The Highlander’s Demand

by Wine, Mary

  The other Bishop didn’t agree.

  Vychan didn’t care.

  He lowered himself before the Archbishop before leaving the room as quickly as Colum was able. Once they were outside, Colum shared a look with his captain, Rory.

  “How much did it cost ye?” Vychan asked his sire. “How much does one need to bribe an Archbishop?”

  “It was only a matter of convincing the man of the good which might be accomplished if I were his friend.”

  “A donation to the hospital in remembrance of yer mother,” Rory filled in the details.

  “So, all in all,” Colum continued, “a good ending for everyone.”

  Colum indulged in another moment of satisfaction before his expression tightened. “Now, lads. Me daughter has been in the hands of Buchanan Makenzie for too long.”

  The assembled Retainers nodded gruffly. They checked their saddle straps before they mounted, for they were going to ride hard. Every man among them understood the peril they were heading into.

  And not a one of them hesitated.

  *

  “Cora.” Buchanan caught his sister hovering in the passageway at the base of the steps which lead up to the chambers in the North Tower.

  His sister turned and lowered herself briefly.

  Buchanan finished descending the steps. “I suppose the matter is spread all over the stronghold by now.”

  “And likely into the stables,” Cora confirmed. “Fenella is sputtering in rage. And I am feeling no’ less incensed toward our Head-of-House.”

  “She lost her son,” Buchanan argued.

  “Because of Iain’s recklessness,” Cora spat back. “Why is it always a woman’s burden to suffer what men do in the name of glory? Fenella should know better at her age. To vent her rage on Rhedyn is…is…”

  “I will no’ allow the lass to suffer.” His sister paused. Buchanan pointed behind him. “Shona has care of her now. Fenella has given me the chance to remove our guest from her reach.”

  Cora looked both ways before she moved close and lowered her voice. “It would be better if she were gone from Mackenzie land.”

  “If she is gone, the men will demand I seek out her father for recompense. The matter is still too fresh in everyone’s minds.”

  “Colum Lindsey is a long way from here,” Cora replied. “Secure in his own stronghold. If he has his daughter back, he will have no reason to venture outside his walls. Much less fight with ye.”

  “It is no’ so simple as that, Cora.” Buchanan shook his head. “It’s spring now. The men will want to raid if Colum does no’ accept me challenge.”

  “Ye’ll think of something to dissuade them,” Cora said adamantly.

  “Aye, well, while I’m thinking, ye should be learning how to manage the house.”

  Cora propped her hands on her hips. “I will sit with Rhedyn and make certain no one trifles with her.”

  “She’s had enough Mackenzies for one day,” Buchanan said. He held up his hand when his sister made to argue. “How can she not see ye as a Mackenzie? Ye are me sister, Cora. Ye can no more go against the clan than I can. Make a fuss and the hall will be full of conversation about ye no’ knowing yer place which will lead to talk of setting the date for yer wedding so yer groom can take ye in hand. I will nae start such a conversation, but ye know very well I can no’ ignore it if it begins.”

  Cora narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps she’s had enough of the sort of Mackenzie ye appear to be, brother. Do nae count me among the number who can nae see there is likely more to the tale of the evening at Sow’s Troth. Because I know full well the tavern is where men find courtesans.”

  His sister sent him a final fuming look before she turned and left. Her words rung in his ears, for he suddenly realized just how much Cora and Rhedyn had in common.

  He detested the idea of thinking of Cora arriving to a place full of animosity toward her blood. He was helpless to do anything about the reception she’d receive, and that bit of knowledge felt like a knot in his gut. It persisted, driving his desire to manage the situation. He could not even voice his demand that his sister be treated kindly when it would be all too simple for the Grants to point to his taking Rhedyn as a captive.

  So maybe he should lead by example.

  Buchanan looked back up the stairs.

  Aye. Perhaps he’d do exactly that and just see what his Lindsey guest made of his overtures.

  *

  Her belly grumbled.

