Jacqueline’s heart warmed at his determination to treat her fairly, but she was not prepared to cede to him. “Aye? But I have made a choice and you would deny it to me. It seems to me that you offer only the choice of the choices you have already made, which is not so different in the end.”
He muttered something beneath his breath, then impaled her with a glance. “Why? Why would you see Airdfinnan?”
Because he loved it.
Jacqueline bit back the confusing assertion that rose to her lips, then shrugged. “Because I am curious. Is that not said to be the curse of women?”
“’Tis indeed, if one listens overmuch to Rodney.” He surveyed her, then shook his head in turn. “You are determined in this?”
Jacqueline nodded, realizing that she truly was.
He slapped his gloves against his palm, granting her a smoldering glance that nigh melted her bones. “Then I shall take you there, but be warned that whatsoever comes of this will be as much your responsibility as mine.”
“But what could come of this?” she asked, her voice rising higher than she might have preferred.
Angus stepped closer and caught her chin in his grip, the smooth leather of his glove beneath her chin. “Anything, vixen, anything at all. Airdfinnan has been known to stir unruly passion within men who desire it. I do not count myself immune to worldly temptation.”
He claimed her lips with his in a possessive kiss. His tongue slid between her teeth, his hand slipped into her hair, and it seemed she hung boneless from his grip. She was helpless to pull away and had no desire to do so.
An eternity of pleasure later, Angus lifted his head. He waited until her eyes opened, then rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip in a rough caress that left her trembling.
He smiled down at her, once again the lawless rogue, then turned to saddle his steed.
And ’twas only when he ceased to touch her that Jacqueline wondered whether those unruly desires were roused by his family estate or by her.
She remembered suddenly her mother’s insistence that she not depart immediately for the convent. Her mother was right, yet again.
A man of honor was worth both the wait and the challenge.
Chapter 11
Rodney arrived at Ceinn-beithe at midday on the day after leaving the witch’s forest glade.
Indeed, he had planned as much, for he knew that all would be gathered for the midday meal. And he wanted the largest audience he might have. ’Twould ensure that the chieftain could not pretend that he had never received the missive—an old ploy, which was taken as justification for retaliation in many a feud—and also would see to Rodney’s own safety. Few chieftains were so assured of the alliance of every man in their hall that they would attack a messenger before them.
In a smaller conference, however, ’twas not uncommon for a chieftain to have only his most trusted men present. Then any deed might occur and any tale might be told of what few had witnessed.
Midday suited Rodney better.
He had not known what to expect of Ceinn-beithe, for these lands were not familiar to him. Angus had told him of the legendary great standing stone upon the site, though Angus had never visited Ceinn-beithe either. Rodney reined in his steed at the apex of the path, startled by the stunning sight spread before his eyes.
The location of Ceinn-beithe was magnificent. The sea surrounded the jut of land on three sides, sparkling in sunlight even while it held distant islands in its embrace. Out there, Rodney knew, lay the hall of the King of the Isles himself.
A commanding site and one that would be readily defended, Ceinn-beithe was a carefully chosen point, of the same sound scheme of strategic defense as Airdfinnan. ’Twas Ceinn-beithe before him, of that Rodney had no doubt, for the standing stone was there, beyond the village palisades, as was the broch Angus had mentioned on the lip of the point itself. The broch was in surprisingly good condition for its age. Apparently, the resident chieftain had seen to its repair.
Just as that man had created a prospering village. Angus had said naught of such a settlement, though he and Rodney both had anticipated a hall of some sort. This far surpassed such a simple dwelling and put Rodney in mind of walled villages they had passed on the continent.
This one was wrought primarily of wood. The mud walls were capped with wooden palisades, those walls encircling both a large hall and a variety of smaller dwellings. Smoke curled into the sky from a dozen fires, and the scent of burning peat tinged Rodney’s nostrils. Fields were tilled beyond those walls, both sheep and goats grazing in enclosures. The gates to the village were closed.
