The Renegade (Rebel Hearts, #1)

by Baldwin, Lily

  “Just like my father,” Elora finished for him.

  “Aye,” Murray said softly.

  “He will look for weakness?” Nathan said, knowingly.

  “What do ye mean?”

  “Greed makes cowards of men. He will run from strength and attack anything he deems as lesser.” He turned and met her gaze. “Right now, that means ye.”

  Her nostrils flared. A rare moment of anger shaped her features. “I am in no way lesser,” she snapped.

  Nathan looked her dead on. “Ye’re a force to be reckoned with Elora Brodie. God’s blood, sometimes ye scare even me. Today, I nigh raced up to my chamber to do yer bidding.”

  His words brought a touch of warmth to cheeks, but then she straightened her back and turned her attention to the coming threat. With her usual composure intact, she asked, “What are ye trying to say?”

  He took her hand in his. “I’m saying, ye hold fast to yer control. Do not waver, and we will win this day.”

  She met the strength in his gaze with a grateful heart. He was everything she needed him to be in that moment, and so much more. He was brave, strong, and intelligent. With Nathan at her side, her plan could actually work.

  He offered her his arm. “Mayhap we should await him at the high table.”

  She nodded her approval. “He will not expect to find someone in my father’s chair.”

  She rested her hand on his arm, and together, they left the battlements behind and made their way downstairs to the solar and then out onto the high dais. Servants rushed to and fro, preparing for their betrothal feast.

  “My lady,” Nathan said, drawing her gaze. He had pulled out her chair.

  “Thank ye,” she said, claiming her rightful seat.

  “May I,” he asked, gesturing to what had once been her father’s place.

  She nodded. “For the duration of yer stay, consider this chair yers.”

  He put his hand on the arm of the intricately carved, high back chair. For a moment, a breath, she saw a shadow of pain cross his features, but it was gone in a flash. Once again, his keen silver eyes and cool composure surfaced.

  He sat beside her and took her hand. “Do not let him see yer fear.”

  “Life under my father’s rule taught me how to conceal my true feelings.”

  “Ye’re composure is unmatched, but...” His words trailed off.

  She met his gaze. “But what?”

  “Yer face and eyes are unreadable, but ye clench yer fists when ye’re angry or afraid.”

  She looked down at her lap and her breath caught. Her hands gripped her tunic in tight fists. “Ye’re right.” She took a deep breath and slowly softened her fingers. “I had no idea.” Her heart started to pound. She touched her flushed cheeks. Fighting for calm, she could feel herself beginning to unravel.

  “Look at me,” Nathan said firmly. “I did not tell ye that to unnerve ye. I told ye that because I want ye to succeed. I may not know much about ye or yer clan, but in the few hours that I have been on Brodie land, one thing is clear. Clan Brodie is devoted to their lady. I also know that true devotion only comes to the deserving.” He cupped her cheeks between his hands. “Ye can do this. Ye said so yerself just now on the battlements. Ye’re in no way lesser.”

  “He’s right, my lady,” Declan said, coming up the stairs to take his place at the high table.

  She nodded, took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and focused on easing the tension from her body. Then, after stretching her neck from side to side, she met Nathan’s gaze. “I’m ready.”

  A noise behind her drew her gaze as Temperance walked onto the high dais with Caleb at her side.

  Declan stood and motioned to her sister. “Tempest, take the seat next to yer sister. I will move down one.”

  Nathan leaned close and whispered. “Why did Declan call yer sister Tempest?”

  Elora looked at her sister’s flushed cheeks and darting eyes. “I’ve no doubt ye will learn why soon enough.”

  “I’m so nervous,” Temperance said when she sat down.

  Elora met her sister’s deep-blue gaze. “All will be fine. Just keep breathing, and for pity’s sake, hold tight to yer temper.” Then she noticed Caleb beginning to descend the stairs down to the main floor. “Nay, Caleb,” she called. “Please take yer place beside Nathan. As far as anyone knows, ye’re his kinsman.”

