God's teeth! Neacal wanted to throw something.
Regardless of whether Anna had caught his attention or not, the last bloody thing he wanted to think about right now was looking for a bride. He already had enough to keep him busy. He had always enjoyed women, of course, like any man. But a bride was something entirely different. As they said, she must be the right lady for the clan, not the right lady for him. No one would care what he thought of her. 'Twas more like a political office rather than a love affair. She must be highborn and proper, from an important clan.
Any such lady would see him as mad and barbaric. Considering his scars, she would think she was being sacrificed to a beast.
Forcing himself to speak with infinite patience, he said, "I'm going to wait a while longer before I start the search." He arose from his chair. "If that is all."
"Not quite," Hugh piped up.
Fists clasped to the chair back, he forced himself to stand in place and not lash out at the elder.
"As you well know, a bride can bring an ally and many strong soldiers to our clan. This we need above all else."
Damnation. Neacal hated to admit they were right. Regardless, 'twas too soon. He'd much rather ask his foster brother for assistance than to marry a lass who might make him miserable. He could also call on the MacKenzies for help, if worse came to worst. They were strong allies.
"You ken we make a good point," Hugh persisted.
Annoyance flamed over Neacal. "I will consider a bride when the time is right," he growled. "And now is not the right time. End of discussion." He strode from the room and slammed the door. If they wanted to replace him as chief, so be it. He would not be ordered around by them. To even imagine dealing with a wife right now set his teeth on edge.
***
That night, Anna climbed the dimly lit stairs after Tavia had applied another poultice and a new dressing to the burn on her ankle. It was healing well but still pained her.
She had not had the opportunity to speak with Neacal all day. When she had seen him, he'd looked especially vexed. He had spent most of the day training in the bailey with his men.
The evening's entertainment was over and everyone was retiring for the night. She heard a few distant voices as she passed the great hall, but then someone close-by murmured, "The daft bastard would not allow Sleat entrance. And then he killed the guard."
Anna froze in the darkened corner. They had to be discussing Neacal.
"He's nay daft; he's mad," another man said.
"Aye, 'tis true."
Wanting to take them to task immediately, Anna clenched her jaw.
"He's no fit chief for this clan," the man continued. "If he cannot be the ally of another MacDonald, he won't have any allies. We'll be attacked and killed and some other clan will take over these lands and this castle."
"What'll we do to make sure the clan is nay destroyed?"
"I'm going to help Sleat in any way I can. He'd make a far better chief for us."
Saints, what traitors, Anna thought. She could not believe how many in the clan were disloyal to Neacal. Not only Farquar, but also these two.
"Are you thinking Sleat will return?" one of the men asked.
"Before the MacKenzies kicked him out, 'twas what he said—that he would be back with a larger garrison. He figured the elders would put Neacal in as chief, but he knows as well as I that Neacal is not cut out to be chief. I'm going to talk to some other clansmen and find out who shares our view."
"As will I."
"We'll talk again in the morn."
Anna slipped forward and peered around the corner, through the wide opening into the great hall. The two men parted ways and, in the dim candlelight, she recognized them. She knew not their names, but she had seen each of them before.
She had to tell Neacal of his traitorous clansmen. She did not wish to wait until the morn, for these men could do a lot of damage in that short span of time. One of the maids had shown her around the castle days ago. She knew where the laird's chamber was.
As silently as possible, she crept up the steps, a lone sconce in the stone stairwell lighting her way. At the oaken door, she knocked lightly.
No response.
Blast! He must be sleeping.
She hated to wake him, but the matter of clan traitors was of vital importance. He'd likely be angry with her if she didn't wake him. This time, she knocked harder, but still heard naught from inside. Where was he?
Footsteps approached along the corridor. Was it him? She hid in the darkness of the nearby alcove to make sure. She didn't wish anyone else to know what she was about. As the footsteps drew near, she peeped out from her hiding place. A tall silhouette waited before the door and it seemed he stared straight at her.
'Twas him. She forced herself to breathe. "M'laird?" she mumbled.
"Anna?" His voice held surprise. "What is it?"
She emerged from her hiding place and moved toward him. "I was looking for you."
"Are you well? How is the burn?"
"I'm feeling better. I thank you." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I must speak to you in private."
"Very well." He hesitated, his gaze searching hers. "Do you want to talk here or… in my chamber?"
