Chapter One
Chapter Two
Standing on blood-soaked ground, Angus watched as his enemy's daughter disappeared into the East Tower. The instant she was gone, he cupped his shoulder with one hand and tried to roll out the pain, but realized it was worse than he thought. He grimaced, then shoved hard and fast with the heel of his palm to jostle the joint back into place. Slowly, he walked to the other side of the bailey, where he took a moment to recover.
It had been a hard battle. His clothes were stained with dirt, sweat, and blood some of it his own but it had all been worth it, for this was his home.
His castle. The MacEwens had no right to it.
And his father was dead.
He turned and faced the carnage, and felt the renewed arousal of his fighting spirit as he recalled the courageous lass who had raised her voice and interrupted his moment of triumph. She was a dark and radiant beauty, which somehow added fuel to the fires of his antagonism. He did not want a beautiful wife, and he hadn't even given a single passing thought to what the daughter of his enemy might look like. Her comeliness or lack of it-was of no concern to him. She was an instrument, nothing more, which was precisely why her beauty and bold conduct had lifted the hairs on the back of his neck.
Angus rolled his shoulder again to work out the pain, and resolved to forget her, for now. He would not let her spoil this moment. He had come too far not to savor this victory.
With a passionate cry of triumph that echoed off the castle walls and roused the attention of his men, he unsheathed his sword and thrust it into the ground. Then he lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head on the shiny basket hilt.
Relief flooded through him, though it was tainted with grief. His father had been dead for two years, and Angus had not known until these past months. In the meantime, Kinloch had fallen into enemy hands, and his clan had been absorbed into another.
He had waited too long to return.
His cousin Lachlan came to stand beside him. "It doesn't seem right," he said, thrusting his sword into the dirt as well.
Angus looked up. "Which part?"
"The part where a man must raise an army to invade his own home."
Angus rose to his full height and regarded the cousin and friend who had spent the better part of two years searching for him, found him on the outer fringes of the Western Isles, and helped him to raise an army and fight for what was theirs.
"Perhaps it's destiny," he replied, "for surely I can have no greater purpose than this. I have drawn my sword on behalf of my home, my clan, and my beloved Kinloch. Perhaps this is to be my redemption, a chance to make up for past sins."
He turned his eyes toward the shattered castle gate, then to all the casualties that littered the ground. There had been terrible losses on both sides.
"And what of the dead?" Lachlan asked, taking in the wretched sight of the fallen warriors.
"We will honor them. The MacEwens fought bravely." He inclined his head at Lachlan. "A testament to their leader, perhaps?"
"Aye, she was something of a fireball and a bonnie vision, besides" Lachlan's dark eyes narrowed questioningly. "Think you'll be able to manage her?"
"Do you doubt me, Lachlan?"
"You just took her home and destroyed half her clan. I doubt she'll be overjoyed to share a bed with you."
Angus wrenched his sword out of the dirt and slid it into his scabbard. "I don't care how she feels." He had no patience for emotional women, and this was certainly no love story. She knew that as well as he did. "Her father stole Kinloch from us. She will settle that debt." He started toward the Great Hall.
Lachlan pulled a flask out of his sporran and took a drink. "I shouldn't have to tell you to watch your back," he said. "Her saber may have been small, but it had a sharp point."
Angus heard the warning, but gave no reply.
***
Gwendolen entered her bedchamber and found her mother waiting anxiously at the window.
"Oh, my darling," Onora said, "thank heavens you're alive. I expected the worst. What has happened?"
Gwendolen shut the door behind her and spoke plainly. "The MacDonalds have broken through the main gate. There was a battle, and they have taken the castle. Angus the Lion has declared himself chief, and he means to claim me as his wife in order to produce an heir, and unite our two clans." She was surprised by how calmly she could explain everything, when her insides were careening with dread.
Her mother stared blankly at her for a moment, then laughed aloud. "He means to
claim you? Good God, does he not realize what century this is?"
"Clearly not." Gwendolen paused. "You should see him, Mother. All the stories about him are true. He is exactly what they say mighty, violent, and fearsome. I was frozen with astonishment as I watched him exchange blows with our strongest, most skilled warriors, and I could not breathe when he spoke."
