"She challenged my authority as laird," he said coldly.
"Och, give over, Mackinnon. I can see ye like the lassie, for all she’s a Drummond. You're no’ about to hurt her."
More surprise for Mhairi. When a flush rose in the Mackinnon's cheeks, he looked more like a charming boy than her ruthless enemy.
"He shouldnae have said what he did about me being his bride," Mhairi said, which transferred Jean’s disapproval from the laird to her.
"Aye, and ye shouldnae have treated the chieftain with such disrespect. Ye left the laddie nae choice but to put you in your place."
"And my place is in his bed?" she asked in a cutting voice.
Jean raised her eyebrows at the frank question, but she answered with equal bluntness. "Aye, why no’? He's a good lad. Ye could do worse."
"He stole me away from my father."
"Aye, perhaps that wasnae the best way to start a courtship, but before that, he tried to win ye the honorable way. The Drummond was too stubborn to give him a hearing."
Mhairi cast the Mackinnon a quick glance under her eyelashes. Jean was right. Her father was stubborn and wedded to the old Highland ways, where blood feuds persisted into eternity. Perhaps his time had passed, and the new century called for a new accord in the glens.
The thought struck her as painfully disloyal. But she couldn’t help wondering how she’d have reacted to Black Callum Mackinnon, if he'd come to her as an acceptable suitor, wooing her with her father's approval.
The Mackinnon was handsome. Even a woman who hated him saw that. When he wasn’t trampling all over her pride, his manners were elegant. More, she'd given him ample cause to punish her, yet he’d reacted calmly, almost kindly, to her defiance. Even when she'd challenged him with that glass of wine in the face, he'd been angry but he'd controlled himself. He hadn't carted her off to his chamber in a fit of white-hot outrage. He'd carted her off because any other reaction would undermine his power as laird.
Her father and cousins were all hot-tempered men, inclined to use their fists first and count consequences later. Because she was her father's darling, she usually escaped chastisement, but the atmosphere at Bruard was always alive with the promise of violence. The atmosphere at Achnasheen…wasn't.
She’d soon noticed the laird's easy way with his people. In other circumstances, she might admire it. Her father was a respected leader, but he used fear to rule. Callum Mackinnon didn't, yet he held his clan under as firm a sway as her father did.
Could there be another way for her kinfolk to live beyond reeling from murder to raid to another murder? The idea was appealing. She'd seen too many Drummond women mourning sons and husbands and brothers not to understand that constant warfare did more harm than good.
Perhaps if the Mackinnon had approached her like a gentleman and spoken of peace between their two families, she would have listened.
He tried, an unwelcome little voice said in her head. Your father wouldn't give him the chance.
An even more disloyal thought, curse her. And curse the confusion that set up home in her heart.
Mhairi stepped closer to the window. If only she could run across the hills to escape these traitorous thoughts. If only she could run all the way to Bruard Castle where she was safe from doubts and where she knew her place in the world as Mhairi Drummond, the Rose of the Glens.
She was yet to spend a night at Achnasheen. Already she questioned everything she’d been brought up to believe.
Troubled to her soul, she stared out the window. In the twilight of a north Highland summer night, the setting’s extraordinary beauty was undeniable. Achnasheen rose above a sea loch spread out before her as smooth as a mirror in the quiet evening. In the distance, the Cuillins rose in rugged splendor. Bruard deep in its rolling hills had its own beauty, but nothing to compare with this.
Another disloyal thought. At this rate, she might as well marry Black Callum. She verged on betraying her Drummond blood and becoming a Mackinnon anyway.
Mhairi waited for the idea to spark sick horror, then was dismayed when it didn't. She’d never forgive the Mackinnon for compelling her to his will. But now she came to know him better, it was difficult to cling to her conviction that he was a mindless brute with no trace of compassion in his veins.
Which didn't mean she was ready to wed the devil.
"Are ye plotting some horrible fate for me over there, lassie?" her bugbear asked from across the room. "You've gone gey quiet."
