The Chief

by Monica McCarty

  Christina delighted at the praise, blushing with pleasure at the honest admiration in the earl’s face—a handsome face, so it was said. But it wouldn’t stay that way if he didn’t release her hand. Perhaps this chivalry had its merits. “He does,” Tor said through clenched teeth. “And Christina’s talents, I’m afraid, are reserved for her husband.”

  He spoke sharply and Christina frowned, not understanding the source of his annoyance. Bruce, however, did. He laughed and released her hand. “I thank you for your service this day, lass, and if you ever need anything, you have only to ask.”

  Christina flushed a little pinker and returned his smile. “If you don’t mind, I should ask you for that boon right now. A bath would be lovely.”

  “It shall be arranged at once.”

  She looked at Tor questioningly. “Go,” he said. “I will join you soon.”

  She nodded and followed the serving woman out of the Hall. Both men watched her go.

  “Our bargain has worked out well for you,” Bruce said slyly.

  It had, but Tor didn’t need to tell him that. “Well enough.”

  “You’ve decided to accept the command.”

  “With a few understandings.” They’d been speaking in French when Christina was there, but had unconsciously switched to Gaelic when she left—another point in Bruce’s favor.

  The earl eyed him warily. “What kind of understandings?”

  “We will follow your orders, but I must be in charge of the team. For a guard like this to work, I must have autonomy and complete authority in the field.”

  Bruce considered him for a long time, not looking pleased by his demands. “So I tell you what I need and you decide how it is to be done?”

  Tor shrugged. That was one way of looking at it.

  After a few more minutes, Bruce reluctantly nodded in agreement. “Not that I’m not impressed with what you and your men did, but next time try to let me know before you decide to attack an English garrison.”

  Tor smiled. “I’ll do my best, but there wasn’t time. The English had something very precious to me.”

  “Anything else?”

  “My men and I may not be bound by your knightly code—and will do your dirty work—but I won’t be ordered to kill women or children.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Bruce said wryly. “You will be called upon for dangerous and unpleasant tasks, but you have my word that I will not ask you to do anything I won’t do myself.”

  Surprisingly, Tor could see that he meant it. His estimation of the lauded knight had just increased twofold. Initially, Tor’s decision to lead the team was not so much about joining Bruce as it was about defeating Edward. But the young earl had made an impression on him. Robert Bruce was no weak lordling, but a noble warrior determined to take back a kingdom. Unlike most of his chivalric brethren, Bruce was not afraid to get his hands dirty. It was a quality he would need if they were to have any hope of success. To win this war, he was going to get filthy.

  Tor met his gaze. “And Comyn? Shall I take care of him?”

  Bruce did not pretend to misunderstand the question. His path to the throne was not blocked by just King Edward, but also by the Red Comyn—arguably the most powerful noble in the land. “Nay. I shall deal with Comyn myself.”

  Tor nodded, knowing the first strike in a long war was about to be felt.

  “Go,” Bruce said, “see to your wife.” He smiled. “Though I would suggest a good dunking and a change of clothes first.”

  Tor’s mouth twisted. “A wise suggestion.” He might have more success convincing his wife to forgive him if he didn’t reek of a bog.

  “And MacLeod?” Tor turned, and Bruce gave him a hard, meaningful look. “Be ready.”

  “Aye, my lord,” Tor said with a bow of his head. “At your command.”

  —

  The relaxing lull of her bath had vanished by the time the water was taken away, and Christina was dressed in a fresh chemise and cotte borrowed from Bruce’s wife, Lady Elizabeth De Burgh. Barely noticing the luxurious furnishings surrounding her, she waited anxiously in a chair by the fireplace, drying her hair, not sure what to expect when her husband finally joined her.

  He’d seemed so relieved to see her. But she knew he had to be furious with her for leaving. She hoped she could make him see why it was the only thing that she could do. Why they would both be better off apart. She knew it had been cowardly, leaving him like that without explanation. But saying good-bye the first time had been hard enough; she wasn’t looking forward to doing it face to face.

  What was keeping him?

  When the door finally opened a few minutes later, the reason for delay was obvious. She sucked in her breath, her chest tightened to burning. Like her, he’d bathed. His damp golden-brown hair glistened in the firelight and the fresh scent of soap wafted through the sultry air.

  Her heart lurched. Did he have to make it so hard by looking so ridiculously handsome all the time?

  Their gazes caught. She opened her mouth to apologize, but was stunned to find herself swept up in a fierce embrace.

  “Jesu, Christina, you scared the life out of me.” He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her a little tighter. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  He sounded different. His voice seemed softer, thick with emotion. Wishful thinking. Nothing had changed. He’d come for her—rescued her—but he’d done so before. This time she would not let her romantic fantasies carry her away. It did not mean he loved her.

  She inhaled deeply, wanting to hold on to his warm, masculine scent, then forced herself to push away from him. “I know you must want to know what happened to your men,” she said. “It was so horrible.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “All gone…”

  His mouth fell in a grim line. “They died doing what they were trained for, Christina. What they loved. Highlanders live to die in battle. To a warrior it is the greatest honor.”

