“Chosen?” Cedric asked, coming away from the door where he’d positioned himself. Sir John moved closer to Aleck. “Chosen for what?”
“Aye,” Devin seconded, taking a step nearer to Chandra, where over her shoulder he tried to read the contents of the letter. “What has James done?”
Chandra’s eyes remained locked with Aleck’s as she folded the parchment in half. “James, in his far-reaching wisdom, has decreed that the Earl of Montbourne—this Sassenach!—is now my guardian.”
“Guardian!” The word exploded in unison from both Cedric’s and Devin’s lips.
“She needs no guardian,” Devin insisted, moving even closer to his cousin’s side. “She is The Morgan of Morgan, chieftain of the clan. She leads all of us. She needs no overseer. No one is allowed to dictate what she can and cannot do.”
“Aye,” Cedric chimed in, “especially when he’s not a Scot.”
“Wrong,” Aleck said, shoving to his feet, his gaze swinging away from Chandra’s. “There is one who has the right, and he is by birth a Scot. Since he has decreed that I am her guardian, it is so. By his writ, which gives me full power, I shall dictate what she can and cannot do. To question my authority means you question James’s authority and the authority of the Crown. Only a fool would do so.”
Cedric’s eyes sparked fire. His hand reached for his sword’s hilt.
“Uncle, temper yourself,” Chandra commanded. “There will be no bloodshed, I tell you. Until you are able to control your anger, I ask that you retire to your quarters.” She noticed how her uncle’s lips, already drawn into a tight line, compressed further. He seemed unwilling to honor her request. “Go with him, Devin,” she ordered. “I wish to speak with Lord Montbourne privately.”
“But—”
“No mischief will befall me, cousin.” Her gaze shifted back to the Sassenach. “James would not find pleasure in hearing that my new guardian has harmed the one he’s been sent to protect. There is no cause for worry, is there, milord?” she asked of Aleck.
He smiled. “None, milady. None at all.”
The door to the antechamber opened and a reluctant Cedric and Devin walked into the hallway. Montbourne nodded for Sir John to follow the pair. The panel closed with a sound thud.
“You didn’t share the rest of James’s letter with your clansmen,” Aleck said. He again settled his hip on the table’s corner, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Is that why you wanted to speak with me privately?”
“It is,” Chandra snapped. “If you think I will allow you to select a husband for me, you are mistaken. When it is time for me to marry—which it is not—I shall take unto myself a man of my own choosing. James won’t have any say in it, and neither will you.”
“Oh, but I will, milady.”
“Will not!”
Aleck gazed at her impudent mouth, its lower lip thrust forward, and the desire to claim it with his own leapt through him anew. He’d punish her with his kisses until she was whimpering with want. Or until she bit him. The last thought made deep laughter rumble in Aleck’s chest while merriment twinkled in his eyes, for he knew she’d do it. He noticed that his ward stared at him. Undoubtedly she thought he’d gone mad. “You’re tempting fate,” he said, then his lips spread into a devastating grin; a dimple marked each cheek. The Lady Lochlaigh seemed mesmerized; a sudden flush rose on her cheeks. “By contradicting your guardian,” he continued, growing more confident in his male prowess, “you’re certain to lose any leniency he might have showed you.”
Once fascinated by his smile, Chandra quickly came to her senses. “Leniency?” she cried. “I doubt you would show any leniency to me or to any Morgan.”
“I might, if I were granted the courtesy I deserve and given the regard due me as your guardian.”
“Courtesy? Regard? You ask much after what you’ve done!”
“What I’ve done?” he returned, shooting to his feet, his need to taste her lips momentarily forgotten. “I may have given offense by speaking my mind about this desolate clime, the dreary weather, the unappetizing food—which somehow had miraculously improved a hundredfold this very morn—and the ill-mannered lot who inhabit this drafty old keep, but in doing so, I merely voiced the truth. If anyone has been offended, it is I.”
“Truth? Ha! Before you came here, your perceptions of us were already formed.”
