“Enough,” Gordon MacDonnell shouted, silencing his people. “I am yer laird.”
Then Jamie watched as Gordon turned and cupped his daughter’s cheek and leaned close. They whispered together. Jamie did not doubt she likely sought a bargain of her own, something she could squeeze from her beleaguered father—clothes, baubles, or other such frivolities.
But when she turned and faced Jamie, unshed tears shone in her gaze. For a moment, his conscience panged him, but then he remembered her haughty appraisal of his appearance. Their clans were under the threat of annihilation. The blood of his people smeared his skin. He hardened his heart against her emotion and stood his ground. “We leave for Castle Làidir at first light.”
His statement was met with wide eyes by both his betrothed and his soon-to-be father in-law.
“I would prefer if the ceremony happened here,” Gordon said quickly.
“I’m sure ye would,” Jamie replied, although he gave no quarter. “But we leave at dawn.”
Fiona’s hand snaked out, grabbing her father’s arm. She looked up at him with beseeching eyes.
Gordon patted her hand and appealed to Jamie again. “She will need more time to prepare. We ask for at least a fortnight.”
Jamie stepped forward. “The MacKenzie breathes down both our necks, and ye want to dally for a fortnight? Mayhap, ye want to post the banns so that he knows of our alliance and has time to forge a plan of his own.”
Father and daughter exchanged looks. Jamie could not deny their anguished expressions. He took a deep breath. They needed time to say goodbye, but he could only afford to give them another day.
“We leave the morrow after.”
Gordon’s face brightened. “That is generous of ye. There is much to plan. If ye will excuse my daughter?”
Jamie nodded curtly.
The lass’s eyes still shone bright with tears, but she held her head high as she hastened behind the screen, disappearing from view.
“Mathe,” Gordon called out, motioning to a serving lad. “Show Laird MacLeod to the chamber in the east wing.”
“There is no need,” Jamie interjected. “I will see to my own arrangements.”
The alliance would not be official until vows were spoken and their union consummated. Until that time, he would continue regarding Clan MacDonnell as his enemy, and he had no intention of bedding down with the enemy.
“Yer daughter, no doubt, intends to bring her trunks and servants. She is permitted two lady’s maids, but that is all.”
Gordon shook his head. “But there is no time to ready her maids and herself in a single day.”
“Lady Fiona will not be traveling with her servants or yer warriors. They can travel with the lady’s belongings when preparations are finished.”
“But…I do not—”
“My men and I will escort yer daughter,” Jamie explained. “Our alliance will be void if she is killed or taken by the MacKenzie during our journey. This is the only way I can be sure to protect her. We will not travel by road. Instruct her to wear appropriate clothing and be prepared to sleep out of doors. Allow me to speak plainly—it will be a hard journey.”
Chapter 8
Fiona forced her feet to walk calmly around the screen. She stood there out of sight for several moments and listened while her father and her betrothed planned her future.
It will be a hard journey.
This Fiona did not doubt, although she felt in her heart Laird MacLeod spoke not just of their journey to his home, but of her life the moment she was bound to him.
When she heard her fierce betrothed leave the great hall, her resolve vanished. The emotions she had been suppressing rushed to the fore. Her hands flew to her face to smother the sob, barreling up her throat. She raced through the solar, then up the stairs. Tears blurred her vision, causing her to stumble twice on the narrow, circular steps.
She was heartsore and so very afraid that she could hardly draw breath. Her mind betrayed her, flashing with images of his cruel eyes and blood-streaked face. He was a monster—a massive, snarling monster.
And her new betrothed.
A fresh sob tore from her lips. Was it all real? Had the fearsome laird of the MacLeod walked through their gate and propositioned her father for her hand? And had her father truly given his consent? Or was it all a horrible nightmare, from which she might wake?
She knew the truth, of course as much as she wished she could wake up and have the horrible events of the past fortnight be nothing more than a dream.
