Two or three galloping heartbeats passed before he realized the figure was that of a woman. A gracefully curved, dark-haired woman.
Lady Glinis.
She turned silently, unafraid of the blade aimed at her breast. An apparition silhouetted against the luminous dark, she had the subtle scent of wine about her. And from what dim light was available, Alex could make out that her eyes had the slightly unfocused look of one affected by drink.
Though she was not drunk. No, definitely not that. Her gaze, though glassy, was steady enough. She stared at him, challenging him, one eyebrow slightly raised.
“Forgive me, my Lady.” Alex returned the sgian dubh to his boot and straightened. He hoped she could not see how badly his hands were shaking.
“Sir Alexander.” Her voice was smoky and sensual. “What takes ye from yer bed at this hour?”
What took him from his bed? Why she did. The thought of her; the ache for her. His body stirred, responding to nothing more than the suggestion of that ache.
“I couldna sleep. I thought to remedy that wi’ some air.”
“Are our beds no’ comfortable enough for ye?” She raised her chin a fraction. “Or perhaps ye’re in need of company for yer bed.”
In need of—God’s bones, what was the lady playing at? She leaned on the wooden sill, her hip raised slightly, which only accentuated her heavenly form. Her head tipped to the side in invitation, elongating the graceful slope of her neck. A subtle smile curved her full, pouting lips.
His thighs throbbed as he imagined taking her upturned face in his hands and kissing those lips.
But his warrior’s instinct buzzed with warning. This was not the stoic, composed, disinterested lady he’d come to know. Not the lady who’d reprimanded him for his overtures as she had wrapped his wound in the great hall that day.
Something was amiss.
“I dinna wish for company, my Lady,” he answered uncertainly.
Her eyes narrowed a fraction. She pushed herself off the sill and slinked across the alcove to stand in front of him. Lifting a forefinger, she traced it from Alex’s collarbone to his navel in a slow, deliberate line, enjoying the shudder it evoked in him.
“Perhaps we can change yer mind. Ye see, I myself am in need of company.”
Alex’s knees nearly buckled under the strain of resisting her. His manhood screamed at him from beneath his kilt: take her, ye bloody fool. She could be ours!
His keen, calculating mind, however, kept its hold on his wits by a narrow margin. This close to her, with her maddeningly beautiful face inches away from his, he saw something which he hadn’t picked up on from a distance.
It was her eyes. Those glittering gems of onyx were hard and brittle. Dangerous.
Oh yes, there was something amiss, alright. This was no invitation. It was a challenge. A dare. She may be affected by drink, but she was by no means inebriated.
He cleared his throat. “I imagine it must be difficult for ye, then, my Lady, to have to resist that need. What wi’ yer husband laying ill and all.”
His remark had been pointed and cutting, though his tone had been gentle. From his experience with women (and he’d had plenty), he knew what to expect; he winced, waiting for the slap that should have come.
She did not raise her hand. Her face did not skewer itself into an expression of indignation, or wounded pride. To Alex’s astonishment, his remark seemed to be exactly what she’d been looking for. The brittleness in her eyes softened.
But she was not done with him, not yet. Alex stood, transfixed, as her eyes took on a new quality: pain. The drink which affected her had loosened the reins on a hurt which, he’d no doubt, she’d spent a lifetime suppressing.
And as soon as the pain had loosed itself, another suppressed emotion blazed to the surface.
Rage.
“Ah, yes. My husband,” she said through bared teeth. “The husband who this day flaunts the evidence of his adulterous deceit. The husband who takes my home, my lands away from me and gives them to the offspring of his whore. I expect I willna have a bed, nor a home, for much longer. It willna be long after my husband departs this world that she throws me out.”
A quiver wrinkled her brow and her glassy gaze moistened with unshed tears. Alex’s heart clutched, her pain affecting him far deeper than he would have thought possible. Gently, so as not to frighten her, he placed his hands on her upper arms, and peered down into her face.
