A pity she didn’t feel at all willing.
Marjory bristled, straightened her back.
Her brother meant well in trying to find her a titled and wealthy Viking husband, a man who would bring status to their clan and forge a bond to the Mackintoshes’ ancient ties to the northern lands. Even so, she had no wish for such a match. Nor could she bear the thought of leaving her home, the Glen of Many Legends.
She didn’t want to marry a Norseman.
She wanted…
“Alasdair.” She turned to face him, anger chasing her elation. “I didn’t think to see you here. You’ve been away many months now.”
“So I have, aye.” He stepped closer, giving her a slow, deliciously wicked smile. “Can it be you missed me?”
“Surely not.” Marjory flushed when he cocked a disbelieving brow. “I’ve had much to do of late.” She spoke true, just not adding that many of her thoughts had been of him. “You cannot believe the glen stilled in your absence, pining for you. There is aye work and—”
“I spoke of you, lass, no’ the glen.” His gaze locked with hers and she could feel the heat of him, the power of his strong, hard body. His rich, auburn hair gleamed in the sun. A bit longer than she remembered, the ends brushed his shoulders, while new, harsh lines in his face hinted he’d been long at sea. He also seemed larger and more roughened than she remembered.
She flipped back her braid, not liking how his rugged appearance made her pulse quicken. “I am not your concern, Alasdair MacDonald.”
He let his gaze roam over her, as if seeing her for the first time. “Aye, well. You are a Mackintosh and your brother and I are no’ friends, that is true.”
“You never forget that, do you?” Marjory’s chest tightened, his words a knife jab to her heart.
“There is much I dinnae forget.” He gripped her chin, slid his thumb over her lips. “I’m also thinking I was gone too long, much as I needed to make the journey to Inverness. A good seaman watches o’er the building of a new galley, howe’er skilled the shipyard. Now I’m returned.” He stroked the corner of her mouth, his touch leaving her breathless.
Shivery, almost giddy with happiness, and more than a little annoyed.
She wasn’t a child’s toy to be cast aside and ignored, retrieved at a whim.
She was Marjory Mackintosh of Nought and a proud and strong woman.
So she stepped back, away from the madness of his caress. The unsettling things his attentions did to her insides, making it so hard to think.
She did lift her chin. “Will you be staying?”
“Aye, that I will.” His voice deepened and he appeared even more different. Not just larger than she remembered but a bit dangerous. His eyes darkening, he leaned in, so near that his breath mingled with hers. “Seeing the splendors of these hills, I regret I was away.”
“Indeed.” Marjory held his gaze, challengingly.
“So I said.” He flashed another smile and then bent to retrieve the fallen silk ribbon. “You dropped this.” Giving her the ribbon, he closed her fingers around its length and then raised her hand to his lips. “Have you ne’er learned no’ to let something of such beauty slip from your grasp?”
“This past year, I have learned things I would never have believed.” She didn’t say her greatest lesson was that he cared so little for her. That truth surely blazed in her eyes. “Were you aware how many wayfarers pass through this glen? Traveling men who gladly carry messages if asked?”
“Such men also journey north, my lady. They sail Hebridean waters, where I spent time after leaving Inverness with my new galley. If the wind changes in Glasgow, it’s known in Aberdeen by nightfall.” He stepped back, narrowing his gaze. “Tongues wag even faster in our beloved Highlands. So tell me, Norn”—he used her by-name, given to her for her fair northern looks—“I would know if the rumors I’ve heard are true. Has your brother secured a match for you? Are you to be a Viking bride?”
She looked at him, her knuckles still tingling where he’d kissed her. “Kendrew does wish to find a husband for me. He’s sent offers to a number of Norsemen, mostly lesser nobles in Orkney and Shetland.
“So far they’ve all declined.” She drew a breath, keeping her chin raised. If she succeeded in trysting with a certain one-eyed Viking courier this day, she’d ensure another refused bid.
Hoping she’d yet spot the man, she squared her shoulders and held Alasdair’s gaze. “I am not betrothed.”
