Adrienne Basso (23 page)

The other men quieted. Fiona moaned in fear; Aileen covered her eyes with both hands.

Magnus thrust his sword forward, his eyes glazed with excitement. But Gilroy ducked out of harm’s way before the blade could find its mark, pulling his dirk out of its sheath as he moved. An off-balance Magnus stumbled forward. Gilroy quickly seized the advantage and ruthlessly struck at the vulnerable hollow of Magnus’s throat, burying the blade to the hilt.

Magnus’s sightless eyes remained open in shock as he fell to the ground. Fiona stood transfixed, unable to look away from the body.

There was a long drawn-out silence before Alec leaned over Magnus, then looked up at the rest of them and proclaimed, “He’s dead.”

Still clutching his dirk, Gilroy’s shoulders sagged in exhaustion. But he rallied quickly, pointing his blade forcefully in a slow circle toward the rest of his men. His voice was strong and commanding when he questioned, “Is there anyone else in the mood to challenge me on this fine afternoon?”

 

 

The fight was over, yet the excitement had just begun. The sound of a barking dog echoed through the glen and then, with no further warning, a contingent of men on horseback rushed into the clearing, Gavin in the lead. He vaulted off his horse and lunged at Gilroy, easily getting past the other men, who were too shocked and surprised to draw their weapons.

“As the Lord is my witness, I shall have yer fool head set on a pike fer this outrage,” Gavin shouted, his voice rising to an almost ear-shattering pitch.

Gilroy whirled to face the earl, who agilely ducked beneath the wide swing of Gilroy’s dirk. Coming up directly in front of his bastard brother, Gavin grasped a fistful of Gilroy’s hair, yanking his head back. He placed the edge of his sword at Gilroy’s throat, pressing forward until a trickle of blood ran down the man’s neck.

The look in Gavin’s eye was easily understood—he meant to slay the bastard without a second thought. But for all his mischief, Fiona did not believe Gilroy deserved such an untimely demise. And she also believed that one day Gavin would come to regret this brutal act.

“No!” Without realizing how it came to happen, Fiona found herself at Gavin’s side, clutching the arm that held the sword. “Please, Gavin, don’t. Spare him.”

“After all that he’s done?” Gavin questioned in disbelief.

“Aileen and I are unharmed.”

“Aye,” Aileen added. “Frightened and a bit bruised, but unhurt.”

“Have ye both gone mad? Gilroy kidnapped ye!” Gavin seethed in disgust.

“Not precisely,” Fiona countered. “He did not breach the walls and invade the castle to take us. He saw us in the woods and seized the opportunity.”

Gavin’s stormy blue eyes shifted from Fiona to Aileen and then back to Fiona. He held her gaze for the longest moment, then shook his head. “I fail to see the difference.”

In a way, so did Fiona. But she pressed on, knowing she needed to prevent this from happening. “He just killed three of his own men to protect us. I know that does not excuse any of his other crimes, but I beg you to seek justice, not vengeance.”

Gavin scoffed. “Those men meant nothing to him. Just as killing means nothing.”

“No, you are wrong,” Fiona interjected. “I watched his face as he fought. Gilroy did what was necessary, yet he took no joy in the act. He is not merely a brutal ruffian. There is honor in him.”

“Then I shall afford him an honorable death,” Gavin replied, anger thickening his voice. “At the end of a rope.”

“No!” Aileen’s voice was adamant. “If ye do this, I shall tell my father to break the alliance with King Robert and withdraw his support.”

Gavin cocked his head to one side and stared at Aileen in disbelief. “Don’t ye dare to threaten me! The Countess of Kirkland will bend her knee in supplication and reverence to our rightful king,” Gavin bellowed.

Aileen pulled herself to her fullest height, tilted her chin and looked him directly in the eye. “We both know that I shall never be yer countess, Gavin McLendon. So I’m asking ye straight out—do ye want to save the alliance between our clans or toss it on the rubbish heap? The choice is entirely up to ye.”

Edict delivered, Aileen turned on her heel and stomped toward her horse.

 

 

“’Tis a shame ye’ll not have the chance to bed that one,” Ewan said with a smirk. “She’s a lively lass, assured to offer some excitement between the sheets.”

“Shut up.” Gavin cuffed the younger man on the back of the head, then shoved him toward two waiting soldiers. “Dinnae forget I can still let ye hang. Best watch yer tongue or I’ll toss a rope over a sturdy tree limb and do it right now.”

