The Laird of Stonehaven (3 page)

Douglas’s breathing was so labored, Graeme feared he was in imminent danger of expiring. Color drained from the old man’s face, and his emaciated frame began to shake uncontrollably.

“Very well, Douglas, I will wed your daughter,” Graeme said, respecting MacArthur too much to deny his dying request. “Announce our betrothal, and in a few years we will wed.”

Douglas’s distress was palpable. “Nay! Ye must wed her now! Today. Before Niall returns. Ye must be properly wed and the marriage consummated immediately. If Blair is to be protected from Niall’s machinations, there must be no doubt about the legality of the marriage. Once Blair is wedded and bedded, ye can carry her back to Stonehaven with ye.”

“Does Blair want this? Is she prepared to wed a stranger?”

Douglas’s eyelids drooped. Graeme thought he had fallen asleep until he stirred restively and opened his eyes. “Blair is a stubborn lass, but she will obey me. Ye are aware of the Prophecy, are ye not?”

“Aye, I’ve heard of it, but I dinna believe in Faery Women or witches.”

“There is one more thing ye must know about Blair. She is afraid of falling in love. According to the legend, a Faery Woman will lose her powers if she loves in vain, so she will resist ye.”

Graeme let that news sink in and was relieved that Blair expected no more from him than his protection. He had lost his heart to Joan the Maid and still grieved for the innocent girl who believed that God spoke to her. He doubted he would ever love again.

“What say ye, Graeme Campbell? Will ye wed my lass and keep her safe?”

“Mayhap I should meet your daughter first,” Graeme hedged.

“Aye,” Douglas said with a pained gasp, “but I warn ye, ye havena time to dither.”

As if on cue, Gavin appeared in the doorway. “Shall I fetch the wee lass for ye, Douglas?”

“Aye, Gavin, ask Blair to attend me.”

Douglas fell back against the pillow, his face ashen.

“Why does your daughter not heal you?” Graeme asked. “You claim she is a healer, yet you are gravely ill.”

Douglas gave Graeme a sad smile. “I am an old mon and have earned eternal rest. Blair is a healer, nae a miracle worker. I’ve seen her heal a wound by merely touching it, but there is nae cure for the cancer inside my gut.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “My one regret is leaving Blair at the mercy of those who wish her harm. ’Tis why I summoned ye to my bedside, Graeme. Will ye have my lass on those terms?”

The door opened. “You wished to see me, Father? Are you in pain? Shall I fetch something to ease your suffering?”

Steeling himself for his first look at the Faery Woman, Graeme turned to confront Blair MacArthur. He prayed she wasn’t as ugly as Stuart had described. Could he bed a woman with no beauty and naught to commend her but her reputation as a witch?

Graeme blinked, blinked again, then stared rudely at the vision poised in the doorway. The girl was slim and delicate, with an ethereal quality about her. A cloak of silver blond hair wrapped her slender form in mystery. Graeme watched as she approached the bed. She did not walk like a mere mortal; she floated. Her face bore not one blemish, not one mark of witchcraft. Her eyes were the same violet as the heather that graced the Scottish moors. Graeme realized he would have to look far and wide to find a woman as lovely as Blair MacArthur.

Her nose was straight and small. His appreciative gaze lingered on her high cheekbones, generous lips and stubborn little chin before moving on to her other attributes. The deep purple gown that covered her lithe form from head to toe did little to conceal her womanly curves. Blair MacArthur was no scrawny witch.

“Come closer, lass,” Douglas said, crooking a bony finger at her.

Only a sidelong glance acknowledged Graeme’s presence as Blair approached the bed. “How can I help you, Father? Are you in pain?”

“No more than usual, lass. There is someone here I would like ye to meet.”

Blair turned to greet Graeme and froze.
It was he!
The man in her dreams, possessing the same vitality and raw male strength as the lover in her vision. His brows appeared as dark wings set above eyes as blue as the sea, and the black hair visible beneath his bonnet had a reddish sheen. Taller than the MacArthurs she had grown up with, he radiated power and agility. He was surrounded by an aura of maleness and danger and shivery desire, something she knew little about.

His hands were large, and the legs beneath the Campbell plaid were well shaped and athletic. Overall, his unrelenting masculinity was intimidating, but still she could not look away.

“This is Blair?” Graeme asked.

Pride temporarily banished the weakness from Douglas’s voice. “Aye, this is my lass. Blair, greet Graeme Campbell, yer intended husband.”

