Samantha James (2 page)
Authors: His Wicked Promise
Cameron sighed. Rising, he squeezed his wife’s shoulder, then crossed to Glenda. Gently he kissed
her forehead. “Ah, but if I remain much longer the two of you will have
me
weeping,” he teased. The laughter faded from his expression. “You wish to leave soon, don’t you?”
Glenda nodded. “’Tis a long journey to the Borderlands,” she said quickly. “I would leave on the morrow, if possible.”
Cameron was quiet for a moment. “I’m certain it can be arranged,” he murmured. “But one thing troubles me. You are Niall’s widow, and ’tis
my
duty to take care of you, but ’tis a long journey to the Borderlands, just as you’ve said.” He hesitated. “Glenda, I do not mean to dissuade you, but I hate to leave Meredith with the babe so recently born—”
Glenda was already shaking her head. “And I would not dream of asking that you do,” she told him firmly, “nor would I allow it.”
Cameron nodded. “Would that I could take you myself,” he murmured, as if to himself. “But I cannot, and there is only one man to whose care I would entrust my own sister-in-law.”
Glenda’s heart seemed to catch. Somehow she knew what he would say, even before he said it…
“Egan,” he decided with a satisfied nod. “Aye, Egan will take you.”
The midnight haze of nighttime still blurred the edges of the sky when Glenda slipped from her chamber. Sure-footed and intent, she left the walls and sprawling towers of Dunthorpe behind to climb toward a grassy knoll. A solitary tree devoted a lonely, endless vigil over the seven graves that stood in a half-circlet before it.
Glenda was on her knees in the dirt. At her back was the breathtakingly dramatic sight of Dunthorpe Keep and the granite valley below; Glenda paid no heed to the view, for it was here that Niall, his father Ronald, and five of his six brothers now found eternal rest…along with his son.
He’d been buried with his son in his arms…the son he’d never known he had.
How long she remained, she knew not…yet the first warming glance of the sun on her head reminded her it was time.
She pushed herself to her feet. There were no tears, though she knew not when she might return to this place. In truth, a voice within her head resounded, most likely she would never return. She pressed one last, fleeting kiss to the tips of her fingers…and then to the grave marker of her husband and son.
“Farewell,” she said softly.
Not once looking back, she retraced her steps to Dunthorpe. When she reentered the bailey, she saw that all was in readiness for her departure—and it seemed there were more farewells to be said, for she had scarce appeared than two women, Meghan and Adele, ran up to her.
Adele gave her a quick hug. “Oh, but we will miss ye sorely,” Adele sniffed. From the look of her, she’d already been weeping.
Meghan’s voice joined hers. “Aye, and terrible though it may sound, we hope ye dinna stay in the Borders. We hear ’tis a terrible place, full of thieves and rogues!”
Glenda couldn’t help but smile. “That’s what I was told before I came to the Highlands. And look how
long I’ve remained—why, ’tis nearly eight years.”
“But ye couldna leave,” someone cried. “Yer husband was ’ere.”
The day was long past since the mention of Niall ensured a hollow silence when Glenda was present. Yet somehow today was different. By subsiding degree the air fell silent. A stark pain tore through her heart, yet somehow her smile never faltered.
There was a tug at her skirts. It was Brodie, bright-eyed and cheery as always. He held up his arms in mute appeal.
Glenda reacted instinctively. She whisked him high and close, pressing the softness of his cheek against her own. Then Meredith was there, appearing at the fringes of her vision.
Slowly Glenda lowered the lad to the ground, and turned to his mother.
“So. You will leave us.” Meredith made no effort to disguise her wistful regret. “Alas, I shall simply have to content myself with the hope that mayhap in the Borderlands you will find another man to love.”
Glenda shook her head. “Nay, do not hope, for I shall never marry again.”
“Never?” Meredith chided her. “Do not be so certain, for you are too much a beauty not to sway some man’s head.”
“A beauty! Nay, Meredith, I think not.”
