The Chieftain's Choice (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 1)

by Elaine Manders

  This was news. Mayhap Alana had misjudged Vanora. She’d always imagined her cousin to lie about at her leisure. “They doona think that strange behavior for a noblewoman?”

  “Nay, she swears she’ll make her father’s lands prosperous again.”

  This Alana could understand. Vanora was obsessed with inheriting the estate, but she’d have to marry in order to do that. English law wasn’t kind to a woman with Vanora’s ambitions, and Scotland was now under English law. Yet the clan considered a woman with noble blood preferable to a man without. That wouldna have been an issue if Gavin and Vanora wed.

  Did Gavin understand how important the clans viewed blood inheritance? He’d been well-educated and well-traveled. The Enlightenment was sweeping through Europe, and of a certainty, Gavin had been enlightened. But he might not understand the common people still followed centuries old beliefs.

  Alana understood all too well.

  The McWayre clan people thought her blood tainted because of her father’s evil deeds. The Carmichael and other lowland clans might think so too.

  Mayhap the Carmichael clan would object to her marrying their heir. What was she to do?

  A silly question, the matter was out of her hands. If the Carmichael chieftain wanted Gavin to marry her, and if Grandfather agreed, neither her nor Gavin’s feelings counted.

  She wasna even certain what her feelings were. Why should she care which brother she married? Gavin could give her children, couldna he? Yes, she was quite certain he was capable of that.

  “I must go.” Alana got to her feet, and she and Mina left the room together. “Pray for me, Mina.”

  “I shall. All will be well.”

  Would it? Alana caught up her skirts to hurry down the stairs and outside to the cobbled courtyard.

  ***

  Grandfather wanted them to meet in the garden because it would give them privacy and, at the same time, insure convention was observed.

  With his back to her, Gavin leaned against a stone statue at the edge of a plot of overblown roses.

  She halted to gaze out over the glens of McWayre to the hills beyond, dotted white with grazing sheep. Drinking in the clean scent of mountain air, she couldn’t help but feel regret at leaving this place—but leave it she would—and soon.

  When she came to within a dozen feet of him, Gavin turned, as if he’d sensed her presence. He sketched a formal bow. “Lady Alana, how beautiful you are.”

  Heat rose in her face that the breeze couldn’t cool.

  Dropping into a curtsey, she gazed up at him from under her lashes, her eyes locking with his for a long moment. The memory of his kiss turned her insides to mush. “I doona hold the title of Lady.”

  He smiled. “You will. Did your grandfather tell you?”

  “He told me you would marry me instead of Rory, but he said little else.”

  “I apologize for my brother’s behavior. It was inexcusable.”

  “You’re not to blame for your brother’s actions, Lord Carmichael.”

  “That’s true, but I’m responsible for my clan’s honor.” His smile widened. “But please let’s drop the formalities. Call me Gavin and I hope I may address you as Alana.”

  The color in his eyes seemed to darken. Could that be admiration she detected in their gray depths? She knew nothing about men. “Of course, as you wish…Gavin.” She pulled her gaze from him. “Why did Rory decide not to marry me?”

  “Why?” He seemed to be momentarily nonplused. “You’ve doubtless heard of Rory’s reputation as a rake. He’s not wont to marry. He hardly ever stays at the castle, preferring London or Glasgow.”

  When she remained silent, he added, “But I assure you I’m a better prospect than Rory would ever be, and since you weren’t in love with him, it shouldn’t matter to you which of us you marry.”

  His words echoed her own thoughts, but his confidence stirred her womanly senses at being taken for granted. “There’s a great difference. You are the chieftain…or will be soon.” She stopped short, not meaning to remind him of his father’s imminent death.

  He took no notice, however. “And so you will be the Countess of Stonecrest, a position much revered by our people.”

  A countess? She, Alana McWayre, who’d never been received in any drawing room, would be a countess? “It’s more responsibility than I’d thought to receive.”

  She decided to voice her real concerns. “I doubt they’ll revere me. They canna have forgotten my father’s treachery.”

