“’Tis fine,” Lachlan said finally. “No one will think anything of it during the chaos. Why do ye say that she is touched?”
Freya cocked her head and seemed to consider the question. “She is pretty enough. Quiet at times, but she seems too youthful for her age. She is inquisitive and asks the most unusual questions. She said she would be fine sleeping in the storeroom if we didna have a place for her.”
The storeroom? No wonder Freya thought the lass might be daft. He couldn’t imagine the daughter of a laird sleeping on sacks of potatoes and grains. “Verra well.” Lachlan had no time to spend on the strange lass. “Find a servant to see to it and then join us for dinner. I doona expect trouble, but I want ye to stay close to me or my guards to be on the safe side.”
“Gair willna hurt me,” Freya said quietly.
“Perhaps not, but Gair Brisbane is hardly the only man out there.” Dismissing his sister, he took a few private moments where he mourned his cousin then he braced himself and turned to join the others in the hall.
* * *
Sloane Fenton was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people who gathered in the great hall and she wasn’t immune to the number of pointed and hated stares her way. The Fenton keep and lands were only about half the size of those of the MacFarlane’s. She was never able to join any gatherings or festivities so she’d never seen so many people before. Whenever she questioned the reasoning behind her solitary life, her father simply told her it was to protect her.
More than anything, she wanted to believe that. It was the only thing that comforted her, but now it perplexed her that her father would bring her here and now. Quinn MacFarlane was not the Laird, so she didn’t understand the large celebration of her life and she certainly didn’t understand why her father insisted that she pay her respects. Furthermore, she didn’t understand why so many people glared at her and her father. Had they done something wrong?
Before people took their seats to dinner, people lined up between the tables to greet Lachlan MacFarlane first. When she and her father reached the MacFarlane Laird, her breath caught in her throat as she stared. Lachlan was huge. Compared to her father’s Highland warriors, he stood taller and broader. His dark hair fell wildly over his shoulders and framed his strong square face. Brilliant green irises tinged with silver pierced her as she walked up and she only dimly heard her father make the introduction. Power wrapped around him like an erotic lover and a sense of amusement clung to his lips as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. Mesmerized, she stared at those sensuous lips when they moved although, she didn’t hear a word he’d said. A strange tingling began low in her body, a sensation she’d never felt before and she pressed a hand to her stomach.
Suddenly, she realized that Lachlan was staring at her expectantly. Pain shot through her body as her father gripped her arm and shook her. “I am sorry for yer loss,” she whispered before she swallowed hard.
Errol sighed beside her in obvious aggravation. “Forgive my daughter. This is her first time traveling from Fenton lands and I am afraid that she is struck by the sheer size of the MacFarlane clan.”
Lachlan nodded although his gaze swept over her curiously. “Lady Sloane, I thank ye for yer condolences. Ye and yer father are welcome to join us at our table.”
“Actually,” Errol said smoothly. “I believe Sloane has taken a liking to yer sister. Would it be all right, my dear Lady Freya, if Sloane sat with ye?”
Puzzled, Sloane cast a shy look at the petite woman. They’d only casually exchanged words. The woman looked equally confused, but she nodded her consent. Her father all but pushed her toward the woman. “I am sorry,” Sloane whispered to Freya as they drew away from the crowd and took their seats. “I doona know why my father said that.”
“’Tis no worry,” Freya said stiffly. “We can make room.” Leaning over, she quietly shared a word with a pretty brunette who got up from the table and moved.
“I didna mean to complicate things. I can sit elsewhere,” Sloane said as guilt clawed at her. The last thing that she wanted to do was create difficulties. Even though she never shared a meal in the dining hall before, she knew that she was creating upheaval.
“Ye are an odd one, are ye not?” Freya muttered, but Sloane heard it and reddened even more. As they sat down, Freya shook her head. “I apologize for that. My cousin’s death has put me in a mood.”
