His Bonnie Bride (8 page)

"Storm Eldon, the daughter of Lord Eldon of Hagaleah, and my hostage. Storm, meet Kate MacBroth."

Neither woman did more than nod curtly to the other, and Kate turned a seductive smile upon Tavis. "She'll bring ye a handsome ransom. Let Angus take her wherever she was headed. I heard naught from ye upon your return from the raid and feared ye had come to harm."

"As ye can see I am in good health. There was no need for ye to come. I have enough to occupy me," he added softly with a meaningful look at Storm.

While Katerine seethed, Storm freed her arm from Tavis's light grip and gave him a smile that was anything but sweet. "Do not let me disrupt your routine, sir."

"My routine shall ne'er be disrupted by my plans for ye, m'lady," he drawled.

"Methinks ye have far too great an opinion of your stamina, sir." Storm marched off, ignoring the laughter her remark stirred, including that of Angus, who followed her.

The smile that had slowly come to Tavis's mouth in response to Storm's parting remark was quickly erased by Katerine. She knew well what Tavis intended for the Sassanach woman, just as instinct told her that it was more for Tavis than the taking of a female captive, something that was so common it was often considered a right. For two years she had plied her charms and skill upon the heir of Caraidland, seeing her longevity as proof that she was more than just a vessel for his lust, yet the look in his eyes when he gazed at Storm Eldon was enough to destroy that idea. Katerine had no intention of losing out to a scrawny Sassanach girl with cat's eyes and orange hair.

"So ye think to have a wee tussle with the Sassanach lass, do ye? There isnae a muckle lot to tussle with," she purred as she moved to take Storm's seat at the table.

Deciding it was neither the time nor the place to discuss the matter, Tavis refilled his goblet and retook his seat, drawling quietly, " 'Tis none of your concern, Kate. Planning a long stay?"

Her hands gripped her goblet tightly until her knuckles whitened as she fought to subdue the rage she felt, a rage inspired by Tavis's indifference and the amusement of the others. " 'Tis nay the weather for me to return home. A spring storm is upon us. I barely escaped a drenching." She looked to Colin, ignoring the laughter in his eyes. "What have ye askit for a ransom, or have ye nay askit it yet?"

"Aye, a week back. 'Tis less than willing they be to give it to us. We are negotiating."

That was far from welcome news to Katerine, for it meant that the woman would be around for a while, and she scowled only to pout with false sympathy when she spotted a bruise upon Tavis's jaw. "There was a wee bit o' trouble on the raid?" she asked, lightly touching the spot.

Even Tavis laughed. "Nay." He rubbed his jaw and winced a little. "The lass and I have a wee argument. She was making a point and I was not really on my guard. The vixen," he murmured.

There was a tone to his voice that grated on Katerine. "Ye must needs show the wench who is the prisoner and who is the captor. Her arrogance is unpardonable."

"I insulted her," Tavis said curtly.

"Aye, ye did that, laddie. I ken ye made a promise. She didnae look too willing to me." Colin chuckled as he recalled the sight of his eldest son sprawled on the floor. "The lass still has her spirit." He signaled to his man Malcolm. "I am to bed. 'Tis past time I can make a night o' it." He sighed.

Tavis watched his father leave. The man continued to grow weaker, his color was bad and he ate nothing, for it was near to impossible for him to keep the food down. It was hard to watch a strong man fade away, let alone his own father. He refilled his goblet, scowling at the way Katerine cuddled up to him, her touch far too possessive.

Throughout the evening Tavis continued to drink heavily, his mind on his father's ill health as well as Storm Eldon. He was mostly oblivious to Katerine's many subtle and then not so subtle attempts to stir his ardor. His desire for her had never been very fierce, merely convenient, despite her unquestionable talent in bed. It had even occurred to him often, once past the first six months of their affair, to be rid of her, but convenience proved a hard thing to forgo. Since there was little chance of his partaking of her charms during this visit, he felt she would soon understand that their affair had come to an end.

As the liquor ran through his veins, he grew angrier at Storm as well as himself for his promise to his father. Tavis convinced himself that he would not seduce Storm, merely reveal to her how much she did want him. It was inconceivable to him that he could burn so strongly for her and she not feel the same. He felt sure that, once he got her into his arms, her repulses would prove to be a sham.

