Highland Persuasion (The MacLomain Series- Early Years)

by Sky Purington

  His heart was here.

  “Nay!” The king said it so loud the crowd quieted. “You, Alexander, will now rule the lowlands. You will become chieftain to not only the Sinclair’s but the Broun’s as well.”

  Had he a blade in his hand, it would’ve sliced his cousin’s throat.

  Instead, with a heavy swallow, he said, “I am to leave the Sinclair’s.”

  As if on cue, Iosbail and her maids entered. In full royal attire, her face was veiled. But that didn’t keep Alexander from glaring at her nor did it keep Edgar from chuckling.

  Soft and direct, Edgar said, “They love you here. They will love you there if you tie together two warring clans. Lothian is far too important.” He leaned over and narrowed his eyes. “You are not. You are now a means to an end.” He cocked an evil brow. “'Tis now your duty to Scotland to make clan Broun the Sinclair’s whore.”

  Had that not been Alexander's intention all along?

  Regardless, fury filled him.

  This was his goal. Now it had become his cousin’s.

  His King.

  Why now?

  “I declare a dance!” Edgar said.

  Alexander closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Now the king would see his illegitimate cousin court his newly appointed wife. Thus forth, everything would be purposefully catered toward the crowd.

  After all, the king’s puppets would be married by dawn.

  Calmly enraged, strangely accepting, Alexander watched his bride walk forward and bow. As dictated he stood, bowed and walked to her. Hand in hand, they walked the line. A dance that portrayed they accepted all.

  He didn’t look at her.

  Had no need.

  The pipes trilled.

  The crowd remained silent.

  When the laird danced with his wife-to-be, all were to remain silent and worship. Alexander ignored her sweet ginger scent, he overlooked her petite stature, but he did not hesitate to swing her hand the king’s way the moment the music ended.

  “Coward,” she whispered as he turned away and took another’s arm.

  He was no coward, but courageous and cornered. The next time their turn passed in dance he whispered, “”Twill not be an easy marriage for you, lass.”

  Iosbail’s eyes narrowed as she was swung into another’s arms.

  Despite his frustration with the situation, Alexander could admit that he enjoyed the lass’s fire. Faced with a foreign clan and a marriage to a man who obviously despised her, she showed no fear. Instead, as seen from the onset, she seemed quite up to the challenge.

  Alexander found himself unpleasantly eager to rise to that challenge.

  Perhaps he’d had it all wrong when he thought to shun her.

  It suddenly seemed a far better revenge to first seduce then turn away her young and very broken heart.

  Chapter Three

  Iosbail stood across from Alexander and tuned out the holy man’s words. Everything was falling perfectly into place. As suspected, King Edgar was an easy target for seduction. She’d not even needed to bed the swine. All she’d needed to do was bat her lashes and present a reason why Alexander be removed from the Sinclair holding. Sometimes simple politics and taking advantage of family rivalry was indeed the best weapon. It was easy enough to convince the king she was the daughter of the recently deceased Broun laird and that a tie with the Sinclair’s would provide her clan the leadership it was so in need of.

  Now she stood across from her target with a calm, accepting expression. While she’d tried her best to be submissive with the man—a tactic that worked with most—she found it much more natural to be defiant.

  It seemed Alexander liked a lass with a little fire in her blood.

  From beneath her veil, Iosbail once more let her eyes wander over the fine-cut Highlander. She’d not expected the young, gangly boy to grow into such a handsome specimen. His Norseman blood showed true in his tall, muscled frame. Classically Nordic, his face well represented the gods his ancestors once worshiped. Chiseled cheekbones gave way to a strong jaw. Curved well, Alexander’s lips were designed specifically for seduction. His hair was cut shorter than currently fashionable and its color mixed light brown with varying shades of wheat. Perfectly sun-tipped she supposed.

  But the feature that had gained her full attention was his eyes.

  Like the steel of a sword when it glowed within the hottest point of flame. Beneath dark slashed brows, they were molten silver. A breathtaking shade consisting of pale gray in the center rimmed with a dark, brooding gray. Somehow, despite all her long years, she’d never seen the like. They seemed the sort of eyes that could easily and ruthlessly cut through to a person’s heart… their very soul.

