19 BETTER THE DEVIL YE KNOW
MACLEAN AND HIS men departed in the misty dawn, ghostly shapes passing under the stone arch.
Liza and Rankin stood together in the barmkin watching them go.
And as the hoofbeats faded, Liza slowly turned to the man who now led her Guard.
“That went better than I expected.” Rankin’s tone was light, although his expression was difficult to read. Nonetheless, she sensed his tension this morning. Since he’d accepted her offer, they’d barely spoken. She’d been taken up by the clan-chief anyway, and ensuring his needs were met.
In response, she gave a soft snort. “Aye, well … I did my best to smooth Loch’s ruffled feathers yestereve.”
Indeed, she’d put on a special supper for him, quite a feat at short notice, yet Murdo and his assistants managed it. The grumpy cook didn’t dare complain about having to prepare a feast for Loch. He’d dug dried sausage and tangy goat’s cheese out of the spence, which his lads served with braised onions and platters of boiled spring greens, alongside cobs of oaten bread.
Rankin eyed her. “Ye two appeared to have much to discuss during supper?”
“Aye,” she replied. “He wished to detail my responsibilities to him, as clan-chief. His bailiff will collect levies twice yearly, and I must provide Duart with a quota of wool every summer.”
Rankin nodded. “Did he take yer husband’s ledger with him?”
“Aye … he promises to find out what Leod was up to.”
Liza drew in a deep breath then. The conversation at supper had been challenging, although they hadn’t spoken of Leod again, or of what Liza had done. Nor did Loch visit the former chieftain’s grave, on the fringes of the kirkyard in Lochbuie village. It was clear he condemned her husband’s act.
“He also reminded me that my position here isn’t secure,” she admitted after a pause, lowering her voice. “In fact, he’ll be sending someone to ‘check up on me’ and report back to him. Then in four months’ time, he’ll let me know his decision.”
“Aye, well … it could have been worse,” Rankin replied.
It certainly could have been—which was why Liza had accepted all of it with a nod. Even so, her belly twisted. Four turns of the moon would pass in the blink of an eye. And in that time, she’d have to prove herself and earn the respect of the locals. She couldn’t waste time and would now get to work. Even so, her dealings with the clan-chief surprised her. Her time with Leod had sown distrust of men, but although Loch Maclean was arrogant and forthright, he hadn’t treated her cruelly—and he was giving her a chance.
“Did ye show him the strongroom?” Rankin asked, drawing her out of her thoughts.
“Aye … I took him down there before we retired for the eve.” She pulled a face then, recalling Loch’s scowl as he viewed the heavy bags and crates of coin stacked upon the shelves from floor to ceiling. “Even half-emptied, the room still holds considerable wealth. I suggested he took some … but he refused.”
Silence fell after these words, and Liza mulled over the ramifications of Loch’s visit. She’d put the clan-chief up in Leod’s bedchamber overnight. Since taking Moy Castle as her own, she’d decided to remain in the small chamber she’d made hers over the years. She didn’t want to sleep in her husband’s bed. His room would be for guests from now on.
The night before, she’d slept fitfully. In truth, she regretted agreeing to let Rankin stay on. It was best for everyone if he set sail and left her to get on with things. But his offer had thrown Liza, and as much as it galled her to admit it, she needed his help.
Of course, Loch would have sent someone from Duart. But the man would likely be a stranger. Curse it, she’d gotten used to having Rankin around.
Aye, the arrangement unsettled her. If they were going to work together, she had to make a few things clear.
“A private word, if ye please, Rankin,” she said then, jerking her chin to the armory to their left—a long, narrow, and windowless building squashed in between the stables and the outer wall. She could have called him up to the laird’s solar, but she didn’t want to draw this conversation out. She had a busy day ahead, after all, and while the clan-chief had been in residence, she’d barely seen her son. She’d seek Craeg out now, and ensure all was well with him, before she drew herself up a plan of how to achieve the things she’d promised the clan-chief.
Rankin inclined his head. “Ye wish to speak to me in the armory?”
“Aye,” she said crisply. Most of the servants had returned to their chores now that the clan-chief had departed, but Liza’s conversation with her captain was about to take a different turn, and she couldn’t risk being overheard.
He nodded, curiosity lighting in his eyes. He then set off wordlessly across the barmkin. Drawing open the wattle door, he allowed Liza to enter first.
She did, with a purposeful stride.
Inside, the dim interior, lit by a single lantern hanging from the rafters, smelled of leather and iron. Rows of axes, pikes, and fighting daggers hung neatly from the walls, while stacks of iron helmets lined a narrow bench along one side.
Liza was pleased to see that Rankin had instructed the guards to tidy this place up. Leod’s approach to such things had always been slovenly. In the past week, Liza had done her best to bring order to the castle. Two days earlier, she’d had lads out sweeping and scrubbing the cobbles in the barmkin. In the past, Leod had always forbidden her from giving such instructions.
She wouldn’t praise her captain just yet though. She hadn’t called Rankin in here to stroke his already inflated male pride.
“Close the door,” she instructed, turning to face him.
Rankin did as bid, his lips lifting at the corners. “Interesting place for a chat, Liza,” he murmured.
