Highland Revenge

by Brandy Golden

  Gallagher stared hard at the two men in front him, until at last he sighed and relented. He couldn't, in good conscious, go against the lass. It didn't feel right. Why, he wasn't sure, he just knew he couldn't do it. “What makes ye think the lass will agree to marry me?"

  "Most likely she won't,” replied Dungally heavily. “But we've got all the cards, including the King's permission. It's up to ye to play them so that she'll come around."

  "And if she doesn't?” Gallagher folded his powerful arms across his broad chest and lifted an eyebrow. “It seems to me that the Lady Eileen is quite a spirited lass. She might run me through with her sword rather than accept a marriage proposal."

  "Well, then ... ye take her over your knee and put her in her place,” replied Dungally, his faded blue eyes twinkling.

  Gallagher finally exploded in frustration, finding himself liking the idea of the shapely lass over his lap in spite of his reservations. “Just what are you getting me into, Dungally? An unwilling wife, a bastard for a son ... what the hell has my father been up to here?"

  "Trust me, Gallagher. I've never steered ye wrong before,” he replied soothingly. “The lass is a good girl, and she'll make ye a fine wife."

  "Maybe so, I guess time will tell,” responded Gallagher, running his hands through his dark hair. “It's not like I have a lot of choice now, is it?” He strode to the window and looked out over the rocky cliffs off the shore, the ocean in the distance.

  A man could do worse than Eileen McAlester Brincairn, and he had great respect for Morgan McAlester. He could not willingly shame his sister. Something wasn't adding up, though, and he knew Dungally and Jamie were probably hiding something from him.

  However, he had a few ideas of his own on how to get his inheritance back. He didn't intend to stay wed to a woman he didn't love, and who didn't love him. He was a practical Scotsman, but he knew his mother had wanted better for him. She had wanted him to find real love, and he wanted to honor her memory. That is, if real love were out there to be found.

  * * * *

  "Maybe I'll restore you as the Laird of Castle McKenna ... if it pleases me,” said Eileen, reaching for the grapes on the sideboard. She leaned against it, deceptively lazy as she studied the changes in her brother and popped the fruit in her mouth.

  Morg walked over and looked down at her, inspecting her face carefully, searching for signs of the twelve year old he had left behind. With a pang of regret, he realized she was gone. What had he done by leaving her behind? And yet, the sea had been no place for a young girl to grow up. Better to have left her with Uncle Roger and Canton, as he had decided long ago.

  "I'm not waiting for your blessing, Leeni. I came prepared to take over the castle, as ye can see. If I have to, I'll take her from ye.” His even white teeth gleamed in his tanned face as he smiled gently down at her.

  Eileen stirred uneasily, his close male presence making her uncomfortable. He really had changed, the power of command sitting easily on his broad shoulders. He would make a very capable leader now, but she had no intention of making it easy for him. ‘Why should I?’ she thought bitterly.

  "Without Saracen's approval, ye won't get anywhere. You and I both know it,” she replied coolly, refusing to be intimidated.

  "Who is Saracen?” came the quick question from Kat.

  "Saracen is the group leader, directly below the Castle Laird,” replied Morg, turning around to face her. “He sees that traditions and laws are upheld, settles disputes and generally runs the clan.

  Eileen stirred restlessly, then moved to the open doorway, her skirt swirling about her slender legs as she walked. The girdle chain mail was heavy against her willowy hips, but she had no intention of taking it off until she was home safe.

  She found her arm taken suddenly in Morg's firm grasp as he escorted her through the open doorway off the study and into the garden. “Walk with me,” he ordered.

  She jerked her arm away from him and folded it beneath her breasts, not wanting him to touch her. “Keep your hands off me,” she demanded. “I'll walk because I choose to, not because ye are telling me too."

  Suddenly, both her arms were grasped in his large hands and he turned her to face him. “That's enough, Leeni. I don't know what has happened to turn ye into the bitter shrewish woman ye seem to have become, but I don't like it."

  "That's just too damn bad, Morg, because I have no intention of taking orders from you or any other man.” Her eyes flashed as she rounded on him. “Now take your hands off me!"

