‘Why is there no light in the room?’ he asked sharply, taking his annoyance out on her.
‘Because I prefer it this way. The fire offers light enough. Please understand that you cannot come marching in here whenever you feel like it,’ Lorne chided, unable to believe the absolute nerve of the man and refusing to let the matter drop until he understood this.
He arched a sleek black brow. ‘Can’t I? Try me,’ he said, his voice as cutting as steel. ‘This is my house—and you are hardly in any position to summon the servants to throw me out.’
‘Much as I would like to,’ she replied with contemptuous scorn.
On hearing her uncompromising antagonism, Iain very slowly, very carefully, moved closer, a cruel smile on his face and his eyes glittering silver shards. ‘I don’t doubt that for one moment, Lorne McBryde, and should you decide to tie the sheets together, climb out of your window and scale the three storeys to the courtyard below, I feel I must warn you that my rooms are next door—and that I am a light sleeper. I advise you to think very carefully before you make the mistake of doing anything to antagonise me,’ he said in an unnaturally quiet voice. ‘I promise you, you’ll regret it.’
Despite the icy tingle of alarm his silken voice caused in her, Lorne lifted her chin courageously. ‘And if you think I am some complaisant female who will do your smallest bidding, who will be content to reside in this grim heap of stones where the servants are as mad as their master, you can forget it. I shall give you neither rest nor respite while I am here. That I promise you. If my brothers hear one whisper of mistreatment of me, they will tear this castle apart with their bare hands if necessary to free me.’
‘It will be a cold day in hell before they hear such rumours,’ Iain stated coldly. ‘You have only yourself to blame for the situation you find yourself in.’
‘I would have thought it to be physically impossible to abduct oneself,’ Lorne scoffed with a harsh sarcastic laugh.
‘If you behave yourself, I promise that you will be given every courtesy as befits my guest.’
‘My definition of a guest is one that can come and go as one pleases. If you do not choose to make mourners of your friends, my lord, I suggest you release me immediately.’
A mildly tolerant smile touched Iain’s handsome visage, but the glint in the dark eyes was hard, his voice as smooth as polished steel. ‘I did not go to the trouble of bringing you here simply to let you go.’
‘I realise that would be too much to expect of you,’ she mocked. ‘I gather from your cold manner, my lord, that you didn’t mean what you said to me this morning.’
‘Remind me,’ he drawled arching one sleek black enquiring brow. ‘I said a great many things I shouldn’t have.’
‘Yes, you did. But you did say that for the time we are together, we should strive to be as gracious and mannerly as it is possible for enemies to be towards each other. However, it is clear to me that we are adversaries once more. Is that right?’
‘Correct. However, providing you give me no trouble, there is no reason why we can’t be civil to one another.’ Staring down at her soft mouth, Iain felt a hunger stirring inside him he knew he would find difficult to control if he stayed much longer. He had felt the warmth of holding her in his arms and the exquisite pleasure she had made him feel. He had tasted the sweetness of her mouth, and when he recalled the way she had responded, it made him want to feast on the entire banquet and made making love to his adversary seem almost plausible.
Recognising the brief softening in her captor’s eyes, Lorne smiled inwardly. ‘I confess to being confused,’ she remarked with a haughty lift to her chin, her eyes full of a cruel, sweet joy to find she might have the power to make herself irresistible to this powerful, commanding man if she had a mind. ‘I am your enemy. You have made the hatred you feel for me and my family plain—and yet earlier you seemed incapable of any kind of restraint and discrimination. That is not normal behaviour from a man of your inflexible will, who I have come to understand is normally able to master his passionate nature,’ she taunted, throwing back her head insolently, wanting to laugh triumphantly and mockingly in his face.
It gave her a feeling of bitter satisfaction—a satisfaction tempered with unease, because when she gazed at the compelling, achingly handsome man who had teased her earlier, when those mobile lips had kissed her with such tender passion, she knew that if Iain Monroe were to repeat his earlier behaviour, she would be like putty in his hands.