“’Tis understandable.” Sloane folded her hands in her lap and tried to look as small as possible. “I heard yer mother say that ye and yer cousin were close. I doona know what that is like, but I know it must be difficult to lose someone that ye love.”
Freya narrowed her eyes. She shared her brother’s piercing eyes and Sloane couldn’t help but look over quickly in the MacFarlane laird’s direction. He was watching her. Her belly fluttered with nerves.
“Ye doona have a cousin that ye are close to?”
“I doona have a cousin,” Sloane admitted. “I have an uncle, but he spends most of his time traveling. We are not close, although he does visit with me when he returns to our lands.”
“Then a friend, perhaps.”
Sloane thought about the women who worked in the keep. They had become her friends. It would break her heart a thousand times over if anything happened to them, but she’d come to learn that her father didn’t approve of her calling the servants friends. Perhaps they felt the same here. “No. I doona have any of those either.”
Freya’s eyes flared in surprise, but she didn’t offer any follow-up questions, much to Sloane’s relief. Wine was served with a lavish dinner and while she was not accustomed to large meals, she’d snuck her fair share of wine at home and she drank her share here to settle her nervous stomach. Despite its warming effect, her belly squeezed with anxiety. There was a time as a child when she dreamed of big events and loud crowds, but that was a long time ago. Now, she just wanted to duck under the table and hide.
Searching for a familiar face, she looked around the table. Her father’s closest guards were seated at the end of the table where they eyed the other men seated around them with disdain. They had no reason to look after her. Most of them barely even knew her. Ness, her father’s youngest brother and the heir to the Fenton clan, was seated by her father. While Errol ignored her, Ness offered her a small smile. Her uncle, older than her by nearly a decade, was the only one to go out of his way to be kind to her although he spent most of his time traveling.
Letting that smile comfort her, Sloane ate her dinner slowly and quietly. Freya, apparently having given up on drawing Sloane out in conversation, mostly ignored her as did the rest of the table.
Lachlan MacFarlane was the exception.
Every time that she dared look at the man, he seemed to know and his gaze quickly flitted back to her. As he watched her, Sloane’s body both heated and shivered in a reaction that she didn’t understand. His expression was unreadable. He neither smiled nor glowered at her and unlike her, he didn’t seem uncomfortable when she caught him watching her. Sloane had a feeling that Lachlan MacFarlane did what he wanted with no apologies.
The only other person who seemed to notice was her father. A strange glee glinted in his eyes, and she shyly smiled at him. For most of her life, she sought ways to gain her father’s approval. She didn’t know what she was doing now to make him happy, but it was a rare moment for her and she allowed herself to finally relax and try to enjoy the dinner despite the somber mood.
After dinner, her father gave her no indication that she was allowed to join in the evening activities, so she made her way to her appointed chambers. To her surprise, she wasn’t alone in the hall.
Lachlan stood outside the door of the chamber next to hers. Starkly, she wondered if it was his chambers that shared the adjoining door in her room. “Laird MacFarlane?” she asked softly.
Turning his head, he studied her almost lazily. “Lady Sloane.”
“Is that yer room?” His eyes widened, and she quickly backtracked. Emmeline, the he
ad servant at the keep, once told her that her demanding questions might seem inappropriate. “Forgive me. I meant to ask ye more gently than that.”
“Aye, ’tis my room,” he muttered. “Are ye always so forward?”
“Sometimes.” Emmeline taught her to always go with the truth. “Forgive me if I have things confused, but shouldna yer wife be sharing this room?”
“I am not married.”
“Aye, but a woman who is not yer wife shouldna be in this room.” That should clarify things. She frowned. “I must move my things immediately. Is there another room available? I am comfortable sleeping elsewhere.”
“We were not counting on yer company, Lady Sloane, and this was the only room available.” He smiled slowly and she felt her whole body warm. “Ye have nothing to worry about. I have no intentions of using the door between our chambers. I will keep it locked if ye wish.”
“But it only locks on yer side,” she pointed out. “That doesna protect me. It only protects ye. That hardly seems fair.”
