by Nicole North
“I’m sure your father would have been disappointed in your decision.”
A pang of regret and grief lanced her at the mention of her beloved father. “I’m certain he would not have arranged the marriage if he’d known you were half Fae.” ’Twas the truth and she hoped it would deflate MacClaren’s overblown pride.
His eyes narrowed. “And yet you think he would approve of MacDougall? A man known to be the most cruel and barbarous in the Highlands?”
“If Da knew him, he would approve of him, because Duncan is neither of those things.”
He snorted, shaking his head. “My lady, he has you deceived in the grandest way possible.”
She clenched her teeth in frustration. How could Duncan be so misunderstood? “You’re wrong. He has only done what he had to do to survive and to protect his clan.”
MacClaren sat for a long moment, staring at the gold as if considering her offer, then inhaled deeply. “I will accept your offer, but I want something else instead of the gold.”
“Something else?” What could he mean? She had naught but herself and her gold.
“Your slave,” he said.
“What? You wish to keep Sophie?” Her pulse pounded in her temples. Alana had never considered trading a person for something she wanted. She was not like Duncan in that respect.
“Aye, it seems a fair exchange. A disloyal bride for a slave.” Bitterness darkened his voice.
Rage rose within Alana’s chest, but she concealed it. What he thought of her mattered not. But something was amiss. MacClaren could be hiding a fiend beneath that well-mannered surface. “For what nefarious purpose do you plan to use my friend?” she demanded.
He appeared most haughtily offended. “None, I assure you. I simply find I have need of another kitchen maid.”
“Sophie has never trained in the kitchen. She is a chambermaid.”
His lips quirked in a brief but lasciviously wicked way before he concealed it. “Aye, well then, a chambermaid it is.”
“You desire her?”
His face tightened, but a slight blush appeared on his cheeks. The fearsome MacClaren blushing?
“Did you seduce her?” Alana asked.
“That, my lady, is none of your concern.”
“Yet you revile Duncan for doing the same thing?” What an arrogant and self-righteous laird he was.
MacClaren stood abruptly, his chair sliding back into the wall with a bang. “That is my offer—you or your slave.” He strode out, slamming the door behind him.
Alana scooped the gold coins back into their pouch, wondering whether Sophie had been a willing participant in that seduction. She’d better have been or MacClaren would see Alana’s wrath.
She followed MacClaren to the great hall, and told him she wished to visit with Sophie. With a scowl upon his proud features, he dispatched one of his men to escort her upstairs to the tower.
Entering, she spied Sophie across the room and ran to her. “Are you well? Did MacClaren harm you?”
“Nay, my lady.” She smiled. “I am glad you are well.”
“You look beautiful.”
Sophie’s blond hair was braided and styled. Her clothing appeared of high quality and good condition, a lady’s clothes.
“The laird allowed me to wear these. He said they belonged to his mother.”
Perhaps he wasn’t so vile after all. “Well then, I’m impressed. And what do you think of Laird MacClaren?”
Sophie blushed and lowered her eyes. “He is a handsome man.”
“Indeed, but is he kind?”
“Aye, my lady.” Sophie’s grin peeked out.
Alana had to get to the heart of the matter. “Did he take advantage of you?”
She blushed darker. “I confess, I succumbed to his charms. I know I am weak. But he is very persuasive.”
Alana smiled. “You are not alone, for Duncan MacDougall seduced me and stole my heart. Now I wish to escape my betrothal with MacClaren. I offered him gold…but he wants you instead.”
“Me, my lady?” Sophie’s eyes widened.
“Apparently he is quite fond of you. But I cannot make that decision alone. It is up to you.”
“I am but a slave.”
“You are my friend first and foremost, Sophie. And I willingly grant you your freedom. If I but had a quill and parchment, I would make it official.”
“Oh, my lady.” Sophie hugged her, tears streaming from her eyes. “I thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, would you like to stay with MacClaren of your own free will?”
“Aye. I would do it.” She smiled, excitement lighting her eyes.
