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

by Elaine Manders

  Her tone turned serious. “Are you quite certain you want to…to marry me so soon?”

  He stopped in his tracks, turning to face her. “I’m certain. Everything is ready. Why wait?”

  “We doona really know each other, and…,” she faltered.

  He smiled. “You didn’t know Rory either. In fact, you told me you realized this was a marriage of convenience.”

  “But convenient for whom? With Rory, any wife would have been suitable, but you—”

  “Yes, what am I? Do you think I’m more demanding of a wife than Rory?” He teased.

  She nodded.

  His smile widened. “Stop worrying about how the clan members will react, Alana. You’ll be able to rise to their demands.”

  “I hope so. Are you going to stay for dinner?”

  “I wish I could, but no. I must return and report to my father. He’s waiting to hear if you agreed to the marriage, and in his state of health, he shouldn’t be kept waiting.”

  As they stepped outside the kirk, Gavin noticed the sun was now casting long shadows over the ground. He pulled out his gold chained watch. “I hadn’t realized how late it was getting. I’ll have to leave right away, and I’ll have to borrow a horse.”

  “I’m certain grandfather would insist you take a carriage and outriders. The highwaymen are worse at night. The stables are over there.” She pointed to a building not far away. “That is, if you must leave now.”

  Did he dare hope her voice held a wistful note? “I must. Give my good wishes to Sir Angus.”

  She stood beseeching him with her eyes to do what? Tarry? She wanted them to get to know each other better before they wed. That was understandable, but not possible. His gaze fell to her lips, set in a little pout. Inviting.

  Nay, it was best he leave now. Alana was an innocent young maiden. A lifetime awaited him to kiss her pouty mouth.

  “Farewell, Alana.” He took her hand and pressed the soft warm flesh to his lips. “I’ll be waiting for you right here in two weeks’ time.”

  She gave him a half-hearted smile. He barely heard her murmured “Farewell.”

  Chapter 4

  Alana watched Gavin disappear around the corner of the kirk on his way to the stables. Why had he turned so formal? He’d been friendly enough when they’d first met. She gave herself a mental shake. He’d not changed. She’d simply read too much in that kiss. Something in her foolishly craved his touch.

  As he’d told her, the kiss was only meant to silence her in the hovel. She should be pleased he behaved as a gentleman. But his decorum clashed with her mental image—an image based on what Vanora had told her about the man she’d claimed for her own since young girlhood.

  Vanora was given to exaggerating when she boasted, which was frequent indeed.

  Alana made her way down the stone steps to the rose garden. A few late blooming roses huddled together along the wall, and she decided to cut a fresh bouquet for the drawing room. She slipped into the gardener’s shed to fetch shears and basket. Perhaps if she kept busy, she wouldn’t have time to dwell on the uncertainties that awaited her after the wedding.

  Little time remained to dwell on anything else. She didn’t blame Gavin. He had good reason to refuse postponing the ceremony. He had his father to consider. Alana sent up a prayer that the Carmichael chieftain would live long enough for her to meet him. She’d heard that he was a noble Scotsman and much respected by his clan.

  With basket in hand, she left the shed and observed the roses without really seeing them. The question she’d longed to ask Gavin still burned within her. Why had Vanora fallen out of the chieftain’s favor?

  Gavin gave her the obvious reason. Since Rory had run off, he was the only one left to honor the marriage contract.

  She thought there was more to it than that.

  People called her fey, but she called it perception, and her perception told her another reason hid behind the obvious. When she moved to Stonecrest after the wedding, she’d visit Aunt Elspeth. Her aunt had never held anything back. She might reveal the truth.

  Alana snipped the long-stemmed, blood-red blooms. Unless a frost fell, the roses would last until the wedding.

  How she wished it were possible to wait a little longer. Marriage was too important to be rushed, even in ordinary circumstances. This marriage affected so many people, and her simple life ill prepared her to become a chieftain’s lady.

  Gavin couldn’t have taken much time to consider the enormity of the decision. What if he later regretted his haste? He couldn’t know much about her, and all she knew of him was what Vanora had told her.

