A Laird for Christmas

by Gerri Russell

  Nicholas maneuvered so that he was between the women and the men. His gaze fixed on a blond-haired man about his same age. The man’s gaze held anger, then resentment, as he studied Jane. Nicholas’s frown deepened. He tightened his grip on his sword. Was the warrior disappointed not to be among those invited to compete for Jane’s hand in marriage? Or was there something more at play here?

  Nicholas ran his gaze over the others, watching for any aggressive movement toward their swords. It was not until Nicholas sized up the oldest member of the group that recognition flared. Seamus MacGuire, one of his late father’s friends.

  The way the other men stood behind the patriarch, Nicholas assumed the others to be members of that clan as well. Something inside Nicholas tightened. Seamus MacGuire had been as mean-spirited as his own father and not known for his diplomacy. Quite the opposite. The man and his clan were far more likely to draw their swords than ask questions of their neighbors.

  Nicholas was about to draw his sword when he saw Ollie and Angus approach. He did not relax his grip on his sword, but his tension eased as he asked, “Why are the MacGuires here?”

  Margaret’s eyes clouded with tears. “They have something to present to you, my dear,” she said to Jane, guiding her closer to Seamus.

  Nicholas spared a glance back at the girl they had discovered in the woods, only to find her gone. Her horse remained beside his, but there was no sign of the young woman. His irritation spiked. He had had several questions for her. No matter. He would find her later. At the moment, whatever the MacGuire clan wanted with Jane was far more urgent.

  Jane’s expression was nervous and intense as she approached the men. Seamus stepped forward, bowed, then offered Jane a folded piece of cloth. “We felt it necessary tae return this tae ye. We found it after the Battle of Bothwell Bridge. We thought ye might like the remembrance of yer father and brother.”

  Nicholas stiffened as she unfolded the standard bearing the Lennox crest of two broadswords in saltire behind an imperial crown. Jane’s face paled.

  “We also retrieved this.” The man held out a white piece of linen. When Jane simply stared at the cloth, Seamus unwrapped the object within, revealing a broadsword.

  A chill air rushed past Nicholas. “Your father’s sword.”

  Jane paled even more.

  “Where did you get these?” Nicholas asked, stepping closer to Jane. He pressed close to her side, offering support with his presence.

  The wiry-haired leader straightened. “We found them among the carnage.”

  “And the bodies?” Nicholas prompted.

  “The man we found these items near was unrecognizable as his head was cleaved—”

  Margaret gasped.

  “Enough,” Nicholas interrupted as Jane’s pallor turned unearthly white.

  Jane swayed on her feet a moment before Nicholas put his arm about her waist, supporting her weight. He removed the standard from her fingers and handed it to Margaret. “We need to get you inside,” he whispered softly to Jane.

  She gave a wooden nod and took one step only to have her legs fail her. Nicholas scooped her up into his arms. “Thank you, gentlemen, for bringing Lady Jane news of her father. The guards will escort you to the gate.”

  Seamus startled. “We’ve traveled far—”

  Nicholas would add no more danger to Jane’s welfare in the castle this eve or any eve, until they determined who was trying so desperately to harm her. Visitors other than those who were invited by Margaret would not be allowed. “I would advise you to leave.”

  At Nicholas’s frosty gaze, Seamus retreated toward the rest of his men. “Perhaps that would be best.”

  Nicholas’s gaze moved past Seamus. The young man who had been appraising Jane was not focused on her any longer. Instead, his back was turned as he studied the inner courtyard. Why?

  Nicholas’s anger spiked as he hugged Jane closer against his chest. “Shall I escort you out?”

  The young man flinched at the look on Nicholas’s face. “Nay, we can escort ourselves to the gate.”

  “Margaret, make certain the gates are closed when these men leave,” Nicholas demanded once the men had mounted and were headed in the direction of the gates.

  “But the other hunters?” she asked

  “We can open the gates when they return.”

  “What of Jane?” Margaret asked as her gaze shifted to the standard in her hands.

