“Very good,” the Alwyn answered, and walked with him to the door, clasping his shoulder. In a quieter voice, he murmured, “Your efforts to bring Hugh into the fold are most welcome. He has drifted of late. You of all people, after the events of yesterday, know that. Your forgiveness … your example means everything.”
Once, the words might have meant something to him, but they were forgotten the moment he stepped across the threshold.
“I pray so, laird.” He moved to step away.
The laird’s hand gripped his arm. “As you know, Hugh will be married as soon as Buchan arrives. As is custom, let us take him to the High Lodge for a wedding hunt, to provide meat for the nuptial feast. Two days is all we can spare, I think, given this thing with the Kincaids. You will come, of course, and others whom I will choose.”
Leave Burnbryde, now? But a hunting trip would keep Hugh away from Tara, at least for a few days, and perhaps there, away from the stronghold, the laird would talk of times past …
“Aye, laird. As you wish.”
Heart thumping heavily, he set off alone down the corridor, and when he turned the corner—he ran, straining the muscles of his legs, out of the castle, and along the wall until he arrived at the garden, where he passed Tara’s stricken-faced maid looking inward.
Entering, Magnus’s gaze pinpointed to the far corner of the garden, where Hugh attempted to corner Tara into an alcove. He saw the dark glint of Tara’s hair in the clouded morning light.
Magnus moved swiftly toward them, close enough to hear.
Hugh muttered. “If you are anything like your slut of a sister—”
The word offended Magnus to his core. His stride picked up pace.
“I said no.” Tara shoved the flat of her palm against his chin, forcing his face away from hers.
Fury splintered through Magnus, and he saw red.
“Hugh,” he barked.
Hugh froze. Turning, he glared at Magnus, his lip drawn back in a snarl. “What?”
“The council … we are all waiting for you. Did you forget your father had called a meeting?”
Hugh sneered. “Go along, messenger boy. Tell them to proceed without me. I’ll be there in due time.”
Magnus stepped closer. “I’m afraid he is waiting. We are … all waiting for you. There is much to be decided in these last days before Buchan arrives, and your father, of course, wishes for you to be part of the planning.”
Hugh let out a groan of annoyance, sounding more like a petulant boy than a grown man. “I’m sure you don’t want me there. What a coincidence. I don’t want you there either. In fact, I’d rather you were dead.”
Though he stared hard at Hugh, he was fully aware of Tara, pressed against the stone wall, breathing hard, her eyes wide with fear.
Magnus tilted his head. “It is time for us to move past our differences. We both want what is best for the clan, do we not?”
Hugh looked upward, toward the clouded sky, his arms dropping to his sides. “You are so tiresome, Magnus. All your constant displays of valor, loyalty, and goodness.” He snorted sarcastically, and looked straight into his eyes. “Tell them I am coming.”
Magnus answered in a low voice of command. “You will come with me now.”
Hugh turned, eyes narrowing, visibly bristling. “What did you say to me?”
“Hugh,” a voice thundered from above.
Looking over his shoulder and up, Magnus saw the laird standing at the same window he’d stood at just a short time before.
“Inside,” the laird shouted angrily. “Now.”
“Damn you all,” Hugh muttered, brushing past Magnus.
As he stormed off, Magnus looked at Tara, feeling as if his heart were torn open and bleeding.
“Wait here,” he mouthed, before turning on his heel and following Hugh.
He followed Hugh to the stairs, where he paused to talk to a warrior passing by. When Hugh was out of sight, he quickly broke the conversation off, and returned to the garden.
The maidservant was gone now … he found her inside the garden with Tara. Her eyes widened at seeing him.
“Leave us,” he said, and she fled once again outside the gate.
Looking upward, he made sure no one stood at the window as he had done just a short time before. Grasping Tara’s hand, he pulled her behind him toward the far wall, where they would be hidden from view. In the blur of emotion and fury that he felt, he did not know if he reached first for her, or she for him, but in a moment, they were in each other’s arms, their bodies, their garments, tangled tight.