As his men took a still-grinning Gilroy away, Gavin turned his attention toward Fiona.

All expression drained from her face.

The others pulled back. After so much chaos, the glen became oddly silent. Fiona’s mouth opened several times, yet she spoke not a word, continuing to stare at him as though she were debating what to say. Gavin folded his arms across his chest impatiently.

She had defied his orders, placed herself in grave danger, scared him half to death, then led him on a harrowing chase. An explanation was the very least he deserved. And it had better be a damn good one.

“I cannae believe it, Fiona,” Gavin finally said. “The one time I’m waiting for ye to speak yer mind, ye haven’t said a word to me.”

She inclined her head. “I am beholden to you for coming to our aid. I thought traveling with the grain cart as an escort would be safe, but I was wrong.”

Fiona fixed her stare over his shoulder, refusing to look at him. Gavin would not allow it. Taking her chin, he angled it toward him, forcing her to look directly at him. “Why did ye run from me, Fiona?”

Her eyes welled with tears. “I did not have the strength to stand docilely by in silence while you married another woman.”

“Why?”

Fiona shook her head, pulling away from his hands. “I just couldn’t.”

“Why?” he repeated.

Fiona moved to walk away from him. Gavin grasped her arm, keeping her beside him, and waited. “Pride,” she finally mumbled, her chin sinking down to rest on her chest. “’Twas my pride that compelled me to leave.”

“Only yer pride?”

“Yes.” Fiona stood without moving, her hands curled at her side. Only the slight trembling of her lips hinted at the extent of her anguish.

It was a feeling he suddenly shared. He had believed she left because she cared for him, even loved him. Hopefully, as much as he loved her. Was he wrong? Had it truly only been pride that prompted such rash action? Uncertainty momentarily plagued him, but Gavin brushed it aside.

He had nearly lost Fiona today. He was not about to let her get away from him a second time. Feeling far less sure of himself, Gavin cleared his throat.

“Lady Aileen just refused my suite. Rather adamantly. And loud enough to be heard in London, I’m sure.”

His lips curved, hoping to tempt a small smile from her. But Fiona winced and looked away. “Aileen is upset, and rightly so, after this harrowing ordeal. I’m certain once she speaks with her father, all will be set to rights.”

“I willnae marry her.”

He threw the words down like a gauntlet, then waited for her to react. Would she be happy that the marriage was not going to take place? Was that enough to entice her to willingly return?

“If not Lady Aileen, then you shall marry some other Scottish noblewoman,” Fiona rasped, casting her gaze on the ground. “We both understand that is what your king wants and your duty requires.”

“There are other ways to fulfill my duties.”

Ah, now that got her attention. Fiona’s head jerked toward him and he saw a full range of emotions play across her features. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I can serve my king just as well with an English wife,” Gavin announced.

Fiona let out a squeak. At least Gavin thought it was a squeak, though in truth it might have been a squeal. “You cannot marry me,” she said in a whispered rush.

“Why?”

“Why? Why? Saints preserve us, that seems to be your favorite word this afternoon. ’Tis maddening.”

She nearly stamped her foot for emphasis. The gesture brought a smile to Gavin’s lips. He loved her so much. It didn’t matter if her heart was not as engaged as his; he was confident that in time she would come to love him as deeply and completely as he loved her.

“Why are ye getting so upset?” he asked, holding back an even wider grin.

“I don’t like being taunted, my lord. ’Tis cruel.”

“I beg yer pardon. I never meant to be cruel or brutal, but I know I’ve treated ye poorly. I only pray that ye can forgive me.” He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. And her nose. And each cheek. “Oh, Fiona, ’tis past time I told ye what was in my heart. I love ye, lass. And I always will.”

Her expression went blank and Gavin’s heart skipped. Wasn’t a woman supposed to feel joy at hearing a declaration of love?

“Say it again,” she whispered.

Relief poured through him. “Why?” he teased.

“Gavin!”

“I love ye, Fiona. I lay claim to yer heart and live with the hope that one day soon ye will return the feeling.”

Fiona blinked at him. “Truly? I know you want me, desire me, but love? Are you certain?”

He crushed her to his chest, almost squeezing the breath from her. “Ye must know the reason I was near out of my mind with worry when I discovered ye were gone was because I cannae bear the thought of losing ye. I love ye that much and now that I’ve got ye back, I mean to hold and keep ye.”