Her mother strode forward, fascinated. "So it's true then. He is fierce, and unconquerable?"
"Very much so."
"And he intends to take you as his wife?"
"Aye. I am not sure what to do."
Onora threw her hands up."Are you daft, Gwendolen? You will accept him, of course. What other choice is there?" She turned toward the looking glass, pinched her cheeks for color, and ran her fingers through her long, curly locks of auburn hair. For a woman of her age, she was remarkably beautiful. Her lips were full, her cheekbones finely sculpted, her figure slender and trim. "This is very good news," she said. "I must say, I am greatly relieved."
"Relieved? How can you possibly be relieved?"
Onora turned."Don't be such an idealist. There is no way out of this. The Lion has taken the castle, and we are at his mercy. He could kill us both, but he is willing to spare you at least, and not only that, he wants to wed you. What more could you ask? Your position here will not change. In fact, it will improve. Mine, however..." She paused and returned her attention to the looking glass. "That is yet to be determined." She wet her lips and puckered them."But do not worry for me. I will negotiate for my own life and position."
Gwendolen laughed bitterly.
Negotiate. That is exactly what I must do a few short minutes from now. But with what, I ask you? As you said, we are at his mercy. We have no power. He has declared himself chief and has terrorized every warrior who still breathes. Those who would not surrender are dead."
Onora faced Gwendolen with fire in her eyes. "Which is why you are going to submit to him. In every way."
"Submit..."
"Aye." Her mother took hold of her wrist. "You are going to do exactly what he tells you to do, Gwendolen, and if you have any sense in that pretty little head of yours, you'll act like you enjoy it."
Gwendolen ripped her arm away. "Why don't you submit to him, Mother? If anyone knows how to please a man in bed, it's you, not me."
"I assure you, I would submit in an instant if I was the one he wanted. But he wants
you, which is exactly what he shall have, or we'll both be dead. Now listen to what I say. You must be docile and agreeable. And for heaven's sake, make yourself more presentable. Put on a prettier gown." She reached out to untie the laces of Gwendolen's stays. "He has offered you a gift a chance to preserve our status here. You must thank him, and lure him to your bed."
"Lure him to my bed?" Gwendolen shoved her mother's hands away. "He has laid siege to our home. I will not simply lie back and wait for him to lay siege to my body, as well. I will go to the hall and meet him there, with dignity, as Father would have done."
"And say what?"
"I will negotiate the terms of our surrender."
Onora scoffed."You are forgetting that we have already been defeated. Surrender is no longer an option. He will laugh at you."
Gwendolen backed away, then realized that she did, in fact, have some power.
"That is where you are wrong, Mother. He wants something from me-a child-and I shall inform him that .
I will not be conquered quite so easily as this castle. More importantly, if I can buy us time, there is a chance that Murdoch will return and restore our freedom."
"Gwendolen!"
Heart beating erratically in her chest, she walked out and shut the door behind her, then quickly made her way down the curved staircase, ignoring her mother's outraged calls, which echoed through the vaulted stone passageways.
As she approached the hall, her stomach turned somersaults. She was about to confront and challenge a ruthless, battle-seasoned warrior, who thought nothing of ramming through castle gates and slaughtering entire armies before breakfast.
Physically, she was no match for him. That was certain. He was mighty and strapping, and he could slaughter her too in a single heartbeat, if he was so inclined. But no matter what happened, she would not show her fear. She was the daughter of a Highland chief, and she had the allegiance of her people. She would face him on equal ground.
Thankfully, the hall was empty when she arrived, which awarded her a few minutes to collect her thoughts and decide how, exactly, she was going to address Angus Bradach MacDonald. She paused just inside the arched entry, behind the dais, and turned her eyes to the impressive display of MacEwen heraldry. Heavy silk tapestries draped the walls, flags and banners hung from the rafters, and their family crest had recently been carved into the stonework.
She glanced toward the heavy chair that her father had occupied until recently. When he had presided over this hall, feasts and celebrations were the order of the day. Laughter, music, and poetry filled the nights with culture and amusement. There was no threat of war or tyranny. He was a good man, a strong and fair leader, but all of that would soon change if she did not stand up to this new conqueror. Tonight, there would be subjugation, forced oaths, and peril for those who refused to submit.