  “I will see to her needs.”

  “Aye.” The fear left Margaret’s eyes as she straightened. “Gentlemen,” she called to the men in a militaristic clip. “If you will follow me.” She marched toward the gate. “We thank you for your courtesy in returning these items, but now Lady Jane must come to terms with their meaning… alone.”

  “Close your eyes.” Nicholas said as he leaned in toward Jane and pressed a kiss to her forehead as he had done a hundred times in the past. “I will see you safely to your chamber.”

  As if no time had ever separated them, she buried her face against his chest. “I cannot close my eyes. All I envision is my father with his head disfigured and his eyes staring up at me, empty and lifeless.”

  Nicholas whisked Jane into the keep, through the great hall and up the stairs leading to her chamber. “Think of a time when you were here at the castle with your father and brother. Focus on the good memories.” That was what he did every time the shadows started creeping into his mind again.

  Jane nodded, but Nicholas could still see the pain of loss in her eyes. He continued steadily up the stairs until he paused at her closed door. He had been in her chamber before, briefly, along with her brother, Jacob, while they had still been friends.

  A vivid memory of when they had first met swam across his mind as he entered the chamber. She had been barely seventeen. He had been nineteen. They had met after one of his and Jacob’s wild riding jaunts through the countryside. Jane had been out riding that day as well. When they all had gathered outside the stable, he and Jane had seen each other over the back of Jacob’s horse. Their eyes had met—and that had been that.

  Jane had been a beauty even at seventeen. Seeing her sitting atop her horse, the wind ruffling her long, golden hair, her eyes filled with intelligence and curiosity, and he had been lost.

  For him, however, looking had never been enough.

  It had not been for Jane either.

  Over the course of a few days, they had become acquaintances, then friends, then sweethearts. They spent every moment of every day together. Laughing and touching had led to kissing, and their connection to each other only grew stronger. Despite the link between them, they never became lovers. Before they took their relationship further, Nicholas had every intention of marrying Jane.

  One day, he asked Jacob’s advice about how to approach Lord Lennox. That was the day Jacob had sent Nicholas away, banishing him from his sister and Bellhaven Castle. He shuddered. Despite the years, the wound was raw—it still bled.

  Holding Jane in his arms now, he remembered how desperately in love with her he had been. But they were older now. And time had a funny way of changing a person’s heart. Drawing a deep breath, he looked down at Jane, almost afraid to see what was reflected there.

  Her violet eyes were locked on his. “You can put me down.”

  “I could.” His nerves flickered as the scent of roses teased his senses.

  “Will you?” she asked with a quip of a smile.

  “I like you here, docile and helpless in my arms.” He let his gaze drop to her lips. He wondered how her lips would taste after all this time.… A lick of desire slid down his spine.

  Her lids lowered, but then she forced them up and locked her gaze on his. “I have two legs that are perfectly capable of holding me up.”

  “You have recovered from your shock, then?” His gaze drifted to her lips again.

  She released her hold on his neck and pushed gently against his shoulders. “I may never cleanse that image of my father from my mind, but I am well
enough to move forward.”

  He set her down and she immediately moved to the cold hearth a few paces from him. In the luxury of her chamber, the hearth seemed out of place. Yellow, gold, and green tapestries covered the walls, and gold linens hung from the bed, giving the room a warm and opulent feel. Despite her familiar surroundings, Jane simply stood in front of the hearth, studying the ashes. “My father is truly dead.”

  “Perhaps. Without a true identification, you will not know that for certain.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes stormy and confused. “But the standard and his sword?”

  Nicholas shrugged. “Artifacts from a battlefield are not indisputable,” he said gently.

  “It changes nothing, though.”

  He stepped closer. “Your need to marry in order to inherit?”

  Jane’s eyes widened, whether at his statement or at his nearness he was not certain, until warmth flared in them. “Yes. There is no escaping that fate, especially now that the MacGuires have offered even circumstantial proof of my father’s death. He will be declared dead and the estate will be in jeopardy.”

