Never Broken (18 page)

If he hadn’t been gazing at her with such intensity, if she hadn’t been caught up in the depths of his fawn-colored eyes, she would have left him right then and there. As much as she resented her father, she believed his dealings with the clan had been necessary. He had cleared only a few of his holdings, including the land he’d leased to Dryden. The people who had lived there were the poorest peasants. Hopelessly backward, unable to farm the land successfully and keep up with the rents. In her mind, clearing them off the land had been an improvement.

Wasn’t Iain as poor and pathetic as the people her father had displaced? And yet, far from being backward, in a short span of time, he’d displayed his wit and more than a small amount of intelligence. She straightened, keeping her gaze pinned to his. Obviously this man was the exception, not the rule. Which made her want him even more.

His eyes darkened, lifting her confidence. His hand slowly slid from her shoulders down the length of her arm. She could hardly bear the tempting pressure of his fingers through the thin satin of her dress. But she mustn’t seem too eager. “I must be getting back to Mr. Dryden’s,” she said, not having to fake her breathlessness. “I’ve been gone too long, and I don’t want to risk losing the small bit of freedom I have. My father would keep me under lock and key until I become old and gray.”

Iain’s gaze remained steady. “Now that, m’lady, would be a travesty.”

She hid a smile as he helped her on her horse, his hands lingering on her waist much longer than necessary. She had won, and it would simply be a matter of time before she would claim her prize.

He walked alongside her in silence until they reached the open glen. “Head east,” he instructed, pointing in the direction she already knew. “’Tis a straight path to Dryden’s estate.”

“Perhaps one day I may repay your kindness to me.” She noted with satisfaction how his jaw jerked in response.

“’Tis not necessary. We peasants are a neighborly lot.”

His words deflated her mood, but only slightly. That he still had residual bitterness toward her could be easily dealt with. She slapped the reins against her horse and galloped toward home, secure in the knowledge that he would be hers before long.

From across the room, Mary MacKay
watched her son as he sat at the table, brooding in silence. She’d seen him like this before, every summer since he’d come of age. It had become a pattern for him, his restlessness increasing over the summer months until he could no longer stand it. Sometimes he would leave for a day or two, occasionally bringing home a few shillings or some extra food upon his return.

Looking at him, she marveled at how much he was like his father. Duncan had also been a handsome man of great height and strength, although Iain had surpassed him by several inches and more than a few pounds. Both had a fierce love of the land, a tremendous loyalty to their family, and a passion for those they cherished.

She closed her eyes briefly, sorely missing her late husband’s zealous devotion, which had been so strong in their first years of marriage. He had loved her passionately and fiercely, so much so that even now, many years after his death, she ached for him.

But the betrayal of their laird had eventually destroyed him, along with his will, his soul, and finally his life.

Unlike Iain, Mary had no bitterness toward the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland. Though they had taken her home from her, and indirectly her beloved husband, she had let it go. She had to, for to fan the flames of acrimony would have killed her too. Duncan had allowed himself to be eaten alive by his hatred and resentment. She worried Iain might also.

He shifted in his chair and drummed his fingers impatiently against the wooden tabletop, obviously deep in thought. He was contemplating leaving again. He’d been especially agitated the past few days, more than he’d ever been before.

She finished the last of the breakfast dishes, then crossed the room and pulled out the chair next to him. “Somethin’s weighing heavily on your mind, lad.” She rested her hand on his forearm.

He jumped slightly at the contact. “Nay. Nothin’ of great importance.” He stared at the rough texture of the table. “I was just thinkin’ about Da.”

She smiled. “So was I.”

“Do you think he could have forgiven Sutherland?”

Mary’s heart skipped a beat. Her son had never spoken of forgiveness, only of injustice and retribution. She had to answer honestly. “I don’t know. After the eviction, when we settled here, your father tried to move on.”

He nodded. “I remember.”

“You have to understand, he did the best he could. But his faith was misplaced. He had faith in the land and in his laird.”

Iain’s large hands balled into fists. “Where else should he have put his faith? In an invisible God? Would that have stopped Sutherland and the other lairds from forcin’ us off the land? Would it have kept them from destroyin’ our lives?”

“Nay. But faith in God would have helped your father accept it.”

