by Lois Greiman
“Wheaton!” Burr scoffed. “Aye, he is a thorn in your side. But he is a small thorn. While you are the laird.” He tightened his huge fist against the tabletop. “Chosen to lead, born to rule.”
Cairn laughed. “Olaf Burroun, subscribing to Teleerian propaganda.”
“Is that what she thought? Is that what she believed? Propaganda? Aye, that was most probably it. She was too much the fool to think on her own, so she believed what others told her. She believed you were strong. That you were trustworthy. That is why she came here at the outset, is that it?”
Cairn shrugged and Burr swore.
“Damn you!” he said, and smacked the table with his bare hand. “She came to offer an alliance. She came because she has a mind of her own. She came because, despite what she’d heard—and she’d heard a good deal, lad, don’t think she didn’t—she thought you were better than the average fool who can prop a crown on his head. She believed you were one to better the world. Not one to sit on his arse and do nothing.” Burr shook his head. “It saddens me to see she was wrong,” he said, and rose to leave, but Cairn caught him by the arm.
“I am laird,” he said. “And I will rule as I see fit.”
“As you see fit,” Burr scoffed. “You don’t even have the courage to get her back, boy, when you know Teleere would benefit from the alliance. When you know you are worthless without her.”
A dozen scenes flashed through Cairn’s mind. She was in each one, her face like a beacon, her voice like an incantation. She made him whole. She made him worthy, but he would be damned before he would beg her to return.
Burr stared at him, then snorted as if he could read the younger man’s mind. “So Elizabeth has won. You are a weakling, lad.”
Anger seared Cairn, fueled by frustration, fanned by self-doubt. But here was a course of action he could take. A means of proving himself while admitting nothing. “I can take you, old man,” he said.
The giant grinned, showing the first sign of joy since their return to Teleere. “I’ll tell you what then, lad. We’ll have a go at it. Bare hands. No weapons. If you best me, you can sit on your arse and pity yourself till you’re rotting in the grave. But if I beat you…” His grin widened. “The lads should be able to wake you up before you reach her shores.”
Cairn rose slowly to his feet. Hope had returned, making his heart feel too large for his chest, making his lungs feel tight. The floor tilted slightly beneath his unsteady stance, but he gave Burroun a smile and as he motioned for him to begin. He only prayed the Norseman wasn’t too drunk to best him.
“So you are saying that Prince Edward did not shoot the assassin,” Tatiana said.
Nicol shrugged. He looked tired, older. But maybe she did, too, for she felt weary.
“Edward fired a gun,” he said. “But I believe it was one of his guards who killed Fitzgerald.”
She glanced out the window. “Might the guard be in the market for a bride?”
Nicol smiled wryly. She could feel the expression, though she didn’t turn toward him. “I haven’t asked. But I hear Lord Malborg is.”
“Lord Malborg?” She turned her gaze wearily back to the viscount. “Is he the suitor du jour?”
“He waits in the morning room as we speak.”
“Well.” She didn’t sigh, didn’t cry, merely gathered her skirts and hardened her heart. “I had best paint on my smile then,” she said, and rose to return to her rooms, but Nicol stopped her.
“Tell me,” he said, “if you weren’t the princess of Sedonia, would you have remained in Teleere?”
And just like that, she weakened. Her mind drifted in an instant. She was in MacTavish’s arms, feeling the strength of him surround her. Feeling the rightness of their union. But it was not to be. For a thousand reasons. “It matters little,” she said, and straightened her back as she turned away. “For I am the princess.”
Her ladies followed her silently back into her chambers, where she was coifed and powdered and primped, like a carriage horse on parade, with no more say, no more real value. Finally, unable to bear their attentions any longer, she sent them away and sat staring numbly at herself in the mirror.
There she was, Princess Tatiana. But who was she inside? Or did it matter? Nay, for she was Sedonia’s sovereign head first and foremost. She would do what she must. She would marry whom she should. She—
“I liked you better as Megs.”
