Elspeth closed her eyes and muttered something unintelligible under her breath. “Ye will drive us both crazy if ye do not quit fretting about such things, Rhiannon. Soon ye shall meet your intended and the mystery will be over. And remember, any woman would love to trade places with ye, even if her intended looks like a toad.”
“My mother was beautiful and yet my father locked her away,” Rhiannon said absently, stepping into her shoes.
“Aye, I have heard the stories, lass.”
“How could he vow to love and protect her and yet imprison her? She did nothing to deserve such a fate—save for the fact he loved another. That is why she died so soon, Elspeth. At the time it happened, I was too young to understand the truth. When Father took Deirdre as his bride months later, my heart turned to stone, and I never trusted him again.”
As usual, whenever Rhiannon thought of her mother, a mixture of melancholy and anger washed over her. Her mother had been such a docile creature who had loved her husband, and in return had endured horrible atrocities at his hands. And all because he had fallen in love with another woman. And now her father would force Rhiannon into an unwanted marriage.
Oh, the irony.
“Do not fret about the things ye cannot change, Rhiannon. If ye are at peace with yourself, then all else will fall into place.” Elspeth gathered up the drying cloth and soap. “Come, we have dallied long enough, my dear.”
“Promise me this, Elspeth. If de Cion is deplorable, and I have no desire to marry him, will ye flee with me?”
Elspeth took Rhiannon’s hand in her own. “Of course. Ye have been like my own daughter, even though ye are but seven years younger than me. I’ll never leave ye. Not ever. If ye take one look at de Cion and feel he is not the one for ye, then by God, we shall run as fast and as far as our feet will carry us.”
Touched by her friend’s devotion, Rhiannon embraced her tightly and kissed her cheek. “Thank ye for leaving everything behind to go with me. I know it must be hard, especially leaving someone ye love.”
Putting her at arm’s length, Elspeth frowned. “I love no one but my family and ye.”
“No one else?”
“Aye, no one.”
Rhiannon opened her mouth to ask about Antony when a bell sounded in the distance, making her heart jolt in trepidation.
Elspeth’s eyes widened. “Dear God, your betrothed has arrived!”
Chapter 2
Adelstan Cawdor followed Laird MacKay beneath the giant portcullis of Castle MacKay. The immense wooden fortress with a large stone tower sat high on a hill overlooking the coastline, a formidable stronghold that had spent the better part of a century defending itself against the Danes.
A good thing he had come as a guest.
Indeed, he had received a most warm, if not exuberant, reception. Laird MacKay had personally ridden out to meet Adelstan and his men, a wide smile on his face as he bade them welcome. However, that same smile thinned considerably the moment he learned Adelstan had come in place of Malgor de Cion, his daughter’s intended.
Laird MacKay’s dark eyes narrowed. “Might I assume Lord Malgor is on his deathbed?” There was no misinterpreting the anger in the chieftain’s voice.
“Nearly on his deathbed,” Adelstan said with a reassuring smile he hoped put the older man’s fears to rest.
“And what, pray tell, has caused him to be so ill that he could not claim my daughter, his betrothed, himself?”
Adelstan, knowing full well the question would be asked, replied, “He aggravated an old hunting wound on the eve before our departure. The healer insisted he stay behind. Knowing you were expecting him, and not wanting to delay the wedding, I was sent in his stead.” Whispers among the ranks said the “wound” came by way of a dagger and a disagreement over a game of chess. De Cion’s temper was legendary but had grown more explosive in recent weeks. Many wondered, including their liege, if perhaps his upcoming marriage had been part of the cause. Everyone at Braemere Castle knew de Cion loved his leman, a woman who had been devoted to him for the eleven years since his wife had died in childbirth.
However, the woman had been a commoner and could do nothing to bolster his aspirations or career. She had not taken the news of his upcoming wedding lightly. Renaud de Wulf, their liege and Adelstan’s brother-in-law, had suggested Malgor send the woman away, back to her family near London, so that he could start fresh with his new bride and new fief. Castle Almeron was nowhere near as impressive as Braemere, but still brought with it a title and riches, and the opportunity to start a new life with a young bride.