  Iosbail thought of his first words to her. “You came to steal my soul.”

  He'd made her feel on guard yet curious.

  For the first time in a very long time excitement stirred deep within.

  This feeling, she surmised, would make his absolute destruction all the sweeter.

  Iosbail said the final words that legally bound her to Alexander and allowed him to lift her veil. Well aware he’d switched his tactic to now woo her instead of shun her, Iosbail maintained her role of a lass with a prickly attitude. It wasn’t a terribly hard part for her to play as she’d done it many times before.

  When Alexander’s lips gently touched hers she allowed the brief exchange then pulled back as though the very touch had insulted her. She was surprised when the heat of his lips stayed on hers. Their eyes met briefly before she lowered them. Perhaps remaining cool would be more of a challenge than she anticipated.

  The crowd broke into applause.

  Edgar raised his goblet and the hall quieted. “To a much needed tie between the Broun and Sinclair clans! May the lowlanders thrive beneath our rule!”

  Iosbail ignored her inner fury and nodded submissively. Had it not been for her brother’s wishes she would have traveled to this time, hired renegades and had both Edgar and Alexander killed in their sleep. Better yet, she would’ve used her magic. But, Adlin being Adlin, had found a way to cripple her in that regard. Save for traveling through time her powers were all but useless. Though she’d been infuriated to learn such at first she soon realized it made the game all that much more fun to play.

  The king interrupted her thoughts. “Now, because I am so eager to see great change come, your laird will be off to the Broun clan this very eve. A wedding night spent traveling!"

  Iosbail didn’t need magic to feel the repressed rage pour off her new husband. Intrigued, she watched Alexander grind his jaw as he inclined his head toward Edgar. For a split second she understood his anger. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation to be told to abandon all you loved for the whim of another. As soon as the empathetic feeling reared its head, she stomped it down.

  This man represented the Sinclair clan.

  And she vowed death to the Sinclair clan.

  To the lowlands with this lad… then onto the devil himself.

  Iosbail allowed her ladies to escort her from the hall. Within an hour she was changed and back inside the carriage. Disgusted, she peered out the red velvet curtains. She’d much rather be on horseback. With a heavy sigh she took comfort in the fact that she soon would be. ‘Twas the highlands after all and a carriage only made it so far. This one was typically stored just south for royalty.

  With a roll of her eyes, Iosbail leaned back. If one good thing had come out of nearly five hundred years of life, she’d never been Scottish Royalty. What a bore! She much preferred being amongst the lesser of any clan, ‘twas where comfort and truth resided. Good people who didnae put on airs but worked hard for their clan were by far the best lot. These new kings might not like the old system but to her mind it worked just fine.

  As the carriage lurched to and fro, she pushed aside the curtain slightly. Naturally, her new husband rode alongside, ever the protector. She’d bet the whole of Scotland that he would’ve much preferred an easy night in his grand castle having his way
with her. For him it would be a masculine and mighty way to show her the Sinclair’s had conquered the Broun’s, that highlanders were far better than lowlanders.

  Eventually, the retinue came to a halt. Though it would have been proper, Iosbail did not wait for someone to fetch her but left the carriage. They’d arrived at a keep not all that far south of the Defiance. For a split second she was tempted to lure Alexander there and kick his arse through with the hope that he’d never make his way back to his own time.

  But would that be the case? Someone in this clan clearly knew well how to use the Defiance. Could it be the Sinclair Laird?

  “Ye’ve got an eye for scheming, ye do, lassie.”

  Iosbail pulled her shawl around her shoulders and eyed the Irishman by her side. Here stood another thing that had her raising an eyebrow at Alexander. What sort of decent Scotsman kept a bit o’ Irish so close by his side? Typically, a bloody good one but she’d not give the Sinclair the praise.

  “If I’ve an eye then you’ve the double,” she responded.

  With jet black hair and an easy smile, he said, “Shamus is the name.”

  It did her heart good to be around her kind again. “What do ye so far from home, lad?”

