’Twas for the best. Although he had seemed to worship her the night before, mayhap the emotion that had been elicited by their bedplay was common, but she could see herself getting lost in those feelings. Before his attentions snared her, she would need to be gone.
…
Music floated through the air of the hall, but it did nothing to soothe the frayed nerves that had plagued him all day. Normally, Lachlan enjoyed the revelry of a good celebration, but tonight he wanted nothing but to be alone in his bed with Maggie. The day had been unusually stressful and long—very, very long. He wanted to forget everything from the day and sink into his siren’s welcoming warmth.
He had made his rounds, seen to the farmers who were concerned about recent cattle raids, and worked to make sure all was in preparation to welcome the lairds he expected to arrive soon. But thoughts of Maggie or glimpses of her had driven him to distraction.
She plagued his every motherent like a cold he could not shake. He was having trouble concentrating on his duties, and his lack of focus was detrimental for a man in his position. He had to get this woman out of his system so he could sever ties with her and return to being the leader his clan deserved.
Minstrels played from the balcony and the notes drifted down to the gathered crowd, and when they raised their voices, och, it was loud. Ale was served tonight as usual, but as with other special occasions, whisky flowed unchecked, and inhibitions fell like men on a battlefield.
His mother had ordered a welcome home dinner, and judging by the spread on the tables, she was happy indeed to have Malcolm and him home. Yet she seemed more intrigued and happy about the lass he’d brought with him than about their journey. Some part of him wondered if his mother had gone through all the fuss for Maggie and not her sons.
Elspeth had cornered him this morning. “I like her.”
“Aye. For now she can abide here. But she willnae tell me about her home, her family, or where she is from. I must protect the clan, and I’m no’ sure how far we can trust her. I will decide if she is to stay or go.”
“Use yer head, son. A woman wouldnae leave her home if she felt safe there. She doesnae want to go back. Something scared her, and yer arrival was good timing. She used ye to escape whatever she is running from.”
“She doesnae trust me, so I willnae trust her.” The conversation over, he stalked away.
In the early afternoon, he’d been able to finally get Maggie off his mind and make some progress on his work with his brother when his mother, Lorna, and Donella walked into the hall grinning as if they had beaten him to the pastries and there were none left for him. His gut had tightened as he realized Maggie wasn’t with them, although he had instructed his mother one of them should be with her at all times. She was a flight risk, and she didn’t know her way around. He didn’t tell her the other fear he was grappling with—Maggie was too bonny and not everyone knew yet she belonged to him. He didn’t want any other man going near her.
His mother had had the nerve to walk by, smile, and wink at him to let him know Maggie was out there on her own without an escort. Did she know he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on his work with the lass outside the keep and not guarded?
“Where is Maggie?” Lachlan ground out between clenched teeth.
“She is fine. We will go back to her in a motherent, I just couldnae watch.”
Watch what? His insides twisted as she smiled and raised one challenging eyebrow but kept walking. Lorna snickered as they passed.
“Lorna, where is she?” he commanded.
“She is helping little Agnes.” Lorna was trying to keep an impassive expression, but she was failing miserably.
“Doing what?” The tenor of his voice became strained in frustration.
“I believe Maggie was about to climb the big oak in the yard to retrieve a kitten. She sent Agnes for a rope and basket.”
“Maggie looked as if she kenned what she was doing.”
A prickle of unease ran down his back.
“The lass is quite brave—the kitten is verra high up. I would never climb that high.” Lorna shook her head.
“And ye three didnae talk her out of it? She is recovering from a head injury. What if she falls?” he barked with frustration. A sick feeling churned in the pit of his stomach.
“Malcolm, take over.” Lachlan stood so quickly his chair almost toppled over, but he hardly noticed as he strode briskly out the door. He didn’t want anyone to see how concerned he was, but damn, what if she hurt herself. He was going to tan her hide.