  Christina would never understand it. Warriors were a different breed.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said gently.

  She explained how the boats had followed them, then attacked without provocation. He listened to her story without interruption, smiling when he heard how his men had circled her and protected her with their bodies. “Maybe if I hadn’t—”

  “Nay,” he stopped her. “They would have died whether you were there are not. No one could have foreseen what happened. My men make that journey a few times a month; attacks at sea are very rare. I can only guess that the MacDougalls recognized my banner and thought to continue in their efforts to destroy me.”

  “It was the MacDougalls behind the attacks?”

  He nodded.

  That meant…“You caught Brother John before he could pass on what he learned.”

  “We did.” Thank God. At least she would not be responsible for that. “Turns out my new clerk was John of Lorne’s nephew, and my previous clerk did not meet with an accident.”

  How horrible! She bit her lip, still struggling with the realization that her friend had betrayed them. She felt Tor’s gaze on her face and lifted her eyes to his. “And when you left him?”

  He held her gaze. “He’d seen us.”

  Christina nodded in understanding. It could be no other way. The clerk had known what he’d risked, what would happen if he were caught. But still, her heart filled with sadness to know of his death.

  Sensing her distress, Tor swept a lock of hair from her face, lingering to caress her bruised cheek with the back of his finger. “He did not suffer. And I believe he truly regretted your part in his treachery. He genuinely cared for you.”

  The tenderness of the caress confused her—as did his kind words. Did he have to make this so difficult? She just wanted to get it over with. Turning her face from his hand, she took a step away from him. “I should not have left you the way I did.”

  “Nay, you shouldn’t have.”

  “It was cowardly not to say good-bye. But…I…I didn’t know if I’d
have the strength.”

  “Why did you leave me, Tina?”

  Something in his voice made her heart catch. No. She would not allow herself to imagine feelings where none existed. She didn’t look at him when she answered. “Because I could not bear a lifetime of living with someone who could never love me. Who would not allow me to share in his life because he did not care for me or value me.”

  “I see,” he said evenly. “If that were true, then you had every cause to leave.”

  I did? Her gaze shot to his, his expression unreadable. Of course she did. He must have recognized the futility of their marriage as well. Her insides burned. Why did the truth have to hurt so much? Couldn’t he pretend to care just a little bit? She lowered her gaze, not wanting him to see the tears in her eyes. Somehow she got the words out, though each felt stuck in her throat. “If you could take me to Iona on your journey back, I will not bother you again.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said softly.

  Pain welled up inside her like a hot sear of iron on raw flesh. “Of course you will be busy with your team and the earl. Perhaps you might arrange a boat to take me—”

  “Nay.”

  The definitiveness of the refusal finally made her look at him.

  “You aren’t going to Iona,” he said.

  She didn’t understand. “But you swore that if I ever wished to leave, you would allow me to retire to Iona with my sister.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “But you can’t do that. You made a vow.”

  He grinned at her outraged expression. The sight was so unexpected considering the circumstances that she didn’t know what to do. How could he be so cruel as to taunt her like this? But then she looked into his eyes, and what she saw there stopped her heart.

  Taking advantage of her confusion, he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her against him, molding her body to his. He kissed her. Gently. Tenderly. With almost reverent emotion. “I will do whatever I must to keep you by my side,” he said.

  All signs of laughter were gone, and she read uncertainty in his gaze.

  But Tor was never uncertain.

  “I don’t understand.”

  This time he was the one to pull away. He raked his fingers through his still damp hair. It fell in delicious, rumpled waves just past his ears. “I’m not very good at this.”

  She waited for him to continue, not sure what “this” was.

  He drew a deep breath. “When I realized that I might lose you, it was as if something inside me shifted. As if everything I thought I knew had been suddenly turned around.”

  He seemed to be in considerable agony, but she took no pity on him. “What do you mean?”

  “Ever since my parents died and I became chief, I’ve thought I had to be different. That the only way to do my duty to my clan was to cut myself off from all emotion. But in doing so I forgot how to live. You brought warmth into my life,” he said, stroking her cheek with the back of his finger. “I thought I didn’t need anyone, but I was wrong. I need you, Tina. Without you in my life, there is only coldness.”

  He paused, and Christina stared at him. “For someone who isn’t good at talking about your feelings you’re doing a fantastic job.”

  He smiled with relief. “Then you’ve heard enough?”

  She shook her head.

  “I know I was an arse.” She didn’t disagree with him. “I said things that I have no right to ask you to forgive. I have no defense other than the belief that I had to do everything alone. I know you were only trying to help me. Nor were you the only one fooled by an unassuming clerk. I do value you. I always have, though I might not have known how much. I’ve never though of a woman for a clerk, but you proved me wrong. Rhuairi said your calculations were impeccable. And after what you did today…because of you, Bruce will live to fight tomorrow.” The pride in his gaze could not be feigned. “Forgive me, Tina. Come home with me and give me another chance.”