“I am glad to hear it.” He looked away, into the crowd of fairgoers. Turning back to her, his face was shuttered. “You weren’t meant to leave the glen. You’d be miserable elsewhere. Anyone born of this land would be.”
“That I know.” Marjory didn’t blink, her tone as clear and proud as his.
But her heart dipped.
She’d hoped for a different response.
The one he’d given indicated he saw her as any clanswoman of the glen. That he’d touched her cheek and smoothed his thumb over her lips, heat in his eyes as he’d done so, only revealed his appreciation of females. A bonnie man, he’d always drawn their attention.
And it galled to know that a man who so enjoyed ladies and bed-sport could ignore the deep passion and true joy she was sure they would find if he weren’t so thickheaded.
Yet, in many ways, Alasdair was more stubborn than her brother.
It was a truth that soured her mood.
Lest he guess, she gave him a dazzling smile. “I have no intention of leaving the glen.” She twirled the blue ribbon through her fingers. “I’ve never felt a need to go journeying. Everything I desire is here.”
“I could say the same, sweetness. Still, there are times when duty calls a man away.” He gestured to the edge of the wood where a handful of MacDonald guards watched over a pile of salt barrels and sacks, goods meant for Blackshore Castle, the MacDonald stronghold at the southernmost end of the glen. “A clan chieftain cannae think only of his own wishes, howe’er he’s tempted.”
Marjory stiffened. “Were you tempted in the Hebrides?”
His gaze turned sharp. “What are you saying?”
“Folk spoke of you in your absence.” She watched him carefully, gauging his reaction. “Talk of change at Blackshore, plans concerning you.”
Alasdair shrugged. “Tongues aye wag o’er a chieftain’s doings. My only plans were fetching my galley and”—his blue eyes glinted—“helping a friend, the MacKenzie chief, deal with a pack of rabid MacLeods bent on harrying Eilean Creag, the MacKenzie stronghold. Adding my new ship, and my fighting men, to a few sea battles is what delayed my return.”
“I see.” Marjory did, but she knew there was more.
There had been tales.
Chatter in Nought’s own kitchens. Hushed words quickly silenced when she drew near, whisperings about Alasdair’s men urging him to wed. One of the laundresses claimed she’d heard of a minor Mackinnon chieftain offering Alasdair his youngest daughter. The girl was famed as a great beauty, said to be sweet and biddable, and possessed of a singing voice to rival the songbirds.
Just thinking of such a fabled creature filled Marjory’s mouth with the taste of bitter ash.
Not that she’d wish a cretin upon him.
On second thought, perhaps she would.
She also needed to know the truth.
So she took a deep breath and spoke her mind. “It is rumored you’re to take a Mackinnon bride. That plans have been made and—”
“Is it now?” He looked amused. “Folk must’ve been mightily bored to spread such prattle. I’m wed to the glen, lass. Keeping peace is enough to occupy me. I’ve more to do than look for a wife.”
“So it’s not true?”
“Nae.” He touched her face again, lifting her chin as he let his gaze slide over her, lingering just long enough at her amber necklace to show that he recognized the gemstones as belonging to his clan. Believed enchanted, the ambers had passed to her through Alasdair’s sister, Catriona, and then by way of another f
riend, her brother’s wife, Isobel.
“The ambers…” Marjory waited until he looked up. “I hope you don’t mind I wear them?”
“Nae, I am glad that you do.” He trailed his finger along the sensitive skin beneath her ear, his touch making her blood quicken. “I’d heard Lady Isobel gave you the ambers at her wedding celebration. They suit you well.”
“I treasure them.” She did.
“As you should.” He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “They’re a clan heirloom, no’ a mere adornment.”
“That I know.” Marjory hoped her face didn’t reveal that, to her, the stones were much more.
She and her two friends shared a secret pact, the amber necklace sealing their oath to foster peace between the three clans who shared the glen.
Catriona and Isobel had kept their vows. They’d each wed the chieftain of one of the other clans, erstwhile foes allied through nuptial bliss.
