Lyon's Gift (10 page)

Meghan tried to sound perfectly innocent. “I
am?”

“
You are.” He sounded too
distracted to be precisely angry. “What the bloody hell are you
talking about?”

“
There is no curse on Brodie
blood!” she swore. “ ‘Tis all a bluidy rotten lie!”

“
I never said there was, wench.”
He truly sounded befuddled now.

“
Oh!” Meghan exclaimed, and hushed
again, waiting.

He said nothing more, and she pretended an interest
in the woodlands as they passed through them.

It had been a long time since she’d ventured this
way. The MacLeans had owned this adjoining land and she and Alison
had explored it all at some point or another. She and her Minnie
had as well, though old man MacLean had never taken quite so kindly
to Fia’s foraging. Meghan vividly remembered the verbal warfare the
two frequently engaged in—MacLean calling her a crazy old hag, and
Fia calling him a mean, selfish, fat old arse.

The memory made her smile.

Lord, how she missed her sweet Minnie! Fia had never
cowered before anyone in her life—most certainly not to Meghan’s
brothers, nor to old man MacLean. Not Leith, not Colin, or Gavin
had ever understood their grandmother in the least.

Meghan secretly wished she could be her.

“
What curse?” Lyon asked
suddenly.

Meghan bit the inside of her lip. “Oh... never
mind,” she answered evasively. She peered back to gauge his
expression, then pretended an interest in Baldwin’s whereabouts.
She bit her lip with feigned concern. “I wonder if my Minnie will
fare well enough with that daft mon of yours.”

“
I’m certain she’ll be just
fine!”

“
She has terrible gout,” Meghan
elaborated.

“
Does she?” he asked tersely. He
sounded quite skeptical.

“
Oh, aye!” Meghan exclaimed. “It
pains her terribly.”

“
Does it?”

“
Aye.”

“
I have to wonder,” he said, “just
why it is you would lead your
grandmother
about with a
rope.”

Meghan thought about that an instant before
replying. “She’s half-blind, of course.”

“
So she has the gout and she is
blind, as well... Anything else?”

Meghan bit the inside of her lip, trying not to
smile at their ridiculous discourse. “Well, she’s a little bit deaf
sometimes, too, so you have to scream, or she may not answer.”

“
You don’t say. Anything
else?”

“
Let me think,” she said. And
then, “Nay... nay... I think not.”

“
Are you certain?”

“
Oh, I think so,” Meghan said, and
smiled to herself. “Unless you consider chin hairs an
affliction?”

“
Chin hairs?”

Meghan could hear the incredulity in his tone. She
sincerely hoped she was driving him as mad as she hoped he thought
she was.

“
Aye,” she said. “Fia certainly
thinks they are.

CHAPTER 8

The woman was incorrigible.

She was enjoying herself, Lyon was certain.

And she’d managed to pique his curiosity despite the
fact that he knew she was baiting him. “What curse?” he asked once
more.

She peered coyly back at him. “Och, now! Surely you
do not believe in curses, Sassenach? Not the almighty Lyon!”

Vixen.

He could tell by the sparkle in her eyes that she
was mocking him. And quite well, besides.

Well, two could play at this game.

“
You are correct, of course,” he
relented. “Never mind, wench, I’ve no longer any desire to
know.”

She went still before him, quiet too for an instant,
and Lyon smiled.

“
You don’t? Well truly ’tis naught
more than silly babble at any rate,” she said after another
moment’s contemplative silence.

“
I’m certain.” He suppressed a
grin.

They came from the forest into the bright afternoon
sun. Lyon could make out the pounding of hammers and the clamor of
voices in the distance, and the sound made him feel a sense of
pride unlike any he’d ever experienced. This was his land, his
home: his men were at work rebuilding, and there was something
incredibly rousing about bringing this particular woman into his
domain. Something about the occasion made him sit straighter in the
saddle... compelled him to suck in a breath.

