"I await your timely response, Mackinnon."
"And you'll receive it when it's ready." He gestured for Duff to escort the Drummonds to their quarters, then he stood. "My lady, shall I return ye upstairs?"
"Aye," she said in a low voice. She let him take her arm and lead her away.
His shoulders twitched as he felt every eye in the place focus on the two of them. Speculation would be rife about just what had happened last night between the laird and his captive.
At least the girl seemed to have learned the error of her ways when it came to challenging him in front of his clan. The meeting with John had been balanced on a knife edge. He knew her well enough now to understand that silence hadn’t come easily during that interview with her cousin.
"You're no’ interested in a ransom," she said in a flat voice when they were halfway up to the tower.
He glanced at her. She stared straight ahead, beautiful as ever but somehow out of reach, although he held her arm and walked inches from her side. "No, I’m not."
"Ye made John think you are."
"Aye, well, I'm playing for time. Once I reject the ransom, your father's next step is to send an army to Achnasheen to get ye back. I’d like to put that off as long as possible." He eyed her, seeking some sign that she relented toward him. He didn’t find one. "Unless you'll allow me to tell your cousin that you've decided to marry me and ye want to establish a truce between our clans."
"I would."
Surprise had him releasing her arm and staring at her. "What did ye say?"
She paused a couple of steps above him and glanced back. "I would like to see a truce."
"So you'll marry me?" He knew even as he asked that he was a fool to get all excited. Nothing in her mien this morning indicated she’d changed her mind about him.
He was a fool. Already she was shaking her head. "Dinnae be a looby, Mackinnon. Of course I willnae. But if you'll let me leave with my cousin, I swear I'll speak on your behalf to my father."
"Your father willnae listen, lassie. He’s wedded to the old ways. If he thinks I despoiled his daughter without wedding her, the old ways mean a crowd of dead and wounded Drummonds and Mackinnons before summer’s end."
He waited for her to give him the sharp edge of her tongue for hauling her upstairs last night in full view of his kin. But she spoke steadily. "Aye, perhaps. And perhaps no’, if I can convince him that nothing happened."
Callum moved up to take her arm again. "That will need more than a wink and a smile."
Usually when he touched her, she went as stiff as a board. This time, she hardly seemed to notice as they resumed their climb.
He noticed. He wanted her more with every minute. Last night what few snatches of sleep he'd managed had been tormented with sensual dreams of Mhairi Drummond coming to him. Desire had warmed her blue eyes, and her arms had been outstretched in longing.
"My father knows I've never lied to him." They paused on the landing outside the bedchamber. "He’ll believe me when I tell him that ye respected my chastity, whatever tales are spreading across the glens."
"Because of that gossip, he'll need to make some gesture."
"Perhaps he'll allow ye to court me like an honest man."
A grunt of sour laughter escaped him. "No’ likely, lassie. He's more likely to lure me to a parley then string me up from Bruard's walls and laugh as the crows pick out my eyes."
And cut off his balls with a blunt knife besides.
Mhairi regarded him seriously and with a hint of sadness that made his heart ache. He hated to see her unhappy. Which was mad when he was the principal cause of any unhappiness she’d felt over the last days.
"Mackinnon, my father is old. After his death, John will become laird. John is angry now, but under most circumstances, he’s a reasonable man, a man of his word."
"Aye, I've heard that."
"John will listen if ye come to him, talking an end to the bloodshed between our clans." She regarded him steadily. "A concession now means he'll think of ye favorably when he’s chieftain of the Bruard Drummonds."
"You're talking politics, lassie."
Her lips tightened in displeasure, but her voice remained calm. "As ye said, Mackinnon, we’ve both been brought up to take our place at the head of a clan."
He frowned, as a sudden unpleasant thought struck him. "Ye dinnae fancy yon John Drummond, do you?"
She sighed with frustration. "There has been nae talk of a match."
There wouldn’t be, if he had anything to say about it. "Would ye be happy if there was?"