“Whether or no’ the new Lady Strathcairn would have ye out, yer Lachlan would never let it happen. Ye ken that as well as I do.”
Glinis stared up at him defiantly, trying desperately to hold onto the anger which had roiled inside of her for so long. She lost the battle, and her face crumpled in despair.
Without thinking, Alex exhaled and pulled her into his arms. She stiffened briefly, her long practiced role as Lady Kildrummond at odds with this unprecedented intimacy. But when he pressed his lips to the top of her head, and breathed into her hair, she melted into him. And began to weep.
“I did everything I could,” she sobbed openly. “Everything to make him love me. It was never enough; I was never enough. It was always Lilian, Lilian, Lilian!”
He rocked her like a child, uttering soothing reassurances. Not a word of her bitter tirade did he interrupt; not one tear did he stop from soaking the linen of his shirt.
After a time her sobbing subsided, then died. She straightened. Alex held his breath, uncertain of how she would react to his impertinence now that she’d regained her composure. He pulled his chin back so that he could see her face. On it, there was a look of confusion. And chagrin.
She stepped away, raised a shapely, warm hand to his chest and ineffectually wiped at the drenched spot where her tears had fallen. Sheepishly she raised her eyes to his, opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it and shook her head.
Whirling on her heel, she walked silently away.
Alex gazed after her, following her retreating outline until it was enveloped by shadow. His heartbeat roared in his ears, and his skin tingled where he’d held her body against his. He released a deep, heavy breath.
Thoughts of his bed were completely gone now. There was no way he would find sleep again this night.
Nine
“AND HOW ARE ye this morning, Lady Strathcairn?”
Moira raised her eyes from her trencher to see who was addressing her. Smiling down at her was a young man, a Highland Scot, and one of Glinis Douglas’s acquaintances. If memory served correctly, he was also one of Lady Kildrummond’s most ardent supporters, and had been quite vocal in his disapproval of the earl’s long-standing affair with Lilian.
He seemed to be engaging her pleasantly enough now—whether this made Moira wary or at ease, she couldn’t yet say. She chewed her mouthful of crowdie carefully, tactfully delaying her answer.
“I am well, Lord ...?”
“Lord Murdoch, my Lady. My father is the Earl of Mar.”
“Lord Murdoch. Of course. Of Invernochty, no? I am told it is a lovely place.”
“It is, my Lady, I am quite proud of it.”
“Forgive my ignorance, but are ye first in line to inherit? Or have ye older brothers?
“I am the firstborn. Of course, when I inherit Invernochty, it will be honourably. I’ll need no’ weasel my way into power through the back door like ye’ve done wi’ Glendalough. In any case, I wish ye success wi’ Kildrummond. Do give my regards to the current lady of the castle, will ye?”
His verbal slap thus delivered, Lord Murdoch bowed, his smile now brittle, and strode from the hall.
Moira glared at the polished wood grain of the slatted table board. A hot flush spread up her neck and into her face. She was not unfamiliar with the sentiment which Lord Murdoch had so blatantly expressed; the noble men and women who came and went through Glendalough’s gates all felt this way. Their whispered remarks, derisive glances, and the rumours they left behind for the servants to circulate attested to that.
The cruel jibe had driven away her appetite. Her eyes slid to Lachlan, who sat at her side. He had not heard; his attention had been otherwise diverted by a fresh maid across the hall.
Humiliation ignited into anger. She shoved back from the table with such force that it nearly tipped the bench over.
Lachlan’s head snapped to her, his dark brows raised. “Moira? Ye alright, lass?”
She ignored him, and fled the hall by a side entrance—at the very time Lady Glinis was making her appearance through the same doorway. The lady stood her ground and glared dangerously at Moira.
“Sorry,” Moira mumbled, skirting her by a hair’s width and fleeing the hall.
Lady Glinis pressed her hands into her velvet surcoate, smoothing out a legion of imagined wrinkles. Once her countenance had been restored, she crossed the hall to the dais.