“Perhaps—to an extent. But those perceptions were based on what other Englishmen were made to suffer by you Scots, especially the Highlanders. Their stories are numerous. Now I have my own tale to tell.”
Chandra knew what he would say, but wanted to know if he dared to embellish the truth. “What is your tale?”
“It is this: On my arrival, I stated fully that I had been sent by James to see the Lady Lochlaigh. Am I invited inside? No. Instead I am greeted by the threat of arrows descending upon me and my men. Wondrously, they did not fall, yet I am made to sit in the soaking rain until dusk, waiting for approval to enter. When I am finally bade do so, I am fed an inedible paste and dry cakes, the latter washed down with water. Of course, as an honored guest, I am shown to a pauper’s room, where I am dyed green in my bath and forced to spend my night’s repose on a lumpy bed. My horse was cruelly injured, and I made to wallow in the mud as would a lowly swine. Who has given the greatest offense, Lady Lochlaigh? You or I?”
Guiltily Chandra stared at her feet. “They did not fall because I ordered it so,” she said after a moment.
Aleck’s brow knit in confusion. “What?”
“The arrows—I ordered them placed back into their quivers.”
“An act of courtesy? Forgive me, I shall strike the aforesaid threat from my list.” Aleck waited, but Chandra gave no response. “A word of advice. I am usually not a very tolerant man. In fact, my forbearance has been imposed on quite enough. I did not ask to be sent here. Nor do I wish to stay. As I see it, the faster I find you a suitable husband, the quicker I can return to England. Therefore, I suggest you call together all the eligible men who are loyal to James so that I may conduct the necessary interviews and have you wedded by month’s end.”
“Month’s end? I’ll not marry any man, suitable or otherwise,” she stated defiantly. “Especially not one chosen by you.”
“Oh, but you will,” Aleck repeated, his eyes again focused on her lips. “But first, I am most curious.” With the fluid movement of a big cat, he lazily walked toward her, Chandra stood fast, refusing to back away. He stopped mere inches from her. “There’s something I have wanted to know since the moment I first saw you, Morgan Morgan.”
“Chandra,” she snapped, but didn’t know why.
“Yes, that is the Lady Lochlaigh’s real name, isn’t it?”
“What is it you need know?” she asked, dismissing his question.
“Simply this.” His hand caught hold of her plaited hair to quickly coil the braid around his wrist. Her head fell back, her lips opening in protest, and his mouth descended, covering hers fully. The kiss was hard, hot, wet, and over when it had barely begun.
He released her braid, and Chandra stumbled away from him; the back of her hand scrubbed furiously against her mouth. “Don’t ever touch me again.”
“Each time you decide to provoke me or to disobey, you may expect more of the same. A fair punishment is it not? Especially when you cannot abide being near me.”
She glared at him. “Arrogant Sassenach!”
“I’ll forgive you that one, but next time I may not,” he said over his shoulder as he strode toward the door. “Know also that I too have a name.” He turned and shot her a wicked smile. “It’s Aleck. Or more formally, it’s Alexander Hawke—with an e—the sixth Earl of Montbourne.”
As Aleck opened the door, his surname echoed through Chandra’s head. Hawke! Hawke! HAWKE! On the last reverberation, she nearly crumpled to the floor. The winged hunter in the old refrain and this man Hawke, they were one and the same. Was the legend about to be realized? Impossible, she thought, wanting de
sperately to deny that it might be true. She watched as the panel closed behind him. “Swine!” she yelled loudly, only to hear his low laughter seep into the room through the aged wooden barrier.
Not long after her guardian had left her, Chandra paced the floor of her bedchamber. With her hands clasped tightly in front of her, knuckles gleaming white from the pressure, she tried to fight down the anxiety swirling through her. His surname was merely a coincidence, she told herself. A quirk of fate. But that was the problem. Like the winged hunter in the legend, this Hawke possessed the power to change her destiny. Unlike the ladybird, however, Chandra had no place to flee. Her agitation grew, for she resented the control he had over her. Her jaw set, she continued her monotonous trek, expending her anger as she did so.
