by King, Susan
"You seem certain of that."
"I am." She spoke through tightly pinched lips. "Ruari MacDonald will not live long enough to wed."
Duncan watched her warily. A chilling suspicion occurred to him. He stepped closer, and pressed his fingers hard against the cold, rough stone. With his other hand, he circled strong fingers around the back of her neck. Though she resisted, he tipped her head up with his thumb. Her hair slipped over his hand like cool silk. Her gray eyes sparked like flint.
"Another prophecy?" His quiet voice toughened with anger. "Have you warned Ruari MacDonald of his awful fate? First you attempt to frighten me away from my duty. And now you try to avoid this marriage the same way."
"Do not mock me," she whispered.
He leaned close enough to threaten, so close that his breath fluttered the soft, wild curls that edged her brow. With his restraining hand, he felt the tension in her neck as she looked up at him. Delicate muscles in her throat rippled as she swallowed in the silence.
"This is a dangerous, witless game that you play," he said.
"I do not—"
"Never claim knowledge of a man's death, my girl," he went on. "Unless you have seen his death with your own eyes."
He heard her sharply indrawn breath. With a muffled exclamation that sounded like a sob, she thumped a fist against his chest and pushed. He would not let her pass. Grabbing her shoulder, he held her firmly in place. Swirling currents seemed to race unbidden through his body whenever, wherever, he touched her, but he tightened his will against them.
"Would you call me a liar?" she sobbed, pushing again at his chest. "I will tell you this, and it is no lie—Ruari MacDonald will never wed with me. I will kill him myself if I must! And that is no prophecy!"
"Indeed. That sounds like an angry threat," he said. She nodded. Her nostrils flared and her breath came too fast. "How does a feud cause you to hate this one man so?" he asked.
"Surely the queen's lawyer knows what a feud can do." Her voice was bitter. "Let me pass."
Keeping his gaze and his grip on her, he suddenly remembered the vile taunts that Ruari and his brothers had called out by the stream. They had very nearly accused Elspeth of witchcraft.
Certainly there was more to this refusal than she had told anyone, he thought. He would wager that her cousins were unaware of her intense anger against Ruari MacDonald. Surely they would not support the marriage offer if they knew.
With that quick understanding came a frisson of dread. "Elspeth," he said slowly. Afraid to ask, he knew he must. "Has this MacDonald done harm to you? Has he laid a hand on you?"
She flashed her eyes away from his. "Let me go, Long-robe."
"Tell me," he said. His earlier suspicion of her so-called prophecies now paled to absurdity. Fear and anger stung him as he thought of what MacDonald could have done to this girl. "If Ruari has touched you, your cousins will kill him—and I would ride with them." He felt the sudden and total conviction of his words.
She stared up at him as if in surprise, silent.
"Has he harmed you?" he asked.
"Ruari has not harmed me," she said, and as she looked away, he bent forward to hear her, and her cheek grazed his in passing.
A sensation like sweet lightning shot through his body at the touch of that soft skin against his unshaven cheek. Silken hair slipped over the back of his hand at her neck. His hands on her body gentled, drew her nearer.
She held still, her breath a soft caress near his mouth. He shifted slightly, and her mouth met his so easily that it surprised him. Tentative, her lips brushed his and lifted away, more touch than kiss. A surge plummeted to his loins, intense and demanding, and the whirlpool began to spin. He took a deep breath to steady himself against the pull.
She drew back and looked at him, her eyes wide, her breathing as pronounced as his. "You would ride after Ruari?"
"If he harmed you, I would," he murmured.
Her brows drew together. "And what would that do for your precious bond of caution?"
She pushed hard at his chest and broke away. Duncan lifted his hands and stepped aside to let her pass. He watched as she ran down the curving steps and out of sight.
Sighing heavily, he rubbed at his aching nose. Once again, a few moments with this girl had thrown him into some mad eddy of emotion and impulse.
He reached for the iron latch, opened the door, and stepped out onto the parapet.
* * *
A breeze lifted his hair as Duncan advanced toward the three men who stood by the parapet wall. From up here, he noticed, the view extended for miles. Light flowed like liquid over heathery slopes, and the lochan below sparkled. Overhead, a few geese flew past, honking loudly.