Marjory was the last, her part of the plan as yet unfulfilled. She’d hoped for a match with Alasdair, a union she’d been confident to achieve. Instead, he’d ignored her and then vanished.
He hadn’t made it easy.
And now…
He’d returned a stranger.
Still a man who put duty above all else, and no less handsome than before, yet there was a new and hard edge to him, a boldness that hinted at a fierce will that she doubted would bend even for her.
“Some say the ambers are charmed.” His voice held a teasing note, reminding her that he scoffed at such notions. “Whate’er you believe, they hail from the same ancient amber hoard as the stone in my sword pommel.” He patted the blade’s hilt, drawing her attention to the gleaming gold at its head. “My enemies swear the amber’s powers aid me in battle. The truth is”—he winked—“any man’s skill with a sword has more to do with muscle and long years of practice. Though I’ll own Mist-Chaser is a fine brand.” He hooked his thumbs in his sword belt, his pride evident. “Many of my bitterest foes have bloodied her steel. She’s a thirsty lass when unsheathed.”
“I’ve no doubt.” Marjory felt a chill, once again struck by how much he’d changed.
He’d always been a fierce warrior, his reputation made by the sword.
Now he struck her as almost ruthless.
A man who’d let no one take what was his. And who’d gladly send his enemies to the darkest, coldest end of hell. But then his smile deepened, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that made her insides flutter.
He truly was the most dashing man she’d ever seen.
As if he knew, he leaned toward her and smoothed her hair back from her face, his touch unleashing a wealth of shivery sensation.
“I’m glad you have such faith in my skill.” The look on his face said he meant something other than swordplay.
Something intimate, forbidden, and darkly exciting.
Marjory’s heart raced.
Hope soared and she began to imagine him stepping closer, perhaps even lowering his mouth to hers for a kiss. His hands sweeping around her, pulling her against him as he—
“I owe my skill to my grandsire who put a wooden practice sword in my hand almost as soon as I took my first steps.” His words shattered her burgeoning bliss, making clear that she’d misread him. “What he didn’t teach me, I learned on the field. Often enough fighting Mackintoshes,” he added, sounding pleased to remind her.
“Did you come here to fight us this morn?” She set her hands on her hips, straightened her spine.
He was well-armed. He wore his sword strapped low on his hip and a dirk winked from beneath his belt. A quick glance at his feet showed an extra dagger tucked into his boot.
He followed her glance. “Dinnae worry. I’ll no’ be lopping off anyone’s head. But”—his voice hardened—“there are aye those who’d turn a fairground into a battlefield. The greater fool is a man who forgets suchlike are about.”
“You mean my brother.”
“I meant anyone who’d disturb the glen’s peace. Such gatherings attract more than good hill folk and innocent wayfarers.”
“You expect trouble?” She shot a glance at the MacDonald guardsmen near the wood’s edge, noting that they’d followed their chieftain’s lead. Steel glinted from beneath their plaids, proving they wore more arms than was appropriate for a harvest fair.
Marjory drew a tight breath. The Glen of Many Legends had seen enough bloodshed.
“This ground has run red more often than it should.” She nudged the grass, a wave of protectiveness rising inside her. “It doesn’t need another drenching.”
Alasdair turned her to him, his hands on her shoulders. “The glen is quiet these days. So long as I have breath in me it will remain so. The arms are a precaution.”
“Something is bothering you.” She could feel it, see it in his eyes.
“Aye, that is true.” He didn’t deny it. “And it’s naught to do with my hairy-legged kinsmen and how many swords they’re carrying. It has to do with you.” Gripping her elbows, he drew her into the shaded arch of a flower-covered bower. “See here, lass—”
“I see you’re inviting trouble pulling me in here.” Marjory didn’t care for his tone, so gave him her airiest in return. A few moments ago, she might’ve welcomed entering a bower with him. Now…
She stood firm, not letting him maneuver her deeper into the shadows. “If Kendrew—”
“He is no’ my master.” His face hardened. “No man is that and any who thinks otherwise lives dangerously.”
“He’s in an ill temper of late.”
