The Chief (41 page)

How horrible! She bit her lip, still struggling with the realization that her friend had betrayed them. She felt Tor's gaze on her face and lifted her eyes to his. “And when you left him?”

He held her gaze. “He'd seen us.”

Christina nodded in understanding. It could be no other way. The clerk had known what he'd risked, what would happen if he were caught. But still, her heart filled with sadness to know of his death.

Sensing her distress, Tor swept a lock of hair from her face, lingering to caress her bruised cheek with the back of his finger. “He did not suffer. And I believe he truly regretted your part in his treachery. He genuinely cared for you.”

The tenderness of the caress confused her—as did his kind words. Did he have to make this so difficult? She just wanted to get it over with. Turning her face from his hand, she took a step away from him. “I should not have left you the way I did.”

“Nay, you shouldn't have.”

“It was cowardly not to say good-bye. But…I…I didn't know if I'd have the strength.”

“Why did you leave me, Tina?”

Something in his voice made her heart catch.
No
. She would not allow herself to imagine feelings where none
existed. She didn't look at him when she answered. “Because I could not bear a lifetime of living with someone who could never love me. Who would not allow me to share in his life because he did not care for me or value me.”

“I see,” he said evenly. “If that were true, then you had every cause to leave.”

I did?
Her gaze shot to his, his expression unreadable. Of course she did. He must have recognized the futility of their marriage as well. Her insides burned. Why did the truth have to hurt so much? Couldn't he pretend to care just a little bit? She lowered her gaze, not wanting him to see the tears in her eyes. Somehow she got the words out, though each felt stuck in her throat. “If you could take me to Iona on your journey back, I will not bother you again.”

“I'm afraid I can't do that,” he said softly.

Pain welled up inside her like a hot sear of iron on raw flesh. “Of course you will be busy with your team and the earl. Perhaps you might arrange a boat to take me—”

“Nay.”

The definitiveness of the refusal finally made her look at him.

“You aren't going to Iona,” he said.

She didn't understand. “But you swore that if I ever wished to leave, you would allow me to retire to Iona with my sister.”

He shrugged. “I've changed my mind.”

“But you can't do that. You made a
vow.”

He grinned at her outraged expression. The sight was so unexpected considering the circumstances that she didn't know what to do. How could he be so cruel as to taunt her like this? But then she looked into his eyes, and what she saw there stopped her heart.

Taking advantage of her confusion, he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her against him, molding her body to his. He kissed her. Gently. Tenderly. With almost
reverent emotion. “I will do whatever I must to keep you by my side,” he said.

All signs of laughter were gone, and she read uncertainty in his gaze.

But Tor was
never
uncertain.

“I don't understand.”

This time he was the one to pull away. He raked his fingers through his still damp hair. It fell in delicious, rumpled waves just past his ears. “I'm not very good at this.”

She waited for him to continue, not sure what “this” was.

He drew a deep breath. “When I realized that I might lose you, it was as if something inside me shifted. As if everything I thought I knew had been suddenly turned around.”

He seemed to be in considerable agony, but she took no pity on him. “What do you mean?”

“Ever since my parents died and I became chief, I've thought I had to be different. That the only way to do my duty to my clan was to cut myself off from all emotion. But in doing so I forgot how to live. You brought warmth into my life,” he said, stroking her cheek with the back of his finger. “I thought I didn't need anyone, but I was wrong. I need you, Tina. Without you in my life, there is only coldness.”

He paused, and Christina stared at him. “For someone who isn't good at talking about your feelings you're doing a fantastic job.”

He smiled with relief. “Then you've heard enough?”

She shook her head.

“I know I was an arse.” She didn't disagree with him. “I said things that I have no right to ask you to forgive. I have no defense other than the belief that I had to do everything alone. I know you were only trying to help me. Nor were you the only one fooled by an unassuming clerk. I do value you. I always have, though I might not have known how
much. I've never though of a woman for a clerk, but you proved me wrong. Rhuairi said your calculations were impeccable. And after what you did today…because of you, Bruce will live to fight tomorrow.” The pride in his gaze could not be feigned. “Forgive me, Tina. Come home with me and give me another chance.”

Her heart was near bursting. She wanted nothing more than to bury her head against his chest and surrender to the hope he was offering. But her head refused to allow her to be swayed so easily. She could not endure another cold retreat like last time.

