The Highlander's Harlot (Sword and Thistle 1)

“It’s entirely innocent,” I hastened to add. “Truly. You’ll notice Ian always comes with a book. Here, look,” I said, pointing at my bedside table. “He brought me a primer last week. He’s teaching me my letters.”

Her eyes widened. Then she blew out a breath of relief so strong that she nearly swayed on her feet. And then I knew. She was in love with Ian Macrae. “That’s…that’s…”

“Wonderful,” I said, taking a spoonful of porridge. “It’s very kind of him. Of them both, truly. To take the time.”

“There’s a lull in the season,” Brenna explained. “They’d normally either be farming or fishing or fighting, but now is when the men get restless. And I suppose it’ll do a simple maid like me no good to question what the laird has in mind for you. Especially as he’s sent a dress for you this evening.”

“A dress?” I asked, more excited than I should be over such a thing.

“Aye,” Brenna said, her eyes softening towards me once again. “A pretty one too. Purple like the heather flowers you’re named after. You’re to eat in the main hall tonight, by orders of the laird.”

This was more wonderful than the lessons in reading or the new dress. This meant that I would leave this accursed room where I’d spent more days now than I could count pining for my siblings, wondering if my family was getting on without me, feeling by turns idle and guilty and distraught. But I wished I knew what the laird had in his mind with such an invitation.

The gown was as pretty as Brenna promised. A hue of purple that flattered my coloring and matched the flowers she wove into the braids of my hair. I felt like a princess of the Faeries when I entered the hall, and not a few men stopped drinking their ale mid-sip when I appeared in the archway. The laird was seated at the head table, some of his relations nearby, Ian at his right hand.

The tables were filled with other warriors and lesser retainers, most of whom I didn’t know, but sitting next to a stone-faced Malcom, Davy gave me a wink and a twinkling smile. I realized that the dinner had been going on for some time now, and a fiddler was playing a tune in the corner. I wasn’t certain where I was to find a seat, but then the laird’s voice boomed through the hall. “Ah, Heather, my bonny lass. Come.”

He crooked a finger to summon me to him. I couldn’t imagine he’d have me sit at the head table. There wasn’t even any room. But his eyes were trained on mine like beams of guiding light in the darkness, drawing me to him in a room that erupted in laughter and taunts. I heard my name said more than once, and comments made upon my creamy skin and the width of my hips. It made me want to turn on my heel and run, but when I reached the laird’s side, his steely grip closed on my wrist.

“She’s a hungry wench,” the laird said to Ian, but loud enough that anyone might overhear. “In the bedroom and out of it!”

With that, he gave my rump a hearty slap. Then drew me into his lap, provoking a thunderous reaction from the crowd of laughter and bawdy jokes. He was showing me off to them, I realized. Letting them all see me as a taken woman; a ruined one. A whore. His evening’s entertainment.

“Smile,” he whispered in my ear. But the lump lodged in my throat made that seem impossible. All I wanted was to go home. To go home to my father’s little tenant cottage and tend the sheep, and watch after the children who loved me and always looked to me for example. What would they think to see me now, sprawled in my laird’s lap, my backside so tight against him that I could feel his growing hardness?

“Smile,” he said, again, this time in harsh command while nipping my shoulder in warning. And so I smiled. A false smile. A painfully false smile. One that made me squeeze back tears. And then I let John Macrae feed me bits from his plate. Cheese and pastries and other bites that were meant to sate my appetite, but I hadn’t one. My stomach was quite sour.

“Now, it’s time for bed,” the laird announced, slamming down his cup, and nuzzling my neck. “But I daresay, I’m not tired and this one will keep me up all night!”

A huzzah went up from the crowd as they celebrated their laird’s virility, and I wanted to shrink down into myself and disappear as he led me up the stairs to his chamber. The laughing, the ribald jests, and the rude eyes of men who wanted my body was something I would have to get used to, if I was to earn my bread as a harlot.

But how was I to get used to it when, the moment the laird closed his chamber door behind us, he was all gallantry again?

“I’m sorry for that, lass,” he said, one hand on the wall by my shoulder. His head was hanging, as if he were ashamed. “But it had to be done.”

“To shame my father?” I asked.

“Aye, but for your own good as well. I told you before. The more infamous you are, the more options you’ll have. I couldn’t think of a way to set all the tongues wagging faster than to pull you into my lap in front of everyone in the hall. The castle hasn’t had a whore in a good while; I suspect you’ll do brisk trade when I let you go.”

Still humiliated, furious, and nearly shaking with it, I asked, “And when will that be, my laird?”

He arched a brow. “Eager to get about that business, are you?”

I lifted my chin. “I miss my family. My sisters and brothers—they need me. And the sooner I can get back to them, the better.”

He twisted away from me.

It obviously wasn’t the answer he expected, and perhaps it wasn’t the one he wanted to hear. I just didn’t understand the man and I was beginning to think that I never would! I stood there, back against the door, heaving breaths of anger while he retreated to his chair and sprawled in it. A fire had been built in his hearth, and it crackled in the silence between us.

“You’re very beautiful tonight,” he finally said. “I should have told you that. I hoped the dress would suit you and it does. You may keep it; my gift to you.”

It was a generous gift. It was the kind of dress that a crofter’s girl would have no use for except for the rarest of occasions. Maybe for her wedding. But the kind of woman I was to become now, well, I suppose I wouldn’t have a wedding. “Thank you, my laird.”

He reached to tap a book at the table beside his chair. “Come, show me what you’ve learned. Ian says you’re an apt student.”

“Why do you keep him at your side when you know he dislikes you?” I asked, forcing myself to close the distance between us and take up the book.

“Because he’s close blood kin,” said the Macrae. “And because if I should die, he’ll likely lead this clan, so he ought to be involved in everything.”