Seduction of a Highland Warrior (Highland Warriors Book 4)

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  When she turned back to Marjory, regret clouded her eyes. “Kendrew is speaking with several of his men. They’re in the solar that opens off of our bedchamber. And” – she reached to grip Marjory’s arm. “The talk is of Alasdair.”

  “Alasdair?” Marjory blinked. Her heart clutched. Fear chilled her blood that something might’ve happened to him on his return journey. “Has he been injured? The storm-”

  “Nae, nae, it’s nothing the like.” Isobel glanced over shoulder at the door. “I didn’t hear enough to know what was being said.”

  “If he’s not dead, it can’t be so bad.” Heat was beginning to flood Marjory’s face, her ears ringing so that her own voice seemed to come from a deep well. “Yet” – her palms were damping – “you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t awful.”

  “I don’t know that it is.” Isobel glanced down at Hercules, reached to tug her hem from his teeth. That accomplished, she turned another worried look on Marjory. “But I think you should come with me to listen. There’s a crack in the solar door. If we’re quiet and press our ears to the wood, we should be able to hear what they’re saying.

  “Kendrew sounded very pleased.” Isobel released Marjory’ arm and pushed back her hair. “He never speaks of Alasdair in jovial tones. That’s why I’m concerned.”

  “As am I!” Marjory threw aside the drying cloth and yanked on her night robe. She trembled, her fingers shaking so badly she could hardly tie the robe’s belt. Of a sudden, it was chilly in the room, freezing nearly.

  But the cold came from inside her.

  It also felt ominously like the chill she’d experienced in the Thunder Caves.

  Not wanting to make the connection, she bent to snatch Hercules just as he made to nip Isobel’s hem again. Her pulse racing, she placed him on the cushion before the brazier and gave him a warning look to stay there.

  His sharp yipping was the last thing she needed if she and Isobel were to sneak down the corridor, into her brother’s privy chamber, and listen at his solar door. If he caught them, there’d be hell to pay.

  Hercules peered up her, looking as if he’d relish the excitement.

  The little dog loved nothing more than annoying Kendrew.

  “You must stay here and be still. I will return soon.” Marjory reached down to pet him and then hurried after Isobel into the night-darkened passage.

  “I caught only bits.” Isobel took her hand as they hastened through the gloom. “The door was closed and the wind howls louder on our side of the tower. But” – she hesitated, biting her lip before rushing on – “I think you should know before we get to the solar. I fear Hella was mistaken. Worse, I suspect Alasdair might’ve kept something very important from you when you were with him in the Thunder Cave.”

  Marjory froze. “What are you saying?”

  “Come, let us hope I am wrong.” Isobel tugged on Marjory’s hand, hurrying her. “We need to get there before the men go down to the hall.”

  “Nae.” Marjory dug in her heels. “Tell me what you know.”

  “I know nothing, dear heart.” Isobel sounded as if she knew lots. Terrible things that knotted Marjory’s stomach and made her knees quiver. “But…” She pulled on Marjory’s arm again, urging her along the passage. “From what I did hear, Alasdair must’ve agreed to marry the Mackinnon’s daughter, Lady Coira.”

  “What?” Marjory’s eyes flew wide, heart nearly stopping. Icy shock raced through her veins. “That can’t be so.”

  If it was, she couldn’t bear it.

  No, it wasn’t possible.

  She wouldn’t believe it.

  “I’m only guessing.” Isobel shot a glance at her. “I could be wrong.”

  “You have to be.” Marjory pressed a hand to her breast, hurrying. They were almost on the other side of the tower. Kendrew and Isobel’s quarters loomed just ahead, the door ajar.

  “Let’s hope so. I know it would be a blow. I was stunned myself.” Isobel stopped outside her bedchamber door, pushing gently and then wincing when the hinges creaked. “Sssh…” She ushered Marjory into the darkened room and over to the closed solar door. “Put your ear here.” She spoke softly, touched a barely visible crack with the tip of her finger. “You will hear them.”

  Marjory didn’t move. “Was Lady Coira mentioned by name?”