  Morg ignored her demands, torn between shaking her and pulling her to his breast for comfort. “I need to know what has happened, Leeni ... talk to me!"

  "Need? Need?” Her laughter was brittle, without humor. “Where were you when I needed you?” She pulled away and stood staring at him. “I needed you ... and you never came!” She reached out and slapped him with all the power of her right arm. It happened so fast that Morg didn't have time to react.

  A dull flush crept up his neck, and he touched his cheek calmly, his green eyes glittering down at her. “I'll give ye that one, since ye are obviously very upset, but be warned, little girl. Another attack on my person will put ye over my knee for a good hard spanking."

  "Try it and I'll slice your gullet open,” she hissed in return, her eyes flashing coldly. “I'm not your baby sister anymore, Morg. I'm all grown up now; I'm even a mother. So spare me your childish threats."

  "Ye are a mother?” Morg was stunned, unprepared for the announcement. “Where is the child?"

  "Soren is at home, being cared for by Melba. I would never bring him with me when I'm going to battle."

  "How old is he?"

  "Three years old this month."

  "Then, ye were married four years ago?"

  "Aye, to the old Laird of Brincairn. Not that it matters to you ... staying away for eight years whilst your sister was sold to the highest bidder.” Her eyes flashed scornfully at him again.

  "Why didn't ye write me, lass? I would have come,” declared Morg, his green eyes accusing. His anger was kindled against his Uncle and half brother. They had much to answer for.

  "I did write ye, over and over ... but ye never answered. I finally gave up, figuring ye were too busy to bother with the likes of me. And that was long before the marriage, I might add. I was only given three days notice for that anyway. It's not like ye could have even received a letter in that time, let alone do anything about it.” She tossed her head proudly, but her words conveyed bitter hurt.

  "I never received any replies to the letters I sent ye,” stated Morg flatly. “I had to assume ye were angry with me and had no intention of answering."

  "What letters?” she asked in disbelief. “I never received any letters from ye, Morg."

  They stared at each other, both coming to the same conclusion. Morg's face went red in anger. “Uncle Roger or Canton ... they must have intercepted our letters to one another. They have some explaining to do."

  "You won't get any satisfaction from Uncle Roger, he died within the year after ye left. But I have no doubt he was in on it, and Canton as well. Or perhaps it was all Canton's fault.” She looked up at him, her eyes deep purple and shadowed with the regret of lost years.

  Morg grunted suspiciously. “How did he die?"

  "Actually, we never really knew for sure. He was found dead in his bed one morning. They say his heart just stopped beating, but I have my own doubts."

  "Aye, so do I."

  She didn't put into words what they were both thinking as they looked at each other.

  Eileen went on. “I heard Uncle Roger and Canton arguing about gold. He has managed to clean out Castle McKenna's coffers twice now."

  Morg put his hands gently on Eileen's shoulders and was surprised to see her flinch. His eyes narrowed, but he spoke regretfully. “I'm sorry I wasn't here for ye, Leeni. I was chasing ghosts of my own and didn't give much thought to ye or your situation."

  Eileen stiffened and wiggled from beneath his ha
nds. “Don't, Morg. What's done is done. Ye can't change the past.” She walked a short distance from him, the tears near the surface. No one had attempted to comfort her, except Melba, in years. She wasn't used to it. And no man had touched her ... except for the breeding bed. She trembled and strove to keep herself under rigid control. She would not let any man see her in tears, not even her own brother.

  Morg felt helpless suddenly as he stared at her stiff back. She wouldn't allow him to comfort her, and he mentally cursed himself for the duties she would have had to perform for the old Laird. It was a crime, but not unheard of, unfortunately. Many times young girls were given to old men ... for many different reasons. He would see that Canton paid for what he had done to Leeni though. He reached out and touched her shoulder again.

  "Leeni?"

  Eileen jerked away from him. “Don't touch me,” she said through stiff lips, but she turned to face him, her chin lifting bravely. “Ye can have control of Castle McKenna, Morg. I won't stand in your way. Mayhap you can salvage something out of it after all, if Canton has left anything to use. If not, I'll help you all I can, but this war to depose Canton has been costly. Nevertheless, I will do my best if ye require it."

