A Gentle Feuding

by Johanna Lindsey

  “You took advantage of me, Jamie.” “Och, now, sweetheart, I didna do anything you didna want me to.” “You’re wrong, Jamie. I dinna know why you’re able to stir such passion in me with your touch, but there is a great difference in what I felt then and what I feel now. You can only rob me of my will for a short time. I have ‘it back now. Nothing has changed.”

  “Ah, but it has, lass, it has,” Jamie breathed softly. “You’ve learned you canna deny me, no matter your wanting to. Whatever the future brings, we will still have this.‑ And I’ll no’ stop wanting you, Sheena.” This was spoken solemnly, in earnest, almost like a threat. “And you may wish it otherwise, but you’ll no’ stop wanting me, either.”

  Chapter 36

  THE loveliest, most wonderful feeling, to be bathed in soft cloud, as if you were floating high above the reality of the world in a mystical heaven. Sheena experienced that feeling as she walked along the battlements late in the afternoon. It had been that way most of the day, thick clouds coming down to surround the castle. At times she’d had to stop, unable to see a foot in front of her. And she could see nothing at all beyond the walls. Yet she could look down into the courtyard and see clearly, for, of course, the clouds did not gather there, only over it, like a ceiling.

  She was watching another group of guests leaving. That was probably the last of them, except for the ‘Martins, who intended to visit for a while. Jamie would be sorely displeased. He had wanted the festivities to continue for a week or more, but the prevailing atmosphere had not encouraged festivity. The guests had been quite uncomfortable amidst the hostilities of bride and groom.

  It ways Sheena’s fault, she knew it. Jamie had tried to appear in good spirits that day. Perhaps he really was enjoying himself after his victory of the night before. But Sheena had made little effort.

  The possibility that she might always want Jamie was absurd, wasn’t it? Yet something had been proven the night before, and the truth of it, was hard to bear.

  She hated Jamie—didn’t she? It certainly felt like hate. If it wasn’t hate, what was it? How could she feel such pleasure from his touch? She couldn’t reason it out.

  Sheena heartily ‘wished she could float away with the clouds and forget it all, her marriage, Jamie’s claim on her, everything. Of course she couldn’t. She would have to go back to the hall eventually and suffer through another painfully solemn meal. And then later‑where could she hide that he couldn’t find her? Perversely, a small voice asked if she really wanted to hide.

  Sheena shivered in the cold and wrapped her cloak tighter as she watched the Keiths riding through the gate. Could they see to make their way down the mountainside? From her perch on the wall, she couldn’t tell. She would miss Thais and her cheerful banter. But perhaps it was better that the guests were gone. Maybe Jamie would settle the matter that had cast the pall over their wedding. Settle it one way or another. She couldn’t bear the suspense, the constant worry over her family.

  “You should be leaving as well, ‘afore there are more deaths because of you.”

  Sheena gasped. She didn’t have to turn around. She knew that vengeful voice behind her. She ran, ran as fast as she could, before Black Gawain decided to help her leave. It would be so easy to claim that she had stumbled because of the thick clouds and fallen over the wall. An accident. Who could say it hadn’t been accidental?

  When she reached the warmth of the hall, she was still trembling. But she was safe there, and the trembling subsided. If she could say nothing else for Jamie, at least his presence made her feel secure.

  Jamie didn’t speak to her when she sat down by his side. His mood had indeed soured with the parting of nearly all his guests. He took no notice of her pallor, acknowledging her presence with a grunt and then resuming his conversation with Dobbin. At least Daphne and Lydia were there to keep her company, and to help her ignore the presence of Jessie, who was sitting next to Dobbin.

  It might have continued fairly comfortably, each ignoring the other, if Black Gawain hadn’t put in an appearance. He wasn’t there just for the evening meal, Sheena sensed that. Her eyes were fastened on his face, mesmerized by the malevolence of him. Daphne was talking to her, but she didn’t even hear. Reaching the table, Gawain stood directly behind Jamie’s chair and announced as loudly as he could, “Hamish has succumbed to his wounds. He is dead.”