  His brows raised, emerald green eyes merry, accent suddenly thick. “Yer an Irish lassie, then?” He clucked his tongue. “And here I thought you Scottish.”

  Iosbail glanced around. Nobody seemed much interested in their conversation. “As Scottish as the land made me.” She eyed him up and down. “I’d like to know yer story. Irish be no a welcome thing around these parts.”

  Cunning lit Shamus’ eyes. “And no be Broun’s.”

  “Yet here we both be.” Iosbail took his arm when offered. “It seems this journey just became a tid bit more interesting, aye?”

  “Indeed.”

  When Shamus led her away from the carriage it felt like the first genuine royal treatment she’d been offered since arriving in Scotland so very long ago.

  The holding in which they’d be spending the night was really more of a cottage. To drive home that fact, a couple and their three bairns stood waiting, a look of disbelief on their faces. Who could blame them? A royal faction of sixty men had just arrived on their doorstep.

  When Alexander, still done up with his tall boots, plaid, and royal emblems strode their way, they dropped to their knees. For fool’s sake, the mighty laird would love this!

  “Nay,” he said softly and lowered to a knee in front of the youngest. Startled, the girl looked at him, eyes wide enough to swallow the moon.

  “You kneel for no man,” he said and brought her to her feet though he remained kneeling. This brought them to eye level. “What is your name, lass?”

  “Jeez,” she whispered. “For Jezabel.”

  “Jezebel,” he said softly but just loud enough for all to hear. “’Tis a beautiful name, Jezabel.” He took her small hand. “I’ve a question for you.”

  “Aye, anything, my laird.”

  “’Tis late and we’re just upon you.” He smiled warmly. “Do you suppose my new wife and her ladies might find a spot by your fire?”

  Jezebel’s eyes didn’t leave his for a moment. “Of course, my laird.”

  He squeezed her hands gently. “Good then.”

  Pleased by his response her little eyes grew cautiously merry and she repeated, “Good then.”

  “There you have it.” Before Iosbail quite knew what was happening Shamus had a hand to the small of her back and was ushering her forward.

  Alexander stood and gave a half bow alongside the little, Jezebel.

  Even though she had her wits set on how she’d like this to go, the site of being ushered toward a little cottage with Alexander bowing alongside a wee one made her feel quite humbled. On her wedding night, Iosbail found herself not greedily taken by the Sinclair but warm and well fed on a cot by the fire, her ladies nearby.

  As she lay on her side watching the crackling fire, Iosbail tried to make sense of Alexander’s moves. He obviously had a plan… but what was it?

  Though she surely overthought, Iosbail felt more relaxed than ever. She must've dozed off because the next thing she knew a happy household was bustling around her and bright sunlight poured through the windows. Surprised, she sat up.

  “Here,” Jezebel said softly. “’Tis a spot o’ tea.”

  For a split second she thought herself back in Ireland. Iosbail soon realized that she was in a small cottage in Scotland and her years weren’t short but far too long. Still, she smiled and took the cup. “Thank you.”

  The little girl smiled, nodded and wandered off.

  Suddenly caught in an unfamiliar situation, Iosbail took a small sip. The liquid was warm and soothing, the environment, equally so. When a light tap came at the door, the husband opened it and bowed. Far too tall for the small abode, Alexander ducked in. With a fur cloak wrapped over his broad shoulders, the Sinclair laird seemed a mighty presence. His molten eyes cut her way, “Good morn to you all.”

  Alexander dropped some coin in the father’s hand. “’Twas a fine thing that you and your kin made us welcome but our journey must continue.”

  “Aye, my laird.”

  The mother bustled over and curtsied. “We’ve little to offer but please take a few loaves of bread." She glanced at Iosbail. “For yer lady and yerself. May yers be a fine married life.”

  “You’ve a kind heart. Much thanks,” Iosbail said and wrapped her plaid over her shoulders. ‘Twill be a short marriage, she vowed inwardly.

