DevilsHeart

by Laura Glenn

  Yes. That was how it must be.

  Rathe tramped up the stairs to the third floor. He rapped on the mormaer’s door, which was opened by a male servant who inclined his head at Rathe and stepped aside.

  Another servant was busy securing a belt around the mormaer’s waist when David noticed him standing in the doorway. “Come in, come in!” David called with a wave of his hand.

  Servants scurried around the room, making the bed, cleaning up the remnants of the mormaer’s breakfast, and general tidying. Rathe bit back the urge to laugh at the ridiculous activity. He’d always hated people milling about in his personal chamber. He’d always dressed himself without the help of servants and never ate anywhere but the great hall where he could converse with his warriors. But, then again, Rathe hadn’t grown up as an accepted member of a noble family. He’d always done everything for himself.

  “It is a fine day already, is it not?” David commented, nodding at a servant who curtsied before him.

  Rathe nodded. He should have picked a better time for this discussion. One when David was sure to be alone or could be drawn away for a private conversation. But with so many clans at the castle and the mormaer’s attention drawn in a dozen different directions, Rathe feared he might not have much choice in the matter.

  “Well, what is it, man? You have the same look on your face as you did last night. Out with it.”

  Rathe clasped his hands behind his back, planting his feet shoulder-width apart as he faced the mormaer, careful to keep his face expressionless. “It is about the woman who saved your son, Alexander.”

  “Leah? Oh, yes, fine lass. She is a fetching thing, isn’t she?” David replied with a smile. “And she has no idea she is either. Quite charming. What about her?”

  “She tells me you have betrothed her to someone,”

  “Well, yes.” David paused and cast a suspicious eye at Rathe. “I did not know you had even met her.”

  A hesitant knock rang through the chamber.

  “Come!” David stared hard at Rathe, his brow crinkling as though deep in thought.

  “My lord.”

  English. It was her.

  Rathe turned just as Leah stepped inside the room. She stilled as their eyes clashed, her cheeks pinking, much to his pleasure. Her long, wavy auburn hair, which had been tousled into a sexy mess just hours before, now lay smooth and shiny as it cascaded down her shoulders and curled against her ample breasts. Her eyelashes quivered. God’s blood, he’d love another chance to mess up her hair again.

  David adjusted the sleeve of his leine. “Yes, Leah, what is it?”

  “Um…” Her voice shook in the appealing way that made Rathe want to tuck her securely into his arms. “Um, nothing. It’s okay, I’ll talk to you later.”

  Biting her lower lip in a pure feminine fashion that caused his chest to tighten, she cast her stare to the floor. “I am sorry to have interrupted you. I’ll speak with you later.” She picked up her skirts and sank into an awkward curtsey before turning to leave.

  Rathe’s lips parted in a grin as she walked out the door. Her nervous flutterings charmed him and were a wondrous contrast to the carnal moans she’d uttered only hours ago. Damn, she was an intriguing woman.

  “Rathe.”

  Rathe’s eyebrows lifted as he turned to David who was now standing in the middle of the room with furious, glowing eyes.

  “Tell me you did not,” the mormaer commanded.

  It was no use pretending. David was an astute man. Rathe shrugged his shoulders in mock-helplessness. “You said it yourself, she is a fetching lass.”

  “Damn it, Rathe!” David shouted, stepping toward him. “Do you have to fuck every woman you meet?”

  “Only the ones I like.”

  David stopped and crossed his arms, glaring at Rathe. “Just what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  David sighed. “Do you think her soon-to-be husband is not going to take issue with this if it gets out? Who else knows? Any servants?”

  The smile faded from Rathe’s face at the mention of her soon-to-be husband. “Who is it? Who are you giving her to?”

  David lifted his chin. “The Dunlop.”

  Disbelief threw Rathe into a stunned silence. The Dunlop? What would that old man need with someone like Leah? He couldn’t take care of her—not in the way she needed. And he damn well couldn’t protect her from the likes of the MacTavish.