Her betrothal to the MacLeod was as real as the danger she now knew she was in. Fury and fear pulsed through her. Still, she couldn’t blame her father. He took no joy in handing her over to the likes of Jamie MacLeod. He only did so to protect their clan.
But how had it come to this?
Not a month ago, she had looked forward to a fortunate match with Adam MacKenzie.
Her heart ached as Adam’s youthful eyes and soft smile filled her mind. He had been so gentle and kind. His body had not been made for heroics, but he never would have raised his hand against a soul; whereas, everything about Jamie spoke of hardness—from his fiery eyes to his brute strength. He was a man used to being obeyed. Story after story assailed her mind. Ever since she was a wee lass, she had heard of the cruelty of the Clan MacLeod. They beat their women and starved their children. They raided her lands, forcing her father’s hand to retaliate in kind. This is what she knew of the man who now held her wellbeing, her very life in his hands.
Soon, Laird MacLeod would own her. Even her father’s will would come second to her husband’s.
It was all too much.
She swung open the door to her chamber.
Esme and Abby were sitting in highbacked chairs in front of the hearth. When she entered, they both shot to their feet.
“My lady, whatever has happened?” Esme exclaimed as she rushed forward with her arms open.
Fiona didn’t hesitate. She fell into her maid’s comforting embrace. Her shoulders wracked with sobs she now released in full force. Her heart, nay, her very soul was broken and riddled with a fear so vast, she could hardly breathe.
After she cried her fill, she knelt on the ground, enclosed within Esme and Abby’s arms.
Slowly, she untangled her limbs and swiped at her eyes.
“What has happened?” Esme beseeched. “What has caused ye so much distress? Ye didn’t carry on so even after Adam MacKenzie died.”
Abby sucked in a sharp breath. “Was there another attack?” Tears flooded the young lass’s eyes. “Please let it be nay. I cannot handle news of more death.”
Fiona reached out and squeezed Abby’s hand. “Nay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “No one has died.”
“Then, what is it?” Esme insisted.
Fiona took a deep breath and tried to utter the words, but she could not. Her hands flew to her face once more. “I cannot say!”
“Ye must,” Esme snapped. “Forgive me, my lady, but my imagination runs wild with fear of what has happened.”
Fiona took a deep breath and nodded. She needed to pull herself together. She swiped tears from her cheeks. “My father has consented that I wed…” she paused, swallowing hard, “the MacLeod.”
“Nay,” Esme cried. “Surely not!”
“My lady, do not jest so,” Abby admonished.
“I assure ye, I would make no such jest.”
Fiona slowly dragged herself to her feet and slumped into one of the chairs, shaking her head. “What am I to do?”
“I do not ken what ye should do,” Abby said in a rush. “But I know what ye can’t do, and that’s marry the MacLeod!”
Fiona had no reply for Abby. She shifted her gaze to Esme whose face had turned pale. Within Esme’s eyes, Fiona glimpsed the undeniable and horrible truth—something she needed to explain to Abby.
“I have no choice,” she told the lass.
Abby frantically shook her head and rushed to Fiona’s side, kne
eling at her feet. “Ye know the cruelty of the MacLeod. The screams of their beaten women echo through the halls of Castle Làidir.”
Fiona pressed her hands to her ears. “Ye must stop. Say no more!”
Abby’s face crumpled as tears poured down her cheeks.
“There, there, love,” Fiona crooned, wrapping her arms around her maid. “My fate is sealed. There is naught I can do.”
“That isn’t true,” Abby exclaimed, pushing Fiona away. She hastened to the wardrobe on the other side of the room, swung open the door, and gathered an armful of Fiona’s clothes. “Ye can run away. Ye can seek protection elsewhere, another clan perhaps?”
“And where shall she go, Abby?” Esme said softly. “To the MacKenzie? If ye recall, his land surrounds ours. Our world has changed. There are no safe places, not anymore.”
Abby shook her head. “That’s not true. If she can make it past the MacKenzie, then she can go farther inland to the Sutherlands or Clan Ross like her grandmother before her.”