She left him in suspense for far too long, long enough for jealousy to scrape his gut to ribbons. Although the part of his brain that still worked told him that she answered within mere seconds.
"For now, I’m content to stay at my father's side."
What about after now? He searched those pure, pale features for some sign that she was in love with her cousin. John Drummond was considered a good man. He might even make a good husband.
Over my dead body, he wanted to protest. But if she'd set her heart on her cousin, Callum had even further to go to win her than he'd imagined.
Did she love her kinsman? He doubted she’d tell him if he asked.
"I'm no’ giving ye up, lassie." He wondered if she heard the tightness in his voice.
Disappointment filled her eyes, along with grim acceptance. "That's what I thought you'd say, Mackinnon. I'm sorry to hear it. For a moment there, I thought I might be talking to a reasonable man with his eyes on the future wellbeing of his people and mine. I should have known better."
Callum hid a wince. Her words stung because, while he believed he was that reasonable man, she consigned him to another category altogether.
He didn't like her contempt. He didn't like the picture of him that she held in her mind. He didn't like to think that she’d given her heart to another man.
But he couldn't let her go. Not just because of his political aims. Mhairi Drummond was the one for him. Surely she must see that soon. To him, it was as clear as the delicate little nose on that flower face.
Still, his heart was heavy with guilt and what felt like failure as he bowed and took his leave of her.
Chapter 12
Feeling downhearted and defeated, Mhairi stepped inside the tower room. Every time she thought she might be about to convince the Mackinnon to see sense, he retreated to the stubborn conviction that his way was the only way.
Seeing John and knowing his mission to arrange her release was doomed before it began just reminded her of all she'd lost. Through her whole life, she'd had to cope with stubborn, opinionated men. She knew what that set jaw meant in the Mackinnon's handsome face. Nothing short of the crack of doom would shift him from this disastrous course.
She was going to come to grief with him. It made her want to give him a good slap. Last night, when Jean had locked him out, she'd felt like she'd won a victory. She didn't feel that way now.
Fighting the cowardly urge to weep, she looked up to see Sheena observing her from the other side of the room. Both younger maids took what chances they could to pinch her and pull her hair, but Sheena's fingers were by far the most vicious.
All urge to weep faded, and she drew herself up to her full height. "Leave me."
"Aye, mistress, I will." The girl stepped forward. "But first I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say."
"As long as you're no’ pinching me while ye say it," she said sharply.
Bruises covered her arms. Proof of how the people of Achnasheen loathed her for being a Drummond. How on earth did Black Callum imagine she'd ever reconcile herself to living here as his wife?
Shame darkened the girl’s brown eyes. She was a pretty lass, with thick curly black hair and a comely face. "I shouldnae have done that. It's clear ye dinnae want to be here any more than we want you to stay. I'm sorry I hurt ye."
An apology? That was unexpected. Warily Mhairi regarded someone who at best had treated her with sullen
obedience, and then only when Jean scolded her. "Are ye?"
"I willnae do it again."
"Thank ye," she said, not trusting the girl an inch. "I'd appreciate that."
"In fact, I want to help ye."
Help? This wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. "Oh?"
"Aye, without help, you'll never get away from the castle. Especially when the laird is so set on ye staying."
"He is at that. So why would ye risk your place here by offering me a way out?"
The girl shifted closer, and Mhairi couldn't like the sly look in her eyes. But what if this really was a chance to escape?
As soon as the Mackinnon shoved her into this luxurious prison, she'd recognized that unless she grew wings, she couldn’t break free unaided. One door out of the room led to one staircase, and that led only to the great hall where there was always someone to stop her getting any further.
If she was to get away, she needed an ally. Yet nobody called Mackinnon was likely to help anybody called Drummond. And it was clear that the young laird commanded his clan’s loyalty.
Or so she’d believed. Was she wrong?
"A lot of us dinnae like the idea of the laird cozying up with the Drummonds. A lot of us have good reason to hate anyone of that name. A lot of us think Callum Dubh should choose a bride from his own people, someone who understands him and his ways."
