The Laird's Vow

by Heather Grothaus

  “Oh, no, my dear. No, no, no. Not without claim,” Lord Hargrave said with widened eyes. “Roscraig’s care was given over to your father before you were even born. I have no proof beyond my word, of course, but perhaps it might be of some assistance with the king were you of a mind to challenge the commoner upstart seeking to oust you from your home.”

  Glenna felt her feet slowing to a stop, knew the other dancers were flowing around her and the intimidating old lord, but she didn’t care.

  “Roscraig was given to my father?” she asked. “By whom?”

  Lord Hargrave took her hand again and dragged her back into the formation. They changed direction at once, and the Englishman looked pointedly to the large portrait over the blazing hearth. “By the man who was once that boy.” He looked into her eyes, and Glenna saw a black fire there. “Thomas Annesley, of course.”

  The music ended, and the other dancers clapped as they moved away from the center of the floor. Glenna stared up at the composed gentleman, unable to command her feet to carry her from the spot.

  “You’re certain of this?” she asked. “My father has a legitimate claim to Roscraig?”

  “Unfortunately, quite certain.” Lord Hargrave nodded solemnly. “There is none other than Thomas Annesley to blame for the death of my daughter, Cordelia. He escaped into Scotland after her murder, knowing all his holdings would become forfeit. And so to prevent their total loss, he gave over Roscraig to his friend. I have heard that your father is not expected to live, and that burden must weigh heavily on a lady without family. I will do everything in my power to prevent Thomas Annesley—or his son—from profiting further from my daughter’s murder.”

  “I don’t see how I could succeed,” Glenna said through numb lips. “What is there to prove?”

  “You need only leave that to me, Lady Glenna. It would be my honor—no, my privilege—were you to place yourself under my guardianship. Considering the precarious state of your father’s health, I would have a document drawn up so that your protection is utterly binding, and there would be naught Tavish Cameron could do about it. Then, should you decide to quit Scotland and put this whole ugliness behind you, we will depart for Darlyrede without another word of it, and you shall live there as our own family. Or, conversely, I shall gird my loins against Tavish Cameron’s threats and wait in the rain if I must for King James’s arrival. Whence forth I shall stand before his court and testify on your father’s behalf.”

  “Tavish has threatened you?” Glenna asked.

  “Of course he has, my dear,” Lord Hargrave said quietly and with a small smile. “He knows that I have the power to return him to his common shop and restore you to your rightful station as lady of Roscraig.” His smile grew infinitesimally larger. “He wasn’t expecting me, you see. I am his worst nightmare.”

  Lord Hargrave reached out and touched her cheek. “But I am afraid of no man, be he merchant or king. No—for you, my dear, I will scrape Tavish Cameron from my heel like the dung from which he was spawned.”

  A young man approached them before Glenna could formulate any sort of response. He bowed and held out his hand, and Glenna realized that the music had begun once more.

  “My lady?” he queried with a charming smile.

  Movement over Lord Hargrave’s shoulder drew Glenna’s attention to the doorway of the hall, and she saw Tavish Cameron striding toward her with a quartet of rough-looking men.

  “You may take her with my compliments, lad,” Lord Hargrave said to the young lord, apparently giving the man permission to dance with Glenna—an idea that briefly stuck in a tender part of her mind before it was lost in the whirlwind of emotion churned by Tavish’s approach.

  “But only temporarily.” Lord Hargrave gave a bow and a wry grin. “Never fear, beautiful Glenna—I shan’t be far away from you all the night, and I shall be present for king’s arrival, come what may. I swear it.”

  The young noble swept Glenna into the formation just as Tavish came upon Lord Hargrave. The older man spun on his heel at once, walking far in advance of the four sailors who rolled in his wake toward the door. But rather than make a meek exit, Vaughn Hargrave called out hearty farewells to the guests, even pausing twice to shake hands as if it were his own feast. Glenna’s head whipped around to keep sight of the man until he had disappeared into the corridor.

  “He’s quite admirable, is he not?” the young lord asked in an amused tone.

