As if he sensed her attention, he turned his head and caught her staring. She had no chance to raise her usual barriers of hostility and resentment. Instead she gazed into those deep brown eyes and saw not a monster, but a man of courage and principle and conviction. Another shiver rippled through her and shook free her hatred, leaving only roiling confusion in its place.
A reassuring smile curved his lips, then he faced his people once more. Dazed, bewildered, Mhairi realized she still held his arm. Before she could release him, he reached to catch her hand.
She told herself to break free. Yesterday, an hour ago even, she'd have rejected his touch. But since then something had changed, something she couldn’t define. Her trembling hand remained in his.
He began to speak, his deep baritone not loud, but clear enough to reach every corner of the cavernous room. "I ken many of ye believe my plan for peace is ill judged and that bringing a Drummond wife into Achnasheen is wrong."
Mhairi noticed a few people shuffling their feet and avoiding the Mackinnon's eyes. That was no surprise. She’d known since she arrived that Sheena and Brigid weren’t alone in resenting her presence.
"But Mhairi Drummond is the woman I've chosen as my wife, and I'll see she has the loyalty of everyone in her new home. If ye cannae stomach serving a Drummond lady, leave now. I will no’ have my bride living in a house where she doesnae command the obedience and respect of all. Make your decision, because if ye dinnae and you prove false, my vengeance will pursue ye to the ends of the earth. Ye have my word on that as chieftain of the Achnasheen Mackinnons. And I’m known throughout the Highlands as a man who stands by his word."
The Mackinnon waited for a bristling moment, but nobody moved. He went on in a voice that rang with authority. "Mark this and mark this well, Mhairi Drummond is your lady and the wife of my heart. If ye do her injury, ye do me injury. If ye slight her, ye slight me. If ye betray her, ye betray me. Do ye understand?"
After a silence, Jean curtsied to her. "My lady."
There was another pause before the other women hesitantly came forward and curtsied as well. Nobody betrayed any reluctance, but after what the Mackinnon had just said, they would hardly dare.
Mhairi remained silent and shaken, although she nodded to acknowledge each act of homage.
Speech was beyond her. The Mackinnon's proclamation of allegiance left her reeling with a mixture of alarm and gratitude and forbidden pleasure. He'd pledged himself to her in the most overt way he could. His words moved her, proved that even while she havered, he already dedicated himself to her. More, he was willing to put himself to the test for her sake.
For her sake. Not for the sake of his plan for ending the feud.
What did all this mean? Only last night, he'd claimed her as the woman he meant to marry and she'd upended a glass of wine over him.
Mhairi didn't feel like defying him right now. Instead her heart brimmed with overwhelming emotion that left her wondering if her lifelong enemy any longer deserved to be called by that name.
Chapter 15
Callum still felt sickened that kinswomen of his had tormented Bonny Mhairi without him knowing. Even worse, he should have expected something like this to happen. Sheena had been fluttering her eyelashes and swinging her hips in his direction since she'd moved into Achnasheen after her drunken father's death. She had her eye on a place as the lady of the glen, instead of remaining a penniless orphan. He believed Brigid when she said the older girl had instigated the campaign against Mhairi. But that was no excuse for her participation or for not telling Jean or him what was going on in his chambers. The memory of those vicious purple bruises marring Mhairi’s milk-white skin would haunt him.
Now he mounted the stairs to the tower room to escort Mhairi to the feast that marked her cousin’s departure on the morrow. Generally Callum wore the kilt here in his home, but on this formal occasion, he'd put on English dress. A fine bronze silk coat and knee breeches. His hair was pulled back in a queue.
He'd had an elaborate silk dress sent in to Mhairi, too. John Drummond needed to know that the Rose of Bruard was living in a luxury befitting her station. Given how gossip spread in the castle, he'd wager John had heard all about Callum carting Mhairi up the stairs for a ravishing after she’d thrown wine in his face. Also likely her kinsman now knew no ravishing had taken place. But his cousin’s undignified removal from the hall would still rankle.