“Och, but you are,” Meredith insisted. She twirled a gleaming red lock that hung over her shoulder around her finger and stuck out her tongue. “I’ve always been envious of your smooth, honey-colored waves,” she said with a sigh, “and so have all the other women.”
Glenda pursed her lips. “Nonsense,” she said crisply. “What is to envy? I am old.”
“Old? At five-and-twenty? You are not so much older than I!” The spark of laughter gleamed in Meredith’s eyes. Yet in the very next instant it was gone.
“I shall miss you, Glenda. I shall miss you dreadfully!” At the very same moment, the two women reached for each other.
Glenda hugged her friend almost fiercely. “And I you,” she whispered, and all at once she thought she had surely gone mad.
God in heaven, she thought achingly, how could she do this? How could she leave Dunthorpe and the people she had come to love so deeply? These past few days, both heart and mind had told her this was the right thing to do. Yet now that the moment was upon her, all at once she was not certain—not certain at all!
Yet it was just as she’d told Cameron. She must. She
must
.
“Come back soon,” Meredith told her. Her words were laden thick with the blur of tears. “For if you do not, then we shall have to find you.”
“And I shall hold you to it.” Glenda’s voice wobbled every bit as much as Meredith’s. Reluctantly the pair released each other.
By now Cameron had appeared as well. Glenda turned to him, and for an instant, he caught her snug in his embrace. “When you turn your eyes to the north, remember us,” he said. “And should you need us for any reason, you have only to send word.”
“I know.” Her throat ached so, ’twas a miracle she was able to speak at all. When he released her,
blindly she turned toward her mount, Druscilla, dreading the moment she was gone, yet hasty in her wish not to prolong this painful farewell any farther; for if she did not, she was afraid she might disgrace herself by weeping openly.
Hands closed about her waist and lifted her to Druscilla’s back. They were warm, those hands, hard and tanned and strong, sweeping her high aloft, seemingly without effort…
It was Egan. He was there, as always, ever-present…lending a word or his sword if needed, yet never intruding, his presence stoic, his demeanor quiet.
For just an instant, a strange little quiver shot through her, in a way she couldn’t quite control…in a way that was disturbing and utterly vexing. She had known him for years, she told herself, almost as long as she’d known Niall. Yet the reminder did naught, for in truth she’d never felt the way she did of late when Egan came near. She knew not why…and she knew not how to stop it!
For that very reason, Glenda did not look at him. Instead she kept her gaze fixed upon Cameron, who stepped before his friend, now mounted on a stallion as silky black as his master’s hair.
“Guard her well and deliver her safely,” Cameron stated simply, “for she is one of us.”
Egan’s reply was lost on Glenda. Wildly it spun through her mind that she would have much preferred that Finn escort her. Finn, with his whiskey-blurred voice and great, shaking belly laugh…
Instead it was Egan. Egan…with eyes the color of blue steel. Egan…who seldom smiled. Egan…
with the deepest-timbered voice she’d ever heard in a man.
His hand descended sharply on Druscilla’s rump. The mare started, then began to prance through the gates. This was it, Glenda realized dimly. Just before they passed beneath the iron-gated portcullis, an odd feeling arose within her. A momentary panic assailed her, briefly taking her breath. She felt as if she were about to venture forth on a perilous journey into a land of the unknown, a land of some dark, vast uncertainty.
And aye, so she was. For this was a journey that would now snatch her from all that had been familiar to her these past eight years…and deliver her to the realm of the future.
But she was not alone. Nay, she was not alone, and she was not sure whether the knowledge brought comfort or a fledgling fear. ’Twas a journey that began with…merciful heavens, but she could still hardly believe it!…
With Egan.
Cameron had sought him out in the great hall last eve.
“Glenda will travel to Blackstone Tower.”
Glenda
. For an instant, the beat of Egan’s heart picked up its rhythm, as it always did, ’ere the mention of her name…the merest chance glimpse of her. In his mind’s eye, her features flashed before him—large, wide-set eyes the color of golden flames, framed by rich chestnut waves that curled below her hips.
Slowly Egan raised his head and gazed at Cameron, his chieftain and long-time friend. “Indeed?” he inquired. “To see to affairs at Blackstone Tower?”