Her jaw tightened, and irritation flared. “I can see I need to make a couple of things clear,” she replied stiffly. “The first is that from now on, ye are to address me as ‘Lady Maclean’ … both when we are surrounded by others and when we are alone.”
He inclined his head, acknowledging her command. “And the second?”
Liza folded her arms across her chest. “I want to know the real reason ye offered to captain my Guard.”
“I told ye yesterday.”
“Aye, some blether about feeling responsible for me … and wanting to repair things with Loch.” She stared him down then. “Frankly, I don’t believe ye.”
His mouth quirked. “A lady in distress has always been my weakness.”
She made a rude noise in the back of her throat.
He shrugged. “Let’s just say, I didn’t like the idea of Loch sending someone ye didn’t know … or trust … here. Ye are vulnerable at present.”
The fire in her belly started to pulse. “What makes ye think I trust ye ?”
He flashed her a grin. “Better the devil ye know.”
His flippant reply made her frown. “And will any of yer crew remain?”
His expression sobered. “I don’t know. I told my men of my decision yestereve, and they didn’t take the news well. It remains to be seen if any will stay on at Moy.”
Her gaze roamed over his face, frustration tightening in her chest. By the Saints, she wished she could read his thoughts. “I don’t understand ye, Rankin,” she muttered.
“Ye don’t need to … but ye have my word that I will serve ye well.”
He was looking at her intensely now, and there was a heat in the depths of his eyes that made her feel flustered. She’d started this exchange in control, but she could feel the reins slipping between her fingers.
Her frown deepened to a scowl. “How easily promises glide off yer tongue,” she replied, her manner stilted now. “We shall see if ye are worthy of my trust.”
He took a step toward her, his own gaze narrowing. “Didn’t I prove that to ye already … aboard The Reiver? ”
Liza’s pulse skittered. There was an intimacy to his voice that made her feel all hot and flustered. Aye, he was reminding her of how he’d made it clear he wouldn’t touch her. Indeed, he’d gone to sleep—and then she’d woken him up and asked him to plow her.
Her breathing grew shallow then, humiliation flushing up her neck.
Hades, this conversation hadn’t gone at all as she’d hoped. They’d strayed into dangerous waters now, and she needed him to leave.
Turning abruptly away, so he wouldn’t see her glowing face, she cleared her throat. “That’s all, Rankin,” she said as she tried to pull herself together. “Ye can return to yer duties now.”
Silence fell in the armory, and she waited for the creak of the wattle door.
Instead, she heard the scuff of his boots moving toward her. Liza’s pulse took off like a bolting pony. What was he doing?
“I’ll leave ye soon enough, Lady Maclean.” She jolted as his breath feathered her ear. He was right behind her, so close the warmth of his body enveloped her as if she were standing next to a furnace. “But first, let me ask ye a question … why did ye defend me to the clan-chief yesterday?”
“I wish I hadn’t,” she gasped, grabbing hold of the edge of the bench to steady herself. She should turn around and shove him in the chest, should jump to one side. But she didn’t. Instead, she sucked his fresh scent deep into her lungs.
“I’ve never had a woman put herself between me and an adversary before,” he murmured, his breath tickling the shell of her ear once more. A shiver rippled through her as her body responded. Suddenly, they were back on The Blood Reiver, and he was whispering wicked things in her ear as he took her from behind in slow, deep thrusts. Her knees trembled at the torrid memory, lust igniting low in her belly.
“I didn’t want to see blood spilled,” she ground out.
“Perhaps.” He stepped in closer then, their bodies touching now. “But I was flattered all the same.”
She swallowed hard. “Don’t be.” Lord, she wished the words didn’t gust out of her as if she was panting. “It meant nothing.”
“It did to me.” He leaned in further. “And when ye put yer hand on Loch’s chest, I wanted to draw my dirk and kill him.”
Her breathing caught. “Jealous, Rankin?”
“Aye.”
Liza bit down on her lower lip. Even with the layers of her kirtle and surcote, she felt him, hot and hard, pressing into the cleft between her buttocks. Her fingernails dug into the wooden bench, even as her quim started to ache.
Mother Mary, this situation was spiraling. She had to claw back control before she humiliated herself. The urge to push back against his erection, to grind herself against it, was overwhelming, but she wouldn’t give in to it. She wasn’t aboard The Blood Reiver anymore. That night had been a stolen moment in time, but now she was home and laird of Moy Castle. She couldn’t let base lust rule her—she couldn’t give the servants reason to whisper behind her back.
Satan smite her, she shouldn’t even be alone with him in the armory.
Loch had barely departed, and she was already making poor decisions.
“Ye have no cause for jealousy,” she managed throatily, clawing back her wits. “I’m not yer woman … and from now on, our relationship will remain strictly professional.”
Rankin’s body tensed against hers. He drew back then so that they were no longer touching. That was better. She could think again. Her heart was pounding so fast now, she wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it too.
All the same, his silence made her uneasy.
“Ye should go,” she added, wishing she didn’t sound so breathless. She still didn’t turn to face him. Coward that she was, she didn’t want to see the hunger on his face, to meet his burning gaze.
“Aye,” he replied roughly. “I should.”
Silence followed as he moved away. A moment later, she heard his boots on the wooden floor, followed by the thud of the armory door closing behind him.