The Chief

by Monica McCarty

  With a harsh sound, he tore his mouth from hers and pulled away. “Enough!”

  Her body startled at the harsh curtailment of pleasure. Instinctively, she reached for him, but he held her forcibly at arm’s length.

  She blinked. The haze of passion slowly lifted and she met his shocked, accusatory gaze. He was staring at her as if she’d just grown another head. As if she frightened him. Her eyes widened. She frightened him.

  Because she made him feel something he didn’t want to. He cared about her. Though the stubborn, thick-headed man didn’t realize it. But he would. Her bruised, swollen mouth tugged to a smile. It was really rather sweet.

  He recovered quickly, but not quickly enough. “I’m taking you back to the castle,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Now!”

  Christina let him drag her along, not caring one bit about the sudden surly turn of attitude or the unmistakably grim set of his jaw.

  None of it mattered. For nothing could take away the certainty of her newfound knowledge.

  She’d penetrated the icy shield. It was the sign she’d been waiting for. He cared for her. The proof was in his kiss.

  —

  Tor didn’t know what in Hades had come over him. One minute he was furious, the next he was kissing her like he’d never kissed another woman before. Like he was ravenous in his need of her. The passion didn’t bother him; the sharp tugging in his chest, however, was a different matter.

  Unconsciously, he’d held back from kissing her, as if instinctively realizing the danger. Now he knew why. The connection was too strong. The feelings were too powerful. Too intense. And trying to bottle them back up would be a Herculean—if not Pandoran—task.

  Now that he’d tasted the honey sweetness of that mouth he would think of nothing else. He cursed and shoved a branch out of the way so hard it cracked.

  He could hear her breathing hard behind him and slowed his step, realizing he was walking too fast. He gave her a sharp look. She was being quiet. Too quiet. Following along meekly beside him with nary a complaint.

  And he didn’t like that look on her face. The slight upward curve of her mouth could almost be characterized as smug. What did she have to smile about? He’d nearly ravished her in the middle of the day against a tree, for God’s sake.

  “We’re almost there,” he said brusquely.

  “That’s nice.”

  That’s nice? His eyes narrowed. What was she up to?

  “Will you be attending to more clan business today?” she asked politely.

  “Aye,” he said.

  “Why have you never kissed me before?” He nearly tripped over a rock at the unexpected change of subject.

  “I don’t know,” he said gruffly. “I suppose I never thought of it.”

  She lifted a brow as if she knew he’d lied. “Well, I rather liked it.”

  Good thing he wasn’t eating or he would have choked.

  “Rather a lot,” she said. “I’m afraid I must insist upon it from now on.”

  Insist upon it? Tor was incredulous. Was his wee wife issuing him orders? He was chief. No one else would dare speak to him with such insolence. He really should correct her. But before he could form a reply, she said, “What else have you not thought about?” She peered suspiciously into his horrified gaze. “I hate to think there’s anything else I’m missing.”

  Her eyes dropped to the substantial bulge beneath his leine. The dart of her tiny pink tongue over her bottom lip sent a bolt of lust right to his groin. She sensed his reaction, and this time, there was no mistaking the smile that curved that sensual mouth.

  Heaven help him.

  With a toss of her long, silky hair, she resumed walking, leaving Tor a little dazed and quite a bit rattled.

  A subtle shift had taken place between them, and Tor had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it. Not at all.

  He was more than a little relieved when the village came into view. Dunvegan village consisted of twenty or so small thatched cottages scattered within a mile of the harbor, a small market where the farmers and fishermen gathered to hawk their wares, the village blacksmith, stables, and an alehouse.

  As they drew near, he felt a prickle of disquiet. Something was wrong. It was too quiet. Normally, at this time of day the village would be bustling with activity, but it seemed as if everyone had gone indoors.

  When they turned toward the harbor it became clear why. Two unfamiliar galleys sat anchored in the water.

  He cursed, and was just about to send Christina into one of the cottages until he discovered what was going on when Rhuairi came rushing toward them. “Thank God, you’ve returned,” he said. “I dared not send word.”