“Are you all right?” he growled, his face in her fragrant hair. His boots crunched heavily against the earth.
One night. One night and already she had grown so precious to him. Already he knew … he knew that nothing would ever satisfy his soul more than holding her like this. Holding her tight and keeping her safe from all worry and harm.
“Yes!” For a moment she clung to him—but then she balled her fists against his chest and pushed hard, and looked up at him with bright green eyes—her pale face ethereal in the morning light, made more vivid by the bright spots of color on her cheeks. “But you cannot run to my aid every time he glances my way.”
He still held her tight. “He was not only looking at you. Damn him. Damn this place to hell. I knew I should have taken you from here last night but like the selfish bastard that I am, instead I took you straight to bed.”
“And anyone who saw us now would certainly know that,” she retorted, eyes flashing. “What Anna must think. I know you want to protect me, but it is my choice to be here, for just a while longer. Just as you have chosen to be.”
“You may never know what happened to your sister. You must make peace with that and keep yourself safe. You must keep to the tower from this moment on, so that your paths do not cross again. If anyone asks, tell them you don’t wish to be seen before the wedding.”
She shook her head, her expression one of stubbornness. “I wouldn’t have learned that Arabel doesn’t have a grave if I hadn’t ventured out of the tower.”
“What do you mean, she has no grave?”
She informed him of her and Anna’s search, and that her sister’s remains did not lie in the cemetery, despite Hugh’s assertion that they did.
“But where would her body be?” he murmured.
“I must find out.” She embraced him, bringing his head down and pressed her mouth to his. “I must know what happened to her. Now go, before we are discovered together. You’ve already stayed too long.”
He kissed her back. One day, and one day soon, he vowed, he would kiss her for all to see, and hide from no one.
He peered down, hating to leave her. “I will be gone with Hugh and the laird for two days.”
“Gone?” she exclaimed, her hands seizing his tight.
He raised her mittened hands and kissed their knuckles. “To hunt at the High Lodge, to provide for a wedding feast that I vow will never take place. You must keep yourself safe while I am gone.”
She looked vulnerable—her small, pale face looking out from her dark, hooded cloak.
But she nodded. “Do not fear for me.”
He remembered the way she had looked the night before, brave and fearless with a fire in her eyes, as they had made love. He wanted, more than anything, to make the world a place where each day would bring her only smiles and happiness.
He pulled the key to her window, which he wore at a cord at his throat, and pressed it into her hand. “Here. Take this back. Use it if you are in danger. If you must flee, go into the village and ask for a woman named Robina.”
“Robina?” she queried, her gaze going dark—as if, perhaps, he spoke of a lover.
“My mother.”
She sighed, and nodded.
He kissed her once more, then left her, wanting more than anything to turn around, and sweep her in his arms and carry her out of this place forever. But he could not. Not yet.
At the gate, he paused to
speak to the maidservant, whom he had no doubt had peered into the garden and seen him and Tara embracing.
“You will tell no one that you have seen us together,” he said to her forcefully, but not unkindly. “Do you understand?”
The girl nodded.
“I wish only happiness for her,” she answered. “I will tell no one.”
*
Magnus held true to his word. Tara did not see him that night, nor Hugh. As she had for the past several evenings, she took her meal with Lady Alwyn, who continued to complain of weariness and an overly rapid beating of her heart. They conversed little, and when they did it was to discuss the wedding.
Perhaps she should feel burdened by guilt, living here, in the home of a laird whose son—her legally betrothed—she had betrayed for another man. But try as she might, she could find no regret within her heart. She had not come here by choice, and had made clear to them her wish to sever the betrothal agreement, that any marriage would be by force. She loved Magnus with every ounce of her being, and impatiently waited for him to return to her, though … with a certain degree of foreboding about whatever matters at hand kept Magnus at Burnbryde rather than fleeing straightaway with her.
