by Lily Baldwin
But how had it come to this?
Not a month ago, she had looked forward to a fortunate match with Adam MacKenzie.
Her heart ached as Adam’s youthful eyes and soft smile filled her mind. He had been so gentle and kind. His body had not been made for heroics, but he never would have raised his hand against a soul; whereas, everything about Jamie spoke of hardness—from his fiery eyes to his brute strength. He was a man used to being obeyed. Story after story assailed her mind. Ever since she was a wee lass, she had heard of the cruelty of the Clan MacLeod. They beat their women and starved their children. They raided her lands, forcing her father’s hand to retaliate in kind. This is what she knew of the man who now held her wellbeing, her very life in his hands.
Soon, Laird MacLeod would own her. Even her father’s will would come second to her husband’s.
It was all too much.
She swung open the door to her chamber.
Esme and Abby were sitting in highbacked chairs in front of the hearth. When she entered, they both shot to their feet.
“My lady, whatever has happened?” Esme exclaimed as she rushed forward with her arms open.
Fiona didn’t hesitate. She fell into her maid’s comforting embrace. Her shoulders wracked with sobs she now released in full force. Her heart, nay, her very soul was broken and riddled with a fear so vast, she could hardly breathe.
After she cried her fill, she knelt on the ground, enclosed within Esme and Abby’s arms.
Slowly, she untangled her limbs and swiped at her eyes.
“What has happened?” Esme beseeched. “What has caused ye so much distress? Ye didn’t carry on so even after Adam MacKenzie died.”
Abby sucked in a sharp breath. “Was there another attack?” Tears flooded the young lass’s eyes. “Please let it be nay. I cannot handle news of more death.”
Fiona reached out and squeezed Abby’s hand. “Nay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “No one has died.”
“Then, what is it?” Esme insisted.
Fiona took a deep breath and tried to utter the words, but she could not. Her hands flew to her face once more. “I cannot say!”
“Ye must,” Esme snapped. “Forgive me, my lady, but my imagination runs wild with fear of what has happened.”
Fiona took a deep breath and nodded. She needed to pull herself together. She swiped tears from her cheeks. “My father has consented that I wed…” she paused, swallowing hard, “the MacLeod.”
“Nay,” Esme cried. “Surely not!”
“My lady, do not jest so,” Abby admonished.
“I assure ye, I would make no such jest.”
Fiona slowly dragged herself to her feet and slumped into one of the chairs, shaking her head. “What am I to do?”
“I do not ken what ye should do,” Abby said in a rush. “But I know what ye can’t do, and that’s marry the MacLeod!”
Fiona had no reply for Abby. She shifted her gaze to Esme whose face had turned pale. Within Esme’s eyes, Fiona glimpsed the undeniable and horrible truth—something she needed to explain to Abby.
“I have no choice,” she told the lass.
Abby frantically shook her head and rushed to Fiona’s side, kneeling at her feet. “Ye know the cruelty of the MacLeod. The screams of their beaten women echo through the halls of Castle Làidir.”
Fiona pressed her hands to her ears. “Ye must stop. Say no more!”
Abby’s face crumpled as tears poured down her cheeks.
“There, there, love,” Fiona crooned, wrapping her arms around her maid. “My fate is sealed. There is naught I can do.”
“That isn’t true,” Abby exclaimed, pushing Fiona away. She hastened to the wardrobe on the other side of the room, swung open the door, and gathered an armful of Fiona’s clothes. “Ye can run away. Ye can seek protection elsewhere, another clan perhaps?”
“And where shall she go, Abby?” Esme said softly. “To the MacKenzie? If ye recall, his land surrounds ours. Our world has changed. There are no safe places, not anymore.”
Abby shook her head. “That’s not true. If she can make it past the MacKenzie, then she can go farther inland to the Sutherlands or Clan Ross like her grandmother before her.”
“And what of my people?” Fiona asked. “When my grandmother fled the MacLeod’s keep and broke their betrothal, our clan faced no other enemies. What happened just now in the great hall was no simple alliance. My father does not do this to assuage the MacLeod and to bring peace between our two clans. He is trying to save our clan from total destruction.”
