“Twas you who insisted she ride,” snarled the other. “Twas you who caused her ruin.” He sounded almost as if he might cry.
“Her ruin?”
“Scarred!” Stanford choked. “And all because of you. Scarred. Her vibrant beauty dulled forever.”
Dear Mother of God! This poor chap was seriously melodramatic, and possibly a mite deranged. Definitely someone to watch. After all, there was no reason to think he wasn’t the one to place the wolf in the woods by the burn.
“True beauty cannot be dulled,” Dugald said. “It can only be cherished.” Long ago, in another world, his grandfather had oft quoted such words of wisdom. It had been just this kind of gibberish that used to drive Dugald to distraction.
“Cherished?” Stanford scowled as if trying to work out the meaning. The problem was, there was no meaning. Still, Dugald thought, it gave the scrawny lord something to think about other than Shona’s injuries. But apparently, he didn’t feel like pondering such a deep topic. “What do you know of beauty?” he finally asked, his tone weepy.
Dugald shrugged, still trying to defuse the situation with his philosophical manner. “What do any of us know, Lord Stanford? Mayhap we could sit and discuss the phenomena of beauty.”
Stanford’s face turned from red to purple, and then, in a fit of rage, he spat.
“Tis your fault she is ruined, and tis you who shall pay,” Stanford sobbed.
Dugald wiped his face with his sleeve and counted backward from fifteen. “What exactly are ye saying, Stanford?” Dugald asked. “Are ye accusing me of cutting my own girth?” There was a kind of sick irony here, he knew. Someday he might be able to appreciate it. But not just now. Just now he had to concentrate on keeping everyone alive—himself first, Stanford second.
“I am saying you are a coward and a bastard,” Stanford repeated. It was beginning to get monotonous. “And if you have a grain of honor, you will meet me on the green with your sword.” He motioned to his own weapon that hung at his side.
“Tis general knowledge that I do not have a grain of honor. Therefore, it seems I’m exempt,” he said, and forced himself to turn away.
“Damn you!” Stanford swore.
Dugald knew the moment the knife was drawn, sensed the attack even before it came. Sheer instinct made him turn. Twas training that made him react. His hand flashed out and chopped hard and fast against Stanford’s throat.
The tall man staggered back, his eyes popping. His blade skittered noisily across the floor while his bony fingers gripped his throat.
The hall went absolutely quiet.
Stanford stared straight ahead, his face pasty and his lips turning blue. Dugald swore in silence and damned himself for using too much force; if the man died, Dugald’s reputation as a coward was likely to be ruined for life.
But in a moment Stanford dragged in a harsh croaking breath, and then another.
Dugald watched him with some relief, but not for long, for it seemed Stanford was a bit more rabid than Dugald had anticipated. Barely able to breathe, the gawky lord snatched his sword from his scabbard and faced Dugald with a snarl of rage.
Dugald scowled back. “I do not mean to find fault, Lord Stanford. But I doubt this is a good idea. What will your Shona think if you spill blood in her father’s hall?” He was trying to be reasonable, but his words only seemed to enrage the man further. With a strangled shriek, he lunged.
As for Dugald, he had seen better attacks from callow youths and stepped easily aside. Stanford tromped past like a bull in full charge then turned to attack again.
“Truly, I am a known coward and a weakling,” Dugald said. “If you kill me, twill do naught but wound your reputation.”
“I do not care for my reputation. But only for the lady’s vengeance for her hideous disfigurement,” he snarled, and lunged again.
Dugald leapt aside, but this time the tip of Stanford’s blade caught his sleeve, ripping it lengthwise down his arm.
Enough was enough. Twisting quickly, Dugald shot an arm about Stanford’s neck and snatched him back against his chest.
“You care only for the lady’s vengeance?” Dugald gritted in the other’s ear. He tightened his grip while easily forcing Stanford’s left arm between their bodies. “Or could it be you have a care for your own life?” Dugald twisted the arm higher. “If so, my lord, I would suggest you do cease baiting me.”
Stanford snarled and tried to jerk away, but in that instant Shona entered the hall.
“Halt!” Her voice echoed in the stillness.
Stanford twisted to stare at her. Dugald turned with him.
She looked like a bright avenging angel with her hair billowed behind her like a scarlet typhoon, her eyes sparking emerald flame. There was little wonder the very thought of bruising such vibrant life made men insane.
“Stop it, both of ye!” she rasped, then realized the way of things and frowned. “Let him go, Dugald.”
He did as he was told, then gave his tormenter a slight shove to gain him some distance.
Stanford tottered forward then stumbled to a halt, the sword going limp in his hand. “Look what you’ve done to her,” he gasped.
“Twill not help to blame the foreigner,” William said, his expression benign as he stepped forward.
“Someone must take the blame. Someone must pay. And if you are too much the coward to exact revenge, I shall do so for you!” Stanford vowed, but Shona stepped forward.
“Tis not his fault!” she said.
“Twas Kinnaird who caused your fall. I have proof.”
“Proof?” she asked, glaring at Stanford.
“The girth was cut. No one else knew you would ride.”
She waited, apparently for something more conclusive.