  Though he’d been a boy of nine at the time, surely Gavin would remember how her father, Torquil, and his mistress, had led a raid on the Carmichael clan, slaughtering over a dozen men, women, and children. Torquil had been mortally injured in the fray, but Miriam had ordered the castle itself to be attacked.

  Alana had heard the story often enough, as well as accounts of how her mother, Hester, had pled with Miriam to spare the chieftain. When her pleas went unheeded, she’d thrown herself between the chieftain and the musket ball fired by Miriam’s henchmen.

  “No, they haven’t forgotten.” Gavin broke into her thoughts. “They know you’re also Hester’s daughter. No woman is more revered than Hester.” He favored her with a disarming smile. “They’ve even written dirges to her heroism. Believe me, Alana, they will adore you.”

  She regarded his handsome features etched in obvious sincerity, and the protest that had risen in her throat died. Still, there was so much she dinna understand.

  “What about Vanora?” she blurted out.

  “What about her?” Alana detected a hard note in his voice.

  “Surely you’ve considered that marriage to Vanora would forge an alliance between the Carmichael and the Gilmour. An alliance might end the friction I understand continues even to this day.”

  “There is friction, as you say, but I have other plans, some trading ventures that will benefit both clans. The Gilmour crofters are poor…some near starvation, in fact. If they have a chance to improve their lot in life, they’d be more of a mind to form an alliance and shouldn’t care who marries Vanora.”

  “But Vanora has always thought—”

  Gavin’s countenance darkened. “Vanora should do as her mother wishes and go to London, make her curtsey to the king and find a suitable match from the noblemen who gather there.”

  “But the Gilmour willna accept an Englishman.”

  “Then she can marry a crofter.” A tone of exasperation entered his voice. “What Vanora does isn’t our concern.” Some of the disapproval faded from his face as he added, “I’d much rather talk about you.”

  To her surprise, he reached down and took her hand, and it was lost in his firm grip. “Besides, you’ve not yet given me an answer. Will you become my wife?”

  She flushed under the intensity of his gaze and the pressure of his fingers against her skin. Would he kiss her again?”

  “I…I shall.” She forced the words through the constriction in her throat. They needna pretend any affection. “As you’ve said, it matters not which brother I marry.”

  He raised her fingers to his mouth and brushed them with his lips. “Now, I was wondering if you’d show me the kirk. That’s where the wedding will take place, is it not?”

  Alana let out the breath she’d been holding. He wasna going to kiss her lips, and she admonished herself for behaving like a schoolgirl. He’d made himself clear.

  The Carmichael chieftain had decided his son would marry her, and he was offering himself as bridegroom only to save his clan’s honor.

  “Of course. Grandfather said you wanted to see it, though I warn you, it isna verra impressive.”

  Gavin fell into step beside her as she walked down the path leading to the kirk. “If it’s agreeable with you,” he said, “I’d like the wedding to take place the Tuesday after next.”

  So soon? She shot him a sidelong glance. The wedding with Rory had been set for the next month. Perhaps the deteriorating health of the chieftain forced Gavin to put the date u
p. “That will be acceptable. Will you be staying here until then?”

  She hoped so. That would give them some time to become acquainted.

  “No, I’m needed at the castle. I won’t be returning until the day of the ceremony.”

  She sensed he wanted to avoid explanations as much as Grandfather had, and she’d let the matter rest for the moment. His interest in the kirk pleased her. She dared hope it indicated he might be a man of God.

  Chapter 3

  They walked in silence to the kirk. Gavin’s gaze kept returning to the woman beside him. The simple green gown complemented her glorious hair. The modest cut of the high-necked garment couldn’t hide her full shapely curves and trim waist. He made a mental note to order her a new wardrobe from London, one befitting the mistress of Stonecrest.

  He might even take her to London or perhaps Paris. He’d not given a thought to a honeymoon. Again, he thanked God that Rory had rejected Alana. Her blushes and maidenly manners contrasted starkly with Vanora’s obscene antics.