‘Everything ceased to be normal when John took you hostage. In the meantime, everything will be done to capture your father. In that, as in everything else, I am firmly committed to accomplishing my goal. These are things that are beyond your power to change.’
‘I don’t believe that.’
‘Yes, you do. McBryde is already brushed by the wings of the Angel of Death. He will think his daughter of such value that I can hardly imagine he would allow you to languish in my hands. Until he arrives, extra guards have been placed around the castle and the surrounding area. Some have been mustered from my retainers who are experienced in the field.’
‘How fortunate that you have so many loyal men to do your bidding,’ Lorne scoffed in angry derision.
‘In clan tradition we are no different from the Highlanders. The land hereabouts is Monroe land. Tacksmen are bound to the Monroes by age-old tradition, by kinship and by the terms of their leases. They pay me rent and bring their sons and people as officers and swordsmen in times of strife, and in return they are given protection and loyalty. While we await our common enemy, a strong guard will be mounted at the castle and you will be kept under strict surveillance. Should you decide to make a run for it, those men will cut you down. Is that clear?’
Swallowing the lump of humiliation in her throat, when Lorne looked into that harsh, sinister face, she firmly believed his men would do just that. ‘No doubt I am not your only victim and your dungeons are full of innocent corpses. Tell me, Lord Monroe, do people cross themselves when they go past your accursed castle?’
Iain glared at her. ‘You, Mistress McBryde, have wild imaginings. For your own safety I trust you will not try to escape. You gave me your word.’
Lorne stared at him hard. Her father’s life depended on her escape, but she had given Iain Monroe her word that she wouldn’t attempt it. He had told her he trusted her, and for some reason she could not explain, in all honesty she couldn’t bring herself to jeopardise that trust. In which case she must rely on her father’s and brothers’ ability to rescue her and make good their escape. Having no wish to be humiliated, she would do whatever she had to do—and she would do it with dignity.
‘I am a woman of my word. But that does not mean I will passively endure the situation for long.’
‘If you do just one thing to inconvenience me or anyone else at Norwood, I won’t be responsible for the consequences. I swear to God. Do you understand me?’ She glowered at him, but remained stonily silent, and her arrogant refusal to submit to his will enraged him even more. ‘Answer me,’ he ordered mercilessly.
Realising that her defiance was pushing him beyond reason, Lorne nodded. ‘Yes.’
Observing the firm, rebellious thrust to her chin and seeing the flash of fire in her green eyes, Iain knew she wouldn’t quietly resign herself to captivity. He must be wary of her at all times. The wench was like a powder keg. She seemed so innocent, so eager, so loyal to her kin, so convinced of the rightness to help her father escape the noose—and these things made her doubly dangerous.
‘Perhaps it would be wise after all to incarcerate you in my deepest dungeon. At least there you would be unable to give me trouble.’ He turned and strode towards the door. Pausing, he looked back at her. ‘We will meet at breakfast in the morning. In the meantime I will leave you with this instruction. You will remain within the castle at all times. Is that clear?’
Lorne tossed her head, pure mutiny blazing in her eyes. ‘You are a tyrant, Iain Monroe.’
‘I
disagree.’
‘Yes, you are, and I hate you. Tyranny is tyranny and I, for one, do not propose to bow to it. I prefer to take my meals in my room. You can’t possibly expect me to eat my breakfast with my gaolers. It would be like stepping into a nest of vipers—with everyone looking at me, hating me. No—I can’t possibly.’
Iain’s jaw set with implacable determination as he said in a flat, authoritative voice that belied the leaping fury in his eyes at the thought that she would openly defy him, ‘I don’t think you heard me. I expect to see you in the dining hall at breakfast. I have brought together as many local lairds, tacksmen and their vassals as can be assembled at short notice. There are approximately one hundred men in and around the castle, most of whom believe it is my duty to offer you my hospitality regardless of who you are. If you do not appear, you will leave me with no alternative but to come to your room and drag you out in front of everyone. I told you not to leave the castle, but I will not have you skulking in your quarters twenty-four hours a day.’