A half hour later, Alana laid out the terms of the arrangement to MacClaren. “I have two stipulations if you want Sophie. First, I have granted her freedom and you are to honor that. She is a free woman now. Second, you wed her.”
He glared at her, then dropped into the chair behind his desk and closed his eyes for a moment. “I cannot marry her. She is a former slave, not a lady.”
Alana seated herself in the wooden chair across from him. “I know a few things from her past. She was an orphan, abandoned on the streets of Edinburgh when her parents died, but she was the daughter of a German nobleman. She’s a slave because she stole food at the age of twelve when she was starving. My father bought her at auction so she wouldn’t be punished or mutilated. Our family has been kind to her and protected her.”
MacClaren’s expression changed to one of pain. “I thank you and your family for the kindness you’ve shown her. I will do nothing less.”
“So you will marry her?”
He shoved to his feet, moved to the window and stared out at the mountains. “’Tis not so simple. A chief cannot simply marry whomever he chooses. Regardless of who her father was, Sophie was a slave, and now no more than a servant.”
Alana also knew a chief’s word was law within the clan—law a laird could bend to his suit his needs. She could only hope MacClaren’s heart would eventually soften and that, whether she was his wife or mistress, Sophie would be happy.
Standing to face him, Alana pressed him for an answer. “I will return in a month’s time and see how she fares. Do you agree?”
“Aye. You are welcome here anytime.”
“Another thing. I wish you and Duncan to make amends and end your feud.”
MacClaren’s expression hardened. “That, I cannot promise. There is much bad blood betwixt our clans and has been for centuries. He persists in trying to steal my bow. I will never give it up.”
“I don’t think he’ll want the bow anymore.” After all, he’d slept last night in her arms without the creatures attacking him. “But I shall speak with him. He’s not an evil man, merely one who’s suffered much pain in his life. His Fae blood causes him a great deal of torment. He is simply trying to survive.”
“If you say so,” MacClaren said doubtfully.
“I shall never understand either of you. Brothers, yet you don’t even know each other.”
“Well, ’tis difficult when our mother prevented us from setting foot on one another’s property.”
“But you and Duncan could compromise, meet on the lands of a nearby friendly clan.”
He shrugged. “Why?”
“If Duncan were agreeable to simply meet you and talk, would you be?”
“’Haps. But I make no promises.”
His haughtiness annoyed her. “Clearly you think you’re the grand hero in all this and Duncan is the evil villain.”
“’Tis the way I’ve always seen it. But likely he sees me as the villain.”
She nodded. “A murderous villain.”
“I’m not. I only take my revenge when he forces my hand. I didn’t know if he’d killed you, tortured you, raped you.”
“He was kind to me,” she said softly, remembering how he’d fed her with his own hands, and when he’d comforted her in the darkness. “And I know you will be kind to Sophie, aye?”
“Indeed.”
MacClaren nodded.
“But I must be going now and see if he will have me back.”
In the great hall during supper, Duncan stared at the venison stew before him and saw naught but Alana’s face in his mind. Why was he destined to lack what he wanted most? The gods had a twisted sense of humor when they’d sent his Fae mother to the world of men to have two sons. Kinnon, the light soul, always received whatever he wished. Duncan, the dark soul, must always do without. He had not chosen his path; it had been thrust upon him.
A guard burst through the entry door. “They’ve returned, m’laird!”
Duncan stood, shoving the chair back. “Who?”
“Lady Alana and her party.”
Could it be true? “Why would she come back?” His heart in his throat, Duncan leapt down from the dais and exited the tower with the guard. “Are you certain ’tis them and not an underhanded attack in disguise?”
“See for yourself, m’laird.” The guard grinned.
Why would she do this? Had MacClaren hurt or insulted her in some way? They strode quickly to the gates.
Alana’s cowl was thrown back, her fair hair and beautiful face clearly visible in the twilight. She smiled. The sight of her was like being struck in the stomach with a mace.
“May we enter?” she called.