  “Nae.” Isobel shook her head. “The talk was of a ‘marriage agreement that, once and for all, would keep Alasdair at Blackshore.’ It sounded like an arranged union, already settled upon.

  “Who else could they mean but Coira Mackinnon?” Isobel lowered her voice even more, clearly unhappy to be the bearer of such ill tidings. “We know her father has been after Alasdair to agree to the match.”

  “He’d have told me.” Marjory was sure.

  She also knew everything he had said to her.

  She’d trusted him.

  Even now.

  But she couldn’t resist pressing her ear to the crack in her brother’s solar door. She wished at once that she hadn’t. Her brother’s deep voice was unmistakable. She wasn’t quite sure who was in the room with him. Several men, to be sure, just as Isobel had warned. Their words were indistinct, but their tone couldn’t be mistaken.

  They were mightily pleased about something.

  And she did hear the words ‘marriage agreement’ and talk of a ‘large settlement of coin and land.’ Most disturbing of all were the two names repeated again and again.

  Alasdair and Blackshore.

  Marjory’s world turned dark, all the light and air rushing out of it, leaving her a shell. Distantly amazed she was still standing, that her legs hadn’t given out on her, she pressed her forehead against the door’s cold, uncaring wood and closed her eyes.

  If what she heard was true, she wanted to die.

  She couldn’t live without Alasdair.

  Not now, not after all that had transpired at the Thunder Caves.

  She felt Isobel slip an arm around her waist, gently guiding her from the door and out of the room, back into the chill dimness of the corridor. Quietly, her friend closed the door behind them, already guiding Marjory back through the night, toward her own bedchamber.

  “Now you see why I came for you.” Marjory glanced at her as they rounded the first curve in the passage. Her pretty face wore a world of regret. “You had to know, my dear. I am so sorry.”

  Marjory couldn’t speak.

  Something had happened to her tongue. It’d vanished, perhaps chased away by the hot, burning thickness rising in her throat.

  She blinked hard, refusing to dash at the stinging heat blurring her vision. She hated tears and wouldn’t acknowledge them. She did keep walking, sheer will alone helping her put one foot in front of the other. She breathed in the same manner, though she’d also swear she wasn’t breathing. She felt as if all the life had been sucked out of her. But deep inside her, a steely thread of hope wouldn’t die. Clinging to that hope, she forced herself to think hard, searching for a reason to disbelieve.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” she spoke at last, the words coming as they reached her bedchamber and Isobel hastened her inside. “He would’ve told me. I saw him only hours ago. We laid together in the Thunder Cave, on the bear- and wolfskins. It was beautiful, I told you-”

  “My dear…” Isobel hugged her, the look on her face dashing Marjory’s hope. “He knows you care for him, Norn. He didn’t want to hurt you. We know he desires you.” She released Marjory, stepped back. “He’s always done so. If he is to wed Lady Coira, the arrangement will not have changed his feelings for you. I’m guessing his need for you overrode-”

  “Pah!” Marjory’s anger flared. “If this is true, how could he think I’d not find out? The Glen of Many Legends isn’t so vast that-”

  She broke off, brushed back her hair with both hands. Another thought came to her, sparking her suspicion. “How would Kendrew know this?”

  Isobel shrugged, looking unhappy. “From what I gathered when Grim and I returned earlier, two w
ayfarers called at Nought while we were at Hella’s.” Leaving Marjory, she went to the table to pour them each a cup of night ale. “I didn’t hear if they were passing pilgrims or just travelers, but” – she returned to Marjory, pressing one of the cups into her hand – “the men must’ve brought the word.”

  Marjory lifted the ale cup, taking a long, fortifying sip. “I see.”

  She truly did.

  Passing wayfarers always carried news through the Highlands.

  They made the best couriers.

  And as they usually held no ties to a particular clan, their word was accepted as truth.

  Such men had no reason to lie.

  “Did Kendrew say anything about the wayfarers’ tidings?” Marjory was starting to hear a rushing noise in her ears again. “I know you’ll have asked him.”

  She would’ve done.

