The Chief (13 page)

Lamberton frowned. “Do you have reason to believe she would have sought sanctuary in the church?”

“Aye,” her father said. “The foolish girl thought to take the veil. Of all the ridiculous notions; with her beauty I could gain a kingdom.” Noticing the bishop's darkening expression, he amended hurriedly. “It is just a silly girl's fancy, nothing more.”

“It isn't a fancy,” Christina countered vehemently, outraged by her father's lie. “It is all she dreams of.” She turned to Lamberton, remembering the kindness he'd shown her. He was a bishop, a churchman—surely he understood the spiritual calling? “There's something special about my sister. Something pure and holy. She's always wanted a life dedicated to God. Marriage…” Tears blurred her vision. “It would kill her.” She felt Tor's steadying hand on her arm. The unexpected comforting gesture made her chest squeeze. “I couldn't let that happen,” she said in a whisper.

Tor gave Lamberton a long look. “I think her fear of marriage is understandable under the circumstances.”

The bishop took his meaning, his expression suggesting that he couldn't agree more. Staring at Christina's father, he said, “After the way you secured the betrothal of one
daughter, I think a gift of your second to the church is fitting atonement, wouldn't you agree?”

MacDonald smothered a sharp laugh with a cough.

Her father's mouth tightened so hard the veins in his thick neck bulged a fiery red. “You ask too much,” he said through clenched teeth. “It will cost me a small fortune.”

Not only in the lost alliance. A woman from a good family entering a nunnery would be expected to give a substantial dowry.

“Consider it an indulgence to me,” Tor said flatly, but the threat was clear. Her father was getting off lightly.

Her father had been backed into a corner and knew it. Beatrix was lost to him.

Christina couldn't believe it. Her sister was safe. Truly safe. The unexpected gift from her husband more than made up for the disappointment of their wedding ceremony.

Playing the good host, MacDonald moved to soothe her father's pride. “Come, Fraser, join me in the solar. We'll find some
cuirm
and attend to that arm. We have much to celebrate this day. Let us not forget it.” To Tor he added, “You're certain you won't stay for the feast?”

He shook his head. “I've delayed long enough already. From the amount of food I saw being loaded on the
birlinn
, I think we are bringing half the feast with us. We'll leave as soon as the lass is ready.” He gave her an expectant look.

“I have only a few trunks,” she said. “The rest will have to be sent for.”

“And your servants?”

Christina motioned to the maid who'd been watching the proceedings from a safe distance. “Mhairi has agreed to come with me.” The poor girl was only too eager to be away from Christina's father. Christina was grateful for the familiar face.

Her father and MacDonald had started to make their way out of the chapel, with Lamberton close behind. Her
father had taken that well—too well. He must have wanted their alliance greatly to acquiesce so easily. They were planning something; she was certain of it.

Tor stopped MacDonald's henchman before he could follow. “MacSorley, stay for a moment.” He turned to her. “If you'll tell me where your sister has gone, I will see that she has arrived safely.” Christina hesitated, and he seemed to anticipate the reason why. “Your father will keep his word. I will see to it.”

The steely certainty in his voice checked her doubts. There was very little she did not think this man could do. In her mind, he'd become even greater than the magnificent heroes in her books. Her moment of hesitation suddenly seemed disloyal. What was the matter with her? She should be grateful for his thoughtfulness. They'd been married for only a few minutes and already he was offering to help her. Besides, she was anxious to assure herself that Beatrix had arrived safely as well.

“I'm sorry; of course I will tell you. Thank you, for everything. Beatrix has gone to the nunnery on Iona.”

He arched a brow, clearly impressed. There were other places she could have gone that were far closer. He eyed her speculatively, as if something suddenly made sense. “You arranged a boat?”

She nodded.

He held her gaze for a moment before turning to MacSorley. “Catch up with them and make sure that the lady arrives safely. Tell her she has nothing to fear.”

MacSorley gave him a curt nod and started to turn away. Christina didn't know what surprised her more—that Tor was giving orders to MacDonald's henchman or that he was following them.