When he got to the base of the tree, his eyes roved up the thick trunk until he found her. His heart sank. She was so far up, if he had not been looking for her, he never would have seen her. He glared up at the lass who had plagued his every thought and kept him from his duties.
Was she right in the head? What would possess a woman to do such a foolish thing? The cat would have come down eventually. He wanted to shake her, he wanted to throttle her, but as soon as she made it down and his hands were on her, all he wanted to do was touch her.
He had intended to scold her. But she’d been so bonny, with her cheeks flushed from the exertion, breathless, and only in her shift, that his rational thoughts had fled and another part of his body had taken over. His groin had tightened, and all he wanted at that motherent was to taste her.
She had said she wanted him, too, and he’d been tempted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her back to his bedchamber, until his mother came up behind them. He had wanted to growl with frustration.
He would have her again tonight, though. Lachlan shifted in his seat to adjust the position of the evidence of his arousal. His hands itched to touch Maggie, to feel her thigh under the table and remind her that she would be in his bed again tonight.
Alan broke into his reflections as he pulled out the chair beside him. “We’ve searched everywhere, but there is no sign of the man—Glenn. He isnae on our land.” His worried tone was not lost on Lachlan.
Lachlan grunted. Not the news he wanted to hear. He didn’t like loose ends, especially if Conall Erskine was part of the equation. “Did ye ask the MacDonalds if they had seen him?”
“His tracks led to their land, but no sign of him there, either. We lost him in the stream.”
Unease as thick as the mist on the moors spread through Lachlan. How far could the man have made it? He had a mortal wound, Lachlan was certain of it, but still the man had been able to make it off his land, and his whereabouts were cause for if not apprehension, then at least caution. He cursed himself for not being thorough, but he’d been so concerned with getting Maggie away from the skirmish that he’d been careless. Clearly, being around Maggie was clouding his judgment.
“He was wounded and shouldnae have made it far. Let’s hope he doesnae make it home,” Lachlan said more to reassure himself than Alan.
“Aye,” Alan agreed.
“Whether he did or no’, Conall will come. There hasnae been a sighting yet, but we need to keep alert.”
“Do ye think Argyll will come with him?”
“Nae, but we should be prepared. Has any word come from the other lairds yet?”
“A reply arrived from the MacDonalds today. They will be here.” Alan had spoken with the MacDonald’s brother when he’d taken Robbie to their lands, so it made sense they’d be the first to respond.
“Robbie is with Art and Magaidh MacDonald?”
“He is. ’Twill be safe there, too. Conall will expect him to be here in the keep and willnae think to look there.”
“Ye instructed all their nearby men to be on watch?”
“The MacDonald clan was happy to protect the lad. What do ye think Conall will do when he gets here?”
“The bastard is insane, so there is no way to ken.” His gaze drifted to his mother and Maggie. “Best we guard the women in the keep until the danger is gone.”
Alan nodded.
The music became livelier as tables were pushed to the sides to make room
for dancing, and he was about to get up and grab Maggie to indulge his need to touch her, but his mother stopped him. In that instant, Malcolm took Maggie’s hand and led her out to the floor. Lachlan frowned.
Elspeth smiled brightly at him as the pair walked away. “Her grandmother is from Ireland. I was also able to find out she has three brothers and no sisters.”
Maggie had mentioned brothers. Why had they not taken her in when she was orphaned? Mayhap they were too young or their uncle, the priest, was better suited to care for her. He fought down the apprehension that threatened as he remembered she’d talked about her father as if he were alive, as well, but still the unease lingered.
Could Dougal have been wrong about who she was? If so, it was too late—he’d had her and would have to shoulder any consequences. He shook the thought away.
His attention returned to Maggie as Malcolm spun her around with ease, as if he’d never had an injury. She was smiling at something he’d said, and Lachlan caught himself smiling. She was quick to laugh and found pleasure in the smallest things. He liked that about her.