  Dunlop land had seen its fair share of battles. Most were not of their own doing, but of the Sinclairs, whose lands lay to the west, and the MacTavishes, whose lands lay to the east. The Dunlops had the misfortune of being caught in the middle for generations, ever since an ancient Sinclair chieftain and several members of his household had been slain after giving hospitality to a group of MacTavishes. Unbeknownst to the Sinclairs at the time, whose land was a key western stronghold for the crown, the MacTavish supported a rival claimant to the Scottish throne and had been sent in to destroy the Sinclairs. They might have succeeded had it not been for a group of MacAirth warriors and their laird, who happened to arrive at the Sinclair holding not long after the MacTavishes began their attack.

  “I see I have your attention now,” David quipped, cocking one eyebrow.

  Rathe shook his head, his jaw tensing. “The Dunlop has one foot in the grave already. How is he going to defend her?”

  “From whom, you? Seems to me it is a little late for that.”

  “You know who I mean.”

  David’s expression softened. “The king is giving Leah a strip of land to the south of Dunlop land. The land is fertile. All the Dunlop needs is more resources in order to strengthen his clan. And another chance at a son to take over when he is gone. He needs to hold his own between the two of you.”

  The thought of the old man’s hands on Leah sent blood rushing to his face in a rage. “A son?” Rathe spat.

  “You know Michael succumbed to a fever and passed last year. He was the last of the Dunlop’s four sons. The man does not even have a daughter whose husband he could rely on to take over.”

  Rathe snorted. “Even if the old man still had it in him to properly tup a lass, he certainly does not need Leah for that. Any woman would do.”

  David’s eyes widened. “You have no idea what Leah is worth, do you? Maybe, if you had taken the time to talk to the lass, you would have found out she reads and writes both Latin and English, can figure numbers better than a monk, knows history, and is nearly fluent in French. She needs to have a husband not so full of himself he would refuse to allow her to practice her talents for the good of his clan and the crown. She may be quiet but she is smart enough to guide any son of hers into becoming a strong, principled leader worthy of supporting and defending the king.”

  Stunned, Rathe stared at the mormaer in silence. His Leah could do all of that? Where had she been raised that she was better educated than most monks and priests he had ever met? And why the hell had the last man who was betrothed to her refused to marry such a valuable prize?

  A wild thought took hold. The land the mormaer spoke of lay south of his land too, running from west to east. He could just as easily make use of it and was better equipped to protect Leah from the likes of the MacTavish.

  Not to mention, he too could use a son.

  True, Rathe had had no desire to marry again. Wives were nothing but trouble and sons could be had without them, though the road for an illegitimate son was always a rough one. He still lived with the difficulties himself despite his station as the laird of a clan.

  He had been the product of an illicit affair between his father and the daughter of a rival clan chieftain to the south. His mother had been pregnant with him at the time of her marriage to another man. Once her deceit had been discovered, her new husband made her life a living hell. Fleeting, hazy memories of his mother haunted him. Long, soft brown hair. Delicate, gentle fingers that seemed so soothing when she caressed his cheek.

  And quiet
. So very quiet and careful in every word and deed as though she was in constant atonement for that one rash action leading to Rathe’s existence. But none of it mattered. Her arms were often bruised, her brown eyes swollen and blackened, her lips cracked and bleeding.

  Rathe himself was ignored—a non-person among a huge, busy household. He had spent most of his time in the forest near his stepfather’s holding and among the stable hands who were the only people to acknowledge his presence. After his mother died giving birth to a stillborn child when he was five years old, he was sent to live with his mother’s family who treated him little better until he was old enough to prove himself handy with a sword. It wasn’t until Rathe was nearly sixteen years old his father, William Sinclair, finally claimed him. And the only reason he did was because he never had a son with any of his three wives and Rathe had already made a name for himself as a promising young warrior.

  And the MacTavish was set to inherit his lands should he die without issue.