Unless, of course, she could exert some influence, however small...
She stepped up onto the dais and approached the empty chair.
Help me to be brave, Father, for I wish to do my duty for the MacEwens.
Her prayer was interrupted, unfortunately, by the sound of footsteps entering from the bailey. Gwendolen glanced up. Her pulse quickened as she beheld her enemy, Angus the Lion, at the far end of the hall.
Not yet aware of her presence, he paused just inside. He looked up at the highest peaks of the ceiling, then his cool gaze moved along the string of MacEwen banners, hung from the wide wooden beams.
Gwendolen observed the finer details of his appearance the dark kilt and tartan draped over his shoulder and pinned with a heavy silver brooch that had been polished to a brilliant sheen. He was an enormous man. That much she already knew. But up close, she could see that his hands were large, as well, which was especially distressing, to say nothing of the weapons he carried. In addition to the shield on his back and the heavy claymore belted at his waist, two pistols were tucked into the belt, and a powder horn was slung across his chest. A dirk was sheathed in his boot.
She looked more closely at his face, and felt rather anxious.
It was a face both rugged and beautiful flawlessly proportioned, with a full sensuous mouth and a fine, patrician nose. His eyes were pale blue, as clear as ice on a winter lake, and yet they smoldered with fire. A curious commotion began inside her an unusual trepidation, a shiver of heat that spread to her toes. She had to work hard to control it.
The great Lion studied the tapestries, the walls, and even the stones in the hearth, then his big hand went to the hilt of his broadsword, and his eyes narrowed in on her.
Before today, Gwendolen had not known what it felt like to be held in the gaze of a man so breathtaking. She had to focus on her sense of balance in order to remain upright on her feet.
Angus, on the other hand, appeared wholly relaxed, though there was something intense and frightening about the way he looked at her. A lingering bloodlust from battle still coursed through his body, no doubt.
If she was going to get through this, she would have to remember that he wanted something from her. She was not entirely without power.
His hand still resting on the hilt of his sword, he crossed the length of the hall with menacing determination. Her heart galloped inside her chest. By the time he reached the dais, she was feeling the same wild and reckless exhilaration she had felt on the rooftop when she challenged him with her small sword, and declared herself brave enough to fight him.
"Get down off there," he said.
"Why? So you can look down on me?"
"Aye. Your family stole my home. You are thieves. The whole lot of you."
Her body raged, and she worried suddenly that she might faint from all the mayhem.
"You look pale, lassie. Are you ill?"
"No. I am fine," she told him, until she thought better of it. "I beg your pardon. I wish to retract that. I am not fine. I am disgusted."
He took a step forward and scoffed. "Disgusted? By me?"
"Aye. Did you expect otherwise?"
He stared at her with threatening resolve. "It's not the response I was anticipating, but it matters not. This castle is mine now. I've claimed you as my wife. Those are the facts."
She inhaled slowly in order to gather her wits about her. He was disturbingly succinct and to the point, with no consideration for politeness.
"And what am I supposed to do with those facts?" she asked. "Call everyone in and prance about the hall with delight?"
"Nay, there won't be any public prancing, lassie. Whether you like it or not, I'll be having you in my bed tonight and that we'll do in private."
She took a deep breath, working hard to calm her rising hostility. "So soon?''
"Not soon enough, if you must know. I didn't expect to be wedding such a beauty.''
Gwendolen laughed. "You think to get what you want by flattering me?"
The corner of his mouth curled up into a sinister grin. "I already got what I wanted, lass. Don't need to flatter anyone."
And what was it, exactly, that you wanted?"
"Was it not obvious when I broke down the castle gate? I wanted Kinloch, and now I have it."
She swallowed hard. "Of course you do."
Neither of them said anything for a moment or two. Gwendolen was fighting to maintain a semblance of composure and dignity, while he seemed quite unabashedly distracted by the curve of her breasts and hips.
"Did I not ask you to get down off there?" he repeated, while tilting his head to the side. "Or do I need to come up and haul you down like a sack of turnips? I'll oblige you, if that's what you wish, but I'm weary from battle and in no mood for hauling vegetables. So get down off there, woman. Don't make me tell you again."