Lorne’s heart shrieked her resentment of his commands, but she kept her silence, glad when he opened the door and strode out, confident in his arrogance that she would do as she was told. She was unaccustomed to being ordered about by anyone, yet she knew Iain Monroe would insist and that, eventually, she would be forced to obey.
The following morning found Lorne selecting what she would wear, knowing that if she didn’t appear at breakfast her captor would do exactly as he’d threatened and come and find her. Determined to avoid a public humiliation, she selected a blue velvet dress that had been made for her to wear at a special occasion on her visit to London with her grandmother. She dressed with care and instructed Janet to brush her heavy hair until it gleamed, before arranging it in thick coils about her head. Despite her look of innocence and the seductive allure of the gown, the hairstyle accentuated her classical features, her high cheekbones and slanting green eyes.
In a whisper of velvet and enveloped in a subtle cloud of perfume, taking a deep breath and holding her head high, Lorne swept down the stairs to the dining hall. She was a McBryde and bore herself like a queen, for on no account would she appear before these Lowlanders baying for her father’s blood humble and meek.
It was a long time since Castle Norwood had entertained so much activity within its walls. Not for forty-five years, in fact, when the Civil War had torn the people of England and Scotland apart. But the Earl and his stewards coped well, summoning loyal retainers to assist in what had to be done to capture Edgar McBryde when he eventually showed his hand. And here they were, like steadfast soldiers pressed into service as of old.
With a constant stream of servants emerging from the kitchens laden with trays and jugs and chambermaids carrying water and logs up to the bedrooms, Iain sat in pensive pose impatiently looking towards the stairs, struggling with his mounting annoyance that his captive might demonstrate her rebellion and remain in her room to defy and provoke him. She was late, deliberately so, and just when he was on the point of going to fetch her, his gaze froze on the tantalising apparition that suddenly appeared on the stairs. He stared at her, caught somewhere between amazement and admiration for her defiant courage.
The wench looked stunning, and Iain knew that this was what she had set out to achieve. Despite the crushing chain of circumstances that had bedevilled Lorne McBryde since she had returned to Scotland, it was plain to every man present that she was undaunted and of no weak spirit. With her head held high and her shoulders back, she showed no fear as she prepared to enter the ‘pit of vipers’. What Iain saw was courage and poise and all the things he admired about her. His heart began to hammer in deep, aching beats as his eyes glided over her from head to toe in a lingering appreciation of everything they touched.
Lorne reached the hall, her nose pleasantly titillated by the most appetising smells. Her slender feet propelled her across the floor in a dazzling blur beneath her velvet skirts. With her heart pounding, she moved with a quiet ambience and a new-found tolerance for the assembled company seated at the hastily erected trestle tables, groaning beneath the weight of milk and butter and pots of honey, barley cakes and bannocks and oatmeal brose. Fine pewter plates, silver and glass goblets gleamed as they caught the light slanting through the high windows.
She saw the gazes of the gentlemen privileged to eat within the castle flicker simultaneously to her movement across the hall and become riveted there. A tingle of delight swept through her as, shocked into silence, their surprised expressions gave way to reverent admiration before a soft buzz of speculative conversation began among them. They shuffled awkwardly to their feet as she walked imperiously towards them, and she was quietly pleased that her efforts were having the desired effect. So many faces shifted before her eyes that she was incapable of recognising anyone that she knew, and she didn’t see Iain’s lips twitch into a thin smile from where he lounged, as if cynically amused that her appearance should have given rise to so great a stir.
With immense relief Lorne saw Flora coming towards her, her face wreathed in a smile, clearly approving of the way she looked.
‘You look perfect,’ she murmured for Lorne’s ears alone. ‘Come and sit by Archie and me. Grace has already been said so you can start eating.’