“And umm…” Stanford paused. “Kinnaird has a knife.”
“Heaven’s wrath!” Shona swore then turned angrily to Dugald. “And ye? Do ye have proof that someone else is trying to kill me?”
Her right eye was blackened and her left cheek was stitched with something that looked like white horsehair. Dugald found he wanted nothing more than to kiss her purple eyelid, to smooth his fingers over her wounded cheek.
“Dugald?” she said. His name was soft on her lips. Like a caress.
But he brought himself back to reality with a jolt. The last thing he needed was for the culprit to know Dugald was investigating the accident.
“The only thing I know for certain is that this Stanford is an ass,” he said.
“And I know you shall die before nightfall!” Stanford growled.
“Stop it!” Shona said, leaping between them. “Stop it now, or I swear the winner will fight me next.”
Roderic stepped up, his expression solemn, his tone low. “Were I ye, I would not doubt her words, lads. If she says she will fight the winner, she will fight the winner. And though she may be a fair archer, she is no master of the sword; and so help me, God, whoever harms a hair on her head will face me.”
“And me!” His brother, Leith, stepped up beside Roderic.
“And me!” Boden Blackblade stood beside him.
“And me,” said Graham.
“And me.” Kelvin’s voice was high-pitched when he spoke, but it was the one that did the most to clear Dugald’s head.
“I’ve no intention of fighting,” Dugald said, then turned toward Shona to speak softly, for her ears only. “Tis sorry I am to see you hurt.” He was a fool and he knew it, but there was nothing he could do to stop himself from touching her cheek, nothing he could do to stop the spark that began at his fingertips and sizzled through every nerve ending at the touch of her flesh against his.
Her lips parted. The world fell away, but she drew herself back to reality in an instant.
“Tis naught,” she said, and rapidly stepped back to turn her attention to the sea of faces around them. “Tis naught for anyone to concern themselves with.”
But that evening, in the solitude of the solar, Shona paced.
She had lied. There was a great deal to be concerned about, a very great deal. Even if Dugald’s overt allure did not concern her, there were other things.
She was certain Kinnaird had only been trying to make her suspicious of William, but the point was, it had worked. For a time she had doubted her fiance, had thought that perhaps he had somehow intentionally caused her accident.
There was no place for that kind of doubt in a marriage. No place at all, especially when Kelvin’s life too would be affected by her choice of a spouse. William deserved more than that.
“Shona?”
She started at the sound of her name and turned to find the duke of Atberry in the doorway.
“I was told you wished to speak to me.”
“Aye.” She wasn’t the kind to wring her hands, but if a situation ever warranted hand wringing, this was surely it. Fatigue, uncertainty, and frustration over her damned attraction to Dugald had driven her to accept William’s proposal. She acted impetuously—again. And now she would have to undue the damage she had done. “Please come in and shut the door.”
He did so, then faced her, his expression solemn. “What is it, my dear?”
She reviewed her words for the hundredth time, but they sounded no better than before, so she paced the length of the room before turning to watch him again. “This is most difficult, William. In truth, I dunna know where to begin.” She paced again, but finally he strode across the room to take her hands between his own.
“I believe I know what this is about, lass,” he said softly.
She felt herself tense, for surely no man would appreciate being told his wife-to-be was in love —not love— lust, with another man, and therefore felt a need to call off the marriage. “Ye do?”
He nodded. “I do. But ye needn’t worry. I’ve no plans of setting ye aside.”
Her jaw dropped as she absorbed his meaning. If he’d told her he was the king of Kalmar, she wouldn’t have been more surprised. “Setting me aside?”
“Nay.” He stared boldly at her face—-the stitches that were beginning to itch, the purpled eye.
For some indefinable reason, she felt like squirming beneath his gaze. “I am a man of honor, Shona,”
he said gallantly. “I will do as I promised.”
She supposed it was odd and very vain, but not for a moment had she considered that William would not want to marry her.
She had called him here to tell him the truth. That she did not wish to wed him. She had fought the decision for a while, had almost convinced herself that she could go through with it even after Dugald had appeared in her bedchamber. But that one final touch, that simple, innocent moment in the hall, had convinced her differently. All he had done was touch her cheek and she had been a fraction of a moment from shamelessly throwing herself at him in front of God and everybody. Surely twould be a horrible sin to marry when she could not quench this undeniable fire for another. Still, she knew telling William would not be easy.
His attitude, however, simplified the matter considerably.
“So ye are saying ye would marry me out of a sense of duty?” she asked.
“I will treasure ye regardless.”
“Even though I am hideously disfigured?” She had meant it as a jest to lighten the mood, but he answered with sincerity and gave her a brave smile. Had he always been so patronizing?
“Mayhap this is not all bad,” he said. “Remember, my dear, hardships bring humility.”
“Are ye saying that I am not humble?”
He laughed, actually laughed, as he patted her hand. “Ye are young and ye were so bonny. How could ye help but be vain. But now…” Putting his hand on her chin, he moved her head to the side so as to examine her wounds more carefully, and then she saw a strange, indefinable light in his eyes.
“Ye will make me a fine wife.”
A strange thing to say. “What do ye mean by that, William?”