They pulled apart, but he kept his hand wrapped around her waist. The smile that broke out on Fiona’s face was brighter than the glistening sunshine rippling on the loch. She leaned forward suddenly and kissed him, her mouth tender, but passionate.

“You’ve made me very happy, Gavin,” she said, nuzzling her nose against his chest.

“I’m glad.” Bracing himself to hear the truth, whatever it may be, Gavin once again asked, “Now, tell me truthfully, why did ye run from me, lass?”

Her brow puckered slightly and then she smiled. “Because I love you, you damn fool.”

The hope Gavin had been clinging to sprang to life. He threw back his head and bellowed with laughter, then lifted Fiona in his arms and swung her in a wide circle. He could barely believe his good fortune. He was being given a second chance and by the holy rod, he was not going to waste it.

“So, my sweet English lass, will ye do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

She paused, staring at him in wonder. “Aye, my Scottish lord. I will marry you.”

The joyful emotion in her voice matched the feelings coursing through his veins. “Then come along, Fiona. ’Tis past time to return home. We’ve a wedding celebration to arrange.”

A strong breeze whipped through the trees, the birds chattered nervously, and dark rain clouds threatened in the distance. But for Fiona, seated in front of Gavin on his horse and snuggled tightly in his arms, it was the perfect ending to a harrowing day.

Her head felt as though it always belonged cradled in the crook of his shoulder. Here at last she felt the wholeness and peace that had been missing from her life. She hadn’t moved from this position since they left the glen, not even when they had stopped by a brook to water the horses.

No, she had stayed safe within her love’s embrace, observing the craggy hills in the distance with mild interest. Happiness and wonder filled her chest, swamping any other feelings. Worries about the future, concerns about how others—namely King Robert and Laird Sinclair—would react when they heard that Gavin intended to make her his wife, faded.

He loved her. Gavin loved her.

For the first time Fiona had real hope that all would be well. She would become Gavin’s wife and live out the rest of her days by his side. It felt giddy to realize that the happiness that had eluded her for so long was finally here.

Joy, it seemed, came in unexpected bursts, buried among the mundane and ordinary, balanced by tragedy and sorrow. She had known all those emotions, experiencing poignant despair and near-crippling fear. Was that what made this moment all the more sweet? All the more valued? Or was it the fact that she had overcome impossible odds and in the end achieved her heart’s desire?

Most likely it was a mix of all those things. Love, it appeared, was wont to bloom wherever it willed, with no consideration to politics or propriety. How marvelous!

The landscape rolled past. Fiona shifted in the saddle, trying to ease the stiffness in her legs. Seeing her discomfort, Gavin reached down and began massaging her hip, his strong fingers making short work of the knotted muscles. She sighed and leaned back, smiling when she felt him rubbing his nose lightly against the top of her head.

“Only a few more hours and we shall be home, my love,” he promised.

Fiona looked up. She ran her fingers over his forehead, sweeping his hair away from his face. A small smile played around his lips, but his deep blue eyes were alight with happiness.

Suddenly, Fiona’s own eyes were stinging, the corners saturated with tears, but she refused to cry. Sobbing meant sorrow and that was the very last thing she was feeling. The joy in her heart knew no bounds, the delight in her soul was limitless.

Riding thusly, they were only able to converse sparingly. But words were not needed when emotions ran so high. Every now and again, Gavin would lean his head down and rumble some suggestive bit of nonsense in her ear. The provocative statements had Fiona squirming with anticipation. Heedless of decorum, she cooed a few equally graphic suggestions herself, delighted to see the sharp flare of desire heat Gavin’s gaze.

It had been far too long since they shared a bed and never as acknowledged lovers. The anticipation of an intimate reunion was foremost in her mind—and judging by the heat and hardness of the arousal pressing insistently against her lower back, Gavin felt the same way.

Would the freedom to open their hearts and express their emotions without restraint make it different somehow? Fiona suspected that it would and she was more than curious to discover if she was right.

As Gavin had predicted, it took them several hours to reach the castle. Fiona hadn’t realized they were so far away. She glanced down at Laddie, admiring the dog’s stamina. At her insistence, he had been hoisted over Duncan’s saddle, sitting mostly in the man’s lap, when they first rode out, but had jumped down when they stopped to water the horses and refused to be picked up again.

Instead, the dog ran ahead of the horses, leading the way home. It seemed fitting somehow, since he had led them to Fiona and Aileen. Fiona suspected there would be many soup bones in the dog’s future, a fitting reward he had more than earned.