  "I don't need your gold, Leeni. I have plenty of my own. All that I need to rebuild the Castle and see to the needs of the clan.” His voice softened, but he made no move to touch her. “Is there anything I can do for ye?"

  "Nay, I don't need anyone's help,” she said proudly. “Ye can come visit and meet Soren, though. I would like him to know ye as his Uncle ... and Kat, of course."

  "I'll do that,” he replied, smiling down at her. She smiled tentatively back, and they were interrupted by Kat's voice calling to them. She appeared a few seconds later with Gallagher Brincairn in tow.

  Eileen watched the powerful man warily, not liking the way he was looking at her. She couldn't say what it was that made her uncomfortable ... unless it was the appraising look in his smoky gray eyes. They were the color of morning campfire smoke, spiraling towards the sunrise and set in a bronzed face with slashing dark brows and a square jaw that bespoke of a stubbornness to equal her own. And at the present, that jaw was tense, the lips that might otherwise be firm and curved in a teasing smile, now set in a grim line, as if he had a bone to pick with her.

  Unconsciously, her chin lifted in defiance; her back stiffening as he approached, and she pulled herself up to her full five foot, five inch stature. Obviously, his dispossession of the title and lands of the Brincairn legacy was not setting well with him. Not that she could blame him. It was too late though; Brincairn was hers now ... hers and Soren's.

  Gallagher stopped in front of them, his eyes never leaving Eileen, and she stood there proudly, growing angry as he inspected her from the feet up, his gaze lingering at the curve of her breasts as they strained at the ties lacing the bodice of her long gown together, then finally resting on her softly flushed face.

  "Do I pass your inspection then?” she mocked scornfully, her eyes spitting contempt at his sensual appraisal.

  "Aye, ye are quite beautiful, lass. No wonder my father wanted to wed ye.” His own eyes were contemptuous, as if she had seduced Donald Brincairn. “He always had an eye for a buxom wench."

  "Your father was a bastard,” Eileen spat back at him. “How dare you insinuate I had anything to do with this farce of a marriage? I thank the Gods that he's been dead these past three years!"

  "I'll not pretend a mock sorrow; I had no use for my father myself,” responded Gallagher cautiously. “The real problem here is how to get my inheritance back.” He studied her carefully, wondering how she would react to his announcement.

  "That's not possible. The Laird made his decree before the clan leaders and the village. It can't be broken.” She almost felt sorry for him, but not quite. He was Donald Brincairn's own son after all.

  She drew her breath in quickly as he stepped forward and reached out to bring the knuckles of his hand along the side of her chin. Flinching, she stepped back. “Don't touch me!"

  Gallagher felt a twinge of sympathy at her reaction, knowing where it must have come from. His eyes were inscrutable as he dropped his hand and spoke. “I was just going to tell you there is a way. Dungally has made a decree himself."

  "And what might that be,” asked Eileen suspiciously, her heart beating faster. Her jaw line felt tingly where he had touched her, and she hated the feeling. She didn't want to react to him ... not to any man.

  "You can marry me."

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  Chapter Three

  Eileen's face paled. She couldn't have heard him right. “M ... marry?” she whispered fearfully.

  "Aye ... marry me,” he replied, watching her fleeting expressions. First incredulity; then something almost akin to fear flashed through her lovely eyes.

  Morg looked thoughtful. “Now that is an interesting proposal, Gallagher. Isn't it a bit improper, considering the child?"

  "It ... it would be indecent,” stammered Eileen, in agreement. Her face flushed and grew pale again, leaving her eyes darker than before. “Besides, I can't marry my husband's son! Even if I wanted to get married again ... which I don't! It was hellish enough the first time!"

  Gallagher couldn't blame her for that last comment, and he didn't call her on her insinuation that Soren was his father's child. He would honor Dungally's request. Donald Brincairn hadn't been good to his own mother; so he could imagine how his father must have treated a young girl who was a pawn in his game of revenge.

  "I knew my father, lass, so I can appreciate your feelings. However, I am not my father.” He turned to Morg. “Would ye leave us to discuss this ourselves?"