“Ah, a hunting wound,” MacKay said, giving away nothing of his thoughts as they continued into the large bailey, where a crowd watched from a distance. “He must trust ye immensely to send ye in his place.”
Adelstan nodded. “Actually, it was my liege, Lord de Wulf, who sent me in de Cion’s stead. I assure you, Laird MacKay, your daughter is in capable hands. I will let no harm come to her.”
The chieftain stopped and turned to Adelstan, his eyes searching his so intently as to be uncomfortable. A moment later his lips curved slightly. “Ye are a man of your word, Sir Adelstan. My Rhiannon can be a handful, and at times is a bit outspoken and strong-willed for her own good. I hope ye have patience, because ye may need it.”
Adelstan was instantly reminded of his sister, Aleysia, who shared similar traits. “Aye, I am a patient man.” He noted Lady Rhiannon was not present and wondered at the reason. Did this strong-willed young woman have reservations against marrying de Cion? Mayhap she had heard of the newly titled baron’s age and resisted the idea of marrying a much older man.
The Scot stroked his beard. “I think ye and my daughter shall get on very well, Sir Adelstan.”
“I am sure we will,” Adelstan assured him.
“There should be ample room for your men in the armory.” MacKay pointed toward a large wooden building across the bailey. “A guest chamber has been made up in the tower, and ye are welcome to make use of it.”
“While I appreciate the offer of a private bedchamber, I assure you it is not necessary. I am content to sleep wherever my men are stationed.”
“Ye are here in Lord Malgor’s stead, and therefore ye will be treated as he would be treated.” His tone let Adelstan know he would accept no refusal.
Adelstan nodded in acquiescence. “Very well. Thank you, Laird MacKay.”
“Good, now that is settled, let us get on with the feasting. I am certain ye are all hungry from your long journey. Let us dine and enjoy the entertainment we have in store for this evening.”
After he’d lived on dried meat, fruit, and cheese for the past week, Adelstan’s stomach rumbled at the thought of filling his belly.
They approached the great hall, where armed guards stood at attention. With intense fanfare they opened the double doors, and a room full of men, women, and children, all dressed in their best, came to their feet.
Applause broke out over the assemblage, growing with intensity as they made their way to the high dais.
How disappointed they would be when they learned he was not Lord Malgor.
“Impressive,” Jorden, his next in command, said under his breath, bending his head back to look at the high timbered ceilings overhead.
Adelstan followed his officer’s gaze. “Indeed, the craftsmanship is exceptional.”
“Perhaps one day we shall both have fiefs as fine as this one.”
Laird MacKay, obviously pleased by Jorden’s compliment, genuinely smiled for the first time since Adelstan and his men had arrived. Jorden was a master at charming anyone, both men and women. His silver tongue had gotten them out of more than one scrape. Adelstan’s foot soldiers broke away, led by Jorden, who sat at one of the lower tables near the high dais.
When the day came that Adelstan was awarded his own fief, Jorden would be his trusted sergeant-at-arms, and he would take his place at the high table, too.
On the dais, Laird MacKay took a seat in a large chai
r, and directed Adelstan to take the seat to his right. A woman with long auburn hair approached the table, staring at Adelstan with obvious interest.
Adelstan tried to hide his surprise. Surely this could not be Rhiannon? The woman had to be at least Adelstan’s age, and he was just shy of his thirtieth year.
“Sergeant, please meet my wife, Lady MacKay.”
Adelstan nodded. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady MacKay.”
She sat and lifted a jewel-encrusted goblet to her lips, watching Adelstan all the while. Either the woman hid her age well, or she was not Rhiannon’s birth mother.
Laird MacKay lifted a brow, and placed a hand on his wife’s thigh.
Lady MacKay set the goblet down, leaned toward her husband, and whispered something in his ear, her large breasts pressing against his beefy arm.
