Traitor Or Temptress

by Helen Dickson

  ‘I have no intention of making you.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because that would never do. Besides, I don’t think I could bear it.’

  Suddenly, like a waif, she slipped out of his arms and into the turret room, but before she began her descent down the spiral stair she turned and looked back at him. It was a special look just for him. It seemed to beckon with strange energies. It seduced him absolutely and left him bewildered in the most sensual way. He was intrigued by the enigma of this young woman, whose naïve personality concealed a mysterious core of which Lorne herself was perhaps not aware.

  Iain followed her, heeding her words and forcing himself with an effort to shift his thoughts to who she was and why she was here, but somewhere in the caverns of his mind, he knew he was going to possess her before she left Castle Norwood.

  Slipping inside her chamber before Iain could catch up with her, Lorne crossed to her dressing table and sat before the mirror, contemplating her features as she had done so often in the past. She was deeply disturbed by what Iain had said as she tried to see what he saw in her. He had said she was a temptress. Was she? Somehow the wide, lustrous eyes staring back at her looked alien to her, but determinedly she plunged her gaze into their depths.

  And suddenly, like a will-o’-the-wisp, it seemed that someone else gazed out at her, someone almost childlike in her innocence, but at the same time seductive—a temptress, who seemed to grow from a tiny seed in a recess of her personality, a seed that had lain dormant in fertile soil until this moment. But she vanished as quickly as she appeared, too shy, too coy, to be caught, but far too real to deny.

  Lorne sighed wistfully, continuing to study her face. Iain Monroe had cast some magical enchantment over her. His dominance was accomplished by tenderness rather than by force, and she instinctively sensed that once she succumbed to the mesmeric force of his personality, she would then be at his mercy.

  Chapter Six

  A strange kind of existence reigned at Castle Norwood. As time went on everyone tensed themselves for the moment when the McBrydes would launch an attack, so when Duncan Galbraith rode up to the heavily guarded iron gates on a cold and misty afternoon, with just one gillie as escort, having passed through the sprawling village of Norwood and the surrounding district unmolested, everyone was taken by surprise. He had ridden south with a great tail of gillies for protection, having left them camped in the woods some five miles west of Norwood.

  Duncan had learnt through the McBrydes what had befallen Lorne, and fury such as he had never known pressed down on him with merciless gravity. The mere thought of the woman he hoped to wed being held captive by Iain Monroe chafed in unbridled restlessness on him. Two weeks into her captivity, impatience gnawed at him as he waited for Edgar McBryde to decide what to do.

  Edgar’s whereabouts in the Highlands was known to many but revealed by none.

  According to Robert, Edgar’s initial reaction on learning of his daughter’s capture had been to gather a large band of loyal men and ride south to take Castle Norwood by storm, but, on being warned that a party of government soldiers was waiting for him to show himself, and reluctant to feel the hangman’s noose about his neck—and not even to free Lorne from her captivity—he’d decided that no casually planned attack would be carried out for the present.

  Since Duncan was Lorne’s prospective bridegroom, through Robert, Edgar had urged him to go to Castle Norwood, which was a day and a half’s ride from Kinlochalen, and present himself to Iain Monroe. Edgar’s instructions were that Duncan was to demand to see Lorne and inspect her prison for himself, to see if it was possible for them to launch an attack and bring about her rescue.

  No matter how much Duncan wanted to see Lorne, he would have preferred one of her brothers to undertake the journey and confront Iain Monroe, but, having no wish to anger Edgar McBryde, whose disapproval he feared above all else, he’d agreed to travel to Norwood himself.

  The Earl was not at home when Duncan reached the castle. Men at arms, whose duty it was to guard the gates, looked him over with a curious wariness, while his cold pale eyes took stock of his surroundings. Three giant hounds bounded menacingly ahead of John Ferguson’s bulky figure as he crossed the courtyard to inspect the visitor. The hounds jumped up, unsettling Duncan’s horse, but he held it on a tight rein as John warded them off.