  Things not seemly for a maiden to know about any man.

  Her opinion of Gavin, tarnished years ago by Vanora’s girlish gossip would have to change. But even if Vanora’s vivid imagination was only so much perfidy, the images remained, like storm clouds blocking Alana’s hopes for a happy marriage.

  Looking down at her basket, now overflowing with red blooms, she had no idea how to rid herself of those images. The roses had done nothing to keep her turbulent thoughts at bay. Giving up the futile attempt to quiet her nerves, she set the basket and shears beside a stone bench and sank down on the cold, hard surface.

  Then it hit her—the reason for that niggling doubt hounding her. She’d suppressed the memory all these years, but now it came rushing back. She stared at the distant hills and allowed the memories of one of her cousin’s infrequent visits to surface.

  It had been Vanora’s and Aunt Elspeth’s custom to visit Sir Angus once a year, usually in the fall before the first snowfall. Alana had always dreaded those visits. Her aunt was pleasant enough, but Vanora was so vain and selfish that everyone in the household cringed when she appeared.

  She couldn’t recall exactly when Vanora had begun boasting about her plans to ensnare Gavin Carmichael, but she’d been quiet young, perhaps thirteen or fourteen.

  Vanora’s last visit came to mind with crystal clarity.

  “Have you been hiding from me, dear cousin?” Vanora had burst into Alana’s bedchamber.

  “Nay, of course not,” Alana replied, knowing full well that she’d indeed sought refuge in her chambers as soon as she’d seen Elspeth and Vanora alight from their carriage.

  Vanora swept into the room, going straight to the cheval glass where she stood, preening herself.

  “Did you have a pleasant journey?” Alana ventured.

  Vanora ignored the question and turned to face her. “Do I look different, Alana?”

  “Different? Nay.” Her cousin’s ice-blue eyes sparked, and her ivory complexion held a rosy hue, but Alana detected nothing out of the ordinary.

  Vanora pouted and returned to her reflection. “I do look different. I am different. You couldn’t see it. You’ve never been—”

  “Never been what?”

  Vanora smiled in that maddening way she had, then glided to the bed where Alana sat. She flounced on the mattress, pushing herself against the pillows, and stared up at the ceiling. “Gavin and I are lovers, cousin.”

  Alana stared at her with her mouth agape. Vanora merely laughed. “I told you I’d seduce him, remember?”

  “Vanora, what are you saying? Surely you’ve not given yourself to a man you’re not married to.”

  “We will be married, and soon. Gavin loves me. He kept saying how beautiful I am, how exciting I am, how—and he excited me as I’ve never been.” She pushed up and hugged her knees. “I swear when he kissed my throat, I’d faint, then when he lowered his mouth—”

  “Vanora, stop,” Alana shouted, putting her hands to her ears.

  Vanora had said and done scandalous things, but Alana was truly dumbfounded by this revelation. She’d never credited her willful cousin with being stupid, but—

  “Oh, Alana, you’re such a prude.” Vanora raised her voice to make sure Alana could hear. “You don’t know what it’s like for a man to make love to you, and you likely never will.”

  “I certainly willna.”
She jumped from the bed to pace around to the other side. “Not unless I’m married to him. Vanora, doona you realize—”

  “And you’re not likely to ever marry.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I heard Mother talking to Grandfather. She said none of the eligible men about here would have you because of what Uncle Torquil did.”

  Alana sighed. She could hardly argue with that since she’d heard the same thing so many times it nauseated her. “I canna help what my father did.”

  “No, but it matters to the clan people. You don’t think a man would marry a woman whose father murdered his wife or sister or mother.”

  “Mayhap I’ll never marry. There are worse things than being unmarried. For example, being a wh—” She checked herself. Calling Vanora what she was would bring on a barrage of fury. Besides, no amount of criticism would stop her. “How do you know Gavin will marry you?”

  “Because he loves me. He can’t live without me.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “In so many words, and he showed me in other ways. Do you want to know what we did?”

  “Nay!”

  But Vanora had gone on anyway, giving her the graphic details of hers and Gavin’s tryst, all the while laughing at Alana’s shocked expression.