There was a shout of excitement from the men when the castle came into view. The exhaustion that threatened to overtake Fiona melted away as she stared at the impressive gray curtain wall and soaring towers. As they rode into the bailey they were met by a deafening cheer. Bewildered, Fiona stared over at Aileen, but the young woman had already dismounted.

“I thought this lot would have been joyful to see the last of me,” Fiona muttered. “Or be wishing that I was eaten by a wild boar.”

“There are a few who have taken a liking to ye,” Gavin insisted. “’Tis only the witless ones who carry a grudge against yer English heritage.”

Fiona smiled timidly at the crowd, determined not to let the many unexpected smiling faces she saw fool her into a false sense of belonging. No doubt the grumbling would start again, loud and long, when it was revealed she was to marry Gavin.

“Father!” Aileen’s cry of joy could be heard across the bailey.

Laird Sinclair ran forward, his expression one of shocked relief. He was surrounded by a circle of his clansmen, who trotted alongside him. Within seconds Aileen was enfolded in her father’s arms.

“I came the moment my men brought me the news. Tell me true, are ye hurt, daughter?”

“Nay,” Aileen replied, her voice trembling. “Though I’m so happy to see ye, I swear I could burst into sobs.”

The laird broke into a relieved smile. But his good mood didn’t last long.

“I demand to know how this happened,” Sinclair shouted, patting his daughter’s cheek, his anxious, sweeping glance examining her from head to toe. “I left Aileen in yer care, under yer protection. How dare ye be so careless with such a treasure?”

Gavin stiffened. “Lady Aileen’s predicament is entirely of her own doing.”

“I dinnae believe it!” Sinclair growled.

Aileen placed a restraining hand on her father’s shoulder, yet said nothing to refute the claim. Why was she waiting? Why wasn’t she explaining what had happened?

“Lady Aileen?” Gavin’s brow raised, and Fiona could feel his shudder as he struggled to rein in his rising temper.

“Milord?”

“Dinnae ye have something to tell yer father?”

Aileen wrinkled her nose. Gavin cast her a threatening glare and Fiona’s heart lurched. The coy expression on Aileen’s face set Fiona’s nerves on edge, but it was Laird Sinclair’s expression that worried her most. ’Twas evident to anyone who bothered to look that the man doted on his daughter.

So, if Aileen was upset, then the laird would be angered, perhaps even feel compelled to do something rash. If she so chose, Aileen had the perfect chance to mislead her father. A circumstance that did not bode well for Fiona and Gavin.

“Aye, milord, there is much that my father needs to be told,” Aileen declared. Her words were dripping with sweetness, but there was venom in her eyes.

 

 

Not wanting the entire courtyard to be privy to the very private conversation that was sure to follow, Gavin led Laird Sinclair and his daughter into the private solar on the third floor of the keep, where their voices wouldn’t be heard—no matter how loud the shouting got.

Fiona made a move to pull away, but Gavin held her arm tightly and pulled her up the staircase beside him. He didn’t care that Sinclair raised his brow when he glimpsed the gesture, nor did Gavin hesitate to ignore Duncan’s sign of warning to tread lightly. They could all sod off. He was not about to be separated from Fiona after having so recently experienced the anguish of losing her, and woe to any man who dared to question his action.

The tension in the chamber was thick as a bowl of porridge on a cold winter’s morn. Sinclair had his stern gaze pinned on Gavin’s chest, Aileen had her arms crossed and a mulish expression on her face, and Fiona looked as though she’d rather be mucking out the stables instead of standing among them.

He caught her gaze, mouthing silently not to worry. Her answering smile went straight to his heart.

“We are reasonable men,” Gavin said calmly, tamping down his own ire. “The truth of the matter is that Aileen has returned unharmed.”

“That may be, but I’ve yet to hear the reason why she was in danger in the first place. Have ye been telling tales about the strength of yer defenses? Did the scoundrel breach yer walls and steal my Aileen from under yer very nose?”

“Nay! The walls of my castle have never been breached, nor has my keep fallen in a siege,” Gavin said. “Lady Aileen left the castle of her own accord, without a proper escort and without telling anyone.”

Laird Sinclair’s face blanched. “Is that true, daughter?”

Aileen gulped. “’Tis.”

“Damn ye!” The laird bellowed, slamming his fist on the table. “What did ye do to my daughter that caused her to run from ye?”

“Me? I did nothing,” Gavin countered, outraged that Sinclair would assume he was responsible.

