The Sutherland Devil Read online

  Ah. There’s the minx.

  She was blushing at the thought of rolling around, learning the art of the grapple. He was in control here.

  So why was he getting hard beneath his kilt?

  “Two-score, lad.”

  She blinked in confusion. “What?”

  Pleased to have unbalanced her—finally—Merrick sheathed his sword and raised his voice so the other lads could hear. “I’m no’ even two-score years.” Winking lewdly, he did his best to lend credence to the rumors surrounding him, and discomfit her further, by continuing. “Aye, ’tis possible I’m a grandda, although I havenae heard the news. But wee Emma is but six months, so I can still make a lass moan in pleasure.”

  When Saf squeezed her eyes shut on a “Dear Lord,” Merrick almost burst out laughing. It was satisfying to know he could meet her teasing head-on like that, and embarrass her in return.

  Still, that’s not why they were there.

  He turned his attention to the other lads. “Ye see this position?” He was kneeling over Saf. “The enemy nae longer holds a sword to Saf’s throat, aye? What could sh—he do to gain victory?”

  Most of the pupils were silent, but one enthusiastic lad called out, “Knee ye in the bollocks, Laird!”

  “Aye, good.” He nodded, and spoke to Saf. “Yer limbs arenae tied. With the immediate threat removed, do what ye must to get free.”

  Eyes wide as she listened—he liked that she learned so quickly—she nodded slowly. “And…”

  While he’d been distracted, she’d removed the dirk from her belt, and raised it to show him. He found himself smiling—him! Smiling during training!—at the adorable combination of fierceness and timidity.

  “Good.” He took her wrist to guide her hand, but spoke to all of his pupils. “In this case, there’s nae need to even reveal yer hand. There’s a vein here that will cause yer opponent to bleed out in minutes.” He guided her hand—the dirk still gripped tightly in it—to his inner thigh, beneath his kilt.

  He promised himself it was merely training, and he’d do the same for any of the other lads. But would they blush this way?

  She wasn’t breathing.

  When she twitched away from his hold, he decided to take pity on her, and guided her hand to his hip. “A gut wound from a dagger willnae kill him quickly, but here”—he placed the dirk near his armpit—“will. And of course, the throat is the best option, if ye can reach it.”

  “Throat, armpit, bollocks.” Her voice was a little hoarse. “Ye’re certainly providing an education, Devil.”

  Pressing his lips together to hold back his snort, Merrick surged to his feet, and pulled her up with him. Her hand had been under his kilt, even if it had been for training, and even if she had been holding a dirk.

  But his cock hadn’t cared about that.

  What would it feel like to have her hand under there again? Holding him, stroking him?

  He muttered a curse and pushed himself away from her, determined to teach these lads something useful today.

  And did his best to forget the feel of her skin under his fingers.

  But that night, long after the training session was over, long after he’d bid his family goodnight and retired to his chambers, long after she’d curled up on her pallet and her breathing evened out, he found himself staring at the ceiling, thinking of her blush.

  She’d kenned what I meant when I spoke of grappling. ’Twas why she’d called him “grandda”.

  Was it possible she felt this…this whatever it was? This tug between them? Merrick stacked one forearm behind his head and let out a breath.

  Anna had been the last woman to arouse him this way. He was not like his father and uncles; despite his two failed marriages, Anna still held his heart.

  Didn’t she?

  So many years had passed since her death, he’d gotten used to life without her. Without any woman. Elizabeth and Katharine hadn’t been real companions. These days, it was only Mary’s smile and his empty bed which reminded him of the woman he’d once loved.

  He hadn’t felt that craving in a long while.

  But since holding Saf in his arms…

  She was cheeky and bright and had a sense of humor he liked. Had she been a lad, he would’ve made her his squire just to keep her around and lighten his mood.

  But he couldn’t forget the feel of those breasts under his touch, or the slenderness of her waist. What would she look like without that disguise? Would she be as pretty as he suspected? Would her body be as pale as the rest of her, all womanly curves? Would her breasts ache after being bound for so long, and be eager for his touch?