Cameron nodded. “She wishes to leave at morningtide.”
It was Egan’s turn to nod. “And how long will she be gone?” The inquiry was made with no hint of his feelings.
Cameron was silent for a moment. “A very long time, I fear.”
Egan could not help it. He stared. “What? You mean she will not return?”
“She will not. She means to make her home there.” Cameron chuckled. “You needn’t sound so astounded, my friend. Blackstone was her childhood home—indeed, Blackstone was her home far longer than Dunthorpe has been.”
Egan felt a dull flush creep beneath his cheekbones. He prayed he hadn’t betrayed himself; thankfully Cameron didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. Yet a slow curl of darkness crept round his heart. Never to see Glenda again. Never to hear the sweet, low cadence of her voice…
As if from a distance, he heard Cameron sigh. “Mayhap ’tis for the best after all. Meredith will miss Glenda sorely, but…she grieves for Niall still. And mayhap it will always be so if she remains here at Dunthorpe.” There was a small pause. Cameron glanced over at him. “But with the babe just born, I fear I cannot take her. So you see, I must find someone to take her to Blackstone Tower—”
Nay
, Egan thought.
I pray you, Cameron, do not ask me. Ask me anything but this
…
“Will you, Egan?” The faintest of smiles curled Cameron’s lips. “Will you take my sister-in-law to Blackstone in my stead?”
For one full second Egan could say nothing. The full import of Cameron’s request washed through him. To be alone with Glenda…God’s wounds, it did not even bear thinking about…!
His mind screamed inwardly.
I cannot. Dear God, I cannot
! The words threatened to spring free. Reason told him it would be best. For this was the last thing he wanted…the
only
thing he wanted.
Yet everything inside had gone utterly still. This
was not wise. By the bones of Christ, not wise at all. He should tell Cameron the truth. Tell him why he could not take her…
The words would not come.
For they
could
not. Niall had been Cameron’s brother, and Cameron was his truest friend—and he dare not take the chance that such a thing might forever come between them.
Nay, Cameron must never know that he—Egan—had long hidden his feelings for Glenda. When Niall had brought home his bride, Egan had envied him, for Glenda was a beauty of a kind he’d never seen. He had come to admire her quiet serenity, her shy courage as she’d gradually gained acceptance into the clan; indeed, he’d been smitten almost from the beginning. Her brows were darker than her hair; there was a piquant slant to them that but hinted at the laughter beneath…a laughter that had been all but extinguished by the death of Niall, he admitted soberly. But Egan could scarcely confide in anyone, even his greatest friend, Cameron, for Glenda was Cameron’s sister-in-law. And so he had buried his feelings deep inside, in a place that he seldom acknowledged. There were times he’d even managed to convince himself they didn’t exist.
Now he knew better.
Yet, as if from a very great distance, he’d heard himself say, “You know I will, Cameron.”
It was done. He had agreed. He had given his word, and he would keep it.
Yet Egan could not withhold the faint bitterness that seeped into his soul. He had watched Glenda leave early this morn, when the mists still shrouded
the earth and the coolness of night still hovered on her breath. He knew she’d been to Niall’s grave. He’d watched her return, and he knew he had not imagined the sadness that lingered in the depths of her eyes.
Forever it was so, it seemed, that he had watched her.
Brutally he chastised himself. They were on their way and there was no turning back. He had given his word, and by all that was holy, he would keep it.
Had Egan but known her thoughts he would have been startled; in truth, he’d have been shocked to the depth of his being.
For Glenda was not so unaware of him as he was convinced.
She allowed Egan to set the pace of their travel, which was hard but not grueling. Near noonday they stopped to water the horses at a tiny loch that glistened like a jewel in the sunlight.
Standing behind Egan, she found her gaze inexorably drawn to him. He stood next to his stallion, his hand carelessly curled around the reins while the horses slurped noisily from the calm, crystalline waters, his booted feet braced slightly apart. When he turned his head to the south, the direction in which they traveled, she was afforded a view of his profile.