Adelstan turned his attention away from the couple to the doorway, wondering where Lady Rhiannon was, and if she was going to make an appearance tonight. A sense of foreboding filled the air, making him unsettled.
A servant approached with warm water. Adelstan glanced at the woman, whose cheeks were flushed a soft pink and grew a shade darker the longer he stared. She gently washed the dirt from his hands, her fingers gentle, taking her time. He guessed her to be younger than himself. Wearing her dark hair up in a tidy bun, she had rough hands that bespoke a life of hard work, the nails cut to the quick, her palms deeply callused.
In recent years he had gained a greater appreciation for servants and the long, arduous tasks they performed each day. Having been born to Saxon royalty and thereby brought up in a wealthy household, Adelstan had taken those hard working individuals for granted, until his life had changed so drastically as a young man when King William had stripped his family of their lands and titles.
The woman patted his hands dry, taking far longer than necessary, but he did not mind. In fact, he yearned to ask her to meet him later, to ease the ache in his loins, but would not do so in front of his guest. “Thank you,” he said, and she glanced up, her dark gaze falling away almost immediately, but not before he recognized the desire there.
“Forgive my daughter for her tardiness,” Laird MacKay said, lifting a handsomely engraved goblet to his lips and taking a long drink. “I am certain it stems from her nervousness at meeting ye, or rather, at meeting her betrothed.”
“That, or she is out swimming again,” Lady MacKay said, her tone full of exasperation.
A young boy approached the dais steps, and instantly Adelstan recognized Laird MacKay’s beefy features and Lady MacKay’s eyes. The lad slid into the seat beside his mother, sighed heavily, and immediately started tapping his nails on the table.
Adelstan was surprised when both father and mother ignored him, doing nothing to reprimand the boy.
“Father, forgive me for having arrived late.”
Adelstan looked up at a young woman with blue, or rather violet, eyes—and his insides coiled. Sweet Jesus, but Rhiannon MacKay was an alluring, exotic creature with long, silky brown hair that fell down her back in thick, soft waves. She wore a kirtle of pale blue linen, which molded nicely to her full, firm breasts and slender waist, and a simple leather girdle accented her slender hips.
Malgor de Cion was a lucky man.
“There ye are, my dear,” Laird MacKay said, standing, and Adelstan followed suit.
He bowed. “Lady Rhiannon, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
Rhiannon MacKay looked at Adelstan fully, her gaze shifting from his, down his body and slowly back up again. She could disarm a man with such a look. Indeed, all thought slipped away for a moment as he stared into her remarkable eyes.
“Thank ye. How was your journey?” Her lips curved into a warm smile, displaying small, straight white teeth. Warmth spread through his veins, straight to his already rigid cock. She was perfection. An unrivaled prize that men would be talking about for decades to come.
“Very well, thank you,” he said, all the while thinking this lovely creature could have been his betrothed. He’d been a high-ranking soldier in his liege’s army for as long as Malgor. Ironically, when the fief of Almeron had been offered to one of Renaud’s men, Adelstan had bowed out of the running only because de Cion was getting older and had been yearning to become a father since losing his wife and child.
“I have been most anxious to meet ye.”
Her Scottish accent flowed over him like warm honey, making him forget for a moment that she believed him to be her betrothed. Before he could remedy the situation himself, her father cleared his throat.
“Daughter, I fear Lord Malgor was unable to make the journey himself. But in his stead, Baron de Wulf has sent his most trusted officer, Adelstan Cawdor, to escort ye to Almeron.”
Rhiannon’s smile slipped for an instant but she caught herself. Although her grin returned in force, he recognized disappointment in those incredible eyes, and felt a moment of deep regret.
Intense, bone-jarring regret.
A beauty such as Rhiannon MacKay came around only once in a lifetime and well he knew it. And she would be handed to Malgor de Cion, a man three times her age who despite having a young woman to wed, would no doubt keep his leman nearby.
Or perhaps the new baron would become so enamored with his new bride, so deeply in love, that he would do the right thing and send his leman away. Adelstan’s sister had been fortunate in finding a love match with her enemy, Renaud de Wulf, but their story was a rarity in feudal England.