Iain shot up from his chair, letting it crash to the floor. “I will never accept this.” He gestured at the rickety furniture, crumbling walls, and smoldering peat fire. “The lairds’ bellies grow fat from the fruit of our labors while we totter on the brink of starvation. Their wives and daughters wear satin and silk, yet my mother and sister dress in rags. If we are unable to pay our rent, we will be driven from the land again, replaced by the more worthy and profitable sheep. Where is divine justice in that?” He kicked the fallen chair out of his path and stalked out the door, blowing past Blaire, who was playing right outside the door.

Mary rushed after him. “Where are you going?” A cold fear gripped her when he didn’t respond. She started after him but halted her steps. What could she say to him? He used his anger as a shield, and her weak words were unable to penetrate it. It had been the same way with Duncan.

“Momma?” Blaire ran up to her, clearly upset. “Is Iain leaving us again?”

Mary smoothed the young girl’s hair with the palm of her hand. “I’m afraid he already has.”

Tears pooled in her daughter’s eyes. “I hate it when he leaves.”

“As do I.”

“Will he be comin’ back?” Blaire asked, her small voice filled with hope.

Mary looked to the east, in the direction Iain had gone. “Let’s pray he does.”

“Ouch! Be more gentle
with that brush, Lorna, or you’ll be out on your ear!”

Lorna gave the brush one last tug. “Beggin’ your pardon, m’lady, but your locks are a tangled mess this morn. Did you sleep a’tall last night?”

“No.” Elspeth’s brow furrowed with irritation.

“Maybe the lad’s not worth a night of tossin’ and turnin’.”

“Iain’s not the reason I can’t sleep!” She shot up from the chair, nearly knocking Lorna backward. “It’s this boring house and dull land.” She pressed her fingers to her temples and rubbed. “Leave me. I think I’m feeling ill.”

“I reckon you’re feelin’ rejected.”

“Rejected? How dare you suggest such a thing?” She turned and wrung her hands, stopping the movement when she realized what she was doing.

Lorna’s voice came from behind her. “Forgive me, m’lady. You’re right, as usual.” Elspeth heard the light clinking of glass as her maid arranged vials of cosmetics on the vanity table. “I guess it matters not that several weeks have passed since you’ve seen the Mackay.” She paused. “I’m sure he’s been busy.”

Elspeth spun around. “Busy doing what? Weeding potatoes? How long does that take?” Her voice rose an octave before she gained a semblance of calm. It was immediately quashed by Lorna’s openly mocking expression.

I’ll not be made fun of by a lowly maid!
Lifting her chin, she floated past her servant without a glance and sat back down at her vanity. Picking up the ivory-handled brush, she ran it through her lustrous hair, selected several small pearl-encrusted combs, and began to fasten them in place. “My riding habit, Lorna. I’m in the mood for a ride.”

“I’ll have Lachlan saddle your mare,” Lorna returned, referring to Dryden’s stable boy.

“No, I’ll do it myself.”

“Needin’ to work off a little excess energy, m’lady?”

Elspeth slammed the brush on the table and whirled around in the chair. “No, I need to get away from you. Now leave me be, or must I send word to Father that your services are no longer needed?”

“I’ll be takin’ my leave now.” Lorna left the room, but the smug smile she gave as a parting shot told her mistress that she had no fear of being replaced.

With Lorna gone, the quiet of the room grew oppressive. Elspeth fumbled with the combs absently, her mind not focused on creating a visually appealing hairstyle. Who did she have to impress? Dozens of sheep?

Dryden was an old widower, too old even for her. Lachlan was merely a boy, and a thin, sallow looking one at that. The rest of Dryden’s staff were peasant women, void of style or class, and Elspeth had no desire to travel to Glencalvie, the crofter’s village a few miles west of Iain’s land. Besides, she doubted she’d find another farmer who could match Iain in looks, intelligence, or wit.

Slowly she stood and crossed the room to her bed, staring at the rust-colored riding habit. It was a new outfit, another gift from her father, who’d been sending her presents every week now in an obvious attempt to assuage his guilt. It wasn’t working.

There had been no word from the Queen about Elspeth’s return to court, either.

With a heavy sigh she donned the velvet clothing, fastened the matching top hat upon her head, and went downstairs. Moments later she pulled on her riding gloves as she entered the stable, her ermine fur cape tied around her shoulders.