  How would she taste?

  With a groan, Merrick reached under the wool covers and grasped his already-thick cock. A few tugs, and he was as hard as he’d been earlier, kneeling above her.

  He imagined her climbing on top of him in bed, of riding him with her hair falling wildly around her shoulders. He imagined her meeting him thrust for thrust.

  And despite the fact she still called him devil, he imagined her liking being bedded by him.

  He closed his eyes as he pumped, remembering the look in her eyes when he’d suggested she sleep with him, and knew desire when he’d seen it. He braced his heels, tenting the coverlet, and tried to control his breathing.

  Apparently, he wasn’t successful.

  As his bollocks tightened, he knew he was moments from spilling against his belly, he heard her shift, then roll over.

  “Milord?”

  He froze, panting, wondering what noise he’d made.

  “Laird Sutherland?” she asked again in that sleepy voice.

  “Aye, Saf?” he managed to grind out.

  A pause. Then, sleepily, “Do ye have need of me?”

  Do ye have need of me?

  Her question pounded a refrain in his mind.

  Aye! Aye, in a hundred different ways!

  Did she know what he was doing? What he was thinking about? Was she welcoming him to invite her to participate? Or did she mean it more innocently? Mayhap she thought he was thirsty or something?

  As much as he wanted to command her to climb off her pallet and join him in this bed, as much as he wanted to tell her to take care of him, he knew he couldn’t.

  Bedding her was a complication he couldn’t afford. He still wasn’t convinced she wasn’t a spy, and he wouldn’t be able to think objectively if his attention was on her tits.

  Besides, he didn’t need any more bairns.

  “Nay,” he managed to choke out. “Go to sleep.”

  “Aye, Devil,” she murmured.

  He lay there, softening cock in hand, and listened to her breathing slowly even out once more. And he cursed himself.

  It was a long night.

  Chapter Six

  Attending the Sutherland Devil wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

  Saffy had been surprised by that realization. She’d expected to be treated like a servant, and was prepared to hate the man. But for every command he gave, every request he made, he also took the time to teach her something, as if she were a lad genuinely interested in learning to become a warrior.

  And after the first few days, he began asking her opinion on things—particularly when they worked with his seneschal in the solar. That had made her more pleased than she’d expected.

  Aye, she hadn’t expected to enjoy being with him…but she was learning more things than she ever guessed about running a powerful clan, and to a woman whose mind was constantly whirling, it was a gratifying experience.

  It was almost worth not having a moment to herself to look for the jewels!

  Still, after more than a sennight after she’d arrived, when he dismissed her for the morning while he went to train with his men, she didn’t miss the opportunity to poke around the keep.

  So far, her casual investigations hadn’t been successful. Of course, she was befriending many Sutherlands, but it wasn’t as if she could sidle up to them and say, “Have ye seen any evi
dence of hidden Sinclair jewels about?”

  In fact, there wasn’t anything she could say which wouldn’t be suspicious. So, she knew she was on her own and used the opportunity to the best of her ability.

  Whereas Citrine was a woman of action, Saffy was a scholar. It would make the most sense to read through the clan’s histories, and she’d had that chance a few days ago in Merrick’s solar. She’d learned his grandmother had, in fact, been a Campbell, but she’d known that already. There’d been no reference to jewels or the Sinclairs.

  Now she was studying the tapestries. After all, the very first clue, which had sent Agata to the Mackenzies, had been hidden in an old tapestry, and many clans recorded important events in tapestries. She’d already examined all the ones hanging in the great hall and the laird’s chambers, and now was working her way through the rest of the chambers.

  Shouts and laughter wafted up from the courtyard, and Saffy stopped her futile search long enough to peer out the window at the end of the corridor. A smile came to her lips as she watched Merrick’s children chasing one another below.

  Merrick.

  When had she begun to truly think of him that way? When had she begun to see him as a man?