The scent of wild heather permeated the air... laced
now with a more elusive and intriguing scent. His gaze returned to
the woman sitting before him, and his loins tightened familiarly.
Aye, something about her inspired him in a way he hadn’t been
inspired in much too long.

She made him feel alive.

Bloody hell, who was he fooling?

She made him
feel
.

All of his senses were heightened.

He leaned closer, unable to keep himself from it,
compelled to move nearer, inhaling the sweet scent of her beautiful
hair once more. Marrow, was it? The mere thought made him smile.
Saucy wench. Nay... what he scented was the faintest trace of
rosemary... and sunshine.

There was nothing ostentatious about the woman
sitting before him, nothing embellished. She was earthy and honest,
and while there was nothing naive about her, she had an air of
innocence that was decidedly refreshing. Unlike the women he’d
known in his life, her eyes did not speak of seduction all the
while her lashes fluttered with affected innocence.

But she seduced him nevertheless.

She sighed audibly and Lyon felt the breath leave
his own lungs. How was it that she affected him so keenly?

What was it about her that made him so attuned to
every breath she took and every word she uttered?

“
I shouldn’t have said anything,”
she lamented.

On the contrary, he thought, he relished hearing her
voice. Somehow it was the embodiment of both woman and child at
once—her tone both sweet and provocative. It bewitched him, made
him yearn both to coddle and to devour her all at once.

She sighed again, and he smiled to himself, knowing
it was torturing her not to be able to elaborate, and decided to
put her out of her misery once and for all. “Though now that you
have,” he prompted, smiling, “you’ll expound?”

“
Well!” She relented at once. “If
you insist!”

Lyon’s grin widened.

“
Och, but if I tell you, you must
not believe it!” she instructed quite firmly. “Swear
it!”

“
How can I promise such a thing,
wench, when I’ve no idea how your disclosure will strike me? Tell
me your tale and I shall tell you quite frankly whether I believe
it or nay.”

She seemed to consider that an instant. “Fair
enough,” she replied. “’Tis wholly untrue, of course, and unfairly
said, but they claim we Brodie women are cursed.”

He sensed where she was leading with this, and it
was all he could do to keep from laughing. “How so, wench?”

“
Well,” she continued, “’tis
rumored that madness runs in Brodie blood—but it isn’t
true!”

Lyon had no doubt.

“
And quite unkind to say! Don’t
you think?”

“
I’ve never heard such a thing,”
he said. He wondered if she could possibly be speaking the truth,
and decided not, as she was clearly enjoying this far too
much.

“
You haven’t?” She sounded so
bloody disappointed that he had to reconsider. “Oh,” she
said.

Christ, but she was a bloody good liar. Lyon tried
not to laugh, though his shoulders shook with mirth. He couldn’t
answer at once, and was relieved when she continued of her own
accord.

“
The truth is that my mother was
hardly mad,” she went on, “merely a bit... emotional. And my
Minnie... she was only eccentric.”

Lyon’s brows lifted. “Was?” he asked her, catching
her slip of the tongue, and unable to keep himself from baiting her
in return. “She was eccentric? And what is she now?”

She peered back at him, her brows drawn together
into a frown. She didn’t seem to catch his meaning for an instant,
and then: “Is!” she amended at once. “Is, of course!”

This time he couldn’t contain his chuckle. “’Tis
good to know as I wouldn’t wish to bring a madwoman into my
home.”

“
Oh?” she answered, and managed to
instill a note of hope in the single word.

Lyon waited for her to suddenly spout some
confession of her own madness, but he waited for naught. She was
much too shrewd for that.

‘
I wonder what is keeping them!”
She truly sounded worriedly.

Stubborn wench.

He couldn’t believe she would persist in this absurd
charade. He supposed she was hoping he would change his mind, but
she was hoping in vain, because the longer he considered it, the
more convinced he was that he was doing the right thing. It truly
was the perfect solution for all concerned.

She turned to search the path behind him, and Lyon
was at once intrigued by the flush high upon her cheeks. Not only
was he going to wed her, he vowed, but he was going to wed her of
her own accord.