“And ye’re the sacrificial lamb,” Abby muttered, her shoulders sagging in defeat.
Fiona swallowed hard. “It would seem that I am.”
“But that isn’t fair,” Abby cried. Esme pulled her sister close.
“Of course it isn’t fair,” Fiona muttered, crossing to stand at the open casement. “I am the laird’s daughter. Despite my father’s affection, I am a tool—this I’ve always known. Certainly, I favored the match with Adam. He was young and gentle. He would have read to me more than made love to me. His affections were as soft and unobtrusive as he was. I counted myself lucky, but I was never in love with him. Our betrothal was made for the alliance.”
She stared down at the courtyard, quiet at that hour. Then her gaze shifted beyond the outer curtain to the village and rolling moorland beyond. She knew one day she would have to leave Castle Creagan, but never in her wildest nightmares did she think it would be for Castle Làidir.
“It is almost as if ye’ve resigned yerself to the match,” Abby said, accusingly. “There must be another way to make peace between our clans that does not involve ye marrying that beastly man.”
Esme expelled an impatient sigh. “Peace has been impossible for more than a century. What are we going to hatch up here in this room to fix what none could do before us?”
Fiona closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She needed to find her courage. She would not put her own well-being above that of her people. Whatever ill future awaited her, she would be able to withstand any horror knowing that her people were safe.
She stood tall and addressed her maids. “The correct decision has been made. We will not speak on this matter again. Now, then, we must discuss preparations as I leave the morrow after next.”
“We cannot be ready so soon,” Esme cried. “That isn’t nearly enough time!”
Fiona held out a pacifying hand. “Calm yerself. Only I leave at that time. Ye and Abby will travel when ye’re ready, and ye’ll be guarded by our warriors.”
Once again, Abby clasped Fiona’s hands. “Please don’t give up, my lady. Surely, yer father’s mind can be changed.”
Fiona closed her eyes, steeling her heart against her young maid’s pleas. “My laird is no longer my father.” A well of emotion filled her throat. “My laird is now Jamie MacLeod.”
Chapter Nine
Jamie and his four warriors had made camp on a high ridge well beyond the limits of Castle Creagan. He stood watching the torch fire on the battlements flicker in the distance. Somewhere within its stone walls, his betrothed no doubt bemoaned her fate. Not that he felt like celebrating. Still, he had no wish to shirk his duty. He doubted the same could be said of Lady Fiona.
He shook his head. How he had wanted to give his people a lady worthy of Castle Làidir. And now, he was saddled with a selfish, vapid bride who clearly thought more of herself than her people.
“My laird.”
Jamie slowly shifted his gaze from the distant battlements to the young warrior who now stood at his side. “What is it, Grant?”
“Ye’ve said nothing since ye came back from the keep. Forgive me my intrusion, but will ye not tell us what transpired? Did the MacDonnell consent to the betrothal? Do we have an alliance?”
Jamie’s hands clenched into tight fists. If Grant considered a betrothal that brought the lady to tears and her clan to call out in protest an alliance, then he supposed that’s what they
had. “Aye,” he muttered. “We are betrothed.”
Grant’s face lit up. “But that is wonderful news.”
Jamie patted Grant on the back. “Only if ye can see past the fact that my soon-to-be wife despises me and thinks me little better than a bull, chewing cud.”
Niall, another warrior, came forward to offer hope. “Our clans have been feuding for longer than anyone truly kens. Mayhap, in time, ye and the Lady MacDonnell will be able to find a true peace.”
Jamie cocked a brow at the young man. “An easy thing for someone not doing the marrying to say. ‘Tis not ye who must lie with a woman whose eyes hold daggers for ye.” He stormed over to the fire and grabbed a flask of ale off the ground. “In this one instance, I can hardly fault her as the feelings are mutual.”
