His withdrawal was swift, his expression icy. Her words had struck a blow, one that she hadn’t intended. Too late, she realized how she must sound. Criticism to a proud man who’d had to fight since he was a lad for survival. But she’d been thinking only of his sisters—and the poverty of his clan. If Lachlan Maclean had a weakness, it was his pride. But perhaps, she admitted, it was well earned.
She put her hand on his arm, feeling the tension, the rigid muscle pulled tight as steel. “I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn. I did not mean to anger you.”
His blue gaze turned flinty. “Then don’t speak of matters you do not understand.”
“I only wanted to help.”
“You will.”
The coldness of his reply stung. As did the forced reminder of her presence at Drimnin. Her spine straightened. “By helping you get your castle back?” she asked bitterly.
He hesitated, leaving her feeling that there was something more. “Yes.”
“But why me? Didn’t you appeal to the king for help?”
His face was like granite. “I did. Through his Lowland toad—” He stopped. “His privy councillors.”
“Surely Hector has no valid claim to Coll—its castle or its lands.”
“No legal claim whatsoever. I took sasine to my lands many years ago, receiving the symbolic earth and stone.”
“Then the king has done something about it?”
His eyes were flat. “He has.”
Flora was relieved. King James would see justice done. “Then perhaps you will not have need of me after all?”
He held her gaze. “I need you, my sweet. Make no mistake of that.”
Chapter 6
Early the next morning, Lachlan strode purposefully across the courtyard toward the small garden on the south side of the barmkin. The promise of spring hung in the salty sea air, a natural foil for his wintry mood. He was vaguely aware of the bright sun and cloudless sky, but not even the promise of an unusually warm day could douse the fires of his discontent. He needed to find Seonaid before beginning his training. What he had to do couldn’t wait.
He’d spent a restless night. But not solely for the reason he’d anticipated—though it was asinine how his body could ache for a lass who so infuriated him.
He knew better than anyone the toll the feuding had taken on his clan. He didn’t need it pointed out by a naïve chit who’d never gone hungry a day in her life. Yes, pride and the honor of his clan were at stake in his battle with Hector, but so was the very preservation of his clan. If Lachlan accepted Hector as his chief, Hector would drive them into the ground with his feud with the MacDonalds. Lachlan would be duty bound to send his men to fight for Hector. Hector could call on them at will. And he was unrelenting. He’d been feuding with the MacDonalds for years.
Lachlan was protecting his clan the only way he could. He wanted the fighting with Hector done more than anyone.
Yet Flora dared to question him. In fact, it seemed never to occur to her to temper her tongue. She’d been encouraged to speak her mind—a rarity in the Highlands for a woman. Not many people dared to challenge him openly. But Flora did.
He found it maddening, but also oddly refreshing.
Her faith in the king, however, was laughable.
A few months ago, angry over the resumption of feuding between the two clans, King James had attempted to bring Lachlan and Hector to heel by ordering them to appear before the Privy Council under promise of safe conduct to Edinburgh. Not trusting Hector to abide by the king’s directive, Lachlan sent his brother, John, in his stead, so that he could stay and defend Breacachadh from attack.
He’d expected treachery from Hector and found it with the king. Instead of hearing the merits of the dispute, King James had summarily tossed John into prison—trying to force Lachlan to end the fighting and cede to the jurisdiction of the Privy Council. Lachlan went to Argyll to help seek his brother’s release from Blackness Prison, and it was cold comfort to know that he’d been right to fear an invasion when Hector had immediately taken the opportunity to capture Breacachadh.
Hector was a harsh and brutal leader—Lachlan could only imagine the suffering of his clan under Hector’s dominion. And with both his clan and brother suffering, there was no time to lose.
He would take his men and storm Blackness himself—were it not for his sisters and his people. He couldn’t risk it. Not if there was another way. Flora was that way. He would not shirk from doing what was necessary to convince her to marry him, even if it meant deceiving her. A prospect that had seemed a whole hell of a lot simpler when he’d thought she was a spoiled girl. But there was nothing simple about Flora MacLeod. Or the riotous feelings she roused in him.