  Jamie turned around instantly. “Are you sure?” he asked simply, quietly.

  Gawain nodded. “The question is, what will you be doing about it?”

  It took great daring to demand that of James MacKinnion. Black Gawain was either a fool or simply beyond all caution.

  It was Colen who shoved the question aside an grily. “Is that all you can think of when a kinsman has just died? Can he no’ be buried first?”

  “If your brother had been thinking of the clan, instead of his new bride, there would be no need for burying at all” was Gawain’s blistering reply.

  There were shocked mutterings. Was the fool looking to be buried himself? How did he dare cast aspersions against Jamie?

  Quite slowly, Jamie stood, until his face was only inches above Gawain’s, and very close. Gawain had to look up to meet those cold hazel eyes.

  “For a tacksman, cousin, you take a lot upon yourself,” Jamie said smoothly. “I’m thinking you forget whose blade it was that pierced a Fergusson, when they were one and all under my protection.”

  “And you forget I was provoked!” Gawain fumed.

  Jamie’s voice was but a whisper. Only Gawain heard him say, “No’ forgetting, just doubting now ‑as I did then‑that there was any provocation at all. Need I make myself clearer, Gawain, or do you see the action I should have taken was against you?”

  Gawain lost some of his bluster. He turned quite pale, and Sheena would have given anything to know why. But she hadn’t heard.

  “Have a care, Gawain,” Jamie added more loudly. “You would do well to leave my presence while I’m still inclined to let you.”

  Black Gawain saw the wisdom in that, but he couldn’t resist a parting shot. “She’s bewitched you, Jamie. You’ve no’ seen things in perspective since she came here. Retaliation is called for, yet you let her sway you. She’s turned you soft, man. There’s no other explanation.”

  Jamie held himself in check to keep from responding. For the truth was, he still wasn’t certain what had happened that day, his wedding day. It was time to be certain, though, time to stop procrastinating and do something. Black Gawain’s accusation rang true, and Jamie resented it bitterly. Maybe he had let Sheena influence his judgment. There was no excuse for that, even if he hadn’t been aware of it at the time.

  “Jamie?”

  He looked at Sheena but couldn’t bear seeing fear is her eyes yet again. Besides, he needed apace to breathe, to think. He couldn’t do that with her asking questions he couldn’t answer. Without another word to anyone, he left the hall.

  It was the middle of the night when Jamie finally came to their room, and she was waiting for him. She found out what he’d decided on more easily than she wanted to. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot as she watched him gather weapons, knowing whom those weapons would be used against.

  “So you’ve let him goad you into it?” Sheena whispered in a strained voice.

  Jamie wouldn’t look at her. “I’ve delayed long enough. It must be done.”

  She felt lifeless, dead, except for the pain that wouldn’t stop.

  “I’ll no’ be here when you return.” Her words fell out of her, one over the other.

  Jamie swung around, his eyes blazing. “You’ll be here, Sheena, or you’ll be wishing you were dead when I find you. And find you I will!”

  She caught her breath. On top of everything else, he dared threaten her! Life rushed back into her, and she flew off the chair where she had been sitting for hours, waiting for him.

  “Wish I were dead? I wish I were dead now! Aye, dead, instead of married to you!”

  “Care
ful, Sheena‑“

  “Or what?” she shouted. “You’ll kill me? Better me than my kin!”

  Jamie turned away. He had no intention of killing her kin. He’d meant only to talk to Dugald, but he was too angry to say so.

  “I’ll no’ be swayed again!” he growled, more to himself than to her.

  Sheena ground her fists into her temples in utter frustration. “I hate you for the fool you are, James MacKinnion,” she hissed. “I’m my father’s firstborn! You know how he feels about me. Knowing that, how can you believe he would attack you, leaving me here to suffer for it? Don’t you see?”

  “You’ve no’ suffered!”

  “But he canna know whether I have or no’. He wouldna risk it! Can you no’ see that?”

  If Sheena had been distraught and crying, he might have relented and reassured her. But she was too angry to cry, and he was too angry to acknowledge the sense of what she said. Still, he couldn’t leave her like that. He caught her to him, and his kiss was as furious as their tempers.