Blair’s smile dissolved into a look of astonishment. “Father, what have you done?”

“What any caring father would do,” Douglas said. “Graeme will keep ye safe after I am gone. I canna trust Niall to look after ye.”

Blair’s heart sank to her toes as she cast a sidelong glance at Graeme Campbell. What would he expect of her as a wife? She could only give so much of herself to any man. The Prophecy was clear. She dared not love, for to love in vain spelled doom for a Faery Woman. Healing was her life; she had no room in it for a husband.

She whirled on Graeme. “You agreed to this?”

Graeme shifted uncomfortably. “I owe your father a great debt. ’Tis the least I can do for him.”

“Why are you not wed? You are of an age.”

“I could ask the same of you,” Graeme shot back.

“Enough!” Douglas growled. “Will ye wed my lass, Graeme Campbell?”

Blair’s stubborn chin tilted upward. “I willna wed Graeme Campbell . . . or any man.”

His strength fading fast, Douglas gasped, “Would ye prefer Donal MacKay? I didna want to tell ye, but Niall has promised ye to the MacKay laird.”

A shudder of revulsion passed through Blair. She knew why MacKay wanted her. He coveted her powers and would force her to use them for evil purposes. “I dinna want MacKay. I want no man.”

And especially not a man like Graeme Campbell. Too much about him attracted her. He was a man without equal, a man any woman could love. But the voice inside her warned that his heart belonged to another.

Could she wed Graeme Campbell and not grow to love him? she wondered. Her alliance with the Campbell laird was her father’s dying wish. Could she deny his request and have any peace of mind afterward?

She could not.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to love Graeme Campbell. And she would not.

“I would like to speak to Blair in private before she decides,” Graeme said, interrupting her thoughts.

“Aye, but ’twill change naught,” Douglas said. “Blair will have ye if she values her life.”

Graeme sent Blair a speaking look and strode out the door, apparently expecting her to follow. Deploring his arrogance, Blair decided to follow and get this over with once and for all.

“Where can we talk?” Graeme asked.

“In here,” Blair said, pushing past him into a curtained alcove. Graeme followed close on her heels. She turned to confront him. “What is it you wish to say to me that couldna be said in front of my father?”

“Only this. Your father is dying and he fears that harm will come to you after his death. He has asked me to wed you, and I am willing to fulfill his dying request.” He sent her a challenging look. “Are you?”

“I canna be what you want me to be,” Blair whispered. “The Prophecy—”

“—is but a legend. I believe not in legends, spirits or faeries. Nor did I ask for your love, if that is what you fear. I am a man of wide experience and have no difficulty satisfying my needs. If you do not wish an intimate relationship, then so be it. I dinna need an heir. I have relatives aplenty to take my place after I am gone.”

She shuddered. “You make an alliance between us sound so cold.”

“I am being practical.”

“Do you love another?”

Graeme stared off into space, a cloud of sadness dimming his eyes. “Aye, but not in the way you think. My love is pure and true, on a higher plane than earthly love, but ’tis enough to sustain me.”

Briefly Blair wondered what paragon held Graeme’s heart, then quickly dismissed her question. She did not want to know. If she must wed Graeme Campbell, the less she knew about his emotional state, the better. Yet she could not forget her dreams, for they had seemed so very real.

So real that when she looked at him, her gaze penetrated his clothing to his warrior’s body. She closed her eyes and saw him towering over her with his man part full, erect and ready. In her dream she had opened to welcome him. Heat engulfed her, and a cry escaped her lips.

Graeme’s gruff voice pulled her from her vision. “Are you all right, lass?”

Her lids flew open and she saw him staring at her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Aye, I am fine.”

Graeme studied Blair’s face with penetrating intensity. “Your father said you had healing powers. Do you also have ‘the sight’? Were you having a vision?” His expression grew stern. “Before you answer, know that I willna allow any dabbling in witchcraft. If we wed, I willna have you frightening my kinsmen with spells and such nonsense. You can heal their ills, but there will be no magic involved.”

Blair turned away. “Mayhap I should take my chances with MacKay. Though I dinna fully understand them, I canna deny my powers, and there are times when I am visited by spirits.”

Graeme sent her a quelling look. “Such talk is dangerous in these times.”

Blair drew herself up to her meager height. “I didna say I was a witch, and my powers are not used for evil purposes.”

