God help her, she was doomed.
Mhairi glanced at the big bed then away. Fear stuck its talons deep into her vitals. In the pit of her stomach, the meal she'd eaten congealed into a cold, indigestible lump.
"Aye, you're that." Jean set the stays aside, leaving Mhairi wearing only her petticoats and long-sleeved white shift. "But you're also a bonny lassie with a wild spirit. That calls to the lad."
She made a despairing gesture. "I dinnae want to hear this."
Jean’s look held a hint of compassion. "Ye can fight him all you like, but he'll win. And he'll make you think you've won, too. I’ve known him all his life. His father was the same. Quiet determination and immovable will achieve his ends better than bluster and temper ever could."
"Stop it." Mhairi raised her hands to her ears to keep out the relentless truth.
Because she dreaded that it was the truth. Hadn't she sworn she'd take nothing from the Mackinnon’s hands? Yet here she was in his bedchamber, wearing fine clothes that were his gift and eating from his kitchens. Even when she escaped him, he'd just outwaited her. Hadn't she tried to break his endless good humor with her insubordination, to make him retaliate and prove himself a barbarian? And all she'd met was more of that endless tolerance.
She felt like a wave beating itself to froth against a high cliff. For the first time, she wondered if Callum Mackinnon might actually win this battle. She was strong and determined, but it was possible he was stronger still.
No, she wouldn't countenance the idea. She was a Drummond, and Drummonds weren’t cowards. She straightened and sent Jean a haughty look. "Leave me."
As she curtsied, the woman's eyes were understanding. "I'll give ye a few minutes privacy, my lady. I want to talk to the Mackinnon."
"Will ye ask him to let me go?" This woman had influence over the laird. His respect for her had been clear.
When had she started to learn to read him?
It didn't mean anything, she assured herself. It was natural for a captive creature to pay close attention to the jailer.
Jean smiled with more of that damned compassion, as though Mhairi had no chance of prevailing. "No, lassie, that I will no’. I lost a son to the Drummonds. I want nae other mother to go through what I did. Drummond or Mackinnon. If marrying ye means nae more laddies brought back to the keep to bury, I want him to marry ye. The sooner the better."
Jean’s words wrenched Mhairi out of her self-centered musings. "I'm so sorry. Ye must hate me."
Jean shook her head. "Ye didnae wield the sword that took my Neil from me."
"My kinsman did," she mumbled, ashamed, although the cruel truth was that over the years, a host of Drummond boys hadn't returned alive to Bruard either.
"Which is why I hope it all ends with ye as the Mackinnon's loving wife and the Drummond giving his blessing to your first bairn."
"It's never going to happen, Jean."
"Aye, so ye say, my lady."
But pity lingered in the woman's face as she turned to go. And tears prickled Mhairi’s eyes when she surveyed the luxurious prison where she feared she might be condemned to spend a life sentence.
***
"Is the lady well?" Callum asked as Jean left the room. He craned over her graying head to catch a glimpse of the lassie inside.
"Aye. But she has nae great liking for ye, Callum Dubh. It's a challenge you caught yourself there, if ye dinnae want a dirk between your ribs some moonlight night when you're sleeping beside your stolen Drummond bride."
"She'll come round." To his regret, Jean closed the door, leaving them on the shadowy landing.
"Will she?"
"Marrying the Drummond's darling is the only way to stop the bloodshed. Ye more than anyone kens that."
"Aye, I do." Her lips lengthened into an unimpressed line. "I also ken when a laddie's got an itch in his breeks for a comely lassie."
To his mortification, a flush rose in his cheeks. "She's awfu’ bonny. Any man would…"
"Just watch out ye dinnae break your heart over her, my lad."
He scoffed and wondered if Jean found his careless response to her warning as unconvincing as he did. She knew him better than anyone at Achnasheen, so he guessed she did. "This match is for purely political purposes. If I catch myself a pretty lass in the process, all the better. Nae hearts are involved."
Jean's expression didn't change. "Aye, if ye say so, Mackinnon."