  “Does Aunt Elspeth know this?” Alana finally managed to get the words out.

  “Of course not, and it won’t do you any good to tell her. She’d never believe you.” Vanora’s shrill laughter grated her nerves like fingernails on slate. “Mother doesn’t understand men at all. Lyulf has been her lover for ages, but he’s after me now.”

  “Dear Saints.” Alana twisted away from her cousin.

  “Tis true. He follows me when I go about checking on the crofters, but why would I want him when I have Gavin? Mother has no fear I’ll take Lyulf away. Oh, I’ll be glad when Gavin and I are married. Then Mother and Lyulf won’t be able to rule the Gilmour. They plot to take it from me, but the clansmen won’t let them. The clan stands with me.”

  Her voice rose to a shout. “Tis my right anyway. I’m the heir. When Gavin is my husband, we’ll rule.”

  Alana whipped around and gaped as Vanora went on, “The first thing I want Gavin to do when we’re wed, is clear out the whole valley and build me a new castle, larger and grander than any in Scotland…no grander than any in Europe. Gavin has traveled to Paris and Rome. He’s told me about the magnificent castles in France. I want one like that.”

  “But what will happen to the farmers who live in that valley?”

  “Who cares? I’m tired of looking at those shacks anyway.”

  “I thought you cared for the crofters. You look after them—”

  Vanora’s eyes had narrowed. “I care about the land, nothing more.”

  Arguing with Vanora was useless. In fact, one could never reason with her once she got an idea into her head.

  Alana shuddered. If only Vanora’s confession had remained hidden in the recesses of her mind? Why had she been so hasty in accepting Gavin’s proposal? What if Vanora spoke the truth, and she and Gavin had been lovers? How could she have described their lovemaking so graphically otherwise?

  What kind of man had Alana agreed to marry? One with so little honor he would take advantage of a fourteen-year-old girl, even if that girl had thrown herself at him.

  Dear Lord, what have I done?

  Nay, Gavin would not have dallied with Vanora. The good sense part of Alana argued that nothing Vanora said could be believed, but the other part of her brain worried Vanora might have told the truth for once.

  She got up to return the gardener’s sheers. Then she retrieved her basket of roses and headed for the house. Turning the corner of the building, she caught a glimpse of Gavin’s carriage leaving the courtyard. Mayhap he had loved Vanora.

  Loved her still.

  Mayhap he would marry Vanora if the choice was his, but he must marry whom his father decreed. Besides, if a man’s wife were compliant and trustworthy, he could always take the woman he loved to be his mistress.

  That was the way of men. She knew without a doubt her father never loved her mother. He’d given all his love to his English mistress, Miriam. Would Alana suffer the same fate as her tortured mother? Again she wished she’d not agreed to the marriage, though that would have created a scandal and marked her for a fool.

  With heavy steps, she trudged to the back entrance of the house. If only she had some near kinswoman to whom she could pour out all these doubts. A knowing woman who could answer her questions, calm her nerves, and reassure her. But the only one who met that description was Aunt Elspeth, and she wouldna be able to see her aunt until after the wedding.

  Then it would be too late.

  ***

  At the first posting inn, Gavin gulped down a bowl of porridge and a pint of ale. He should take a room and get a few hours’ sleep, but a sense of urgency made him decide against it. His father had been so agitated by Rory’s conduct that Gavin wanted to get home and relieve the ailing chieftain’s mind. Lord Barthram Carmichael would be pleased with Alana.

  The outrider he’d left in charge of the horses approached him as he rose from his stool. “I’ve secured fresh horses, m’lord.”

  “Good,” Gavin said. “You can return to McWayre. The driver and I can manage. We’ll take turns sleeping in the carriage.

  “As you wish.” The man gave him a departing bow.

  Gavin decided to take the reins, allowing the driver to sleep first. As they traveled through the valley of DunStar, he wondered about Alana’s reaction to his proposal. He couldn’t put all her reticence to maidenly modesty. She should be overjoyed to marry, not the second son of an earl, but rather, the heir.

