“Think you I am so riled because of age?” His brows shooting upward, Duncan stared at her, uncomfortably aware of the heat flashing up the back of his neck. “My age, and even Gelis’s own, has little to do with it!”
“Indeed?” drawled a deep Sassunach voice from the shadows. “Then why do you feel a need to remind us? The saints know you’ve made such a claim every time a new suitor has come to call.”
His day now wholly ruined, Duncan clamped his mouth shut and spun around to face the speaker. He was a tall, scar-faced knight who leaned against the far wall, arms and legs casually crossed, sword at his hip, and such an air of imperturbability about him that Duncan was certain that the heat flaming the back of his neck would soon shoot out his ears as steam.
“This is a different suitor.” Duncan’s head began to throb.
An annoyance that worsened when the other man pushed away from the wall and appropriated a chair, lowering himself into it with a studied grace that was particularly annoying.
Especially since the chair was Duncan’s own.
Crossing the room in three angry strides, Duncan jammed his hands on his hips and stared down at his long-time friend. The only soul who could dare show such insolence and live to tell the tale.
“What are you doing here?” Duncan took a step closer. “Have the southern boundaries of my territories gone so quiet that you can leave Balkenzie for the sole pleasure of coming here to plague me?”
Sir Marmaduke Strongbow leaned back in the chair, steepled fingers slowly tapping his chin. A champion knight and staunch supporter of the House MacKenzie, he affected as offended a look as his battle-scarred face allowed.
“You wound me,” he said, stretching his long legs toward the fire. “Balkenzie is ever held safe for you. And when I have business elsewhere, my sweet lady wife is better at keepering than most men. As well you know.”
The Black Stag hurrumphed.
Sir Marmaduke pinned him with a stare.
“I will not contest Lady Caterine’s many talents,” Duncan conceded, restraining himself with effort. “Even so, you have yet to tell me why you e’er seem to lurk about at the worst possible moments?”
Perchance to help you becalm yourself?
Duncan blinked, certain he’d heard the lout mutter such nonsense under his fool English breath. But his friend and good-brother was merely studying his knuckles, the ghost of a smile playing around his lips.
A smile that indicated he’d soon spew some sage wisdom that Duncan knew he didn’t want to hear.
“We’ve journeyed a long road together, and it grieves me to say this,” the other began, proving it. “But mayhap you should be concerned about age if your memory serves you so poorly. I am here to collect your promised winter provender for Devorgilla. Caterine and I set sail for Doon within a sennight and you’d offered —”
“I ken what I offered!” Duncan began pacing, furious he’d forgotten. “Not that she needs aught. I’d wager my sword that old woman can spin porridge from moonglow and ale from sunshadows on the hills.”
Certain of it, he paused by one of the arched windows, his gaze stretching across Loch Duich’s glittering blue waters and beyond, seeking a certain little-visited corner of Kintail.
The only tainted corner of his lands.
His back to the room, he swallowed hard, not wanting to admit the dread spreading through him, tightening his chest and robbing him of breath. Only when he knew nary a sign of it would show on his face did he turn around, immediately scowling upon seeing his wife presenting the Sassunach with a platter of oatcakes and cheese.
Just as she’d plied the courier from that place with good ale and a hot meal, even promising him a soft heather pallet before the hall’s fire.
Ne’er guessing the damnation the man had brought them.
His mood more sour than ever, Duncan folded his arms. “Mayhap I should venture along when you set sail for Doon,” he said, ignoring his wife’s head-shaking in favor of throwing a dark look at his friend. “Perhaps the cailleach can toss together some toads’ warts and newts’ eyes, chant a few spelling words, and rid me of my troubles?”
His wife ceased her head-shaking at once. “Oh, Duncan, you are making your troubles,” she said, setting down the tray of oatcakes and cheese.
“It scarce matters whether I am or not. Or if I traveled to Doon.” Tipping back his head, Duncan stared up at the heavy-beamed ceiling, then at his wife. “I doubt even the great Devorgilla can undo the past.”
Linnet’s eyes widened. “The past?”
