The sight of Lilidh MacLerie riding along the forest road had aroused him. He’d planned on claiming her body and using it as he wished when she was his to command. Then her daring actions, fighting his men and trying to protect the old woman, heated his blood and his lust for her almost overpowered him. Oh, aye, she would be good for some bold bedplay. Even now his body readied to take hers. Only his sister’s cough brought his attention back to their conversation.
‘Now she is Rob’s plaything to bed and use. I am not happy about this, Symon.’ Tyra stood, smoothing her gown down as she stepped closer to him. Leaning in, she whispered to him, ‘Take her back, Symon. Get her out of his bed.’
Symon almost took a step back at the vehemence in her tone. Almost. But he was the man here and, though Tyra was his elder sister, he would not take orders from a woman.
‘You will listen to me, Tyra,’ he commanded in a low voice. There was no need for servants and the like to overhear this conversation. ‘She is a temporary stone in the path here. A means to an end. Once we have the gold from the MacLerie, she will be gone and we will be richer. And I will be able to take the chieftain’s chair from the bastard. Our plans will all see success.’ She made to step around him, but he grabbed her arm to stop her.
‘I will be laird here, so you had better watch your step and do as I tell you to do. I will not be as pliable as that whoreson Rob is when it comes to giving you your way if you disobey me in this.’
Something flickered in her eyes for a moment before she masked it. Something he could not identify. Something dead.
‘But, of course, Brother,’ she replied, bowing her head. ‘I value your guidance in all things.’
He huffed out a breath and released her. As long as she realised that she was beholden to him for her position, things would work out. Symon lifted the latch and pulled on the door before glancing back at Tyra. Her expression was one of humility and obedience, but that was not what he’d seen there before.
Not at all.
* * *
Tyra kept her gaze blank until Symon left her chambers and then her anger filled her. Clenching her fists, she searched for something, anything, to throw and break. The need to smash something into the floor or wall grew uncontrollable and she finally spied just the thing—her looking glass.
A present from her stepfather, Symon’s father, she took the heavy metal object with both hands and flung it to the floor, sending pieces off in different directions across the chamber. The larger reflecting piece skidded satisfyingly on the rough wood until it slammed into the wall.
Tyra seethed with rage. Men always controlled her life. Her father, then her stepfather, her brother and now the newly made laird who had agreed to take her as wife. Agreed, aye, after having to be convinced by the worthless elders! Yet now he felt no shame or hesitation in sleeping with another woman before all of them. No explanation to her, no words to soften the blow to her pride. She was simply expected to accept this treatment as her place in life and be grateful for it.
Grateful was not something that she did easily or well.
Damn that fool Symon! This move had cost much and confounded her own plans. If he had only left well enough alone and let those elders who agreed with him push Rob out, all would have been well and her future would have been as she’d desired. Now, Rob was exerting his own pressures on the elders and the rest and the MacKenzies seemed less and less appealing as allies in the face of the MacLerie’s forces.
Damn him!
The sound of footsteps approaching her door alerted her that she had to regain control of herself. Men might not know how to control themselves, but Tyra would not her plans fail because of excessive emotions. Letting out her breath, she forced her face to relax and cleared her mind of thoughts, until she could allow a smile to alight on her mouth.
‘I misjudged its weight,’ she said apologetically as she turned to face her serving woman. The woman went scurrying around the bedchamber, gathering up the scattered pieces of metal.
‘Oh, my lady,’ Margaret whispered, holding out the broken looking glass. ‘’Tis the one that your stepfather gave you on the anniversary of your birth!’
‘Mayhap the smith can repair it? Would you take it to him and ask him?’ she said, smiling at the maid.
‘Oh, aye, my lady,’ Margaret said, ever trying to please her mistress since she and the others expected her to be the woman who would rule over this household very soon.
Tyra waited for her to leave before sitting down before the table that used to hold the looking glass. She smoothed her hair back and tugged on the sleeves of the gown. She must appear in the hall soon and act as though everything in her life pleased her. As though she was not bothered at all by her betrothed bedding another woman while the entire clan knew. As though she was happy at the thought of becoming lady here. As though this was her perfect life and would be her perfect future.
She had learned long ago how to bide her time; it was a lesson hard-learned and not forgotten. Not then and not now. Everything these fools planned would be for naught and in the end she would rule over the household of her beloved—Gavin MacKenzie, the heir to the vast MacKenzie lands and wealth.
And they would learn that they should never have underestimated her.
Lairig Dubh
Jocelyn did not like it one bit.
Something was going on and no one would tell her what it was. Rurik, usually the one to spill any news first, simply watched her silently. Duncan, the clan’s negotiator, came and went from Connor’s meetings without meeting her gaze.
Oh, aye, something bad was afoot in the clan MacLerie.
Connor had sent a servant to summon her back from the village, but upon her arrival at Lairig Dubh, he’d kept her waiting. Her patience, non-existent when she was worrying over her family, wore through at that moment and she climbed to her feet, put her basket on the table and prepared to find out the truth.
‘Jocelyn,’ Connor said quietly, opening his door to her. ‘Come. We must speak.’