  Rhedyn was still tired but hunger was gnawing at her insides. She shifted in the bedding and realized the scent of hot food was drifting in the air. Sleep was suddenly the last thing she craved.

  Had she missed the sound of the chain?

  She opened her eyes and sat up. Pain shot across her back, recalling her memories instantly.

  “I am Shona.”

  Shona lowered herself in a simple motion before she was moving around the foot of the bed. Her steps barely made any sound at all. The dress she wore was a gray-green wool. Her over sleeves were tied behind her back. Unlike the maids in the kitchens, Shona wore a narrow-brimmed cap. It was tilted to one side, giving her a playful appearance.

  “Yes, I remember,” Rhedyn responded.

  Shona folded the bedding down. Rhedyn’s belly grumbled long and low.

  “Ye slept the day away, but I knew ye’d need some supper or ye’d wake in the wee dark hours,” Shona said.

  A pair of slippers were waiting for Rhedyn to slip her feet into before she moved across the room to where a tray was placed on a small table. The scent of food made her mouth water, but Shona took a brush to her hair first. Rhedyn sat still until the woman decided she was neat enough.

  “Thank ye,” Rhedyn said before she reached for a ceramic lid atop a bowl. Steam rose up in a little puff as she leaned forward to see what supper there was. She smiled before she picked up a spoon and dug into the hearty stew.

  “Shona attends to the chambers and guests,” Buchanan spoke as he came into the chamber.

  Rhedyn swallowed and pulled the spoon out of her mouth while the Makenzie laird made his way across the floor to a chair opposite her.

  Rhedyn was only wearing a dressing robe.

  Captors don’t follow the rules of etiquette…

  Of course they didn’t, but Rhedyn still couldn’t quite dispel her surprise.

  Shona walked over to the small table by the chair. She retrieved the tray and brought it over to Buchanan. His eyes narrowed, but only for a moment before he was lifting the bottle from the tray and pulling the waxed rope stopper from it. The scent of strong whiskey teased Rhedyn’s nose. He poured two glasses, placing one back on the tray, which Shona carried over and placed in front of Rhedyn.

  “I do not partake of strong spirits,” she informed him.

  “Thank ye, Shona.” Buchanan ignored Rhedyn.

  Shona inclined her head before striding out of the chamber. It left Rhedyn alone with Buchanan and the odd way his presence affected her.

  “I do nae expect ye are accustomed to strong spirits. But I have no taste for French wine, so there is none in the cellar, or Shona would have brought it. Whiskey will have to do until I can fetch something more appropriate for a lady.”

  He lifted the glass to her in a toast. Rhedyn was frozen, her mind refusing to process his words.

  “Do ye suspect me of attempting to undermine yer wits, lass?” he asked when she left her glass on the table.

  Rhedyn scoffed at him but picked up the glass because she refused to allow him to think he’d intimidated her. “I’ve been here long enough if ye cared to ruin me.”

  The topic was forbidden, or unseemly at best. Still, for the moment, Rhedyn discovered herself too lacking in strength to do anything except speak plainly. If he didn’t care for it, he knew where the door was. Her response left him contemplating her with a questioning look as she sniffed at the whiskey.

  “Ye are a fine enough looking lass, Rhedyn,” Buchanan remarked as he sipped at the whisk
ey.

  The compliment caused her to choke on the second sip of whiskey. One side of his mouth rose in response.

  “The idea of ye sending any of yer people to fetch something for me was what gave me pause,” Rhedyn said as the strong drink stung her throat. But it also cleaned her teeth and mouth, so she took another sip. “As if ye’d bother on me account. Why are ye still here?”

  “There is only one way ye will understand I am sincere,” he said.

  Rhedyn looked up from the glass to find him watching her with an honest expression. One she discovered she liked far too much, for it lacked the icy chill she’d come to expect.

  “And what precisely is that?”

  Buchanan flashed her a grin. “To tell the truth, I do nae know but—most negotiations start with having a drink together. So…let’s have a drink.”

  So, this was the man beneath the laird. Meeting him was a bit unsettling.