  Mayhap the first time she’d seen him lift wee Eva onto his lap as she angrily explained her younger brother’s actions. Or the first time he’d patted stout Nolan on his shoulder. Or…

  She shook her head and rested her forearms on the ledge, watching Beck chase Eva with something small and furry as Maggie fought an imaginary opponent. Adelaide sat in the sun, embroidering something, while their nurse played a game with little Isobel.

  There were so many rumors surrounding the Sutherland Devil… That he acted swiftly, and without mercy. That he’d murdered his own brother, and from what she’d learned about his current troubles, he was at war with another brother. That his father had sired numerous bastards, as had he, none of whom the Sutherlands bothered claiming.

  But…the last one clearly wasn’t true. She was watching his brood now, and knew not only had he claimed them, but cared for them.

  When he was with them, when they called him “Da”, he was Merrick, not the Sutherland Devil.

  A chuckle escaped Saffy’s lips as Eva turned around and stuck out a foot, trying to trip Beck. He stumbled—catching himself at the last minute—and flung whatever he’d been holding at her. And Eva, bless her heart, caught the creature and carefully set it down, allowing it to scamper off.

  Eva had her father’s dark hair, but that was all they shared. Most of the other bairns must’ve taken after their mothers. Mary was the only one with her father’s unusual eyes, although Saffy had heard the absent Willie took after his sire as well. The other children had light hair and brown eyes. Wee Beck looked angelic—until he smiled, and then it was clear he was planning something.

  Shaking her head and still smiling, Saffy straightened. She needed to continue her search.

  She was approaching the last chamber on this level—one she knew belonged to the children—when she heard murmurs. She stopped and cocked her head, hoping to determine who it was, but had no luck.

  Well, they already think ye a spy, lass. Prove them right!

  Smirking, she shook her head, knowing her inquisitive mind was going to get her in trouble.

  Still, she cautiously stepped closer, hoping the clomp of her shoes wouldn’t alert whomever was speaking. Mayhap it had, because the voices had stopped.

  To be replaced by a damp, squishy noise.

  What in the world?

  Slowly, she poked her head around the edge of the open door and was surprised to see Mary in Andrew’s arms.

  Kissing him.

  Ah. Well, that explains it.

  The couple suddenly broke apart, Andrew shoving the lass behind him, his hand reaching for the dirk at his belt.

  When Saffy stepped into the doorway, neither relaxed.

  The three of them eyed each other warily, but Saffy’s eyes were on Mary. Merrick’s eldest daughter had struck her as intelligent and loyal, and had looked at “Saf” with far too much interest. At first, Saffy had thought the lass might’ve thought her a handsome lad, but once she realized Mary’s heart belonged to Andrew, had become worried Merrick’s daughter had seen through her disguise.

  Saffy had avoided Mary since that realization, and wasn’t comfortable with the calculating look in the girl’s striking eyes now.

  “What are ye doing here?” Andrew finally blurted.

  He was clearly on the defensive and hadn’t lowered his hand from his dirk. Saffy shrugged and told the truth.

  “The laird gave me the morning away, and I’m interested in tapestries.”

  “Tapestries?” Andrew repeated skeptically.

  Saffy jerked her chin toward the wall. “Those colorful wooly things. They insulate rooms, aye, but they’re useful for—”

  “I ken what tapestries are!” Andrew snapped. “Why are ye looking at them?”

  “Because they tell stories,” Saffy said slowly, as if the young warrior was hard of understanding. “And I like stories. Do ye like stories, Andrew?”

  God’s teeth, but it was hard not to laugh at the flash of fury in Andrew’s face. Served him right for throwing her in a dungeon for three days!

  Growling, Andrew stepped for her threateningly, but Mary pulled him back.

  “Peace, love,” she murmured soothingly. “Saf is just teasing ye.”

  He blinked and frowned. “He is spying. He’s a spy, sent by Lindsay, and now he’s poking around the keep, looking for information.”

  Saffy nodded solemnly. “Aye. Yer laird’s enemy is verra interested in what his daughter is doing with his former squire.”

  While Andrew paled, Mary pressed her lips together. In disapproval? Or to hide a smile?

  Saffy sighed. “I’m really just looking at the tapestries. I like history.”