Wary of what might greet him, Rodney continued onward. He had ridden past the place where they had captured the woman, and there had been no sign of her guards between there and here. Rodney had to believe they had managed to return and share the news of their charge’s fate.
Unless they had fled into the hills rather than face the wrath of their chieftain. ’Twas impossible to be certain without knowing the man himself, whether he be Cormac or Duncan.
A cock crowed as Rodney drew near the gates and dogs barked within the walls. If not for the closed palisade, he might have happened upon a pastoral village with complete surety of its borders being well defended and its peace being maintained.
He was considering how best to announce his presence, when one gate opened slightly. Chickens spilled through the gap, followed by hounds and inquisitive boys who were probably supposed to tend them all. They looked well fed as well as mischievous, and Rodney was delighted to note another sign of Ceinn-beithe’s prosperity.
This chieftain, whatever his name, could afford to relinquish distant Airdfinnan, even though Airdfinnan was a rich prize.
A man shouted from inside and the boys, unaware of Rodney, hooted in playful defiance. ’Twas clear that one tall fair lad was the leader of them. A heavyset man stepped through the gates. Rodney halted his horse, recognizing the man even at a distance and smiling in anticipation of the moment he looked up.
“Hoy! I left you to mind the gate while I had my meal!” The man wiped his mouth and scowled at the boy. “You pledged to remain within, as Duncan decreed. ’Tis not the time for frivolity, for the hills are rife with brigands.”
The boys scoffed and mimicked the sentry.
“I should like to meet these brigands,” the tall boy declared. “I should make them give back Jacqueline.”
The sentry reddened, clearly interpreting this as an accusation, but Rodney quickly spoke up.
“And here is just that opportunity,” he said smoothly. Man and boys pivoted to stare at him, and he smiled. “’Tis oft said that one should be wary of what one asks to be given, lest one receive it in truth.”
The sentry shook his fist and strode closer. “I should see you dead for how you shamed me! I should see you sorely injured for the loss of our Jacqueline!”
“Perhaps.” Rodney enjoyed the advantage of his height. “If you could.” He clicked his teeth to the horse, which strolled forward. The boys fell back, their eyes wide, though the sentry did not step aside.
“I am charged with keeping all foreigners from passing these gates.”
Rodney shrugged. “In your place, I would be more anxious to know the terms governing the maiden’s release.” He met the man’s gaze. “I could leave and you would never know her fate. What then would your chieftain say—if you had not only failed to protect his child, but lost the sole opportunity to regain her?”
The man swore. “Surrender your weapons first! You shall not pass this way armed.”
’Twas not unreasonable, and truly Rodney had no need of a blade to best this man. He had learned how to fight with his hands and his feet if need be. Rodney pulled his dagger from its scabbard, but presented it to the tall boy instead of the sentry.
The guard inhaled sharply.
“’Tis irresponsible,” Rodney declared, “to entrust a weapon to one who knows not how to use it.” He looked the boy in the eye. “You will pledge to
me that you will not use mine own blade against me, and further that you will return it to me on my departure.”
“We need make no such guarantee,” the sentry huffed.
But the boy’s eyes were filled with awe. “Aye, sir.” He accepted the blade and held it with a care akin to reverence. The other boys clustered closer to him, impressed by his responsibility. One stretched out a cautious finger to touch the blade. Rodney scowled and said but one sharp word and they all stepped back.
He smiled. ‘Take me to your chieftain, lad, and I shall also entrust you with the custody of my horse. I come with ransom terms, and the sooner they are heard, the sooner this may all be resolved.”
’Twas all the temptation the boy needed. Indeed, his feet might have been winged, so great was his enthusiasm.
The sentry roared in protest, but Rodney and the boy quickly left him behind.
Eglantine was startled when a man rode a prancing horse directly into Ceinn-beithe’s hall. She stared in astonishment as the man smiled and continued cockily to the middle of the hall.
“What madness is this?” Duncan, beside her, was on his feet in a moment, his blade drawn.