She turned with a start, her heart racing. Gone for a moment was the cool princess, and in her place was a ragamuffin lass who hoped foolishly and loved wildly.
“MacTavish,” she said. In her mind she wept his name, but despite her emotions, her tone sounded smooth, level. Lady training at its best. “What are you doing here?” There was calm reproach in her voice though her heart felt tight in her chest.
He stared at her, his eyes an intense blue. Her joints felt strangely loose. “I would give the same question to you, lass.”
“These are my private chambers, MacTavish. Surely you do not resent my being here.”
“Nay.” He moved away from the wall like water, all long smooth motions. “’Tis what was in the morning room that I resent.”
“Lord Mal—” she began, then, “was?”
“I fear he won’t be able to consider a union with you after all, lass.”
Her eyes widened despite herself. “What did you do to him?”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. It had been several days since he’d shaved, and there was a purplish bruise on his cheek, making him look feral and dangerous. “I didn’t kill him if that’s your concern.”
She relaxed with an effort and raised one brow. Perhaps she smiled a little, for in her soul there was a tiny flame of hope. “Nay,” she said, and turned to open a window as she grappled for nonchalance. “’Twas not my concern.”
“He lisps.”
She glanced over her shoulder to look at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lord Malborg. He lisps.”
“Yes I know.” She nodded. “And his country has threescore warships to protect his shores. I believe a bit of lisping can be overlooked in—”
“Teleere has twice that.”
Her hands shook like windblown sails. She steadied them carefully. When had she begun thinking in nautical terms? she wondered. But the answer came immediately. Ever since she’d slept in his arms aboard the Fat Molly. She pushed the memories aside. “Malborg has a thriving timber industry,” she said.
“Teleere has wool. Tons of it. The finest in all of Europe.”
“Malborg has close ties to the Finnish throne. His diplomats are ever working to improve their relations with other countries. The possibilities are limitless.”
He stared at her hard. She straightened her back. Like a mizzenmast, he would say.
“Teleere has me,” he intoned.
Her chest literally ached, and it took every bit of her wavering control to keep herself from falling into his arms. “What are you suggesting, MacTavish?” She held his gaze hard and fast. It was his turn to glance toward the window, his turn to pace in that direction.
“My country is strong,” he said, turning back. “Our resources are plentiful, our people are many and hardworking.”
He paused. She waited, not urging, not assisting.
He scowled. “But we haven’t the artisans Sedonia boasts. Nor the mines.”
“I ask again, MacTavish, what are you suggesting?”
“I may not be polished, Megs, but I am strong and tempered, and I can stay the course.”
She didn’t respond.
“I…” He shifted his gaze rapidly to the window again. “I may not be refined, but I come from hardy stock and…dammit! I don’t lisp.”
She paced toward the east wall and ran her fingers lightly over a tapestry that hung there. “I know your fine attributes, MacTavish,” she said. “Just as I know your faults.”
The muscle in his jaw jumped again.
“What I am wondering is…why have you br
eached my private chambers to list them for me?”
He tightened his fists. Muscles clenched and danced up his forearms past his elbows. He had not changed from his favorite attire to come here. Nay, he wore naught but his plaid and a simple tunic rolled up at the sleeves and open at the neck to show the taut sinews of his sun-browned throat. She steadied herself.
“I think you know why I am come, lass,” he murmured. There was a healing wound on his temple. She was tempted to kiss it away.
She shook her head instead. “No,” she said. “I do not know why you have come, so you’d best tell me.”
He glanced out the window again, but she doubted he saw past the heavy pane to the bailey below. Never had she seen him unable to meet her gaze. “I’m suggesting a union.”
“A union?” She managed to sound baffled, but her heart was clanging in her chest.
“A union,” he gritted, “between your country and mine.”
“Ahh.” She could not breathe, but she managed to give him a prim smile. “So you wish to trade with Sedonia.”
His face reddened slightly, darkening his features. “You know what I wish for.”
