by D. K. Combs
She blinked, and then a dark smile crept over her face. “Or he’ll demand your head.”
He laughed. Before she had come down to break her fast, he had consulted Tomas on where to go from there. Aye, he had been dead and determined to wed her last night, but waking up, he had realized there needed to be some sort of discussion over it.
During that discussion, he had learned quite a bit about the lovely miss Blayne Shaw. And in that conversation, he had learned that Tomas had heard down the line that she had run because of her mother—who had been trying to force her into marriage to Broderick’s son.
Not a bad match, he admitted, but he could understand now why she was so against marriage.
Her first husband had been a monster worthy of a great, long-lasting, torture-filled death.
And since Alec hadn’t had the chance to exact that death, he would make up for it in other ways—as in, giving her a marriage she deserved, a husband who would do her proud. He would be a husband who would honor her, worship her, and stoke the flames inside of her until she was damn near burning the keep down.
That was a promise he would make to her, but there was only one thing stopping him.
The reservation in her eyes.
With that reservation, came the memory of her complete shut down when they had shared their first kiss.
Time, he thought. She needed time. And as much as he wanted to make her his, he would give that to her.
With a grunt, he released her.
And just like that, she was back again.
“So, my lord,” she said, clearing her throat. “Tell me—tell me about the Callahan’s.”
He frowned. “Why would ye’ wish to ken about them?”
“Well, if we are to be married, then I think I should know about my neighbors, correct?”
“I…” Two seconds ago, she had been refuting the idea of marriage. And now she seemed to be coming to terms with it?
Something was wrong.
“How did the feuding between the two of you start?” she asked.
“Over sheep,” he said slowly. To raise his guard over a simple question would be foolish. “Callahan’s laird at the time, Alban, did not want his sheep wandering into the forest and past, into our land. He thought that we should be responsible for a fence, since the forest was part of his land.”
She nodded, resting her hip on the table, a considerate look on her beautiful, pale face.
“That is quite a simple thing to remedy.”
“Aye, but my great grandfather did not feel it was his place to put up a fence, since Alban was the one requesting it.”
“Ah,” she murmured, tapping her chin. “Well, who eventually put up the fence?”
“They did. McGregors donna back down from a challenge,” he said firmly. “We also donna deal with petty nuances such as the Callahan’s. Since the fence went up years ago, the king eventually decreed that as it was on our land, we would maintain it. Now the Callahan’s make it their goal to ruin it when the sheep are in for the season.”
“That’s not very nice of them,” she said, frowning.
“Nay, it’s no’. And the king has no’ taken action against it, either. So we maintain it to keep the warring down—most spring months, I am away from the keep. The less to worry about here, the better. It seems nothing we do will get them to back down, and a few broken pieces of fence is no’ worth men’s lives.”
At that, her brow lowered.
“Why do you leave during spring months?”
“I have duties to the king,” he said, sighing. “Now, lass. What has brought all of this about?”
She shrugged, pushing away from the table. “Nothing, my lord. Thank you for talking with me, but I must be off for now—“
He reached for her arm when she would have walked past him, stopping her in her tracks. When he spoke, his voice was nothing but a dark murmur. “I do no’ ken yer angle for this information, but I will warn ye’ lass—do not meddle in things that do no’ concern ye’. The Callahan’s might be petty, but they are also deadly when need be. To have The Lion’s daughter sniffing about…they would no’ take kindly to that, no matter how daft the lot may be.”
She gave him a small smile, but the look in her eyes was…sad?
“Aye, my lord,” she said, nodding her head demurely. Then, before he could get another word in, the lass was striding away from him with her head down low, arms crossed over her chest.
He faced the hall, brows lowering. What on earth was she planning?
If he wasn’t aware of her track record, he wouldn’t be worried. But with her having set a forest on fire, building a pond in his keep, and repeatedly running off, he knew better.
Tonight, he thought. After the missives to her family had been sent, after the pastor was notified, and his duties were taken care of for the day, he would confront her. If she sought to cause more trouble between him and the Callahan’s, he had to put an end to it. Not for his sake, but for hers. God forbid they found out she was the one to set fire to their forest… He could only imagine what would happen if they found out.
He watched her go for only a moment, then turned back to his meal. From beside him, his father came out of the corner to sit. Alec stayed silent, just knowing his father had something to say about the situation.
“I heard all of that,” the McGregor said, resting his elbows on the table.
“Ah, look at the bear, coming out of hibernation. Ye’ ken, ye’ shouldn’t eavesdrop so much.”
McGregor shrugged. “My days as laird are long gone, lad. What else am I supposed to do to keep myself alive?”
Alec cast him a side glance. “Breathe?”
“Ye’ take things too literal, boy.” The McGregor nudged his shoulder, then gave him a quelling gaze. “Tell me ye’ did no’ take the lass to bed last night. Tell me that was a lie.”
“No’ a lie, father. We are to bed,” he said, nodding shortly. “Tomas is bringing word to Laird Shaw, and it should be over with within a fortnight at most.”