  Alana should be told about Vanora’s accusations. She would surely learn the whole story sooner or later. He should tell her now. But he wouldn’t. No matter how outrageous the accusation, she’d be hurt to have her parentage questioned.

  He already felt protective of her, wanting to shield her from anything that might cause her pain.

  Sir Angus must feel the same way, or else he’d have told his granddaughter. Honesty forced Gavin to admit another reason made him withhold the whole truth from her. He’d been afraid if she knew the real reason for Rory’s change of heart, she’d have refused to marry either him or his brother.

  Why he should think that, he couldn’t fathom, but he was certain she wouldn’t agree to become mistress of Stonecrest with the shadow of doubt that Hester wasn’t her mother.

  Not that he had the slightest doubt Vanora lied. If he found Alana’s baptismal record, and it confirmed Hester to be her mother, he’d go straight to Vanora and demand she retract her malicious gossip.

  Although he didn’t need anything to convince himself Alana was of noble birth, the clan was a different matter. They were a vindictive bunch, and many were always willing to accept the worse without questioning the source. If they believed Alana was Miriam Tynsdale’s offspring, they’d never accept her. Miriam remained the most hated woman in all of Scotland.

  So far, the clan was willing to give his father the benefit of the doubt, and Alana was the chieftain’s choice. But what of the future? Concrete proof of Alana’s birth was needed. They wouldn’t be able to argue with the truth written in the kirk’s baptistery.

  They arrived at the archaic stone structure, and his hand gripped Alana’s arm as they ascended the steps. A damp, musty smell clung to the air of the church’s antechamber.

  Alana turned to speak just as a frail-looking little man pottered into the room. “Our minister, Vicar Higgins.” Alana introduced the men. “This is Gavin Carmichael.”

  Gavin nodded, noting that the vicar must be past eighty. Worn, black garments hung from his slight, stooped frame, and a pate of wispy, silvery hair crowned his balding head. “Sir Angus said you’d be visiting,” the minister said, “and that you wished to see the baptistery.”

  “That’s right.” Gavin caught Alana’s questioning glance. “I feel the best way to get to know a clan is through a search of its births, deaths, and marriages.” No reason for Alana to know that he wanted to investigate her birth in particular.

  She said nothing, but fell into step with him as he followed the old man to a dimly lit office. Vicar Higgins lit a taper and took out a ring of keys. He fumbled with the lock to a stout cabinet until the door sprang open. With some effort, he extracted a large bound book and laid it on a table in front of Gavin.

  To divert his real purpose in investigating the book, Gavin addressed Alana, “The McWayres have a long history.” If she suspected that he questioned her birth, he’d have explanations to make, so he feigned interest in ancestors of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries as he turned the parchment pages slowly.

  “There’s my father’s baptismal record.” Alana laid her hand on the page he turned to.

  Torquil might have been a scoundrel, but his antecedents were impeccable. “Torquil, son of Angus and Elizabeth McWayre,” he read. Elizabeth had died in childbirth over thirty years ago, but she’d been from a proud Scots family.

  Gavin continued to turn the pages until he found Alana’s birth record. With relief, he noted nothing unusual. Torquil and Hester were given as parents. “So you were born March twentieth. I missed your nineteenth birthday, but I’ll remember the day for next year.”

  Her shapely lips lifted in a smile. “Not many men remember such things, I should think.”

  “But I’ll be the exception.” He moved to the next page, and to his astonishment, the page came out of the book and fluttered to the floor.

  Both Gavin and Alana dove for the paper, and she grasped his hand in the process. She jerked away with such force she fell backwards. They both laughed. Gavin retrieved the paper, then stood, taking her hand to assist her up.

  “I’m so clumsy.” She laughed again.

  “Not at all,” he assured her, enchanted by the softness of her hand, and the dimple that deepened into her pink cheek. Reluctantly, he released her. “I wonder how your baptismal record came to be torn out of the registry.” His tone was nonchalant. No need to upset her with his suspicions.

  “I cannot imagine.” She ran a finger along the tattered edge of the paper.