  With one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other on the dirk at his belt, John looked up and surveyed the man on horseback and his gillie suspiciously, feeling the blood curdling in his veins on recognising the Laird of Kinlochalen—young, tall and robust and dangerously vigorous. ‘’Tis a brave man who rides up to the gates of Castle Norwood—or a foolish one, at a time like this—especially if his name happens to be Galbraith.’

  ‘I am Laird of Kinlochalen—’

  ‘I ken who ye are. Are we to assume ye are here on an errand from that murdering villain Edgar McBryde?’ The contempt in John’s voice was too conspicuous to go undetected.

  ‘I come on behalf of Robert and James McBryde. They demand their sister’s immediate release.’

  ‘Until Edgar McBryde surrenders himself or the redcoats drag him from his lair, this is where she will stay.’

  Mistrustful and resentful, after insisting that Galbraith leave his horse and gillie at the gate and making sure he was unarmed, he granted the Highlander permission to enter the castle to see Lorne for himself.

  She came unsuspectingly, having no idea who awaited her, but on seeing the man standing beside John watching her descend the stairs, her heart missed a beat, the cause being an unpleasant sensation more akin to revulsion. There was no mistaking Duncan Galbraith. He had grown from the tall youth she remembered to a large man whose body was all brawn. There was an authoritative air about him and a conscious swagger of arrogance. Lorne sensed correctly that he enjoyed the influence and superiority his new status as Laird of Kinlochalen had brought him.

  Confident and self-assured, his face was not unhandsome, but it was spoiled by the permanent menacing expression he wore. Instinctively she took a step back to avoid coming too close, and studied him as dispassionately as if he had been a stranger.

  ‘Duncan! You take me by surprise. I am astounded that John let you in—considering who you are.’

  ‘Are you not pleased to see me after so long, Lorne?’

  ‘I confess that I would have been better pleased to see Rory,’ she answered truthfully.

  ‘Aye, ye always were too soft where that lad was concerned,’ Duncan growled, meeting her forthright stare, disappointed that the years had done little to relieve her antagonism towards him. The unconcealed hostility in her eyes and the lack of warmth in her voice aroused his displeasure. She didn’t look like a captive should.

  However, he was surprised by her appearance. The last time he’d seen her when she had left Kinlochalen, distraught following the brutal death of David Monroe, she had been a girl, pale and wan. Before him now stood another Lorne, vibrant in health, and more beautiful than he’d imagined she could be. She met his gaze proudly as he absorbed the sight of her. He was not disappointed. His home at Kinlochalen would be a brighter, warmer place with Lorne McBryde as its chatelaine.

  ‘How is Rory?’ Lorne asked calmly.

  Duncan shrugged. ‘Rory’s a scholar at the university in Edinburgh. He’s one of those who believe in compromise and tolerance.’

  ‘Which will always be mocked and scornfully rejected by you,’ Lorne spat.

  Duncan ignored her remark and glanced impatiently at John. ‘I’ll speak to her in private.’

  ‘I’m sure ye’d prefer the delights of a nice little tête-à-tête,’ John said sardonically, ‘but ye’ll say what ye have to say before me. Believe me, Galbraith, my own preference is to throw ye out on yer backside, but if seeing McBryde’s daughter helps ta bring about his surrender, then it will be worth it.’

  ‘I am here to make sure Monroe is not ill treating his captive.�
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  John’s smile was wicked, his words full of meaning. ‘On the contrary,’ he mocked, ‘the Earl of Norwood is renowned for his hospitality and treats Mistress McBryde like an honoured guest. See how well she looks for yerself.’ He extended his arm with a courtly flourish to where Lorne stood. ‘I think that when the time comes for her to leave, the wee lassie will object most strongly.’

  Duncan looked at the silent young woman under drooping lids, angered because she didn’t appear to be suffering any discomfort as Monroe’s prisoner. Quite the opposite, in fact. ‘Come, Lorne—are you not pleased to see me? Your greeting is as cold as a Highland winter. Surely this is a most affecting moment for close friends reunited after so long an absence? Shall you find warmth for me in the future as my wife?’

  Lorne looked into his face with cold eyes. ‘Wife? My God,’ she whispered. ‘You truly expect that of me?’

  ‘Aye, why not? We are not strangers.’