Jean opened the door with a greeting that he hardly heard. Instead his gaze focused on the beautiful woman who stood in the center of the room, watching him with wide blue eyes. For once those eyes didn't flash hatred. Although for the life of him, he couldn't define the emotion that had replaced her defiance.
He should be used to his heart turning somersaults at the sight of Bonny Mhairi Drummond. The affliction seemed permanent and had begun the moment he stole her away from her father's lands.
Tonight his heart leaped high enough to lodge in his throat. By God, she was pretty. And braw. And smart. And just the woman for him, although he began to despair of her ever admitting that.
"Good evening, Mistress Drummond," he said with a bow. "Ye do me honor."
To his surprise, a blush tinged Mhairi’s cheeks as she glanced down at the elaborate brocade gown in dark blue and gold. It was a dress fit for the late Stuart Queen herself. When his parents had visited London, his mother had worn it for her court presentation.
Mhairi’s rich red hair was arranged in elaborate curls. She looked like the fine lady she was. He had a sudden vision of the ragged urchin he'd hauled across the hills to Achnasheen, and painful tenderness sliced at his heart. She’d been breathtakingly beautiful then, too.
"And ye almost look like a civilized man," she said dryly, although he noticed that the remark lacked its usual edge.
Something had changed between them today. He wished he knew what the devil it was.
"Aye, well, I want your cousin to carry a good report back to the Drummond."
She cast him a doubtful glance, and he knew she, too, recalled yesterday's vulgar departure from the dinner table.
"Does the lass no’ look bonny?" Jean asked.
Callum was so spellbound staring into Mhairi's eyes that the question seemed to come from a different universe. It was an effort to wrench his attention away from the woman he wanted more with every breath. "Aye, verra bonny indeed. You've done well."
Flossie emerged from the shadows to tweak Mhairi's voluminous skirts. In the silence, the rustle of heavy silk was an evocative sound. It made Callum think of removing that gorgeous gown and discovering the glories beneath. Impatience gnawed at him for this courtship to reach its proper end. Even if the small corner of his brain that wasn't starstruck with her beauty recognized that such a moment might never arrive.
"My lady is a vision," Flossie said softly.
When Mhairi gave her maids a smile that held no hint of restraint, Callum's unruly heart suffered another drunken wobble. "Ye both worked so hard to polish me up."
Jean smiled with open approval. "Nae trouble to polish a diamond and make it sparkle, my lady."
"You're too kind, Jean," Mhairi murmured.
"I see you're wearing my gift," he said softly.
One slender hand rose to touch the topaz necklace circling that white throat. That too had been his mother's. "It's lovely."
Nowhere near as lovely as the woman wearing the jewels. "Aye." He presented his arm. "Is my fine coat at risk tonight?"
He could hardly believe he felt easy enough to tease her about the previous evening’s fraught events.
She cast him a glance under thick dark auburn lashes. In another lassie, he'd read that as flirtation, but this was Mhairi Drummond who despised the very air he breathed. "It depends on whether ye start making claims to things you have nae right to claim, Mackinnon."
"Och, lassie, I’d better promise good behavior, then," he said, smiling at her.
He caught Jean's curious glance and knew he must look completely mo
onstruck. Why not? He was.
Pride flooded him as Mhairi curled her fingers around his crooked elbow with no show of hesitation. "I'll believe that when I see it."
Good Lord, was she teasing him in turn? Feeling as if the world transformed into a bright new place, he escorted her from the room. She walked smoothly at his side, as if their bodies already moved in harmony, even if their souls remained in opposition.
Except tonight by some miracle, that didn't seem true any longer.
"Were ye pleased with your new serving maid?" he asked, as they descended the staircase.
"Aye, I was. Thank ye, Mackinnon."
Shock jolted him. It was the first time she’d said thank you and sounded natural. "You're welcome."
"I thought ye were afraid that we'd conspire against you if we were together."