  “What’s happened? Whom do those ships belong to?”

  “It’s John MacDougall.” Damn. John of Lorne, the MacDougall chief’s eldest son and tanaiste. And a right bastard. “With the Earl of Ross imprisoned by Edward, MacDougall has come to collect the rents. When he was denied entry to the castle—the men wouldn’t let him in without your permission—he and his soldiers decided to confiscate half the winter reserves. Coll suffered a blow to the head when he tried to stop them from taking half his stores of dried beef.”

  Tor uttered a blasphemy and clenched his jaw. So Edward’s new sheriff had decided to make his presence felt on Skye by harassing his people?

  “How many men did you bring with you?” he asked the seneschal.

  “Only a few. I was already in the village when they arrived.”

  And Tor was without his retinue. Normally, the difference in numbers wouldn’t concern him, but he didn’t usually have his wife to consider. Tor had vowed to stay neutral in Scotland’s war and had no wish to battle Edward’s sheriff, but MacDougall was an arrogant arse and he didn’t trust him. “Take the lady back to the castle—”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” Christina gestured toward the harbor.

  They’d already been seen. MacDougall and at least two score of his men were coming from the opposite direction—near the market—heading to the boats, laden with crates. MacDougall limped slightly as he walked, his crippled leg the source of his epithet as John “Bacach,” or Lame John.

  Tor’s gaze leveled on hers. “Stay near me at all times.” She nodded. “And let me do the talking,” he added as an afterthought. MacDougall was sure to question the circumstances of their marriage, and Tor didn’t want her to inadvertently say anything that would make Edward’s new sheriff question his neutrality. He clenched his fists. MacDonald’s plan was about to be tested. John MacDougall might be an arse but he was no fool. He doubted that the timing of MacDougall’s visit was a coincidence. Edward must have heard of his marriage.

  “Ah,” MacDougall said as they approached. “The very man we’ve been looking for. I’ve come to collect the taxes, but your guard refused me admittance and claimed that you were away.”

  Tor stopped a few feet from him. “As you can see, I’ve returned.” The two men squared off against each other. Tor towered over him by at least a half foot, but MacDougall was built like a boar—thick and heavily muscled. He also had the benefit of forty men behind him. Tor had Rhuari, a handful of guardsmen, and his wife. Because of Christina’s presence, he could do nothing, and they both knew it. Still, it wasn’t in his nature to back down. “So you thought to rob my people of their goods?”

  MacDougall smiled coldly, reminding Tor very much of his viper of a cousin MacRuairi. The MacDougalls, MacDonalds, MacRuairis, and MacSorleys represented four branches of the descendants of Somerled. The feud and struggle for power between the MacDougalls and the MacDonalds was every bit as virulent—and significant—as that between the Bruces and the Comyns. Both clans wanted to be the dominant force in the Islands, but right now it was the MacDougalls.

  “Consider it a deposit on the balance of the taxes that you owe.”

  Tor held his temper in check. “The king has already received his payment for the year.”

  MacDougall lifted a dark brow. “Tha
t is a small pittance compared to what is owed.”

  “It was exactly what was owed. Check the books if you like. The recent attacks have resulted in smaller yields this year.”

  “The king cares not about your problems. He has been derelict in collecting since Ross was imprisoned, but that has changed. Now he has me.”

  “To what king do you refer? The one you bowed to last year or the one you do this year?”

  Tor’s knife was well aimed. MacDougall flushed angrily, and the big man at his side—his henchman, no doubt—moved his hand to the hilt of his sword. MacDougall’s forced allegiance to Edward had been at the expense of his kinsmen King John Balliol and the Comyns, and it still must grate.

  “Are you questioning King Edward’s claim to the throne? I should warn you—as a friend, of course—that he does not take treason lightly. Your recent marriage has already cast aspersions upon your loyalty.”