Katerine ceased trying to stir Tavis. A more direct approach was needed, but that could not be put to use before an audience. She allowed Janet to take her to her room, although she had no intention of staying there. As soon as Janet was gone, Katerine made her way to Tavis's chambers, shed her clothes and made herself comfortable in his bed. He'd not remain cold and, perhaps, the combination of drink and passion would make him less careful. Although she had no desire for a child, she felt she could suffer the trial once in order to secure her place in Tavis MacLagan's bed.

Storm lay abed with little chance of finding any sleep, her mind too full to allow her any rest. She now had a clear understanding of the cause of most of her anger, and it was not to her liking. That kiss had shown her that she was a lot nearer to loving Tavis than she had thought, if not already at that point. As a result, her desire now carried on a raging battle with her morals. Her innocence should be a gift for her husband, which Tavis MacLagan could never be, yet she knew he would not have to fight very hard to gain that prize. Even the knowledge that she would return to Hagaleah dishonored while he stayed at Caraidland to play with another did not still her wanting him. Telling herself that Katerine could see to his needs only brought her pain. All she could see ahead was a great deal of trouble, even the pleasure bringing grief in the end.

"The laird does not look well," commented Phelan from her side, the pallet not used once since it had been made up for him. " 'Tis as if he is wasting away."

Glad to leave her thoughts of Tavis, Storm replied, "Aye, 'tis an odd affliction."

"How so, cousin? I have heard of a wasting sickness before. 'Tis not so rare."

"True, yet I have seen it, and 'twas not really like this from which the laird suffers."

"Let us think on what symptoms we have seen. I know he is prone to fainting and nosebleeds."

"Ah, I did not know that. I have seen that he is increasingly listless, his skin grows drier each day, he eats little for he cannot keep it in his belly and oftimes I do not think that he has much feeling in his hands."

" 'Tis indeed an odd affliction," Phelan mused aloud. "Ye know the art of healing. What could it be an 'tis not a wasting sickness? Enemy he may be, but I cannot like to watch a man die in such a way. A man such as Colin MacLagan should die fighting, not fading away slowly."

"Nay, 'tis sad. I believe even Papa would feel so. I must think on it a bit. Something is not right, not right at all," she murmured.

Phelan lay quietly, letting her turn the matter over in her mind. The more Storm thought on Colin MacLagan's ailment, the less she liked it. Put all together, his symptoms indicated that there was treachery afoot in Caraidland, a plot aimed at the removal of the laird. She shivered as her thoughts crystalized.

"He is being poisoned, Phelan. I am sure of it," she said very softly.

"But by whom?" he asked, not questioning her conclusion, for he trusted her judgment completely in such matters.

"I do not know. We must needs watch everyone, Phelan, and I mean everyone. Even his sons. I find it hard to believe one of them is guilty, but I know them little. Sons have been known to murder their fathers."

"What do we watch for?"

"Mother of God, I do not know. Someone is slipping it to the man." She rubbed her temples as she struggled to think of things. "I think we must watch for someone who always performs the same task. Mayhaps always serves him his ale or wine, gives him a potion, such as that. Even rubbing it onto his skin."

"That makes for a lot of watching. Still and all, we have little else to do whilst being kept here."

"True. 'Tis one he trusts, as well. We must not speak of this yet."

"I thought the same, Storm. We could well give a warning to the scoundrel." Phelan thought for a moment. "If we do uncover treachery and the laird regains his health, we could gain our freedom."

"So we could. An only 'tis in time. For him as well as I," she added softly, but Phelan heard her.

"Aye." He took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Tavis grows tired of waiting for ye. I will do me best to keep ye safe, cousin," he added, although he knew there was little he could do.

"Phelan," she began hesitantly, needing to speak her thoughts to someone, " 'tis not really rape I fear."

"I know. Nor dishonor. 'Tis your own feelings for Tavis MacLagan. Am I right?"

"Ye are too perceptive for a lad. Aye, 'tis exactly what I fear. I have ne'er felt drawn to a man before. Ah, Lord, 'tis my wicked luck to be drawn to a MacLagan. 'Twas just a fear 'til the man kissed me. 'Tis still a fear, but now I cannot ignore it for 'tis a fact as well. All of which means that if he comes to me, is gentle and loving, I am lost. In all honesty, I'll not be able to cry rape, and my dishonor will all be upon my shoulders, for what man pulls away from a willing maid?"

"Nary a one that I have heard of."

"Mayhaps he would take ye to wife."