Duncan only now realized he’d stopped several paces away to gape. He sucked in air and scrutinized her party. Naught appeared unusual. “Aye. But you must give up your weapons.”
“You think we are a threat?” Alana asked, her smile now diminished.
“I know not what MacClaren put you and your men up to.”
“Naught!”
“Search her men,” he told his guards.
One of the men helped her dismount, and she approached him. “Could I have a word in private?” she asked softly. Her scent of flowers and herbs bewitched him.
“Aye.” He motioned for her to proceed into the great hall. Following her up the steps, he could scarce get his breath for the anticipation crushing his chest.
Why had she returned?
Once inside, she crossed to the stairwell, looked back and waited for him. That was the way to his solar. What in blazes did she have in mind?
“Are you coming?”
Her suggestive voice stirred carnal longings within him. ’Twas the tone she used when she lay beside him in bed.
The great hall was so silent he scanned the room to see if everyone was asleep, or dead. Nay, their eyes were riveted upon him. Some of the men tried to hide their knowing grins.
“Carry on,” he told them, then followed Alana up the narrow steps.
He paused at the door to his chamber then slowly proceeded inside. She waited in the center of the floor, watching him expectantly.
“Why did you return, then?” He could not think clearly for the excitement humming through him.
“I will not marry Kinnon MacClaren. Instead, we have worked out an arrangement, a trade of sorts.”
This made no sense. Was it a ruse?
“Why would you not wish to marry MacClaren? Is he not handsome and wealthy, the perfect husband and laird?” he asked, more bitterly than he’d intended.
“I don’t love him. I love you!” she snapped.
Och. Duncan frowned, searching her face. “What do you mean?”
“Do you not know what love is, Duncan?” she asked in a softer tone.
He closed his eyes, unsure what to say, think or feel. Maybe she was only an illusion conjured by his fevered mind. But nay, he opened his eyes and she was still there.
Tears glistening in her eyes, she moved forward and slipped her arm around his waist. “Love means I want you and I need you,” she whispered.
His breathing stopped and his chest tightened.
“I must be with you always.” She kissed his neck. “I want you to make love to me. I have an excited pounding in my chest when you are near. And when you are not near, I can think of naught but you. I want to kiss you and run my fingers over you. I want to hold you.” She embraced him tighter.
By the gods, was she speaking the truth? The hope alone made him wrap his arms around her.
“Do you feel that way?” she asked. The expectation in her lovely blue eyes as well as the mist of tears told him more than her words. He kissed her and received further confirmation. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, tasting her sweetness and her love. Aye, she was his.
When finally he pulled back to again examine her expression she asked, “Do you, Duncan? Can I stay with you?”
“Are you certain this is what you want?”
“Indeed.”
“You’ll never run away again to MacClaren?”
“Of course not. I love you, and only you.”
“And I love you, lass.” Joy rushing through him, he picked her up, carried her to the bed and laid her upon it. “I wanted naught but you to return to me, but I’d given you your freedom. You deserved what you wished for most.”
“The only thing I wish for is you! But what about the bow?”
“I don’t care about the bow. I only care about you, and having you by my side always.”
She kissed him and the rest of his thoughts fled, chased away by happiness, the first he had experienced in his life.
About the Author
Nicole North’s erotic romance novellas have been described by reviewers as “exciting, high octane, captivating, scintillating, sinfully delicious and pure romance.” Her stories contain “heart and heat, killer love scenes, magic and extraordinary characters.” She has sold four stories to Red Sage Publishing. Laird of Darkness is her first novella for Carina Press. Nicole’s stories usually focus on her favorite things: Scotland, Highlanders and hot men in kilts. She and her husband live in the Southeastern U.S., but she wishes she lived in the Scottish Highlands at least half the year. As she puts it, Scotland is a beautiful, magical and enchanting place where anything seems possible. She teaches online workshops about various aspects of writing, including sexual tension and how to write great love scenes. Though she has a degree in psychology, writing romance is her first love.
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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9136-6
Copyright © 2011 by Nicole North
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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