“And what of my people?” Fiona asked. “When my grandmother fled the MacLeod’s keep and broke their betrothal, our clan faced no other enemies. What happened just now in the great hall was no simple alliance. My father does not do this to assuage the MacLeod and to bring peace between our two clans. He is trying to save our clan from total destruction.”
“And ye’re the sacrificial lamb,” Abby muttered, her shoulders sagging in defeat.
Fiona swallowed hard. “It would seem that I am.”
“But that isn’t fair,” Abby cried. Esme pulled her sister close.
“Of course it isn’t fair,” Fiona muttered, crossing to stand at the open casement. “I am the laird’s daughter. Despite my father’s affection, I am a tool—this I’ve always known. Certainly, I favored the match with Adam. He was young and gentle. He would have read to me more than made love to me. His affections were as soft and unobtrusive as he was. I counted myself lucky, but I was never in love with him. Our betrothal was made for the alliance.”
She stared down at the courtyard, quiet at that hour. Then her gaze shifted beyond the outer curtain to the village and rolling moorland beyond. She knew one day she would have to leave Castle Creagan, but never in her wildest nightmares did she think it would be for Castle Làidir.
“It is almost as if ye’ve resigned yerself to the match,” Abby said, accusingly. “There must be another way to make peace between our clans that does not involve ye marrying that beastly man.”
Esme expelled an impatient sigh. “Peace has been impossible for more than a century. What are we going to hatch up here in this room to fix what none could do before us?”
Fiona closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She needed to find her courage. She would not put her own well-being above that of her people. Whatever ill future awaited her, she would be able to withstand any horror knowing that her people were safe.
She stood tall and addressed her maids. “The correct decision has been made. We will not speak on this matter again. Now, then, we must discuss preparations as I leave the morrow after next.”
“We cannot be ready so soon,” Esme cried. “That isn’t nearly enough time!”
Fiona held out a pacifying hand. “Calm yerself. Only I leave at that time. Ye and Abby will travel when ye’re ready, and ye’ll be guarded by our warriors.”
Once again, Abby clasped Fiona’s hands. “Please don’t give up, my lady. Surely, yer father’s mind can be changed.”
Fiona closed her eyes, steeling her heart against her young maid’s pleas. “My laird is no longer my father.” A well of emotion filled her throat. “My laird is now Jamie MacLeod.”
Chapter 9
Jamie and his four warriors had made camp on a high ridge well beyond the limits of Castle Creagan. He stood watching the torch fire on the battlements flicker in the distance. Somewhere within its stone walls, his betrothed no doubt bemoaned her fate. Not that he felt like celebrating. Still, he had no wish to shirk his duty. He doubted the same could be said of Lady Fiona.
He shook his head. How he had wanted to give his people a lady worthy of Castle Làidir. And now, he was saddled with a selfish, vapid bride who clearly thought more of herself than her people.
“My laird.”
Jamie slowly shifted his gaze from the distant battlements to the young warrior who now stood at his side. “What is it, Grant?”
“Ye’ve said nothing since ye came back from the keep. Forgive my intrusion, but will ye not tell us what transpired? Did the MacDonnell consent to the betrothal? Do we have an alliance?”
Jamie’s hands clenched into tight fists. If Grant considered a betrothal that brought the lady to tears and her clan to call out in protest an alliance, then he supposed that’s what they had. “Aye,” he muttered. “We are betrothed.”
Grant’s face lit up. “But that is wonderful news.”
Jamie patted Grant on the back. “Only if ye can see past the fact that my soon-to-be wife despises me and thinks me little better than a bull, chewing cud.”
Niall, another warrior, came forward to offer hope. “Our clans have been feuding for longer than anyone truly kens. Mayhap, in time, ye and the Lady MacDonnell will be able to find a true peace.”
Jamie cocked a brow at the young man. “An easy thing for someone not doing the marrying to say. ‘Tis not ye who must lie with a woman whose eyes hold daggers for ye.” He stormed over to the fire and grabbed a flask of ale off the ground. “In this one instance, I can hardly fault her as the feelings are mutual.”