  “Vicar Higgins,” Gavin called out to the minister who sat behind an ancient desk in the corner of the room, his head bent over a book. The little man straightway got up and ambled over to them.

  “We found Alana’s baptismal record torn from the registry. Do you know why?”

  Vicar Higgins furrowed his bushy brows and scowled a long moment. “Torn, you say? That’s most unusual. No one can tamper with the registry. It’s kept under lock and key at all times.”

  Gavin frowned. “And yet it appears to have come to some mischief, though there’s no way of knowing when.”

  “No…no way at all,” the vicar mumbled.

  “I noticed that another vicar has signed the paper. You weren’t here when Alana was baptized?”

  “No, I arrived at McWayre in fifty-eight. I lived with my sister and her husband before then in Devonshire. I’m originally from England.” He coughed into his fist as though this were something to be ashamed of. “I secured this vicarage after my sister died.”

  Gavin glanced back to the signature on the document. “Is this Vicar McCree about now?”

  “I couldn’t say. He was presiding over a small vicarage in Durness, though I’ve not seen him in oh…over two years.”

  Gavin clenched his jaw. Ordinarily the ripped page wouldn’t be important, but since the aura of duplicity hung over Alana’s birth, it was significant. He wondered if it would help to find Vicar McCree or question Sir Angus. Certainly Alana’s puzzled face told him she knew nothing of the matter.

  “I’m certain Sir Angus would want to know if some mischief-maker has been afoot.” Vicar Higgins smoothed the page back in place.

  “Oh,” Alana exclaimed, pressing her hands to her cheeks.

  Both men turned to her. “I think I can guess who might have done this,” she said, “Mildred McLarvey.”

  “Who’s she and why would she have done such a thing?” Gavin’s question sounded like a gun blast in the quiet room.

  “Mildred was my dearest friend before she and her family left for America some years ago. She only thought she was doing me a favor, no doubt.” The censure in Alana’s voice was directed to Gavin.

  She looked from Gavin to the vicar. “When we were about twelve years old, some of the children started taunting me about my father. Mildred said that I should deny Torquil was my father and change the registry to name some other man.” She sounded a nervous little laugh. “Twas a silly game. We tried to pick out someo
ne who was highly respected to name as my father. We were only children. I had no notion that Milly would actually try to go through with it. She never admitted as much to me.”

  “I can’t believe a wee lass could break into the register.” The vicar shook his bald head.

  “Milly was quite clever and given to pranks.” Alana rubbed her forehead with her delicate slender fingers. “Tis the only reason I can think of.”

  The explanation was plausible and enough for Gavin. He smiled. “Then I expect Mildred is the culprit.” He closed the book and handed it to the vicar. Squaring his shoulders, he turned to Alana. “I think that’s enough exploring in musty old records. Perhaps you’d like to show me the sanctuary?”

  Without waiting for her reply, he addressed Vicar Higgins. “Thank you for your time. We’ll be seeing you in a fortnight.”

  “Oh?” The little man cast him a puzzled glance.

  “For the wedding ceremony. Lady Alana has done me the honor of agreeing to become my wife.” He’d found nothing to convince him that Alana was not Hester’s daughter. Even if someone had tampered with the registry, her mother’s name hadn’t been changed, and that was the only thing in question. The accusations were much ado about nothing, all part and parcel of Vanora’s imagination.

  “Oh, of course, of course.” The vicar beamed, as Gavin laid a protective hand on Alana’s shoulder and guided her out of the study into the vestibule.

  They walked over the marble floor and Alana turned, offering him a shy grin. She was a thoroughly charming lass. He couldn’t imagine anyone in the Carmichael clan not falling in love with her. Her melodious voice rose and fell as she pointed out the features of the sanctuary.

  “This reminds me of the kirk at Carmichael Castle,” he said.

  “I suppose most churches are very much alike the world over…only some grander than others. I feel no closer to the Lord here than in the glen or on the mountain. I find myself praying most often out in the open, doona you?”

  “I probably do,” he responded automatically. If he were honest with her, he rarely prayed at all.