Maggie seemed to belong here. Despite only being at Kentillie for a short time, she had charmed everyone, but Aileen’s betrayal had left him cynical. Was the hurt worth opening himself up to any lass again? He wanted to believe he could have that with Maggie, but there were too many unanswered questions.
The song ended, and Malcolm bowed to Maggie as she giggled and curtsied, cheeks red from her exertion. Alan caught his eye, gave a crooked smirk, then walked up to Maggie to take her in the next dance. He glanced back over his shoulder at Lachlan and had the nerve to stick his tongue out.
“Excuse me. ’Tis my turn for a dance.” Lachlan stood and stalked across the floor toward Maggie. He almost cursed aloud when Arabella cut him off. He attempted to skirt around her, but she placed one hand on his chest and then the other, feigning hurt at his possible rejection.
“Lachlan, dance with me.” Her large, pouty lips insisted, but it was the last thing he wanted to do. He wished desperately to turn her down and go to Maggie. He had bedded Arabella only once and had come to regret it—she was looking for a husband and had apparently decided he would do. She was an attractive lass and some man would want her, but he had tasted Maggie’s sweet lips, and no other would satisfy the thirst she had awoken in him.
Arabella kept trying to seduce him, though, and with each rebuff, she would come back stronger and more determined. Recently, she had tried to lure him into the stables, but he had spurned her advances. With cold eyes, she had turned on him and threatened to do harm to him and then to herself.
Arabella’s mental instability was why he found himself blowing off his concerns and once again dancing with her. He didn’t want to deal with her hysterics, and now was not the time and place to have a confrontation that would lead to verbal blows and possibly a physical assault from her. As they moved across the floor, he mentally made plans to send Arabella to live with her cousins near Dundee.
This one dance would hopefully placate her. Then he would make his way to Maggie. He could survive another motherent of torture knowing he would be next in line to touch her.
Chapter Eleven
Tight jawed, Maggie glared from the table at Arabella dancing—no, almost gyrating against Lachlan. The auburn-haired beauty was so close to him it wasn’t decent, and her hips moved as if the two of them were alone and unclothed. It was obvious she still wanted him, and she wanted the whole keep to know it.
What heated her blood was he didn’t even try to put distance between them, and offered no hint of restraint as she inched closer and rubbed her breasts into his chest. Arabella laughed in his ear and threw back her head as she gazed at him seductively. Still, the man continued to dance with her.
Maggie reached for the untouched goblet near Alan’s plate. It was a generous dram of whisky he had pushed away as soon as it had been poured. She had never been allowed to have it before, as it was one of those things her father had considered unladylike, and she had stayed clear of it in order not to incur his wrath.
Well, now seemed as if the perfect time to try the drink, men be damned. She peered into the glass, then swirled the amber liquid. It looked harmless. It even looked as if it might be good, so she raised the cup to her nose and sniffed. Not so bad, mayhap a little stronger than ale. Her nose twitched.
What the hell. She lifted the cup toward Lachlan in mock salute and took a big gulp, only to hold the liquid in her mouth, afraid to swallow right away. Her eyes watered and she squared her shoulders to fortify herself before she was tempted to spit it out.
Then she let the liquid glide smoothly down. The whisky was warm, her nose stung, and then her insides started to burn, all the way down to her stomach. A slight aftertaste lingered in her mouth, although it tasted like some of her medicinals. She’d even used whisky for that purpose.
The burning gave way to a warm sensation that was not altogether unpleasant. ’Twas no’ so bad. Without hesitation, she gulped the rest. Her tongue burned a little, but it went down more smoothly. This time she liked it—why had she waited so long to try it?
Briefly taking her thoughts from the witch with her claws around Lachlan, an unbidden image of her father and brothers drinking was a welcome intrusion. They were not such a bad a sort. Her father didn’t value her opinion—he merely had an antiquated view of women. And her brothers had kept her sane after what Conall had done with Miranda, when she had been forced to turn her back on her friends.