Unaware of her perusal, she examined him more thoroughly. Had she not known him, he would have frightened her. He was big, broader than any of the MacKay brothers had ever been, more than two hands taller than she—and, oh, aye, the hands of a man!—and not a diminutive one at that. His skin was
weathered a deep bronze which never faded, even in the deepest chill of winter.
He was, she found herself admitting, an arresting sight. Even when she’d come to Dunthorpe as a bride with eyes for no man but Niall, she’d always thought him attractive. His handsomeness was marred only by the thin white scar angled on his cheekbone just beneath his left eye.
Glenda swallowed. Had she but one word to describe Egan, what would it have been?
Intense
was the only word that sprang to mind.
Suddenly a memory rose high aloft in her mind, the memory of a night not so very long ago…the scene in the hall that night at Dunthorpe was one of merriment and gaiety—Daniel, one of Cameron’s men, had wed Alinda earlier that day. Though it was not the first wedding since Niall’s death, there had been a poignant ache in her heart that day. Lilting music filled the air and dancers swarmed the center of the hall; she’d been idly watching the celebration when someone had pulled her to her feet and swept her into the circle of dancers. Moments later, laughing breathlessly, she felt herself whirled around.
She came face to face with Egan. He did not reach for her, nor did she reach for him; it was as if neither of them knew what to do, as if…as if each were brought up short by the sight of the other. The moment passed in but an instant, for she was seized by another partner.
It was later she spied him near the hearth with Patsy, the alewife’s daughter. Patsy had smiled invitingly up at him, her arms twined familiarly around his neck…
When next she looked, he was gone…and so was Patsy.
She did not see either of them again that eve.
Sleep was elusive that night. A stark, wrenching loneliness spread through her; the ache was nearly unbearable. She thought of Daniel with Alinda…Egan with Patsy…
And her beloved Niall.
She cried herself to sleep that night…cried as she had not for so many, many months.
’Twas odd, the sensation aroused by that remembrance. Her gaze strayed to Egan again and again that day—just as they had that night.
Her earlier wish was all at once renewed…
Why couldn’t it have been Finn she was with
?
Glenda couldn’t withhold the yearning any more than she could stop the sudden clenching of the muscles of her stomach. Ah, but she should have known Cameron would want Egan to escort her!
In truth, she had known Egan nearly as long as she had known Niall. Though Niall and Cameron were brothers, the three of them had been so very close—Niall, Cameron, and Egan. Indeed, Egan had almost been raised as one of Ronald’s sons. Glenda knew that Niall had always regarded Egan as one of his own brothers. Yet somehow
she
had never thought of Egan as a brother—nay, never in this world…not in the same fond way in which she had always regarded Cameron. With Egan, it was never so easy to laugh and tease…indeed, had she ever laughed and teased with the same carefree abandon that she had with Cameron and his brothers? Nay, she thought slowly. Somehow she had always been far too con
scious of his masculinity. Yet it was not only that—Egan was not a man of secrets, yet he was never one to confide freely of his mind or his mood. Nay, he was not an easy man to know…indeed, when they had first met, for a time she’d been wary of him, convinced that Egan disliked her. When she confided it to Niall, he’d laughed and said that Egan’s quiet reserve was simply his way.
“Are you ready?”
It was him—Egan. In her absorption, she hadn’t noticed that he’d turned to face her. His countenance was unsmiling, his mouth a thin straight line. Coolly their eyes met; Glenda knew then that he was aware of her regard.
“Aye,” she said, shaken, though she could not have said why it was so. “Let us be on our way.”
The hours passed. Glenda rode a few yards behind him, for her palfrey was not so swift and long-legged as his stallion. Throughout the remainder of the day, the proud, straight line of Egan’s back never faltered; he was an excellent horseman. Yet he remained almost broodingly silent.
In time the sun dipped below the hills to the west. A murky haze began to fill the western horizon. Egan did not speak, but slowly brought his stallion to a halt near a stand of tall gray aspen surrounded by towering firs.