“’Tis a wife’s duty to always be available for her husband.”
Her temper spiked, but she struggled to tame it. It would not do to anger her host, especially after he’d just lost someone dear to him. “’Tis also a husband’s duty to protect his wife. How can a husband do that if a woman cannae lock her own doors?”
“A woman shouldna need protection from her husband,” he pointed out.
Immediately, her thoughts flew to the bruises that she’d seen on her friends. They were almost always formed at the hands of their husbands. “If ye believe that then perhaps ye doona understand much about the institute of marriage.”
“Lady Sloane.” Slowly, he walked toward her. She had half a mind to flee into her chambers, but as she’d just pointed out, it would hardly protect her from him, so she lifted her chin and met his gaze. When he stopped just in front of her, his eyes blazed with anger.
“Perhaps I should make myself verra clear here. I doona manhandle the women of my keep and I wouldna manhandle my wife. I doona know what ’tis like on Fenton lands, but I doona have the patience for men who beat those weaker than themselves.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. “I doona mean to offend ye, Laird MacFarlane. I simply want to point out that when ye do marry, perhaps ye should try and see things from her point of view. A lock gives her power, even if she never uses it. Have a good evening.” Before she said anything else that might get her in trouble, Sloane opened her door and fled inside.
It was a full minute before she heard Lachlan’s footsteps fading away.
Chapter 2
Visions of the strange gray-eyed redhead followed Lachlan into his bed as he retired after the first night’s festivities. Outside his window, he could still hear the remnants of what was left of the drunks that stumbled around outside cheering and singing of Quinn’s conquests. Dinner had been tense for him after he’d deliberately peppered the end of the table with Errol’s and Gair’s warriors with his own. They’d all been warned to behave during their visit, but Lachlan was still on high alert.
Sloane Fenton. Although he knew nothing of Errol’s long-dead wife, the daughter must have resembled her because she looked nothing like Errol. Her thick, fiery strands had been pulled back in a braid but curls still escaped and stuck out wildly. What was also strange was the dingy dress that she wore. The daughter of the Laird of a wealthy clan should be wearing the finest threads, and yet she looked as if she swept out the fireplaces. Freckles dotted along her surprisingly pale complexion, but it was those light eyes that were the most arresting. They were mostly trained to the plate, but when they did lift, they were filled with anxiety.
Lachlan had the strangest desire to take her into his arms and tell her that she was safe in his keep. Of course, it also appeared that the woman was used to saying what she wanted when she wanted, so perhaps she didn’t need his protection after all. If she continued to freely spout her opinions, she was likely to keep all men at a safe distance.
That did not stop the oddly erotic dreams from tormenting him as he tried to sleep.
The next morning, he pushed her from his mind and summoned the four lairds to meet in the more intimate breakfast chamber. What he wanted to say to them was not for the ears of anyone else and while he wasn’t quite ready to speak with them in one of his more imposing rooms, he did want to gauge their reaction.
He sat at the head of the table with Errol Fenton on his left and Gair Brisbane on his right. Next to them were their two other allies, Cunningham and Donahue. While they were smaller clans and uninvolved in the feud, their locations bordering the rest of the Highland clans made them key assets in the alliance. The king had demanded their pact generations ago during a period of unrest and they’d combined forces ever since. The rest of the clans looked to them and it wasn’t until the king decreed that a small piece of Fenton lands go to Brisbane that the alliance began to waver.
Now, it was going to break unless Lachlan put an end to it.
“If ye wanted us to meet so early in the morn, ye shouldna have offered us so much wine and ale,” Errol growled as he sat down, but he did not look surprised. “Is there a problem?”
“My dead cousin is a problem,” Lachlan said evenly.
The older man slanted his eyes. “Ye are not about to accuse me of murder again, are ye?”
In the early hours of discovering his cousin’s death, Lachlan had fired off some poorly worded letters to both Errol and Gair. That same day, he sent another apologizing and offering an invitation to attend the celebration of his cousin’s life and by then, their replies were already on the way.