“Nay, I do not, for I distinctly remember you saying Sedonia had nothing to offer Teleere.”
“I have been better educated since then,” he said, and rubbed the knuckles on his left hand. She realized for the first time that they had been scraped raw.
“Have you?” she asked, and strode past, watching him from the corner of her eye. “By whom?”
“Lady Nedra had a few things to say to me. She is well and assisting the physicians,” he said, then cleared his throat. “And Burr shared his knowledge.”
“And pray, my lord, what is it you have learned?”
“That I can’t live—” He stopped himself, but his body was tense, his teeth gritted. “Sedonia has much that is good about it.”
She shrugged and raised her hands, palms up. Her throat felt tight. “Then we shall conduct trade,” she said. “Have your chancellor contact mine. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a suitor to…” She brushed past him, but he caught her arm and pulled her toward him, stopping her words.
“Lass.” The word was nothing more than a harsh whisper, but somehow that whisper echoed in her soul, raising goose-flesh in its wake. She stood frozen, mesmerized by his nearness, trapped by his touch. “Do you deny that want me?”
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. But finally she managed. “You?” she said. “I thought we were but discussing the good of our countries.”
“’Tis too late to act the fool with me, lass. For I know you too well.”
Anger raged through her. She jerked her arm from his grasp. “You do not know me at all, MacTavish.”
“And whose fault is that?” he asked, motioning wildly. “I have asked a host of questions, but you have lied at every turn.”
“My country’s security lay in another’s hands, and you made no pretense about your disdain for Sedonia. Neither was I to believe that you were above ransoming me should you learn my true identity. I had no choice but to lie. My—”
“You have a choice now, princess,” he said, and held her gaze like an iron vise. “Tell me true, do you want me or not?”
The horrid truth trembled on her lips, but she held it back and drew a careful breath. “Why are you here, MacTavish?”
He glanced toward the door and shuffled his feet like a lad caught pinching fresh scones. “Because I lost a battle.”
She shook her head in bafflement, but he went on before she could question him.
“I have told you why I have come, lass. Don’t—”
“You have told me naught except that our countries should ally. But in the past you swore Sedonia had nothing for you. Why now the change of heart?”
A tick danced in his jaw, but he didn’t turn away. “I am a pirate, not a diplomat. I spoke in haste. My…” He clenched his fists again, as if they were sore. “My advisors have convinced me to see the wisdom in binding Teleere and—”
“Convinced you?” It was that one word that caught her attention, that one word that rang false. “No one convinces you of anything, MacTavish. You weigh the facts and you do as you will. And so I ask again, why are you here?”
“Tell me one truth, Megs,” he said. “Why did you first come to Teleere?”
She considered lying, considered skirting the truth, but there had been enough of that. Too much in fact, and what had she gained from it? She raised her chin slightly and bore down on honesty. “I had learned a good deal about you,” she said slowly. “Nicol visited your country many times and told me tales, and what I learned I—” She turned away, pulling her arm from his grasp, for she could no longer hold his gaze. “I knew you were rough and opinionated, but you reminded me of my uncle, the late king, and—”
“So Burr was right? You sought me for marriage?” The question spurted out like the gasp of an astonished lad. She turned slowly back to him, her hands gripping each other for support.
“Why have you come?”
He shook his head, obviously trying to clear it before speaking again. “Teleere—”
“Teleere is not the issue here. Neither is Burr, nor any of the score of men you could have sent in your stead. Why are you here?”
“Listen, lass, I am not on trial!”
“Aren’t you?” She raised her chin and stared at him, wrapping herself in every thread of regal dignity she could find. Later, she would collapse. “You will tell me your feelings, MacTavish, the innermost thoughts of your heart, or you will leave, and I will marry another. Do you understand me?”
His mouth quirked. “My country—”
“Your country has not breached the sanctity of my chambers. You have. Why?”
