“This was my home, Elspeth,” he answered fiercely. “He killed my father. My mother. My brothers too, though I have not found their graves. He would have killed me as well if I had not escaped.”
She shook her head, and wrapped her arms around her waist. “I can’t believe it of him. My father would not do such a thing. He is not a murderer! You speak of a man I do not know.”
He shifted his stance, covering his mouth with his hand for a moment before answering quietly. “I do not know if his hand held the sword, but he conspired with the Alwyn, and commanded his men in an attack and as a result, my family and many with them are dead. These lands were wrongly taken. My people displaced.” He came closer, but did not touch her. “Elspeth, I speak only the truth. I have always only ever spoken the truth to you.”
His blue eyes pierced into her soul, demanding that she believe and understand. But no matter what had occurred those many years ago, she could not allow herself to forget that she had been grievously used by him in the present. The man she had trusted above all others. He had taken her trust, and manipulated her and deceived her.
“But it is also the truth,” she choked out, her voice rising in accusation, “that you seduced me, then married me, and now possess me, all as part of your revenge plot against him.”
Agony stole her breath. Once she had allowed herself to love him, she had loved him powerfully, with all of her heart. Tears blurred her vision, and she turned away, covering her face with her hands, unable to look at him, not wanting him to see the depth of her pain, so powerful it silenced her voice and weakened her legs—
He was there behind her, catching her against his chest. She gasped, shocked by the power of his touch.
“Yes, that is true,” he murmured, his breath warm against her cheek. “But also because from the first moment I saw you, I wanted you. I want you, Elspeth, for me, in a way that has nothing to do with any of this.”
She struggled, straining to be free. Wanting nothing more than this, his arms around her. His strength and comfort. She shook her head, too afraid to believe that he meant the words he said. “If my father murdered yours, how can you feel anything true for me?”
“I don’t know,” he answered in a guttural voice, pressing his face to her hair, kissing her there. “But damn me to hell, I do.”
He spoke with such passion. Her heart ached to respond in kind. But she could not be the fool she had been before. She would not allow herself to be used again.
“All lies,” she answered, wrenching free, whirling to stare at him. “Our marriage is based on lies.”
“That’s not true.” His lips thinned and his eyes flashed with temper. “I would have been within my right to slay your father for what he has done. For the life he has lived all these years, in my father’s stead. And yet I did not. Because of you,” he thundered. “Can you not see, Elspeth, that it is you who possesses me?”
Her heart reacted, and her eyes flooded with tears. “No.”
He came toward her, and although she backed away he moved quickly—capturing her by the arms, easily overpowering her, imprisoning her in his embrace, yet gently, his hands on her body, his shadow all around. “Stop fighting me.”
Her hands fisted in his tunic, she sagged against him and would have fallen if not for the support of his arms.
“Just let me go,” she whispered, her cheek against his chest.
“Never,” he said, gathering her more closely against him. Bringing his hand up beneath her chin, he tenderly lifted her gaze to his. She saw then, the dark shadows under his eyes. The tension of the moment, stricken on his face. Could it be true, that he was as tormented as she? “You are my wife, Elspeth, and I am your husband.”
“I hate you for what you’ve done,” she blurted.
“But you don’t … hate … me,” he answered between gritted teeth, but without arrogance. Rather, the words sounded to her ears like a gruff plea that she care for him as she had before.
When he slowly bent … and dared to kiss the corner of her lips, her heart expanded in her chest. She went utterly still as his mouth closed on hers, her entire being focused on him and the way she felt complete in his arms.
Feeling her resolve slip away, she closed her eyes. “I can’t forgive you—”
“I can live with that,” he murmured, tilting her back in his arms so that her head rested on his shoulder, kissing her cheek. Her forehead. Her eyelids.
Her limbs went soft and languid, as desire overtook her, silken and warm. Of their own power, her hands came up to touch his face. Her lips opened to his, and she inhaled his familiar breath, gasping from the power of the need that rose up within her.
Arms going round his neck, she let out a sound of desperation from deep in her throat. “Niall.”
The line between right and wrong, loyal and disloyal blurred. She knew only need for him, too powerful and overwhelming to deny. Lifting her from the floor, he carried her into the shadows of the room, to the bed. There, as if abandoning herself to fantasy, she surrendered to the deeper darkness inside the curtains of the bed, desperate to forget the grief and sadness, and to be with him.
Her hands pulled at his tunic, lifting. With abandon, she kissed him … touched … tasted his bare skin just as he with his hands and mouth, worshiped hers. Desire blinded her to all but sensation and satisfaction, and within moments they were both naked, and he inside her, both thrusting, the canopy filled with their moans and cries of ecstasy.
Afterward, he held her tight, and kissed away her tears. “You’re mine forever, Elspeth. I am yours. Nothing will ever change that.”
* * *
Niall arose before dawn. After washing in darkness, he looked down on Elspeth in the bed, her beautiful, naked body tangled in the linens. At last, after hours of making love in the shadows of their dark bed she had slept, but fitfully. She painted a poignant picture, her skin pale and shadows under her eyes. The sight pained his heart—but what was he to do?