The laird blinked, but the fury still burned in his eyes. “Aileen?”

“The earl speaks the truth, Father,” Aileen said in a bitter tone. “He did
nothing.
”

The laird peered suspiciously at Gavin, then stole a look at his daughter, clearly trying to make sense of their words. “I need a drink,” he finally announced.

Gavin scowled. The dull throb in his temple pounded a tad harder.
Christ, the last thing I want is to have to reason with an angry
, drunken
Sinclair
, he thought, but there was no help for it. He walked across the solar and yanked open the door.

Duncan, Aidan, and Connor practically fell into the room. Obviously the trio had been listening at the door. Gavin scowled with condemnation at his cousins. “Make yerselves useful and tell Hamish to bring us ale, wine,
and
whiskey.”

Orders delivered, he forcefully shut the door. The tension in the chamber escalated as they waited. Gavin risked a glance at Fiona. Both Sinclair and Aileen were staring at her. Sinclair looked suspicious while Aileen was visibly distressed.

Fiona’s lips were pressed into a thin, tight line and she appeared unnerved by their scrutiny. It was obvious that her careful attempt not to call attention to herself had failed.

In a noisy blur of shuffling feet, Hamish entered with a tray of tankards, goblets, a pitcher of ale, another of wine, and a jug of whiskey. Without being offered by his host, Sinclair helped himself. He downed a tankard of ale, then filled the vessel with whiskey. He took three swallows before slamming it down on the table, then dragged the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Tell me again, daughter, what happened to ye today?”

Aileen showed her teeth in a humorless smile before answering the laird. “I awoke very early this morning and was unable to get back to sleep, so I walked the battlements in anticipation of the sunrise.

“It was from there that I saw Lady Fiona in the bailey riding behind the grain cart. I was curious about this most unusual occurrence, so I followed her. Due to the early hour, there was no time to gather any men to accompany me and no one to tell of my plans. I grant that I acted in haste, but I know of the dangers and never intended to ride very far. I assumed the men guarding the grain cart would also provide me with protection.”

Sinclair gave Fiona an appraising look. “What exactly were ye doing traveling with a grain cart, Lady Fiona?”

Fiona’s head jerked up. “I was making a pilgrimage to the shrine of the Virgin Mother. The cart, with its escort, was going near, so I rode with them. Father Niall kindly made the arrangements for me.”

“Why did the earl refuse to provide ye with a proper escort for such a holy journey?” Sinclair questioned.

“I didn’t ask him,” Fiona stammered. “He has far more important matters to consider.”

“The moment I was alerted that the women were missing, I followed them both,” Gavin added.

“I thought ye were a man of honor, milord,” Aileen challenged, her eyes narrowed and shrewd. “I’m wondering if ye would have bothered to chase after me, if Lady Fiona was not also missing.”

Indignation heated Gavin’s face. “Ye were under my protection. I would never leave any female in my care without aid.”

Aileen’s brow shot up. “Even one ye are being forced to marry?”

“No one forces my hand,” Gavin declared.

“Really? Then ye’ll be wanting to make me yer wife as soon as possible. Is that what ye’re saying?”

Gavin cringed. The lass was too bold for her own good. Or rather his good.

“He’s yer betrothed, Aileen,” Laird Sinclair insisted. “Of course he’s going to marry ye.”

She gave her father a patronizing glare. “He might have fooled ye, and even himself in this matter, but I’ve seen it with my own eyes. He wants Lady Fiona and he’ll not give her up, no matter who he marries.”

Sinclair gave Gavin a hard look. “Is that true?”

Gavin clenched his jaw. The laird would learn the truth eventually, so there seemed little point in keeping it from him. Yet there had to be a way to explain it that would not offer such great offense. “There is no denying that I love Lady Fiona. With all my heart.”

Sinclair’s ruddy face grew even redder and he nearly spewed a mouthful of whiskey all over the room. Instead, he swallowed, took a second swig and faced Gavin. “Are ye saying ye won’t honor our agreement and marry my Aileen?”

Now how was he supposed to answer that without starting a lifelong feud? Stalling, Gavin rubbed his chin, trying to find the right words. He glanced at Aileen and his spirits immediately lifted. Mayhap he wouldn’t have to answer Sinclair. One look at the defiant tilt of Aileen’s chin said it all.

“I think ’tis important that we remember the reasons fer this marriage in the first place,” Gavin began in a rambling tone. “We need to secure and strengthen King Robert’s throne to keep the English—”