“We can ship—”
“Damn you, MacTavish!” she swore and gripping his tunic in her fist, pulled herself up to his face. “Why have you come?”
They stood inches apart. Every fiber in her being thrummed with life. Every nerve ached for satisfaction. He made her daft, drove her past her reserves, and she hated him for that, for she could not even convince him to share a small bit of himself.
“Elizabeth’s betrayal cut me deep, lass, I’ll not deny it,” he said, his voice quiet.
Someone knocked on the door. They ignored it.
“Revenge was everything,” he admitted. “Revenge for my stolen brooch, revenge for her betrayal. I wasn’t above using you to make Wheaton pay, but now…Now I see there is more to life than vengeance.” He touched her face. “I swore I would never trust another noble lady. But you were not noble. Not when you were in my arms. You were Megs.”
The knocking came again, louder now.
“Think of what we could achieve if we unite, lass. Your knowledge and my strength. Your courage and my skills. Your blood and my brawn. We could right the wrongs, strengthen the lower classes, temper the nobility. I will teach you the way of the sea and mayhap…” He winced as if pained. “You could instruct me in horsemanship. We would be all but invincible.”
“I’ll not marry you to become invincible, MacTavish. ’Tis not—”
“Then marry me because I cannot live without you.”
She heard herself gasp, felt her knees weaken.
“Damn your title,” he said. “Damn your heritage. Damn your whole country. I need you, whether your name is Megs or Tatiana or Captain Woodcock.”
The pounding on the door became more insistent, but in that moment he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
The door burst open.
A score of men rushed into her room, weapons at the ready.
“Stand back! Release her!” demanded the captain of the guard, but MacTavish turned slowly toward them, not retreating an inch.
“Shoot him!” Paqual shouted, striding into the chamber.
MacTavish turned his gaze slowly toward the counselor. “Lord Paqual,” he said. “How was your visit with Martinez?”
The blood left Paqual’s fac
e in a rush. “If you will not shoot him, I will!” he hissed.
Tatiana stepped in front of MacTavish, her arms outstretched. “Shoot my betrothed, and I swear by all that is holy, I will see you hanged this very day if I have to tie the rope myself.”
“Your…” Paqual stumbled back a pace. “Betrothed!”
“Aye,” she said. “You have manipulated and murdered, but you have lost, and Sedonia has won. We will ally ourselves with a great force, with Teleere and her master.”
“’Tis not for you to decide, girl,” he hissed, stepping forward. “I have made you what you are, and you’ll not ruin my plans by binding yourself to a bastard pirate.”
“Better a pirate than a traitor,” she said. “I know your plans, Paqual. You hoped to make me believe MacTavish had hired my assassin. You planned for me to fall into the arms of the prince of Romnia. But you are not so clever as you think, and you are naught but a murderer.
“Take him to the dungeon,” she said to her guards. “And hold him there until his trial.”
They did so, and he went, squawking all the way.
“Your Majesty.” Lady Mary bowed nervously. “If Lord MacTavish will meet with your advisors, they could discuss the wedding plans.”
“I will meet with them shortly,” Cairn said.
“It is surely not proper—”
“Not proper.” Tatiana smiled as she shook her head. “Nay, it is not. But it is what I want. He is what I want.”
Cairn’s gaze felt hot on her face.
“Your Majesty, you cannot—”
“I can and I shall.”
“Get out,” Cairn ordered, then he turned as if they were no longer there, and kissed her.
There were gasps and hisses, but in a moment the room was empty, for Nicol had arrived to usher them out. The door closed firmly behind them.
Tatiana reached up to softly touch Cairn’s face. “You came.”
“I may be a lackwit and a coward, but I’m not dead. You didn’t think I’d let you marry another, did you?”
“Yes,” she said. “I did.”
“Then you don’t know me very well, princess,” he said, and, lifting her into his arms, carried her to their bed.
“Perhaps I do not,” she agreed, and slipped her hand beneath his tunic, “but I intend to remedy that this very instant.”