  William Sinclair’s older sister was given in marriage by the king himself to the MacTavish laird in order to calm the tensions between the two clans. William only produced two daughters between his three wives, both of whom died in childbirth as young women. But the MacTavish produced a son—William’s nephew and closest living male heir. That is, until William relented and claimed Rathe as his own.

  Rathe was quite obviously his father’s son—an absolute spitting image of the old man in his youth. He’d had little trouble being accepted as a Sinclair, but he was still a bastard in the eyes of the world. And he’d even inherited his father’s penchant for getting into bad marriages. After the betrayal and subsequent suicide of his last wife, Rathe swore he’d never marry again.

  But now he was tempted again. Additional land and the possibility of more power over one of his clan’s enemies was an enticing excuse. His previous two marriages netted him political clout, allies, and more money than the Sinclair clan had seen in generations. But land he could do something with. And power of the MacTavish? That was priceless.

  Hell, if Rathe were to marry again, he would want a woman like Leah anyway. Smart, trusting, bashful, but a wildcat when aroused. It was a strange combination, but she appealed to him in a way no other woman had. And if he had his way, he’d take Leah to his bed again now and any chance he got after she married the Dunlop. Hell, the Dunlop holding was a mere half-day’s ride from his own—far too close for Rathe to resist the temptation. By this time next year, the Dunlop would probably be welcoming a son of Sinclair blood rather than his own. Rathe’s father had done that to his mother and the mistake had ended up costing her life. Rathe couldn’t do it to Leah. She was too delicate, too sensitive. Just like his mother. His lust would end up destroying her.

  No. She would be his. “Give her to me.”

  David closed his eyes, turning his face heavenward. “I cannot do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Giving her and the land to the Dunlop only makes them strong enough to hold his own between you and the MacTavish. Giving her to you tips the balance of power in your favor.”

  “MacTavish is dangerous.”

  “I know. And the Dunlop is vulnerable.”

  Rathe stared at him, his blood boiling. No other man would ever touch Leah—not as long as he held any breath in his body. “I will not stay away from Leah should you give her to the Dunlop.”

  David’s eyes narrowed. But then an amused ease fell across his face as his lips curled into a wry grin. “By God, Rathe, you want to marry this woman, don’t you?”

  Rathe’s jaw twitched. Damn it, he hated giving away so much of his inner thoughts, even to a man he considered to be a friend. This woman was already trouble and he hadn’t even married her yet.

  David smacked him on the back and laughed. Rathe resisted the urge to shove him into the wall. He was his overlord, after all.

  Giving Rathe’s shoulder a squeeze, David turned his back on him and walked to the door which a servant scrambled to open before him. “I will think on it, Sinclair.”

  * * * * *

  Rathe cast a watchful eye up to Leah’s window as he passed through the courtyard. Damn the woman. She was consuming him. Every thought, every decision. He almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of his obsession over a mere woman. Yes, she was beautiful, sweet, and vulnerable, but she was just a woman.

  His name was shouted from some distance away and he turned just as David descended the stairs from the keep into the courtyard, trailed by several of his guards who had donned their riding gear and swords. Fury flashed through David’s dark eyes as he headed straight toward Rathe.

  Tiny hairs of alarm rose on the back of Rathe’s neck. He glanced up at the window to Leah’s room and then back toward David.

  David motioned for his men to halt some twenty feet away before he approached Rathe alone. “Do you have any idea of where Leah is?”

  Rathe cocked his head to one side, his eyes narrowing. “You cannot find her?”

  “No.” David’s tone was clipped. “Glenna was to have had her French lesson after the midday meal, but no one has seen Leah since this morning. Do you have any idea where she could have gone?”

  The glow in Leah’s eyes had been twisted and desperate when Rathe had caught her attempting to leave the keep last night. He exhaled and shook his head in disbelief. How could he have not seen this coming?

  “I stopped her from running away last night,” Rathe admitted. “I thought I had been clear about the dangers she would face.”

  A deep furrow formed between David’s brows. “What? Why would she run?”