Gwendolen took careful note of the threatening message of command in his voice, and approached the edge of the dais. She stepped down, squared her shoulders, and stared up at him. He looked her over from head to foot, then leaped up onto the dais and strolled from one side to the other, as if he were taking measurements.
Gwendolen remained silent while he seated himself in her father's chair and lounged back comfortably, his long muscular legs stretched out in front of him. "Home at last," he said.
Again, he looked up at the MacEwen heraldry. He sat without speaking, and she knew he was pondering the future. Or perhaps recalling the past.
She watched his face for some insight into his mood and intentions. Sitting there like a sprawling lion, he appeared in absolute control, with no doubt whatsoever in his mind that he was now Laird of Kinloch, and she was to be his obedient wife and servant.
He was in for a rude awakening.
"Where is your brother, Murdoch?" he asked. "Why is he not here to defend Kinloch and protect his people?"
"He traveled abroad to visit Rome and educate himself. He believed a strong leader should be enlightened and knowledgeable about the world-an aspiration which I doubt you would understand. He left before my father died."
"But with your father's death, why has he not returned?"
She regarded Angus with steady eyes. "I am not certain he knows of it. We have dispatched a letter to him, of course, but have no way of knowing if he has received it. I am hopeful, however, that he will return any day. Perhaps unexpectedly."
It was an intentional strike at the Lion's arrogance. She wished him to know that his victory this morning may have seemed effortless, but the MacEwens would not continue to be easy prey. He should be on his guard.
Angus rested an elbow on the arm of the chair."Will he be difficult?"
"I hope so."
He studied her with careful scrutiny. "I suppose the real question is whether or not
you will be difficult."
"Oh, definitely.''
His brow furrowed with displeasure, and she regretted the brash reply, when she had come here to negotiate in a civilized manner. She half expected him to rise up out of the chair and show her the back of his hand. He continued, however, to sit calmly, relaxed, but with a focused expression that made her feel as if she were standing before him naked. Her cheeks flushed with heat.
"Do you understand, lass, that I have already claimed you as my wife?''
"I heard as much when you shouted my marriage proposal from the rooftops, instead of asking me directly.''
He cocked his head to the side. "Do you wish me to get down on bended knee?''
"Not particularly.
He nodded, as if he were reaching a number of conclusions about her character and temperament in these moments, based on her replies.
He sat back. "Good, because I'm not the romantic sort.''
"You don't say. I am astonished."
There was a fluttering in the rafters above, and his eyes lifted. He caught sight of the tiny bird that had been nesting in the hall for as long as she could remember. It flew out the open arched doorway to the bailey.
"No one has been able to get rid of that bird," she told him. "Maybe you'll have better luck. Or maybe the poor defenseless creature has just realized what calamity has befallen her home, and has finally flown the coop.''
"We'll see," he replied, rising to his feet, as if he had grown bored of the conversation and had much more important matters to attend to.
She hastened to step forward before he could dismiss her. "All that aside," she blurted out, "I would like to negotiate the terms of my surrender."
His eyes settled upon her again and he spoke in a patronizing tone. "Your surrender..."
"Aye. I told you I would resist you, and I will, in every sense of the word, unless this situation can be resolved to my liking."
For a long moment he stared at her, as if he could barely comprehend what he'd just heard. A dark scowl passed across his features, and yet there was something else... Was it possible that he was enjoying her insolence?
"To our liking," he repeated.
"Aye."
A muscle clenched in his jaw, and any hint of interest vanished, as she realized she had struck a very bad note. It was obvious from the rising tide of fury in his eyes that he was not accustomed to hearing such demands from people, much less a woman he had just claimed as his possession. He was used to being feared.
He stepped down from the dais and approached her. She took a step back. It was one thing to speak to a conquering warlord seated in a chair, ten feet away. It was quite another to be standing at eye level with his chest so close, she could see the bloodstains in the individual fibers of his shirt, and smell the fresh aroma of his sweat.
Slowly, carefully, she lifted her eyes.
He was glaring down at her with blistering antagonism. 'II hear your terms now," he said.