He raised his flask high in the direction of the keep. “Sleep well, Lady Fiona.” Then he took a mighty swig and turned back to face his men. “This is the last night she will enjoy the protective bosom of her clan. On the morrow after next, she will be placed in my care, and I do not intend to let her out of my sight until our vows have been spoken and our union consummated.” He started pacing in front of the fire. “I will not be played a fool by a fickle and unfaithful MacDonnell. Unlike the last attempt at a marriage between our clans, this alliance will happen. And once Ranulf MacKenzie has been defeated, and I beget an heir, I needn’t touch her again. She can leave Castle Làidir and return to her family if that is her wish.”
“Is she so repulsive then?” Seumas asked.
Jamie looked back at Castle Creagan. “She is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever beheld, but her fineness is only a mask hiding the true shallowness of her character.” He shrugged. “No matter. Our union will be enough to create peace between our clans—at least long enough for us to quell the threat of the MacKenzie.”
“How many travel with us on to Làidir?” Sebastian, the youngest in their party, asked.
Jamie turned and scanned the few warriors he had chosen to accompany him. “I have limited her to two servants. I know not how many MacDonnell warriors will make the journey. Seumas, ye will be in charge of her party. Sebastian, ye’ll also ride with them. Grant and Niall, ye will ride with me and the lady.”
“Will we not ride together?”
“I do not intend to take her on the open road and risk an encounter with the MacKenzie. This her father knows. But my other reason for taking her separately from her kin is that I cannot trust her not to run. On the road, she could easily appeal to a faithful clansman for aid in escaping.”
“What then is our route?” Niall asked.
“We go by way of the Hidden Pass.”
Niall’s eyes widened, showing his surprise. “That will be a hard journey for a lady.”
Jamie shrugged. “She will not be so pampered in my keep. It is better that she get used to that now.” He turned back to study Castle Creagan.
“Why do ye keep watching the gate?” Seumus asked.
“If ye had seen her face when her father consented that we wed, ye’d know why I believe she plans to run.” He gave his men a stern look. “We will watch the gate in shifts until we depart.”
Grant crossed to his side. “Ye ken if she really wants to run, she will likely choose to leave through a passage not known to us.”
“Aye, I ken,” Jamie snapped. “But what would ye have me do? Not be vigilant?”
Grant backed away. “Nay, I just want to prepare ye for the worst.”
“The worst is if our clan falls to the MacKenzie. Even if the lady were to run, her father has committed to an alliance. The MacDonnells will stand with us, or I will bring down the might of the MacLeod upon their heads.”
Chapter Ten
Fiona stood in the courtyard, flanked by Esme and Abby. She watched Jamie ride through the gate. With one hand he loosely gripped the reins while his other hand rested easily on his thigh. At first glance, one might have thought he was just another friend to the clan come to visit, but the intensity of his gaze belied the casualness of his seat. His gaze bore into hers, his eyes assessing and full of disdain. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, fighting against the insecurity and fear building within her every moment he drew closer. When he reined in his mount in front of her, he held out his hand. “Come to me,” he said.
She trembled beneath the force of his gaze. “The stable boy is fetching my horse,” she replied, fighting to keep her voice steady.
He slowly shook his head. “Ye’re riding with me.”
She forced herself not to gasp. There was no way she could surrender herself to his arms. She eyed the bulging contours of his biceps. It would be as if entering a cage. She would be powerless to escape his hold. “Thank ye, but I will be more comfortable on my own mare.”
“After we are wed and our union consummated and the terms of our alliance officially met, then ye can do whatever ye like. I care not. But until that time, ye’re not leaving my sight.” He drew closer and in a low voice said. “I will not give ye the chance to escape this wedding.”
“How dare ye doubt my word?” she hissed.
He looked at her pointedly. “MacDonnell women are not famous for their honor or their faithfulness. Now, come to me.”
Fiona started to refuse him, but Esme gave her hand a sharp squeeze.
“Hold yer tongue, my lady,” her maid whispered. “Ye do yerself no favors by provoking his temper. Do as he says now or risk his greater wrath later.”