His men quickly followed suit, the assembly bristling with knives. Esmeraude regarded the guest with mingled awe and admiration, yet another signal to a protective mother that this daughter should be wed sooner rather than later.
Which made her think again of Jacqueline and the dreadful word that had come of her fate. She drummed her fingers and eyed the man before her, guessing that he brought yet more news.
The sight of him did naught to ease her fears. Eglantine judged him to be a mercenary by the rough utility of his garb and a Norman by the cut of his beard. She had not seen a beard trimmed to so meticulous a point, nor so carefully shaved to be no wider than his lip, not since she left France’s shores—and there ’twas only the Normans who had such fondness for the style.
This man was as bald as an egg, though he moved with a certainty that revealed his affection for holding every eye. And hold it he did, as he dismounted and cast his reins to one of the boys who usually tended the sheep.
Fortunately, the steed was too well trained to move so much as one hoof once his master left the saddle. Eglantine could not imagine that this shepherd boy would have any idea how to keep such a horse from doing whatsoever it desired.
Despite herself, she admired the man’s taste in horseflesh. ’Twas a fine chestnut stallion he rode, and one well tended. The beast tossed its head in a small show of temper.
She considered the swaggering mercenary and decided the steed had been stolen.
“Name yourself,” Duncan roared. “And explain your mockery of my hall.”
The man made no haste to respond. He surveyed the assembly, as if amused by their weapons and aggressive stances. Then he scanned the hall itself as if ’twas so backward that he had never seen the like.
His mocking gaze finally fell upon Duncan. “I seek Cormac MacQuarrie, chieftain of Clan MacQuarrie.”
“He is dead and I am chieftain by his command.”
“And who are you?”
“I am Duncan MacLaren. I at least have no fear of giving my name to a stranger.”
The man smiled. “I am Rodney of Dunsyre and I have no fear of speaking the truth when I know the company I share. ’Tis a caution, no doubt, born of experience in lands where a man would not be so bold as to leave his gate unguarded.”
Duncan’s eyes narrowed and Eglantine knew that Malcolm had made his second and perhaps his last mistake in Ceinn-beithe.
Malcolm himself appeared in the portal, out of breath, then hastened through the hall. “I tried to halt him, Duncan, I did, but he refused to heed me.”
“Aye, I could not hear your command, seeing as you were at the board inside a hut,” this Rodney replied sourly. “In my experience, a gatekeeper keeps his place by the gate.” He bowed mockingly to Duncan. “You must forgive my unfamiliarity with your quaint custom.”
Duncan’s features might have been wrought of stone. “Why are you here, Rodney of Dunsyre?”
“He is here to command a ransom for Jacqueline!” Malcolm cried. “This is the man who so humiliated us. This is the man who should pay a penance for the insult to your family, Duncan.”
“This is the man, Malcolm, who knows the fate of Jacqueline,” Duncan snapped.
Malcolm colored and cast a baleful look at the visitor.
That man smiled. “I do so prefer clever men. Their presence makes matters much simpler.” He spared a telling glance at Malcolm, then looked around himself in apparent amazement. “Is there not a bench in your hall for a guest? For shame, Duncan MacLaren—one hears so much of Gael hospitality and yet, in the truth of it, I find something lacking.”
“We are not accustomed to hosting brigands and thieves.”
Rodney eyed him coolly. “What of those seeking justice?”
Duncan lowered his blade warily. “Justice for what?”
“For the murder of two innocent men and the return of a holding that was never yours to claim.”
By the expression on her spouse’s face, Eglantine knew he did not understand what this man meant. Fear lit her heart, for she doubted that this Rodney could easily be persuaded that he was wrong.
Which could be most dire for her Jacqueline.
“Where is my daughter?” she demanded, hating how high her voice rose in her fear. “What have you done with Jacqueline?”
“She is well enough, whoever you might be.”
“I am her mother, Eglantine de Crevy.” She glared at him.
“Then know that she is safe, if only for the moment.”
