It was her turn to sigh. "Of course I can. But an act of war isnae the best way to achieve it."
"Then what do ye suggest?"
Mhairi turned from contemplating the garden. Perhaps she should blame this lovely corner of Achnasheen for her confusion. It was difficult to view the owner of such a serene haven as a monster.
Black Callum's dark gaze was steady, as if he really meant to listen to her answer. She knew it was another trick. It must be. He’d devoted the whole day to wearing down her opposition. His unexpectedly good-humored response to being locked out of his chamber last night, the privilege of a meeting with Flossie, the chance to breathe some fresh air in this garden, as if Mhairi was his honored guest and not a helpless captive.
It was all very well recognizing the manipulation lurking behind his actions, but the alarming truth was that his tactics were working. When she told herself she hated him and she always would, she no longer quite believed it.
So she replied to his question with serious intent, as if her ideas had a chance of prevailing. When they both knew she remained as powerless as she'd ever been.
"Let me travel back to Bruard with John. Ye have my word that I'll speak to my father about a truce between the clans. If ye send me back without coercion, it might help him to view your suggestions in a better light."
The Mackinnon’s hands rested on strong thighs draped in red and black plaid. She found herself fascinated with those hands, strong and capable, yet somehow sensitive. As her mind filled with the image of those hands on her body, she shivered. To her shame, her response was grounded more in curiosity than fear.
"It's no’ enough, Mhairi," he said gently. "I'm sorry."
She raised her gaze from those beautiful hands to meet his eyes. They were beautiful, too, dark as a starless night and alight with understanding and intelligence. She also saw the banked fires of male interest, but for the first time, that didn't make her want to run and hide.
"Ye dinnae believe me?"
Another of those smiles that set creases around his eyes. "Aye, I do. But it's no’ enough to keep the peace."
She raised her chin. "I'm even…prepared to come back as a hostage to confirm Drummond goodwill."
Astonishment sparked in that fathomless stare. "You'd submit to captivity?"
"Aye." He wasn't the only one astounded at this offer. But it seemed the best way out of this impossible situation. Her cheeks heated, and her eyes fluttered down from his unwavering regard. "If I was here as a willing guest, ye could court me like a gentleman. We could see if we liked each other, perhaps we could make a match."
"Och, lassie, that’s quite the concession." He sounded puzzled. “I didnae think ye had come so far toward me."
Further than she'd ever imagined she would, by heaven. "Do we have a bargain?"
To do him credit, Black Callum took a moment to consider what she'd said. But she felt no surprise when he shook his head. "It willnae work, lassie."
"What about an exchange of other hostages as confirmation of good faith?"
"That’s a tried and true way to bring a temporary end to the fighting, but in this case, it’s no’ good enough. I dinnae want a short-term solution. I intend to finish this feud forever."
His lack of faith shouldn’t sting. After all, they were sworn enemies. Weren’t they? "So ye dinnae trust me after all?"
He reached to squeeze her hand, and she found an absurd comfort in his touch, even as she knew he was about to dash her fragile hopes. "Aye, I do trust your word, my lady. It's your father I'm no’ so sure about. Once he gets his darling back behind the walls of Bruard keep, there's nae way on God's green earth he'll hand ye back to me."
She ripped her hand away from his, knowing no other answer had been likely. It seemed her only chance of freedom was escaping Achnasheen.
"Then take me back to my room and lock me in. Ye can hold me here until the Cuillins crumble into the sea but you’ll never get my consent to a wedding."
She stood, her heart weighted with misery. The prospect of leaving this lovely garden was painful. This afternoon the Mackinnon hadn’t given her freedom, but it was as close as she'd come to freedom since she'd arrived at Achnasheen.
He rose to face her. "I'm sorry to hear that, my lady."
The bitter thought surfaced that if this was a real courtship, he couldn't have chosen a more romantic setting. Climbing roses arched over the bench, and as she stepped out of the bower, she pushed a trailing branch out of the way, scattering white petals across the green grass at her feet.
When her arm lifted, the loose sleeve of her gown fell away to reveal her forearm.