She would never agree to marry him if she learned the truth. The whole truth of the devil’s bargain he’d struck with her cousin Argyll to ensure his brother’s release from prison. And it disturbed him to realize how much that prospect bothered him.
Lust had obviously addled him. Flora would help secure John’s release, and Hector would pay for all he’d done—that was all that mattered.
Seonaid was right where Morag said she would be, collecting herbs from the garden. She had some skill with herbs and served as the clan’s healer. That the sight of her softly rounded bottom perched in the air didn’t give him a flicker of hesitation proved that he was doing the right thing.
She heard him approach and stood up slowly to greet him with a wide smile. “My laird. What a pleasant surprise.” She sauntered toward him, her hips swaying in the sensual way that had originally caught his eye. She stood right in front of him, her soft, plump breasts poking his chest, and glanced up at him coyly. “Is there something you need?”
Yes, but unfortunately not from her. He wasn’t even tempted. But it wasn’t Seonaid’s fault. “Not today, lass.”
She gazed at him hopefully. “Tonight, then, perhaps?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
“Oh,” she said softly. “I see.”
He could tell from the crushed look on her face that she did. He hadn’t intended to hurt her, but he’d been honest from the start. “I thought you understood.”
She tried to smile, but he could see the tears shining in her eyes. “I did. I just hoped…” She looked down. A lock of hair slid across her face, and he reached down to tuck it behind her ear. But she read more into the gesture than he’d intended. He could see her hope swell before she turned her blame from him to Flora. “It’s her, isn’t it?” Her voice grew angry. “She was watching me last night. She told you to be rid of me.”
Lachlan frowned, not liking the venom he saw on Seonaid’s face—or the inference that he would be dictated to by a lass. “The decision was mine.”
She reached up, sliding her arms behind his neck, pressing her soft and very willing body against his. “She’ll never satisfy you. A woman like that. You’ll terrify her.” She trailed her hand down his stomach and wrapped her fingers around him intimately. “I know what you like.” She breathed against his ear. “How you like me to take you deep in my mouth.”
One long pull of that talented mouth, and Lachlan could release some of this restless energy. But it wasn’t Seonaid’s mouth that he pictured. His body stirred at the image of Flora’s red lips stretched taut around the heavy head of his cock, milking him.
Seonaid misunderstood, and a satisfied gleam appeared in her eyes. “Do you think your fancy court lady will do that for you?”
Her words bothered him more than they should have. The differences between Flora and him had not gone unnoticed. But Seonaid had overstepped her bounds.
Lachlan removed her hand and stepped away from her. “It isn’t your concern.”
“I thought we had something more.”
He didn’t want to be cruel, but he didn’t want there to be any doubt. “What we had was sex. From the start I made that very clear. You were my leman.”
“And she will be your wife.”
Lachlan�
�s eyes narrowed. Only his guardsmen, Morag, and his sisters were aware of the true purpose for Flora’s presence in Drimnin. He’d thought it best to keep the matter of John’s imprisonment quiet; there would be fewer questions to answer and less likelihood she would discover her cousin’s involvement. Was Seonaid merely speculating, or had someone spoken out of turn? He’d have to make damn sure that none of the talk reached Flora’s ears.
“You forget yourself, Seonaid. Whether I take a wife is no concern of yours.” She flinched at his blunt words. He knew the lass spoke out of jealousy, but he would not tolerate disrespect. Nor did he like the calculation he saw in her gaze. “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any pain, lass. But I warn you. Do not interfere.”
I need you, my sweet. Make no mistake of that.
Echoes of last night’s conversation still sounded in her head, even as Flora sat down to break her fast. Why did he need her if the king was involved? Without a legal claim to Breacachadh Castle, surely Hector would be ordered to return Coll’s castle. It didn’t make any sense. Was there another reason? But when she’d asked him, he’d brushed aside her questions.