  Her heart was near bursting. She wanted nothing more than to bury her head against his chest and surrender to the hope he was offering. But her head refused to allow her to be swayed so easily. She could not endure another cold retreat like last time.

  “How do I know that you won’t do exactly the same thing the next time I do something to upset you?”

  He gave her a wary look. “Are you planning on upsetting me a lot?”

  She pursed her mouth and stuck up her chin. “I just might. I can’t be content only being your wife in the bedchamber. I’m afraid you might find me quite demanding.”

  “How demanding?” he asked as if he were having a tooth pulled.

  “Very. If I agree to come back, I’m afraid that things are going to be different.”

  He gave her a pained look. “You aren’t going to make this easy, are you?”

  “I’m afraid not.” He inclined his head for her to continue. “Occasionally, I might wish you to show me affection before your clansmen.”

  Now he winced. “Surely, that isn’t necess—”

  “A tender look, maybe a brief kiss. Nothing that should be too difficult.”

  “You won’t be the one listening to MacSorley around the campfire.”

  “I’m sure you are man enough to handle it,” she said unsympathetically. Fearsome warriors shouldn’t whine. “And at times I might wish to offer my opinion about subjects you are discussing.”

  “As long as you agree with me.”

  “Even when those opinions don’t agree with yours.”

  His mouth twitched. “In private you may contradict me all you like.”

  She nodded. “That seems reasonable.”

  “Is that all?” he asked, looking like a man who was being walked to the executioner’s block.

  She shook her head and gazed up at him, hoping she didn’t sound as vulnerable as she felt. “I must demand your heart as well.”

  “You have it,” he said without hesitation. She forced herself not to move. He made a pained face. “I’m going to have to say it, aren’t I?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Afraid so. I really must hear it if I am to believe it.”

  “You are a cruel woman.”

  “Not cruel. Ruthless.” She grinned impishly. “I learned from the best.”

  Then he did something she’d never thought to see him do, something that she would never forget for the rest of her life. Her husband, the proud chief, king to his clan, the greatest warrior of his age, took her hand and knelt on one knee before her.

  “I love you, Tina. I may not be the knight you wished for, but come back to me and I vow that I shall strive to prove my love to you every day for the rest of our lives.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Do you mean it?”

  A wry grin spread across his handsome face. “Considering my current position you have to ask?” He grinned. “Aye, love, I mean it. I love you with all my heart.” She knew he’d never said those words to anyone in his life. “Will you give me another chance?”

  She nodded.

  He let out a groan of relief, pulled her into his arms, and didn’t let go until he’d proved it to her. Over and over again.

  A! Fredome is a noble thing!

  —John Barbour, The Brus

  Near Scone Abbey, Perthshire, March 27, 1306

  The first rays of dawn broke above the horizon. As if God were raising his hand to bless the ceremony himself, beams of bright orange light shot like fingers through the circle of stones. The dramatic effect was only heightened by the eerie sound of the pipes floating through the crisp spring air. It didn’t seem to matter that the stones themselves were pagan; their haunting majesty transcended such considerations. They were a link to Scotland’s ancient past, a symbol of strength and continuity, and as mysterious as the men who were about to kneel before the newly crowned King of Scotland to pledge their service—and their lives.

  As one of a handful of witnesses to the secret ceremony taking place among the pag
an stones, Christina could not think of a more fitting backdrop. Her husband, of course, had hoped to keep her tucked safely away on Skye. But she would not have missed this for anything. She’d more than earned the right to be here and wouldn’t let him forget it.

  Her discovery had led to the final reckoning between Bruce and Comyn, and ultimately, to this day. A little over seven weeks ago, Bruce had killed his nemesis the Red Comyn before the altar in Greyfriars church. The fiery cross had spread across the land, calling the Scots to Bruce’s banner, and just two days ago at Scone Abbey, the historic crowning place of Scotland’s kings, Robert Bruce was crowned King of Scotland—albeit without the ancient Stone of Scone stolen by King Edward ten years ago.

  The witnesses to the coronation were fewer than Bruce had hoped. Three of the nine bishops were present—including the most influential, Lamberton—and of the thirteen earldoms, only the earls of Atholl, Menteith, Lennox, and Mar had answered the call. Especially noticeable was the absence of the young Earl of Fife, who had the hereditary right and duty to crown Scotland’s kings. Without Fife’s presence, some would question the validity of the ceremony. But the young earl was still in England, a ward of King Edward, and the attempt to bring him here had failed.

  Bruce stood before the largest stone wearing the royal vestments and a circlet of gold around his head, the sun rising like a halo above him. “We can’t wait any longer,” he said to Tor. “We shall have to proceed without them.”

  “They’ll be here,” Tor said firmly. “Give them ten more minutes.”

  They needed only half that. For not five minutes later three figures appeared over a crest in the hill to the south, riding hard toward them. In a thunderous rise of pounding hooves, the three newcomers burst into the center of the circle.

  Two of the figures she recognized as her husband’s men, one of whom was Lachlan MacRuairi. The third was a lady. Christina grinned, realizing their mission had been a success. The young Earl of Fife might not be here, but his sister had come in his stead.