  And then he shoved her from him, holding her at arm’s length. “I’ll be talking to Dugald first,” Jamie told her curtly. “But I make no promises beyond that.”

  He gathered the last of his things and walked out of the room. Then, finally, tears came to Sheena. They racked her, the tears and her desolation.

  Chapter 37

  THE next morning, not even Daphne could bring Sheena out of her despondency. She sat in the hall by the great hearth, seeing nothing of what went on around her. Tortured images were all she could see, bloodied figures.

  It was nearing noon when a voice broke through, a voice she despised. Jessie Martin was sitting across from her, a smugness and a strangeness about her. Sheena had no reason to hate Jessie Martin. Hadn’t she once felt pity for the woman? Still, there was something so distasteful about Jessie.

  “Did you say something?” Sheena asked civilly.

  “The question was asked if you’re no’ ready to leave yet,” Jessie answered.

  “Was it?” Sheena sat back. “Why should I? Do I no’ have everything I could want here, a fine home, a handsome‑husband?”

  Jessie’s eyes narrowed at the thrust. “I would think your Fergusson pride couldna bear your staying where you’re no’ wanted.”

  “And who doesna want me here?” Sheena in­quired sweetly. “Jamie certainly does, very much so.”

  “But no one else does,” Jessie said tightly. “They may no’ admit it, but ‘tis in their thoughts. You’ve changed Jamie. He’s no longer the man he was, and you’re resented for it.”

  “Liar!”

  “She speaks the truth, Sheena.”

  She looked around to see that Black Gawain was standing behind her, and she felt cornered between them, suffocated.

  “Jamie doesna care yet,” Black Gawain contin­ued. “The newness hasna worn off. But when it does, he’ll hate you for what you’ve done. And it’ll be too late by then. His kin will be set against him‑and all because of you. But that is what you really want, isna it, Sheena Fergusson? You want him torn ‘atween you and his kin.”

  Sheena couldn’t find a quick answer, but they didn’t wait for one. Both walked away abruptly, leaving her alone to ponder their vicious lies. Only . . . were they really lies? She probably was resented there. She was a Fergusson, the enemy. And look at what had happened since her wedding. Hadn’t she blamed herself for the feud beginning again? Well, everyone else blamed her, too, no doubt.

  She sat there in a daze for several minutes more, then got up slowly and left the hall. She walked to her room, where she changed to her old green gown, her movements unhurried, mechanical. When she was ready, she went to the courtyard, where she was given a horse as soon as she asked for one. The lad jumped to do her bidding. She had no problem at the gatehouse, either, the gatekeeper simply waving her through.

  It was really too easy, she thought dismally as she guided her mare down the mountainside. Had she known how easy it would be, she’d have left the other day, when she had planned to, before Jamie had a chance to make love to her again. That way, she wouldn’t have found out that even anger and hurt couldn’t stop her from wanting him. Oh, how she wished she hadn’t found that out!

  Sheena rode blindly, her thoughts in a jumble, until she realized how dangerous that was and stopped to get her bearings. She found herself on a small plot of land in the middle of a recently harvested field. And then she found she was looking down into the face of a crofter.

  “You dinna look well, lass,” the man said with genuine concern.

  “I’m fine‑really,” Sheena assured him, but she didn’t feel fine. She felt all manner of things, but not fine.

  “Sir Jamie’s new bride?”

  Why deny it? “I am.”

  The man nodded. “He’ll be back ‘afore long. Off to be meeting him, then, are yer?”

  “I...I...”

  “Here, now, yer really dinna look at all well, lass. Come inside and rest. My Jannet’ll get yer a dram of the potents.”

  Sheena let him lead her horse over to a small croft. He helped her down and ushered her inside. The croft was dark, with heavy cloths over the windows. There was a glowing fire in the center of the single room. The wicker door closed, and she was enveloped in a friendly warmth.

  Jannet, a ruddy‑faced woman, quickly set aside the meal she was grinding and came forward. “Och, Sir Jamie’s bride! I saw yer at the wedding, but I didna think to be seeing yer again sae soon.”