Duncan nodded. “So I have said. My own and that of Clan MacRuari.”
“The offer for Gelis came from the MacRuaris,” Sir Marmaduke observed, pushing to his feet. “The courier feasting on meat pies and stewed eels in the hall is one of that ilk. I heard the name before I came abovestairs.”
Duncan frowned at him. “Be that as it may, this is one time when you are not privy to my affairs. Take heed before you speak that name so easily.”
“ ’Tis a name I’ve never heard before.” The Sassunach slanted a glance at Linnet, but she only shrugged, her face echoing his puzzlement.
“I knew naught of them either,” she said, her gaze lighting on the rolled parchment. “Not until their chieftain’s man rode through our gates this morn.”
“Very few know of them.” Duncan took to pacing again, not surprised when two of his oldest hounds struggled to their feet to trail after him. Named Telve and Troddan for two ancient broch towers in nearby Glenelg, the beasts always knew when his moods were at their darkest. “From what I hear, the clan wishes it that way and” — he paused to shove a hand through his hair — “for certes, they are best avoided.”
Sir Marmaduke snorted. “I see no reason for your concern, my friend. If you find the MacRuaris so unsavory, send their man on his way. As you’ve done with all the others.”
Duncan sighed, his world contracting to a small, spinning place of misery.
Slowing his pace to match his dogs’ stiff-legged gaits, he slid a look at his lifelong friend and the woman he loved even more than life, no longer caring if they could see into his soul, recognize the fears simmering there.
The saints knew he had good reason for them.
“I told you,” he began, directing his words at the Sassunach, “this suitor is different. He is a man like no other. The last man I would see married to either of my girls. And” — Duncan pressed his fingers to his temples — “he is the one man I cannot refuse.”
Linnet gasped.
Sir Marmaduke had the audacity to remain unmoved. His gaze flashed to Duncan’s great sword, the jeweled dirk thrust beneath his belt. “Since when have you lacked the courage to decline an unwelcome marriage bid for one of your daughters?”
“They call him the Raven,” Duncan said as if his friend hadn’t spoken. “Ronan MacRuari is his given name. He is the scion of a dark clan, his house the most blighted in all the land.”
Duncan paused, clearing his throat before his tongue refused to form the words. “I ought say my land, as they live hidden away in a bleak and empty corner of Kintail. Castle Dare is their home. A place I haven’t visited in many a year. No man wishing to see the next day’s sunrise would willingly set foot there.”
“They are that evil?” Linnet sank onto a chair.
“They are that cursed,” Duncan amended, knowing the distinction made little difference. “Tradition claims they had a sorcerer ancestor in their distant past. Maldred the Dire. An archdruid of such great wickedness his legacy has marked them, bringing doom and grief to the clan all down the centuries.”
“Dear saints.” Linnet clapped a hand to her breast.
Sir Marmaduke frowned, already reaching for his sword. “You must refuse this offer by any means. I will postpone the journey to Doon.” He stepped forward, patting his blade. “My sword arm is yours, as always.”
“Your sword arm is the last thing I’d want unleashed on the MacRuaris,” Duncan said, touched by
his friend’s loyalty but well aware that he couldn’t make use of it. “Such recourse is closed to me.”
“I do not understand.”
“You would if I’d spoken plainer words.”
“Then speak them,” his wife urged. “Please, I pray you.”
His heart heavy, Duncan went back to the table, helping himself this time to a cup of tepid ale. The drink’s staleness suited him. He picked up the rolled parchment, only to let it drop again as if it’d been an adder and bit him. “The offer for Gelis did not come from the Raven but from the man’s grandfather, the MacRuari chieftain. He is the man I cannot refuse, not his grandson and heir.”
“Why can you not refuse him?” His wife came into his arms, holding him tightly. “Surely you can?”
“Nae, I cannot,” Duncan spoke true. “My honor forbids it.”
“Your honor?” Linnet pulled back to stare at him. “How can you speak of such a thing with your daughter’s life at stake?”