Mhairi turned to face him. He stood near the table, and amusement set attractive creases around his dark eyes. She realized with another shock that he'd been watching her for a while, and even more astonishing, she didn’t mind at all.
Jean had set out the meal which smelled wonderful. Now she pottered around the chamber, tidying up after the Mackinnon's wash. Mhairi tried not to think of how the breath had jammed in her chest when she’d seen her captor without his shirt. She hadn’t been able to look away when he rinsed the wine from that thick tumble of black hair. There was something irresistibly intimate about watching a man washing.
Black Callum might be a beast, but he was a superb-looking beast, plague take him.
"I’m in favor of a truce between our two clans. You’re right to seek peace."
Both Mackinnons stared at her, open-mouthed with astonishment.
"What did ye say, lassie?" Black Callum asked after an extended silence. "That sounded like a concession."
Sending him an impatient glance, Mhairi sat at the table. She opened her folded napkin with an irritated snap. "I'm no’ stupid. I dinnae like all the killing either."
He didn't look convinced. Whereas Jean’s sharp look made Mhairi shift uncomfortably on her chair. The woman saw a wee bit too much, Mhairi couldn't help thinking with a hint of resentment. The bewilderment and doubt assailing her were purely private matters and not for others’ speculation.
The Mackinnon settled in the chair opposite her and poured two glasses of wine from the gilt jug. "An hour ago ye wanted my guts for garters."
"I still do."
A faint sound from the other side of the room might have been Jean smothering a laugh.
"Well, nice to think everything hasnae turned on its head in the blink of an eye, then," he said dryly. "May I serve ye some of this chicken, Mistress Drummond?"
She was hungry. Brigid had brought her a meal after her bath, but she'd been too angry and afraid to do the food justice. Briefly she recalled her earlier resolution to accept nothing from the Mackinnon, but she needed to keep her strength up if she was to carry on with her fight.
Mhairi watched him prepare a plate for her. She already knew those tanned hands were strong and competent. Now she recognized that they could be graceful, too.
No, he wasn't altogether an uncivilized barbarian and life at Achnasheen clearly had its good points. But her newly softened attitude toward her clan’s foes didn't mean she was lining up to become the laird's lady.
***
Jean remained in the tower room as they ate. A pox on her and her suspicions. She'd been Callum’s nurse and knew him too well. She clearly didn't trust him to stick to his good intentions when it came to the lassie. She was a canny old besom, and she saw that his interest in the Drummond girl extended beyond mere political ends.
After the meal, Jean cleared away the empty dishes. The girl had been quiet, suspiciously so, but she'd eaten. To his relief, she'd also stopped eying him across the table as if waiting for him to toss her onto that big bed without a moment’s warning.
He didn’t bother telling her yet again that she was safe. She’d find that out for herself.
Callum played a longer game than mere assuagement of his lust, powerful as that lust was becoming. Marriage shouldn’t be a battleground. He wanted to trust the woman he took to wife. While he'd noticed an easing in Mhairi’s hostility, welcome if unexpected after her antics downstairs, it was still too soon to push for a physical union.
At this moment, the lassie was w
ound as tightly as a watch spring. Better by far to give her time to accustom herself to becoming the Mackinnon bride before he took her into his bed.
Which didn't mean it was a simple matter to keep his distance when Mhairi sat mere feet away, beautiful as dawn on a clear Highland morning. He’d hardly tasted any of the delicious food. His senses were too closely focused on the beautiful woman so close to him. The short distance between them might as well be a hundred miles, for all the use he could make of her.
"Away with ye now, Mackinnon," Jean said, clearing away the plates. "The lassie needs her sleep."
Aye, he could see Mhairi was weary. In body and spirit. Violet shadows marked the skin under those deep blue eyes, and the proudly upright body showed a tendency to sag against her chair until she recalled she supped with her enemy and straightened her spine. The girl’s fire burned low, banked after food and wine and an hour when he deliberately avoided any subject likely to send her flaring up again. The conversation had been notably one-sided with long silences, but she'd responded with reluctant courtesy.