  Glenna had all but forgotten the presence of her partner. “What?”

  “Lord Hargrave,” the man clarified. “I hope to be half as accomplished when I am his age.”

  “Oh. He does seem shrewd.”

  Her thoughts were further interrupted by the firm gripping of her upper arm. Glenna looked up to find the face of Tavish Cameron glaring down at her.

  He glanced at the young lord. “You’ll forgive me the intrusion,” he said.

  “Well, I—” the man blustered.

  “My thanks.” Tavish placed his right hand on the lord’s chest and pushed. Then he swung Glenna into the formation, backward and going the wrong direction.

  “What are you doing?” Glenna stammered.

  “What did Hargrave say to you?” he demanded.

  “Ow, Tavish—stop.”

  “I’m dancing with you—if we stop, it will seem suspect.”

  “You’re stepping on my feet, and we’ve just run over the marquis!”

  “Fine.” He whirled her out of the circle to the shadows of the far wall. “What did Hargrave say to you?” he repeated.

  Glenna looked up at Tavish towering over her, his expression full of barely restrained fury. She’d hoped to impress him, make him realize how good she would be for him; how, together, they could conquer any problem created by their less than conventional lives.

  She wanted him to love her, not Audrey Keane, who had suddenly that night seemed to want to make friends with Glenna.

  But the first words he’d said to her were an interrogation pertaining to an old man who perhaps had the power to threaten Tavish’s claim on Glenna’s home. And the repercussions of that were very clear now. A chill twisted up her spine, freezing any heated emotions that wanted release, but also helping her to stand taller and stirring her anger into a manageable simmer.

  “Very well. He told me that Iain Douglas is Roscraig’s rightful laird.”

  She saw Tavish’s thick, whisker-shadowed throat convulse as he swallowed, and his fingers around her arms gentled. “It’s a lie, Glenna.”

  “You’d like me to believe that,” she said as she jerked away from him. “I knew when you first came here that my father would have never claimed something that didn’t belong to him. But I listened to you—you, who has everything in the world to gain by making me think my life was a lie, that my father was a liar. I believed you.”

  “Glenna, Hargrave is only telling you what you wish to hear so that he can gain control over you.”

  She leaned closer to him, trying to ignore the now familiar scent of him that wanted to soften her with whispered memories of how he had held her in his arms.

  “Is he now?” she challenged. “That rather sounds like something you would do.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she said between her teeth. “You made your intentions for the hold and me clear straightaway, and you have not deviated from your plan. The only reason you’ve shown me any care or attention was to keep me enamored of you until after the king handed down his decision. You manipulated me.”

  “I’ve never manipulated you, Glenna. Vaughn Hargrave has ill intent toward you.”

  She stared in disbelief at him, huffed a mirthless laugh. “And what exactly have your intentions toward me been, Tavish? Honorable?” She waited a scant moment for a reply that she knew wouldn’t come. “Lord Hargrave recognizes m
e as the lady of Roscraig. Now, I think I have performed enough for one evening; I must look in on my father.”

  She made to move past him, but Tavish grabbed her arm again. “You will return directly to the hall afterward. Go nowhere else, and do not leave this hold.”

  Glenna wheeled around and struck him soundly across the cheek, the blow echoing over even the music in the hall and drawing shocked glances from the guests.

  “You are neither my husband nor my father,” Glenna said in a loud, clear voice, uncaring who watched, who heard. Let them witness it, these strangers, these people who had been neighbors to Roscraig for years and turned their backs on her father. She hoped they enjoyed every salacious moment.

  “And until the king has given his word, you are not the laird of Roscraig. Dare you to lay your common hand upon me again, Master Cameron, and I shall see you arrested upon the king’s arrival.”

  His eyes hardened. “A lady now that you’re no longer in rags, are you? I bought the dress you’re wearing.”

  “And I kept Frang Roy from slitting your throat in your sleep,” she parried. “We all make mistakes.”