Flora had learned something of the dark, enigmatic Laird of Coll, but a great deal remained unexplained. And she was surprised by how much the prospect intrigued her. He intrigued her.
But right now, she had other concerns. She washed down the last bit of dry bread with a spoonful of barley gruel, anxious to go in search of Mary, who had not come downstairs to break her fast. Gilly had assured her that Mary was simply tired, but Flora had a horrible feeling that it might have something to do with polishing the swords yesterday. The laird had been furious. Had he blamed his sister?
Flora should not have involved Mary in her plans; the sweet girl simply didn’t have the temperament for mischief making—or, more specifically, for the repercussions of mischief making. It wasn’t just that she was quiet, which she was, but Mary took things too much to heart. Flora should have realized how it would pain her to disappoint her brother.
Excusing herself, she stood up from the table to go in search of her when she happened to glance out one of the windows.
Her heart stalled, and a startled gasp escaped from between her lips. The flash of hurt was swift and hard, like a mule kick in the chest. She wanted to turn away, but her eyes were glued to the scene taking place below.
Lachlan Maclean stood at the southern edge of the courtyard in what appeared to be a small garden, locked in an embrace with the woman she’d noticed staring at him last night. The woman had her arms around his neck and her body plastered against his broad chest. Flora’s gaze slid down. Her stomach turned. If she wasn’t mistaken, the woman had her hand around his…
The laird quickly removed himself from the woman’s grasp, but it didn’t stop the squeezing in Flora’s chest. She might be a virgin, but she knew enough to recognize that this woman had enough familiarity with his body to suggest an intimate relationship.
She tore her gaze from the window and turned back to Gilly, who was still seated at the table, finishing her meal. “Gilly, who was that dark-haired woman staring at your brother last night?” Though she tried to make it sound like an afterthought, the hollowness in her chest extended to her voice.
Gilly’s eating knife slipped from her fingers and clattered on the table. “What woman?”
Her reaction proved that she knew very well what woman. It was not as if there were more than a dozen to choose from. The castle was not a large one, and most of the women and children of Coll’s warriors were trapped at Breacachadh. “The pretty one with black hair. Is she the laird’s intended?”
Gilly looked like a hare caught in a trap. Eyes wide, she shook her head furiously. “My brother is not presently engaged.”
Flora’s heart pounded. There was another possibility, one that was a common enough practice in the Highlands. Such arrangements were quite open. “His leman, then?”
Gilly looked down at her plate, her cheeks bright pink, giving Flora all the answer she needed.
It shouldn’t surprise her. Many Highlanders had lemans, and Lachlan Maclean was a strong, virile man. His raw sensuality was one of the first things she’d noticed about him. What she didn’t expect was how it made her feel. Hurt. Disappointed…She bit her lip. Maybe even jealous.
Ridiculous.
“Flora, it’s not—”
She held up her hand. “You don’t need to say anything, Gilly.” Drawing up her shoulders, she ignored the unaccountable burning in her throat. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”
But it didn’t make the disappointment any easier to swallow.
She hurried for the doorway, her steps falling into almost a run. “I’m going to check on Mary,” she called over her shoulder, not wanting Gilly to see her face.
Once safe in the darkness of the stairwell, Flora took refuge in the solitude. She rested her back against the cool stones, closed her eyes, and took deep, even breaths. Her pulse raced, her chest ached, and her eyes prickled with heat. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was close to bursting into tears.
She was being a fool. Lachlan Maclean was nothing to her. He was her captor. Her brother’s enemy.
But she’d thought…
What had she thought?
That he wanted me.
He’d kissed her with such tenderness, touched her body as no man ever had before, and charmed her with his brusque honesty and lack of false flattery. And, she was forced to admit, it had been effective. Somehow, he’d managed to sneak beneath her defenses.
She must be mad. He was everything her mother had warned her against.