  “That is why we are all here.” He held her violet gaze, unable to let her retreat this time. Once again they were close; excruciating awareness arced between them. The past seemed tangible, and a web of feeling threatened to snare them anew. He could not resist the urge to raise his hand and brush a finger against her still-pale cheek.

  “Yes,” she breathed. “I must decide which of you I will spend the rest of my life with—however long or short that might be.”

  “I will not let anything happen to you, Jane.” He took another step closer, his gaze fixed on her lips, when a scuffle at the door startled them both. Nicholas stepped back, turning to see David filling the doorway. Behind him stood Jules, Colin, Lord Galloway, and Bryce.

  “Lady Jane, are you well?” David asked, coming into the chamber.

  “Lady Margaret told us about the attack.” Jules followed.

  Jane looked at Nicholas, held his gaze for an instant, then moved to greet the others. “I am unharmed, but yes. Someone did attack my horse during the hunt. Nicholas was kind enough to see me safely home.”

  “We would have canceled the hunt had we known.” Lord Galloway pushed his way forward and took Jane’s hand. He searched her from head to toe. “Are you certain nothing harmed you this day?” he asked, shifting his gaze to Nicholas.

  “All is well.” Jane forced a laugh. “Let us go below stairs and you can tell me about the hunt.” She pulled her hand out of the man’s grip as she took a step toward the door, most likely hoping all the others would join her. “Who won the competition?”

  “David,” Bryce said with a sneer. “Although technically he did not win, because he was on the pest moments before he went to ground and escaped.”

  “Besides, at that moment we all suddenly realized Nicholas and Jane were missing from the group. We came back to find you,” Colin explained.

  “My heroes,” Jane said, again keeping her voice light, although the storm in her eyes spoke of some deeper emotion. “Since David is the winner of this competition, then he and I will have our shared time alone this evening.” She turned to David. “Unless you would prefer to wait until morning?”

  He smiled. “I could not wait until morning.”

  As the others left the chamber, Nicholas transferred his gaze back to the cold hearth and leaned against it. He ran his hand through his hair. His temper cooled. His arousal was less forgiving. Unexpectedly, he’d had time alone with Jane this morning.

  He wanted more. He wanted Jane. He wanted to win the competition and finally have what he had always desired—Jane’s heart.

  Nicholas pushed back from the hearth, intending to join the others. If winning the competitions would get him what he wanted, he had win them all from here on out.

  Jane slipped from the keep as soon as she was able to reassure her suitors that she was unharmed. When they had finally retreated to their chambers to change and freshen themselves, she had headed for the stables. She had to make certain her horse was not lame because of today’s accident.

  She opened the side door to the stables and entered. Instantly, the scent of fresh, sweet hay pervaded her senses.

  “Who’s there?” Egan called out a moment before he appeared from around the stalls. “Oh, ’tis you, milady.” He clutched a small wooden bowl in his hands as he came toward her. “How can I help ye?”

  Jane smiled. “I came to see my horse, Diana. Where is she?”

  “Her usual stall,” he replied as a look of remorse crossed his youthful face. “She’s bruised and battered. I was about tae treat her wounds.” His gaze dipped to the bowl in his hands.

  “I can see to her, Egan.” Jane reached for the bowl of ointment.

  “If you insist, milady. I’ll be right here if ye need me.”

  “Thank you, Egan.” Silently, Jane moved to the stall where her horse lay upon the ground. She dropped to her knees beside her.

  “My dear sweet Diana, what have I done to you?” she asked, leaning down and pressing her cheek against the horse’s neck. She set the ointment aside and ran her hands over the faithful animal’s coat, assessing for a fever.

  With a soft whicker, Diana nuzzled Jane. Continuing to stroke her neck, Jane ran her hand over Diana’s withers, shoulder, forearm, until finally she reached her lower leg. Diana allowed her master to carefully inspect each leg, from knee to hoof, for damage. Only slight bruising appeared on both fetlocks. The front legs must have taken the brunt of the assault.