He had expected yesterday to be difficult. He was not the sort to gloat or boast over triumphs. He had known that people would be hurt. Innocent people, caught up in a conflict between two men. He took no pleasure in that. But he had not expected to feel so gutted by the sight of Elspeth’s tears, and knew that although they had taken comfort in one another the night before, the coming days would not be easy between them.
He left her sleeping, and at the door informed the guard he was not needed further there. Elspeth was his wife, not his prisoner. He would have her move freely, and without restriction. Downstairs, the kitchens radiated warmth, and the scent of baked bread, baked by Kincaid women, who had arrived sometime in the night. It pleased him to hear laughter and lighthearted conversation in the air. The sounds of hope and talk of the past—and the future.
Taking aside a young woman, he instructed her to go out into the bailey and find whoever had been Elspeth’s maid, and see that her clothes and belongings were collected and installed in their marital chamber. With thoughts of her weighing heavy on his heart and mind, he did as he knew he must do. He went to the council room and commanded that the MacClaren be brought to him.
He appeared a short time later, dressed in the same garments as the night before, his expression solemn and haggard.
Niall could not look at him without thinking of Elspeth … his wife, laying upstairs, brokenhearted. How different this moment would be if not for her. Indeed, it was remarkable the man stood alive in front of him at all, and not lay on the cold earth, awaiting burial while wrapped in a shroud.
“What have you done with my daughter?” he asked roughly.
“She is asleep upstairs.”
He frowned, morose. “I would hear a promise that you will not hurt her.”
“She is my wife.” Niall took a chair, and looked at the man steadily. “I will honor her as such. Sit.” He indicated the chair beside him.
At first the MacClaren looked as if he would refuse, but then he sat. “I … imagine that you ha
ve many questions to ask me.”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “You know that I am ill…”
“Yes.”
“I have often wondered if I have given myself this sickness. Inflicted it upon myself by carrying this heavy burden of guilt on my soul for so long. It eats at a man.” He pressed at his torso. “Inside.”
“Did you kill them? My father? My … mother? My brothers?”
He shook his head. “Not with my sword—” He looked down at his hands. “But, aye. I killed them no less. With my ambition and my greed.”
“What happened that night?”
“Of course, you deserve to know,” he answered gravely. “Perhaps I should start before that.”
Niall leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Whatever you wish.”
The older man looked at him steadily. “I married far better than myself when I married Elspeth’s mother. My Rosemary. She is the only woman I ever loved, and I loved her … madly.” His gaze became distant. “Do you know we met at the Cearcal?” He nodded. “We eloped from there, and in doing so nearly started a war between our clans.”
Niall remained silent, listening, but not understanding why the MacClaren wanted to tell him a sentimental love story. Yet … the story would mean something to Elspeth, and might help him better know her, so he did not interrupt.
The MacClaren tilted his head. “Rosemary’s circumstances changed, married to me. They had been much finer with her family. She never once complained, and always told me she was content, but I always wanted to give her better. So after a number of difficult years, when the Alwyn came to me talking of the king’s wishes and wrongs that needed to be righted, I … listened. Promises were made, that I felt at that time I could not refuse. Clans were being displaced at the time, and others elevated to new status. I was determined that whatever happened was providence and that I would do whatever I could to ensure the MacClarens would emerge better from the unrest.”
“And that mine should fall.”
“Yes.” He nodded. He held silent a long moment before continuing. “That night, we frightened a lot of people and made a lot of terrible threats.… but no one was supposed to die. Certainly not your family. You must know, I had the Alwyn’s agreement on that. Your father’s surrender, and his imprisonment, was to bring about change, and intervention from the crown that would benefit the MacClarens but I had no part in any plot to murder him.”
“Then what happened?” Niall asked, breathing deeply.
“I still don’t know to this day.” The MacClaren shook his head. “We received your father’s surrender, and he and his men emerged from the castle.… Then, it was as if hell unleashed an army of demons. Men came from everywhere, and killed them all. These men came down from the hills, as if they had been waiting there and … it was over in a matter of moments. The men were gone.”
Hearing this, Niall leaned forward in his chair, a black rage filling his soul.
“Were they Alwyn’s men?”
“I cannot say. He withheld all from me, but I know and I swear to you he was not surprised by their appearance. I suspect they were mercenaries, but at whose behest they acted, I do not know though the Alwyn told me they were necessary because I could not be depended on to complete the task at hand. I will tell you now, I have always suspected the men were sent by Buchan, though there is nothing I can do to prove it. Of course he was no earl then, but David the Second’s nephew, and hungry for power and land. After a time of imprisonment for rebellion, along with his father and brothers, he’d sworn himself loyal to the king … but you know men like him. They are only ever loyal to themselves.”
Buchan. Niall rested his elbows on his knees, sickened by what he heard, but knowing of the man’s propensity for cruelty. “Then what?”
“Afterward, some months later, I received a royal emissary from Edinburgh who granted me possession of this castle and these lands, with words to the effect that they had been … vacated by their prior owner. This angered the Alywn greatly, because he received a lesser portion of land. He has always claimed that I was given what was due to him. Discord has grown between us ever since.”