All her bluster left her at the look on his face. Bad? This was not bad—this was a disaster of some kind. Jocelyn attempted to smooth her breathing and not lose control as she tried to remember where each of their children was. Where each of Connor’s kin was. Where every person she cared about was at that moment. Yet, none of that helped in this tense moment.
Connor took her hand and escorted her into his private chamber as the others left. He led her to a chair, but she shook off his hold and his attempt.
‘Just tell me, Connor.’ Steeling her heart and nerves, she waited for the news.
‘Lilidh has been...’ Connor paused, searching for a word while her heart stopped. Dead? Was her daughter dead? She clasped her hands together and held her breath. ‘Kidnapped.’
‘Kidnapped? She is alive?’ Jocelyn sank on to the chair then, unable to keep her legs steady. ‘Who did this?’
‘Rob Matheson.’
She shook her head. Rob? No, not him. ‘That cannot be. You fostered Rob. He was the son of your friend, your ally. He loved...’ She paused before saying the rest because she knew it would simply inflame Connor’s temper.
‘All of that is in the past now,’ he growled, turning away from her. ‘One of the men escorting her home survived and made his way here, reporting on what had happened. But first he followed the men who took her and they took her to the Matheson keep.’
‘None of this makes sense, Connor,’ she said, twisting her hands in her lap as she thought of her eldest child. ‘Why would he take her? He is betrothed to someone else, so marriage is not his aim. He has no quarrel with you.’
Her words drifted off as she realised that there was no peace between her husband and his foster son. The division between them might have begun because of
Lilidh, but recent changes could be blamed on the Mathesons negotiating with their common adversaries, the MacKenzies.
‘What will you do?’ Her mother’s heart beat erratically, worried at all the
terrible possibilities and the few good ones in this situation. Connor glanced at her and she held her breath.
‘She is a hostage now. Her kidnapping is a prelude to war.’
Her head spun even as her heart raced then and she felt her legs shake beneath her. Connor was at her side in an instant, embracing her in his strong arms.
‘Connor, you must—’
She would have offered up all kinds of solutions, all from a mother’s caring heart, but her husband, her laird, placed his finger over her lips and shook his head.
‘I know all the words you would speak right now, Jocelyn,’ he began. ‘Remember that she is the daughter of an earl and a chieftain. A widow to the great
MacGregor chief. Tied to two of the most powerful families in the Highlands. The Mathesons would be fools to mistreat her.’
At this time.
She heard the words as though he’d spoken them. Their daughter was safe for now, though what safe meant could be another complete discussion.
‘For now, I am sending a messenger to Rob to ask for his terms.’
‘You will not attack?’ Her worst fear.
‘I can always attack,’ he said. The hint of bloodthirst in his voice revealed that the beast was still there and ready to rise when needed. ‘First, I will try diplomacy.’
‘I would see her,’ Jocelyn tried. ‘I would accompany Duncan to Keppoch and make certain she is well.’ Duncan would be the first choice to handle such a delicate and dangerous matter for Connor.
She pushed out of his embrace, determined to gather some clothing and supplies and be ready to leave. She and other wives had travelled with their husbands and kin on matters of state and clan business and this would be nothing different.
‘You will stay here and see to your duties.’
She tensed at the words and the tone in which he delivered them. Turning to face him, Jocelyn saw that he did not jest with her. He expected her to remain here while the fate of her, their, daughter hung in the balance. He expected her to continue to see to her duties and to act as though nothing was wrong. He expected her to...
‘Aye, I do, Jocelyn.’
They’d lived and loved so long now that he could indeed read her thoughts, though she considered that it might have been her face and expression that gave her away. She’d never been good at hiding her feelings—not long ago when they met and not now that they’d been married for almost a score of years.
She looked away from him then, trying to hold back the tears and anger that threatened to erupt. She would be of no help to her husband or their daughter if she fell apart as she wished to do in that moment. Tightening her lips so no words escaped, she thought on how her own goal could be accomplished even in the face of Connor’s resistance.
‘I think I prefer the devastated mother’s expression to the mutinous MacCallum one you wear now,’ he observed, crossing his arms over the wide expanse of his chest and glaring at her.
She shrugged and shook her head. ‘I know not what you—’
‘Come now, Jocelyn. We have been through so much together and I am insulted that you think I do not know what that look in your eyes and the tilt of your chin up ever so slightly...’ he said, as he reached out and outlined the curve of her chin and face down to her neck. Chills shot through her at his touch. Any time. Every time. ‘...means. It means you plan to defy me in this.’
‘Connor, surely—’ She withheld any further arguments.
‘I think I would prefer not to hear a lie from your lips,’ he admitted. His stern gaze gave her no sign of leniency, only understanding. However, her husband was an intelligent man who could make the right decisions when left to it. She waited and finally after several seconds heard his exhaled breath. ‘Do nothing that will lessen our chances of getting what we need. Pay heed to Duncan and Rurik.’
Duncan and Rurik? If he was sending both, he was preparing for war as well and making quite a show of strength. That manoeuvre could either impress the Mathesons or cause them to act rashly. She prayed in that moment that it was the former and not the latter.
