When Ceilidh smiled at him over her shoulder, Ian realized he would gladly drink a loch full of the vile liquid to see her smile.
Chapter Eleven
The door burst open and Elspeth whirled from the window where she’d been watching the goings-on. She expected to see her father, brother or mother demanding they leave. Instead, Malcolm stood just inside the doorway, a murderous expression on his handsome face.
“Yer da is being unreasonable. Refuses to listen to reason. I am done speaking to him and have had him, along with yer brothers, escorted out of the gates.”
Elspeth started for the doorway, but realizing her blouse remained torn exposing half her chest, she pulled the shawl tighter and glared at him. “Ye are an oaf. How am I supposed to return home if ye keep me here and remove them?”
Obviously by his gaze shifting sideways, he’d not considered it. “He said ye would not return with him.”
“Of course he did. My da says things he does not mean when he’s upset.” She huffed and turned back to the window. In truth, her injury was throbbing and with the huge bed in the room, she wished for nothing more than to climb upon it and sleep for hours. “If ye would fetch my wagon and Ceilidh, we will be on our way.”
“Very well,” he replied. There was a clenching at his jaw and she waited for whatever else he wished to say. Of course he would not marry her. She was nothing more than a mere peasant and far below his standing.
Not only that, but he was laird and, as such, his marriage had probably been arranged a long time earlier.
She let out a breath. “I do not expect anything from ye. In all honesty, I do not think Father did either. He has a temper and often says things without thought. The reputation of someone of my…level does not matter much. Especially during these times.”
There was flatness in his expression that made her wonder how someone like him could continue day to day. It was as if he were hollow, without a heart or feelings. She pitied him in a way.
“Why do ye look at me that way?” The question startled Elspeth, but she didn’t look away.
“It seems as if ye have everything and yet nothing.” She pointedly looked around the room. “While ye send men out to die for ye, there is little care or thought about consequences and that most warriors do not return from battle to be cared for.” She looked down at her soiled clothes and shook her head.
“I think that of the two people standing in this room, I am by far the richest. I have hope and care for the men that ye leave behind on the battlefield. Each of them, whether yers or the Ross’, they will forever think of me and my family with fondness.”
He looked away for a moment and then to her without speaking. The flatness in his expression remained.
Elspeth was not finished. “What do they think of ye? How do they remember yer da? Ye have chosen to mark his death with war, desperation, and despair among the people.”
“Ye know nothing of me or my family…” he started, but Elspeth didn’t want to hear it. He had no excuse for what she’d seen happen out on the bloody grounds of a battlefield.
“I know everything. I hear everything. The revelations just before death, of men wishing me to inform loved ones last messages as life ebbs from them.” By now, she was furious and tears rolled down her cheeks. “I know that none has ever remarked being glad or proud for the cause that is bringing them death. Tis ye and only ye that wish for this war.”
His nostrils flared and Elspeth took a step backward. She’d gone too far. Allowed her passion free rein. If he slapped her across the face, it would not dampen her day. On the contrary, she would be even more convinced the man was a despicable overlord to his clan.
He remained calm, speaking as if he were remarking on the weather. “That is enough. Ye can leave, but not until the morrow. Yer friend is caring for Ian and does not wish to leave his side.” His gaze swept over her and to the bed. “I will have a change of clothes brought. Ye may remain here. This is a guest chamber, not mine.”
To her surprise, he didn’t seem affected by her blurted speech. It was as if the dead soul inside him did not absorb insults.
“I should not stay here…”
“Ye will be at last meal. Make sure of it.” His gaze met hers for a moment. “And I repeat, ye know nothing of me or my family. Ye are but…”
“A mere village woman. I know.” Elspeth held her head high. “And proud of it.”
Just for a moment, she thought she noticed a flicker of something akin to respect in his gaze. However, it was gone within a second and he gave a one-shoulder shrug as if not caring what she thought.
