by Laura Glenn
Her breathing shallowed as she moved forward, her hand shaking as she took his.
He drew her out into the hallway and shut the door. “You look lovely tonight, Lady Sinclair.”
She glanced up at him with a start but he’d turned away and led her toward a room at the end of the corridor. Two men stood guard on either side.
As the blue-eyed man grabbed the door handle, she placed one hand on his forearm to stall him. “What is your name?”
His gaze flicked between the two guards before landing on her. “Jacob, my lady.”
He shoved the door open and Andrew stood from a chair next to a small wooden table piled with meat, bread and goblets of drink. Her stomach leaped, growling in anticipation.
“Leah,” he breathed with an easy smile. “Come, you must be famished.”
She caught Jacob’s clenched jaw as he turned and disappeared into the corridor. Her heart fluttered in an erratic, nervous rhythm as she cast her gaze about the bedchamber. Wasn’t this an odd place to eat? Why not in the great hall?
“Come, come,” he ordered, impatience lacing his voice. “You have not eaten since yesterday, my lady.”
“Not by choice,” she replied in a soft voice. A part of her wanted to refuse the food, but her mouth was already watering and the baby needed nourishment.
He pulled a second chair away from the table and she moved forward to sit, allowing him to scoot her up to the table.
“I do apologize, Leah,” he stated with a slight inclination of his head. “But it was necessary to prove a point. Please, help yourself.”
He sat opposite her and she gave him a sideways glance before grabbing the knife next to her trencher. As she stabbed a slice of beef, the blade reflected in the firelight.
A knife…
She forced a deep, even breath through her nostrils in an effort to calm her racing heart.
He smiled. “There is a good lass. As you will find, it will go much better for you if you simply accept your place here. I have spent the time we were apart preparing for your arrival.”
A dire sense of urgency to escape slithered through her skin. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him and instead forced a bite of meat into her mouth.
“The mormaer’s servant, Janet, was so very helpful,” he remarked, serving himself some of the meat and bread. “I am not sure I could have had a seamstress achieve such a fine fit if Janet had not retrieved one of your gowns before the Sinclair spirited you away. I do hope you like it.”
She pressed her lips together and then forced a nod. “It is lovely,” she whispered.
Janet. Rathe’s little girlfriend. Up until he met her, that is. Leah replayed those last moments in the mormaer’s keep in her mind’s eye. Janet’s hands all over Rathe. Rathe’s insistence he was innocent and had been pushing her away. They had been at the bottom of the stairs, almost as if Janet had been stopping him from going up them. If Janet had not been successful in delaying him, he would have caught Leah with Andrew just two flights above.
Now she raised her eyes to Andrew’s. He gave her a nonchalant smile as he sipped from his goblet. She cast her eyes down and he launched into a speech about his vast holdings in far-flung places and his familial connections to the powers that be. The pride and self-importance was clear in his voice, suggesting he sought to impress her. Funny, but Simon had been like that too. He had loved to tell her about the powerful clients who sought him out and the politicians with whom he rubbed elbows at firm luncheons.
And, as it was with Simon, Leah only half listened. She had never been moved by such things. Besides, she had a hungry stomach to fill and an unborn child to nourish. At one point she lifted the goblet to her lips. The scent of wine hit her nose and she only pretended to take a sip. It wasn’t until the Sinclair name passed his lips her ears perked up.
He shook his head, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Really, a husband’s main duty is to protect his wife. To leave you with no warriors to defend you as I found you yesterday? Or to send you off by yourself into the wilds of the Highlands to be ravaged by some ruffian?” He snorted in derision.
Her blood turned to ice in her veins. He reached across the table and touched her hand, but she yanked it back and stared at him in disbelief. Was he talking about the time Rathe had sent her to the MacAirths when they were attacked on their way home? No, it wasn’t possible. No one knew about it other than the Sinclairs and the MacAirths. Neither clan was particularly social with outsiders. In the short time she’d lived with these remote Highland clans, one thing she learned is they kept their own council.