“How do I know that you won't do exactly the same thing the next time I do something to upset you?”

He gave her a wary look. “Are you planning on upsetting me a lot?”

She pursed her mouth and stuck up her chin. “I just might. I can't be content only being your wife in the bedchamber. I'm afraid you might find me quite demanding.”

“How demanding?” he asked as if he were having a tooth pulled.

“Very.
If
I agree to come back, I'm afraid that things are going to be different.”

He gave her a pained look. “You aren't going to make this easy, are you?”

“I'm afraid not.” He inclined his head for her to continue. “Occasionally, I might wish you to show me affection before your clansmen.”

Now he winced. “Surely, that isn't necess—”

“A tender look, maybe a brief kiss. Nothing that should be too difficult.”

“You won't be the one listening to MacSorley around the campfire.”

“I'm sure you are man enough to handle it,” she said unsympathetically. Fearsome warriors shouldn't whine. “And at times I might wish to offer my opinion about subjects you are discussing.”

“As long as you agree with me.”

“Even when those opinions don't agree with yours.”

His mouth twitched. “In private you may contradict me all you like.”

She nodded. “That seems reasonable.”

“Is that all?” he asked, looking like a man who was being walked to the executioner's block.

She shook her head and gazed up at him, hoping she didn't sound as vulnerable as she felt. “I must demand your heart as well.”

“You have it,” he said without hesitation. She forced herself not to move. He made a pained face. “I'm going to have to say it, aren't I?” he asked.

She nodded. “Afraid so. I really must hear it if I am to believe it.”

“You are a cruel woman.”

“Not cruel. Ruthless.” She grinned impishly. “I learned from the best.”

Then he did something she'd never thought to see him do, something that she would never forget for the rest of her life. Her husband, the proud chief, king to his clan, the greatest warrior of his age, took her hand and knelt on one knee before her.

“I love you, Tina. I may not be the knight you wished for, but come back to me and I vow that I shall strive to prove my love to you every day for the rest of our lives.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Do you mean it?”

A wry grin spread across his handsome face. “Considering my current position you have to ask?” He grinned. “Aye, love, I mean it. I love you with all my heart.” She knew he'd never said those words to anyone in his life. “Will you give me another chance?”

She nodded.

He let out a groan of relief, pulled her into his arms, and didn't let go until he'd proved it to her. Over and over again.

A! Fredome is a noble thing!

—John Barbour,
The Brus

Near Scone Abbey, Perthshire, March 27, 1306

The first rays of dawn broke above the horizon. As if God were raising his hand to bless the ceremony himself, beams of bright orange light shot like fingers through the circle of stones. The dramatic effect was only heightened by the eerie sound of the pipes floating through the crisp spring air. It didn't seem to matter that the stones themselves were pagan; their haunting majesty transcended such considerations. They were a link to Scotland's ancient past, a symbol of strength and continuity, and as mysterious as the men who were about to kneel before the newly crowned King of Scotland to pledge their service—and their lives.

As one of a handful of witnesses to the secret ceremony taking place among the pagan stones, Christina could not think of a more fitting backdrop. Her husband, of course, had hoped to keep her tucked safely away on Skye. But she would not have missed this for anything. She'd more than earned the right to be here and wouldn't let him forget it.

Her discovery had led to the final reckoning between Bruce and Comyn, and ultimately, to this day. A little over
seven weeks ago, Bruce had killed his nemesis the Red Comyn before the altar in Greyfriars church. The fiery cross had spread across the land, calling the Scots to Bruce's banner, and just two days ago at Scone Abbey, the historic crowning place of Scotland's kings, Robert Bruce was crowned King of Scotland—albeit without the ancient Stone of Scone stolen by King Edward ten years ago.

The witnesses to the coronation were fewer than Bruce had hoped. Three of the nine bishops were present—including the most influential, Lamberton—and of the thirteen earldoms, only the earls of Atholl, Menteith, Lennox, and Mar had answered the call. Especially noticeable was the absence of the young Earl of Fife, who had the hereditary right and duty to crown Scotland's kings. Without Fife's presence, some would question the validity of the ceremony. But the young earl was still in England, a ward of King Edward, and the attempt to bring him here had failed.