“Do not worry yourself, Shona. I will take care of everything.”
“Everything?”
“I will take care of ye, make certain no one laughs at your expense. People can be cruel.”
He’d make certain no one laughed at her? He made her sound like a half-wit, like a one-eyed beggar. And by the by, she had never laughed at them, either, much less at someone with a couple of bruises on her face. It was a cut, for God’s sake. A few stitches. She’d had worse embroidery accidents.
“Aye. We will get on fine,” he said, and for the first time, she wondered if it were glee she saw in his eyes—if he was happy she had been hurt. Doubt niggled in her mind. Mayhap her injury was much worse than she thought. Mayhap she would never be pretty again. Mayhap no man would want her. But in a moment, she remembered Dugald’s touch. There had been no pity in his eyes, no revulsion, no glee.
“Nay.” She said the word softly.
“Your pardon?”
“Nay, I will not make ye a fine wife.”
He smiled. “Ye worry too much. I never planned to marry ye for your beauty.”
“Why did ye plan to marry me?”
He shrugged as he dropped her chin and turned away. “Your house and mine combined. We will be invincible.”
“Who are we trying to vince?”
He laughed at her wit. “I can hardly blame your father for spoiling ye.”
Spoiling her! It could very well be that she didn’t like this man at all.
“In fact, tis certain I will spoil ye myself.”
“I dunna think so.”
He smiled sympathetically into her eyes. “Ye are taking the loss of your beauty too hard. Do not worry so. But for now you’d best get to bed, my dear. Rest. I will take care of the wedding arrangements,” he said and turned away.
“Nay, William, ye willna.”
He turned slowly toward him, his expression unreadable and his posture stiff. “What say ye?”
“Tis sorry I am, but I canna marry ye, William.”
He said nothing, but watched her in tense silence for a moment. “Might I ask why?”
“I…” She searched for words she thought she’d already planned. “I simply canna.”
“We already announced our intentions.” The words were terse, though he forced a smile.
“Again I say, I am sorry.”
“1 would have the truth, Shona. Is it because of another man? Is it because of the foreigner?”
“Dugald?” she said. The name came out breathy with surprise. “Dugald of Kinnaird?”
His gaze was very steady on hers. “I think I have a right to know the truth.”
Aye. He had a right to know the truth. But what man wanted to hear that his fiancee longed for another, could not forget his touch, could do naught but yearn for it again? If she knew men, and she did, that was something they would frown upon. Certainly a tender lie would be kinder.
“Is it the foreigner?” he asked again.
“Nay.” The denial came out quickly, perhaps too quickly. She bit her lip. “In all honesty, William, I dunna even like him.”
He took a step toward her. “I have reason to believe that Stanford was right,” he said. “Twas Kinnaird that caused your disfigurement.”
Disfigurement! She was getting tired of that word, but it brought her sharply back to reality.
“That is just the point, William,” she said, touching her cheek. “I canna ask any man to marry me now.”
“I told ye—”
“But I see pity in your eyes,” she interrupted. “I dunna want pity from the man I marry. Surely ye can understand that.”
“What do ye want from a husband, Shona?” he growled. “Someone to bow and scrape when ye enter the room?”
She drew back at his sharp words.
“We’ve made a public announcement,” he said, stepping forward and gripping her arm again.
“We have pledged our troth.”
“I am certain the public will understand,” she said. “After all, mayhap everyone knows I am spoiled and vain.” She couldn’t
stop her words, though she knew they were petty. “Ye are lucky to be rid of me.”
“Ye made a vow.”
“Surely tis far better to break it now than later after the sanctity of marriage.”
A light flamed in his eyes. “No woman cheats on—”
“Lady Shona?” A sharp rap echoed on the door.
Shona did not lower her gaze from William’s, but held it perfectly steady, trying to read his thoughts. This was a new William, one she did not much like. “What is it, Muriel?”
“The Irishman called Liam has just arrived.”
“Liam?” Despite everything, she could not still the joy that spurred through her heart.
“Aye, Lady. Your cousins said ye would wish to see him immediately.”
“Who is this Liam, Shona?” William asked, his hand still on her arm.
“He is a friend.”
“Ye have many friends.”
“Are ye implying something, William?” she asked.
“If ye leave this room now, you’ll not have another chance.”
“Another chance at what?”
“At marriage.”
“With ye?” she asked, “or are ye assuming every other man will be as shallow as yourself?”
His eyes narrowed. “Make your decision,” he said.
“Tell my cousins I will be there immediately, Muriel,” Shona called, and pulled her arm from William’s grasp.
“I dunna care what ye tell your friends,” she said softly. “Ye may tell them I was a shrew or that I was too disfigured to look upon. Ye can even tell them that I was not untried, for ye certainly have implied it. But no matter what lies ye spew, I will expect ye to be gone before dusk tomorrow.” With that, she turned away and left him.
Chapter 21
She would know the Irishman anywhere, Shona thought, even from the back in the middle of a crowded hall.
“Liam!” she cried, and rushed down the stairs to fly toward him.
He turned just in time to catch her in his arms and hug her to him. Close at hand, Sara and Rachel watched them and smiled.
Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) Page 25