She swallowed a mouthful of bread and shook her head. “Ruffian?”
He blinked several times. “My dear God, you have blocked the memory out.” He sighed with a bit of excess drama. “It boils my blood such a delicate flower would not have been shielded from such carnal abuse. Sent on her own to defend herself in the mountains.”
Leah eased her knife to the table, her stomach threatening to revolt now. She shook her head, lips parting in surprise. “How did you know?”
“I heard about it, of course. Everything. The battle, what you endured.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What did I endure?”
He paused, staring at her with widening eyes. “You were attacked, my sweet. A man, he…violated you. Left you for dead. I assume the Sinclair at least did not shirk his duty in avenging you there.”
She took a deep breath in order to calm the rising panic. Andrew knew about the attack but had the details all wrong. Even if someone from one of the clans had gossiped about it, why would the lie she’d been raped and left for dead have been attached to the narrative? It was no secret she’d successfully fought her attacker off. Which could only mean one thing.
Her face heated, her blood rushing into her ears. “It was you, wasn’t it? You set up the attack.”
He shook his head, reaching for her hand again. “Why would you say such a thing, my sweet? I swear—”
She ripped her hand away from him, a wave of nausea assaulting her stomach. “How could you do that to someone?”
Like someone had flipped a switch, his features darkened, his eyes narrowing. “How dare you accuse me of something so heinous! The Sinclair has poisoned your mind.”
Anger uncoiled within her belly, drowning out the trepidation over his arising temper. “You think I was raped?”
His brows rose in seeming surprise.
“I remember every moment of that day,” she snapped. “The attack of warriors where there was nowhere safe for me to hide. It is why Rathe sent me away, thinking only of how close I was to MacAirth land. He wanted to get me away from the danger. But from out of nowhere, a man grabbed me when I stopped to rest my horse. It was like he was waiting for me.”
He tilted his head as though attempting sympathy. “Oh, my darling. To be violated—”
“There was no rape because I killed him.”
He parted his lips as though to speak but remained silent and then cast his eyes to the tabletop.
It was as good as admitting his guilt. Tears stung her eyes. What kind of monster would do that to someone? Try to poison her against the man she’d married and then send some stranger to attack her in the hopes of destroying her trust in Rathe or simply cause him anguish for not protecting her?
And people called Rathe—the man she loved—the Satan of the Highlands. She almost snorted. She was sitting across from the real devil this very moment and it sure as hell wasn’t her husband.
Andrew sat back in his chair, watching her in silence. She shrank back as well, losing her appetite and fighting for deep, even breaths as the rage boiled within her.
“You are a clever one, I will give you that,” he murmured. He shrugged and poured more wine into his goblet. “Sometimes a man must do unpleasant things to right a wrong.”
“You made me kill someone.”
The anger and hurt in her voice were surprisingly not lost on him. He nodded. “I will buy you an indulgenc
e, my lady. The bishop is most understanding about such things.” Then he smiled as though they had just made up. “You are such a sensitive little thing. Pure, dutiful. It is regrettable you had to sully your hands in such a way. Or debase yourself for a man of such dark, unspeakable lusts.”
He motioned toward her goblet with the carafe of wine and she shook her head.
“Are you carrying the Sinclair’s child yet?”
Her lashes fluttered. She pressed her lips together as a strange calmness descended upon her. There was no way in hell she would give him any more ammunition to hurt Rathe or to manipulate her. “No.”
He smiled and nodded. “Good. I am glad of it. For your sake, of course.”
Of course.
“I often think of Marjorie, the Sinclair’s last wife. She was so much like you. Delicate, lovely, pious.” He uttered a wistful sigh. “I tried to help her while he was away in France for so long. To aid in her escape from his clutches. It was a tragedy how it ended. But no matter. I will not allow you to succumb to the same fate.” He lifted his goblet in the air as though to toast her and then threw back a healthy swig.