Thankful that his sword was still sheathed in the scabbard and she was still in possession of her head, Gwendolen cleared her throat. "I want you to honor the conditions you offered just now to the people of my clan, but I have something else to add."
"Speak, then."
She wet her dry lips. "Those who must forfeit their homes, but choose to stay and pledge allegiance to you, will be given compensation from the Kinloch treasury. I understand that there will be no compensation given to those who leave, but I must be assured that if that is what they choose, they will be permitted to leave freely, without fear of death or retaliation by your warriors."
"Agreed," he replied.
Surprised by the swiftness and ease with which he accepted her first request, she nevertheless proceeded with caution."I petition also that my mother will be treated with the appropriate respect due to her, as the widow of a past Laird of Kinloch. She will keep her apartments and jewels, and she will sit at our table."
"Agreed," he said. "Anything else?''
She swallowed thickly. "All members of the MacEwen clan will have rights equal to the MacDonalds in all matters.
He thought about that one for a moment. "If they pledge their allegiance to me tonight, I give you my word that they will have equal rights.''
She realized suddenly that she was perspiring, and wiped the back of her hand across her damp forehead.
"Lastly, in regard to our marital union..." All at once, her belly swarmed with butterflies, and she had to swallow hard to keep her voice steady. "I request that you do not claim your husbandly rights until our wedding night.''
That one, oddly enough, was the only application that gave him pause and soon after, his eyes smoldered with rising sexuality. "Are you a virgin, lass?"
"Of course," she replied incredulously.
He studied her expression, then his gaze dipped lower. Time seemed to stand still as he lifted a hand and traced a slow finger along the line of her jaw, down the center of her throat to the valley of her cleavage, then along the breadth of her neckline from shoulder to shoulder, as if he were drawing a smile with his rough, callused fingertip.
Gwendolen shivered, for no man had ever touched her like that before, and this man was far more intimidating than most. He slanted a seductive glance at her, and all her bravado from moments ago poured out of her like water. Her skin seemed to burn with fever under his fingertip, and it made her head swim in churning circles.
She felt suddenly inept when it came to negotiating for anything. Perhaps her mother was right. Perhaps she should simply be thanking him.
"That's a considerable demand, lass. I'd venture to call it impudent, and I've no interest in wedding a woman who doesn't know her place."
"And what is my place, exactly?''
"Your place will be in my bed. Pleasing me."
She was having a devil of a time getting air in and out of her lungs. "I understand," she said shakily, "that if I am to be your wife, it will be my duty to provide you with an heir. I only ask that I have time to prepare myself for that... obligation.
His eyes narrowed with dark, sensual resolve. "What's the point in putting off the inevitable? One way or another, you'll be on your back, and I'll be having my way with you. You might even find you enjoy it."
"Enjoy it?" she scoffed. "I think not.''
His gaze lingered on her lips, and her insides seemed to melt into a big warm puddle of sensation as he cupped the side of her face in his hand and let his fingers play in the wisps of hair over her ear. "Since we're negotiating the terms for your total and complete surrender to me," he said, 'll agree to your blushing request on two conditions."
"I am listening." She struggled to banish the color from her cheeks.
'll leave your sweet, luscious maidenhead intact, as long as you agree to be amiable toward me between now and then. Never again will you defy me in front of the clans like you did this morning, nor will you resist or dispute my authority over Kinloch. You will support my rule, both publicly and privately."
Could she agree to that? she wondered uneasily.
Yes. She would agree to anything, if it meant he would not touch her like this, or attempt to take her this very night. And perhaps, before that moment arrived, if she was blessed with good fortune or mercy from above, her brother would arrive and save her from that fate.
"Fine. What is the second condition?" She worked hard to ignore the fact that his thumb was now gently brushing back and forth across her chin.
"When your brother returns like a hero on his white steed "he said, as if he had read her mind "which I am certain he will, your allegiance will be with me, your husband, and you will not betray that vow."
"But what will become of my brother? This castle is his birthright, too. You cannot simply expect him to"
A flash of anger burned in the Lion's eyes. "It is not his birthright. It is mine. But your brother will have a choice. He can pledge an oath to me, and with that oath, he will be given land and a position of rank and stature. If he refuses, he will be free to leave."
