Desiring the Highlander (37 page)

Cole didn’t answer, but Ellenor could feel his chest rise and fall quickly as if he were chuckling. “Leave it to my wife to ask about the one man everyone else avoided.”

“Then what were you talking about?”

“Dugan.”

Ellenor frowned. “What can you do or decide until you speak with him?”

“That wasn’t the point.”

Understanding suddenly overcame her. “Oh,” she whispered. They had discussed Dugan to avoid discussing Leith. Ellenor could appreciate why. The men, no doubt Donald in particular, were grappling with the concept of someone treating their laird in such a way. A concept Ellenor had no problems facing. There were bad men in this world, and they did not always belong to a distant warring country. Sometimes they slept next to you. Pretending otherwise was a quick way to getting hurt…or worse. She had learned that the hard way.

“Tell me about Leith,” she prompted again. And listened as Cole told her all he knew.

“Roll over on your side,” Ellenor instructed for the second time.

“Ahh, what would I do without you, love?” Dugan inquired dreamily as he did her bidding.

Ellenor raised an eyebrow but decided to let the endearment go. It wasn’t the first time Dugan had tried flirting with her, but those other times he had been delirious with fever. “Well, at least you no longer think I am an angel sent down to guide your way to heaven,” Ellenor replied.

“But I do,” he countered. “The most beautiful Scottish angel in the land.”

“I’m not Scottish,” Ellenor informed him, leaning over to examine his wound. Her hair fell and he reached up to tuck it behind her ear. She jumped back out of reach.

Dugan was stunned. Her reaction had not been one of chastity, and recoils such as the one she just exhibited were not caused from mere discomfort. Every instinct in him screamed out that she needed protecting. Never did he want to see that look of panic in her eyes again—especially related to him.

“I promise not to hurt you.”

Ellenor gave her head a little shake and forced ease into her expression and stance. She returned to his side and gave him a little push, indicating for him to roll back over. “Of course not. You just startled me.”

“Well, just in case it was something more, know that I am the commander of this clan and can protect you. I will make sure you are well treated.”

Ellenor’s hands froze in shock. The man had no idea who she was. “I’m glad to hear it, because as Lady McTiernay and the chieftain’s wife, I expect no less.”

The blood drained out of Dugan’s face. He reached over for the pitcher Brighid had left out for him and took several swigs. “You’re…you’re…the laird’s wife? The one he went down to marry?”

“I am. Now, hold still.”

The stitches had held during his transport to the castle, but the skin around them had grown red, puffy, and had begun to ooze stuff she knew wasn’t part of the healing process. Fever had set in soon afterward. She had felt helpless, knowing only to keep cool compresses on him and keep replacing the poultice on his wound. She fed him some of the weed Hagatha said fought delirium, and after two long days, the fever was gone. The pain, however, wasn’t.

Brighid had placed a couple of crocks of mead near him, and judging by the empty ones on the table and the nearly empty one in his hand, Dugan was grateful for the anesthetic help. He took another swallow as she finished. “Will I live?”

Ellenor smiled and said, “I need to replace your dressing, but yes, I think you will live. However, you will have to remain quiet for a couple of weeks and I expect by then you’ll be howling about your living death.” She walked over to where she had placed the herbs and began to make a paste.

Dugan swallowed the rest of the crock’s contents and grunted. He tossed it on the floor and waved a finger in her direction. “I shouldn’t say this so I won’t. But you are pretty. I mean
really
pretty. And nice, too. Pretty and nice.”

Ellenor glanced back and rolled her eyes. “And you, Commander, are drunk.”

“Aye, very. Gotta be. The only thing to keep the pain away. Not to mention I got stabbed by my best friend.”

“You try to induce sympathy where there is none.”

Dugan tried to prop himself up on his elbows and groaned with agony.

Ellenor used her chin to point to the crocks full of mead. “Might want to watch the stuff.”

“And you know what else you are? Honest. An honest angel sent here to help me.”

“I’m not anyone’s angel.”

“You’re the laird’s.”

Ellenor shook her head. Dugan would probably never believe Cole’s nickname for her,
babag
. Filthy woman was about as far from angel as one could get.

She walked back over, sat down next to Dugan, and removed the old dressing. She grimaced as she cleaned the wound. She was hurting him, but he didn’t say a word. He just held his breath. Finally she was done.

“Did I hurt you too much?”

Dugan shook his head. “Not comfortable, but that’s not what’s ailing me the most.”