Tried to help her? Helped himself was more like it. But did he even know about Daniel?
“It wasn’t some Frenchman she took up with at court, was it? It was you.”
He chuckled. “Ah, your perceptiveness is amazing, my lady. There was a Frenchman for a time. The lass was so starved for attention. She loved the feasts the king gave, the dancing, the intrigue. But her interest in him faded once I got a hold of her.” A self-satisfied smirk spread across his lips, his eyes turning smoky as he stared at her. “A dalliance with her husband’s rival excited her. Meeting in dark corners roused her passion. She had had little with the Sinclair. He was too rough, too lurid. I, on the other hand, am a gentle lover. Slow. I only want to please.”
Her stomach churned with a sickly violence. The bed behind Andrew seemed to grow larger before her eyes. Meeting here wasn’t a coincidence. Her legs twitched in an impulse to run.
Could she distract him somehow? Somehow buy herself and Rathe some time? The light in the chamber had grown dimmer as they ate. She threw a quick glance toward the window. The fur had been drawn just enough for her to catch a sliver of the cloudy, dying light of day. It would be nightfall soon. Surely Rathe was near home, if not already there. With no visible moon to guide them, Andrew wouldn’t be likely to send warriors to the Sinclair holding if she revealed anything about little Daniel, would he? Maybe she could even lie about the child’s whereabouts.
“She gave birth, you know. Marjorie.”
Her voice had been low and measured, but Andrew reacted as though she’d shouted. He jumped, leaning forward in his chair. “What?”
He doesn’t know.
Agitated now, he sat back and then leaned forward again. “When?”
“Only a few days before she killed herself.”
His eyes shifted as though calculating events and time in his mind.
And then she hit him with it. “He looks just like you.”
He grabbed the table and it wobbled. His knuckles turned white. “He? I have a son?”
She nodded and he leapt from his chair. Startled, she jumped.
He walked toward the door and then back to her, his face darkening. “How do you know this? Where is he?”
She swallowed hard, her mouth drying with unease. “The mormaer took him in. Rathe refused to accept him since the child wasn’t his.”
His spine stiffened as he backed away from her, lost in his own thoughts. She blew out a long breath.
Then he shook his head, pacing again. “That little bitch. She was supposed to stay. We had a plan.”
A plan? Leah’s eyes darted back and forth between Andrew as he muttered to himself and the bed. Was her kidnapping a simple continuation of his stalled plan to destroy Rathe?
A knock broke through the strained silence.
“Enter!” Andrew barked, stopping in the middle of the room and crossing his arms.
Jacob appeared in the doorway and gave Leah a nod before turning to Andrew. “Forgive me for the interruption, but I have reports the Sinclairs are on the move.”
Andrew’s dark, brooding demeanor flipped to its polar opposite. His face lightened and he smiled. “Good. Let them come. Put our men on alert. With the Dunlop coming in from the east, we will trap them in the valley. Annihilate the lot of them.”
An ambush. Leah pressed her lips together, meeting Jacob’s gaze. Guilt floated through his eyes and he tore them away.
Her eyes dropped back to the table, landing on her dinner knife. She moved one hand upward. Andrew’s back still faced her and Jacob was no longer paying her any attention as he spoke in hushed tones with his laird. She slipped the knife under the table and with careful attention, slid it tip-first into the sleeve of her chemise, tucking the handle just inside the hem.
Andrew glanced back at her and she folded her hands in her lap, forcing what she hoped would be a placid expression onto her face.
He sighed and walked over to her, offering her his hand. “I do apologize, my sweet, but I fear we shall have to cut our evening short.”
Relief flooded her limbs and she stood, accepting his hand. He guided her across the room to Jacob and brought her hand to his lips.
“It will be all the sweeter once this unpleasantness is behind us.” He placed a soft kiss upon her hand.