"God’s wounds…"
His whispered blasphemy made her turn. "What is it?"
The Mackinnon was white, and the skin stretched tight over those striking features. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her out into the center of the garden. They stopped beside a lichen-covered sundial where the light was better.
"Mackinnon!" she protested, stumbling. "Have ye gone mad? What is this?"
A muscle jerked in his lean cheek, and those fierce brows angled down over that arrogant blade of a nose. "Show me," he bit out.
Bewildered, she stared at him. "Show you what?"
He made a furious sound in his throat and extended her arm between them. An unsteady hand shoved back the frothy lace edging her sleeve to reveal her forearm. "For pity's sake, did I do this?"
She glanced down from his stricken expression to where a pattern of bruises covered the white skin, thanks to Sheena and Brigid's attentions when Jean wasn't looking.
"I…" she began, trying to come to terms with the depth of his rage.
He stared aghast at the ugly purple marks, as she wondered if blaming him might give her some advantage. Then he shook his head. His touch on her arm gentled until he cradled her hand.
"No, it wasnae me. It must be Sheena and Brigid. A pox on them. Those little witches will pay for this."
Wide-eyed, Mhairi watched him release that arm and check her other arm, as bruised as its twin.
"Where else are ye hurt? Show me."
She snatched away. "It's nothing."
"Plague take ye, it's no’ nothing. Should I get Jean to check ye? Why did she no’ tell me about this? Why did she no’ stop it?"
"I doubt she knew," Mhairi said, before she remembered Sheena’s offer to help her escape. The last thing she wanted was the girl going into a sulk and leaving her to her fate.
Black Callum still looked upset, more than her minor injuries warranted, surely. "I swear nae more harm will come to ye, and I most humbly beg your pardon, Mistress Drummond."
"Mackinnon…"
In the face of his corrosive remorse, she felt at a loss. Then the ability to speak deserted her altogether, when he raised her arm to his lips. With a tenderness that threatened to melt her bones, he kissed the largest bruise.
Heat sizzled through her and left her gasping. The contact was over in a second, but she felt as if he'd branded her skin. Dazed she stared up at him, too overcome to pull free.
"On my soul, ye will be safe from now on."
"It's only a few bruises," she said in a shaky voice. The pinches had hurt, but the vicious spite behind them had been the worst of it.
"My people have harmed ye." His voice was stern. "It willnae happen again."
He took her arm in an immovable grip that nonetheless conveyed care and led her out of the rose garden and back into the great hall. The women were at work, preparing for tonight’s feast. Around the walls, a few men-at-arms took their leisure with cards or dice.
The Mackinnon stopped in the doorway and surveyed the bustling crowd. He didn't demand his clan's attention, but with astonishing swiftness, all eyes focused on where he stood with Mhairi.
The hush that descended over the hall vibrated with tension. Mhairi caught Flossie’s eye and shook her head to indicate that she didn’t know what was about to happen.
"Sheena and Brigid, come here," Black Call
um said in a quiet voice.
Mhairi watched as every person in that vast room stiffened with wariness.
The two girls edged forward until they stood before the Mackinnon. Brigid looked pale and afraid. Sheena maintained her usual cockiness, although her bravado seemed contrived. She cast a narrow-eyed glance at Mhairi, before her attention fixed on the laird.
"I honored ye two girls when I chose you to serve my lady."
Mhairi wanted to protest at his description of her as his lady, but like everyone else present, she was struck silent by the power emanating from him. This was indeed the great Laird of Achnasheen. At last she had no difficulty understanding how he'd pushed through his unpopular plan to establish peace with the Drummonds.
"Aye, Mackinnon," Brigid muttered, shifting under that cold stare. Sheena remained still, but Mhairi sensed that she wasn't nearly so calm as she pretended.
"Instead of doing the clan proud, the two of ye have shamed me and shamed the name of Mackinnon. Ye have injured the woman I'm to marry, the woman who will preside over this glen at my side and bear the next chieftain of the clan. A woman who has done ye no harm and who deserves your kindness, even if I hadnae entrusted ye with the duty of serving her faithfully. I can barely bring myself to look at the two of ye."