" 'Tis not to be thought upon, Phelan. I am an Eldon and he is a MacLagan. The families have fought each other for too many years. Then, too, I get the feeling that Tavis can be a lover, but that he does not love. He would be all a woman could want until his desire was spent, and then he will coldly discard her for another. I may be able to suffer dishonor and the loss of my virtues outside of marriage, which is a sin, but I could not bear to watch my lover's passion wane, his heart harden and his arms reach for another. 'Twould kill me."

"Then I must see that he does not come near ye, cousin."

"Ah, Phelan, 'tis good of ye, but nay. There is little telling how a man will act when his blood is hot. I will not have ye harmed trying to save something that most all at home will have thought lost to me ere now. An he does come to my chambers, ye are not to argue overmuch with the man. Leave that to me." She swallowed her pain as she added, "We may speak on a problem that will ne'er arise. He has his mistress now."

"She did not stir him enough to make him leave go of ye," Phelan said quietly.

"He was not expecting her," Storm argued, ignoring her own increasing nervousness. "Now to sleep," she commanded, knowing it was easier said than done, especially when her mind kept drifting to Tavis.

Thoughts of Storm kept whirling through Tavis's increasingly muddled mind. Drinking and jesting with his brothers and the other men did little to keep his desire for Storm at bay. It had been his hope to drink enough to enable himself to pass into a deep, dreamless sleep, but that plan seemed to be failing. All that was happening was that his mind was turning more and more to Storm, conjuring up images that made him close his eyes against his need. She was a fever in his blood and he was already at the crisis point.

"Ah, Tavis, ye are a lucky bastard," teased a none too sober Sholto, "with twa lovelies to choose from."

"Care an I comfort the one ye dinnae visit?" queried Iain with a grin.

"Nay. Ye ken where Kate usually sleeps."

"Och, weel, I was hoping 'twould be the other," sighed Iain, his turquoise eyes alight with laughter.

"Mayhaps I'll take them both," mused Tavis, his laughter blending with that of the others.

"Ye would ne'er see the dawn. One o' the lasses would kill ye for being with the other."

"Sholto's right," Donald laughed, a burly man who was their first cousin. "I would put my coin on the wee lass from Hagaleah. She be a feisty bit o' woman. 'Tis the hair, I ken."

Refilling his tankard, Sholto sighed heartily. "I would fair love to see it down and free, out o' those neat braids. I wager 'twould be a glorious sight for a man to see."

"I'll remember to tell ye how it looks," remarked Tavis as he finished his drink and stood up.

In a low voice, so that the others could not hear, Iain said, "Recall, ye swore nay to touch the lass unless she be willing. 'Tis a small thing Father asks, a small pleasure to give him when he's ailing so."

"Aye, she'll be willing." Tavis frowned. "What do ye think ails our father? He grows even weaker."

Iain nodded. "Aye, aye, he does, but there seems naught to do but watch him fade. God's wounds, but it makes a man feel helpless. He has nay lived a bad life. He deserves a better death, nay this slow one."

There was little Tavis could say, for the same thing troubled him. He gripped Iain's shoulder in a brief gesture of sympathy and understanding. However, as Tavis made to leave, Iain grasped him by the arm. With one brow raised in silent query, Tavis met Iain's somber look, noticing that the man was far more sober than he.

"Dinnae hurt the lass, Tavis. Eldon she may be, but she's a bonnie wee thing, sprung from the loins of a man I respect, though he be my foe, and 'twould grieve me if she suffered at your hands."

Leaning down so that only Iain heard him, Tavis replied, "I dinnae intend to hurt the lass."

"I ken I cannae ask ye to leave her be, to nay dishonor her."

"Ye ken right. Few will believe she's nay been touched ere she leaves here. 'Tis a fever with me."

Nodding, Iain released him. Grinning in response to many a ribald remark, Tavis left the hall. He headed to his own chambers, for he wished to bathe. A part of him hoped that a hot bath would ease his ache, cause him to seek his own bed and leave Storm Eldon alone, but he doubted it would.

In a small chamber between his and Iain's quarters, Tavis had his bath set up. The lack of a window, the small size of the room and the fireplace kept the room draft-free, a perfect place to bathe. As he washed, he fought a hard inner battle, but neither his conscience nor his body won. Stepping out of the tub to towel himself dry, he merely swore not to force Storm, to cease if she resisted him too vehemently.