Her skin crawled with disgust and it was all she could do to not rip her hand away. She spun her head toward Jacob, needing something to anchor her through the storm of terror raging through her.
Jacob’s face remained expressionless as he led her back down the hallway to the chamber she’d bathed in earlier. The footfalls of the guards echoed behind them until the men took up their positions to either side of the door. The two women who’d assisted her earlier stood as she and Jacob entered.
“I wish you a peaceful rest, my lady,” he stated with a bow before slipping back out into the corridor.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rathe glanced over his shoulder. The old Dunlop laird stumbled, pulling on the rope binding his wrists together and causing the young warrior holding the rope at the other end to jerk backward.
Rathe sighed in annoyance and shook his head. The Dunlops put up little resistance once they were surrounded by the troops of three larger, more skilled clans. He could have left the old man behind, but he did not want to risk the Dunlop scheming again. They would be stopping for the night soon. When they arose, they would tie him to a tree and retrieve him after the battle.
By the time they stopped, it was well past dark. They were just beyond the MacTavish border. The loch on which the keep sat was not far through the valley. MacTavish would be expecting them on the morrow. But in just a few short hours they would move in under the cover of darkness. If all went as planned, the mormaer would meet them from the south. He just prayed Leah could hold on and the mormaer’s presence as the king’s emissary would ensure her safety.
There would be no fires tonight. The sky was black, giving them a modicum of cover. The longer they could keep their location hidden, the better. Many warriors now stood guard, positioning themselves along the edge of the woods, on the lookout for anyone who might be scouting out their position.
“Galen,” Rathe whispered, fighting the weariness in his bones. His body wanted sleep but his mind had other plans.
Galen grunted.
“If I die, help her to find the stone which will take her home. If she wants, let her take Màiri and Daniel with her.”
There was a long pause before Galen spoke. “But Màiri is your heir.”
Rathe snorted. “Her husband would be my heir if the MacTavish were killed and God knows who it might be. No, Leah is her mother now. I would not want Màiri to be without her. You and Calum take over the clan though. Find someone worthy to lead them. The mormaer will abide by your decision if he can.”
“And if we do not find the stone?”
Rathe shook his head in reluctance. Leah would need a protector—a husband. He bit back a snarl forming in his throat. As much as he despised the notion of another man touching her, preparations needed to be made in case he did not see the end of this battle. She might be carrying his son and, if she were, she’d need someone to care for them, help her raise the child to manhood, and be a good caretaker of his clan until his son was ready to take over. Someone he could trust.
Calum sat against a nearby tree with his eyes closed. Rathe kicked him in the foot.
“Hey,” he muttered. “Damn it, Rathe. Can I not have a moment of rest?”
“You need to marry her.”
Calum opened one eye and stared at him. “Your wife?”
Rathe nodded, his chest tightening.
Calum shrugged, snapping his eye back shut. “What the hell. Guess I could do that.”
“You will like her,” Galen commented. “Pretty little thing. Quiet. If she can put up with this ass, she will probably get along quite well with you.”
Calum nodded. “Huh. Just so I am clear, Sinclair, you have to be dead first, right?”
Rathe’s fist twitched as he settled back against his own tree. “Keep it up and I will use you in place of my shield tomorrow.”
Calum grinned. “Or maybe I will use you. I like the sound of a quiet, pretty wife warming my bed.”
Rathe kicked him in the foot again. “She is too good for you, MacBain. I may have to reconsider.”
* * * * *
As much as Leah fought it, the comfort of a bed and warmth of blankets lulled her toward sleep. Her unease made it fitful, however, and several times she awoke with a start at some bump or footstep in the hallway.
She slid her thumb over the smooth handle of the knife she’d secreted under her pillow. The look in Andrew’s eyes had been unmistakable—he meant to have sex with her. Or rape her. She wasn’t convinced he’d shelved the option, considering he’d sent someone after her already to do the same thing.