"Aha!" Ewan exclaimed as Duncan came nearer. "Look at you. Caught the rest of Elspeth's temper, I think. Black as a badger about the eyes you will be by morning. And she, the little wildcat, will still be angry at all of us."
"I bumped into the door," Duncan said.
"A door named Elspeth Fraser," Ewan said, and smiled over at his cousin Hugh, who nodded.
"Elspeth has a disgraceful temper. Someone must control her." Speaking Gaelic in clipped tones, a man stepped out from behind the tall Frasers and looked coolly at Duncan.
"Master Robert Gordon," Duncan said. "It has been long since we last met. Inns of court, was it not?"
"It was," Robert replied. "Macrae of Dulsie. Greetings."
Duncan held out his hand, and Robert grasped it. Long-hooded eyes, a flat gray-blue, assessed him openly. Although it had been over ten years, Duncan had remembered the distinctive coppery hair and the down-turned mouth. He now saw the vague resemblance between Robert and his half-sister.
Where Elspeth's coloring was warm and delicate, like sunlight and roses, Robert Gordon's skin had a sour, yellow look. His lanky hair had a brassy tone, and his short beard was sparse. Unflattering but stylish, his slashed black satin doublet, trimmed with gold-thread embroidery and a stiff yellow lace ruff, added to the rancid impression.
Though a Highlander by birth and property, Robert wore a narrow bit of tartan in the Lowland manner, crossed over the front of his doublet and tossed over his shoulder like an afterthought. Robert's slender frame seemed slight beside the Frasers in their wrapped plaids. Even Ewan, who was not as tall as his cousins, was brawny beside Robert.
"Elspeth has never been encouraged to behave like a proper young woman," Robert said, his voice nasal and refined. "Now she has injured the queen's own representative in a fit of temper. This is shameful. Obviously I have made the correct decision to wed her off."
Duncan raised his eyebrows. Near him, he heard Ewan swear softly. Hugh turned to Duncan, frowning. "Robert has taken it upon himself to accept the MacDonald offer. He has promised Elspeth's hand to Ruari within a month's time. He has already sent word to the MacDonald chief. Without authority from us—"
"She is my charge as her half-brother," Robert said.
"I am chief of the Frasers," Hugh said, rounding on Robert to stare down at him from a height advantage of several inches. "I am her guardian. You had no right to accept the offer."
"You gave no answer to the MacDonalds," Robert said. "They were anxious to seal the bargain, and appealed to me."
"That wolf pack deserves no courtesy from us," Ewan said. "We would have answered them in good time."
"Wolves they may be," Robert murmured. "And I have given them your best ewe to appease their appetites."
Duncan glanced at the Frasers, while masking his own sudden anger. The MacShimi sucked in a sharp breath. Ewan's face suffused with a dark flush.
"No woman is a sheep," Ewan said. "And our answer, when we chose to give it, would have been a refusal."
"But Hugh agrees," Robert said. "When I arrived today, he told me that he was still considering the marriage offer."
"I was not aware, then, that you had already promised her," Hugh said, his voice hard-edged. "Do not twist my words. I told you that we had not decided. And I have never
agreed with you on any matter."
Robert shrugged elegantly. "Regardless, it is done, and will be the best course for all of you. The feud will be quelled after the wedding."
"And you mean to accept credit for that with the Privy Council," Ewan said caustically.
Robert shrugged. "I am pleased to help the Council to resolve this feud." He looked at Duncan. "I understand that you have not yet collected signatures for the letter of caution."
"We are discussing the matter," Duncan said, feeling as much on guard, suddenly, as the Frasers seemed to be.
"I would hear Macrae's legal opinion," Hugh said. "What of Robert's promise to the MacDonalds?"
Aware of Robert's glare, Duncan looked at Hugh. "The signed bond of caution will be the only acceptable legal proof of a truce between the clans," he said. "A marriage is not a formal declaration of truce. Without the bond, the Council members will not care about weddings."
"I need no legal advice from you, a man who has pursued the disaffection of a Highland clan," Robert said to Duncan.