He raised his flask high in the direction of the keep. “Sleep well, Lady Fiona.” Then he took a mighty swig and turned back to face his men. “This is the last night she will enjoy the protective bosom of her clan. On the morrow after next, she will be placed in my care, and I do not intend to let her out of my sight until our vows have been spoken and our union consummated.” He started pacing in front of the fire. “I will not be played a fool by a fickle and unfaithful MacDonnell. Unlike the last attempt at a marriage between our clans, this alliance will happen. And once Ranulf MacKenzie has been defeated, and I beget an heir, I needn’t touch her again. She can leave Castle Làidir and return to her family if that is her wish.”
“Is she so repulsive then?” Seumas asked.
Jamie looked back at Castle Creagan. “She is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever beheld, but her fineness is only a mask hiding the true shallowness of her character.” He shrugged. “No matter. Our union will be enough to create peace between our clans—at least long enough for us to quell the threat of the MacKenzie.”
“How many travel with us on to Làidir?” Sebastian, the youngest in their party, asked.
Jamie turned and scanned the few warriors he had chosen to accompany him. “I have limited her to two servants. I know not how many MacDonnell warriors will make the journey. Seumas, ye will be in charge of her party. Sebastian, ye’ll also ride with them. Grant and Niall, ye will ride with me and the lady.”
“Will we not ride together?”
“I do not intend to take her on the open road and risk an encounter with the MacKenzie. This her father knows. But my other reason for taking her separately from her kin is that I cannot trust her not to run. On the road, she could easily appeal to a faithful clansman for aid in escaping.”
“What then is our route?” Niall asked.
“We go by way of the Hidden Pass.”
Niall’s eyes widened, showing his surprise. “That will be a hard journey for a lady.”
Jamie shrugged. “She will not be so pampered in my keep. It is better that she get used to that now.” He turned back to study Castle Creagan.
“Why do ye keep watching the gate?” Seumus asked.
“If ye had seen her face when her father consented that we wed, ye’d know why I believe she plans to run.” He gave his men a stern look. “We will watch the gate in shifts until we depart.”
Grant crossed to his side. “Ye ken if she really wants to
run, she will likely choose to leave through a passage not known to us.”
“Aye, I ken,” Jamie snapped. “But what would ye have me do? Not be vigilant?”
Grant backed away. “Nay, I just want to prepare ye for the worst.”
“The worst is if our clan falls to the MacKenzie. Even if the lady were to run, her father has committed to an alliance. The MacDonnells will stand with us, or I will bring down the might of the MacLeod upon their heads.”
Chapter 10
Fiona stood in the courtyard, flanked by Esme and Abby. She watched Jamie ride through the gate. With one hand he loosely gripped the reins while his other hand rested easily on his thigh. At first glance, one might have thought he was just another friend to the clan come to visit, but the intensity of his gaze belied the casualness of his seat. His gaze bore into hers, his eyes assessing and full of disdain. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, fighting against the insecurity and fear building within her every moment he drew closer. When he reined in his mount in front of her, he held out his hand. “Come to me,” he said.
She trembled beneath the force of his gaze. “The stable boy is fetching my horse,” she replied, fighting to keep her voice steady.
He slowly shook his head. “Ye’re riding with me.”
She forced herself not to gasp. There was no way she could surrender herself to his arms. She eyed the bulging contours of his biceps. It would be as if entering a cage. She would be powerless to escape his hold. “Thank ye, but I will be more comfortable on my own mare.”
“After we are wed and our union consummated and the terms of our alliance officially met, then ye can do whatever ye like. I care not. But until that time, ye’re not leaving my sight.” He drew closer and in a low voice said. “I will not give ye the chance to escape this wedding.”
“How dare ye doubt my word?” she hissed.
He looked at her pointedly. “MacDonnell women are not famous for their honor or their faithfulness. Now, come to me.”
Fiona started to refuse him, but Esme gave her hand a sharp squeeze.
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