The man was green and Ellenor bit her bottom lip to keep from chuckling. “I’m guessing that you are not a drinker.”

“Avoid the stuff usually. Seen what it does. Makes men say and do stuff that they shouldn’t.” He paused as Ellenor placed a new poultice against his side. “God, you are beautiful.”

“And I’m nice and honest.”

“And married to a man who doesn’t like people.”

Ellenor put Dugan’s hand against the cloth to hold it in place as she began to bind his side. “Cole likes people.”

Dugan shrugged. “Well, maybe, but people don’t like him.”

“I do.”

“And
that
doesn’t make sense. He’s not likable! I’m likable. I mean, don’t you like me?”

Any other time, Ellenor would have torn into Dugan, but she knew it was mostly the mead talking. “I must admit that I do.”

“And you’re surprised by that. I can tell. You like me, but you don’t trust me.”

Ellenor tied off the binding and stood up. “Trust has to be earned and we just met.”

He watched as she went to the basin and cleaned her hands of his blood. “Your husband…everyone trusts him,” Dugan slurred. “He commands respects and gets it. I try to do the same and even my own men ignore my orders.”

Ellenor turned around, leaned against the table, and dried off her hands. “You’re talking about Leith now.”

“He was my friend. My best friend and he betrayed me.”

“Can I ask you a question? How can you lead a friend? I’ve never met anyone who could.”

Dugan tilted his brow with a look of uncertainty. “What do you mean?”

“Only that commands are issued from superiors, and friends are equal. Friends make decisions through agreement, so when you stepped into a leadership role, you cannot be surprised when those closest to you rebelled.”

“So are you saying none of the men can be my friends? That sounds miserable. Not to mention lonely.”

Ellenor stood up and went to look out the window. Dugan was in the only other tower with a floor and a ceiling, and while his room wasn’t nearly as large as those of the keep, it did have a lovely view. “You’re right. It is lonely. Maybe that’s why not just anyone can be a good leader.”

“What about the laird?”

Ellenor turned around. “What about Cole?”

“Donald…Jaime. They are his friends.”

A frown overcame her features. “I would say that they were the closest things he had to friends for a long while, but in the truest sense of the word? No. I don’t think they ever will be. After being together for years, there is enormous respect and trust between them, but there is also a distance, one that will never be bridged. Cole gathers information. He listens, and then he makes his decisions alone. He always has.”

“Don’t know if I could do that. Have no friends.”

“Cole has something better. Me.”

Dugan took another swig of mead. “That makes twice he’s beaten me. He’s laird…and he has you.”

“I’m not a prize.”

“I doubt being laird is either.”

Two pairs of eyes followed Ellenor. One watched in silence as she descended the staircase, enjoying how her hips swayed as she moved. The other stared from afar when she exited. One pair knew her movements intimately; the other had never seen her before.

One gaze was heated, thinking about the night, and her skin, and how he would tenderly caress it to make her come alive with desire only for him. The other gaze was very cool and firm. He thought about her as well. Pleasure came in different forms and it was rare to find a woman who agreed with his sadistic tastes. Even rarer was to find a woman who intrigued him. And this one did.

She was smiling just a little, as if she had a secret. Her expression was unguarded and tender, and both men yearned to know just what had made her laugh, if only to herself. Her head was arched slightly, revealing the delicate curve of her neck. She walked over and spoke to one of the servants, and each man imagined it was himself she was speaking to, hearing her voice, warm and sensual, whispering a willingness to indulge in his fantasies.

Loins tightened and hearts began to pound. Both men wanted her and they wanted her to want them. And for each, the strength of the sudden driving need was bothersome. For neither could have what they wanted…to be alone, with her, if only for a few minutes.

Both men began to make plans.

Only one man had the right.

Cole waited until Ellenor had left the tower to emerge from the shadows of the staircase. He couldn’t remember the last time he had hidden from anything, but today he was glad he had followed his instincts.

Brighid had stopped by the hall to find her husband and found him instead. Cole had told her where Donald was and she had informed him that Dugan was finally awake. She had failed to mention, however, that Ellenor was tending him.

His hand was on the door and was about to give it a shove when Dugan’s garbled attempts at seduction hit him like a broadsword to the head. Cole had managed to find just enough control to pull his hand back and sink onto the narrow sitting bench below the corridor window. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that pummeling an ignorant, drunken man may make him feel better, but it would not help him discern the truth. That was when he realized he didn’t have to. All he had to do was listen.

And he did, and while he still didn’t know why or how Dugan was injured, Cole had verified one thing and learned another. Dugan was a fool, but a loyal one.