Arrogant beast! her mind screamed with fury. He would not dictate what she could or could not do. Nor would he choose a husband for her. She’d go to her grave before she’d allow any man to have say over her. James’s edict be damned! But what was she to do?
From the chair where he sat, Devin had watched Chandra’s measured tread for the past quarter hour. Her impending marriage was no secret to anyone, for the couple’s heated words had shot through the door like cannon fire. None of the three waiting in the corridor knew what had transpired during the moment of silence, but by Chandra’s reaction, Devin had his suspicions. Finally he could take no more of her pacing. “Cousin, you are wearing out the carpet—your feet as well.”
“It is my carpet and they are my feet,” she snapped without thought. “I shall ruin them if I wish.”
“Whatever you say, but you are exhausting yourself needlessly.”
Chandra came to a standstill. “Needlessly? I am about to be married off to some stranger who will be chosen for me by that odious Sassenach who calls himself my guardian. I’m not exhausting myself for naught. In order to think, I must pace. I’ll not rest until I’ve found a solution.”
“The solution is here in James’s letter. Or at least, I believe it is.”
“Where?” She strode toward Devin and took the letter from his hand. Reading it anew, she frowned. “I see nothing by way of a solution. It says the same as it did: I am to be married. And Montbourne, as my guardian, is the one who will select my husband.”
“As I read it, there are two requirements set forth by James that the prospective bridegroom must satisfy and Montbourne must make certain are fully met prior to any marriage being arranged. One is that the man has sworn fealty to our king; the other is that he is loyal to the Crown.”
“There are dozens upon dozens who fit those requirements. How do you see a solution in that?”
“There are equally as many, if not more, who don’t fit those requirements. Montbourne wants you married off by month’s end, whereupon he can make a swift return to England; therefore, he instructed you to call together all eligible men so he can arrange the appropriate interviews in order to find you a suitable husband, correct?”
“Aye, that is what he said.”
“What if you called together only those men you know are not altogether in conformity with James’s way of thinking? It wasn’t so long ago that our cunning king enacted his sly hoax at Mull.”
Chandra remembered that unsettling time. Irritated that his Highland subjects flouted the rule of the Crown, James had sent a great army north. A conference was called in the Castle of Aros. With the promise of hearing a sermon, a number of clan chieftains—including her father—had been invited aboard ship, quickly arrested, then imprisoned all over England, until one by one they had sworn fealty. James’s action had been highly unfair—at least where her father was concerned. Colan Morgan truly had desired peace and had demonstrated such by remaining in harmony with his neighbors for nearly a decade.
“Why do you mention Mull?”
“Although many of the clans’ leaders have acquiesced, there remain scores and scores of Highlanders who have refused to resign themselves completely to the rule of the Crown. They suffer in silence, ready to revolt. For centuries, the clans have striven for the right to rule themselves—not that they have accomplished much with their continual wars, except to weaken their numbers.”
“Aye,” Chandra agreed. “Too many young men have lost their lives, and for naught.”
“It is the way of the Highlander. Headstrong Scotsmen all. Each believes he’s right and will go to his grave trying to prove it.”
“Aye,” she repeated, knowing she was nearly as head-strong as the rest of her countrymen. “But I see no solution here,” she said, her free hand striking the letter. “My father swore fealty to James, and I cannot break the pledge he made. It would bring ruin to us all.”
“The solution is there, but it is only temporary. It will merely delay the inevitable.” He noted her questioning look. “Montbourne must interview each man who asks for your hand, correct?”
“Aye.”
“He desires to return to England, does he not?”
“Aye.”
“What if your guardian, through all his interviews, cannot find a suitable mate, one who is loyal to James and the Crown?”
Chandra was beginning to see his point. “I imagine he will become quite frustrated. The longer he is made to stay in Scotland, the more annoyed he’ll become. Thwarted, desiring to return to his beloved England, he’ll soon abandon his search. Given his temperament, he should be gone from here by month’s end—possibly sooner. I’ll still be unattached and without a guardian, too.” Her crystal laughter bubbled forth. “Oh, Devin, do you really think it will work?”