All urge to smile evaporated as renewed guilt knotted his gut. "Better ye conspire than suffer torture under my roof."
She cast him another of those heart-stopping glances under her lashes. The lamps hanging from the walls turned her lovely hair to dark fire and transformed her into a creature of mystery. "A few pinches and a couple of insults hardly count as torture."
He hid a wince as he recalled the bruises mottling her skin. "I promised you'd come to nae harm. Those two wee besoms made a liar of me."
"They've been punished for it."
"Aye." At last, he asked the question that had tormented him since the afternoon. "Why the devil didnae ye tell me, Mhairi? Ye must have known I'd stop it."
She came to a halt on the landing, and this time her expression held no hint of coquetry. "I suppose I didnae think you'd care."
He'd felt sick when he saw the signs of her mistreatment. Nowhere near as sick as he felt at this moment. His arm dropped away from her hand as he stared at her aghast. "Lassie, I cannae believe ye mean that."
The dismissive sound she made hinted that she did indeed stand by that heinous accusation.
"Nae wonder ye hate me," he said grimly.
To his surprise, she shook her head. "I dinnae think I do hate ye anymore, Mackinnon." Before he could digest that astonishing statement, she went on. "Until this afternoon, I never thought ye had any particular care for me as Mhairi. My value to ye was only as the Drummond heiress, a pawn in your political aims."
This conversation became more troubling by the moment. "That was how it started out. I cannae lie to ye, lassie. But once we stopped being strangers, surely ye must ken I admire you as more than a means to an end."
She was far from just a means to an end, by heaven, but he was in no rush to hand her his heart on a plate. He didn’t trust her not to slice it up, purely for the pleasure of watching him bleed.
Another of those dismissive huffs. "Aye, ye set your sights on winning the Rose of Bruard. That's nothing special."
He shook his head. "Do ye imagine it's only your beauty I value?"
Self-derision turned her lips down. "That's how my worth has always been judged. Even my father, who loves me, wouldnae love me half so much if the glens werenae buzzing with praise of Bonny Mhairi Drummond."
He'd already noted that her extraordinary looks hadn't made her vain. Noted and liked. He drew her over to a stone bench carved into a niche under a window, even though the hall below was packed with people awaiting the laird’s arrival.
This was more important. For the first time, Mhairi spoke to him openly and without the anger that had seethed since he'd stolen her away.
With the grace that always snatched his breath, she sank onto the seat. When he took his place beside her, she didn't immediately try to create a greater distance between them.
He waited for her to pull free, but she didn't. Another miracle in a night of miracles.
"I won't lie to ye, lass," he said gently. He dared to reach out and take her hand. "I'm a man. Nae man could see ye without wanting you."
When she tried to tug her hand free, he kept hold of her. "Exactly," she said with a hint of bitterness.
"It's a good thing to be beautiful," he said in a neutral voice.
She ended her half-hearted attempt to shake off his touch, and the blue eyes she leveled on him were searching. "Is it?"
"Och, aye." He smiled at her. "Or at least it is from where I'm sitting."
He watched disappointment darken her gaze. Even that was an improvement on where he'd been with her only a day ago. Then she hadn't thought well enough of him to be capable of feeling disappointment.
Before she could object, Callum went on. "But since then, I've learned to appreciate your spirit. That fiery hair isnae the only thing about ye that burns, my lady."
She didn't look convinced. "You showed how much ye appreciated my spirit last night when ye hauled me away to your chamber like a captive slave girl."
He gave a soft laugh. "Aye, I did. And verra exciting I found it, too. You're a verra exciting woman, Mhairi Drummond, and no’ just because you're so bonny, ye steal my breath away."
"That's just the thrill of the chase," she said with a gesture of her free hand.
"Och, there's that. Sitting here beside ye now, and you showing nae sign of wanting to leave, my heart is beating as fast as a stag running over the hills. I'm fair bedazzled with looking at ye."
He expected her to protest, especially as he referred to her looks once more. But her looks were as much a part of this enthralling woman as her extraordinary vitality.