"Is she ready for me to go in?"
"Are ye ready to keep your hands to yourself?"
"Aye." He hated how sulky he sounded. "She's no’ ready to come to me yet."
"Just remember that, when you're burning for her," Jean said sharply. "I didnae bring ye up to be a despoiler of innocent girls, Mackinnon."
He frowned as his rare temper stirred. "Ye ken me better than that."
Her gaze was uncompromising. "I hope so."
"I gave her my word I'd await her consent to the marriage."
"Ye may never get that."
Not for want of trying. And not just for his clan's sake.
God’s blood, wasn't he lurking out here, desperate for a mere peek at her? Perhaps sleeping in the same room as Mhairi Drummond tonight wasn't such a smart move. He wished to the devil she hadn't defied him in front of everyone. Although he should have expected her to buck when he claimed her as his bride.
"I've never lost before, Jean."
"Aye, and you've a way with the lassies. But this one might be a test too far."
"A lassie with spirit is what I need. My wife will need to take her place leading the clan at my side."
"Aye, but that spirit may yet be your downfall, Mackinnon."
"What did she say?"
"That she'd never marry ye."
"Och, she's said that from the first. She'll change her mind."
Jean studied him with an unfriendly eye. He fought the urge to squirm. She loved him like a mother, but she was well aware of his faults. "I hope so, Mackinnon, for all our sakes, including hers."
"Och, old woman, dinnae fash yourself. I’ve got everything in hand. Now step aside and let me check the lassie hasnae laid another ambush. She crowned me with the peat bucket before supper, ye ken."
"Good for her." Amusement lit Jean's eyes. "She might be a Drummond, but I like her."
"So do I," he admitted and suffered a knowing look.
Aye, Jean was onto him. His yearning for Bonny Mhairi Drummond was no secret.
"Let me check that she's respectable," Jean said.
Callum wasn't sure he wanted the lassie respectable. Although his good intentions would be easier to follow if she was. "Aye, if ye must. But dinnae get any ideas of staying."
"Och, what a big strong man ye are, Mackinnon. Terrorizing a wee lassie for the sake of convincing the clan you're a ravisher of virgins."
This time, he really did squirm. "Away with ye, woman. That's enough."
"Aye, that is enough." She gave him another disapproving look and turned to open the door behind her.
Before the door shut in his face, Callum caught a tantalizing glimpse of a slender woman in white with a cascade of red hair falling about her shoulders. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of the bolt slamming home, locking him out in the stairwell.
Chapter 11
The messenger from the Drummonds arrived the next day. Over the centuries, both clans had taken hostages, for gold, for revenge, and as assurance of good behaviour. So Callum had expected to receive an offer of payment for Mhairi's return before any more aggressive attempt to get her back. In his father's day, when the Drummond was younger and feeling his oats, perhaps an army would already camp at the castle gates. But the old man was more cautious now, and he’d be reluctant to risk harm coming to his only child.
While the Drummond’s response to Callum's marriage negotiations made it clear that his hatred for anyone named Mackinnon was as virulent as ever, Callum suspected he lost his taste for large-scale violence. A scaling down of skirmishes between the two cla
ns over recent years had been among the things prompting him to hope that he could establish peace.
He escorted Mhairi down to the hall where the party from Bruard waited. She was dressed as befitted the Lady of Achnasheen in an elaborate green silk gown. Her hair was done up in some elaborate folderol, the rich auburn shining in the morning light. She looked alert and well rested.
Lucky her.
"I trust ye passed a good night," he said in a neutral tone.
She didn't look at him. Nor did she smile, which was wise. A faint relaxation of the stern line of that lush pink mouth was indication enough of how she relished besting him last night.
"Verra peaceful," she said in a prim voice.
I'll bet, he thought sourly. He'd spent the night wrapped up in his plaid in a small unfurnished chamber halfway down the stairs. It was where the laird's bodyguards had once lodged. These days, life at Achnasheen was settled enough that the laird no longer needed a band of warriors to protect him from assassins. Although Callum began to wonder if he needed a band of warriors to control one troublesome woman.