  ‘I’ve little faith that a union between us would be blissful or that it would last. I have been summoned by my brothers to return to Drumgow to marry a man who, if he resembles his warring brothers, considers women as little more than chattels. You have selected to marry me because of my bloodline and for no other reason—so do not insult my intelligence by expressing false affection. After all, what could be more satisfying after years of friendship, than for the McBrydes and the Galbraiths to be united by marriage? I will not live a lie, Duncan. I will not bind myself for life to a man I have no liking for.’

  Duncan’s eyes flashed with burning ire. ‘After two weeks in the hands of your profligate captor, to spare you the humiliation and speculation you will experience on returning to Drumgow, you may be glad to marry me following this unfortunate affair. You will be hard pressed to find another who will take you after a Monroe has sullied you.’

  Undiluted anger leapt and blazed in Lorne’s eyes. ‘How dare you insult me? He hasn’t touched me.’

  ‘There are those who will not believe you, no matter how hard you protest otherwise.’ Duncan looked at John. ‘Monroe would be advised to note that I want a virgin bride and will not settle for less.’ His pale eyes flashed a warning that the older man would be ill served to ignore.

  John felt a surge of smug satisfaction and his smile was contemptuous—it was plain that Galbraith knew nothing about the lassie’s affair with Rupert Ogleby. He was tempted to rectify this by telling this arrogant young pup that he would be sorely disappointed on his wedding night when he discovered his bride was not the virtuous young maid he imagined her to be, but when he looked into Lorne’s big green eyes gleaming her hatred at her betrothed, he had no doubt that she would have her own way of telling him.

  ‘If you have forgotten the circumstances of our parting, I have not—and never will. I shall never forgive you for what you did that day,’ Lorne said quietly. ‘And nor am I some helpless victim to be coldly sacrificed on the altar of matrimony into the hands of a heartless and unscrupulous man.’

  Duncan’s jaw clenched and his cold eyes glared at the young woman standing proud and defiant before him. ‘Silence. ’Tis your father you speak of with disrespect and does you no credit.’

  ‘Aye, my lord—my father,’ she uttered with scornful contempt, looking Duncan squarely in the eye. ‘And how is my father and where is he?’

  ‘He has seen better health—but he asks you not to worry yourself unduly on his account.’

  ‘I don’t,’ she replied coldly. ‘Does my father worry himself on my account?’

  ‘That is why I am here.’

  Lorne laughed softly to hide the hurt in her voice. ‘Really! His concern is touching and most surprising. So—tell me, Duncan, how long will I have to remain at Castle Norwood—a prisoner?’ she demanded. ‘How much longer before my father surrenders himself and puts an end to this madness?’

  ‘Is that what you want, Lorne?’ Duncan hissed, thrusting his face forward and glaring at her with outrage. ‘Are you blithely telling me that you would betray your own kin and see your father hang?’

  His cruel, fierce accusation pierced Lorne’s heart to the core and she paled beneath the force and implication of his words. It was as if a net had been thrown over her. No sound issued forth from between her lips. In shock she opened her eyes wide and searched Duncan’s face as if fervently seeking a denial of what he accused her of, before lowering them beneath his unrelenting, piercing gaze. She was overwhelmed with shame and struggling with pangs of uncertainty and disloyalty, for she no longer knew what she wanted.

  Of course she did not wish her father’s death—no daughter would wish that—and where her captor was concerned her thoughts were all awry with confusion. Iain had vouchsafed her entry into his world, and she was neither able to leave it nor desirous of doing so, for when she did she would never see him again.

  ‘I have not seen your father since he returned to Scotland,’ Duncan went on harshly. ‘What his plans are are his affair. I have not been made privy to them. I have merely come to Norwood on his request—passed on to me by Robert—to assess your situation, and to make quite certain you are well and not being mistreated.’

  Suddenly a voice rang out like the crack of a whip in the vaulted hall. ‘What are you doing here, Galbraith?’

  Duncan’s face paled considerably, and it was obvious that he was wary, if not a little afraid, of the man advancing with long, purposeful strides towards him, the heels of his high boots reverberating off the stone flags of the hall. The Earl of Norwood’s face was set as hard as the granite of the Scottish hills.