  Such men often brought the only entertainment into remote holdings such as Nought. Welcome guests, they were plied with food and ale in return for sharing tales and gossip. Their news a reason no laird ever turned them away.

  “I did ask, yes.” Isobel finished her ale, returned the cup to the table.

  Marjory waited, the roaring between her ears almost deafening.

  It worsened when Isobel went to stand before the closed window shutters, her entire stance revealing her reluctance to talk.

  “Kendrew wouldn’t speak of the men.” She turned to face Marjory. “He said their news was so pleasing he wanted to savor it through his sleep. And” – she hesitated, the pause making Marjory wish she hadn’t asked – “he said he wanted to tell you himself in the morning.”

  “So it does involve me.” Marjory slowly shook her head, wishing she could undo all that had transpired that day - and the last two years since Alasdair had first crossed her path.

  “I believe so.” Isobel’s words confirmed Marjory’s worst dread. “And as we know Kendrew and his men were speaking of Alasdair and a marriage agreement…” She didn’t finish, pressed the backs of her hands to her eyes as if to stem tears of her own.

  “Then I will be the one to break our pact.” Marjory reached down and scooped Hercules into her arms, needing his soft warm weight to comfort her. “There will be no third wedding between the clans.”

  “You needn’t marry Alasdair to fulfill our oath, Norn.” Isobel came over to her, stroked back her hair. “There are other fine MacDonalds and even Camerons who would make good and worthy husbands.”

  Marjory scarce heard her, for the buzzing in her ears had reached a fever pitch. Her ambers were also blazing. The stones burned her skin as if each one had been set afire and was scorching her.

  That pain, too, she hardly noticed.

  Of course, they’d warn her that her heart was breaking.

  Was there any greater tragedy?

  She didn’t think so.

  And she didn’t care if another MacDonald or Cameron would step in and take her hand. Such a union might honor the vow she, Isobel, and Catriona had made on the evening of the trial by combat two years before, but it wouldn’t soothe the ache in her heart.

  A hollowing she’d suffer until she drew her last breath.

  Only Alasdair could save her from such sorrow.

  And that wasn’t likely to happen because if she and Isobel were guessing rightly, Alasdair would soon be wed to Lady Coira Mackinnon.

  Marjory stood straighter, lifting her chin as she pretended a vise wasn’t clamped around her chest, crushing the life from her, squeezing her heart.

  “You must get back to your bedchamber.” She took Isobel by the arm, leading her to the door. “If Kendrew doesn’t go down to the hall with his men, he’ll wonder where you are.”

  “I’ll handle him.” Isobel broke free, turning to face her just as Marjory maneuvered her into the passage. “I don’t like leaving you.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Marjory lied, forcing a smile. “A warrior forewarned is a warrior prepared.”

  “You’re a woman, not a warrior.”

  “I’m feeling strengths I never knew I had.” That wasn’t true, but Marjory meant to make it so.

  Isobel didn’t look convinced. “The morrow will be difficult.”

  “That I know.”

  “Kendrew will make a grand flourish, announcing Alasdair’s betrothal with relish. He’ll-”

  “He’ll not get the better of me.” Marjory wished she felt as confident as her words.

  In truth, she dreaded facing her brother in the morning.

  Worse than that, she hated the weakness that made her lean against the closed door and listen to her friend’s footsteps disappearing down the corridor. Isobel was returning to a bed warm and beckoning, soon to be occupied by the man she loved. A husband and lover who eagerly awaited her.

  Marjory would never know such a pleasure.

  If she couldn’t have Alasdair, she wanted no man.

  Her heart was already shrinking. She felt ill, cold, and crushingly disappointed. She was also angry, her entire body so tense she feared she’d break if she pushed away from the door. She did fist her hands, pressing them hard to her chest as she forced herself to breathe.

  To think.

  It was possible she and Isobel misinterpreted what they’d heard.

  Lady Coira’s name hadn’t been mentioned. They’d only caught talk of ‘a marriage agreement that would keep Alasdair from champing at Nought’s door.’