  Nodding, Caleb hastened back and took his seat. A moment later, the doors swung open and Murray entered the great hall, followed by a dozen Brodie warriors. Behind them, Laird Mackintosh and his warriors entered.

  Egan Mackintosh was a formidable man of great height with a thick sinewy neck. Silver threaded his black hair, which was cropped short, and he wore his beard in a plait that hung down to his wide chest. Over his plaid, a fur-lined black cloak draped his broad shoulders and billowed out behind him as he marched through the doorway.

  Smiling confidently, he locked eyes with Elora, but froze mid-step an instant later.

  A thrill shot up Elora’s spine, for she knew Egan had noticed Nathan occupying the laird’s place at the high table.

  Egan’s smile vanished. His eyes narrowed. He stormed toward the high dais with clenched fists.

  “Who is this man?” he thundered.

  Elora stood with unrushed grace. “Welcome, Laird Mackintosh. May I offer ye and yer men some refreshment after yer journey here.”

  His nostrils flared. “I have asked ye a question.”

  Elora pressed her hand to her chest. “How remiss of me. Of course, introductions must come first. Laird Mackintosh, ‘tis my pleasure to present to ye Nathan Campbell...my betrothed.”

  Egan’s face reddened and his eyes flashed wide “That is a lie!”

  Nathan stood slowly. “There’s no need to yell,” he said, his own voice deadly soft.

  “Who are ye?” Egan growled.

  “My lady has already given ye an answer.”

  “I demand to see a contract!”

  Declan slid the parchment in front of Nathan. He picked it up and stood, leaning over the high table to hand it to Egan. “See for yerself.”

  Egan closed the distance in a few angry steps and snatched the paper from Nathan’s hand. “This is impossible.”

  Elora stood. “We spoke our vows in the kirk before God, Father Paul, and my people.”

  Egan scanned the page, his face deepening in color as he read. But then he slowly looked up as the scowl retreated from his brow. He held up his hand, revealing an ink smudge on his thumb. “The ink is still wet,” he smirked. “This was signed only today.”

  “Whether today, yesterday, or a fortnight ago, it makes no difference,” Elora said coolly. “The contract is binding.”

  He crumpled the parchment in his fist. “My claim comes first. Yer father—”

  Temperance jumped to her feet. “My father is dead! Ye have no contract!”

  “Thank ye,” Elora said to her sister. “Now, please sit down.” Then she turned back to Egan. “Temperance is right. There was never a contract to prove yer claim.”

  “Ye have done this to vex me,” Egan shouted. “But I see through this ploy of yers!”

  “I have chosen a husband,” Elora answered calmly. “That ‘tis all.”

  “I don’t believe ye,” Egan growled. “Why did ye not marry him? What reason have ye to delay?”

  Her heart lodged in her throat. It was all she could do not to clench her fists. She wanted to delay the wedding because she did not wish to marry any man, but she could not tell Egan this.

  Nathan pressed his hands on the table. “Do not doubt our intent. We wait only for the Lenten season to pass.”

  Inside, her heart leapt, but she was careful to conceal her emotions. “’Tis only proper,” she chimed in. “Now then, if ye and yer men would like to stay, ye may join us for our betrothal feast.”

  Egan gave her an assessing look as he handed the contract back to her. “For weeks ye have been dismissing my claim, but ye never once mentioned...”
his voice trailed off. “What is yer name?”

  “Nathan Campbell.”

  “And who is yer father?”

  “He is chieftain of Clan Campbell to the north.”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “Are ye his heir?”

  Nathan shook his head. “I am third in line.”

  Egan’s eyes flashed with anger. “Ye bring to this alliance no land, no fortune!”

  “I am in possession of a fortune, but one which I have earned with my own sweat. But ours is not a match of convenience or duty.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and gently pulled her to his side. “We are in love.”

  “She’s as frigid as a winter morn,” Egan sneered. “Clan Brodie’s ice queen is not capable of love.”

  A choir of swords unsheathing rent the air as the Brodie warriors reacted to hearing their lady insulted. An instant later, the Mackintosh warriors armed themselves.