Things could have been worse. At least it was summer. His night had been uncomfortable, but he hadn't been at risk of freezing. His temper had kept him warm for a while, but eventually he'd seen the funny side of what had happened. He’d gone to sleep with a smile on his face.
Last night, the two women had won the battle. There were plenty of nights to come. Which didn't mean he wouldn’t have a stern word with Jean. When he found her. She was the clan’s healer and had been called away early to a distant croft where a woman was in childbirth.
"I'm verra pleased to hear it," he said with feigned politeness.
Mhairi cast him a quick surprised look under her thick, dark lashes. "I thought you’d be angry."
"Ye beat me fair and square." He paused. "And I'd made my point."
He saw any impulse to smile leave her. "Aye, ye had."
"If ye wed me today, your name will suffer nae injury. Your kinsmen can return home with the news that Mhairi Drummond is honored as my wife and the Lady of Achnasheen."
He was grimly aware that what he’d done last night took him perilously close to breaking his word. He'd told her he wouldn't force her into a wedding, but she'd hate the gossip which would flow from their dramatic departure from supper.
"No," she said. "I willnae marry ye, Mackinnon, even if the world calls me your strumpet."
"Then take the consequences," he said in a hard voice.
She tried to tug her arm from his grasp. "Dinnae touch me."
"I want your kinsmen to see us together."
"If ye expect me to gaze up at you in adoration, you're asking too much."
Aye, he was, and more was the pity. He'd give half his fortune to see that. "Your kinsmen need to ken that you're alive and well. Anything more is up to ye."
As they descended the last few steps, she went back to bristling with hatred. They entered the great hall where a small group of men in the green and yellow Drummond plaid waited. Callum's kinsmen lined the walls, observing the outsiders with hostile eyes. Reminder, should he need it, of how far he still had to go to end the feud.
In accordance with tradition, the Drummonds had left their weapons at the gate, while the Mackinnons remained armed. He couldn't blame the visitors for looking like mice invited into a cats' club.
A tall man with the same red hair as Mhairi stepped forward. He knew John Drummond vaguely from previous negotiations. "Mhairi, lass, are ye unharmed? Your father is fair fashed with fear for ye."
At Callum's side, he felt her poised to run to her cousin. "No," he said quietly. "Stay with me."
She shot him a quick look, then with one comprehensive glance took in the situation. If her kin made any unwise move, there would be a bloodbath. Callum felt her ease back, although her eyes brimmed with resentment.
"Aye, John, I'm unharmed," she said clearly. "And so far, treated with all appropriate honor."
It was a direct challenge to any talk about her sleeping in the laird’s bed. Callum saw the Drummonds share a look that hinted they'd already heard a different story.
"I'm pleased to hear it, cousin," John said, as Callum escorted Mhairi to the two tall oak chairs at the head table. Last time they’d been here, she'd tossed what felt like half a barrel of wine over him. Reminder to beware of her temper.
He pulled out her chair and settled her next to him. Given what happened last night, he was on edge about how she might react. But there was a sharp brain behind those brilliant blue eyes. He had to trust she wouldn't do anything rash.
John Drummond stepped up in front of the table, his attitude all arrogance. "Mackinnon, the Laird of Bruard desires to have his daughter back. He’s willing to pay a thousand guineas in gold or goods or cattle, however ye wish to receive it."
A shocked silence descended on the hall.
God’s teeth, that was a fortune and would beggar the Drummond treasury for years to come. Brian wasn't his only spy in the enemy castle. All told him the same thing. Over recent years, Bruard hadn’t prospered.
"That's a verra generous offer," he said slowly.
"Aye, it is. But my cousin is the light of her father's life. He also charged me to say that you’ve sinned against chivalry and stealing the lass away will stain your reputation in the Highlands for the rest of your days."
That sounded more like the Drummond bluster he was used to. The old man's disdainful response to his request for Mhairi's hand had been brusque in the extreme, impugning him and his clan as lower than a snake’s belly.