She paused, for she did not believe it. "Would you promise me would you give me your word of honor as a Scotsman that you will not kill him?"
Angus stepped back. "Nay. For if he raises his sword against me, or any other MacDonald, I will slice him in half without hesitation."
Gwendolen looked down at the floor. She did not doubt his word in that regard, and for the first time, a true feeling of defeat swept through her. He was a powerful foe, and she was out of her depth.
"I will agree to those terms," she said, consoling herself with the fact that she had at least attained some compensation for her people. And the Lion would not attempt to bed her that night. Perhaps, with any luck, her brother would arrive soon with an army of redcoats, and drag this Jacobite rebel off to the gallows for treason. She would try to get word to Murdoch about the urgency of their predicament, and cling to the hope that even after the forfeiture of her innocence, the castle could still be reclaimed. All hope was not lost.
It would be her sacrifice, she supposed. Her virtue in exchange for the eventual freedom of her clan.
Gwendolen looked up and found herself gazing into the unyielding blue depths of his eyes.
"Are we done now?" he asked. "Did you get what you wanted?"
"Aye." But she felt completely unraveled.
"Then seal the agreement. Prove to me that your word is true."
"How?"
The tone of his voice changed in that moment. He spoke in a low, husky whisper. "Pledge it with a kiss."
Before she had a chance to object, he pressed his mouth to hers, and the floor seemed to shift under her feet. She had never been kissed before, not once in her life. She had lived a virtuous existence, determined to evolve into a woman very different from her mother, who used sex as an instrument of power over men.
But this was not the same as that. Not at all. Gwendolen had no power here. She was completely beguiled and could do nothing but bend and soften to the strength of his will.
He slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her close, and her head tilted back under the pressure of the kiss so urgent and probing, it sent her body reeling. All at once, this artless, naive pledge of hers felt like a promise of profound physicality and commitment. He was demanding her complete surrender and capitulation, here in this room, by the joining of their mouths and bodies, and she had no idea what to do, but to respond.
He tipped his head to the side and cupped the back of her neck with his hand, parting her lips and sliding his tongue inside to mingle damply with hers. The kiss drew out an involuntary whimper of submission.
Then just as she was becoming acquainted with the sensation of their lips and tongues colliding gently he drew back from the kiss and ran a finger across her flushed cheek.
"I believe you will enjoy it, lass," he said in a gruff voice, "when the time comes."
Gwendolen's legs nearly buckled beneath her. "I most certainly will not."
He turned away and started toward the bailey.
"Wait!" she said.
He stopped, but did not turn.
"There is one more thing." Gwendolen strode forward tensely.
He turned his head to the side.
"I want my family's heraldry to remain here in the hall, beside yours."
For the longest time, he stood with his back to her, refusing to speak. A knot of uncertainty tangled up inside her stomach.
At last, he turned. "You were doing so well, lass. Why did you have to spoil it?"
"Spoil what? I am only asking for what is rightfully ours. My father was granted possession of this castle by the King of Great Britain, and our name cannot simply be erased from its walls."
Another warrior entered the hall. He, too, was imposing like Angus, but his hair was black as night, his eyes dark as sin. He stood just inside the door.
Angus spoke over his shoulder. "Lachlan, come here and escort my future bride to my bedchamber. She needs to be taught a lesson or two about the rules of war and the meaning of surrender. Lock her in and put a guard at the door."
"What?" Gwendolen's heart began to pitch and roll. "I thought we had an agreement."
"We did, and I confess, I enjoyed the negotiations. But you shouldn't have stepped over the line, lass. I told you, I have no interest in wedding a woman who does not know her place. It's time you learned yours and understood the limits of my tolerance." He frowned at her. "I am not a kind man."
"I didn't step over any line. I only asked for one more thing."
"The negotiations were finished," he said. "That's the end of it. Now go with Lachlan, and wait for me in my bed."
The other warrior strode across the hall and took hold of her arm. "Don't fight it, lass," he said. "You'll only make things worse for yourself."
"How can it possibly get any worse than this?" she asked.
He chuckled softly. "You don't know Angus."
Geen opmerkingen:
Een reactie posten