“Evil or nay, there will be no casting of spells at Stonehaven. Shall we return to your father?”

Blair balked. She did not know Graeme Campbell. His outer beauty belied his harsh nature. What kind of husband would he make? He had promised to protect her, but that seemed to be as far as he was prepared to go. He had another love; his heart could never belong to her. But that was a good thing, was it not? Knowing where she stood with Graeme Campbell would keep her from losing her heart to him. She must heed the Prophecy’s warning.

“Verra well, Graeme Campbell. I will wed you so that my father can die in peace, but there will be no intimacy between us.”

Graeme appeared amused rather than disappointed. “As you wish, lass. I have no problem with taking a mistress or two.”

The thought of Graeme bedding another woman caused Blair an unwelcome pang. Why did she even care? She knew little about the Campbell laird. What she did know had been gleaned only from her recurring dreams. And they had been more erotic than informative. However much she tried to deny it, the spirits had proclaimed him her future.

“So be it,” Blair said. “I will wed you on my terms, Graeme Campbell.”

“And I will wed you to repay a debt to your father,” Graeme answered. He offered his arm. “Shall we tell him our good news?”

They returned together to the bedchamber, where Douglas anxiously awaited them.

“Did ye settle it between ye?” Douglas asked.

“We have,” Graeme announced.

“I knew ye would not let me down,” Douglas said, “so I sent Gavin for the priest. Ye must take Blair with ye to Stonehaven immediately after the consummation.”

“Consummation?” squeaked Blair.

“Is that necessary?” Graeme asked.

“Aye. There must be no grounds to dissolve yer marriage. Naught must be left undone. Ye will consummate your vows immediately following the ceremony.”

“Nay!” Blair cried.

“Ye will obey me in this, Daughter,” Douglas insisted. He fixed his gaze on Graeme. “I will have yer vow, Graeme Campbell. Will ye wed Blair?”

Graeme glanced at Blair, moved by her beauty, yet uncomfortable with what and who she was. Neither he nor Blair wanted the marriage, but he did not have the heart to deny the dying laird.

“I will honor your request, Douglas,” Graeme agreed. “I will wed your daughter and take her to Stonehaven with me when I leave. And I swear to protect her with my life.”

A discreet knock on the door announced the priest. Graeme watched with little enthusiasm and a great deal of astonishment as a rawboned Scotsman wearing the MacArthur plaid over his black cassock strode into the chamber. Graeme stared at the priest’s flame-colored hair and beard; he looked like one of the wild Vikings who had invaded their lands long ago.

“Gavin said ye were ready for me,” the priest said in a booming voice.

“Thank ye for coming, Lachlan. Graeme Campbell has agreed to the marriage,” Douglas said. “Ye can begin.”

Lachlan searched Graeme’s face, then thrust out his hand. “I’m Father Lachlan MacArthur. Is my kinsman correct? Have ye agreed to wed Blair?”

“Aye,” Graeme answered.

“And ye, Blair? Will ye have Graeme Campbell?”

“Of course she will,” Douglas snapped.

Blair nodded jerkily. Graeme thought she looked like a trapped doe looking for a way to escape. “Aye, I will have Graeme Campbell.”

As if on cue, Gavin and an older woman Graeme had never seen before entered the chamber. Father Lachlan acknowledged their presence with a curt nod and began the ritual that would bind Graeme and Blair forever.

The ceremony was blessedly brief. In a matter of minutes it was over, leaving Graeme with a queer feeling in the pit of his stomach. Blair was not the wife of his dreams. Nevertheless, she was his to protect until death parted them.

“The bedding,” Douglas gasped. “Get on with the bedding.”

Blair sent Father Lachlan a pleading look, but he shrugged off her mute appeal. “Yer father has the right of it, lass. ’Tis for yer own protection. The Campbell is yer husband now, there is nae shame in it.”

“Now I can die in peace,” Douglas said, shooing them off. “Lachlan will comfort me in my final hours.”

“I wouldna leave you, Father,” Blair sobbed. “Let me stay with you.”

“Nay, Daughter. My soul is at peace now that I know ye will be safe from Niall’s machinations. If I am still alive on the morrow, come bid me goodbye. If I have already passed, dinna mourn me overlong, for I have lived a full life. Know that my last wishes are for yer happiness, so do as I say, lass, and go along with yer husband. As for ye, Graeme Campbell, dinna let a dying mon down. I will arrange for Blair’s dowry to be transferred to ye.”