  “Hold!” Elora called, her voice strong and steady. She raised her brow at Egan. Then she turned on her heel and walked the length of the high dais. Head high, shoulders back, she descended to the main floor and closed the distance between her and the laird. Silence hung thick in the air as she held his gaze for several moments, her composure never faltering. “Ye’re hardly an expert on such matters.” Then she motioned to Mary who held a serving tray gripped tight in her hand, staring with mouth agape. It took her a moment to respond, but then she nodded and hastened to Elora’s side.

  Elora grasped a tankard from the tray and offered it to her neighbor. “It would be a shame to come all this way and not partake in our feast.”

  He glared at her. “Ye may have fooled that love-sick sod and yer adoring kinfolk, but do not think for a moment that I do not know the truth. Ye have done this to nullify my claim.”

  She felt her fingers wish to close tight, but again she resisted. “Yer claim was never made binding.”

  He drew close, a sneer twisting his weathered face. “I know what is in yer heart. Ye’ve never been agreeable to marriage, and now ye expect me to believe that ye’re suddenly in love. A woman cannot protect this clan.”

  She held his gaze with unfailing confidence. “Take yer cup and sit down with yer men, for tonight is my betrothal celebration. Ye’ve darkened this joyous day enough. Unless, ye wish to find out how well my warriors respond to taking orders from a woman, I suggest ye do as I have bidden.”

  Egan’s nostrils flared, but he reached out and accepted the cup. Slowly, the anger melted from his face, replaced by a shrewd smile. “I wouldn’t dream of missing such an occasion. The only day I’m looking forward to more is yer wedding day.”

  Then he jerked his head to his men, and together they filled one of the trestle tables.

  His final words sunk in her mind, causing trepidation to take root, but with graceful ease, head held high, she climbed the steps to the high table. Nathan outstretched his hand to her. When she slipped her hand in his, she could see his approval of her performance in his eyes.

  With a deep breath, she took her seat. “Declan, give orders to open the gate. Let the villagers come.”

  She sat straight in her seat and watched the evening unfold. Her kinfolk gathered around the trestle tables and helped themselves to trenchers teeming with fried fish and stacks of bannock. Everything was running smoothly. Even Egan and his men kept silent. All was going as planned. At least for that moment, her hold on Clan Brodie and her own independence was strong.

  “My lady,” someone cried.

  Elora stood and scanned the tables and spied one of the oldest members of her clan, Hamish. His gnarled hand gripped a tankard high and he beamed at her. “A kiss!”

  Elora laughed. “Ye funny old sod,” she called. “Ye must come here if ye want a kiss.”

  He laughed. “I’ll take my kiss the next time ye make the rounds. I meant for yer betrothed.”

  Beneath the table, away from everyone’s gaze, her hands clenched in tight fists.

  A kiss.

  She had never kissed a man before.

  She could feel her composure slipping away. And then suddenly, Nathan took her hand and pulled her to her feet. They locked eyes. His silver gaze bore into hers, and in that moment the din of the great hall grew distant to her ears. He pulled her close and tenderly cupped her cheek. Then he slowly lowered his lips to hers. His touch was feather soft. Her chest tightened as sensation shot up her stiff spine. She tentatively placed her hands on his shoulders and felt her rigid body soften as if of its own accord. He held her closer still, and a sweet ache coursed through her, igniting that place within, which she never let too close to the surface. His taste, his smell, the feel of his muscular shoulders flexing beneath her fingertips—it was all too much.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, he released her. She stumbled back slightly.

  The room erupted into cheers.

  He wrapped his arm around her waist and turned so that they faced her people.

  “Smile,” he said under his breath, bringing her back to her senses.

  She smiled and waved. Then Clan Brodie came forward with betrothal gifts of honey, wood carvings, embroidered handkerchiefs, and dried flowers. She thanked each of her kin with the same grace and dignity that she brought to everything she did, but on the inside, her soul was on fire.