Duncan blinked at this venomous reference to his minor involvement with the Gordon trials. He said nothing.
Robert looked at Hugh. "The Frasers should have forced Elspeth long ago to learn her woman's place. I have only put her in it at last."
"You know what Elspeth is, Robert. She needs our protection, not the force of our will," Ewan said.
"We are the ones who need protection from her will." Robert tipped his head toward Duncan. "Look at Macrae's bruises."
"Elspeth deserves our respect," Hugh said. "Because she is a woman, and because she has the Sight."
"Sight or not, she holds the key to ending the feud. The key is her womanhood. Use it."
"If a key interests you, man, it is whatever key opens doors for you at court," Hugh snapped.
Robert flared his nostrils. "I offer to help you. Take it or not."
Duncan turned away from the tension, and looked out over the hills. The breeze that buffeted his head and shoulders blew away the rest of Robert's sneering commentary as he spoke to Hugh.
Duncan felt a mounting sympathy for Elspeth. Now he understood why Elspeth had been so angry when she had first knocked into him. She had too much pride and too strong a temper to accept Robert's arrogant gesture with the MacDonalds. Perhaps Frasers would not use women willingly, but this Gordon apparently had no qualms about using his own half-sister to gain greater favor for himself. The man clearly had no interest in Elspeth's happiness.
Duncan could only approve of her adamant refusal now. Though the marriage had a distinct political advantage, he no longer thought it feasible. After hearing Robert, he regretted having ever spoken in favor of the arrangement.
He leaned a shoulder against hard stone and looked out. Skimming over the rocky shoulder of a hill, a small figure moved rapidly, her bright plaid and coppery hair catching the sun. Half-listening to the bitter argument which continued behind him, he relaxed against the stone support and watched.
Elspeth ran easily, freely, taking the rocks and tufts in downward leaps. Duncan felt a strange tugging at his insides, not lust, but something more subtle and poignant, as if he wanted, even needed, to be out there with her, rather than here.
He remembered running like that through the hills, a long time ago. He sighed; the queen's representative should fix his attention to the legal quagmire at hand.
As he turned away, he had an impulse to defend the girl against her sneering half-brother. He decided to offer his legal opinion. Whether or not Robert wanted to hear it, the Frasers should know every angle. He cleared his throat.
"This marriage promise can be retracted," he said.
Robert turned to blink at him. "What?"
"Because Robert is not the girl's proper guardian, no binding promise has been made. Send that word to the chief of the MacDonalds. Then it is still up to the MacShimi to decide."
"We will tell them that you only sent your opinion on the matter, and not a binding promise, Robert," Ewan said.
"Tell the MacDonalds that I have made a mistake?" Robert asked. "Are you fools? The MacDonalds are a proud clan. They will not only take Elspeth by force, they will take my head with her!" His glance, narrow and pale, shot around the group. "And all of yours as well!"
Hugh shrugged. "Macrae is right. I will send word to John MacDonald that you have overstepped your authority. My cousin, I think, will not marry a MacDonald after all. She will be promised to another. And quickly."
"What?" Three men swiveled their heads toward the MacShimi.
"Who?" Duncan asked.
Hugh shrugged. "There are many kinsmen who would wed her. Ten lads at least who are distant cousins. Two or three in my own bodyguard at Lovat, good lads. I will find someone."
Duncan frowned at the thought of anyone else marrying the girl. A slight brush of the lips, a whirlpool spin of sudden lust and longing, was no claim to Elspeth. He had best stay out of this. Certainly the clan chief had a full right to assign a husband to her with no further comment from the queen's lawyer.
"We could send word to the chief of the Grants, or to Clan Macintosh," Ewan added. "They must have a kinsman willing to take a wife. But what man is brave enough to wed a girl who has refused a MacDonald?"
"Ruari will not forget this. Elspeth may be in danger," the MacShimi said. "If she is to be married at all, she should be wedded and bedded and taken away from here soon."
Robert snorted contemptuously. "What does it matter to us if she turns up her nose at Ruari MacDonald? She would settle down to her new hearth, and soon enough have babes to worry over. And we would have what we want from it. If we do as Macrae says, we will lose our heads in some night raid."