Most certainly, danger would be involved. If he intended some sort of rebellion against his father, he could be defeated. He could be killed, and she feared if he died, her spirit would die with him, and she would be left on this earth, an empty shell of a woman, married to a cruel man she would forever despise.
She forced herself to put those fears from her mind. Magnus would meet any challenge like the hero he was, and she had to believe he would prevail. Even if his triumph meant leaving Burnbryde forever, with no possessions of which to speak, she would go with him. She would rather live in love and light with Magnus, even if that meant existing in poverty, than here in this castle in endless darkness with Hugh.
Aye, she had some fortune of her own, and land, but Buchan controlled everything. She feared she would forfeit all by disobeying him.
For the first time … she wondered if that was what the earl wanted.
The next four days were a mirror of each other. There were morning prayers in the tower with Lady Alwyn. A walk along the cliffs with Anna. The rest of the day she spent confined to the tower, being fitted for a wedding gown she never intended to wear, and meeting with the cook about the upcoming feast and sweets to be served to the guests. She listened to Lady Alwyn go on and on about which guests should be greeted with enthusiasm, and which should all but be ignored. Each night seemed to last forever, as she did not sleep well. It was in those dark hours, she remembered Hugh’s craven attack on Magnus, and his plainspoken wish that his bastard brother was dead. She prayed that Magnus would remain always on his guard because if Hugh had tried to murder him once, would he not attempt to kill him again? And would not a hunting trip be the perfect opportunity?
At last, as the evening of the fourth day darkened into night, Anna appeared to summon Tara for dinner with Lady Alwyn.
“The men have returned from their hunt.”
Tara’s heart leapt with happiness, for she knew she would see Magnus again soon.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said.
“I knew you would want to know.”
Anna, blessedly, had said nothing of her private meeting in the garden with Magnus, asked no curious or demanding questions, but had remained just as kind and caring as before.
That night Tara bathed and prepared for bed, waiting at every moment to hear the sound of him at the secret door, because she’d left the window unlocked … but he did not come.
Certainly, he would, as soon as he could break away from the Alwyn or his men. Yet the night grew later and later. Eventually she drifted into sleep.
*
The great room echoed with minstrel song and laughter. The hunt had been successful, and the mood was much like a celebration. The laird and Hugh, and the older men of the council had already partaken of their meal. Magnus sat at his customary table, along with his men. Gaily dressed female servants with ribbons streaming from their hair, including Kyla and Laire, brought out their food and poured their cups full of ale.
For four days he had thought of little else but Tara, and seeing her again. He had focused all his frustration at being separated from her into the hunt, and at last, now that it was done and he was here, he impatiently counted the moments until he could be with her again. Yes, he had kept Hugh away from her, but he would not be satisfied that she was out of harm until she was safely ensconced at Inverhaven behind the impenetrable wall of the Kincaid mercenary army.
A shout went up from beside the laird’s table, a captain shouting for all to be silent. The Alwyn stood, holding a goblet and leveling his gaze outward, across the room.
“Listen, one and all,” he said. Firelight illuminated the prominent arch of his nose. “The coming days will be one of our greatest challenges, to oust the pretender who calls himself the Kincaid, along with his army of mercenaries. Hired men with no loyalty to clan or king, only to the man who will pay them the most coins. I ask that you stand ready to answer the call of your kinsmen at any moment, to stand with them in what will be a legendary day on the field of battle.”
A cheer went up.
“Aye, we will suffer losses, as always occur among the most brave and valiant of men. But our allies are watching and will see that we are rewarded, just as we have been rewarded in the past.”
The cheers grew louder.
“There will also be more cause for celebration. My son, my ceann-cath, will marry the ward of the Earl of Buchan. In his honor, the warriors of our clan have hunted these past four days, to provide a feast worthy of the king himself.” He raised his goblet high to a rousing round of cheers. “Thank you all.”