"You, for instance?" Mhairi asked dryly, as so many things became clear, not least Sheena’s hatred for her. The girl’s immediate loathing seemed more personal than the long-standing feud justified.
"Aye, why no’?" Sheena shook her black hair back from her face. "I'd make him a good wife, and at least he'd never have to question where my loyalty lies."
"Which is why you're sneaking around trying to help me to escape?"
Had the Mackinnon encouraged the girl’s pretensions? Had he swived her? It wasnae hard to imagine his big powerful body moving over Sheena's voluptuous curves, perhaps even in the bed behind her.
The vivid image shouldn’t put a nasty taste in Mhairi’s mouth. Even hating him as she did, she could see women would find him appealing.
Still that nasty taste lingered in her mouth.
"Aye, well, he doesnae have to ken."
"If ye can get me to my cousin, I can leave with him."
The girl treated that idea with open disdain. "Are ye daft? Your cousin is under guard. There’s nae getting near him. No, we’ll wait until he's gone, then I'll smuggle ye out of the castle."
"The Mackinnon sleeps here."
The flash of resentment in Sheena's eyes confirmed her suspicions about the girl's pretensions to becoming the next lady of the keep. "Aye, but he's no’ always about the castle. He has obligations to the people who farm his lands. We'll get our chance. Just be ready to go, the second I say the word."
Could it really be this easy? Excitement flooded Mhairi. And hope. She didn't trust this girl, but she could see that getting the Drummond heiress back to Bruard suited them both.
"Aye, I'll be ready," she said, as the door opened and Jean came in.
"Sheena, have ye gone to sleep up here? I wanted those dirty towels twenty minutes ago."
"Aye, Jean." The girl snatched up the towels and disappeared through the door, shooting Mhairi a meaningful look as she went. Mhairi lowered her eyes to hide her surging anticipation from Jean’s sharp gaze. Was it possible she might yet escape marriage with the Mackinnon?
***
Thoughts of getting away filled Mhairi's mind as she stared out across the extraordinary view to Skye. Now that escape was a possibility, she found it easier to appreciate her surroundings. The tower room was like something from an old tale, a place where a princess might take shelter from a marauding dragon perhaps. Although in this case, the princess was trapped in the dragon’s lair.
She glanced around the opulent room and recognized it as a fit setting for the remarkable man who ruled this glen. She might not want to wed him, but it was clear Black Callum was a man of vision and authority. And she’d be a fool not to note how rarely he lost his temper. A rare quality in the male animal, in her experience. Even after Jean's impudent trick last night, he'd taken his setback in good spirit.
Because he’s sure he's going to win in the end.
Thanks to Sheena, perhaps now he wouldn't succeed, and Mhairi would be back with her father before too long. She offered up a silent prayer for her plans to come to fruition. When she turned, her captor was watching her from the center of the room.
"Mackinnon…" she gasped.
For a brief moment, she saw him not as her unwelcome suitor or her kidnapper, but as the man he was. Sheena's interest in him made perfect sense. Black Callum would set any maiden's pulses racing. As she looked at him, Mhairi’s breath jammed in her throat.
He wore the kilt in the strong red and black Mackinnon colors. His loose white shirt did little to conceal the powerful contours of his chest and broad shoulders. His long black hair was tied at his nape. The powerful memory arose of his shoulders flexing as he bent over the wash bowl, rinsing that straight, shining hair. Her fluttering heart turned heavy as it crashed against her chest.
He smiled at her. Properly. As though he was pleased to see her. "Mistress Drummond, it's a bonny afternoon. It seems a sin to keep ye cooped up in here when the sun is shining."
She couldn't remember him smiling like this. As if no dark clouds oppressed them. Dazzled she stared at him. The unexpected ease in his manner made him look young and carefree. Until now, he’d mostly been a grim presence, but this man looked like he found great pleasure in life. This man looked like he thought she was a pleasure.
