When a Warrior Woos a Lass

by Julie Johnstone

  Thomas flashed a feral smile. “Fashed she’ll prefer me? That I’ll make her warm when ye could nae?”

  Alex shot his fist out and connected it squarely with Thomas’s face. The crunch of bone rang in his ears as he drew back and stared at the man he’d once called a friend. His guilt ate at him that Thomas had become what he now was. Blood poured out of Thomas’s nose as he cupped his face. The man wiped his hands across his mouth, hissing as he did so and leaving a trail of red smeared across his cheek. “Ye’ll suffer for that when ye return.”

  “I look forward to it,” Alex snarled, then focused on the Steward. “Might I have one moment before departing to inform Lena that I’ll be away?” And to ensure Donald knew to flee with her.

  “Dunnae fash yerself,” the Steward said. “I’ll have Euphemia tell yer wife at supper, if ye have nae returned by then.”

  Dread washed over Alex at the mention of Euphemia’s name. A year after Gillis had died, he’d encountered Euphemia at a tournament. They had spoken, and he’d thought nothing of it, but that night, she’d come to his tent and confessed that Gillis used to beat her and that she knew Gillis had tortured him, too. She had wanted comfort she’d claimed could only be found in Alex’s arms. He’d been sixteen summers, and she was the first woman he’d ever joined with. He had discovered that she liked being dominated, and she’d encouraged him to do so. He’d been confused, lost, and angry, and he had allowed her to lead him down a dark path. When he’d ended their affair, she had been livid and had written countless letters threatening to kill herself if he did not continue seeing her. He’d ignored them, certain in his heart that she loved herself too much to harm herself. And he’d been right.

  Then the realization struck. God’s teeth! Euphemia is here!

  He prayed to God she did not tell Lena of his time with her. Lena would think him disgusting. He thought it of himself.

  “Gather the men ye wish to take, and off with ye and the Campbell. Hopefully, ye will return in time to parade our captive at supper.”

  Alex nodded, even as his stomach roiled with disgust.

  Eighteen

  “Gone?” Lena clutched her throat as a wave of apprehension swept through her. The voices of all the people gathered in the great hall for supper battered her. She sat at a table in a far corner, occupied only by her and Donald. None of the other MacLean warriors had appeared for supper, nor had Alex or Marsaili. In fact, they had not been seen since their audience with the Steward.

  Broch nodded as he sat down in the empty chair beside her. “I did as ye asked,” he said, referring to her request for him to discover where Alex, Marsaili, and the other men were. Broch cleared his throat. “The servant lass I chose to speak with”—she and Broch exchanged a look. They both knew he had done far more than simply speak to the lass. He had charmed her with his silver tongue and gotten her to give him information that she no doubt had acquired by listening at forbidden doors—“told me that Marsaili had been taken by Campbell guards directly after arguing with her father. It seems the orders were to return her to the Campbell hold.”

  “Oh no,” Lena wailed on a low whisper. She’d promised to help and protect Marsaili, and she had failed miserably. They had to do something. “Broch—”

  “I’ll go after her,” he assured Lena. “They are nae more than a couple of hours ahead of me, and I can easily close such a distance. They will ride slower with Marsaili, and the servant lass informed me that only two guards accompanied her. Two men will be nae be a match for me.”

  She nodded, feeling much relieved that Broch would aid Marsaili. “What of Alex and the others?”

  Donald pressed closer. “Aye. What did ye learn? Where are the laird and our men?”

  A grim look settled on Broch’s face. “The Steward demanded Alex prove his fealty by intercepting a party intent on ambushing one of the Steward’s raiding parties. The wench told me Alex set out with his men, alongside the Campbell and his men. Lena—” Broch’s words came to a shuddering halt, and he eyed her with pity.

  “What?” she whispered, her pulse jumping wildly. “What is it?”

  “Lachlan is leading the ambush, and Alex has been tasked with taking yer brother prisoner and bringing him here. The Steward means to torment him to near death but then spare his life to gain his goodwill.”