  His calculating gaze turned to Christina, and Tor had to fight the urge to shove her behind his back. MacDougall didn’t hide the flare of lust that would have been a death sentence under any other circumstances. Tor clenched his fists, his hands itching to grab the hilt of his sword. He’d never felt so constrained, but with Christina by his side he might as well be tied down in chains.

  “My marriage had nothing to do with politics,” Tor said evenly, his tone giving no hint to the dangerous rage flaring inside him. “I saw her and wanted her.”

  MacDougall’s eyes were still on Christina. To her credit, Christina stood calmly at his side. If she noticed the other man’s lecherous glances, she did not let on. “Yes, I heard the circumstances of your marriage. My lady.” He bowed to Christina, and she curtsied stiffly. To Tor he said, “It’s not difficult to see why you became so besotted.” His gaze sharpened. “Though I must admit being surprised to hear that love was the reason for your hasty nuptials.”

  Christina started to object, but Tor quickly grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze as he lifted it to his mouth. “Aye, I was bewitched from the first moment I saw her.” Their eyes met and he read her surprise. He would have to explain later, but didn’t relish the conversation.

  “A common occurrence in your family,” MacDougall said, echoing Tor’s previous words to MacDonald. “Is your brother here? There is a matter of a broken betrothal to settle.”

  Tor was grateful for the change of subject, but he knew MacDougall was not completely convinced. “He is not. But when he returns, I will see that you are recompensed for any inconvenience you have suffered.”

  “See to it that you do,” MacDougall said. “I think half the Nicolson chit’s tocher should do.”

  Tor kept his jaw locked tight. It was bloody robbery, but Torquil would fight his own battles.

  MacDougall gave Christina another glance and then turned back to Tor. “When word of your marriage reached the king, he realized there had been an oversight.”

  Tor’s eyes narrowed, sensing he wasn’t going to like what MacDougall had to say. “What kind of oversight?”

  “It seems your name does not appear on the Ragman Rolls.”

  Damn. Not an oversight at all. Tor had intentionally not signed the roll swearing his allegiance, fealty, and homage to Edward a few years back as required of all Scottish nobles. “I was in Ireland at the time.”

  MacDougall smiled. Though Tor had betrayed nothing in his expression, MacDougall was not fooled. He waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter. The oversight can be easily rectified. You need not travel all the way to Berwick. Stirling Castle will do, at parliament at the end of January.”

  MacDougall left not long after, taking a portion of the winter reserves with him. And for the moment Tor could do nothing but watch him go, seething. But he was already planning the reiving party to get it back. No doubt MacDougall expected it. It was the Highland way. But MacDougall was playing a dangerous game. Tor would be pushed only so far, and John of Lorne had just reached the edge.

  Still he was furious. His wife’s adventure today not only jeopardized the security of Bruce’s team, it had also cost him a small fortune. Worse, his marriage had done exactly what he feared—dragged him into the center of a brewing storm. In less than two months’ time, he was going to have to make a choice.

  —

  Christina felt wretched. The return journey to the castle was painfully quiet. The passionate kiss they’d shared and her playful teasing seemed a distant memory. Tor wouldn’t even look at her. Not only had she followed him and witnessed something she obviously wasn’t supposed to see, but her presence in the village had tied his hands. Would he have attempted to stop MacDougall from carrying off the village’s winter stores? She didn’t know, but with her there, he hadn’t had a choice.

  MacDougall’s visit also made it clear that their marriage had brought him exactly the trouble he’d sought to avoid—attention from the king. Because of her, Edward was questioning his loyalty and attempting to force him to choose sides by swearing his allegiance.

  She hadn’t understood the enormity of the threat until she’d met MacDougall. John of Lorne was well known for his ruthlessness, and despite his professing to be a friend, it wasn’t friendliness that Christina glimpsed in his gaze but something else—animosity, and perhaps even jealousy. He made her skin crawl with his lecherous glances. Even knowing that he was just trying to make her husband angry didn’t stop her from feeling like she wanted to take a bath. He’d relished having the upper hand on the infamous Highland warlord, and Christina sensed this was only the beginning of problems to come from Edward’s powerful sheriff.