  A shiver went down her back. Only, it was a different sort of sensation. It raised gooseflesh along her limbs, but it had nothing in common with the way Fenella had chilled her blood. Buchanan drained his glass and refilled it.

  “I crossed Fenella a few times in me youth and gained a taste of that rod of hers,” Buchanan told her. “Drink up. There is no reason to suffer.”

  “Oh,” Rhedyn muttered after another few sips. “I do nae know how I might have come to any other conclusion.”

  Buchanan frowned. “Ye know well I have no liking for being called a villain.”

  He was explaining himself to her. Rhedyn tossed the remaining liquid into her mouth and drew in a deep breath as it felt like it set fire to her tongue. It was surprise that made her do it so quickly. Never could she have imagined Laird Mackenzie attempting to make amends with her.

  “It is me failing that Fenella was able to vent her grief upon ye.” Buchanan stood and moved toward her. He refilled her glass before locking gazes with her. “I apologize, lass. Sincerely.”

  There was a gleam of self-reproach in his eyes. He gave her only a moment to see it before he was returning to the chair by the hearth. For a brief moment, she watched the longer pleats of his kilt sway with his steps before he turned and gave her a glimpse of his knees and bare thighs.

  There wasn’t a spare bit of flesh on him. He wasn’t a laird in title first and foremost. No, Buchanan was earning his respect by working as hard as any of his men.

  “No retort?” he inquired from the chair.

  “I am no’ a harpy. Or a child to no’ see the value of yer apology.” She felt the warmth of the liquor spreading through her body. It burned away the pain, leaving her happy to indulge in more drink.

  “No, ye are a woman. Yer father should be pleased with ye, lass. Ye have done the Lindsey name proud.”

  “Ye did nae insist on fighting me father.” Rhedyn wasn’t certain when she decided to speak. But the words were across her lips before she thought to quell the urge. “It would likely have been better for ye if ye had. Yer men are not pleased with yer restraint.”

  “Some are,” Buchanan replied. “Others, well, taking ye affords me the opportunity to let evidence surface to clear yer father’s name.”

  “It was a tavern,” Rhedyn defended her father. “If yer brother was talking in a common room more than one man would have heard him. Naught but pure nonsense for anyone to point solely at me father as the culprit.”

  Rhedyn drew in a stiff breath. Her heart was beating hard, but she felt better than she had in days for being able to speak her mind. She reached for the soup and ate the rest of it before placing the bowl down with a little sound of victory. Buchanan was still contemplating her. He suddenly put his glass down and left the chair.

  She gasped, for the man moved quickly and with a fluidness that spoke of just how lethal his body might be. She was suddenly frozen like a rabbit that had spied a predator. Buchanan kept coming until he was only a pace from her. She tipped back her head, keeping their gazes fused.

  “Which is why I acted like a villain and stole ye.”

  His tone was edged with remorse. Rhedyn might have contemplated his expression, but with her second glass drained, she found herself far more interested in enjoying his admission.

  He suddenly leaned down and scooped her up. She gasped, amazed by the strength he had. He cradled her against his chest, turning and carrying her toward the bed.

  Strange how she noticed the scent on his skin.

  Clean.

  Healthy.

  Strong.

  So many of her father’s men were the same and yet, completely different than the Mackenzie laird. As he lowered her to the bed, she stared into his eyes, fascinated by the topaz color.

  “An innocent is what ye are, Rhedyn,” he muttered again as he leaned forward and stroked some hair back from where it had fallen across her face.

  She let out a little sound of surprise, for the contact between their skin was astounding. And she wasn’t the only one who felt it. He went still, hovering over her before he deliberately stroked the side of her face. Something sparked in his eyes.

  Something that sent a warning through her.

  But her eyelids were too heavy. They lowered, and Rhedyn didn’t have the strength to lift them again. Instead, she felt Buchanan stroke her face once more, his touch penetrating deep now that she didn’t have her sight to distract her. Another little sound escaped her lips before she drifted into slumber.

  *

  He was pleased.