Cole stepped into the room and stared at the semi-prone figure nursing a drink straight from the pitcher. Dugan’s blue-gray eyes found and met Cole’s piercing stare. He waved the pitcher haphazardly and said, “Come in. Hit me now and put me out of my misery, laird.”

The man was incredibly drunk. It was amazing he could even speak. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Do you know who I was just talking to?”

“An angel.”

Dugan’s brows turned into deep furrows of confusion. “Damn you. Is there
nothing
you can’t do? Now you’re into reading a man’s mind. Well, read away. I’ve nothing to hide except my shame and I can’t even hide that anymore.”

At the completion of the slurred speech, Cole realized the man had not been lying when he had said he never drank. Most men had learned at an early age how to hold their tongues, regardless of the amount they imbibed. Dugan was acting like a fifteen-year-old caught inside the buttery.

“Do you know what you have, laird?” And before Cole could respond, Dugan answered his own question. “An exceptional woman. And I mean exceptional. A golden angel and she belongs to you. So that makes you a winner three times now. And if you’re the winner, then I guess I’m the loser. I’ve lost my best friend…” Dugan paused for another swallow, and before it was all down, he added, “And becoming laird—but that one…that one doesn’t bother me so much now. Did at first, but now not so bad, and then this morning I learn that my angel is your wife. What is it with you McTiernays? I’m told your brother married himself a bonnie lass. Dunno myself. Never seen her, but I have seen your woman, and Lord knows you don’t deserve a woman like that.”

Cole walked over and plucked the pitcher out of Dugan’s grasp. All men have secrets and even fools were entitled to keep a few. At the rate Dugan was rambling, the man would have nothing left to call his own. “I think in your case, pain is a better alternative to this stuff.”

Dugan watched as Cole placed the crock on a table out of reach. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Damn stuff. Makes a man honest.”

Cole shrugged in agreement and sat down in the single worn chair someone must have brought up from the hall. “Aye, that it does.”

Dugan reopened his eyes and focused them on Cole relaxing in the chair. His legs were stretched out in front of him, his ankles crossed and fingers entwined. Even sitting silently, the man had an air of command and Dugan knew Cole was waiting for answers. Dugan took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to focus thoughts that refused to stay put. “The men—Leith’s followers—I would hear them. Jaime didn’t hear them. They made sure to keep silent when he was around, but not me. They didn’t care if I knew about their discontent. They thought I wouldn’t do anything about it, but I did.

“I wanted to bring the men together. Have them work and train together. I saw how the ones already under Jaime’s leadership took pride in being part of a great army. These men…they used to be my men…but I could never give them the pride they had found these past few weeks. I wanted to give Leith…the others…the same thing.”

Cole took advantage of the break. “Let me guess. It worked.”

Dugan shook his head. “No. Leith was furious.”

Cole pulled his legs in and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I wasn’t there, but I can assure you it worked. Otherwise, Leith would still be there today, building malcontent.”

Dugan’s face contorted as he considered just what Cole was trying to tell him. “So…it wasn’t a bad idea?”

Cole cocked his head and shrugged his chin. “Well, not that one.”

Dugan grimaced. “Aye. Leith was so angry. Accused me of attacking his credibility with the men and he withdrew them from the training sessions. I guess he thought I would just let him, but I told him that it was his choice, but he had to leave McTiernay land and never come back. He exploded and I could see it in his eyes. I knew then that he would attack if given a chance. I needed to give him time to calm down and leave.”

“So you ordered Jaime to leave the fields to protect the men? They could have—”

“No!” Dugan growled and tried to sit up. He immediately winced in pain and collapsed back against the bedding that had been propping him up. “I did it to protect Leith. Your army against a couple of dozen men? They would have had no chance! And no matter what he had done, I had known Leith most of my life and I didn’t want to be responsible for his death.”

Cole didn’t know whether to be impressed or disgusted by the man’s misplaced loyalty. “So you ordered the men to be moved. Then what happened?”

Dugan’s jaw clenched as he tried to distance himself emotionally from what had occurred. “I ordered a couple of sentries to watch for your return,” Dugan began, sounding less and less inebriated. The man was fighting intense emotions; ones even large amounts of alcohol could not lessen. “One of them was supposed to return each night to update Jaime and me on their status and receive new orders. The night before you returned, one sentry never arrived. I thought…I thought Leith was just holding Ferris, forcing my hand, knowing I would come to him. But I was wrong.”