  “My God,” Lena choked out, too stunned to say more. When she thought of Alex and Lachlan in combat against each other, she almost swooned. They were both renowned warriors, and Lachlan would think Alex had betrayed him and their king. She gripped the table, fearing for Alex, for Lachlan, and for herself. “My God,” she whispered again, feeling as if someone was squeezing both her heart and her throat. She grasped the wine goblet a servant girl had placed before her and took a long drink. The wine was especially strong and made her cough, but with nothing else to drink, she finished the ruby liquid and set the goblet down. “What if they kill each other? Lachlan will be enraged, and—” She gasped and clutched Broch’s forearm. “Alex would never kill Lachlan, even to carry out the king’s wishes. But Lachlan will be livid. He may well try to kill Alex! Donald—” she swung around to face Alex’s man “—ye must ride out and aid Alex. Ye must save him!”

  “Nay, lass,” Donald said, his voice grim. “Alex was verra clear about what I should do if it seemed to me yer life could be in danger.”

  “Nay,” she whispered fiercely, recalling the vow she had given to Alex about willingly departing with Donald for Dunvegan if the need arose. “I will nae leave with ye.”

  “But yer oath,” Donald growled under his breath.

  “I am nae in mortal danger,” she said. “Yer laird is. Ye must ride out this instant and aid him!”

  At that moment, Thomas Fraser entered the great hall, his lustful gaze—for she knew such a look when she saw one—coming to rest on her. Unease filled her. She may not be in mortal danger, but she was certain she may be in peril of ravishment. She would simply have to stay in sight of others and secure a weapon. With that thought in her mind, she turned to Broch, knowing all MacLeod warriors were never without multiple weapons. “I need a dagger.”

  He frowned but discreetly reached down toward his boot and brought out a dagger, which he handed, point down, to her under the table. “Is there a particular reason ye feel ye need it other than to generally defend yerself?”

  Tugging on the ribbon that held back her hair, she released it with one hand while lifting her skirt as inconspicuously as she could with the other. She leaned over as if to adjust her shoe and tied the dagger to her calf as she thought on how to respond. She did not want to voice her gut feeling about Thomas because she feared Donald would not go to Alex’s side if she did. Instead, she shook her head. “Nay. I simply prefer to be armed if I’ll be here alone amongst enemies.”

  Broch nodded, but Donald scowled. “I kinnae leave ye. Alex would—”

  “Alex may well be dead by the end of this night if ye dunnae. My brother is cunning and fierce, and if he believes Alex has betrayed him, betrayed the MacLeods and the king, he will nae hesitate to cut him down.” She held Donald’s gaze. “But Alex would nae ever raise his sword to end my brother’s life, even if his own is at stake. Ye ken this!”

  “Aye,” Donald replied, his face grim. “I do. Alex will be furious at ye for breaking yer oath and at me for allowing it.”

  Impulsively, she hugged the Scot. “I ken it,” she said, “but ye and I are strong souls. We can handle Alex’s anger with us.”

  When she drew away, both Donald and Broch were gaping at her. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Ye have become a formidable lass,” Broch said. The admiration in his voice made Lena blush.

  “Aye,” Donald agreed. “From skittish creature to a warrior lass. But dunnae overestimate yer strength. There are some men here ye would nae want to be alone with.”

  “I ken it,” she replied, sweeping her gaze across the great hall and finding Lady Euphemia watching them. An idea came to her that, i
f it worked, could possibly be a way to secure the remaining lowland traitor’s name that Alex needed. “I intend to try to get information from Lady Euphemia.” When Donald’s mouth went slack, she patted his arm. “Dunnae fash yerself, Donald. I can see she is a viper in a sheep’s disguise. But if I can get her talking, I may learn what Alex needs. Now, dunnae attempt to leave the great hall until ye see me talking to her, and her attention is upon me. She has been watching us.”

  Both men nodded, and Lena rose, turning back briefly to say, “Godspeed,” before crossing the great hall with purposeful strides, holding Euphemia’s gaze even as the woman stared at her with narrowed eyes. Euphemia was in conversation with another woman, but Euphemia broke it off and walked away, leaving the woman standing there with a baffled look upon her face.

  Lena met Euphemia by an empty table. They stopped face-to-face, and Lena realized they were almost exactly the same height. But that, she was sure, was all they had in common. Lena cocked her head, as though contemplating if she should reveal something, or at least, she hoped that’s how she looked.