“I do not wish to remain here,” Elspeth repeated, wishing nothing more than to leave the keep altogether, but thoughts of the injured Ian brought her to reconsider. She’d never forgive herself if he were further injured because she’d been too distracted to pay attention to the man who’d been ravaged by fear and pain out on the battlefield.
Malcolm didn’t respond. Instead, he strode past her to the window. “Yer father is gone. I cannot allow ye to travel alone this late in the day. Nor can I spare any guards at this moment.”
“Can I see about Ian and my friend then? I must ensure he is not worse because of traveling here.”
“Aye,” he replied.
She hesitated, turning to look out the window once again.
*
When Malcolm looked out from the guest chamber window, he could see Elspeth’s father and brothers slowly riding away. It had been hard to convince them to leave in order to not have them thrown in the dungeon. In truth, he’d had to promise to marry Elspeth within seven days. They would return then along with a priest and her mother.
He’d planned to tell Elspeth. But upon entering the room, he’d been struck dumb. Unaware of what a fetching picture she made, Elspeth had faced him without fear. Her eyes ablaze, hair pulled back showcasing her soft jawline and pursed lips. Then his gaze had traveled down and caught a glimpse of the tops of her breasts. Her blouse had been torn and unbeknownst to her, she’d not held the shawl high enough at first.
His mouth had watered at the sight and it took all his strength not to throw her atop the bed and have his way. No, it was best to wait. Once a priest blessed them, he would have to provide proof of her virginity. Not that there weren’t ways to fake it.
Malcolm had a feeling Elspeth wouldn’t agree to the marriage. She had little regard for him and, truthfully, by the way she exploded, her opinion of him would not change.
Although he’d professed and banned entanglements of any nature with women to his warriors, he now wondered about the effects Elspeth would have on him. Would his mind be left behind with her while he went to battle next?
“Ye may go see about Ian and yer friend, but ye will sleep here.” He turned and walked from the room not wanting to hear any protestations. Malcolm always respected women and their opinions. His entire life, in private, his mother and sister often spoke their thoughts and his father had listened and taken their opinions into consideration.
Malcolm made his way down the corridor toward his own chamber only a few feet away. He needed whisky and time alone to think.
Elspeth was quite vocal. Under most circumstances, he welcomed it. But at the moment, with everything that had happened, her words had not been what he wished to hear.
His father had always allowed his mother freedom to speak and to advise on matters. He planned to follow suit, at least after a while. However, Elspeth could not continue to rant on about his shortcomings.
Just as Malcolm was about to enter his chamber, Tristan walked toward him, a grin stretching across his face. “I hear ye are to be married.”
As always, Tristan found humor in whatever caused Malcolm discomfort.
“Unless I can find a way to avoid it. The lass detests me, which may help.”
This time Tristan chuckled out loud and followed him into the room. “I hear she is the healer that comes to the battlefields. She’s quite lovely. Good at what s
he does. It keeps me at ease that those that need healing will be cared for by her.”
Malcolm was astounded as he’d never heard anyone speak of her. “Ye know Elspeth?”
“Aye,” Tristan replied. “We all do. She, her friend, Ceilidh, and grandmother are angels in times of darkness. Ye may not have noticed since ye leave as soon as a retreat is called.”
Although there didn’t seem to be accusation in Tristan’s words, they struck. Malcolm studied his brother who poured whisky into two cups and handed him one. “I do what has to be done.”
Tristan lifted an eyebrow and nodded. “I know, Brother.”
“Where is Kieran?” Malcolm asked, not having seen his youngest brother all day. “I hope he’s not up to anything that will put his life in danger.”
There was a beat of silence. “I worry about him,” Tristan finally said. “He hasn’t been eating well and speaks rarely. Tis as if he lost his way since Da died.”
“What can we do?” Malcolm wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the reply. “Kieran is a grown man and although the youngest of us, he must learn to adjust.”
Tristan held up a hand. “Ye have no argument from me. Tis like he has the devil inside. Only exists to fight, to loose those arrows of his.”