Adelstan cleared his throat. “Lady Rhiannon, I would like to extend Lord Malgor’s apology that he could not come to claim you himself. My liege, Lord Renaud of Braemere, has sent me on your betrothed’s behalf. I take my duty seriously and will deliver you safely to Castle Almeron, where Lord Malgor will be awaiting you.”
“Why did he not make the journey himself?” she asked, her gaze shifting over him in a way that had him wondering at her innocence. She did not look at him as a virgin would.
“He aggravated an old injury while hunting, and the healer told him it would not be wise to travel.”
Alarm came over her fragile features. “An injury?”
“Aye, Lady Rhiannon. The wound is not life threatening, but serious enough that he could not travel such a distance.”
Her full lips quirked, and he was reminded yet again of her father’s remarks. “Mayhap he should have waited to make the journey until he was mended.”
“Daughter…” MacKay said, his voice firm and resolute as he sat.
Rhiannon took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling, and Adelstan’s gaze shifted to her full, firm breasts. The kirtle had been embroidered at the neck, a delicate design of silver thread, which continued down, nearly between the luscious globes. He found himself wondering if her nipples would be pale rose or a darker hue. Someone at his officers table, no doubt Jorden, cleared his throat, and his gaze ripped back to her face. Just in time, too, since her father gave them his full attention.
He most certainly needed to find the servant who had washed his hands moments ago. Perhaps burying his cock deep into another woman would wipe away his traitorous thoughts.
Everything about Rhiannon’s features was fragile, from the sharp cheekbones, to the tiny-tipped up nose, to the luscious lips, the top curving upward. Such a full mouth, perfect for sucking and licking—
He shook away the thought.
In truth, he wished Rhiannon MacKay were homely instead of breathtakingly beautiful. Though he respected Malgor, he could not for a second envision this lovely young woman with the gruff, middle-aged warrior.
“Daughter, please sit,” Laird MacKay said, annoyance in his tone. “Supper is being served.”
“May I sit beside ye, Adelstan?” she asked, already sliding onto the bench beside him.
“Of course,” he replied, taking his seat.
Rhiannon sat so close to him, their thighs touched. His heart nearly pounded out of his chest.
Adelstan shifted a little, easing some of
the contact, but she made no effort to move away. Indeed, she almost looked comfortable as she glanced up at him with those long-lashed eyes, her feminine scent surrounding him, pulling him into her web.
His cock strained against his belly, and he was tempted to excuse himself for a while in order to ease the ache.
And to think it was his duty to bring this strikingly beautiful woman across Scotland to her betrothed. How in God’s name would he manage such a feat without touching her?
His liege had told Adelstan to stay at Castle MacKay for as long as Rhiannon needed—within reason, adding that delaying the journey would also give Malgor time to recover from his wound.
“You stare, sir,” she said, her full lips splitting into a soft smile. “Do ye find me displeasing?”
He had not realized he’d been staring.
“Forgive me, I did not mean to offend you, and nay, I do not at all find you displeasing, Lady Rhiannon. It’s just that I have never before seen eyes such as yours. They’re extraordinary.”
A soft blush touched her cheeks. She leaned into him, keeping her voice low. “I was once accused of having the eyes of a witch.”
He frowned, wondering how anyone could be so cruel. He was ready to say as much when the same servant who had washed his hands moments before now poured wine into his goblet and then into Rhiannon’s. The servant stared at Adelstan, her dark eyes telling him she would not deny him.
Her lips curved slightly as their eyes met and held.
Lord knew he could use a tumble this night.
Taking a long drink, he savored the warm effects of the wine and chanced a lingering glance at the servant’s backside. It was then he noticed Rhiannon watching him. Did she guess what was on his mind?
The knowing smirk on her lips answered that question.
He looked down at the lower tables, where his men sat, and noticed every single one was staring at Rhiannon, a woman they had sworn to protect. By their pleased expressions, it was obvious they, too, had not expected her to be such a beauty.
The Conquest Page 2