Seated on the bench between the only two people who had shown her any real semblance of courtesy and friendliness, Lorne collected her thoughts sufficiently to respond with a gracious smile to Flora’s warm welcome. She saw Iain at the far end of the table eating salt herring off the end of his dirk, and next to him the falcon eye of John Ferguson was watching her with arrogant attention. Iain was regarding her from beneath hooded lids with cynical amusement. Their eyes met and Lorne’s reaction was to stiffen her back and look away. Moved by a feminine impulse of coquetry, by the need concealed in every woman to deal blow for blow and return hurt for hurt, she turned to Archie and bestowed on him a melting smile.
Seated beside her, Flora took one look at Lorne’s carefully composed features and gentle smile, and was not fooled, but she admired the way the young woman courageously hid her true feelings from prying eyes, defiantly pretending all was well and eating her steaming oatmeal brose drenched with a deep amber honey off her horn spoon as though she were dining in one of London’s most fashionable establishments.
‘To have so many men inside the castle is not usual,’ Flora explained to Lorne, breaking the silence that had fallen as they ate. ‘The housekeeper and her maids are working around the clock to prepare such monstrous quantities of food to feed their gargantuan appetites. But while things are so unsettled—’
‘You don’t have to explain, Flora,’ Lorne said with more force than she intended. ‘I do know the reason why. Do you and John live in the castle?’ she asked, eager to divert the conversation away from her personal catastrophe and discuss something else.
‘No. Since our marriage six months ago, John and I have lived with my father and mother at the Manor House in Norwood village. My father is the procurator fiscal for the parish of Norwood.’
Lorne was impressed by this, for the procurator fiscal—a legal officer who performed the functions of public prosecutor—was a man of great power.
‘We are living at the castle until this business is settled, when I shall be relieved to return home.’
‘But why must you be here?’
‘To ease Mrs. Lockwood’s burden of looking after the needs of so many inhabitants at the castle. Mrs. Lockwood is a dear, and has been the Monroes’ housekeeper for many years,’ Flora explained. ‘Also, Iain and John are of the opinion that you will benefit from some female company, and I agree with them.’
Accepting a platter of steaming bannocks on behalf of Lorne from a gentleman seated opposite, Flora glanced with quiet amusement at the other gentlemen in their immediate vicinity who were devouring Lorne with eager curiosity and no longer looking at her with unhidden scorn. Her eyes twinkled with satisfaction.
‘You certainly appear to have work
ed wonders on some of the gentlemen present, Lorne. They have scarcely removed their eyes from your face throughout the repast. It’s amazing what effect a beautiful and talented woman can have on men—even men such as these. Despite being who you are, before too long you’ll have every one of them eating out of your hand and you might break several hearts.’
Glancing down the table, Lorne caught Iain’s eye. Even now he was bombarding her with signals of his powerful, vibrant sexuality that set her senses on edge. She could feel them all about her, engulfing her. He wasn’t smiling and his eyes looked at her seriously for a moment, then lightened and slid over her face with a kind of lazy insolence, one eyebrow lifted almost imperceptibly.
‘There is one heart in particular I would truly like to render into little pieces,’ she said quietly, a hint of savagery in her tone. ‘For if I cannot slay that mocking, silver-eyed devil watching my every move from his end of the table with a weapon, I would enjoy doing as much damage to his pride and self-esteem that would prove irreparable. I would delight in dragging him down to his knees, to make him crawl and grovel at my feet, and when he offered me his heart I would trample on it and spurn him, and there would be nothing left but the empty shell of the proud and arrogant man I first saw riding into the village of Kinlochalen.’
Glancing sharply at Lorne, Flora could see where her attention was fixed, and the identity of the gentleman who roused her to such bitterness. ‘Poor Iain. I’m beginning to feel sorry for him already,’ she murmured, laughing softly, thinking it a shame in many respects that this young woman was a McBryde, for this was the type of woman who would make Iain a perfect wife. ‘I fear you are going to need to keep your wits sharp and all your courage in future dealings with the Earl of Norwood. But take heed. With those looks of his and enough charm to crumble Stirling Castle and the rock upon which it sits, you may find yourself out of your depth—and you will not be the first woman to do so.’
Traitor Or Temptress Page 9