Meghan: A Sweet Scottish Medieval Romance (7 page)

“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. “Grammie Fia certainly thinks they are.

T
he woman was incorrigible
.

She was enjoying herself, Lyon was certain of it.

But she’d managed to pique his curiosity despite the fact that he knew she was baiting him. “What curse?” he pressed her.

She peered coyly back at him. “Och, now, surely ye dinna 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. I’ve no longer any desire to know about your curse.”

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

“Well truly ’tis naught more than silly babble at anyway,” she said after another moment’s silence.

“Yes, 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 fierce 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 demesne. Something about the occasion made him sit a little 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. Aye, something about her inspired him in a way he hadn’t been inspired in much too long.

She made him feel alive.

Nay, she made him
feel
.

All of his senses were heightened.

He leaned closer, unable to keep himself from it, inhaling the sweet scent of her beautiful hair once more. Marrow, was it? The mere thought made him smile. 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?

“Och, 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 alluring. It bewitched him, made him yearn both to coddle and to kiss her both at once.

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

“Well,” She relented quickly. “If you insist!”

Lyon’s grin widened.

“But if I tell you, ye must not believe it,” she said quite firmly. “Swear it.”

“How can I promise such a thing, lass, 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 I swear it isn’t true.”

Lyon had no doubt.

“And quite unkind to say… dinna ye think?”

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

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

She was certainly a very good liar. Lyon tried not to laugh, but 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, “mayhap a bit... emotional. And my grammie... well, she was only eccentric.”

This sounded more like truth, but then he realized she spoke of her grandmother in the past tense. Lyon’s brows lifted. “Was?” he asked, 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 at first, and then she did. “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 sounded worried.

Stubborn siren.

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 this as a solution, the more convinced he was that he was doing the right thing. It was perfect 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. He delighted in the challenge. Arrogant though it might be, he was perfectly confident in his... powers of persuasion. And he was feeling quite merciless just now, quite the Lion circling his prey.

She brought out something primordial in him—something much more than lust. The need to hold her close 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 her skin against his lips... and it sent a jolt of pure sensation through him.

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 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. “’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 devil 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 mad?”

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

Her temper erupted at the sight of Baldwin dragging the poor 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 beast 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 care if he was angry with her just now. “Stop him,” she said 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 ye.”

“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 ye.”

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 ye shall find yourself cold in your bed one morn if ye dinna think so.”

His brows lifted. “Do you mean to threaten me, lass? Must I 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. 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 tight about her arm, restraining her, lest she leap from his mount.

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

“Or what?” He tightened his hold slightly upon her arm, not enough to injure, just 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.

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

“Aye ’tis what I said.”

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

“More threats?”

“Mayhap,” Meghan admitted.

He lifted one brow and cocked his head at her. “So, then, let me understand... are you saying you’ll agree to wed me... if I simply make Baldwin carry the beast in his arms?”

Meghan shrugged. “Perhaps, perhaps not... You’ll have to wait and see, will you not?”

He smiled wickedly, revealing gleaming white teeth, and Meghan felt her heart quicken within her breast. And yet she wasn’t about to relinquish her one advantage: the question of her will.

She returned his smile, hoping she appeared as merciless as he. And then she opened her mouth and began to scream.

“Judas!” he exclaimed, slapping a hand over her mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound.

Meghan didn’t bother to struggle, merely continued to scream at the top of her lungs, ceasing only when she needed a breath. He released her when she stopped abruptly, and she gulped in another breath and launched into an ear-piercing screech.

“All right, curse it all,” he relented. “Cease! Cease, already! Baldwin, put her grandmother on your horse.” he commanded.

Meghan stopped screaming and smiled.

Baldwin’s eyes widened. “I cannot mount with—”

“Do it,” Lyon demanded.

“Thank ye,” Meghan said sweetly, and tried not to laugh at the flustered expression upon Baldwin’s face. “Fia will appreciate it, I assure you … because you see, she has the—”

“Gout, I know,” Lyon replied.

Meghan fluttered her lashes at him, giving him her most ingenuous look.

A
lison fled
the meadow in panic and sequestered herself within her bower for at least an hour’s time before realizing that she didn’t like herself very much for what she’d done. Meghan Brodie had been her very best friend since the day Meghan had discovered her spying on her and her grammie in the woods. From her father, Alison had heard naught but horrid things about the auld woman, and Alison had been watching like a coward from behind a big fat oak. Curiosity had kept her rooted to the spot. Meghan never exposed her to her grammie; instead she’d crawled over to Alison’s tree on her hands and knees and had peered around it at Alison, and said in such a dulcet tone, “She’ll not hurt you, I promise. She’s not really mad, she’s just my grammie.” And she’d said it with so much love and such hope that Alison had at once felt contrite for every tale she’d ever listened to about the auld woman.