  “She’s out of sorts, Jannet, and could be using some of yer potents,” the crofter explained.

  “Och, yer poor wee thing,” Jannet sympathized. “I’ll be getting yer a dram, and yer’ll come over by the fire to set a spell. ‘Tis a chilly day to be out and about, and nae mistake.”

  Sheena sat by the fire on a stool and took the whiskey gladly. The crofter and his wife stood by anxiously. Sheena saw that the room was scantily furnished, with only two stools and a table, a box bed, meal kists, and a few utensils. A barren exis‑tence, yet the middle‑aged couple seemed happy enough.

  She wondered if they resented her, too, as Black Gawain claimed everyone did. They didn’t seem unfriendly, yet they had probably known Hamish MacKinnion quite well.

  “Why are you being so kind to me?” Sheena asked suddenly, her feelings brought to the surface.

  The man was truly surprised. “And what else would we be?”

  “But I’m a Fergusson,” she said sharply. “You dinna have to pretend you don’t know.”

  “Pretend, lass?” The man chuckled. “Do you really think I am?”

  “But you must hate me. Others do.”

  “I dinna know about others, as yer say. I only know I judge each man on his own merits. Why should I be holding yer birth against yer? Yer a MacKinnion now, anyway. Yer’ll bear the laird a son, and yer son will be laird one day. Yer one of us, lass, or dinna yer feel that way yet?”

  Sheena didn’t feel like that or believe she ever would. She felt alone, isolated, neither a MacKinnion nor a Fergusson. Thinking of it, she suddenly knew she could never go home, not as long as the feud continued, not bearing the MacKinnion name. Among Fergussons she would face exactly what she faced among MacKinnions. So where did that leave her?

  No sooner had Jamie dismounted and handed his horse over to the stable lad than Jessie Martin sidled up to him, blocking his path. He was in no mood to be detained, and he didn’t want a scene with Jessie while his men looked on. He was in no mood for anything except sleep after riding to Angusshire without stopping, and back without stopping, either.

  What a disgusting waste of time it had been. He didn’t know what he’d expected to accomplish by talking to Dugald. He had been received grudgingly, had listened to the man storm and bluster, and had come away without any resolutions. The problem was he didn’t know Dugald Fergusson well enough to know whether he was an adept liar or was speaking the truth. Even in the midst of a powerful rage, he might have been acting.

&nb
sp; Jamie didn’t doubt Dugald’s anger. For apparently lain hard indeed died on the way home, just as Sheena had feared. Jamie had left a generous settlement with Dugald to compensate, as was his custom in accidental. deaths. But that had not appeased Dugald or his MacAfee cousin, who had insisted on being present during their meeting.

  Jamie remembered Niall speaking of MacAfee with disgust, confessing that Sheena couldn’t stand him, either. Jamie found himself thoroughly disliking William MacAfee, as well. Except for that tall, thin man, Jamie might have accepted Dugald’s word that he hadn’t raided the MacKinnion lands that night. But Sir William MacAfee had exuded an air of gloating satisfaction when Jamie mentioned the raid, an air that couldn’t be denied. If only Jamie had been able to talk to Niall, but Niall had been nowhere in evidence.

  Jamie did receive one promise, confirming Sheena’s belief. Dugald swore he would not, could not, take action as long as Sheena was in Jamie’s hands. But . . . truth or lie? Sweet Mary, he wished he could be sure! If only Jock had not sworn the raiders’ plaid was green, gold, and gray. If only Jock had not identified the cry as the Fergusson battle cry.

  Jamie was no better settled on what he should do. And he certainly wasn’t looking forward to facing Sheena, being able to tell her only that he hadn’t done anything yet. She would only demand to know what he planned, and he still couldn’t tell her.

  But just then he was facing Jessie Martin and not liking it one bit. “You make yourself free in my castle again,” he said tersely.

  She made a little moue as she moved closer. “You wouldna ask me to leave, not when my cousin is still here, would you?”

  “You hide behind your cousin,” Jamie replied curtly. “Just be sure you leave when he does.”