“Aye, if we plan wisely. With Montbourne out of the way, you can then find yourself a husband, one whom you can love.” Chandra frowned down at him. “If you don’t marry,” he said, “James will simply send someone else to take Montbourne’s place. We are only delaying the inevitable. You will have to wed, and soon.”
Chandra sighed heavily. “You are right, I suppose. But I refuse to think of that now. Come,” she said, urging Devin from the chair, “we need to make a list of those whom we are assured will fail the test.”
Having gathered quills, ink, and paper, Chandra and Devin sat opposite each other at the writing table in her room. Nearly an hour later, they had compiled approximately two hundred names. The prospective bridegrooms ranged from those who despised the Crown’s authority outright to those who wavered in their loyalty depending on the time of day. “Do you think these will be enough?” she asked, scanning the list once more.
“I would hope so,” Devin responded, stretching his cramped fingers. “Remember, we still must write the letters inviting them all to Lochlaigh Castle.”
“I wish we knew twice this many,” she said, the tip of the quill’s feather brushing the edge of her lower lip. “’Twould be nice if the line wended out the castle gates and down the lane. At the prospect of interviewing such a staggering number, Montbourne might reconsider his duty and flee back to England in haste.”
“’Twould be nice, but let’s keep to the list we have at present. Once the word is out, there will probably be others who show themselves.”
“But what if they are truly loyal to James?”
“I’ll question each one myself, long before Montbourne ever sets eyes on any of them. If they don’t pass my test, they will be sent on their way.”
“Devin, you are truly the finest cousin I could possibly have,” Chandra said, gathering his hand from the table to kiss his knuckles. “What would I ever do without you?”
He smiled weakly. His strength was waning day by day; his coughing seizures had grown more worrisome. Blood now showed in his sputum. He feared it would not be long before Chandra learned the answer to her question. “You would find another champion, cousin. One who cares for you nearly as much as I.”
Startled by his response, Chandra searched the angles of his pale face. Tears stung her eyes when she realized how very ill he was, yet she refused to acknowledge what it meant. “Never,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. “You are
not only part of my family, but my best and dearest friend. No one could ever replace you. No one.” Before her tears welled and fell, she quickly changed the subject. “Are you certain the Sassenach won’t suspect our deception?”
“I hope not,” he said, releasing Chandra’s hand with a gentle caress. “The truly subversive ones are a mere handful. The majority of the others have some sort of petty grievance against the Crown or against James himself. The remaining few are simply inept. The first sign of a confrontation, they’d flee over the first hill. Whether any of them likes James or not, remember, they are all Scots and Montbourne is English. One by one, they are certain to insult the man. Considering his disposition, he’s bound to dismiss them all. The choice, of course, is his.”
“That’s my greatest fear. This has to work.”
Over the next half hour, the pair duplicated the list onto another sheet of parchment, then drafted a letter. Both documents were sent to the Earl of Montbourne with a note requesting his approval. Within ten minutes, his written reply was returned to Chandra’s door by the same messenger. The letter had been approved, but the list was to be cut in half. A suitable bridegroom, he had decided, could readily be found among the smaller group.
“We should not have sent the list,” she said, once her guardian’s response had been read.
“Not to worry. Eventually all the names will be utilized. It simply gives us more time to write the remaining letters.”
“Then we had best get started, for he wants the first of the men to arrive by next week.”
During the following day and a half, Devin and Chandra had written the nearly one hundred letters inviting her suitors to Lochlaigh Castle. Fortunately they were not disturbed by her guardian or by her uncle. In fact, they saw neither man, which might have been due to their having taken their meals in Chandra’s room.
At present, as Chandra stood by the open gate, watching the final courier ride out across Morgan lands, the last ten invitations tucked securely into his leather pouch, she felt her nerves grow taut. “What now?” she asked Devin, who was close at her side.
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