Adanel glared at him, all the anger and hurt she felt pouring out of the dark depths of her eyes. She gritted her teeth and ground out, “I cannot believe that I waited for months for you to come find and save me! And what is worse, even if you had known that my father had locked me away, you would have done nothing because it was you who deceived me. You are not the man I thought you were.”
Dugan’s heart was pounding. Adanel was twisting events to her favor. He had spent the past winter in more agony than he had ever experienced. Even Leith’s betrayal had not wounded him so deeply. And nothing Adanel just said could remove any of the pain she had caused. He had become dependent on it. Needed it to feed his anger. And yet, hearing Adanel say that what occurred between them had not been all a farce soothed a piece of his fractured soul that he had thought to be broken forever.
Summoning what he had left of his control, Dugan stilled his rampant thoughts and willed his heartbeat to a slow and even tempo. He focused on the most incredible portion of her outburst—her claim to have fallen in love with him.
Adanel let go a frustrated growl. “All that and you have nothing to say.” Through gritted teeth she continued. “You are just determined to think the worst of me, to bend everything into the most evil, most vile way it can be viewed, and examine me through that lens. Go ahead because whatever I felt for you died and like everything else connected with us, it was a long, painful death.”
The air vibrated with tension as emotions warred within Dugan’s body. The very moment he started to let his guard down, to believe that just maybe Adanel had not been playing him false, she had found a way to rip him anew. Never again. The tatters of his own heart proved that love did not die so quickly or because one willed it to. “By your tale, you fell quick enough for me,” he stated in a clipped, icy tone. “I have little doubt that you will just as quickly fall for that mooncalf MacCoinnich you’ve ensnared.”
Adanel’s back straightened, and her features grew taut with a level of anger she had not known she could feel. “I just hope he’s honorable and understands that love is not about lust, but faith and trust. Neither of which you felt for me.” Not giving him time to rebut her assertion, she added, “Then again, I should not despair. With my brother dead and father soon to join him, I’ll be free for the first time in my life. Free to meet someone and be openly happy without any fear. Who knows? Maybe my soul mate resides with the McTiernays and I am but a day away from meeting him.”
Dugan felt the blow as if her words had formed actual fists. He dismissed the nagging thought that he was the reason Adanel was making such threats. That he had pushed her to this point and could blame no one but himself. But Dugan also knew what she said was a very real possibility. Now that all but one of the McTiernays were happily married, their guards were hoping to find success with women. Loman was definitely on the prowl and so was Donnan and Sean. One look at Adanel and any number of Conor, Cole, or even Hamish’s men would seek her out.
The image of her with another man was too much, and Dugan lashed out. “You’re a Mackbaythe. Do you really think another man would look in your direction, let alone speak to you, all while you are pregnant with my son?”
Adanel’s eyes flashed with a sudden shower of angry sparks. She began to unlace the belt to her bliaut and, with a look of defiance, she reached up inside her gown. With two strong tugs, she pulled out a large pillow and threw it at him. “There’s your son. Now I am truly free. Free of torture, pain, loss, and of ever having to deal with you again!”
* * *
“Aye, that went really well,” Faden said sarcastically as he watched Adanel and Dugan silently urge their horses ahead.
“I told you they should talk only after he had calmed down,” added Garrett once they were no longer in earshot.
Brùid used his thumb to gesture to Nigel. “But according to him, they are good for one another.”
Nigel glared at Brùid. “At least they were talking.”
“The only good thing that came out of that discussion is Dugan finally knowing the truth about that damn pillow,” Brùid mumbled.
“Aye,” Nigel agreed. “I told her that it took more than bigger pillows over time to pull off being pregnant.”
Faden, Tybalt, and Garrett glared at both the guards. “And just when were you going to tell us?” Tybalt growled.
Faden leaned over to punch Nigel in the jaw, who leaned out of reach just in the nick of time, causing him to miss. “I damn near panicked the entire ride yesterday that at any moment Adanel would stop and go into labor!”
Nigel winced out of guilt and then, unable to help himself, began to laugh. “I’m sorry!” he yelped as Faden lunged for him again. He quickly clamored up on his horse, and just before he gave his mount a kick, he let go one more cackle. “But you have to admit the idea of big boy here playing midwife is hysterical.”
And with another hoot, he rode out of sight leaving a large, bald giant red and fuming.
Chapter Eight
Adanel sat with her back straight and chin up, and slowly returned the stare of each laird scattered around the throng packing the McTiernay great hall.
A team of a dozen McTiernay and allied soldiers had caught up with Dugan less than a day’s ride out and escorted all of them to McTiernay Castle where their small group was quickly disbanded. The only thing Dugan had said or done was issue orders that none of them were to be physically harmed.
She had been led to a small but comfortable room in one of the towers and locked inside. For three days, she had been sequestered there with only a deep ravine as a view. The handful of souls she had seen were the servants who periodically stopped by just long enough to give her food and drink, and empty her chamber pot. Few spoke directly to her though all said volumes with their eyes. They did not trust her, and she could not blame them. Her father had killed their beloved laird, and war was nearly upon them because of her family.