  Jane reached for the bowl of herbal liniment oil she had invented herself. She was please Egan found the lard mixed with lavender oil and crushed mint as useful as she had. Her own horse enjoyed a rubdown with it after a long ride.

  “Come on, girl. I need you on your side.”

  The animal shifted onto her side as if sensing what Jane intended to do. It was not the first time Jane had rubbed down her horse, but never for such abuse. “That is a good girl,” Jane cooed as she soothed the oil into Diana’s sore and battered legs. “I am so sorry you had to suffer for me.” She massaged the final leg, then continued to stroke the animal’s back for a time.

  Today’s attack had been unexpected. She truly thought she would be safe amongst her suitors out in the open, but apparently she had been mistaken.

  Who was out to harm her? The girl they had met at the cottage? A servant? It made no sense.

  Jane sat back on her knees. But could that person be someone in her household? Whoever it was had access to her routine, even to a change in her daily activities.

  Forcing the thought away, Jane gave Diana a final stroke on the neck, then stood. “I will be back to check on you later,” she said as she closed the stall door. She turned and startled as she came face-to-face with Bryce.

  “Ministering to the animals now, are you?” he asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

  Jane straightened, refusing to allow her cousin to see how unsettled she was by his presence. Where was Egan? “What do you want, Bryce?”

  “You know what I want.” He stepped closer to her in an act she knew was meant to intimidate her.

  “Well, you cannot have Bellhaven.”

  “It should be mine. And I would accept you along with the estate as a welcome prize.” He lifted his hand to stroke her cheek.

  The feather-light touch sent chills through her. She edged away, stepping to the side, out of his reach. He carried no weapon, but he needed no blade to harm her if that was his intention. His strength could overpower her, though she was far more agile. And without all that anger to weigh her down, she could outmaneuver him, she prayed, if it came to that.

  “Why this ridiculous competition?” he asked with a penetrating stare.

  He let her step farther away. “I need a husband.”

  “Then why not spare the others and accept me? That way we can keep Bellhaven between us. It can be as much yours as it is mine.”

  The cas
tle was never his, and if she had anything to say about it, it never would be. Her gaze connected with his. “I might have been presented with evidence earlier to prove my father is—” She broke off as her throat tightened.

  “He is dead. You have had proof of that.”

  “Perhaps, but not of Jacob.”

  He sighed. “When are you going to see what is before you, you naive fool?”

  “I remain hopeful. That is all.”

  “Hope never did anything for anyone.” He shook his head.

  Jane sighed as she studied him. He was handsome, intelligent, and from their youth together she knew him to be resourceful. She knew he had taken the death of his mother hard. But was that enough to fill a person with hate? “What happened to you, Bryce, to make you so angry?”

  He startled. “Why do you care?”

  “You are my cousin.”

  He turned away, hiding his gaze from her. “Do not look at me like that.”

  “How am I looking at you?”

  “As though you care.”

  “But I do.”

  “Why waste your precious time on me?”

  “I have done nothing over the years to make me the target of your hate. Who are you really angry with, Bryce?” Jane swore she could almost hear her cousin’s heart beating faster. His breath hitched.

  Her body relaxed. She had touched on whatever it was that made him so uncontrolled and angry. Someone had hurt him, and deeply.

  “If you ever need to talk, I will listen. Perhaps talking about it will help you find peace,” she said softly.

  “And you think that will change me?” He spun to face her once more, his shield of anger firmly intact. “You seriously overestimate your abilities, cousin.”

  Jane was no longer afraid. Something inside her said Bryce would not harm her. His bluff and bluster was merely an act to cover his wounds, whatever they might be. “When you are ready to talk, I will be here.”

  For a heartbeat, his gaze softened, then the hardness returned. “I do not want your sympathy. I want this castle.” He pushed past her, heading for the door. “I will have it, too. One way or another, Bellhaven will be mine.”