  Buchanan forced himself to straighten up. Pulling his hand away from Rhedyn seemed by far one of the greatest acts of self-discipline he’d ever demanded of himself.

  It was likely a misplaced emotion but for the moment, he was alone. So, he contemplated Rhedyn while he tried to decipher the emotions welling up inside him.

  The dark bruises on her arms enraged him. But it was completely self-directed. He’d left her open to attack.

  It wouldn’t happen again.

  Buchanan felt like he was making a solemn oath, and just possibly he was. Long moments passed by as he watched the way she slept. There was something innately satisfying about watching her resting so deeply. But right on the heels of that feeling was guilt. Sharp-edged reproach for the way he’d left her in the chamber above the kitchen with naught but rabbit pelts.

  The truth was, he’d never thought his staff would be so petty.

  Well ye know it now, laddie…

  Buchanan nodded.

  He tucked the blankets up to her chin before departing the chamber. Shona was at the end of the passageway, her eyes on a small, leather-bound book she seemed to always have tucked into a pocket on her skirt. She knew he was there, but waited until he closed the chamber door before she glanced up at him.

  “I entrust our guest to ye, Shona.”

  “Guest?” she inquired. Her intent was to make certain she understood clearly what Rhedyn’s position was.

  “Aye,” Buchanan said. “One who does nae have the liberty to leave the tower without escort.”

  Shona inclined her head. Buchanan held up his finger.

  “Tell yer staff that I will be deeply displeased if there is any further abuse. Rhedyn Lindsey is me personal guest. If they have an argument about it, they can see me.”

  Shona was in her position because she was smart. She fluttered her eyelashes before her lips lifted into a grin. “I will make certain of it, Laird.”

  Fenella was the Head-of-House, but when it came to the upper tower chambers, Shona held the authority. In a castle as large as the Mackenzie stronghold, such an arrangement was necessary.

  The look on Shona’s face granted him the peace of mind to turn and walk away. But he wasn’t fully at ease. There were plenty in the castle who would happily take their anger out on Rhedyn.

  He was responsible for her.

  Buchanan felt the muscles between his shoulder blades tightening. Aye, he’d taken her, and he’d have to find a way to prove the issue one way or the other else there would never be a
ny peace.

  And if Colum Lindsey is innocent?

  Buchanan didn’t shy away from the question. His father had done a good job of raising him to be laird. There was no shirking his actions. He’d answer for taking Rhedyn if need be. For the moment though, he sat at his desk and began to draft a letter. He didn’t crawl into his own bed until late into the night as he wrote out several messages meant to accumulate information from several sources. Perhaps in a castle there might be loyalty, but a tavern, well, that was another matter altogether.

  But will ye send her home, laddie?

  That question came as he was lying in his bed and thinking about the way Rhedyn had looked while sleeping.

  She stirred the oddest sensation in him.

  Alone in the dark, he could be honest with himself. Well, it was a bit more of being unable to stop his mind from going where it would. Rhedyn drew his interest in a manner he’d never encountered in a female before.

  Cradling her had pleased him.

  Her weight, her scent, were details branded into his mind for some strange reason. It defied rational thinking the way he recalled tiny details about her pretty face. From the exact color of her hair to the way her hazel eyes were greener than anything else. She was mesmerizing, even now when fatigue was clawing at him and sleep remained elusive.

  The only idea he wanted to entertain was one which included finding a reason to see her again. Sending her home made him bristle. It made no sense, but his fickle emotions weren’t interested in logic.

  Just his impulses.

  *

  Munro land…

  Rolfe Munro flattened his hands on the table in his study and eyed the Retainer in front of him.

  “The Church allowed Colum Lindsey to wed a dead woman?” he demanded.

  “Aye,” the man answered. “Vychan has been acknowledged and legitimized.”

  Rolfe let out a low whistle.

  There was a cough from near the hearth. Rolfe’s father sat hunched over, his shoulders draped with a thick blanket in spite of the flames dancing away just a few feet from him. His face was thin and pinched, age taking a vicious toll on him. Yet, there was life in his eyes still.