Both of them staunchly denied the allegations.
“Quinn is a victim of a bigger problem, a problem that we will be solving right here and now. Ye can continue to deny the feud and the infighting, but everyone here at the table knows differently. Errol, ye are lashing out at the king’s decision to award part of the loch shores to Gair Brisbane. I have held my tongue hoping that the two of ye will settle, but ye have not. Quinn stepped in to help and now, he is dead.”
Errol opened his mouth to argue, but Lachlan held up his hand. “I will not tolerate any more bloodshed. Fenton. Brisbane. Ye have been warned. We will find a way to bury this discourse as we have buried my cousin and we will strengthen our alliance or I will tell the king that ye are pushing the boundaries of his decree.”
Laird Brodie Donahue’s eyes widened and crinkled his handsome face. “If ye tell the king that, he may punish all of us.”
“Aye,” Lachlan said as he met his gaze. “To assure yer support of peace.” He wanted to make it very clear that he had no qualms going to the king no matter the consequences. This had gone on long enough and he would not lose any more lives in their petty feud.
For a moment, none of the men said anything. Brisbane, the only laird at the table as young as Lachlan, smirked and leaned forward. “All right, men. Let’s hear ideas.”
What started out as a calm conversation quickly turned into a heated debate and then shouting indignation. The servant who bravely brought them food to break their fast retreated with impressive speed. Fists struck against the table accompanied by more bellows, but Lachlan never rose from his seat or raised his voice until he heard the first offer that finally made sense.
“Stop.” Lachlan raised his hand and stared at Cunningham. “Expand on yer thought.”
“’Tis going to take more than an informal decree or even a formal decree to tie Fenton with Brisbane,” Cunningham said as he popped a piece of fruit into his mouth. “Ye are the biggest and strongest of us all. A common thread between ye and Fenton and Brisbane will be required to stop the bloodshed.”
“Ye have something in mind.”
Cunningham nodded. “Between the three of ye, ye have two unwed eligible women and two unwed eligible men.”
Brisbane’s face darkened in anger. “Ye cannae mean to marry Lady Freya to Errol!”
“No,” Lachlan said as he stare
d at Errol’s face. “’Tis not what Cunningham is suggesting. He wants ye to marry Freya.”
Errol’s eyes narrowed. “And ye are to marry my Sloane?”
“Aye,” Cunningham cheered. “Three clans tied together through marriage. Fenton and Brisbane cannae make a move on each other without angering ye as their in-law.”
Lachlan felt his whole body tighten. Although Sloane had invaded his thoughts in the most carnal of ways, he hadn’t even considered the thought of marrying her. She clearly had no training in being the mistress of a keep and her tongue was far too loose. Furthermore, in marrying her, he’d hurt the woman he knew was expecting a proposal. His own clan would find it difficult to accept the daughter of the man they believed may have murdered Quinn, especially when they were so eager that he marry one of their own.
On the other hand, Lachlan could not afford for the feud to continue and it was the only idea that felt like a solution.
“Freya willna agree to marry before a three-month mourning period has passed,” Gair said tightly. “Nor will I ask that of her.”
“I am under the same mourning period,” Lachlan pointed out.
Errol immediately growled. “I willna agree to this knowing that anything can happen in that three-month period. I doona trust Brisbane. If I am to agree to this, ye will wed Sloane immediately—before we depart.”
Hissing, Gair stood, but Lachlan put his hand up. The truth was that he wouldn’t agree to a three-month truce with Errol either, but he trusted Gair more. He hoped that Gair shared his sister’s affections and he wouldn’t be sending his sister to a lifetime of torment. “Gair, if ye are amenable, I will allow Freya to stay here and wait out the three-month mourning period. Errol, I am willing to wed yer daughter after the celebration has ended but before the other clans depart. They will all bear witness to the union.”
Highlander's Haunted Past (Highlander's Seductive Lasses Book 1) Page 26