Now she sat in Meghan’s brothers’ hall, waiting while they searched for Meghan. It was dusk now. Outside, the lavender sky darkened ominously. And with every passing minute the Brodie brothers were away, Alison’s unease intensified.

What was taking them so long?

She was beginning to have the most terrible, horrible feeling about it all.

Something had gone terribly awry, and once again it was all her fault. Her shoulders slumped dejectedly, though she straightened at once when Meghan’s eldest brother, Leith, entered the room.

“Did you find her?” Alison asked anxiously, and then she spied the expression on his face and her hopes fell.

“Nay.” He frowned. “Colin and Gavin are still searching, lass.” He approached the table where Alison sat, and perched himself upon it, his expression tense but his demeanor remained composed and deliberate. He crossed his arms, and seemed to be considering the situation. With his tall, lanky frame, he appeared no more than a boy, but in his face, Alison could see the wisdom of his years... and more.

She had never spoken much with Leith, for she’d always been cowed by his sober intensity. It had always been difficult to tell whether he approved or disapproved of her friendship with Meghan. Although Alison couldn’t think of a single reason he should disapprove, neither had he ever been entirely friendly to her—cordial certainly, but never particularly warm. Today, however, she appreciated his staid demeanor, for while he didn’t seem particularly pleased with the circumstances, neither did he seem to blame her. Of course, she hadn’t precisely revealed
everything
as yet, and she feared now she was going to have to. She wished with all her might that she didn’t have to confess under such circumstances, and then reproached herself for being such a selfish dolt that she would consider her own wellbeing over that of Meghan’s.

Where could Meghan possibly have gone off to?

It wasn’t like her to simply wander away.

Well... perhaps it was, though not for long. Besides, they were usually together, she and Alison. But this time, she was out there alone…

Gavin entered the hall, looking graver still. Leith peered up at him, but Gavin shook his head. “Naught,” he announced.

“Did you search the chapel?” Leith asked. “Colin said she was there this morn, fretting over some bird.”

Gavin continued to shake his head. He peered down thoughtfully at the floor, looking troubled.

Alison listened to their conversation with growing trepidation and no small measure of guilt.

“’Twas the first and again the last place I looked,” Gavin disclosed. “She’s not there, Leith.”

A few oaths fell from Leith’s mouth. “Where could she be?” There was a note of panic in his voice now.

“I’ve said before that if she spent more time at prayer, and less at—”

Leith raised his hand, silencing him. “Cease, Gavin. I cannot hear this now.”

Gavin seemed determined to make his point. “
Now
is when you
must
hear it, Leith. If not now, when?”

“This has naught to do with your perceived notions of Meggie’s irreverence, Gavin.”

Colin entered the room in that moment. “Meghan has a right to believe whatever she will.” His expression was angry. He didn’t acknowledge Alison, though he rarely did straightaway.

“It has everything to do with Meghan’s irreverence,” Gavin persisted, igniting Colin’s anger.

“Shut your mouth, Gavin, unless you can open it to help instead of making things worse with your sermonizing. You’re gettin’ on my nerves.”

Alison had never seen him so furious.

Gavin glared at Colin. “Why, you—” His body tensed though he remained seated.

Alison held her breath at the sight of the brothers sparring. She had never seen them so at odds before. They were usually the most mild-tempered men, and she had always envied Meghan’s easy relationship with them.

“Why me, what?” Colin fired back, standing with his fists clenched at his sides. “Say it like a mon, Gavin, or dinna say aught at all.”

“Shut your mouths, both of you,” Leith commanded.

Gavin and Colin obeyed at once, although both of them were physically bigger than their eldest brother. Leith was tall, certainly, but Gavin, though he was youngest, was taller yet. And Colin, though he was of goodly height, was by far the most muscular.

“This is no time to be locking horns. This is about Meghan, remember?” He cast a pointed glance at Colin.

Colin’s jaw tautened, but he nodded.

“Gavin?” Leith prompted.

Gavin nodded as well.

“We are
all
concerned here,” Leith added. “It will serve no one to battle each other.”

“I should never have let her go,” Colin lamented. “I
knew
not to let her go. I had this feeling, Leith.”

“This is not the time for regrets either, Colin,” Leith said. “I would have forbade her myself, but you and I know perfectly well that Meghan would have done what she pleased.”

“That’s precisely the point I was trying to make,” Gavin interjected.

“Make it another time, Gavin,” Leith commanded. “Not now, I said.”

Colin’s eyes met Alison’s suddenly, and they were full of rancor. It was clear to her that he blamed her more than anyone.

What would he think of her once she told them everything?

“I ought never have told her that Alison awaited her in the meadow,” Colin persisted.

Alison lowered her head. “’Tis my fault, I know,” she offered.

“Nay, lass,” Leith assured her. “It is not. Colin is simply angry with himself.”