Then without warning, a bath, or even her bag to change her clothes, she was ordered to appear in the great hall and answer questions. Adanel had expected to meet with Dugan as well as most of the McTiernay brothers, including the infamous Conan who had unknowingly made her life a living hell. What actually greeted her had her staggering backward. The room was filled when angry men, and they were not just wearing McTiernay plaids. Conor McTiernay did not have a handful of associations with nearby clans as her father did. The man had allies—a plethora of them—and she had become the object of their hate.
Adanel closed her eyes and reopened them. Needing to block out all the not-so-quiet whispers aimed in her direction, she focused on the room itself. The hall was much larger than she imagined it would be and far grander than that of her father’s. The rush-covered floor was made of timber, and the V-shaped ceiling had been made even more elaborate with the addition of stone vault ribs. Across from her, against the east wall, was a massive canopied fireplace, and located in front of it was the high table where five of the McTiernay brothers sat along with their closest allies and commanders. Included among them was Dugan. They along with dozens of other lairds and their commanders filled the hall, each glowering at her, waiting for her to whither under their questions and stares.
Behind her was a wooden partition that screened the service area, which by the scent coming through, connected directly to the kitchens. To her right were large doors next to a series of arched windows that faced the courtyard, where she could see a huge crowd had gathered to stare at the proceedings. They had been there for hours, watching and waiting. But for what? Her to break down? Her to be sentenced to death? Adanel no longer knew.
To her left, on the north wall, was a large window that let in the sun. During feasts and parties, with the decorated walls of weaponry and tapestries, the great hall would have had a warm, inviting feel. Right now, it felt more like a dungeon, cold and decidedly unfriendly.
When the questioning had started, her goal had been to be completely open and honest about everything she knew. Now, A
danel was hungry, tired, and no longer felt like cooperating with anyone. She was beginning to think that the McTiernays were no different than her father. They took delight in being cruel and lacked compassion.
“I am done repeating myself.” Startled, the man she had interrupted just stood there with his mouth open. “You obviously are not interested in what I have to say, do not believe it, or simply are too dense to understand the truth when you hear it,” Adanel stated with an unapologetic sneer, finally letting her frustration come out.
“Watch your tongue,” came a dark warning on her left.
“Why?” Adanel challenged, swiveling her head to meet the glare with one of her own. “Are you waiting for me to say something different? To state a new piece of information that will implicate me in some dastardly plan that will enable you to kill me and wipe out my clan without the guilt of knowing you’ll be killing innocents? I cannot provide that. My father deserves to endure the pain of multiple deaths and so do a small number of his loyal men. My guards and my people, however, are not to be blamed for his actions. But after hours of sitting here and answering your questions I can see you McTiernays are all alike. You leap to the worst conclusions when others could have been just as easily made.” She stared at Dugan, who had sat in silence the entire time of her interrogation.
Adanel found it sickening that people who did not know her, never met her, who never even held a conversation with her could leap to the vilest presumptions of her character. Armed with a few facts, they had filled in the rest with conjecture and lies. But what made her truly ill, hurt her beyond what words could convey, was Dugan’s lack of reaction.
He had the power to stop their accusations or at the very least he could have stood up and defended her where he knew they were wrong. Despite all the angry words they had exchanged, he knew she had been locked away. He knew she despised her father and brother. And deep down, he knew that everything she had told him had been the truth. But instead of saying one word of support, he had sat still with his mouth shut, refusing any support. As a result, all thought he agreed with their accusations and insinuations. He knew that as well and still, he had said nothing.
Adanel issued Dugan a final disgusted look and then shifted her gaze to the McTiernay brothers next to him. “It is clear to me that you have done the same. Nothing I say will change your opinions of me, my motivations, or my actions. So, spend your time berating me with your scowls and pointless questions. But while you do, let me remind you that my father is on his way, and he will not be coming alone.”
“Do not dare to presume you are in a position to make threats here. You’ve lied about your identity to Dugan for months and falsified your pregnancy for even longer. It is not a leap for us to think you lie still. So do not dare to condescend to us, you . . . you . . .”
“Lady Adanel, I believe, is tired, as am I, Laird Crawford,” came a new voice off to the side.
Adanel blinked. Not only had someone spoken her name with respect, but in doing so they had just verbally slapped the laird who was almost certainly planning to insult her.
For hours, Adanel had endured nothing but attacks and questions from men. While she had seen a few females lurking in the back when she had first entered the hall, none had spoken, until now. Whoever she was, the woman had clout for the man who had been about to call her a string of names and accuse her of new crimes had suddenly gone silent.
Adanel twisted in her chair to see who had come to her defense and her eyes fell on one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. Long, wavy, pale gold hair with strawberry highlights fell around her delicate frame. Her dark blue-gray eyes swirled with displeasure and looked out of place on her heart-shaped face. The woman was ethereal and yet radiated power and confidence. Adanel had only ever wished to be just like her mother, but seeing this woman hold the attention and respect of a room full of powerful men, she longed for a little bit of her ability as well.