Druscilla dutifully trotted behind his steed, slowing down as well. As soon as his mount stopped, Egan swung down from the saddle. In but an instant strong hands closed around her waist; she felt herself lifted effortlessly from the saddle to the ground. At
the feel of his hands, both hot and cold flashed inside her. Saints above, why did he make her feel so uncomfortable? The question had no more than tumbled through her mind than one of her knees gave way, a betrayal of the long hours astride.
A sound of distress emerged—she couldn’t stop it; the grip on her waist remained staunchly firm.
“Steady now.”
Her gaze tripped up to his. “’Tis all right. I am fine.” The words were breathless, even to her own ears. Quickly she stepped back, breaking the contact between them.
His hands fell to his sides. His expression seemed to tighten…or was it but the deepening shadows of twilight?
Unable—or mayhap unwilling—to examine it just now, Glenda made her way toward a stout-limbed oak tree. Lowering herself to the soft, mossy ground, she leaned back against the hardy trunk and stretched out her legs. The gurgling sounds of the brook nearby filled her ears. She closed her eyes, thinking to rest just a moment.
Precisely what woke her, she was not certain. The next thing she knew, her eyes snapped open. The clearing was steeped in darkness, but the light from a blazing fire revealed Egan standing directly before her, arms crossed over his chest. A dark brow slashed upward, as if in vehement disapproval.
“If you were so tired, why did you not ask me to halt earlier?”
Glenda was not obliged to excuse his shortness. In all honesty, she hadn’t realized how exhausted she was until they stopped. “And if you did not wish to
escort me, you need not have done so. Cameron could have found someone else…Finn, mayhap!”
“Now, why would you say that?”
“Because you are angry.”
“I am not.”
That was Egan. Ever direct. Ever spare of words. Ever calm, never one to ponder and puzzle. Only then did she realize she was the one whose temper was short. Perhaps she was more tired than she realized.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“There is naught to forgive, Glenda.” His gaze was steady. “Are you hungry?”
Her chin bobbed. “I am,” she affirmed.
He turned and strode toward his stallion, returning with a small pouch. Lowering himself to the ground nearby, he rummaged through it and handed her a wedge of cheese and bread. Glenda ate hungrily, finishing off her portion of cheese before he did his own. Without speaking, he passed her a horn of ale. Glenda drank thirstily, then daintily wiped her mouth with the back of her knuckles and handed it back to him.
Glenda found herself unable to look away as he tipped the horn to his mouth. The muscles of his throat worked as he swallowed. That he drank from the very spot she had just abandoned seemed to bother him nary a trifle. Ah, if only Glenda could say the same!
His lips touched where hers had touched. And when next she drank, hers would touch where his had touched. ’Twas an intimacy she had shared with but one man…Niall. And within a very short time,
with Egan, for indeed, her thirst was not slaked. ’Twas an awareness that sent heat flooding to every pore of her skin.
In one lithe move, Egan rose to his feet, then moved to drop another handful of branches on the fire. When he resumed his place beside her, her gaze had yet to leave him.
Hair of black swept back from the broadness of his forehead. So near to him, she saw that his lashes were short and thick, curling slightly upward at the ends. A most handsome man, she thought anew, yet the scar lent him a decidedly dangerous look.
Something seemed to tremble inside her. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel safe. She had come to know Egan as a man of unquestionable loyalty—a man of unquestionable strength. She could never have been afraid of him. Never in this world. Had there been a need to choose a man to defend her, it could only have been Egan. She trusted him as she would trust few men…as Cameron trusted him.
“’Tis ugly, is it not?”
His tone was wholly matter-of-fact. It took an instant for Glenda to realize he referred to his scar. She flushed then, embarrassed that she’d been caught staring at him yet again!
“Nay,” she said quickly, “truly it is not.” It struck her then…there was something almost sad about Egan…of course they had spoken, many a time over the years, for they sat at the table together almost nightly. They had talked about others…but never about themselves. Never had she revealed to him her thoughts or feelings or emotions…why should she, a part of her rationalized, when she had
been married to another? Nay, she realized vaguely, never had she been given to wonder…