“But the boat left at dawn,” she said. “You'll never catch them.”

The two men exchanged amused glances, and then the big pirate gave her a jaunty grin. “Consider it done, my
lady. Is there anything you wish me to tell her when I catch up to her?”

Christina admired his brash confidence, crazed as it seemed. She thought for a moment. Their leave-taking this morning had been hurried and tainted by the fear of discovery. Just as Christina worried about sending Beatrix off, she knew her sister worried about leaving her behind. But Christina was even more certain that she'd made the right decision. Not only had her husband calmly listened to her explanation and stood up for her, he'd ensured her sister's safety and happiness.

“Tell her…” She hesitated, gazing into those piercing blue eyes. Her heart swelled with admiration for this handsome man who'd burst into her life just when she needed him. “Tell her that I believe she was right the first time.”

Maybe what had happened was for the best.

She'd kept her vow to her sister, escaped her father, and found a knight as honorable and gallant as Lancelot.

Her future looked promising indeed.

Islanders were as at home on the sea as they were on land, and Tor was no exception. The cold, icy wind that tore across the waves invigorated his blood as surely as it filled the sails. Feet braced wide, he handled the ropes to the sails like the reins of a horse, feeling the power of harnessing the wind flex through his arms and hands.

There was nothing like it, and no place that he would rather be than on a
birlinn
with his men, the wind ripping through his hair, the scent of the sea filling his nose, the taste of salt on his lips, with nothing but blue as far as the eye could see.

Which today wasn't very far. As the light faded, the clouds had thickened and descended into mist. With about an hour of daylight left, visibility had decreased to less than a half mile or so. They'd lost sight of the mainland coast some time ago, but he didn't need it to navigate. He could find his way back to Skye blind.

They'd made good time. The wind had been at their backs for most of the journey. If it continued, they would be at Dunvegan Castle within the hour.

His gaze drifted toward the woman huddled at the bow of the boat. His wife. From the slumped position of the figure beside her, he guessed her maidservant had fallen
asleep. After the amount of time she'd spent with her head over the edge of the boat, he wasn't surprised. That his new bride was not plagued by seasickness pleased him. Perhaps she wasn't as ill-suited to this way of life as he'd feared.

He felt an unwelcome stab, unable to ignore the fact that she looked lonely.

More than once he'd caught her watching him. Practically swallowed up by the heavy woolen huque that she wore, all he could see were two big eyes looking up at him expectantly—eagerly. Obviously, she hoped that he would join her.

But the way she looked at him made him uneasy. It was as though she thought he was some kind of hero. Perhaps, given her father, it was understandable. To her it no doubt seemed as if he'd rescued her. But he was no knight errant. He'd married her because it had been worth his while, not because he couldn't stop seeing her face when he'd refused to marry her.

It wasn't that he was without sympathy; he just didn't want to set up unrealistic expectations or have her suffer under any illusions.

He belonged to his clan, not to one woman.

But the pricking in his conscience would not go away. It was her wedding day, and rather than joining her for a celebratory feast, he'd boarded her on a
birlinn
for a long, uncomfortable journey. And she'd borne it all with nary a word of complaint.

It would do no harm to see if she was warm enough. With a sigh of resignation, he handed the ropes to one of his men and made his way down the center of the boat to where she was seated.

She turned, and reading his intent, the radiant smile that spread across her face stopped him in his tracks.

Hell
. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea. But it was too late to turn around. Untying the fur-lined brat that he wore
around his shoulders, he held it out to her. “Here, take this. You must be freezing.”

He wasn't used to having women onboard or he would have thought of it before. She was such a tiny thing, with little to protect her from the elements. He could see the cold on her pink, windblown cheeks.

She eyed it hesitantly. “But won't you be cold? You have only a
cotun.”

He shook his head. “I'm used to it. Besides, I have a plaid if I need it.” He dropped it around her shoulders. “Take it.”

She smiled up at him, and he felt a strange pinch between his ribs.