Otherwise, she wouldn’t have made it through those terrible years, her mother’s death, the betrothal to that arse, and her father’s determination to use her to further his ambitions.
The whisky was growing on her, and it had gotten her mind off Lachlan for a few motherents, but then Arabella stroked Lachlan’s arm with her hand. He was facing the other way, so she couldn’t see his reaction, but still, he did nothing to stop her. The witch laughed and flashed her big, brown, seductive eyes at him. Maggie’s stomach churned, but it was the thought of losing Lachlan so quickly, not the whisky making her sick.
The amber liquid was quite good. Maggie peered into the empty goblet and smiled at her little act of defiance. Her irrational feelings of jealousy had started to fade until Arabella pulled Lachlan out the door. Her breath caught, and her eyes started to water.
So Lachlan was done with her already. She’d known it was coming, but after only one night? She reached for the cup by Lachlan’s trencher. His portion was even larger. After gulping it, she slammed the goblet back down on the table with a little more force than she’d intended. Luckily no one had noticed.
“Good eve, fair lass.” The words were purred seductively by a dark-haired man who bowed and took her hand. “I am Brodie, Lachlan’s cousin.”
He held her hand just a little too long. There was a resemblance—his smile was similar to Lachlan’s, except he had two dimples and chocolate-colored eyes that twinkled with a playful glint.
Brodie was devastatingly handsome, but his practiced pleasantries were almost too much of a good thing. He didn’t have the rugged quality Lachlan possessed or the command of a born leader or that overly serious glare, which hinted of a need to keep her safe. Yet, the man in front of her would make any lass swoon just for a few motherents of his time. But she felt nothing. Lachlan had ruined her for life.
“Will ye let me have the privilege of escorting ye in the next dance?” His eyes sparkled merrily like he was impersonating an English lord at court instead of a rough Highlander from the wild free lands of Scotland. A motherentary flash revealed a deep sadness hidden beneath his skillfully crafted words. She barely picked up on the emotion before it was gone.
“I would love to, sir.” Rising, she giggled at his overly flagrant formality and returned a perfectly overdone curtsy as she banished her melancholy.
This was a celebration, after all, and she was determined to have a good time. She had been to so few in her life that Maggie wouldn’t let irrational
jealousy ruin her fun. Surely there were no parties at a convent, which was still her final destination.
As they glided to the center of the room, she offered her arm to Brodie and he threaded his through hers. She smiled and turned to face him with the intention of letting the music and dance sweep her into another world, one where she would forget the man she’d given herself to, who had left the hall with a viperous trollop. Damned if she was going to let his roguish ways ruin her good time.
It was easy to believe they were kin. Brodie’s darker eyes weren’t as piercing as Lachlan’s; they were softer and warmer, despite the pain that flitted through the depths, yet he almost had her bent over with laughter.
“If my cousin werenae so enamored with ye, I would compare yer eyes to the stars in the heavens and your curves to the gently rolling hills of bonny Scotland.”
They moved swiftly and smoothly around the floor. He had one hand on her waist and held her other as the beat picked up in the lively tune.
“Ye are a heartless rogue, but I would love to hear ye tell me how fair I am.” Before long, his amusing banter coaxed her back into good humor. Her cheeks warmed from the exertion and quite possibly from the effects of the whisky.
Brodie spun her around, and she almost lost her footing. He pulled her in close to keep her from falling over. “Och. Steady, lass. Lachlan willnae forgive me if ye are injured in my care.”
“’Tis the spirits. I am usually all grace.” She rolled her eyes.
Maggie almost lost her footing again when Brodie’s sinewy form lurched backward and disappeared from her grasp. As he had let her go abruptly, she flailed to keep her balance, the motion a blur that sent the room spinning around her. The music stopped.
The loud thud of Lachlan’s fist hitting the flesh of Brodie’s cheek reverberated in the hall, and everything went silent. Maggie gasped at the fury in Lachlan’s eyes.
Highland Deception (Highland Pride) Page 14