  He’d never failed to attract a female yet, and she was attracted. He recalled her soft trembling lips, her blushes, the admiration in her deep blue eyes. She’d been attracted all right. But why had she been so reluctant to accept his proposal, and after having accepted, kept hinting that the wedding be postponed?

  It wasn’t as if she had to prepare for the ceremony. She’d known when the wedding must take place and why.

  He’d never met a woman so contrary.

  As the sweating horses ate up the miles, his thoughts again shifted to concern for his father. The chieftain had admired Hester, Alana’s mother, and not only because she’d saved his life. He’d admired her fortitude, her faithfulness, and her strength. Would Alana possess the same attributes as her mother? If not, she couldn’t withstand the gossip and stares Vanora’s ugly tales would cause.

  He admonished himself for not telling Alana the truth about Vanora. Maybe he could reason with Vanora and quash the rumors before Alana was even aware of them. Perhaps she’d go to London. Yet if she did, she might chase Rory. The thought of her marrying his brother was only slightly less distasteful than her marrying him.

  They arrived at Carmichael Castle late in the afternoon of the next day. Exhausted, Gavin stumbled up the stone steps leading to the castle’s front entrance and flung open the tall oak doors. “How is Father?” he asked Halberd, the aged butler.

  “As well as can be expected,” Halberd replied. “He’s been moved to the Blue Salon. Wanted to see the sunrise over Lochweir.”

  Gavin nodded, and with wide strides moved toward the Blue Salon which was situated on the first floor. Perhaps his father’s wish to be moved was a good sign. Hope rose that he might find him better.

  The door stood open, and he knew at a glance his optimism was misplaced. Lord Barthram lay on a chaise lounge facing the east window, his eyes closed and face ashen.

  When Gavin reached his side, his father’s eyes flickered open. He managed a weak smile. “Gavin, you’re back so soon.” The effort to speak brought on a coughing fit that shook his whole body.

  Gavin dropped down in a chair beside the chaise and took his father’s bony hand in both of his own. Knowing the concern foremost in his father’s mind, he said, “All is well. The wedding will
take place in a fortnight as planned.”

  “What do you think of Hester’s lass?” Barthram croaked.

  “She’s quiet, intelligent, demur, lovely…everything you would wish the future lady of Carmichael to be.”

  “But what do you think of her, lad?”

  “I think we’re well suited, Father.” He knew the laird wanted to know if any spark of affection had shown in his brief encounter with Alana.

  “Does she look like Hester?”

  Gavin lifted his gaze toward the full portrait of Hester McWayre hanging on the opposite wall. So this was why his father wished to be moved to the Blue Salon. Hester had been dead several years before he’d come to realize that his father had been in love with her before she’d married Torquil.

  He scanned the woman’s pleasant, ordinary features, her plaits of brown hair rolled atop her head, her doe-like eyes. He saw nothing of Alana in Hester. “Nay, Alana doesn’t resemble her mother. She’s rather tall, perhaps a couple of inches taller than Vanora. Her hair is red, maybe a shade darker than Vanora’s. Her eyes are deep blue whereas, Vanora’s—”

  “Why do you compare her to Vanora?” Barthram’s scowl showed his displeasure. “Surely you don’t regret marrying that wench.”

  Gavin laughed. “Of course not, Father, but Alana does resemble Vanora in many ways. They’re cousins, after all. The resemblance is purely physical, though. Alana’s temperament is nothing like Vanora’s. She’s every bit as sweet and gentle as Hester.” He hoped he spoke the truth. Something told him there was fire behind Alana’s quiet demeanor.

  Lord Barthram coughed and sighed. “I want to see her. I want to see Hester’s daughter before I die.”

  “And you shall. I’m bringing her home directly after the ceremony.”

  “I’ll hang on that long, but I’d best save my strength.” He closed his eyes.

  Gavin lay his hand on his father’s chest, and then got to his feet. “That you should do, and when—”

  The door’s click interrupted him. “Beg yer pardon, m’lords,” Halberd said. “A footman from Gilmour Hall brought a missive. He won’t leave without a reply.”