Arrogant though it might be, he was perfectly
confident in his... powers of persuasion.

And he was feeling quite merciless just now, quite
the Lyon circling his prey.

She brought out something primordial in
him—something more than mere lust. The need to possess was
overwhelming.

“
They’ll be along,” he assured
her, and had to restrain himself from leaning forward and brushing
his mouth across the warmth of her cheek. He imagined the feel of
it against his lips... of his tongue against her burning skin...
and it sent a jolt of pure sensation through him.

Christ, but she seemed to have little notion of the
tempest that raged within him. If only she realized, he was certain
she’d be kicking and screaming just now, instead of employing such
sophistry against him. He swallowed with some difficulty as his
mouth was becoming quite dry, and said, “’Tis more than likely
Baldwin may have—”

“
There they are!” she exclaimed.
“And ’tis about time!”

Lyon turned to find Baldwin emerging from the
woodlands some ways behind them, dragging the little lamb in
tow.

She shrieked suddenly, startling the hell out of
him.

He had to reach out and snatch her back before she
was able to leap from his mount.

He jerked the reins, halting at once.

“
Are you truly insane,
wench?”

Meghan didn’t have to pretend outrage for her
grandmother’s sake.

Her temper erupted at the sight of Baldwin dragging
the lamb behind him.

How dare he treat the poor creature so cruelly! She
wanted to leap at Baldwin and snatch the hair from his head.
Mounted upon his horse, he held the lead rope in hand, and was
dragging the poor creature behind him, not bothering to slow when
the confused animal resisted in fright. He was all but strangling
the poor sweet baby! “How dare he!” she exploded.

“
How dare who what?” Lyon snarled,
scowling at her.

She didn’t bloody care if he was angry with her just
now. “Stop him!” she shrieked in outrage. “Let me down! How dare he
treat her so unkindly!” Meghan glared up at him. “Tell him to lift
her onto his mount, Sassenach, or I’ll not go with you!”

“
The lamb?”

Meghan cast him daggers with her eyes. “Fia,” she
countered. “Her name is Fia! Tell him to let her ride, or I’ll not
go with you!”

His jaw clenched, and he seemed vexed that she
persisted.

Meghan didn’t care.

“
Does it seem you have a choice?”
he had the nerve to ask her.

How dare he think she did not! “This is not England,
Sassenach! Aye, I do have choices, and you shall find yourself cold
in your bed one morn if you do not think so!”

His brows lifted. “Do you threaten me, wench? Shall
I need bind your hands behind your back each night?”

Despite the implied warning, his face revealed
little more than impatience, and Meghan clenched her teeth.

“
Take it as you will,” she
countered. “But I stand my ground. Tell him to let her
ride!”

His eyes slitted, gleaming oddly, and Meghan’s belly
lurched.

Mayhap it was a mistake for her not to fear him?

He was Henry’s infamous Lyon, after all, champion of
the highest bidder—reputed to have spilled the blood of Englishman,
Frenchman, Scotsman and Saracen alike.

And yet she didn’t seem to fear him at all.

In truth... he made her feel... curiously excited.
Particularly now when they were face to face, so close . . .
clashing wills.

She was acutely aware that his fingers remained
closed about her arm, restraining her, lest she leap from his
mount.

“
I wonder if you might enjoy
that?” he asked suddenly, grinning a little wickedly. “Being bound
to my bed.”

Meghan refused to cower before him. “Tell him to let
her ride,” she persisted, ignoring his taunt. “Or—”

“
Or what?” He tightened his hold
slightly upon her arm, not enough to injure, though enough to
remind her of his superior strength.

Meghan thought about it an instant, well aware that
they were near his manor, and that Baldwin approached them
still.

“
You say you wish to wed me for
the sake of peace? Is not that right?”

“
Aye, wench, ’tis what I
said.”

“
Wouldn’t it be a pity for
everyone to see you carry me in against my will—kicking and
screaming? I wonder what my brothers would do did they discover
you’d treated me so brutishly?”