Fiona swallowed hard and glanced sidelong at her betrothed. He exuded power and strength. Her gaze followed the thick veins in his forearm to his large hands, hands that could squeeze into rock-hard fists. Esme was right. She should not provoke the MacLeod’s ire.
Legs now trembling, she saw her father approach. It was all she could do to not sprint into his arms like she had as a frightened child.
“My sweet lass,” he whispered, pulling her into a tight embrace. “I fear I sent ye forward into hell. I can only pray I burn for all eternity for what I’ve done.”
“Nay father,” she said, her voice breaking. “Ye have done what is necessary to save our clan, our people. I would die a thousand deaths if it prevented further destruction.” She held him close. “Think not of me. Meet this alliance with yer whole heart. Join ranks with the MacLeod and save our people. Do this, so my own sacrifice is not in vain.”
“My brave girl,” he said, cupping her cheek. Then his gaze shifted over her head. His face hardened. She glimpsed the young warrior he once was.
“Jamie MacLeod,” Gordon boomed. Her father wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and together, they faced the impatient rider. “I give my daughter to ye, placing her in yer care. But know this…alliance or not, if she comes to any harm, I will tear down Castle Làidir stone by stone and take her back from ye, leaving a bloody wake behind me if need be. Do ye ken?”
The MacLeod’s eyes narrowed on her father. “Ye’re not in a position to make threats.”
“None of us are,” Gordon growled, thrusting out his chest.
Fiona pulled her father back. “Our forebears could afford the feud between our clans. We do not have that same luxury. If ye do not come together now, both our peoples will fall to the MacKenzie.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed with her whole heart. “I love ye, Da,” she whispered, her heart aching.
“I love my sweet, wee lass,” he crooned.
His words forced her tears beyond the confines of her lids. He squeezed her tightly, then drew back. “Ye stay strong, ye hear?”
She nodded. “I promise.”
Then she turned to her maids.
“This is not goodbye,” Esme declared, her voice strong, despite the glistening of unshed tears in her eyes. “We’ll depart as soon as we’re ready.”
Fiona hugged her close. Then Esme pulled away and clasped Fiona’s hands. “’Tis never a good idea to poke a wolf. Mind yer tongue,” she said quietly for Fiona’s ears alone.
&n
bsp; Fiona swallowed hard and nodded. Then she turned to Abby who did not share her older sister’s restraint.
“Oh, my lady,” Abby wailed as she threw her arms around Fiona’s neck. “Whatever will become of ye!”
“Wheest,” Fiona chided gently. “I’ll be fine. Now, listen to me, Abby. Ye must get a hold of yerself so that ye can help Esme. I need ye both at my side. The sooner ye can journey to Castle Làidir, the happier I will be.”
Abby sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Aye, my lady. I promise ye, we will make haste.” Abby hugged her again and whispered, “If he hurts ye, I’ll poison him.”
“Wheest, Abby,” Fiona snapped.
“No one will know,” Abby hissed.
Fiona glanced sidelong at Jamie whose scowl deepened with each passing moment. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and stepped away from her kin. Then she opened her eyes and met the MacLeod’s gaze. “I am ready.”
He looked at her, his expression unreadable. Her pulse raced beneath his scrutiny. Then without a word of warning, he bent in the saddle and seized her by the waist. She soared high. He set her down in the saddle in front of him. “The ceremony will take place one week from today. All are welcome to attend,” he said in a clipped voice to her father. Then he made a clicking sound, and they set off at a trot.
She leaned past his shoulders to look back at her kin. Esme and Abby’s faces were drawn. Her father’s eyes glistened with tears. Her people waved and called out words of comfort and devotion. Still, she gazed back when they passed through the outer wall and as they wove their way through the village. Only when they rounded the bend and Castle Creagan was no longer in view did she shift her gaze forward.
Adjusting her skirts, she stiffened her spine to keep from touching the MacLeod. Despite her effort, she could feel the heat of his body, and when the horse rocked her too much, she bumped against his hard stomach. Nothing was more alarming, however, than the mighty hand gripping her waist and the other hand steering the reins. Her mind raced with stories from her youth of the hateful MacLeod men and their angry fists.