Then, to Magnus’s surprise, the laird’s gaze settled on him.
“But most of all you, Magnus.” He raised the goblet higher. Looking around the room, he announced, “There is no huntsman, no warrior more skilled among the ranks of the Alwyns and we thank you for your contribution to the coming days’ celebrations, a true gift to the man who will be your future laird.”
The warriors of the Pit rose up around him, clapping their hands on his shoulders.
“Y’ Braggart!”
“I still can’t believe how you stood that devil of a boar down.”
“You’ve made us all proud.”
Kyla poured his goblet full, and pressed a kiss to his cheek, while Laire kissed the other.
Suddenly Hugh was there, pressing forward, a goblet raised high in his hand, his gaze fixed glassily on Magnus.
“Yes, all hail Magnus. The finest warrior and hunter this clan has ever known. Protector of all. Shining star of God. The finest son a man ever had.”
“I did not say that,” shouted his father from where stood on the dais.
Turning, Hugh spat, “You did not have to.”
Twisting back around, he lunged drunkenly toward Magnus, fists swinging, but the men of the Pit converged on him, and carried him away.
The laird waved his hand, laughing. “Yes, throw him in a trough. He is drunk and more than ready to be wed. He will have forgotten all of this tomorrow, as shall we.” He raised his goblet again. “Music. More music. More ale.”
The tension between him and Hugh had simmered all through the hunt, more than once nearly culminating in violence. Magnus ceded that he was much to blame. Even though he knew he’d claimed Tara’s heart, by the laws of Scotland, she belonged to Hugh and it tormented him.
Because of that, he could not help but take every opportunity to best Hugh at everything, and rub his hateful nose in it, just as he could not wait for the moment Hugh realized that Tara belonged to him.
Tara … he wanted her. Could think of nothing but her soft skin, and her passionate kisses.
His men returned, without Hugh. He bided his time, long past midnight, until at last he felt he could slip away from the revelry unnoticed. He pushed through
the crowd toward the door, and strode down the darkened corridor, his blood pulsing with anticipation, thinking only of her—
“Magnus,” called a woman’s voice from behind him, frantic and strained.
He turned to find Kyla, her hair wild. Tears streamed over her cheeks.
“It’s Ferchar,” she cried. “He’s got Laire.”
*
Tara started awake. She sat up, wondering how long she’d slept. She suspected it was early morning.
But … why hadn’t Magnus come in the night?
Her heart clenched in her chest, and suddenly she feared the worst. Suddenly, in her mind she was a young girl again, confined to her chambers with Arabel, waiting for word of her ill parents and how they had passed the night, and no one came. No one came for so long and when they did, it was with the most devastating, heartbreaking news that had changed their lives forever, sending them out from the home they’d loved, into the care of others. Others who did not love them as their mother and father had.
Was it possible that Magnus had been hurt? It was, of course. If he had been, there would be no one to come and tell her.
Now that she was awake, with her mind filled with such fears, she would not sleep again.
Not until she saw him … spoke to him … assured herself he was unharmed.
She touched the key where it hung from a cord, between her breasts. In the darkness, she shivered from the cold, and dressed quickly. A moment later, she descended the secret stairway, lantern in hand. It took her several attempts to insert the key inside the lock, but once she did it turned easily. Leaving the lantern on the floor, she pushed open the bars, and crawled to the end of the ledge, and peered over. She could just see the edge of Magnus’s window from this spot.
“Magnus,” she called.
Her voice sounded shockingly loud in the darkness.
“Magnus,” she said again, this time louder.
She heard no movement of the shutter, no response.
It was not that far of a drop to the ground. She pushed off … landing harder than she expected. Her ankles and knees gave out, and she landed on her bottom with a teeth-jarring jolt. Pushing up, she walked a few steps, gingerly at first, to see if she’d injured herself, but she had not.
The Rebel of Clan Kincaid Page 21