“Because,” Duncan told her, the truth breaking him, “without the valor of old MacRuari, I would not have a daughter. Not Gelis. Not Arabella. Nor even you. Valdar MacRuari saved my life when I was a lad. I owe him that long-standing debt and now he is wishing to claim it.”
“Oh.” The color left Linnet’s face. “Now I see.”
And Duncan saw that she did.
Honor was everything to a MacKenzie. Even death was preferable to forsaking it.
“Indeed, I see as well.” Sir Marmaduke sighed. “You have no choice.”
“Such is the way of it,” Duncan agreed, wishing it were otherwise. “As soon as arrangements can be made, Gelis must wed the Raven. God help the man if aught befalls her.”
Chapter Two
Gelis paused just inside the crowded bailey, her hand still on the latch of the postern gate. Chaos reigned, and she didn’t need her newly discovered ability as a taibhsear to recognize that the turmoil was anything but the usual bustle and stir known to fill Eilean Creag’s vast, cobbled courtyard. Not that the pandemonium ruffled her. Ever one to find a certain excitement in disorder, she put back her shoulders and ran her still-frozen fingers through her hair, not surprised to note that nary a pin remained.
The image of the raven remained as well, the memory of his dark good looks and spellbinding intensity making her heart pound and her blood quicken. Thinking, too, of the fierceness of his embrace, she leaned down to swipe at the wet sand and bits of seaweed clinging to the lower half of her cloak, not at all bothered that her efforts made so little difference.
She had more important matters on her mind than caring if anyone glanced askance at her.
As for her ruined clothes, she’d apologize to the laundresses and see that they received a few ells of fine woolen cloth for their trouble, if she could make her way to where they worked at a wooden trough across the bailey — a next to impossible undertaking, considering the throng of kinsmen and servants.
She bit her lip and glanced round. Some of the garrison men tried to look busy though clearly doing nothing, while others gathered in tight, noisy circles, their raised voices and agitation outdone only by the barking of the castle dogs. With the exception of her father’s favorite old hounds, Telve and Troddan, every four- legged beast at Eilean Creag raced frantically about, scattering chickens, annoying horses, and lending to the general air of madness and mayhem.
Something was seriously wrong.
Determined to get to the bottom of it, she started forward, only taking a few steps before Arabella squeezed through the crush in front of her. Blocking the way, she reached out and gripped Gelis’s arm.
“I knew you’d gone to the foreshore.” Arabella’s nose wrinkled at the sight of her mussed and dampened clothes. “You picked a fine day to go running about looking like a drowned fishwife.”
“And you look like a prune with your face all screwed up.” Gelis snatched back her arm. “It is a fine day. You won’t believe what —”
“ ’Tis you who won’t believe what Father has to say to you. He —”
“You told him about the scrying bowl.” Gelis could feel her face coloring. “Instead of helping Mother stitch pillow coverings, you ran off to make trouble for me.”
“Och, ’tis trouble for you, to be sure, but not of my making.” Arabella grabbed her elbow again and started pulling her forward, toward the keep. “A courier arrived while you were out splashing along the lochside. He brought an offer for you and Father has agreed. He —”
“A marriage offer? For me, and not you?” Gelis stopped, shaking her head. “And Father agreed? Ach, I do not believe it.”
“Right enough ’tis for you. And, nae, I dinna mind. Not at all. Truth is, I would not want such a furor on my shoulders!” Arabella looked at her. “Why do you think everyone is in the bailey? They’re hiding from Father’s fury.”
She jumped aside when one of the castle dogs shot past, chasing two goats. “See? Even the dogs have left the keep, except for poor Telve and Troddan. And they’re both cowering in a corner of Father’s solar, looking frightened and with their tails between their legs.”
“I don’t understand.” Gelis swiped at an escaping curl. “You said he agreed.”
“He did. But that doesn’t mean he’s happy about it.”
Gelis was too stunned to think straight. “That doesn’t make sense. He’s never greeted such offers with gladness. He wouldn’t accept one that makes him so angry everyone in the castle runs outside to get away from him.”