  Alexander tucked the bread into a satchel and they went outside. Men were already on horseback waiting. Shamus brought forward horses for her and her ladies. Before Iosbail had a chance to admire hers, Alexander dropped a chaste kiss on her cheek, wrapped a fur cloak over her shoulders and hoisted her up. Startled by the endearment, she pulled back sharply. No man helped her onto a horse! She’d been an excellent horsewoman long before Alexander had even been born.

  Amusement flickered in his eyes and he said to Shamus. “It appears the lass prefers no help from a lad.”

  “Aye.” Shamus grinned and mounted a black horse beside hers.

  Iosbail made a show of turning her horse in such a way that Alexander was forced to step back. She eyed the sword at his side. “I’d like a weapon of my own.”

  Alexander ran his hand down her horse’s mane in soft reassurance and came alongside her. His hand fell on her thigh, far too high up to be proper. “’Twould do me no good to put a blade in your hand.”

  Iosbail ignored the thrill his touch brought and batted away his hand. “Perhaps you’re right. Had I had one just now, you’d be down a limb.”

  Shamus chuckled. Alexander grinned. “So she’s as good with a blade as she is with a horse.”

  “So it seems,” Shamus concurred.

  Alexander swung onto a dappled gray mount and nodded south. “’Twill be a hard ride for you and your lowland lassies. Single file most of it. You will remain between Shamus and I.”

  Iosbail shook her head and clucked her tongue, urging the horse forward. She needed no man’s protection. A few minutes later—having cut through the woods unseen—Alexander fell in ahead of her. He’d planned it so that she was unable to sidle around him. When he winked over his shoulder she scowled.

  Though she was fairly certain he aimed to woo her, he was failing miserably. Why did that not surprise her? When Iosbail glanced over her shoulder she saw Shamus riding behind her two ladies. As promised, the women were being protected. Fine. There was little help for it. She felt the dagger at her side, tucked discreetly beneath her dress. As if she’d be without a blade! It would not have hurt to obtain another though.

  The path grew narrower, the trees thicker as they slowly made their way downhill.

  While she knew several warriors fell in before Alexander, most kept to the rear. Iosbail also knew at least five had been sent ahead to scout. It was an extremely dangerous time and land to be traveling. Not only did they pass th
rough lands ruled by rival clans but bandits and thieves alike roamed the country. The King’s retinue had been far larger. Though one would think Edgar more the target, smaller retinues such as theirs were far more vulnerable.

  In fact, the more she thought about it the more Iosbail couldn’t help but wonder if that’s the very reason Edgar had sent them on so quickly. Aye, it was no secret the king felt threatened by Alexander, but would he purposefully send him to his death? It seemed more and more likely.

  Iosbail had traveled the whole of Europe and Scotland alone. She knew now, even without magic, her wiles would see her through. What astonished her most was that she was concerned not for herself but those around her. Unable to quite pinpoint from where the sensation had derived, she shifted uncomfortably and eyed the darkening forest. When her eyes drifted to Alexander she felt the nervous sensation sharpen.

  Disgruntled and frustrated, Iosbail focused on her vengeance.

  To have her heart soften even a fraction toward the Sinclair chieftain would be her ruin. She could already hear Adlin’s words had he been here. “You always were weak when it came to the kindness shown a wee one. You could seduce every man in Scotland then walk away. It will be the lad who’s kind and noble when you never thought he would be…when you never thought he could be…who will grab your attention. God help him that he knows what to do with your heart once he has it.”

  The very thought of a Sinclair holding her heart made Iosbail nauseous. Nay, ‘twould never happen!

  Low clouds further darkened the path ahead and a light drizzle started to fall. Even though she barely knew the lasses assigned her by the king, she glanced back to check on them. Like her, they’d pulled their plaids over their heads. When she glanced forward, Iosbail felt rather than saw a shift in Alexander’s posture.

  The laird was discomforted, uneasy.

  Iosbail leaned forward slightly and whispered soft words of reassurance in her horse’s ear. The beautiful beastie had turned nervous as well, felt only in the miniscule switch of her pace, the slight back and forth motion of her head. Even though the mist turned to a steady rain and the wind shifted, Iosbail still heard the low whistles and clicks that most would think the sound of a forest when wet.