“Thank you,” she said, a soft blush upon her cheeks. “It's very thoughtful of you.”

He stared at her for a moment longer, unable to force his feet to move. Finally, he pulled his gaze away, clearing his throat uncomfortably. Damn, it was almost as if he was flustered! He was a battle-hardened warrior of one and thirty years, not a lad of eight and ten. “Aye, well, it won't be much longer. We should arrive within the hour.” He turned to go.

“Wait!” she said hastily. “Can't you sit for a moment?”

Her small white teeth bit into the soft pillow of her lush pink lip. He felt another stab, this time much lower. His cock stirred, thinking of the night to come. Quickly, he shifted his gaze, annoyed by the lapse.

Sensing that he was going to say no, she added, “Please, there is something I should like to say.”

“It can't wait until we arrive?” Though what he had in mind for her when they arrived wouldn't leave much time for talking.

She tucked an errant strand of dark hair behind her ear self-consciously. It was dainty and small like the rest of her—shaped like a perfect pink shell.

“Perhaps it's silly, but I'd like to arrive at Dun…
vegan?” He nodded. “With this said. With all the unpleasantness behind us.” She smiled sheepishly, “Besides, if I don't say it right now, I might lose my courage.”

With the seat on the bench beside her occupied by her snoring maid, he moved around to sit opposite her, his back facing the bow of the boat. “Very well, what is it you would like to say?”

She drew a deep breath and spoke softly, so as to not be overheard by the men seated nearby at the oars. “I wanted to apologize for my part in what happened that night.” He stiffened reflexively in anger at the subject, and she added quickly, “Please, you must believe me when I say that I did not know what my father truly intended. He swore that it would be a minute or two. I didn't realize…” Her eyes dropped. Even in the semidarkness he could see her cheeks burning. “I didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. But I did sneak into your room, knowing my father wanted to force you into marrying me, and for that I'm sorry.”

Not exactly a point he wanted to remember. His pride still smarted that she'd managed to get past his considerable guard. He bit back his anger and asked evenly, “Why did you do it?”

She turned her head away, embarrassed. “If I didn't do as my father ordered…”

She couldn't get the words out, so he finished for her. “He would have beat you.” It was as he'd thought: She'd been coerced. But as much as he hated some men's abuse of their women, and could sympathize with her fear, it didn't change the fact that she'd gone along with her father's treachery and in doing so had put him in an untenable position. “And you never thought of refusing?”

Perhaps she heard the latent accusation in his question because a sting of pride replaced some of her embarrassment. She eyed his arms and shoulders, her gaze traveling down the length of him in a way that made his blood heat.
“Not everyone is as tall as a mountain and stacked with muscles like rock.”

She'd noticed his body, had she? The heat in his blood roared a little hotter.

“I'd wager it's been some time since someone stronger looked down on you. I may not be brave or courageous like you, but I would have taken his beating if it were only me. But I wouldn't have been the only one to suffer by my refusal to do as he bid.”

“You were protecting your sister.” The realization effectively killed any anger and resentment he might have felt for the lass for her part in her father's treachery. He could not blame her for defending her sister.

She gave a half smile. “I was scared, too. But what I said before about Beatrix is true—she was sick as a child and has never been strong.” He could hear her voice tighten with emotion. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I almost lost her last time. I couldn't take the chance. I know it was wrong and a horrible thing to do—and I told him so. But at the time I thought there would be little harm—my father would discover us after a few minutes and try to force a betrothal, but you would never have to go through with it.”

He'd already guessed what she meant. “You planned to leave with your sister?”

She nodded, avoiding his gaze. “Yes.”

Until he'd taken her innocence and she'd changed her mind. It would have been the perfect solution. Even after what had happened, she still could have gone, so why hadn't she? He wasn't sure he wanted to know. He must have revealed more of his thoughts than he realized because she added shyly, “I'm not sure I'm suited to be a nun.”

The blush that stained her cheeks sent a bolt of heat to his groin. The knowledge that he might have awakened her passion—that she might have enjoyed the way he'd touched her—set his blood on fire.