“His mood will worsen if he crosses me.” Alasdair set his hand on his sword hilt. “If he grieves you, he’ll no’ live to have a mood.”
“He means well, even if I don’t always agree with him. And I’m used to his bluster.” She didn’t say how good she was at outfoxing him.
There were some things men needn’t know.
She glanced past Alasdair’s shoulder at the three banners flying from Castle Haven’s walls. Sited in the heart of the glen, Haven was a Cameron holding and hosted each year’s early harvest fair and market. In olden days, only the Camerons’ snarling dog pennant overlooked the festivities. Since a trial by combat settled glen disputes two years before, Mackintosh and MacDonald pennants were also raised.
The banners vouched for the clans’ amity, declaring erstwhile foes were now allies, if not friends.
Her brother disagreed.
In his eyes, and despite the truce pressed on the glen by King Robert III, Alasdair remained a reviled and much-resented enemy.
Marjory felt otherwise.
She also knew she was the reason for her brother’s growing temper.
If things continued as she hoped, his annoyance would only increase. Unbeknownst to him, she undid his every machination, employing wit and daring to ensure that each suitor he found soon withdrew his interest. She’d become adept at persuasion, flattery, pleading when need be, and offering coin when all else failed. Some were skills she wasn’t proud of. But she wouldn’t allow Kendrew to wed her against her will.
So she did what she must.
Fortune aye blessed the bold.
To that end, she couldn’t miss meeting the one-eyed Viking who’d agreed to carry her own letter rather than Kendrew’s to his master.
A decline she’d penned in Kendrew’s name.
“I must be away.” She moved to edge past Alasdair, back to the open space before the cloth stalls.
“No’ yet, sweet.” He didn’t budge. Far from it, she’d swear he grew to fill the bower’s arched entry. “I’ll have a word with you, and then you can be on your way.”
Marjory frowned. “We’ve already had words.”
“No’ the important ones.” Stepping closer, he placed his hands on either side of her shoulders, backing her against the flowered wall and trapping her there. “The MacDonald ambers suit you.” His gaze flickered to the gemstones. “You should wear them always.”
“I do.�
�� Marjory lifted a hand to the necklace. The stones rested cool and smooth against her skin. A sign, if legend spoke true, that all was good in her world, no threat or danger imminent.
A pity the necklace didn’t seem to warn of MacDonalds.
In particular, their chieftain.
Tall, powerfully muscled, and with a proud, open face, he’d captivated the first time she’d seen him. That’d been two years ago, several days before the trial by combat. Alasdair rode to her home, Castle Nought, to warn Kendrew of suspected treacheries, sharing his suspicions about strangers he’d seen in the glen.
Kendrew scoffed at the warning. He also ignored the famed Highland courtesy shown to guests, regardless of name. He would’ve set Alasdair before the door if Marjory hadn’t intervened. Nought might be remote, perched on the stony cliffs that formed the glen’s most rugged territory, but Marjory took care that all guests were well met. Alasdair’s arrival merited lavish hospitality, including clean, warm bedding for the MacDonald party and hot baths before they’d retired. Willing kitchen lasses had provided additional comforts to those men desiring.
Kendrew had been outraged, his behavior barely civil.
Marjory lost her heart.
She’d never met anyone as compelling as Alasdair. No man had ever looked at her so heatedly, his smoldering gaze starting a fire that burned in her dreams for days and months after his visit.
Sadly, she suspected he’d allowed his gaze to devour her so boldly simply to rile her brother.
Here in the bower, he was eyeing her the same way. Only now she knew he couldn’t help it. He surely looked at all women so hungrily. A shame his intensity still made her breath come unsteadily. Equally annoying, sunlight fell into the bower to gleam on his rich auburn hair. And like his isle-girt holding, the scent of the sea clung to him, along with a hint of cold wind and salt air.
A heady mix, it made her behave foolishly.
Unable to stop herself, hope beginning to flare again, she touched a finger to his plaid, tracing the detail of a soft, well-worn fold. “What is this important matter you wished to discuss?”
Seduction Of A Highland Warrior Page 2