  When Iain stopped, the two men were only three feet apart. Arriving back at the castle after checking the defences to the north, Iain had been told immediately of the arrival of their visitor. On stepping into the hall, he had stopped short, every colourful oath he could think of running through his mind on seeing Lorne speaking to Duncan Galbraith, looking like the ravishing beauty she was, her unforgettable green eyes raised to his. He saw the way Galbraith was looking at her, and the sight sent a sudden surge of cold fury through him. The intoxicating beauty before the Highlander would arouse lust in any man. Did the wench have to look so damned lovely?

  Standing close to the Highlander, Iain saw there was expression in those cold pale eyes assessing him—disbelief, then hatred. He dropped a haughty glance at Galbraith and he did not trouble to disguise the poor esteem in which he held him. The hall was full of tension, which everyone present could feel. Duncan trembled and perspiration broke out on his brow on meeting Iain Monroe for the first time. The man’s size put him at a disadvantage. He felt intimidated and vulnerable, but he was determined to have his say.

  ‘You ask me what I want, Monroe?’ He pointed with a shaking finger at the young woman standing like a beautiful carved statue. ‘Lorne McBryde, no less. She is betrothed to me. She will be my wife and you cannot treat anything of mine in such a manner without answering to me.’

  Iain’s eyes were like hard, cold steel as they met his enemy’s, and the muscles in his cheeks tensed with ire as his gloved hand gripped the riding crop he carried. ‘I answer to no man, Galbraith—and least of all to you.’ He turned his wrathful eyes on John. ‘You should have consulted me before you let him past the gates. No doubt he’s made a detailed inspection of the castle and our defences and will report back to McBryde. As a result he will be better equipped when he launches his attack.’

  John’s eyes narrowed in annoyance beneath the younger man’s blistering attack, but he remained silent. Besides, he now considered it unlikely that McBryde would be in any position to storm Castle Norwood if it were true that the redcoats were on his back.

  Iain’s rapier gaze stabbed into Duncan’s pale eyes once more. ‘McBryde’s daughter will remain safely in my care for the present. She is basing all her hopes on her father giving himself up so that she can be released.’

  Seeing Lorne take a small step towards Iain, as if seeking his protection, Duncan eyed her with a strange mixture of angry in
solence and hungry fervour. ‘You seem at ease with your captivity, Lorne, and completely oblivious to the dangers pressing on your father.’

  Lorne raised a lovely brow in chiding admonition. ‘You are wrong if you think that. I would not see him hang, but what does he care for me?’ she cried brokenly. ‘A man who would leave his daughter all alone among his most despised enemies. As Lowlanders the Monroes are your enemies too, Duncan, so I advise you to be careful lest the Earl of Norwood and John Fergusson here remember all the terrible wrongs inflicted on them in the past by the McBrydes and the Galbraiths and it costs you your life.’

  Her firm reminder of his family’s past crimes and the threatened repercussions deepened Duncan’s anger and chilled his pale eyes to a piercing darkness. ‘And do not forget that you too bear one of those names before you become too comfortably ensconced at Norwood,’ he flung at her. ‘Your capture has had vast and unfortunate repercussions on your kinfolk. I think, perhaps, that the Earl of Norwood’s hospitality has overreached itself, for your loyalties appear to have become somewhat misplaced of late,’ Duncan accused scathingly. ‘You stand beside him like an accomplice instead of his arch-enemy. You will be telling me next that he is not responsible for your capture and incarceration and that you exonerate him from all blame. Your father will be deeply disappointed in you, Lorne. Deeply. The sooner you are returned to Drumgow and you are under your brothers’ guidance and protection, the better.’

  Duncan had the satisfaction of seeing Lorne’s defiant expression crumble. His words went straight to her heart and she stared at him with all the nauseating reality of someone who has just been hit by a truth they would prefer not to hear. The cocoon of sensuality she had existed in since she had left Iain in the tiny turret room yesterday began to disintegrate. Nothing was the same now Duncan had arrived at Castle Norwood. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore, least of all her feelings about herself.