There was nothing wrong with the need to battle and avenge their father. At least in Malcolm’s estimation it was what he expected from both his brothers. That Kieran was consumed sounded reasonable.
“He is well within his rights to be angered.”
There was a slight narrowing in Tristan’s eyes and his brother drank down the rest of his whisky. “When will it be enough, Brother?”
“When the bastard is dead. Ethan McLeod’s head under my boot. Even then, I am not sure it will be enough.”
After a long beat of silence, Tristan stood and went to the door. “I hope it comes to be soon because I am not sure how much longer we can continue to put our people’s lives in danger to avenge Da.”
He’d had enough. The crashing of the cup against the stone hearth didn’t surprise Tristan who gave him a bored look over his shoulder. “What say ye now, Brother?” The flat tone made Malcolm angrier.
“Tis not a holiday. Tis not something we do because there is naught else to be done. Our father was killed. The bastard McLeod cut him down without provocation. It is expected that we avenge. Retaliate.”
Tristan stood still and it was obvious by the clenching of his jaw that he had more to say. However, he remained silent.
Malcolm was not finished. “I will not cease until justice is done. If ye do not agree, to hell with ye then.”
“Tis not that yer intentions are wrong, Brother. However, our people should not suffer because of it. The sooner ye accept that they should be our priority, the better.”
The anger turned to fury and Malcolm wished for the cup again to throw. Did no one understand?
Thankfully, Kieran remained loyal. He glared at Tristan. “Ye do not have to accompany us. Remain behind. Tis what ye wish, is it not?”
Instead of arguing further, his brother shook his head and walked out.
Malcolm wanted to feel justified, to be sure of his decisions. The last thing he needed at this point was to hear how wrong he was from not one, but two people, one right after the other.
In the beginning, every Ross warrior thirsted for revenge. They had fought ruthlessly without regard for life or limb. Nothing stood in the way of what they sought and the McLeods had suffered many losses. As time passed, however, he’d noticed a lack of zeal. Barely had battles begun than they ended, a retreat called from one side or the other.
It was best to hear a voice of reason. His father’s brother acted as advisor. If anyone would motivate him to continue forward, it would be Gregor Ross.
When Malcolm walked into his father’s study, his uncle sat at the desk. He resembled his father so much that Malcolm stopped, having to regain control.
“Uncle, sometimes ye look too much like Da and it astounds me.”
Gregor chuckled. “And ye look like a younger version of him. Looking upon ye makes me sometimes think tis he.”
The older man looked to a map and motioned him closer. “I have scouts here and here.” He pointed to two places on the map.
“What of the McLeod people on the border region?”
“Other than a farmer who refuses to give up his land, everyone is staying inside the keep gates.”
“Cowards,” Malcolm muttered. “They are scared to leave.”
“On the contrary, these are the brave ones.”
Ignoring the statement, Malcolm studied the map for a few moments longer and then went to a chair and sat. “What do ye propose?”
His uncle neared and lowered to another chair. “If they do not wish to engage, there is naught we can do but wait.”
“What of revenge? I cannot ask my people to remain waiting as well.”
When his uncle stroked his chin, Malcolm knew he had a plan. “How about we act as if we’re not interested in another battle? They will let their guard down. We keep our scouts in place. When Ethan leaves the confines of the keep, our archers dispose of him.”
There was a slight curl on his uncle’s upper lip. “Tis the only way to end this.”
Malcolm wanted to agree. A part of him hoped it would be Kieran’s arrow.
His cousin, Aiden, strolled in without looking at them. He poured a good amount of whisky into his glass and sat in the remaining chair. “I hope there is news. Tis an entire day since Kieran left.”
Both turned to him. Aiden drank from the whisky, not seeming one bit perturbed that his cousin was missing.
“What do ye mean?” It was Gregor who spoke. “Was he not gone with ye?”