“’Over with’? Lad, ye’ realize how impersonal ye’ sound about all this? Lady Blayne had a wreck of a first marriage. She deserves a courtship worthy of a Queen. Can ye’ imagine living a life with not only the status of her father over yer head, as well as living with the past of being married to a barbarian like Hagen…”
“Hagen?” The name was familiar, but the memories were distant.
“Aye, Hagen Wilson. He went through two wives in just a couple years. Spent a lot of time alone after that. I heard he had a few bastards.”
His brows raised. “Did ye’ now?”
“Fredrick, Dawson, and the eldest, Charles. The younger siblings are black smiths now, I think.”
“And Charles?” He wondered if Lady Blayne knew of them. From what he had guessed, her time with him had been short and traumatizing. Had the bastard children resented her, made her life miserable?
“Ah, last I heard, he was off serving the king. No’ sure if he’s back now or no’.”
Alec shook his head. “For the life of me, ye’ ken the strangest things.”
McGregor shrugged. “It was my job to know. Kane Shaw was a close friend of mine. When I learned Lady Blayne was to be married off to Hagen, of course he had me learn everything I could about him. My contacts have kept me in touch with their whereabouts in the past couple years out of habit. That old fart passed away shortly after marrying her, thank the lord, and then she returned home to her parents.”
He frowned. “What about the lands? The clan? She left no heirs…” He would have known. Even in the dark of night, he had felt her body. He’d felt how smooth and toned she had been, and knew just from touch that she had bore no children.
“My guess is Charles Wilson took control of it. Her father told me she rejected all the rights land, even his name.”
“That’s…”
“Odd. I ken. But that Lady Blayne is a stubborn, crafty wench. She kens how to get what she wants, when she w
ants it.”
Alec smiled at that. “Aye, she does.”
“And,” the McGregor pointed out, “she also kens how to resist what she does no’ want.”
He glowered. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, lad. Have ye’ really given her much reason to want ye’? To want to marry ye’?”
“Aye, of course I have. She let me into her bed last night!”
The McGregor rolled his eyes. “Please, lad. We both know that she is a woman not of these times—and she’s already been married. If she wishes to play behind closed doors, there’s no one telling her she cannot.”
His jaw ticked at the thought. “She would not—“
“Yer right. She wouldn’t. But that doesn’t also mean she will automatically want to marry you. Ye’ve really not given her a reason to, my lad. Mayhap if you spent time with her doing something she liked. Mayhap if you showed her you weren’t a right brute all the time, she’d be more open to the idea.”
“Well, once her father finds out—“
“She’s still a woman of age who can make some decisions on her own, Alec. She’s had a lot of choices stripped from her control. Why should her next marriage be the same situation? I would think she’d resent you for forcing her hand, lad,” his father said, the tone ominous. As much as Alec didn’t want to believe that, he did.
He knew that as much as he wanted her, she had to want him back. Aye, he was still going to flaunt the idea in front of her in hopes that it would help sway her, but his father was right—he should be doing things to make her want to marry him.
Blayne was not a woman who cared for fine jewelry or dresses. Bollocks, he thought. Every day that she had been here, she’d worn a pair of trews and a long sleeve shirt. Getting her to wear a dress had become full-on war. Nay, his Lady Blayne was not a woman with such fine tastes. Rather, she was a woman more accustomed to past times—like the creek.
The thought struck him like a bolt of lightning.
“Thank you, father,” he said, pushing back from the table with a surge. If he wanted to have time with his woman tonight, he had best get started on his duties for the day.
“Aye, aye,” the McGregor said tiredly, waving a hand. As Alec strode away, a new purpose in his gate, he barely heard his father mutter, “For once, the lad gets it right.”
“We must leave at once, milady. The Callahan’s know of your father, respect him. We can put all of this to rest if you would simply speak to them…”
Blay splayed her hands out over the comforter, the words of the woman—Gertrude—coming back to her. All day long, the haunting words had circled her mind, like an insistent nanny telling her to get onto a chore.
This was no nanny, and this was no chore.
This was a woman risking everything for a man she loved, even though he felt no such feelings. This was running away from Alec and the safety she had here.
But then, did not the end result outweigh the worry? If she spoke to the Callahan’s, changed their mind on attacking Alec, then all would be well. Charles would have no army to lay siege to the keep, and Gertrude was certain she could talk him out of it. If Charles couldn’t come for her, then Harold wouldn’t have the means to come after her. From what Gertrude had told her, the fire had nearly killed him. It would take the last of his strength to come for her.
The power of an army, Blay thought, picking at the stitching. The power of an army drove men to do foolish things. Her father, Alec, The McGregor, and now Charles…all men fell susceptible to it—but now she had a chance to stop it.
Candles flickered around the room, the moon hidden by dark clouds tonight. Blay pulled back the covers, planning to arrange the pillows…but she paused.
She had spent the day avoiding Alec as best she could, and as easy as that sounded, it left her exhausted. Although, the exhaustion probably had to do with the internal battle. To put her life in danger by going to the Callahan’s, or let an enemy attack the keep—and therefore put her life, and the lives of others, at risk?