  "I have no intention of discussing this, now or any other time. I will NOT marry you!” Eileen stepped around him with the intent of leaving, but he reached out and grasped her arm.

  Quick as a wink, her right hand came up and slapped him across the face. “Take your hand off me,” she hissed, trying to jerk loose.

  Gallagher grabbed her right hand in his big palm and held it easily as she struggled to pull free. When she couldn't, she screamed in frustration and whipped her other arm up to strike him on the other side.

  "Stand still, and I'll release ye,” he said calmly, stopping her swing and holding her as she struggled wildly. The lass was a fighter, whatever else she might be, but her soft skin felt delicious under his touch, and he felt desire stir in his veins.

  "Gallagher,” began Morg, as he started towards them, concern for Eileen in his green eyes.

  Gallagher stopped him with a look. “I won't hurt her, Morg."

  The two men looked at each other, and Morg finally nodded and stepped back.

  Gallagher's warm hands on hers were creating strange sensations up her arms, and Eileen didn't like it at all. Why was his mere touch having this effect on her? She stopped struggling and was rewarded with the release of her hands, and she quickly folded her arms beneath her breasts again. She stared defiantly at him, hating him for the sensations he had created in her unwilling body.

  "Don't ever hit me again, lass.” His eyes bore into hers with deadly warning.

  "Or what?” She eyed him contemptuously. “You'll hit me back?"

  Gallagher's brow curled upward. “Nay, I don't hit women. But ye won't like the consequences. I can guarantee that."

  "Keep your hands off me, and I won't have to,” she replied derisively.

  The door to the garden closing made them both aware that Morg had left, leaving them alone. Suddenly, Eileen felt trapped and at a distinct disadvantage. She backed up until she was well away from his physical aura and felt like she could breath normally again.

  Gallagher watched her retreat and mentally castigated his father. He wouldn't put it past the old man to have knocked the girl about. His lips tightened disgustedly at the thought.

  "I've been giving it some thought, and I have a proposition for ye to think about.” He folded his bare brawny arms across his wide chest
as he spoke, watching the sunlight play off the shining strands of her beautiful hair. It was the color of wheat shocks in the sunshine, and it was gathered together at the back of her well-shaped head. The ruby lips were pursed in disgust and those eyes ... oh, those eyes! The color of a luscious grape, polished to gleaming perfection.

  "Go on,” ordered Eileen disdainfully, although she had no intention of agreeing to his outlandish offer, not even for Dungally, who had treated her like the father she still mourned.

  "We'll have a marriage in name only, and for the period of one year. After that, I'll set ye free with all ye need to live on and see to it that the child is well taken care of. What do ye say?"

  Eileen was astounded at Gallagher's words. “And just why should I agree to this peculiar scheme? I've got it all now, and my son's future is assured. He will have everything his father had to offer him. Donald Brincairn owes me that anyway, why should I turn it all over to you and retire on a stipend? It's a ridiculous offer, and the answer is no!” She looked down her nose at him, daring him to refute her.

  "Two reasons ... one, the child is NOT my fathers, and two, the clan is unhappy with a woman leading it. They want me back, and I intend to have my rightful place back as well. Dungally and Jamie have insisted we be married to put things to right."

  Eileen's face went deathly pale. “Dungally told you about Soren?"

  "Aye. He said ye were forced against your will, and my father decided to take the babe as his own."

  "Something like that,” she agreed and she laughed bitterly. “As far as the clan is concerned, Soren is the Lairds son, and I don't have to marry you. No one knows any differently."

  "Nevertheless, ye will marry me.” He stared down into her rebellious face, imposing his will upon her, and Eileen felt helpless suddenly.

  "But ... it's against the law to intermarry. The King himself has decreed it!” She watched him carefully, his regal bearing lazily sensual as he studied her, gauging her reactions. She felt a pull at her senses, in spite of herself. He was a handsome brute!

  "We are not related by blood, lass,” replied Gallagher. “And knowing I'd be back one day, Dungally took it upon himself to request an exception from the Kings own lips, should it prove a viable situation. He has the paperwork with the King's seal on it, authorizing our marriage."