"Oh."
Tenderness stabbed him anew when he saw that his words made her bashful, instead of outraged. For a long time, they regarded each other in silence.
He'd wanted to kiss her at least since she'd tricked him and hidden in the forest on the way here. A powerful urge to press his lips to hers rose. But he, judged a courageous man, quailed at the thought of shattering this sweet, surprising concord that stretched between them.
"I believe that ye value me as more than a prize to be won or a counter to lure my father to the negotiating table."
She'd shocked him over and over. This was perhaps her most shocking announcement yet. "Ye do?"
His unhidden astonishment made her smile. She'd smiled more tonight than she had since she'd come to Achnasheen.
"Aye. When ye told your clan that any slight to me is a slight to you, I realized that you do indeed mean to give me your respect and an honored place at your side."
"I do," he said, as if making a solemn vow. Was what he'd said in the hall the secret behind her friendlier attitude?
Not long ago, he would have rushed to make another proposal. But if she came to know him better, he came to know her, too. By blundering in now, he risked destroying all the progress he'd made in the last day.
By God, it was braw to have her looking at him as if he was part of the human race, and not some two-headed beast worthy only of her disgust. While he was damned sick of counseling himself to patience, he saw more patience was required.
At last he saw some reward for waiting. So he smiled and gestured toward the staircase. "Shall we proceed downstairs, my lady?"
Chapter 16
The moment she entered the hall, Mhairi noticed the change. The air of simmering hostility was absent, and the maids who served her meal even dared to share a smile with her.
The Mackinnon's stark warning that disloyalty to her was disloyalty to him had clearly hit home. She remembered the rush of overwhelming emotion when she heard those astonishing words, putting his allegiance to her above his allegiance to the clan. For one blinding moment, she'd imagined what it would be like if she married him.
The thought had always terrified her before, but no longer. It was far too easy to picture a life in this beautiful place, taking these people as her own, accepting the powerful, handsome laird into her bed.
Into her bed…
She could no longer pretend she didn't find him physically appealing. Every touch of his hand whispered of seduction to come. Today, he’d touched her often, and she'd let him. Even welcomed the firm grip of that capable hand o
n her arm.
As she sat beside the Mackinnon at the high table, her eyes dwelled on him as she struggled to make sense of the confusion fermenting in her heart. He was talking to John Drummond who sat on his other side, a position of honor tonight and another sign that things had changed at the castle over the last day. Her cousin responded politely enough, but he remained wary, she could see.
They were discussing events down in London and finding common ground in their disapproval of the latest factional maneuvers at the court. One might almost imagine the Mackinnon was a sophisticated, intelligent, modern man.
Who was she trying to fool? He was all that. But he was also the villain who had snatched her away from her father and locked her up and hauled her up to his chambers like a pirate seizing a captive.
Even then, Black Callum hadn't hurt her. She was still as virginal three days after her abduction as she'd been when she arrived. That fact still astonished her. They both knew how much he wanted her. Even Jean couldn't stand in his way if he was determined on taking her maidenhead to force her into marriage.
No, the Laird of Achnasheen was no angel, but nor was he altogether evil. In fact, the more she saw of him, the more she acknowledged that in many ways he was a good man. A man any woman would be proud to claim as her husband.
Heaven help her, did that mean she was considering accepting him?
There was the matter of a kidnapping between them, not to mention her father’s undying loathing for anyone called Mackinnon. But did she still loathe her captor?
No, she didn’t.
Mhairi wasn't yet ready to concede defeat, but dear Lord, staring at him like this, she couldn't help wondering how it would feel if he kissed her.
When they'd talked on the landing on the way down to dinner, she'd wondered if he'd try to kiss her. The idea hadn’t aroused any distaste. Instead anticipation had made her pulse race and her skin flush.
This feeling betrayed everything she'd been brought up to believe, betrayed all the dead Drummonds over the centuries. But she was alive and here and burning up with curiosity to know how it would feel if Callum took her into his arms.
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