  Glenna turned and took the arm of the marquis who had unabashedly approached to listen to the altercation. The nobleman gallantly escorted her from the hall and even waved to the musicians to once more strike up their lively tune. Once in the dark, cool corridor, Glenna calmly thanked the marquis for his accompaniment and held her head high as she mounted the stairs, as slowly and with as much dignity as possible.

  It was only once she rounded the shielding curve of the landing that she allowed herself to pause against the stones with a gasp, the shock of her heartbreak so severe and final that it left her eyes dry; her chest cold and dark and hollow.

  Chapter 16

  Tavish felt the surreptitious stares burning through his tunic in the wake of Glenna’s bold rejection and departure from the hall, but he didn’t care. Let them look—none of them meant anything to him. There was not one person in the hall now he could call his friend—even Audrey had vanished sometime in the past hour. And so now he was surrounded by vicious strangers, bloodthirsty cannibals, these noblemen and rich merchants.

  Welcome to the nobility, Tavish Cameron. Hargrave’s words haunted him, and Tavish felt like a fool.

  Hargrave. Tavish had made the wrong choice in rounding up hands to remove the English lord from the feast before seeing that Glenna was out of harm’s way, thinking that Hargrave would surely raise objection. By the time Tavish had returned to the hall, Hargrave had her firmly ensnared in his web, filling her head with the lies that Tavish had hoped were naught but grandiose threats meant to bully Tavish into giving the man what he wanted. He had then departed easily, having already set in motion his dastardly plan for achieving his goal.

  Of which Tavish was as of yet unsure. Hargrave didn’t want Roscraig, and he’d been willing to forgive the bulk of the debt of the Tower’s taxes. He’d said he wanted revenge for the wrongs done to him, but how could that be achieved by stealing away with Glenna? She had no connection to Thomas Annesley—had never so much as heard the name when Tavish had arrived at Roscraig.

  How had Hargrave known such intimate details of the goings-on in the keep, and of Tavish’s younger years? Had Vaughn Hargrave been spying on him all this time, knowing who Tavish’s father was?

  But why? And how?

  He didn’t know the answers, but he did know that, no matter Glenna’s anger with him in the moment, and no matter the king’s decision in the days to come, Vaughn Hargrave was a danger to the beautiful woman whom Tavish had so taken for granted since he first stepped foot inside the Tower.

  And it was his duty to protect her, whether she wanted his protection or nae.

  Tavish strode through the crowd toward the doorway, feeling the inquisitive stares all but pushing him into the corridor. He bounded up the stone steps two at a time until he came to the uppermost level of the east tower. He paused before Iain Douglas’s door.

  My door.

  He wrapped his fingers around the handle, but then paused.

  No. Not his door. Iain Douglas’s door. The door behind which Glenna’s beloved father lay dying.

  Tavish released the handle and raised his fist, rapping swiftly. There was no sound from within, and Tavish’s concern rose.

  Hargrave could have lain in wait for her. Glenna could already be gone from Roscraig…

  Tavish pounded on the door in earnest now, shaking the very planks against the stone walls.

  “Glenna!” he barked.

  “Tav?” a voice called out hesitantly from the other side of the door.

  “Mam?” Tavish asked. “Is Glenna with you?”

  “Are you alone?” Harriet asked.

  “Aye, ’tis only me.”

  Tavish heard the scrape of the bolt and then the door creaked open a hand’s breadth. A slice of his mother’s face appeared in the opening, and she seemed to be wielding the same old sword that Glenna Douglas had threatened him with on the night of his arrival at Roscraig. The eye visible to him looked pointedly around the corridor before Harriet opened the door completely.

  “Aye, Lady Glenna’s within. What do you want with her?”

  Tavish tried to look around his mother. “I’ve come to escort her back to the hall, Mam.”

  “Ah-ah!” she said in warning and raised the tip of the sword. “Nae ye don’t. She’ll nae be coming back to your grand feast, Tavish Cameron.”

  “Mam, you don’t understand,” Tavish said, fighting to reign in his temper. “Glenna isn’t safe without me.”