"That's as maybe. Do ye have this offer in writing?"
"Aye." John gestured to the man beside him, who approached to lay a rolled parchment on the table before Callum. With a deliberately negligent gesture, he broke the seal with the Drummond crossed claymores and read the letter. It repeated in more elaborate language what John had said. A clerk had written the body of the message. William Drummond had signed, and his rage was visible in the spattered ink where he’d pressed the quill too hard on the parchment.
After a pause designed to remind John that the power in this particular transaction was all his, Callum rolled up the letter. "I shall consider the offer."
"But…" Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Mhairi turning to him in astonishment. Then she fell silent.
Aye, he'd been right to trust to her common sense. Any arguments or protests would wait until they were alone. A public disagreement in front of her cousin might spark violence. Under the thin veneer of courtesy, John Drummond was fuming.
"As ye will, Mackinnon," he said with a bow that felt more like a slap in the face than a mark of courtesy.
"Aye, as I will." Authority rang in Callum’s voice.
John raised his head and met his eyes. There was anger there, but intelligence, too. Callum had heard good reports about John, saying that he favored mediation over warfare. Right now, the laddie would happily scrape out Callum's innards with a rusty spoon, but as time went on, he might be willing to negotiate a truce.
Not today, by God.
"I'd like to speak to my cousin alone. I have messages from her father."
He'd wager the fellow did. Orders to put hemlock in Callum's porridge, most likely. "Ye can deliver any messages for the lady here."
"A private communication from a loving parent doesnae require an audience, Mackinnon. Ye may set guards at the door of the room we use."
He raised his eyebrows. "May I indeed?"
Called out on his bad manners, John looked discomfited. "I'm sure she has messages for the laird, too. This is a family matter." When Callum didn’t reply, he went on. "I'd like to assure myself that my kinswoman has been treated well."
Callum very deliberately picked up Mhairi's hand and placed it in full sight on top of the table. Every person in the room stared at those linked hands. John Drummond’s jaw set like granite, and steam all but came out of his ears.
"It's clear the lassie is well and unharmed. And wil
l continue to receive kind treatment here at Achnasheen as befits her rank. Ye may convey that news to the Drummond. I see nae need for a private conversation."
He waited for Mhairi to demand that he reconsider. In his grip, her hand was as tense as fiddle wire. Again, he had to admire her control. She remained silent, although her face was austere and drawn, and expressionless as a marble statue.
"Your father sends his affectionate greetings and a wish for your speedy return to your kin, cousin," John said with difficulty. He still stared at the clasped hands as if he expected a spider to crawl out from beneath them.
"That seems simple enough," Callum said mildly.
John shot him a glance of dislike, but he too would be aware of his precarious situation. He'd cooperate. At least for now. "There is more, but for Mhairi's ears alone."
"Then that must wait," Callum said.
"I'd like to return today with your answer. My cousin's ordeal has already lasted too long. As a gentleman, Mackinnon, you cannae want an innocent, defenseless girl to continue to suffer for nae reason."
"As a gentleman…" He bit off the word which John had spoken like an insult. "…I am most conscious of the lady’s welfare and will do nothing to endanger it or to cause her any needless distress."
He expected Mhairi to accuse him of lying, but she continued to stare into the distance as if this discussion didn’t touch upon her.
"Then a rapid resolution to this unfortunate situation will appeal to ye, as well as to every man with the name of Drummond."
"I will give ye my answer when I have it," Callum said coldly. "In the meantime, ye and your men have beds prepared in the barracks. I'll arrange for a meal while ye wait."
He saw that John wanted to object, but thought better of it. He gave another of those insolent bows and stepped back to join the other Drummonds who were all glowering at Callum.
"I await your timely response, Mackinnon."
"And you'll receive it when it's ready." He gestured for Duff to escort the Drummonds to their quarters, then he stood. "My lady, shall I return ye upstairs?"
The Highlander's Defiant Captive Page 9