Niall closed his eyes.
“I do not ask for your forgiveness,” the MacClaren said. “I would not forgive me. I mutely accepted the prize of your father’s lands, because I wanted Rosemary and my children to see me as a great man. And I will have you know, I paid a terrible price for it. My wife … she had been childhood friends with your mother. Did you know? And though I kept the truth of what happened that night from her, I know she knew I had somehow taken part and that our clan benefited from an unjust betrayal of the Kincaids. She … never forgave me. After that she looked at me with different eyes. She died not long after, I suspect because she could not live with the knowledge of what I had done. So you see, I bear responsibility not only for the deaths of your family and your clanspeople, but of my one true love as well.”
Niall stood, and went to the window, his mind dark with hate and questions that only the Alwyn could answer now. Outside, his men encamped along the castle walls, upon the hillside.
He was satisfied with all that had taken place in the past hours … but his vengeance was not yet complete.
Turning back, he looked at his wife’s father. “Don’t you want to know your fate? Whether I have decided to execute you, or will allow you to live?”
The MacClaren stood. “Whatever you decide, I am at peace. I only pray you will look kindly on my girls, Bridget included.”
Niall summoned his council, who would be present when his judgment was rendered. Some half hour later, a woman’s voice came from outside the door.
Deargh, who was only just arriving in the company of others, called to him. “Kincaid.”
Niall turned from where he stood, looking into the fire. “What is it?”
“There are women here who say they must speak to you.”
It was the Kincaid clanswoman he had sent to attend to Elspeth, with another anxious-looking young woman, whom he assumed to be her MacClaren maid.
“We went to Lady Kincaid’s room, and Ina here observed that a number of things were missing. She was a bit angered by it, thinking her mistress’s belongings had been absconded with when the castle was overtaken yesterday. We all know how things go missing. But then we went to your chambers that you are to share with the lady, and it … well, it appears she has gone missing as well.”
Chapter 23
Elspeth urged the palfrey into a run, and looked over her shoulder again, certain that any moment she would see Niall thundering after her on his black destrier. When she had emerged from their chamber to find no guard at watch, she had not made the immediate decision to escape. Instead, she had gone to the council chamber and overheard her father’s confession.
The torment of the day before returned with smothering force. Her father was a murderer. Her husband had married her for revenge. She had been weak to forget that for even a moment last night in Niall’s arms. Is that why he had kissed her? Made love to her? To silence her. To force her to choose?
She could not choose. She only knew she had to flee. To get away so she could think and decide what was right, without either of their eyes on her, making demands for loyalty and love. How much time did she have before her absence was noticed? Not long, as she had marched out of the castle as plain as day to the stables, and calmly instructed Niall’s own men to saddle her horse.
Now with each gallop of the animal beneath her, she felt more desperate to get as far away as she could. Taking a less-traveled path that led around a soaring stone crag—she came face-to-face with a group of five men standing beside as many horses. She jerked the reins, startled, not knowing who they were and knowing she must avoid them at all costs.
But Magnus broke away from them, waving his arms and shouting for her to stop.
Seeing him, all her emotions broke free. In that moment, she did not care that he had tried to abduct her, and marry her,
or that he had burned down her father’s granary.
“Elspeth, what is wrong?”
She dismounted and ran into his arms, breaking into tears against his shoulder.
“Why are you crying?” He grasped her by the arms, his gaze moving over her. “What has happened? Did someone hurt you?” He exhaled, and touched her face where faint bruises still showed on her skin.
With a wave of his hand, the men drew aside, giving them privacy so they could talk.
“Who did this to you?”
She pulled her face away. “Hugh did that to me.”
“What?” he demanded, his face flushing with anger.
“Your father did not tell you?”
“Hugh was returned to us beaten, along with your refusal to marry him. He was enraged. He still is. That is all I know.”
She backed away from him. “So much has happened since then.”
“Tell me what,” he demanded, following her as she retreated, his eyes dark with concern. “I know that there is an army encamped outside Inverhaven.”
“Yes—it is Niall’s,” she blurted, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.
“Niall? The mercenary?”
“He is not only a mercenary, Magnus, but the dead Kincaid’s eldest son.”
Magnus shook his head in disbelief, his gaze growing intense. “That cannot be. All of the Kincaid’s sons are dead. They died along with him.”
“Do you know anything about what happened that night? Was the Kincaid indeed a traitor?”
“I do not know. The Alwyn does not discuss it.”
“Well, believe me in this, Niall Braewick did not die, Magnus, he lived, and … and”—tears flooded her eyes—“he says my father had a hand in murdering his father, as did yours. It is something my father did not deny.” Her lip trembled. Her hands trembled. Heaven help her she could not stop trembling. “I don’t know how to feel. But he was here existing among us, waiting to have his revenge all along. To take back his castle and his lands, but that is not all—”
“What else is there?” he said, covering his mouth with his hand, looking shocked.
The Beast of Clan Kincaid Page 24