Or was he?
The fierce beating of her heart returned to normal. She was overreacting. Flora had no claim on him. She was only an unwilling guest, nothing more.
Putting the Laird of Coll out of her mind, she pulled herself together and started up the stairs in search of Mary.
On the second floor, she came to the door of the chamber that Mary shared with Gilly and knocked. She could barely make out the soft voice that answered. The door creaked as she opened it, but Mary didn’t turn. She sat in a small chair, her gaze fixed out the window. The food that had been sent up sat uneaten on a small table beside her. Her pale cheeks were streaked white with the salty remnants of her tears.
Mary looked impossibly forlorn. There was something so hopeless in her gaze, it touched a part of Flora still tender from her mother’s death. She knew such sadness. Knew what it was like to feel lost. Had she been the cause of this poor girl’s grief?
She moved across the room and knelt beside her.
“Mary,” Flora said gently, not wanting to startle her. “What is it, child? What is wrong?”
Mary flinched. She turned, her eyes red and stark. “I’m not a child.”
Realizing that she’d unwittingly hit on a tender subject, Flora hastened to correct the error. “Of course you’re not. Forgive me. But what has happened to make you so sad? Is it your brother?”
Mary nodded, and Flora felt a sharp stab of guilt. It was her fault. “I’m sorry, I never should have involved you. Everything will be fine, you’ll see. I’ll tell him it was all my fault.”
Mary looked at her, obviously confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Why, the swords, of course.” Flora blushed. “I assume your brother was angry with you for my wee jest with the fulmar oil. But, truly, I do not think he is mad any longer.”
Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. Mary shook her head. “I wish it were the swords—” She sank her face into her hands. “If only it were the swords.”
Flora was at a loss to see Mary like this. She didn’t know what to do, having had little practical experience with sisters. She hesitated only a moment before gathering the poor weeping girl in her arms. Stroking her silky head, Flora whispered soothing words until her shoulders no longer shook and the tears had at last run dry.
When Mary had calmed down enough to speak, Flo
ra said, “Tell me what he has said to make you so upset.”
She watched as Mary struggled with the words, trying not to dissolve into tears again. “It’s Allan.”
Flora cursed, realizing at once what had happened. Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one to notice Mary’s tender feelings for her brother’s captain. “Let me guess. Your brother has discouraged your feelings for his captain.”
Mary’s face crumpled. “It’s worse than that. He’s forbidden Allan from speaking with me in private. Making it clear that he would not permit a match between us.”
“But why? Allan is the captain of his castle, one of his guardsmen, and a chieftain in his own right.”
Mary lowered her gaze. “My brother has other plans for me.”
Bigger plans. Flora wondered what he intended. A match between Mary and Allan, although not a good one, was not a bad one, either. From the look of this place, she’d wager that the girl didn’t have much of a tocher. “Well, surely he will take your feelings into account. Perhaps he can be persuaded to change his mind?”
Mary shook her head. “You don’t know my brother. He’s determined. Once he’s made a decision, nothing could turn him from his course. He’s been like that since he was a lad. He’ll never change his mind.”
Flora could barely contain the sudden eruption of anger. This was precisely the situation she’d fought against her whole life. “Are you saying he would force you into a marriage you do not want?” She didn’t want to believe that the man she’d unwittingly grown to admire could be so callous.
He’s a Highlander.
“It’s not like that. He’s only doing what he thinks is best for the clan. He wouldn’t need to force me. I could not refuse him my duty. I just wish—” Her voice hitched, and a solitary tear slid down her cheek. “I just wish circumstances could be different.”
Flora couldn’t believe Mary would defend him. Of course, this sweet, good-natured child would do his bidding. Her “duty,” as she called it. Mary would never think to defy her brother. But Flora would. In a heartbeat. She’d seen the alternative. Doing your “duty” for a woman all too often meant a future of suffering and sadness. If Mary had a chance at happiness, she needed to take it.
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