  “Oh, I think I understand a mite more than you do, ye wee kipping brat,” Harriet said with a stern expression. “Ain’t none of us safe with the likes of Vaughn Hargrave about the Tower.”

  Tavish froze. “You know Vaughn Hargrave was here?”

  “I’m nae deaf, Tavish. As soon as I heard him announced in the hall, I came straight to the laird’s side.” Harriet at last lowered the sword that, until that moment, Tavish had been unconvinced she wouldn’t use on him.

  “Why would you come here?” Tavish asked, feeling reality growing stranger and stranger with each passing moment.

  Harriet Cameron opened the door even wider, and Tavish’s eyes searched the room. Glenna stood before her father’s bed, and her eyes were cold as they met his.

  Mam sighed and stepped away from the door. “You may as well come in then. It will save me breath not having to say it all twice.”

  Tavish walked past his mother, his eyes only for the beautiful woman who didn’t give him a chance to speak to her.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said. “This is my home, and I’ll do as I please.”

  “I have a hold full of guests, princess,” Tavish said. “I can’t be wandering the corridors after you all the night.”

  “Go back to them,” Glenna said, flinging her hand toward the door. “Lot of two-faced, greedy hypocrites. You deserve each other.”

  “Children,” Mam interrupted sharply. “That’s quite enough—you’ll disturb the laird with your bickering.”

  The scolding caused Tavish’s gaze to skitter reluctantly to the still figure on the bed. Iain Douglas appeared as though nothing could disturb him—his mouth gaped, the bony prominences of his throat reached for the ceiling. He was clearly dying.

  “Forgive me,” Tavish said in a low voice.

  Harriet arched a sparse brow. “That’s better. Now.” She turned to walk toward the window and indicated the armchair with a flick of her hand as she passed it. “Milady, if you’ll make yourself comfortable, Tav will mind the door for us.” She reached the stone sill and leaned against it, taking an obvious look at the ground far below. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she turned to face the room once more, settling her back against the wall along the window, closest to Iain Douglas’s side. She
looked at both Tavish and Glenna in turn before speaking again.

  “I saved Tommy Annesley’s life. Saint Brigid herself delivered him to me on her own feast night, and ’twas she who gave me the knowledge to heal him and the courage to keep him hidden in me da’s barn all those weeks without being caught.” She looked at Glenna, and her expression softened somewhat. “I know what Hargrave must have said to you, milady; that was Tommy killed his daughter. Cordelia, her name was. But he didna. He didna. He wouldna tell me exactly what happened—if even he knew, but he did tell me that Hargrave had a hand in it.”

  “Lord Hargrave killed his own daughter?” Glenna asked. “Did Thomas Annesley say how? Did he have proof?”

  Mam dropped her eyes to the floorboards for a moment. “He was just a boy,” she said softly, wistfully. “A beautiful boy—ten and eight. And I,”—she chuckled here—“I was even younger. He cried himself to sleep in my arms for his sweet Cordelia, and then would wake in a terror, screaming her name, sobbing ‘the blood, the blood.’” She covered her mouth with her hand for a moment, then looked up again, this time at Tavish. “He was scared. Scared that Vaughn Hargrave would somehow find him, even in the hinterland Scots haymow he was hiding in. I’ve never seen a person so afraid in all my days since.”

  “Perhaps he feared justice,” Tavish couldn’t help himself from positing.

  “His fear was that there would be nae justice,” Mam snapped. “Someone did come to the farm for him. A band of ruffians led by a woman, of all things.” She looked back to Glenna now. “A woman with blond hair and green eyes. I remember hearing them arrive at the cottage, and I crept to the top of the stairs to listen. They’d been to the village asking about Tommy and the horses, and someone told them my father had recently acquired such a pair as was runnin’ wild in our wood. When she mentioned the name Hargrave, I knew Tommy was in great danger.”

  “Why?” Glenna asked, her expression almost painfully intense; it seemed to Tavish that her features were carved from the finest alabaster.

  “The woman never said Tommy was wanted as a criminal. She referred to him as Hargrave’s own beloved son, whose return was sorely desired after a horrible row. A family spat, said she.