his smile flashed again, just briefly, he knew it.

  Ye’re a lad!

  Her mind finally started working again, and she yanked her hand from his with a gasp. She was supposed to be Saf, a lad looking for work. If she sat here and mooned over this gorgeous devil, shivering at his touch, and longing for more, her masquerade would be uncovered in a moment.

  Trying to sound like one of her father’s younger warriors, she made her voice gruff. “I have to…” She shook her head and shifted in the bed. “I need privacy.”

  Scooting to the other side of the bed, she swung her legs off, and braced herself against the wave of lightheadedness. She was still so weak, so tired. At least her thirst had been quenched, but that meant…

  When she pushed herself upright, leaning on the bedpost for support, she was surprised to still see the Devil across the room, staring at her with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

  Oh. A lad wouldn’t demand privacy, would he?

  But she could no more relieve herself in front of him than she could reveal her identity. The two things were connected, in fact.

  As much as she hated to push the fact, nature couldn’t be denied. “Milord?”

  Blandly, he raised one brow in challenge. “Aye, lad?”

  “I need privacy,” she stated again, feeling like a clot-head.

  He jerked his chin toward a screen in the corner. “By all means.”

  “Ye…ye plan to stay?”

  “This is my chamber, Saf. Ye cannae kick me out.”

  Oh, God.

  The journey to the other side of the room saw her stumbling once or twice, but he didn’t move to help her, thank the saints. By the time she fumbled her way out of her braies and squatted over the pot, she was sure her cheeks were apple-red.

  And then he began to whistle to cover the echoing sound of water hitting clay, and she closed her eyes in mortification.

  Still, she managed to right herself and stumble from behind the screen once more. He stood in the same spot, looking far too comfortable. She eyed the bed, her entire body feeling longing to lie down once more. But instead, she thrust her chin out.

  She couldn’t look at him directly. “Now what?”

  “Milord,” he supplied helpfully.

  Confused, her gaze darted to his, then down once more. “What?”

  “Ye will call me milord. Or laird. Or Laird Sutherland.”

  Her nod of acknowledgement was more of a jerk, but she couldn’t deny his censure. He might be the devil, but he was a laird. “My laird,” she repeated softly, still staring at the brooch which held his plaid in place.

  A brooch much like the missing Sinclair jewels.

  “I like that,” he said softly, th
en immediately cleared his throat. “Now what?” he prompted, reminding her of her earlier question.

  She shrugged. “I wondered what other humiliations ye had planned for me.”

  And God love him, but he chuckled. It was over in a moment, but she was so surprised, she met his eyes once more.

  “Plenty, wee Saf. I’m the Sutherland Devil, have ye no’ heard?”

  Entranced by the combination of humor and hardness in his eyes, Saffy felt herself nod.

  “Despite my reputation, I donae believe in torture. But that willnae stop me from pressing ye, because I will learn yer secrets, Saf.”

  He pushed away from the window and began to stalk toward her. Saffy swallowed, knowing she had nowhere to run, and couldn’t manage it, even if there was some place safe.

  And a tiny part of her mind was yelling Ye’re safe with him!

  Stupid thought.

  “I—I have nae secrets,” she managed to choke out.

  He halted right in front of her, close enough to touch. It felt as if he was touching her, the way she was completely aware of his body, his warmth. She held her breath as she tilted her head back and forced herself to meet his eyes.

  “I think ye do, Saf,” he whispered, his stare intense. “And I’ll learn them.”

  Her mouth worked, but she could think of no denial. Finally, she shook her head slightly.

  And he nodded in return.

  “Ye’re mine now, wee Saf. Ye wanted a job? I have one for ye, a coveted position.”

  The way he was looking at her…Saffy swallowed and reminded herself he thought she was a lad.

  “Aye?” she croaked.

  “Aye, milord,” he prompted her.

  Arrogant man. “Aye…Devil?”

  He grinned again, and while one part of her was relieved he hadn’t punished her for sass, another part wished his smile didn’t make him look quite so…approachable.

  ’Tis hard to call him a devil when he smiles like that.

  “I’m going to make ye my squire.” Before she could process what that meant, he placed one palm against the wall by her head and leaned forward. “Ye’ll tend to my needs, ye’ll attend me in practice and at meals, and ye’ll devote yer every waking moment to me.”