‘When?’
‘We must wait on them and the messengers I’ve sent before sending armed men to his lands. Give him a chance to come to his damned senses and release her on his own.’ He paused then. ‘About a sennight, I would think.
‘You will do nothing that Duncan and Rurik do not give permission to do while there. You will remain within our camp and—’ When he began to announce a long list of orders and prohibitions, she stopped him the one sure way she knew would work—she stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him.
He clasped her shoulders and held her close, their breaths mingling, as he stared into her eyes and studied her face. Then he settled her back to her feet and released her.
‘You will be safe, Jocelyn.’ She nodded and began to leave, for there was much planning and packing to do. ‘And, Jocelyn? I am allowing you to go in case Lilidh needs you,’ he explained.
Those last words would haunt her days and nights until she next beheld her daughter and could ascertain for herself any damages done to her at the hands of the Mathesons.
Oh, woe to Rob Matheson if her daughter was harmed. Woe to him if he incurred the wrath of a mother! Connor could not be more dangerous than that.
Chapter Seven
Lilidh was out of breath and straining with each step by the time they reached the lower level where the hall was located. Dougal had gone slowly, but that mattered not right now. The pain in her leg, eased by the long soak in the hot water, was back in full force. Spasms pulsed through her leg with each step. Finally they stopped and Dougal let her catch her breath. When she looked up and met his gaze, she saw pity enter and she hated it.
‘Hold out your hands,’ he said. Dougal took the length of coiled rope off his shoulder, found the end and tied a looped knot in it.
Her time as a prisoner officially began now and all who saw her would know it.
She reached up and tucked the strands of hair that had come loose from the braid back behind her ears and then offered her hands to him. She needed to stay alive until Rob and her father could sort this out. She needed to remain unharmed or her father would not let a stone remain standing in this keep or village. So, she did not fight this.
When he finished, he let some rope drop between them and began to lead her into the hall. All the talking stopped as she entered and she could feel their scrutiny as she made her way slowly towards the front. To the dais where Rob no doubt sat eating. Along with the scoundrel Symon who’d brought her here. She swallowed back her anger with him, because she must stay in control of herself for now.
Her head pounded with each step. She noticed some of those watching muttered or whispered under their breath. Some looked away and would not meet her eyes. She saw hatred and distrust in some; in most she thought she recognised pity and sympathy. Especially from the women. By the time they walked the length of the big chamber, she was limping badly and out of breath again. But she squared her shoulders when she stopped before him, for she was a MacLerie and would not let them forget it.
‘Here she is, Symon,’ Rob said loudly enough for all to hear. ‘Not too coddled, as you accused.’
A young woman sat between the two men and she realised this must be the Lady Tyra who Beathas had mentioned. Lovely, with long, auburn hair and green eyes and a heart-shaped face, the look in her eyes seared Lilidh with hatred. As quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, and the woman turned her softened gaze towards Rob. Lilidh blinked, thinking that exhaustion had caused her to see something that was not there after all.
‘Must she be here at all? Her very presence insults me.’
Bold, this one was, to say such a thing. Lilidh was the equal to any noble-born woman, daughter of an earl, so to hear such a thing surprised her. Prisoner, aye, but a noblewoman none the less. Symon’s sister bowed her head—a humbling nod in other circumstances, but one played just for Rob and the others now. Even Lilidh could see it plain
ly.
‘Take her back, Dougal,’ Rob called out.
‘Hold!’ Symon shouted when Dougal took her by the arm. ‘She is a prisoner here and should not have a life of leisure while we wait to hear from the MacLerie.’
A few men called out in support of his words with loud, rude words and noises. From the sound of it, they believed she should be performing personal services of a kind she did not wish to think upon. She lifted her face and looked to Rob.
His calm expression surprised her.
He did not look as though he was interested in her at all. He stood then and walked to where Symon stood, ignoring the lady’s soft pleas to return to her. Now, watching her speak to Rob, Lilidh suspected that she was more than simply sibling to the brigand. When Rob reached Symon, he pushed his cousin out of the way and took her by the arm, tugging her up on the step.
‘Lady Lilidh MacLerie is mine. You brought her here, Symon, and I claim her as chief. For as long as she remains here, she is mine alone. If anyone else touches her, they answer to me.’
Her face must be the colour of her favourite ribbon—scarlet! How could he boldly claim such things when she stood there with them? And making such a claim in front of both Symon and his sister shocked her, but at the same time, it reassured her. His grasp loosened and she stumbled down from the step, regaining her balance once there. She thought him done, until he spoke once more.
‘But you are right, Symon. ’Tis wrong for a prisoner to expect to be treated as a guest. When I have no need for her, she will work in the kitchens.’
She could not help it—she gasped at his crude insinuation and his command. Work in the kitchens? She would not. Lilidh began to walk away when she found her path blocked by Dougal. ‘I am not your servant,’ she said to Rob and she faced him.
‘You will do what you are told to do, lady,’ Rob ordered as he approached. ‘You will do it when you are told to do it. Or I swear that I’ll be delivering your dead body to your father once he arrives.’
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