She was an innocent maid, but what if she was as passionate as she looked? His balls tightened. Just thinking about all the erotic things he'd like to do to her made him wild with lust. If she actually did them…?

He promptly switched the subject. “That night when I found you wandering around alone and you wouldn't tell me what you were about—it had something to do with your plan to flee to Iona, didn't it?”

He'd made the connection earlier, when she admitted to being involved with her sister's disappearance. He had to admit his initial impressions of the lass had not done her justice. What he'd ascribed to temerity and foolishness were actually the desperate acts of a girl trying to protect her sister. He liked that she'd taken action.

She nodded, shuddering at the memory. “I had gone to the village to arrange passage on the boat. I didn't dare take anyone with me; if my father discovered what we planned I didn't want anyone to be punished. It took longer than I expected. Women walk around freely in Touchfraser, servants even more so. I never realized something like that could happen in the middle of a crowded castle.”

She was not foolish, he realized, but sheltered. “It can happen anywhere,” he said flatly, not wanting her to think the ravishing of women was limited to the “barbarian” isles—although he did recognize that their way of life was rougher than in the Lowlands. “You will be quite safe at Dunvegan, but you must never leave the castle without a guard.” The thought of something happening to her…“Promise me,” he said vehemently—too vehemently.

Eyes wide, she nodded again. She'd mistaken the source of his anger. “I know you had no wish to marry me, and that because of my father's trick you felt honor bound to do so, but I swear I will cause you no more trouble.” He wanted to laugh. If she only knew how impossible that was. But his amusement disappeared when she added, “I will try to please you.”

He stopped breathing, the soft entreaty sending dangerous images through his head. Like of her on her knees taking him deep in her mouth.

God, he could almost feel the hot stroke of her tongue. He was hard as a rock. The lass had no idea the havoc her innocent words had wracked on his baser desires. She would please him. Too well. But that was not what she meant.

“It had nothing to do with you,” he explained. “I simply did not think the alliance would benefit my clan.”

She looked confused. “But the Frasers are an old and powerful family.”

“Aye, an old and powerful
Scot
family.” He wondered how much she knew about her father's plans. “I prefer to stay out of Scotland's politics—and its wars.”

“But how can you? You
are
a Scot.”

“I'm an Islander,” he said, as if the distinction should be obvious.

“But a Scottish subject still.” She looked at him with growing horror. “Surely, you don't support Edward?”

The famous patriotic Fraser blood clearly ran in her veins. “I support my clan. I do what's best for them.”

He'd said all he intended to say on the matter, but then she surprised him. “And marrying me—a Fraser—would pit you against Edward if there is another rebellion.”

His gaze narrowed, and he lowered his voice. “What do you know of a rebellion?”

She immediately looked contrite, realizing that she should not speak of treason so freely. “Nothing. It's just that my father makes no secret of his hatred for Edward, and because of Lamberton's presence and how badly they wanted this alliance, I assumed they wanted your skills as a warrior for something.”

He couldn't believe how close she'd come to the truth. He realized he was going to have to tread carefully around her. The lass was too damned clever for her own good.

He couldn't remember ever having a conversation like this with a woman. Hell, he rarely talked this much with his men. Vaguely bothered by the fact, he said brusquely, “What's done is done. We will simply make the best of it.”

Her expression dropped; she looked crestfallen by the abrupt change in his tone.

“I'm truly sorry for my part in what happened.” She lifted her gaze to his. “I hope you will be able to forgive me.”

God's blood, there it was again. That sweet, vulnerable look in her eyes that filled him with an urge to pull her into his arms and move heaven and earth to make it go away.

“It's your father who should be seeking forgiveness, not you,” he said brusquely. His mouth fell in a hard line. “He should be flogged for sending an innocent maid into a room like that, knowing well that I would think you were a very different kind of woman.” Embarrassed heat flooded her cheeks, but he held her gaze. “Because of that I caused you pain, and for that I'm sorry.” His voice deepened. “It won't be like that next time.”