“Well he has.” Arabella flicked at a speck of lint on her sleeve. “I heard him arguing with Uncle Marmaduke. He said something about his honor pushing him against a wall.”
“I see.” Gelis considered. “Whoever made the offer has Father by his danglers.”
“Gelis!” Her sister looked scandalized. “If you speak so crudely, no man will take you. Not even if he’s a two- headed ogre or if Father presents you on a silver-gilt platter.”
Gelis started to laugh, but closed her mouth when a cloud sailed across the autumn-blue sky, its passage darkening the cobbles and making her shiver. The raven’s shadow was following her. She could feel him with her, sense his great wings beating the air. Glancing up, she saw only the cloud, but another chill rippled down her back. Whether she could see him now or not, her heart knew he was there. In his raven-form, he spiraled over the bailey, hovering first, then swooping near, almost as close as he’d been on the strand. Then he pinioned away, leaving only the bustling, sun-washed courtyard.
Her breath caught and a distinct tingle of anticipation fluttered low in her belly.
Exhilarating, and . . . delicious.
A surge of triumph filled her and she pressed a hand to her breast. He was her intended, she was sure of it. Either the marriage bid came from him or he was letting her know it would come to naught.
A man as powerful as the raven wouldn’t let her be given to someone else.
On impulse, she seized her sister’s arms, squeezing tight. “Whoever has offered for me won’t be a two-headed ogre. I am certain of it. He will be the perfect husband for me. You will see.”
“How I wish it for you!” Arabella shook free and dusted her gown. “But perfect husbands don’t usually hail from obscure, dark-doomed clans. I heard Father say the man —”
“Pah!” This time Gelis did laugh. “As a man who’s been called a devil all his life, he ought not waste his breath railing over others.”
“He sounded genuinely worried.”
“Well, he needn’t be, because I am not.”
Arabella frowned. “You were born tempting fate. I just hope it doesn’t whip around and bite you this time.”
“It won’t.” Gelis reached out and tweaked Arabella’s cheek. “I have seen my fate. That’s why I’m not afraid.”
The words spoken, she hitched up her skirts and wheeled around, dashing up the keep steps before her sister could reply.
Those few souls still in the hall started when she tore past them. Jaws drop
ping and heads swiveling, they stared after her as she raced along the hall’s center aisle, making for the corner stair that led up to her father’s solar.
A comfortable, tapestry-hung room where she would not only reveal her astonishing new talent, but also hear the most monumental news of her life.
Or so she imagined until she reached the tower’s uppermost landing and burst into the solar, expecting to find her father prowling about, his eyes flashing and his fists clenched as he visited a litany of curses upon the head of her suitor. Instead, heavy silence greeted her, and it took her a moment to spy her father slouched in a chair near the hearth fire.
Gelis skidded to a breathless halt, some of her bravura leaving her.
Duncan MacKenzie wasn’t a slouching kind of man.
Nor was he one who accepted defeat.
Yet that’s exactly how he looked at the moment. Weary, numbed, and utterly defeated.
He leaped to his feet the instant he saw her, his usual fierce mien snapping into place as if it’d been there all along. “By all the saints, lass, where have you been?” He came forward, gripping her firmly by the shoulders. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you’d taken a swim in Loch Duich.”
“Be gentle with her.” Her mother stepped out of the shadows on the other side of the hearth. “Something has clearly upset her. Your bluster and scowls will only make things worse.”
“That one doesn’t know the meaning of gentle,” Sir Marmaduke drawled from where he leaned against a table across the room. Her father’s best friend and Gelis’s uncle through marriage to her mother’s sister, Caterine, he slid a pointed glance in Linnet’s direction. “Perhaps you, my lady, should be the one to tell her.”
Her mother looked uncomfortable, her eyes filling with sympathy.
A bad sign if ever there was one.
“None of you have to tell me anything.” Gelis slipped from her father’s grasp and unfastened her cloak, tossing it onto a bench near the door. “I already know,” she blurted before her mother could try to explain. “At least, I think I do. Something happened down on the lochside. I had a vision and —”
Seducing a Scottish Bride Page 3