“What estate and what murders?” Duncan asked impatiently. “And what have they to do with Jacqueline?”
“Do not mock me, Duncan MacLaren. We both know that Cormac MacQuarrie swore to possess a certain keep for his own, regardless of what the price might be.”
Duncan blinked, clearly knowing no such thing. He had no chance to speak, though, for Iain, Cormac’s own son, intervened. “Aye, there was a time when he would have done anything to hold Airdfinnan as his own.”
“Aye!” their visitor replied. “And who might this be?”
“Iain MacCormac,” the fair man supplied. “My father believed that he had been cheated by the King of the Isles, that Airdfinnan should have been granted to him.”
“And what did he do about it?” Rodney asked smoothly, his manner that of a man who knew the answer to his own question.
Iain shrugged. “Naught. He had not the time. Duncan came shortly thereafter. My father argued with another chieftain, for he was wont to be quarrelsome. Then Mhairi died on the day of her nuptials and not much later, my father himself died. Like so many of his hot words, naught ever came of his oath.”
“You lie!” Rodney cried, stepping forward to shake his fist. “A family is dead. ’Twas the fault of Cormac MacQuarrie, and now the blood son of Airdfinnan would have his due.”
“My men who guarded Jacqueline said that you were two,” Duncan said. “And that your companion was garbed as a knight.”
Eglantine feared the arrival of another like the rogue knight Jacqueline had already known, and her heart pounded anew in fear for her child.
“He is a knight in truth!” Rodney snapped. “I saw him train and win his spurs with my own eyes. I have served with him and know the merit of his valor and his skill.”
“And that he claimed his name was Angus MacGillivray.”
“ Tis no claim. ’Tis his name, for all the woe it has brought him.”
A murmur rolled through the assembly and Eglantine frowned. “Why does this trouble so many in this hall? Who is Angus MacGillivray and where is Airdfinnan and why are either our concern?” She stood up and flung out her hands. “What about my daughter?”
“Angus MacGillivray has long been said to be dead,” Duncan said quietly, his gaze fixed upon Rodney.
“Fergus MacGillivray was the chieftain entrusted with gu
ardianship of Airdfinnan,” Iain supplied, “which was held by the King of the Isles and considered to be key to the defense of the West. He had two sons, the eldest of which fell ill when he stood on the verge of manhood. Angus, the younger, departed on crusade to win his brother’s salvation and was never heard of again.”
“And both father and brother died shortly thereafter,” Duncan told her, “leaving Airdfinnan in the trusteeship of the local monastery that Fergus had seen founded and well endowed.”
Eglantine shook her head in confusion. “But what has this to do with Jacqueline?”
“It has more to do with your spouse, my lady, and the bloodthirsty clan into which you foolishly chose to wed,” Rodney said with determination. “For Angus is not dead, and he has returned. He knows that his father and brother were murdered, and this by the dictate of Cormac MacQuarrie. He knows that Clan MacQuarrie is the true holder of Airdfinnan, though its men hide behind the mask of the monks who perform their will.”
“Why would anyone do as much?” Duncan asked, his tone dripping with skepticism.
“To avoid intervention by the King of the Isles, of course. ’Twas he who granted it to Fergus, after all. But that king will not attack a monastery to reclaim the holding, especially if the monks insist they hold the estate in trust for its legal heir. On the other hand, if Clan MacQuarrie were to make an overt claim upon the property, ’twould be short-lived, from what I know of this king.”
“Nonsense!” Duncan sheathed his blade. “I know naught of such a scheme.”
“Nor do I,” Iain claimed.
“And if such a plot ever existed, then I had no part in it then and have no influence in its outcome now.”
“You lie!” Rodney shouted.
Duncan opened his mouth to argue the matter, his hand falling to his hilt again. The mercenary reached for his own blade, but Eglantine placed a hand on her husband’s arm. She rose and addressed Rodney. “If the monks hold the estate in trust for Angus MacGillivray, why does he not petition them for its release?”
Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances Page 111