  “Do ye have something ye wish to say to me?” Euphemia asked, her words almost scornful.

  “Aye,” Lena said slowly, her mind only then coming upon exactly what to say. “Stay away from my husband! He is mine!”

  Euphemia smirked. “Why would ye believe I’d want yer husband?”

  Lena narrowed her eyes. “I heard the servants talking. They spoke of how ye have chased after Alex for years and how he has always ignored ye.”

  Euphemia’s mouth went from gaping to twisting viciously.

  “Get it in yer head,” Lena snapped, hoping what she was doing was working. “He dunnae wish for ye. He could nae ever. Ye’re, ye’re—”

  “Exactly what yer husband craves, ye little fool. The gossip ye heard was incorrect. Alex has a hunger in him that only I can satisfy. Only I can ken what drives him, what he needs.”

  Lena gritted her teeth against the worry that mayhap Euphemia could understand Alex better than Lena did, as the woman might possibly know some of his secrets, which was much more that Lena could say. “He dunnae need ye. He needs a woman to give him gentleness,” she said, momentarily speaking the truth of her heart.

  Euphemia chuckled, a low, grating sound. “Ye poor fool. If ye believe that, ye will nae ever have his passion. I did hear,” she said with a wicked smile, “that he thinks ye cold.”

  Lena felt her cheeks heat. Had he said that? She knew it wasn’t true, that if he had spoken such a thing, he’d had to, but it still felt shaming.

  “Yer marriage was forced on him,” Euphemia hissed. “My husband told me so. Even now, Alex has ridden out to capture yer brother to prove his fealty to my husband.”

  Lena gasped to feign surprise. “He would nae ever betray the king!”

  Euphemia gave Lena an incredulous look. “Ye’re a bigger clot-heid than ye look. Yer husband is betraying yer precious king, and Alex will come for me. He always has when he is near me. ’Tis why he stayed away from me this long. His respect for my husband makes Alex wish to control his need for me, but I saw the way he looked at me with hunger.”

  God’s teeth! When had Alex seen Euphemia?

  “When?” Lena demanded.

  Euphemia smirked. “Before he left to capture yer brother, Alex came to me to tell me he wanted me still. Needed me.”

  “Ye lie!” Lena said, even as doubt crept in and she felt as if her world was tilting.

  “Nay,” Euphemia replied. “Being with me helps him tame the demons inside him.”

  Lena’s heart thumped hard. “What do ye ken of what torments my husband?”

  “Clearly, quite a bit more than ye ken,” the woman replied, her tone cruel. “But I’ll nae share his secrets with the likes of ye. He told me in confidence.”

  Lena sucked in a sharp breath at the idea that Alex had bared his soul to this wicked woman when he would not do so to her.

  “I’ll share this, though,” the woman said sharply. “He liked to dominate me, and I loved it. I ken yer past, little mouse.” When she reached out to grasp a strand of Lena’s hair, Lena slapped Euphemia’s hand away.

  The woman simply laughed. “Verra well, there is a little spirit in ye, but nae enough for Alex. What he needs in the bedchamber would send ye skittering away in fear.”

  “I’d nae be so certain,” Lena hissed, forgetting her mission to gain information. She felt as if she were fighting to keep her husband, and she was unsure whether it was true or false. Her mind was suddenly muddled, and the room seemed hot and rather as if it were spinning.

  “Oh, I’m quite certain of what Alex likes,” Lady Euphemia cooed, or rather was it that her words sounded slurred?

  When she linked her arm with Lena’s, Lena’s mind screamed a protest, but her body felt too heavy to even lift her hand to push the woman away. What was wrong with her? She blinked her eyes, but when she opened them, there were two images of Euphemia.

  “Oh dear,” Euphemia said, not sounding concerned at all, despite her words. “Ye look rather pale. I’ll take ye to yer bedchamber.”

  When Euphemia tugged on her, Lena barely had enough strength to do more than sweep her gaze to the table where she’d been sitting with Donald and Broch. Both men had departed immediately, as she had told them to. Panic welled within her.