  She could still feel Nathan’s mouth on hers, his tongue grazing her lips, his strong arms surrounding her, filling her with desire.

  Frustration fought to rise to the surface, threatening her calm.

  Just when she thought she finally had everything under control, Nathan had kissed her, proving how susceptible she was to his touch. How could one man threaten her composure so much? Determined to guard her emotions more closely, she took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back.

  Doubtless, she had hired the right man. They worked well together, and he had proven himself more useful than she would have dared dream possible when she first laid eyes on him in The Devil’s Bridge.

  In the short time she had known Nathan, she had witnessed his goodness and intelligence, but also his reckless and indulgent nature. More than that, he was a man who was used to being in command. Strengthening her resolve, she reminded herself that the best thing for her and her people was for her to remain the leader of Clan Brodie.

  After all, she did not need a man...even one who could stir her soul with his kiss.

  Chapter Nine

  Nathan scanned the great hall. Long had it been since he had sat at the high table and watched the revelry of kinfolk. He glanced over at his betrothed. As always, she was unreadable, with her stoic expression and straight spine. Her attention never wavered from her duties. With a simple nod of her head or a gesture of her delicate, white hand, the evening progressed smoothly, the castle servants always in accord with their lady’s wishes.

  When everyone had eaten their fill, she bade the pipers play while men from the clan came together and pushed several of the trestle tables off to the side. After clearing a large space in front of the high dais, the merrymaking began.

  Elora sat at his side, reservedly clapping her hands while her kinfolk kicked up their heels and circled in reels to the music. Meanwhile, Temperance swayed in her seat to the tune, her black curls bouncing and her face beaming brightly. At the start of the second song, Elora’s younger sister lunged to her feet. “May I join the dancing, Elora?”

  “Aye, my dear, only try to remember that ye’re a lady of Clan Brodie.”

  “I will!” Temperance threw her arms around Elora’s neck and pressed a fleeting kiss to her cheek. Hitching up her tunic, she nigh sprinted the length of the high dais and down the stairs to join the other dancers.

  Nathan leaned close and in a low voice said to Elora, “I’m beginning to see why some call her Tempest.”

  Elora nodded smoothly in reply but did not look his way. In fact, she hadn’t spoken to him or met his gaze since he had pulled her close in answer to her elderly kinsman’s request. His th
oughts drifted back to that moment as he remembered her innocent response to his kiss. At first, she had been stiff, but then she melted ever so slightly into his embrace, giving him a taste of the passion he knew lay hidden beneath her armor of decorum.

  But now her bearing was stonier than ever.

  He cast his gaze toward the table of Mackintosh warriors to ensure Egan was not aggravating her. But he and two of his men were hunched over, speaking in low voices, paying no heed to the high table or the surrounding revelry.

  Nathan cleared his throat, and once again leaned close to Elora. “Would ye like to join in the dance?”

  This time, she turned and faced him. Her gaze held no warmth. “I do not dance,” she said simply, then looked away.

  Nathan straightened in his seat, marveling at her continued restraint. Still, a slight smile curved his lips. Try as she might to maintain her indifference toward him, he knew better. He had felt her response. For a fleeting moment, her emotions had escaped the fortress of her self-control.

  Mary suddenly appeared in front of the high table and dipped in a quick curtsy. “My lady, Hamish has requested yer company.” Then with a wink, she said, “I think he wishes to collect the kiss ye promised him.”

  A controlled smile upturned Elora’s lips. “Tell him that he may join me here and take my sister’s seat.”

  Mary’s smile faltered. “Did ye not hear?”

  Elora stiffened. “What is it?”

  “Hamish twisted his ankle while ye were away. He cannot not walk. Declan had to carry him here.”

  Concern wrinkling her brow, Elora did not hesitate. She stood and without a parting word to Nathan, hurried away to check on her elderly kinsman.

  Nathan’s gaze followed her across the room. As always, she glided, even in her haste. When she reached the old man, his face lit up to see his lady. Elora smiled, only this time her eyes were imbued with warmth. Again, he glimpsed the soul she so carefully guarded.