This man was more dangerous to her than a thousand glowering jailers.
"Mhairi?"
She flushed as she realized she must gape moonstruck at him. "I'd like that," she said, even as she wondered what price he'd extract for this concession. And deciding she didn't care.
Sitting up here alone all day, staring into space and worrying, threatened to drive her mad. Could she trust Sheena? Would the escape plan work? How was her father? What report would her cousin take back to Bruard? Would word reach her clan that she shared the Mackinnon's bed? What was the Mackinnon's next move in this unwelcome courtship?
Well, it seemed she had an answer to that at least.
"That's braw." He held out his arm, for once giving her the choice whether she took it.
The moment felt significant. Wondering if even such a small concession put her on the slippery slope to surrender, she reached out and laid her fingers on that brawny forearm. Through the thin sleeve of his shirt, his skin was warm. Her traitorous heart gave another great thump.
She raised her eyes to his, not sure what she'd find there. Triumph? Possessiveness? Danger? But his glance was as warm as his skin. He still smiled at her as if he liked her and the prospect of a stroll in the sunlight with Mhairi Drummond was his idea of the perfect way to pass an hour.
Hatred and anger had kept her safe and stalwart. If she let go of these, what would become of her?
Troubled, she walked at his side down the steps and through the great hall. Maids were setting up for dinner. Sheena raised her head and sent her a meaningful look and a nod, which Mhairi hoped meant that their plot progressed. How she wished she could leave Achnasheen this very minute.
The Mackinnon didn't take her out the main door into the courtyard. That would feel too much like freedom, she thought caustically, although her bitterness proved harder to maintain than she liked.
Instead he led her down a long corridor and into a walled garden flooded with sunshine. In unfeigned pleasure, Mhairi glanced around the sheltered green space built into the side of a cliff. The scent of roses lay heavy on the air. "This is lovely."
"Aye, my mother planted most of the roses, and she loved to sit here and do her needlework."
More warmth in his voice. This time, the warmth of what she recognized as love.
His long, thin mouth quirked in se
lf-deprecating amusement. "Aye, I ken you're astonished I had a mother, but I did."
She stared at him, perturbed and finding it astonishingly difficult to think of him as a ruthless kidnapper. By heaven, she didn't want to start seeing the Mackinnon as fully human. Better by far to think of him as the incarnation of evil. She’d already had too many disloyal thoughts since she'd been here. No Drummond should make concessions to a Mackinnon.
"I thought ye appeared fully formed from the bowels of hell." But her insult lacked the usual conviction. Sniping at him took too much effort on such a bonny afternoon.
"Och, that's only the impression I like to give when I'm wooing a fair lassie."
She had an awful time trying not to smile at the wry response.
The Mackinnon tilted his head toward the corner. "I brought someone to see ye."
"My cousin?"
Regret she couldn't trust darkened his eyes. "No, lassie."
Mhairi turned to see Flossie. "Ye said you wouldnae let me see her."
He shrugged. "I thought ye might appreciate talking to someone familiar."
"Under supervision, I suppose."
He shook his head. "Ye can have half an hour with the lass."
"Aren't ye worried we might try to escape?" she asked snidely and wondered why on earth she was talking him out of his unexpected generosity.
As he glanced around the garden, his expression was eloquent. "There’s one door and that leads straight back to the great hall. The only other way you'll break out is if ye grow wings."
Mhairi was more comfortable with the idea that she remained a prisoner. It reminded her why she hated Callum Mackinnon.
When she didn't answer, he inclined his glossy dark head in the familiar brief bow. "I’ll leave ye to make sure your maid is unharmed. I promised ye she was, but I ken you dinnae trust my word."
His faint rancor surprised her. If she didn't know better, she'd almost wonder if her continued hostility hurt him beyond his urge to dominate.
"Why on earth should I trust ye?"
"Why indeed?" he murmured, and on that enigmatic question, he left her.
Chapter 13
The Highlander’s Defiant Captive: The Lairds Most Likely Book 4 Page 10