  “She insisted she needed to get back to Graham land. That it was the only way for her to return home.” Damn her. He should have demanded an explanation for her cryptic answer, but her soft, willing lips were too enticing to resist.

  “I have told her time and again it simply was not possible.”

  Rathe’s blood turned icy. “What do you mean?”

  David exhaled and shook his head.

  Rathe’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as a strange, unwelcome anxiety over losing Leah to yet someone else clawed at his chest. “Is there another who has claim to her?”

  The mormaer stared up at Leah’s chamber window, his lips drawn together in a tight solemnity.

  “David,” Rathe barked. “To whom does she belong?”

  David turned back to him, holding Rathe’s gaze. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper. “You know about the wife of your friend, the MacAirth?”

  Rathe’s brows drew together in confusion over the odd question. “Anna?”

  “You know where she comes from, right?”

  Rathe hesitated to answer. He did know of Anna MacAirth’s origins. Well, a little anyway. It never was something he fully understood, but his friend, Galen, was adamant Rathe keep all knowledge of it to himself. Had the mormaer been privy to the secret too?

  David’s brows rose in obvious expectation and Rathe nodded.

  “I only know because her father, Alec, told me. The king was breathing down their necks for an explanation of Anna’s sudden appearance in the Highlands and the reason for the death of the Gowrie laird. Alec and I have been friends for a long time, as you know, and he enlisted my help.”

  “What does this have to do with Leah?” This explanation was taking too long. Leah could be hurt or worse in the time it would take to find her. Every moment was precious.

  “She is from the same place as Anna and was transported here against her will. Graham land, the fall equinox, an amber stone. It is all the same as it was with Anna.”

  Rathe shook his head, struggling to piece the puzzle together. “But Anna was in Graham Castle when it happened. Was Leah?”

  “No, but she had had a run-in with the old Graham witch not long before she rescued Alexander. The woman had given her a pendant that matches Alec Campbell’s description of the one Anna had. After John brought Leah to the castle later that night, the nec
klace the witch had given to her was missing. She must have dropped it.”

  Understanding relaxed Rathe’s brows. “And that is why she is trying to get back there.”

  “Exactly. I do not remember all of the details Alec told me, but I do not think Leah can go back anytime soon. She is stuck here with us.”

  Rathe gave him a curt nod. “I will round up my men and we will search for her.”

  “Good. Do you still want her?”

  An intense possessiveness flared within Rathe’s chest. “Yes.”

  “Can you draw first blood on the MacTavish in a hand-to-hand fight?”

  Rathe’s pulse thudded in his temples in immediate understanding. “Hell, yes.”

  “You find her and bring her back,” David instructed in a low tone. “Tonight, I will announce her hand and the land as a prize. That land is so far northwest as to be worthless to most men here except for you, MacTavish, and Dunlop.”

  “Dunlop will not fight,” Rathe stated.

  “No, he will not,” David agreed. “But MacTavish will. You draw first blood and Leah becomes your wife right then. I will have the priest waiting. You will allow the Dunlop clan use of the land Leah was granted and you will assist them whenever it is needed. You will be his ally and together you will keep the MacTavish in check. Agreed?”

  Rathe nodded and turned to round up his men. The task took little time. Most were eager to get out of the mormaer’s holding for a bit and away from the other clans. The Sinclairs were used to the isolation along the rocky, western coast of Scotland. Not many outsiders ventured up their way except to make trouble. With plenty of room to roam and a tight-knit clan at home, the more crowded lands closer to Edinburgh filled with ever-changing political alliances suffocated them.

  They would leave on the morrow. David would understand his reluctance to tarry while the MacTavish roamed the mormaer’s holding after losing Leah to Rathe.

  A footprint in the soft ground near the stream outside the castle walls caught Rathe’s attention. He called for his men to halt and then dismounted his horse. He crouched down beside the print, running his finger through the middle of it. It was a feminine print, lighter than what would have been made by a man, with a trajectory pointing north toward the main road.