He sat back and stretched out his legs, a half-empty glass of wine dangling from one hand. "Och, Jean, ye ken I have to stay."
"No, Mackinnon." Jean went back to frowning at him. "It's no’ right when you're no’ wed."
A sardonic smile curled his lips. "But we will be. This willnae be the first Highland match where the bride and groom are too impatient to wait for the vows to be spoken."
The girl’s languor evaporated in an instant. With a lurch, she rose from the chair and backed away from the table. "Ye said…"
The brief armistice was over. He bit back a sigh and raised one hand. "Ye raised the stakes when you threw that wine in my face. I cannae let such a challenge go unanswered."
"So my good reputation is the sacrifice." Her tone was bitter.
"Aye, lassie, it is. If you’re worried about the damage to your name, ye can repair it by marrying me this minute."
When Jean entered the rising argument, the old biddy wasn't on his side. "Aye, Mackinnon, most people excuse a handfasted couple for anticipating the wedding, when there’s no minister nearby to make all proper. That's no’ the case here."
"It's too late to go back, Jean," he said. "When I carried the lass upstairs, I convinced everyone in Achnasheen except ye that I meant to have her."
"You're forcing my hand," Mhairi said bitterly. "When ye swore you’d await my consent."
Callum shrugged, although under his ruthless manner, he felt for her. He didn't like to be compelled either. But ending the war between the Drummonds and the Mackinnons was more important than her injured feelings.
"I'm fighting with what weapons I have, lass."
"It's no’ likely to make me favor your suit," she hissed.
She was back to surveying him as if he’d crawled out of the lowest pit of hell. For a few sweet moments tonight, she'd spoken to him as if he was almost human. "Perhaps no’ straightaway."
"Try never," she snapped back.
"Mackinnon…" Jean began.
"No, hold your blether, Jean. I willnae be swayed." His tone held a steel edge. "I share this chamber with Mistress Drummond from now until the day she agrees to wed me."
"Then will ye leave me alone?" she asked with a bite.
A grunt of laughter. "Dinnae be pudding-brained, lassie. I told ye – I plan on us producing a bairn or two. Grandchildren for the Laird of Bruard. How else will I melt the Drummond's heart and make him accept me as your husband? What use is a wife to me if she willnae share my bed?"
Her eyes narrowed on him, and her fists clenched at her sides. He’d much rather she looked angry than daunted. He could deal with her temper. He hated to see her afraid. It made his belly turn cold and sour with guilty awareness that he used his superior physical strength to bully her.
Jean broke into the silent battle raging between them. "I'll sleep in here with ye."
He gave another brief laugh. "That ye will no’. Who the devil will believe in this seduction, if my old nursemaid stays to supervise?"
"Seduction! That’s a kind way of putting it," Mhairi said acidly.
He shrugged. "You'll keep your virtue tonight, lassie."
"No’ as far as the world is concerned."
"Aye, well, ye will know, and so will I. Unless you're minded to relent. We can come together with the church’s blessing. The second ye say the word, I can hurry you downstairs and put ye in front of the altar in the chapel. The minister will be more than happy to save us from sin."
Reverend Plaistow had never approved of Callum’s plan to kidnap the Drummond heiress. When he heard about tonight's happenings, he'd be even more displeased. He was in favor of ending the feud. He'd buried far too many Mackinnons before their time. But snatching an innocent woman away from her kin sat ill with Achnasheen’s minister.
Jean looked across at Mhairi. "Can ye really no’ stomach the thought of the Mackinnon as your husband, lassie? It would solve a host of problems. No’ least keeping the shine on your reputation."
She folded her arms and stood as straight as a young pine tree. "I'd rather die."
Grim disappointment settled heavy in Callum's belly. They were back to that, were they?
He rose and spoke with a sternness he didn't totally feel. "Fight all ye want, Mistress Drummond, but I will have peace in the glens and I will have ye as my lady."
"I'm ashamed of ye, Mackinnon," Jean said, clicking her tongue and shaking her head. "But I can see there’s no talking ye out of this madness. If ye can put off ravishing the maiden in the next five minutes, at least have the courtesy to step outside while I prepare her for bed. Can ye no’ see she’s ready to drop where she stands?"