  She’d been stunned when Tor claimed that he’d married her because he was besotted. The look in his eyes when he’d kissed her hand…

  Her heart had jumped for one hard beat before she realized it was probably for the benefit of MacDougall. Of course, he was too honorable to reveal the true circumstances of their marriage. But she’d wanted to believe it was true.

  As Tor helped her from the birlinn, she could stand the silence no longer. “I’m sorry if our marriage has brought you trouble. I know you’ve no wish to become embroiled in Scottish politics.”

  “It’s nothing to concern you, Christina.”

  She hated when he dismissed her like this. He tried to lead her up the stairs, but she stood firm. His men were kind enough to give them some space. “Why is it so important to you?” she asked.

  He heaved a sigh and looked at her. “Why is what so important to me?”

  “Staying out of it. After today, can’t you see how impossible that is? Edward will leave no corner of his realm untouched—no matter how remote.”

  “MacDougall was merely putting me on notice, letting me know that he is watching me. As long as I do not move against him, he will not move against me. For now, that is good enough.”

  She felt some of the hot patriotic Fraser blood stir inside her. “And you are content to stand to the side and allow Edward and men like MacDougall to rule Scotland?”

  His eyes flared dangerously. He’d taken her question as a criticism—which perhaps it had been. “I am content to not drag my people into a war that will bring them nothing but misery. I am content to not see my men have their heads split open on a battlefield fighting for a king who knows and cares nothing about the Highlands and the Isles. To see women left without husbands and children without fathers. To see my lands razed and cattle slaughtered. I’ve spent the last twenty years of my life doing everything I can to restore my clan to peace and prosperity, and I’ll be damned if I’ll see it destroyed by the squabbles of distant kings. Are you so eager for war, Christina?”

  “Of course not,” she said, stunned by the intensity of his reaction. She’d struck a nerve and suspected the source. “The raid that killed your parents must have been devastating.”

  “It was,” he said curtly. Clearly, that was all he intended to say on the subject. “Be careful what you wish for; war may find us soon enough. Now if we are done here, there are matters I must attend to.”<
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  Shoulders stiff, he strode away, leaving her to return to the castle alone. More miserable than before. Her attempt to apologize had only succeeded in angering him further. No wonder he didn’t want to get involved. How could she have been so naïve? She had thought only of one man’s concerns, but he had the well-being of his entire clan to consider.

  —

  Over the next few days Christine saw even less of her husband than usual. When he returned to the castle he was locked in the solar with Rhuairi or his guardsmen. As usual he did not confide in her, but Christina could see that the situation with MacDougall was weighing on him, in the lines etched more deeply around his mouth and the weariness in his gaze.

  The situation their marriage had brought about.

  Never far from her thoughts was the fear that he regretted marrying her. That he might blame her for drawing Edward’s suspicions. And if any harm came to his clan from this, he would never be able to look at her as anything other than a mistake.

  If only she could find a way to make it up to him. Given that he’d slept at the broch the three nights after MacDougall had left, with the strange warriors she wasn’t allowed to ask about, it wasn’t going to be with more passionate kisses. He treated her with the same polite indifference as before, but never far from her mind was the raw emotion in that kiss.

  He cares for me; he must. She’d tasted it. And felt it in her heart.

  Sighing, she slid the folio back onto the shelf and smacked the dust from her hands. She’d lingered in the solar after Brother John was called away to straighten up. To say the young cleric was disorganized was an understatement. The seneschal Rhuairi was no better. She shook her head. How they got any work done with this mess was beyond her.

  Gathering the various pieces of parchment and vellum strewn across the table, she stacked them in a neat pile. Her eyes skimmed a few of the documents, seeing that they were mostly receipts from tacks and rents received from her husband’s scattered chieftains and tacksmen. In addition to holding a large portion of Skye, it appeared that Tor had lands on the islands of Lewis, Harris, and North Uist.