  “Ye’re no’ spying on us?” he asked.

  Part of her wanted to make him squirm, to pay him back in part for the misery he’d caused her, but it almost wasn’t worth the effort.

  “If I were spying on ye, I wouldnae be reporting to Lindsay. Do ye no’ think Mary’s father would be more interested in what I’ve seen?”

  Andrew stiffened. “Laird Sutherland trusts me!” he declared, but there was a trace of doubt in his voice.

  “Then ye have nothing to worry about.”

  “Are ye going to tell him?” Andrew pressed.

  Saffy met Mary’s gaze over his shoulder. There was something in the lass’s eyes…a knowing. It was hard to identify, but Saffy knew she wouldn’t betray Mary’s confidence. Not if there was a chance Mary could betray hers.

  She shook her head. “Nay. Yer secret is safe.”

  Instead of looking relieved, an expression of confusion crossed Andrew’s face.

  As Saffy ducked out of the room and continued her search, she realized what it’d meant. The young warrior had captured her, declared her a spy, damn near caused her death in the dungeon…and now she held power over him and had promised not to use it.

  Poor Andrew obviously didn’t like being in her debt, and she chuckled about it all afternoon.

  Supper was much the same as always, except Merrick spent his time speaking in a low voice to Gavin. She didn’t mind; it gave her a chance to observe him. Her eyes skimmed over the silver at his temples, and she wondered how old he was. Pearl had called him “twice her age” but Saffy was several years older. Surely, she and Merrick weren’t that many years apart?

  Why? What do ye care?

  She frowned. She didn’t care. It was mere curiosity. If Merrick wasn’t so much older than her, then…

  Then ye might no’ feel wrong about lusting after him?

  Lust? Was that what he was making her feel?

  Aye, mayhap. He was a well-built man, and watching him train, or watching him stretch right after waking, or watching him bathe in the loch with his men…the sight of his body made her feel warm. And imagin
ing touching him, touching his body, it made her ache.

  She was no fool; she knew what it meant, and more than once had resented this ridiculous costume, because it meant she couldn’t pull up her skirts and relieve the ache with her own fingers.

  And sometimes, when he looked at her with that too-knowing gaze, she wondered what he was seeing.

  “Saf!”

  His call jerked her out of her reverie, and she jumped forward with the wine pitcher. But he waved her away.

  “Nay. I’m retiring early.”

  She glanced at the arrow slits in the wall, surprised the sun hadn’t set yet. “Aye,” she agreed.

  “Aye?” he prompted with a glare.

  “Aye, Devil.”

  He growled.

  She grinned.

  “Merrick,” Gavin began in a warning tone, but Merrick held up his hand to his second.

  “I ken.”

  What had they been speaking of?

  Merrick’s gaze swept over his children, who were being surprisingly well-behaved. Usually they finished supping long before the adults and were ushered off to bed by Nell. Today, though, they all smiled cherubically at Merrick.

  “Donae make me regret trusting ye all,” he warned.

  “Aye, Da,” came a chorus of replies.

  Mary nodded to her father, as if acknowledging his warning, but Andrew was strangely subdued. He glared at Saffy, but when Merrick’s gaze landed on him, he flushed and turned his gaze to his trencher.

  And Saffy didn’t bother hiding her smirk, even as she trotted after Merrick, carefully balancing the pitcher of wine.

  By the time he’d washed his face and hands, the sun was barely on the horizon. Instead of pulling back the cover on the bed, he settled in front of a small table in front of the window, which held a chessboard and a bowl of summer berries.

  He picked up one of the tiny carved soldiers and rolled it idly between his fingers. “Do ye play, Saf?”

  She looked up from where she was spreading out her pallet. “Chess? Aye.”

  His snort was unexpected. “Of course ye do. Pour two goblets and play me.”

  She raised her brows, but did as he commanded, settling herself in the chair opposite him. When she realized he was staring at her, she discovered she was sitting as a lady might—back straight, hands folded in her lap. Forcing herself to relax, she tried to mimic his easy slouch.