“What were all that about?” Lachlan questioned.
“How should I ken? I’ve only just come in.”
“How is his Lordship this morning?”
She waited until an approaching ghillie had delivered a fresh trencher of bread before answering. “He rests now. Though I’m told he’s had a better night than he’s had in a while.”
“Well, there are bound to be good days and bad, no?”
“More bad than good of late.” She took a delicate bite of cheese and chewed before speaking again. “I trust ye slept well?”
He gave her a wry smile. “It wasna as restful as I would have liked—and no’ for the reason ye’re thinking,” he added when she grimaced.
“And Moira? Did she have a peaceful sleep?”
“I’m surprised ye’d ask. I thought ye despised her.”
“I dinna ken what ye’re on about, lad.”
“Give over. Ye’re as easy to read as a book, Aunty Glin.”
Lachlan’s boyhood name for her touched her heart. She examined the contents of her trencher, considering.
“I despise her for what she is,” she stated, “no’ for who she is. And my feelings on the subject of Lady Moira, as she is now, are irrelevant. I am still mistress of this castle, and so long as it’s mine, I must consider the comfort of all my guests, no matter who they be.”
Lachlan dipped his head in a small bow. “Yer diplomacy is admirable, my Lady.”
“I should hope so. Sometimes I feel it’s all I have left.”
The conversation turned to other, more pleasant matters for the remainder of the meal. When he’d finished, Lachlan excused himself from the table and left the dais in search of Moira.
She’d been inexplicably contrary ever since the wedding feast. It was discouraging—one minute he thought they’d come to an understanding, and the next she seemed ready to clout him over the head. If her mood swung from one extreme to the other like this on a regular basis, he was in for a long battle until the union was annulled.
“I believe she’s in wi’ his Lordship, yer Lordship,” said a small, elderly servant woman when Lachlan inquired about Moira’s whereabouts. “Leastwise I saw her wandering about the keep in’t direction of his Lordship’s chamber.”
Thanking the woman, Lachlan took the keep stairs two at a time and went straight for Lord Kildrummond’s door.
It was ajar, and indeed, seated at his bedside was Moira. His Lordship slept soundly, a rattle of phlegm whispering past his teeth with each breath. Unaware that she was being watched, she slouched in the heavy oak chair in a most unbecoming fashion. Her forearms lay on the armrests, her knees hung apart, and she was slumped so low that her chin touched her chest.
As unbecoming as her posture was, however, it was somehow... sweet. Vulnerable. She watched her father’s sunken chest rise and fall, unaware that she herself was the object of observation.
Lachlan was reluctant to interrupt her, but he had come here for a purpose, and he meant to address it. Announcing his presence with a quick rap on the door, he stepped into the room.
She looked up, startled. Wiping a hand across her face in a mannish gesture, she sat up so that her back was arrow-straight, her knees pressed together, and her hands folded gently in her lap. She may not use them often, but it was obvious that someone, at some point, had attempted to instruct her on the proper deportment of a lady.
“Forgive me, my Lord,” she mumbled thickly.
“There’s nothing to forgive.” He paused, his gaze skimming over the sleeping earl, before continuing. “Moira, lass—is everything alright wi’ ye?”
“Of course, why shouldna it be?”
“Ye seem—how should I say it—annoyed wi’ me.”
Her lips worked together in silence, as if some private thing amused her. Or annoyed her even more. Her gaze swung back to her father.
“I dinna ken what ye’re on about.”
“Ye’re certain?” Lachlan pressed. “I could have sworn ye were in a strop wi’ me last night. And this morning ye ran off wi’ no reason as far as I can see.”
She inhaled long and slow, her lips drawing into a tight line. “Well then, my Lord, please accept my humblest apologies for running off... wi’ no reason.”
“I meant what I said, lass. I desire us to be friends. We only have each other in this.”
Her eyes stayed on the earl, but a sarcastic half-smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “Of course,” she answered chillingly. “We are in this equally.”