Aiden rolled his eyes and Malcolm’s fingers curled into a fist. The arrogant man was a constant thorn in his side. So unlike his uncle who Malcolm respected and trusted. Aiden had always been jealous and vindictive.
“Where is my brother?”
“We went to the forest. He claimed to want to spy on the McLeods. However, he went east and not west and, soon after, I lost him.”
This time it was Gregor who was annoyed. “When was this? Why are ye just now saying something?”
“I told Tristan an hour ago. We went yesterday evening.”
Malcolm was not convinced of the true reason for their venture. No doubt, they’d gone to the village to find willing wenches for bedding. If he knew his younger brother, sex was foremost on his mind. Other than being a formidable archer and warrior, Kieran loved to bed women.
“What tavern did ye go to?” he asked and leaned forward, daring Aiden to lie. “Tell me now.”
His cousin didn’t bother lying. “MacLeary’s. I left first thing this morning thinking he’d return later as he didn’t answer the door when I knocked.”
“Tis a time of war. We have enemies…” his uncle started, but Aiden interrupted.
“If anyone can take care of themselves, tis Kieran. I am not his keeper.” With that, he stood and walked to the doorway. Aiden stopped, the dark eyes looking to Malcolm.
“I am sure Kieran is well.”
As if beckoned, his younger brother ambled into the office. Like a cat of prey, Malcolm was upon him. With his fingers curled into the rough fabric of Kieran’s tunic, he slammed the younger man against the closest wall.
“These are not times to be whoring. Ye know my command.”
Kieran was muscular, tall and lithe. He swung an elbow upward dislodging one of Malcolm’s hands and shoved him away.
When Malcolm threw a punch into Kieran’s gut, the younger man let out an oomph followed by several expletives.
“Would ye have me send guards in search of ye? Put lives in danger because ye needed to fuck?”
Instead of a reply, Kieran whipped around and swung hard, his fist making a crunching sound on the side of Malcolm’s face.
Malcolm swayed and refusing to fall, tackled his brother.
“I am not a child to be chas
tised,” Kieran yelled and bucked Malcolm off. Both rolled, still grappling.
Not prepared for the hard punch to his jaw, Malcolm released his brother, falling onto his back.
“Get up,” Kieran growled, hands fisted.
The brothers were evenly matched. However, Kieran had the advantage of youth on his side. Malcolm rose and narrowed his eyes. “Ye are not to put our clan in danger again.”
Without a response, Kieran rushed at him. Malcolm expected it and evaded. As Kieran came close, he took hold of his brother’s tunic and slammed him into the wall.
“What is going on?” Their mother rushed in. “Stop at once.”
Kieran shook his head in an attempt to clear it and Malcolm took the opportunity to punch him in the stomach. His brother doubled over and threw up.
“Idiot,” Malcolm swore as his mother approached. She looked up at him, her face twisted in fury. “Ye both are.” She slapped him across the face. “I’m tired of this life ye have created.”
“I did not create it, Mother. Tis the man who killed…”
“Enough,” she screamed and looked down at Kieran who’d given up trying to stand and remained on all fours. “Both of ye are a disgrace to yer father.”
Malcolm started to say something but his uncle held up a hand, signaling for him to remain silent. “Come, allow me to escort ye to get something to settle yer nerves.”
Two guards who must have been instructed by his uncle rushed to help Kieran to stand.
Of course, his brother shook them off once on his feet. “Leave me be.” He glared at Malcolm. “Tis only because I drank that ye can best me. It won’t happen again.”
“Drink? Or yer disregard?”
Without replying, Kieran stalked from the room.
Chapter Twelve
Paige couldn’t decide whether to sit or stand. Surely this nightmare would end. Deciding it was best to just do what was proper, she grabbed her bundles and went to the door. It was hard to hold her parcels and open the door, but she did and peeked out. There was a guard on one end of the corridor. Thankfully, he stood by the window and peered down. Obviously the man was too bored to bother with keeping an eye on her. She didn’t blame him. It was a mild evening and there were probably many things he’d rather be doing.
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