“May I point out, gentlemen, that Lady Adanel has not changed her story once since you have begun. I have listened carefully to all she has said and not once have I caught two conflicting points. I’ve heard nothing that hinted there are any more layers to her knowledge regarding the size of her father’s impending army, his fighting strategies, or even the time and date of his arrival. I doubt further questioning will bring you any peace of mind as to her true intentions.”
“Laurel . . .” The tone was both cautionary and scornful.
Adanel swiveled her head to see who spoke. It had been Colin, whom she had learned was the second eldest of Conor’s seven brothers. All but Conor and the youngest McTiernay were present, and all of them exuded strength, power, and significant levels of hostility.
“Enough, Colin, and remember who I am and just where you are sitting,” Laurel said crisply, making it clear that her word was law. Suddenly Adanel knew exactly who she was. Conor’s widow.
Standing up, Laurel looked around the room. “Lairds, commanders, you have received much information and that needs deliberation. I will take Lady Adanel now so that you may begin.” She then snapped her fingers, and a servant rushed over. “Have you done as I asked?” Seeing the nod, she said, “Then tell Fiona that she can start sending in the food. I think a little good food and ale will help cool some tempers.”
Laurel then looked at Adanel and, with a small wave of her wrist, instructed her to follow. Having little choice, Adanel rose and followed her out the doors, across the bailey, through the self-parting crowd, and to the largest tower she had ever seen.
Seven stories high, the tower was accessed via a large doorway that mirrored the shape of the hall’s arched windows. As they crossed the portico, a guard stationed in the small chamber to the right of the door straightened to attention. Seeing that the sentry post was manned sent a shiver up Adanel’s spine. It was a small reminder of just how large the McTiernay army was. Everything was guarded and protected.
Adanel’s first thought was that she was being led to a large prison-like structure to await her fate, but as they went up the stairs she could see inside a few of the rooms where the doors had remained open. This tower held no dungeon. This large structure was the laird’s keep, and these rooms belonged to his wife and their family. Adanel never felt more like an intruder or out of place.
On the fourth floor, they went down a narrow hall where Laurel stopped in front of a somewhat small door between two larger ones. Having a similar setup in the Mackbaythe’s main tower keep, Adanel knew the door in the middle led to a chambermaid’s room, so she could sleep nearby in case she was needed.
“Lady McTiernay? Am I correct in believing that is who you are?” Adanel asked hesitantly.
Laurel glanced over her shoulder, narrowed her gaze, and said, “Aye, but you may call me Laurel.”
Adanel swallowed a cough. Calling this powerful woman by her name as if they were friends, not enemies, was the last thing Adanel was going to do. “Lady McTiernay, I don’t understand why you have brought me here.”
Again, Laurel looked back and studied her with a pensive expression. There was no warmth in her look or demeanor, but neither was there hatred. Instead, Adanel felt cool detachment coupled with reserved judgment.
Unhooking the door’s latch, Laurel set aside her most immediate fears. “As I said, call me Laurel. Using titles adds an air of formality that I wish to put aside for now. I want us to have a frank conversation, which is best done using our names.”
“You want to have a conversation? With me?”
“Aye,” Laurel answered, and gave a firm yank on the handle, opening the door. She waved Adanel inside.
“In a servant’s quarters?”
Laurel nodded and took the one lit candle and began to light the half a dozen others around the room. “I don’t want to be interrupted, and it’s the only place where we won’t be found before I am ready.” She pointed to a plate of food on the small table next to the bed. “Are you hungry?” she asked before pouring ale into two mugs and handi
ng her one. “You have to be parched after the horrific afternoon those men put you through.”
Adanel stood stunned holding the cup. She was not sure what was going on and felt very much like a sheep being led to its slaughter with a bit of kindness, some fresh food, and a mug of ale. Any moment, Lady McTiernay was going to pounce and declare Adanel to be part of her father’s plan and should pay for her brother’s crimes.
Adanel put the mug down on the table. “I thank you for the offer, but I am fine.” She watched as Laurel slowly sank down on the small mattress and gingerly leaned against the footboard. “Are you well, my lady?”
Laurel motioned for Adanel to sit and did not answer until Adanel sat down on the other side of the bed as there were no chairs in the small room. “Having the twins was far worse. And while I admit my little Brion picked the worst time to make an appearance, he is healthy, and with exception of being a little tender and wishing I had more energy, I, too, am doing astonishingly well considering I gave birth less than a fortnight ago.”
Adanel just stared at the woman, trying to keep her mouth from being agape. No one mentioned that Lady Laurel had been pregnant and just had a babe. Her slight grimace was the only indication that something was amiss. Had Eògan’s attack precipitated the birth? Almost assuredly it did, but then why was this woman, who had every right to hate her, being so civil?
How to Marry a Highlander Page 15