Both options left her sick, but at least one of them could have a positive outcome.
She laid two of the longer pillows vertically on the bed, pulling up the covers. Tonight was the night, she thought, sighing. Still sick, even though her options were limited. Still terrified, even though it did nothing to help her cause.
With the duvet pulled over the pillows, she went to the foot of the bed and opened the trunk. If she was lucky, this would only take a few hours. The trek through the forest would be the most daunting part of the trip itself, but that was fine. She would have Gertrude with her.
Everything would go as planned, she told herself, pulling out the long sleeved shirt and cap. She pulled both over her head, using pins to keep the cap and her hair in place, and then closed the trunk. Everything would go as planned, and she would be back before sunrise. By then, the threat would be gone, and she could tell Alec everything.
The thought had a relieved smile tilting her lips. By the end of it all, the two of them would have no secrets between each other. She would be able to tell him she saved the day, that his keep was not at risk because of her, since he was refusing to let her return to her father.
Blay pursed her lips, tucking the shirt into her trews. Even if the matter of an impending war were gone, there was still the issue of marriage—and the fact that she was refusing, while he was insisting.
Mayhap it would be best to confess to him that he was due for an attack. Mayhap that would change his mind, would have him send her back to her father. If she was bringing a threat, she was a threat—and Alec was a smart man. If he rid himself of her completely, all she would have to worry about was Harold coming after her in her own home, on her own land. Alec was nothing but a bystander in all of this.
She rubbed her temples. There were too many variables to account for, too many options she had to think through. The best course of action remained the original—talk to the Callahan’s and convince them not to attack. It seemed easier than convincing Alec to let her return home.
Blay strode to the door, determined to carry this out. It was probably one of the more daring things she had tried to do. At least when she had escaped her kidnappers, she had been drunk.
She paused, brow raising. A drink might actually help in this situation—
Just as her hand was touching the door, it budged and then creaked open. She backed up, putting her hands behind her back like she had something to hide—even though what she should have done was rip the hat right off her head.
If she had known it would have been Gertrude, her heart wouldn’t be threatening to jump out her throat.
But it wasn’t.
Gertrude had agreed to meet her near the gate if she decided to go through with it, and that was the only reason she knew for a fact that it was not a redheaded woman behind that door, but a man who had the power to make her knees weak and her eyes see red, all at the same time.
She composed herself when his head poked through the crack.
“Glad yer awake, lass,” he said gruffly, appearing fully before her in the open doorway. “I know yer no’ happy with me, but—are ye’ going somewhere?”
She raised a flippant brow, putting her hand on her hip. Her heart beat was so quick she was sure he could see it.
“Well that’s a silly question to ask, my lord. Where would I be going? To England?” Alright, so composing herself hadn’t worked like she thought it would. Her laugh was strained to the point of being a near cackle.
“Nay,” he said, stepping inside of the room fully and kicking the door closed behind him. She bit her lip. That was not good. “Back to yer father, mayhap?”
Oh, why did his voice have to sound so deliciously low and enticing? All it did was melt her resistance like ice on a hot day.
She shrugged, or tried to. Her nerves probably made it look like more of a muscle jerk.
“I wouldn’t go back there,” she said, rolling her eyes. “They’d only try to
subject me to the same fate you are.”
“Oh? Then why stay here so willingly, if I only mean to get marriage out of ye’, lass?”
She laughed at the question, and when he didn’t return the smile, she realized he had asked that question in all seriousness. “I… My mother can be quite stubborn, and…Well, my father is a bit more terrifying than you are, my lord.”
“Ah, but you do not fear him,” Alec said musingly, a light entering his eye that made her core want to weep. She used to be so infuriated by that…that damn deducing thing, but now, when he caught that challenging gleam in his eye, all she wanted to do was take his hand and pull him to the bed.
Damn her.
“Of course I do not fear him. He’s my father—“
He took a step forward, arms crossed over his chest, brow still raised. Good, at least with his arms crossed, he couldn’t reach for her—oh, God, she thought, heart beating so fast it climbed up her throat. How she wanted him to reach for her, though!
Alec, the giant of a brute, reached for her elbows. Was she swooning? Mayhap.
His soft touch belied his demeanor. You would think that a man as large and intimidating as he would not be able to handle someone as if they were made of the finest glass, but…she was wrong.
So, so wrong.
Like gentle wisps of a feather, his fingers brushed their way up to her shoulders, until he was taking her by the back of her neck with two hands and tugging her close. She tried to resist at first, but the silent swirl of intrigue that was swirling around her left no room for that.
Blay fell against his chest willingly, her hands coming up between them. Not to push them away, no—but to feel the hard beat of his heart, to feel the smooth sensation of his skin under her palms.
She swallowed thickly.
“I came in here to whisk ye’ away to a secret place I enjoy on nights that are particularly…rough. But now, I’m no’ so sure I want to leave the chambers with ye.”
She dragged her eyes up to meet his, searching them, locking with them. If she didn’t, she feared her eyes would close to the euphoria and she would forget her purpose.