The others turned to stare at him. "That head of yours," Ewan drawled, "will most likely be taken by your sister."
Chapter 8
Then by it came the Elfin Queen,
And laid her hand on me,
And from that time since ever I mind,
I've been in her companie.
~"Tam Lin"
Smoking torches cast golden pools of light over the table as Duncan stood and moved along the length of the bench to sit between Callum and Flora. He had risen from his seat beside Robert, leaving on the excuse of seeking another cup of the fine French wine that had been served at the supper.
In truth, he could not stay a moment longer beside Robert Gordon. Another dry lecture on suitable physical punishment for particular crimes was not to his liking just now. The subject had once composed a grueling three-day exam that Duncan had endured at St. Andrews; he had no desire to sit through the experience again, especially with a tutor as obtuse and as opinionated as Robert. Although Elspeth had been seated on the other side of Robert, she had been silent so far, with little to say to Duncan or to her half-brother.
Flora smiled at Duncan, her ruddy face framed by a wreath of iron-gray braids, the generous bosom of her dark gown covered by a tartan shawl pinned with a large silver brooch. Much of the evening, she had scuttled back and forth between the great hall and the kitchen that was located across the corridor. Under her direction, serving girls had brought platters of roast chickens and kettles of carrots and onions cooked in broth. Flora had reminded the girls to move deiseil, with the sun, around the table, in order to bring luck to those who ate.
Duncan had eaten his fill from his shallow wooden bowl, and had tasted the hot, peat-flavored oatcakes spread with honey.
Flagons of red wine and sheeps' bladders of uisge beatha had been poured out into pewter cups all through supper. Duncan sipped wine now, his head spinning a little. He welcomed that, for it numbed the dull ache in his bruised nose. Ewan had been right, earlier today; his eye was now ringed with a dark purple smudge.
He sipped at the wine again. "A fine meal, Flora," he said.
She smiled and nodded her thanks. "Master Gordon of Blackrigg found the roast chickens not to his liking, I think."
Magnus, who sat across from her, leaned forwar
d. "Robert was insulted when hens were served to him. He likely thought a roast steer would have been more to his honor."
"As if Glenran would waste good beef on such as Robert Gordon," Kenneth muttered, sitting nearby.
"Ach, you lads," Flora said. Duncan noted the gleam in her eye, and the grin that she pinched down.
"The lawyer Macrae of Dulsie, here, has not complained of our hospitality," Callum said around a mouthful of oatcake. "We offered fish to him the first night he came here, and no complaint from the man." He clapped Duncan on the back.
"Good plain food we offer guests here, no roasted swans painted gold, such as the Sasunnachs eat at the English queen's court," Flora said.
Listening, Duncan looked toward Elspeth, sitting at the other end of the table. In the flickering light, she looked small and delicate. He watched her sip from her cup, and noticed the flat look she sent Robert, as if anger still simmered in her from her encounter with him earlier that day. Duncan intended, tomorrow, to write the letter to the MacDonalds which would retract the marriage promise Robert had made to the MacDonalds; he wondered if Elspeth would still be so angry once the letter was signed by Robert and sent.
Callum slapped Duncan on the back again, spilling over his wine. Righting the cup, Duncan managed to chuckle. Callum laughed too, so heartily that he nearly fell off the wooden bench. Duncan reached out a quick hand to steady him.
"Tch," Flora commented to Duncan. "Look at that lad. He and one or two others are already whey-faced. I will be ministering to sore heads all the day tomorrow." She shook her head and swiped at some crumbs with her large hand.
"Hush," Magnus said. "What is Robert saying to Hugh?"
"I am building a fine new addition to my family's castle at Blackrigg," Robert was saying. "I have commissioned painted ceilings, and I intend to fill the rooms with goods from France and Flanders. Tapestries and candlesticks, mahogany tables, silver cups and bowls. Glass windows, too, and panelling."
"An excessive display for a disgraced Gordon." Hugh rolled his cup between his fingers.
Elspeth frowned and leaned forward. "Where do you get the coin to pay for all of this?"