Bruce stood before the largest stone wearing the royal vestments and a circlet of gold around his head, the sun rising like a halo above him. “We can't wait any longer,” he said to Tor. “We shall have to proceed without them.”

“They'll be here,” Tor said firmly. “Give them ten more minutes.”

They needed only half that. For not five minutes later three figures appeared over a crest in the hill to the south, riding hard toward them. In a thunderous rise of pounding hooves, the three newcomers burst into the center of the circle.

Two of the figures she recognized as her husband's men, one of whom was Lachlan MacRuairi. The third was a lady. Christina grinned, realizing their mission had been a success. The young Earl of Fife might not be here, but his sister had come in his stead.

MacRuairi moved to help her down, but the lady—in this case a countess—gave him a contemptuous look and
hopped down without taking his hand. The dark look on his face chilled Christina's blood. Sweeping regally past the menacing Highlander, the countess rushed toward the king, coming to kneel before him. The hood of her cloak slipped back, revealing long white-blond hair, a paradox of softness compared to the steely determination on her strong features. She was young, Christina realized, perhaps only a handful of years older than herself, with bold features more striking than beautiful.

“Your grace,” she said, her voice husky and proud. “I came as soon as I could. I hope I am not too late?”

Bruce gave her such a warm smile that Christina wondered whether there was truth to the rumors of a prior liaison between them. “Nay, Bella, not too late. Never too late. Not when you have risked so much to come here.”

Bruce was not alone in his awe of the young countess's bravery. Lady Isabella MacDuff had defied both a husband and a king to be there. For she was not just the sister to the Earl of Fife, but also the wife of the Earl of Buchan, John Comyn—the Red Comyn's cousin and a loyal supporter of King Edward. If Edward got the chance, Christina did not doubt he would make her pay for this day.

For the second time in as many days, she watched as Robert Bruce was crowned King of Scotland, but this time the circlet of gold was placed on his head by Lady Isabella.
“Beannachd De Righ Alban,”
the countess said when she was done. God bless the King of Scotland.

The rebel countess was whisked away afterward to join Bruce's wife and sisters at the palace. Isabella MacDuff had made her choice by riding to Bruce and could not return to her husband or the young daughter she'd left behind. Unconsciously, Christina put her hand on her stomach, unable to imagine that kind of sacrifice. She'd had her suspicions confirmed only a few days ago, but already felt a deep attachment to the child she was carrying.

At last, it was time for the ceremony she'd been waiting for.

One by one, the warriors of Bruce's elite Highland Guard stepped forward. Even in the daylight they were a fearsome sight. If she hadn't come to know them all in the past two months, Christina would have thought them unreal—a figment of myth or fantasy. All in black, their identities masked by their darkened nasal helms, the secret warriors were called out by their code names to kneel below Bruce's great sword. MacSorley was dubbed “Hawk,” MacRuairi “Viper,” MacKay “Saint,” Boyd “Raider,” Lamont “Hunter,” MacLe an “Striker,” MacGregor “Arrow,” Seton “Dragon,” and Gordon “Templar.”

The last warrior to be called out was the one she'd been waiting for. The men had refused to tell her the name they'd decided on for her husband.

“Chief,” Bruce called out.

Her chest squeezed, moved by the great honor the men had bestowed on her husband. They might have come from different clans, but Tor had bound them together into a new one: MacLeomhann. Son of the Lion. A clan based not on kinship, but on a common purpose: freedom, and, as the new lion rampant tattoo on her husband's arm signified, the restoration of Scotland's crown to a Scot.

She could see her husband's eyes bright beneath the steel of his helm and knew the name had affected him, too.

Heart in her throat, Christina watched as her husband moved forward to kneel before his king. Never had she been more proud of him. She knew the danger, but what he and these men were about to embark on would change history. Keeping his involvement secret would be difficult, but they were fortunate that he had a twin brother to help cover for him when he was away.

Away
. They would both sacrifice for this war.

But when Tor bowed his head, and the blade of Bruce's sword touched his shoulder, Christina knew that she'd found something far better than the knight of her dreams.
She'd found the Highlander of her heart and a love that would last a lifetime.

The ten warriors formed a circle around their king. Swords raised above his head, they cried out,
“Airson an Leomhann!”
For the Lion. A cry that would come to strike fear in men's hearts.

Operation Lion Rampant had begun.