  Perhaps one of Alasdair’s men was marrying? A grand ceremony that would cost time and preparation and keep him occupied as clan chieftain?

  Such an event would be something he probably wouldn’t have mentioned to her at the Thunder Caves. Not as occupied as they were with their own passion.

  A glimmer of hope flickered in Marjory’s breast.

  She swallowed hard. “Aye, that will be the way of it.” She looked down at Hercules who peered up her, worryingly. “A clan matter requiring his attention.”

  Hercules leaned into her, pressing his head against her knee as if he knew that wasn’t so and wished to comfort her. She reached down to pet him, her eyes stinging when he licked her fingers.

  He knew her so well.

  She did need comforting.

  On the morrow she’d be strong.

  No matter what came at her, she would meet Kendrew’s proclamation with a straight back and squared shoulders, a calm mien, or even a smile.

  It was the only thing she could do if his tidings proved as grave as she feared…

  That something had happened that would keep Alasdair so near to her, yet forever out of her reach.

  Chapter 17

  Early the next morning, Alasdair stood at one of the tall window arches in his painted solar and looked out on Loch Moidart. He took a deep breath of the chill, clean air, keenly aware that his days of standing at this particular window could well be numbered. Indeed, he was sure they were. And it split his heart to think of leaving Blackshore. He couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

  The very notion was unthinkable.

  Yet…

  Life without Marjory would pain him more.

  He clenched his jaw, ignoring the ache inside him, thinking only of her. He held a ribbon in his hand, a fine length of silk the same clear, dazzling blue of the sky. A deeper blue, the loch shone like polished glass, colored spears of light dancing across its surface. The storms of the night were gone, the morn glorious. He’d almost believe the gods were mocking him, taunting him with the blue of Marjory’s eyes everywhere he turned his gaze.

  Or letting him know they were aware he’d kept her ribbon after finding it in the birchwood. And like a wee laddie caught doing something he shouldn’t have, his punishment wasn’t a rap on the knuckles but a fresh-laundered blue day that could only remind him of her.

  How sweetly she’d lain in his arms in her Thunder Cave. The bliss they’d shared and the promises he’d made her. Vows he had every intention of keeping.

  He did love her.

  So much that it hurt him i
nside.

  Enough that he’d turn his back on everything he held most dear to have her.

  He just needed to clear his head. To find the words to declare himself to his council, the clan who depended on him. Men, women, and children who would reel when he told them he was walking away. That chances were good he’d never again set foot in his beloved Glen of Many Legends.

  He wound the ribbon through his fingers, clutching its silken softness against his palm. Only hours ago, he’d linked his hand with Marjory’s, lifting her arm above her head as he’d loved her. She’d undone him, looking so abandoned and pleasured, the passion blazing in her eyes. Her joy, her trust, had made his heart soar. He wanted to see that exultation on her face always, every day of their lives.

  He just wished their happiness wouldn’t bring sorrow to others.

  Leaning harder against the broad window ledge, he looked out across the loch, knowing he’d miss Blackshore fiercely. As if to tempt him into staying, his land was showing its best face. Not a thread of mist marred the day’s brilliance. Nary a cloud graced the horizon, poised to soften the dazzling blue sky. Even the hills rose in startling clarity against the fine, bright dawn. A brisk wind rippled the loch and the air was clean and crisp.

  It was a day he knew Marjory would love.

  Blackshore at its finest, dressed to impress a lady.

  And so different from the night before when he’d returned from Nought to find great curtains of rain sweeping in from the sea, bringing the sharp tang of salt, fish, and seaweed. Now, even the stone of the causeway sparkled as if a giant’s hand had cast diamonds along its length, clear to the opposite shore.

  Alasdair rubbed his thumb along his jaw, not taking his gaze off the view before him.

  He knew better.

  He wasn’t alone in the painted solar.

  If he turned to face the room, he’d see his great-uncle, Malcolm, sitting so straight-backed on his stool. An early riser, the graybeard had been in the solar when Alasdair arrived, already having claimed his favorite seat and busily carving little wooden animals for the two small sons of one of the kitchen lasses.