Despite the chilly temperature, getting out of the house and into the fresh air lifted her spirits a bit. She had insisted that her mare, Pippin, accompany her to the Highlands, and today she was especially pleased that the young horse was there. She stroked Pippin’s velvety nose and spoke in quiet tones, her face close to the horse’s neck. She could feel the tension gradually drain from her shoulders as she crooned to the beautiful animal. Relaxed for the first time in days, she turned to fetch Pippin’s saddle, then let out a shriek as her nose slammed into Iain Mackay’s massive chest.

“Iain! Goodness, you scared me to death.” Her hand fluttered to her breast. Beneath her palm, she felt the rapid palpitations of her heart. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I believe you were.”

Elspeth blinked. For a moment she couldn’t think, couldn’t move. For days, she’d dreamed of him, fantasizing how he would come to her, his mind crazed with passion, his desire beyond his control. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had that effect on a man. It was something she’d come to expect.

What she hadn’t expected was his anger. Iain’s rage seemed to singe her skin. His eyes weren’t filled with passion. They were filled with hatred. His body, taut and tense, was completely under his authority.

“I… I don’t know what you mean.” She licked her lips, which had suddenly become dry,

“You would play me for a fool, m’lady,” he accused. “A foolish man I’m not.”

She believed him. Taking a step backward in the stall, she jumped as her back rubbed against the horse. “You’re mistaken, Iain, I would never…”

“Don’t lie to me. You’re no more a Highland lass than I’m a London dandy.” He lowered his face closer to hers. “And I believe our first meetin’ was no accident.”

Dare she admit the truth? From the glowering look on his face, she suspected he already knew everything. How could he have seen through her careful ruse? And how would she escape his wrath? She flinched as he lifted his arm toward her.

To her surprise, he didn’t touch her. Instead, he reached past her shoulder and laid a hand on Pippin’s flank. “’Tis a fine animal,” he said, his tone flat. “Horseflesh such as this must carry an expensive price.”

“Y-yes,” she said, failing to keep the tremor out of her voice.

His hand moved from the horse to her shoulder, his long fingers brushing the expensive fabric. “And these fancy clothes. I’m sure they cost more than a few pounds.”

She nodded slowly.

“Do you enjoy these things, m’lady? Does wearin’ fine clothes and ridin’ fine horses make you happy? Does it please you to own things bought with your clansmen’s blood?”

Her breath drew in sharply. “How can you say that to me? You said so yourself; I’m not to blame for what my father does.”

“You’ve reaped the benefits.” He grabbed her hand and turned it over, running his callused palm over hers. “Not a blister or rough spot in sight. I’m sure you’ve never known what it’s like to labor for months and months, and still not produce enough food to satisfy your hunger. I doubt you’ve ever worked a day in your life.”

He held fast to her hand, and her mind worked to find a way to convince him to let go. His impassioned words failed to move her, but his threatening manner did. “My father is a hateful man indeed,” she stated, injecting as much derision into her voice as possible. “He’d sell his soul to the devil for a pound note.”

“He’s already done that.”

“I understand your anger toward him.” She wriggled her hand inside his. “I only hope one day you’ll be able to forgive our family for the wrongs done against the clans.”

Iain hesitated, then released her hand. “You surprise me, m’lady. You actually sound sincere.”

“Because I am.” Sometimes she even surprised herself with her acting skills. The deceit dripped from her tongue like honey. “It’s my father who deserves your hate. Not me.”

A shiver went through her body as he reached out and deftly removed her riding hat. His eyes turned smoky brown as he watched several thick locks of her hair tumble to her shoulders.

“Aye,” he said, his voice husky. “John Ross and the others have earned my contempt.” He closed the distance between them. “But your father’s not the one I’m wantin’ right now.”

The fire in his eyes and the soft tone of his words helped restore her balance. Iain’s lust she could handle. His rage she could not. Instinctively she slipped her arms around his neck.

As if she weighed no more than a feather, he scooped her up in his powerful arms and carried her to the back of the stable behind a secluded stall. Laying her in the soft pile of hay, he joined her, bringing his lips close to her ear. “What might the laird’s reaction be to his daughter’s seduction by a lowly peasant?”

Trembling with anticipation, Elspeth took his face in her hands. “It would tear his heart out.”