As Brigid burst into a storm of tears, Sheena’s quick glance at Mhairi burned with hatred. "Mackinnon, she’s a Drummond," Brigid howled.
The austerity marking the Mackinnon's features deepened. "Only until we’re wed. And who she is doesnae matter when she is a guest in my house and deserving of my clan’s hospitality."
Sheena's hands curled at her sides. "A tale-telling, sniveling weakling isnae the woman for ye, Mackinnon," she was reckless enough to say.
A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd at Sheena’s brazen insolence. The gaze the Mackinnon settled on Sheena was so freezing that Mhairi felt a moment's sympathy. And how would this public chastisement affect her escape plans? She didn't like Sheena, but without the little hussy’s help, she’d never leave Achnasheen.
"Hold your wheesht. Mistress Drummond didnae tell me of your malice. I had to find out for myself. I wish to heaven she had, because then I could have saved her from ye that first night."
"We willnae do it again, Mackinnon," Brigid said thickly, wiping her nose with one trembling hand.
The Mackinnon's glare sparked another burst of weeping. "No, ye will no’. You're going back to your father's house. I dinnae want to see your face until I send for you."
"But that will shame Da, if ye send me away in disgrace," Brigid whimpered.
"Aye, well, ye should have thought of that before. It’s a disgrace ye deserve. I want ye out of Achnasheen within the hour."
"But night will fall in a couple of hours."
"I willnae have ye under my roof."
Mhairi saw the girl wanted to go on protesting, but another inimical dark stare left her weeping silently.
The Mackinnon turned those implacable eyes on Sheena, who wasn't looking nearly so defiant. "I cannae send ye back to your father, Sheena, because you have no close kin in the glen. I'm inclined to banish ye from my lands."
"No…" Sheena said, turning as white as snow.
Mhairi muffled a horrified sound. In the Highlands, a woman was defenseless without her clan’s protection. If she was lucky, she might find strangers to take her in, and set her to the most menial work in return for a roof over her head. If she was unlucky, she suffered the fate of vulnerable women everywhere. Death or ravishment, and if she survived that, life as a harlot in Glasgow or Edinburgh afterward.
Mhairi placed a hand on the Mackinnon's arm. Beneath her fingers, his muscles were rock hard. She didn't need this physical confirmation of his rage. He hadn't raised his voice, but disgust edged every word he spoke to the two maids.
"Mackinnon, that's too harsh."
The eyes he fixed on her blazed with righteous anger. Without thinking, her grip on his arm tightened as she tried to reach him with touch, just in case her request for mercy fell on stony ground.
"No, it's fair. I placed these little cats in a position of trust, and they betrayed me. They're lucky I'm no’ giving them a good whipping before they go."
Mhairi forced herself to admit the truth. "If a Mackinnon lassie was imprisoned at Bruard, she'd receive the same treatment."
Worse probably. Bruard was altogether a rougher place than Achnasheen. She was too upset to register how disloyal that thought was to her father and her kin.
Black Callum still looked as relentless as an avenging angel. "That's nae excuse."
"Please, let Brigid go back to her father. At least she'll have somewhere to live. But choose another punishment for Sheena. Banishment is too cruel."
Sheena watched her with cold curiosity and what she recognized as seething jealousy. What of it? She already knew the girl coveted her reluctant role as the Mackinnon's chosen bride.
Well, you're welcome to him, she thought sourly. But somewhere deep inside, her heart protested at the idea of him taking this malevolent slattern to his big bed.
Calculation entered his eyes, and she braced for him to claim some concession in return for giving Sheena another chance. What would she do if he did? Would she wed him to save the girl’s nasty hide?
When he turned away to face the cowering girls – even Sheena had lost her arrogance – Mhairi sucked in a relieved breath.
"Please, Mackinnon, dinnae send me away," Brigid whined. "It's all Sheena's fault. She told me to pinch Mistress Drummond."
"Brigid, ye wee bitch!" Sheena snarled.
Another disapproving mutter from the crowd. Sheena’s outspoken defiance wasn’t earning her any credit with her clan, Mhairi could see.