  “Lean on me, Lena,” Euphemia urged, then jerked Lena toward her when Lena attempted to comply because she feared she would fall. Her knees started to give, and before she knew it, Thomas was beside them, his hand clutching her arm, his other arm encircling her waist. She felt him lift her just off the ground, so that the toes of her slippers dragged on the floor beneath her skirts. Through the gathering thick mist of her thoughts, her mind registered that no one appeared to notice anything amiss. They were all too busy with their own conversations, and even if they had noticed anything, she wondered if they would be bothered to aid her against the Steward’s wife and his trusted man.

  “What are ye doing?” Lena asked him, her words sluggish in her ears.

  “What the devil, Lady Euphemia?” he snarled under his breath, even as he led Lena toward the door that exited the great hall. “I told ye to use one drop of the potion!”

  Potion? Icy fear raced through Lena’s veins as she thought about the wine she had drunk. She opened her mouth to scream her protest, but her tongue was too thick to form words. “Mmm,” she grunted, though she realized with horror that it came out as little more than a whisper of sound.

  Thomas and Euphemia both gave her dismissive looks, then continued on as if she were not there.

  “One?” Euphemia flashed a smile that even Lena, in her drugged state, could see was falsely innocent. “I’m so verra sorry, Thomas. I thought ye said two.”

  “Liar,” he growled. “I want Lena willing in my bed, nae drugged. It will only serve to enrage Alex, nae plague him, if he believes I took his wife against her will and nae because she desired me.”

  “I agree,” Euphemia replied. “Leave the wench in her bedchamber and go to see Laird Grant, as my husband told ye to. Ye’ve worked too hard to be brought low by yer need for revenge. Warn Grant that he is to ready his forces to rise against the king and then come back here to pleasure yerself with this one. If ye ride hard, ye should have little problem beating Alex back, and the poison should wear off by then, aye?”

  “Aye. I will have my vengeance,” he said.

  “Have it,” Euphemia said with indifference as Thomas carried Lena out of the great hall and into the passage outside the room. “But have it wisely. I dunnae care if ye bed Alex’s wife.”

  When Euphemia smirked, Lena could nae even make the grunting sounds anymore. Thomas ran a hand down Lena’s cheek, making her skin crawl. “Dunnae fash yerself, Lena,” he said, lifting her higher to carry her up the stairs. “’Tis temporary, this inability to move or talk. ’Tis called the Potion of the Dead. I vow I dunnae wish to hurt ye, only to please ye. To make ye mine in heart and body. I can g
ive ye pleasure where Alex has failed.”

  She blinked, not able to do more than that, and even that felt like it took great effort. Thomas carried her into her bedchamber and laid her on her bed. It was soft. So soft. And her worries seemed so heavy. She closed her eyes, and then dragged them open once again to find Thomas and Euphemia staring down at her.

  “Do ye think he’s introduced her to the art of dark pleasure?” Thomas asked Euphemia.

  She snorted. “Nay. She’s too skittish and fearful.”

  As they quit the room, Lena could do no more than lie there, struggling to stay awake. Thomas was evil. Euphemia was evil. And the two of them shared a common past with Gillis. Alex also shared that past. What had it done to him? Her thoughts would not stay with her, though, and her eyes drifted downward, too keep open.

  Nineteen

  Alex’s sword reverberated with the force of Lachlan’s blows. He’d known his friend was a fierce warrior. He’d seen Lachlan enough on the battlefield to attest to it. But they had always been fighting side by side as comrades in arms, never against each other. Now they were surrounded by his men and the Campbell’s, who outnumbered Lachlan’s party of four. Lachlan was the only MacLeod left standing. The other three had been captured, and the duty of bringing Lachlan to his knees had been given to Alex.

  As he parried blow after blow from Lachlan, he tried to determine how to capture his friend without hurting him, and he kept coming to the same conclusion: there was not a way. Lachlan was too swift, too cunning, and too skilled to be easily taken, and the only opening Alex had even seen was a stab to the man’s gut, if he even managed to make that. It wouldn’t do. He could not chance killing his friend, yet he felt certain that Lachlan would gladly kill him in this moment.

  “Pig! Swine! Traitor!” Lachlan roared, swinging his sword overhead and bringing it down over the front of his left shoulder in an attempt to stab Alex in the heart.