Aye, he could see that. He, too, was weary. Neither he nor Mhairi was in the best state to finalize complicated negotiations. "Verra well. I'll wait outside."
Chapter 10
Resentment churned in Mhairi’s belly as she watched him go. Resentment and fear, and something that felt like a premonition of ultimate failure. Because she didn't want the world thinking she was the Mackinnon’s doxy. And who knew when he’d make those suspicions reality? He meant to leave her untouched tonight, but how long would that concession continue?
With all her heart, she wished she hadn't lost her temper and tossed that wine in his face. But hearing him proclaim his victory with such confidence had turned her blind with fury.
She should have controlled herself. What did it matter that he boasted to his clan of her capture? He needed her consent to a marriage. It was the only power she still had.
She'd challenged his pride in public. Good heavens, if she did such a thing to her father, he'd give her a good hiding. And her father adored her. She supposed she should feel lucky that the Mackinnon hadn't given her a whipping and was only pretending to tup her.
Mhairi didn't feel lucky. She felt thwarted and trapped and helpless, and she hated it.
"He's a fine laddie. Ye mightnae see it now, lass, but he is." Jean unfolded a white cambric nightdress from an open chest. It was the gown Mhairi had put on after her bath. She'd been so exhausted, she'd crashed into a couple of hours of dreamless sleep. Odd, when she'd been sure she'd never sleep at Achnasheen, no matter how tired she was.
Tonight with the Mackinnon joining her – did he mean to share the bed that loomed in the corner? – she really wouldn’t sleep a wink.
"He doesnae act like it," she said, even as she knew she wasn't being completely fair. Within his lights, he'd treated her well. But since when had she decided she needed to be fair to a pestilential Mackinnon?
Jean carried the nightdress across to the bed and laid it out. It was exquisite, fine as a cobweb, and embroidered with trailing spring flowers, bluebells, violets and buttercups. At home, Mhairi didn't own anything half so pretty.
"I cannae wear that tonight." She glowered at the garment as if it was soaked in poison. "It's for a bride."
She waited for Jean to tell her that a bride she'd be, no
matter how she strained and wriggled like a salmon caught on a line. The woman didn't say anything. She didn't need to.
"Let me help ye undress."
Mhairi turned her back. "Aye. Thank ye."
The elaborate gown fastened down the back, and she hadn't a hope of getting out of it alone, or out of the stays under it. It was a dress fit for court, or for the bride who wore that pretty nightdress.
Jean’s fingers were deft on the lacing. "It caused a braw fuss in the keep when Callum Dubh said he'd marry the Drummond lass and no one else. After he broke the news, ye could hear half the female hearts at Achnasheen crack into pieces."
Mhairi could imagine. She didn't want to marry him, but without the small matter of a kidnapping between them, she might even admit Black Callum was quite the catch. "Are ye trying to convince me of my good fortune?"
The sarcastic question made Jean laugh. "I'm just saying, my lady, there’s always more than one way of looking at a situation. Sometimes it's better to be the reed that bends with the wind and endures, instead of the oak tree that stands firm and breaks against the gale."
"I'm no’ going to wed a man who keeps me prisoner and bullies me into taking him."
Jean lifted the heavy gown over her head. "Och, you're almost as stubborn as the Mackinnon."
Mhairi hid a shiver at that "almost," partly because she suspected it was true. As if to confirm her foreboding, Jean went on as she crossed to pack the gown away in the chest. "He's always been a gentle lad, no’ one to fight when compromise can gain his ends. But I've never seen him fail to get something he really wants. He wants an end to the feud." The woman came back and began to unlace the stays. "And more than that, he wants ye."
"I'm a means to an end." She hated the hint of pique in her voice. Good heavens, what was the matter with her? She didn't want the Mackinnon setting his interest on her as a woman, not just a token in his political games.
The Highlander’s Defiant Captive: The Lairds Most Likely Book 4 Page 8