"Enough," the Mackinnon snapped. "I've spoken, Brigid."
"What about me, Mackinnon?" For once, Sheena didn't sound like she was queen of all she surveyed.
There was a long pause as he frowned at her. Mhairi shifted closer to him. "Please, Mackinnon, have mercy. If ye cast her out, what chance does she have?"
He didn't shift his gaze from Sheena, but under the fine linen shirt, she felt the tension easing in his arm. "I bow to your generous heart, my lady."
Self-assurance crept back into Sheena's pretty face. But his next words chased it away again. "Ye can take your place as a scullery maid. That's all it seems I can trust ye with."
Mhairi hid a wince. The most junior domestic position in the castle was punishment indeed for a girl who had risen to play lady's maid, not to mention a girl with ambitions to become Achnasheen's chatelaine.
"But…" Sheena started to protest but fell silent when the Mackinnon’s hand sliced through the air.
"Enough. Take your choice. The scullery or the hills. What is your pleasure?"
"I'll stay, Mackinnon," she said sullenly.
"Apologize to Mistress Drummond."
Sheena’s lips went tight with resentment. But she performed a perfunctory curtsy to Mhairi and managed to mumble, "I’m sorry I caused ye harm, my lady."
Mhairi hoped Callum wouldn’t force her to repeat the apology with greater sincerity. This was awkward enough already. But he cast the dark-haired girl a dismissive glance.
"Now get ye gone from my sight," he said flatly.
The girl paused to cast her eyes around the silent crowd, as if seeking sympathy or support, but nobody said a word. At her side, Brigid snuffled in misery. Right now, she was probably grateful that her punishment only involved returning to the family croft.
"Go." The Mackinnon's voice was implacable.
Sheena headed out of the hall with an insolent swish of her hips that convinced nobody. Mhairi found it in her to feel sorry for her – such humble duties would make such a proud creature cringe. But she was also relieved. After such a public chastisement, it was possible that Sheena would renege on her promise to aid in her escape, but at least the girl remained within reach.
When Sheena had gone, Mackinnon gestured to Jean, who rushed
forward wringing her hands. "Mackinnon, I'm awfu’ sorry. I had no idea the lassies were venting their spite on the lady."
"I believe ye." His voice lost its edge. "Keep a closer watch, nonetheless." He gestured to a girl standing nearby and holding a pile of plates. "Fetch Duff, Isabel. He can take Brigid back to her father."
"Verra well, Mackinnon." The maid darted out of the hall, still carrying the plates. It seemed nobody wanted to try the Mackinnon's patience any further by causing him a second’s delay.
"Mackinnon, I'm sorry. I willnae do it again," Brigid said in a voice choked with tears. "Sheena was always talking about how wrong it was that a Mackinnon should have to bow down to a Drummond. Please give me another chance."
His expression hardened again. "I've made my judgement, Brigid. Go and gather your belongings. Ye leave with Duff within the hour."
"Aye, Mackinnon," the girl muttered.
"And before ye go, apologize to my lady."
The girl gave Mhairi a shaky curtsy and sent her a pleading glance, as if she expected another intervention. But Mhairi remained silent. Sheena might have instigated the campaign against her, but Brigid had sharp little fingers and she’d been more than happy to pinch her and pull her hair.
"I'm verra sorry, Mistress Drummond," she said as if she meant it, but Mhairi thought she was sorrier that she'd been punished than that she'd done the damage in the first place.
"Thank ye, Brigid," she said and watched as Duff came in and led her away.
After Flossie's praise for the man, she studied him more closely. He was tall and lean, and the eyepatch added a dashing touch to his dark handsomeness. Even better, he was gentle with the distraught girl who had started to cry once more. Perhaps Flossie’s choice wasn’t so misguided after all.
When both girls had left the hall, the crowd didn't immediately move to resume their duties. All eyes remained fixed on the Mackinnon.
Mhairi cast a quick glance at him. He still looked stern and autocratic, the ruler of the glen. A shiver ran through her. Not fear, although at this moment, he was all power and command.
No, to her shame, this imperious man thrilled her to her toes.
The Highlander's Defiant Captive Page 12