As much as it pained her to confess it, she knew she must. “Aye,” Alison insisted. “It
is
my fault.” She met Leith’s gaze, not daring to face Gavin or Colin. Somehow, it was easier to do this if she pretended those two were not listening.

“Nay, lass,” Leith argued.

“Aye, but it is,” Alison asserted, straightening her spine. “Because
I
stole the goat.”

Leith’s brows collided. His expression clearly revealed his confusion. He uncrossed his arms. “What the devil are you talking about, lass? What goat? What has a goat to do with Meggie’s disappearance?”

Alison’s lower lip began to tremble, but she faced Leith bravely. “Montgomerie’s goat.”

“Montgomerie’s goat?” Leith was clearly stunned by her proclamation.

“You mean
the
goat?” Colin asked, his tone one of disbelief.

Alison nodded and kept her gaze fixed on Leith. “Aye,” she replied.

“
The
goat?” Colin repeated, his temper obviously rising. Alison cringed, though she didn’t dare look at him, for fear of what she would see in his eyes.

“Montgomerie’s goat?” Gavin asked again, as though to be certain they were all hearing correctly. Alison turned to face him and nodded, still avoiding Colin’s gaze.

“What would make you go and do a thing like that?” Leith sounded dumbfounded.

Gavin exploded, and both Leith and Colin looked at him in surprise.

Alison couldn’t help it; tears pricked at her eyes, as she’d never heard Gavin curse—not ever.

“Explain,” Leith demanded, turning once more to face her.

Alison’s eyes welled with tears. “I dinna intend for Montgomerie to blame you. I meant only to keep from wedding him, you see.”

“By stealing his goat?” Colin asked, aghast.

Alison faced Colin then, and wished at once that she had not. His expression was undeniably full of disgust.

And fury.

“I simply did not want—”

“You should be pleased to wed any mon at all,” he told her cruelly, shouting now.

Alison flinched at the tone of his voice. “I dinna mean to... I only thought that if he and my da could be at odds... I dinna mean for him to believe—”

“I do not want you, Alison MacLean! I do not know how to make it plainer than that,” Colin announced.

Tears spilled over Alison’s lashes and streamed down her cheeks. “But… it’s not that—I only did not wish to wed with
him
,” she explained once more, pleading with Colin to understand. He had to understand how she felt about him. “I cannot love him, don’t you see?”

His eyes glittered with anger. “If anything happens to my sister because of your foolish little-girl notions, I will never forgive you,” Colin swore, and the contempt in his tone, more than his words, cut like a blade to her heart. “I will not forgive you, Alison MacLean.”

Alison gasped for breath; she couldn’t seem to catch one.

“Enough,” Leith demanded.

“Leave her be, Colin,” Gavin entreated. “She dinna mean to.”

“I’ll leave her be all right,” Colin announced. “I’m going out to look for my sister. The two of you can stay and play nursemaid if it please you.” And with that, he pivoted on his heels and stalked angrily from the hall. Alison kept her eyes on his back until he was gone from the door. All the while, tears streamed from her eyes.

She loved him madly.

He hated her truly.

Leith came about the table to where she sat. Alison watched his approach with hazy vision. She peered at Gavin and saw the pity in his gaze. She couldn’t bear it, and, leaning forward, she rested her head upon the table and cried even harder.

She felt Leith’s hand upon her back, soothing her. “Colin does not mean it,” he swore.

“I’m going to look for Meghan as well,” Gavin said. “Mayhap she merely lost track of the hours.”

“Go on,” Leith agreed as he knelt beside Alison. “Be certain to check the shortcut from the meadow. I know she favors it though I’ve asked her not to take it.”

Alison was acutely aware of Gavin’s heavy footsteps as he left them, but she continued to sob, unable to face even Leith in her shame.

Leith continued to soothe her. “Now, now,” he said tenderly. “I know you dinna mean to, Alison.”

He leaned awkwardly toward her, and Alison, desperate as she was, turned into his arms, grateful that he was here to reassure her. Colin hated her. Gavin pitied her. And her very best friend was in trouble—and it was all her fault, she just knew it.

“We will find her,” Leith reassured, and Alison wanted so desperately to believe him. She clutched at his tunic, sobbing against his shoulder.

“We both know our Meggie... she’ll turn up on the doorstep, I’m certain. If not on her own,” he said with a faint smile, “then whoever has taken her will dump her there directly—wicked tongue and all.”

Alison gave a reluctant chuckle. Och, but it was true; Meghan certainly spoke her mind well enough.

“That’s it, now,” Leith crooned. “Wipe the tears from your eyes, lass. We must work together in this.”

Alison did as he bade her and stopped weeping. She peered up at him, sniffling. He was right, she knew. And she had to be strong. For Meghan’s sake.

“Now,” he proposed, “why don’t you tell me everything, lass... start from the beginning...”