Lachlan stared at her. He was not sure what else he could say to dispel her mood. But talking to her was proving to be useless, and he was not fool enough to push at something that would not budge.
“Right then,” he said, giving up. “I’ll be off. If his Lordship wakes, give him my regard.”
He left her in peace. He did not hear the muttered words that followed him out of the room:
“Make no mistake, Strathcairn, there’s nothing equal about the circumstances in which we find ourselves.”
LADY GLINIS HAD spent the morning preparing herself before descending from the keep to break her fast. She’d been determined to avoid Sir Alexander’s gaze, and for that she’d put a great deal of thought into where she would—and more importantly, would not—look upon entering the great hall.
All her preparation had nearly been for naught when that fool girl Moira almost collided head-long into her. That one, unexpected encounter had threatened to dislodge her carefully composed countenance. Instead, she’d glared at the girl—to keep her eyes from scanning the room for the one face she didn’t want to see.
Yet the one face she so badly wanted to see.
She hadn’t meant to be so harsh to Moira; she felt somewhat sorry about it, in fact. It was strange, but her outburst the night before, as uncalled for as it had been, seemed to have unburdened Glinis of a fraction of her pain.
It was an odd feeling. Unsettling even. Her hatred for Lilian and her bastard offspring had been a constant through most of her adult life. But now... now the fires didn’t burn quite so hot.
Perhaps she might seek out Moira and offer an apology. Perhaps not. Perhaps she might just avoid the lass, and forget the incident entirely.
As much as she might have liked to, Glinis could not avoid Alexander MacByrne. She needed to address her indiscretion—though what, exactly, she was going to say she hadn’t yet worked out. But she had to say something, to dispel in some way what he must be thinking.
Come to think of it, what was the young man thinking now? How had his impression of the pitiable Lady Kildrummond changed? Did he think her wanton as well as wretched? Did he think her ...
“Oh for heaven’s sake, ye foolish woman, his opinion of ye matters not!”
“I beg pardon, my Lady?”
Mildly embarrassed, Glinis dismissed the passing servant’s puzzlement with a curt shake of her head.
Long after the hall had been cleared of the tables, and the castle was abustle with daily activity, she worked up her nerve and sought Sir Alexander out.
Her stom
ach was in knots with each corner she turned and each empty room she peeked into. And it was not only because of what she had to do.
The truth was, when she went to bed that night, the steel-and-flesh contours of his body pressing against hers, and the stir of his breath over her hair as he soothed her, was like a spell upon her senses. And his lips brushing over her head with that tender kiss—she shuddered pleasantly just recalling it.
Her reaction to this young, handsome man, frightened her. The others she’d taken to her bed over the years (few though they were) had not gotten under her skin this way. They’d been entertainment; they’d been revenge on her husband—in principle, at least. John had never found out.
Whatever else they’d been, those young men were also forgettable. They’d served their purpose to her just as she’d served hers to them.
Sir Alexander MacByrne, however ...
Finally she tracked him down in the stables, where he was patiently attending his chestnut gelding. He brushed the animal so gently, and with such affection that Lady Glinis admired him silently for a minute or two. Long, sculpted arms stroked the equally sculpted body of his mount. His shirtsleeves were pushed back to the elbows; the icy March air had finally broken of late, and the days now warmed to a slightly more tolerable degree of cold.
Lachlan’s bay gelding was stabled beside Alex’s; the animal swished its tail contentedly in a freshly cleaned stall. Her nephew had obviously been here already.
“We have ghillies for that,” she called from the doorway. “No need for ye to be mucking out stables yerself here.”
Alex’s back stiffened upon recognizing her voice, and his hand hovered mid-stroke a heartbeat before continuing to brush.
“Dinna worry, my Lady. A lad’s been already to do the dirty work. My mount, I handle myself.”
“Ye sound like our Lachlan.” She approached the edge of the stable, and leaned her shoulder against the mildewed, wooden post.
A Noble Deception (The Douglas Clan) Page 10