Craning her neck, she glanced behind him, fearful some traitorous servant might be lurking there in the darkness.
"I gave my guard the night off," he whispered, following her gaze, then eyed her again. "We can go inside, if you dare to trust me that much."
"Aye, I think that might be best. And, of course, I trust you." How could she not after he'd rescued her from a rapist?
He opened the door and held it while she entered. A low fire burned in the hearth, lighting the room to a dim glow.
He closed the door and stood stiffly by, watching her.
"I'm sorry to bother you so late, but I heard something which concerned me a great deal."
"Aye? What is it? Have a seat." He motioned to a wooden chair by the hearth and she sat.
"I was passing by the great hall when I heard two of your clansmen talking." She spoke in a hushed tone, lest someone in the corridor overhear.
He took the seat across from her, watching her with great interest. "And?"
"They hated that you didn't allow Sleat entrance. They said they would help Sleat in any way possible."
"Help him do what?"
"Take over as chief."
Neacal frowned, a spark of rage entering his flame-blue eyes. "Who was it?"
"I know not their names."
"Can you point them out to me?"
"Aye, of course."
His troubled gaze searched hers. "What else did they say?"
"One said he thought Sleat would return with a larger force."
"Bastards," Neacal growled, then darted a quick glance to her. "Pray pardon."
"I understand how you must feel—betrayed by some of your clansmen."
He nodded and stared into the fire for a moment, then turned his gaze back to her. "Did they say anything else?"
"They're going to try to find out who in the clan might be on their side."
"Traitors," he muttered, then stood and paced.
"What will you do to them?" she asked.
Pausing, Neacal stared at the beautiful woman sitting before the fire. With her last words to him, he had a flash of insight—Anna was no peasant, nor even a merchant. He should have realized this before. She had a cultured way of speaking and was not the least bit subservient. She boldly asked him whatever she wished to know. Was she a lady? The daughter of a chief or laird?
"I will toss them in the dungeon and find out who they've managed to turn against me," Neacal said. "Were you afraid I would hang them on sight?"
"Nay, of course not." She gave a wee sheepish grin. "I simply didn't want you to go on my word alone. I know you'll need more proof or witnesses."
He nodded. "I'll have one of my most trusted men spy on them. Mayhap pretend to be on their side so he can find out more."
>
Her expression lightened. "'Twould be brilliant."
Saints, how lovely she was. He wished to know every detail about her, every secret which hid behind her enchanting green eyes.
"Is your true name Anna Douglas?" he asked.
Her gaze sharpened on him. "Aye. Do you think I'm lying?"
"Nay. I but wondered if you're a chief's daughter. You seem well-spoken and highly educated," he rushed to say. 'Twas the truth, but also he didn't wish to anger her.
She shook her head. "My father was a merchant in Inverness. He had a fair amount of wealth when I was growing up, provided good tutors for my sister and me, but then he lost everything. He passed several years ago, along with my mother."
"I'm sorry to hear that. You still have a sister?"
"Aye. Kristina is blind and lives with my aunt."
"But you prefer the life of a traveling minstrel?"
"Indeed, so I can support myself and her. My aunt and uncle have little means, but I couldn't bring my sister with me on the road. Sometimes we walk for days. 'Twould be too hard on her."
Neacal nodded. Such a life would be too hard for most women, but Anna was obviously up to the task. Though she appeared dainty and lady-like, he sensed she had much hidden inner strength.
Tavia had said Anna was a widow. He wanted to ask her about her late husband, but he did not wish to upset her or pry too much. Most intriguing of all, he recognized something in her which he himself possessed—painful secrets. He yearned to know what hers were. But after the last woman he'd dallied with… who had betrayed him… he would not trust another so easily. Women could be just as dangerous as men. Not because of their fighting skills but because of who or what they knew.
His gaze drifted back to Anna, so beautiful in the firelight. Her skin held a creamy glow that lured him to run his fingertips over her to see how silken she was. And her rosy lips… he yearned to taste and explore them. Unwanted arousal surged through him.
Hell, it had been almost two years since he had touched a woman. And this one just happened to be in his bedchamber.
What the hell business did he have getting aroused? He knew very little about her and he respected her too much to seduce her. Still, he craved her with everything primal and male within him.
He paced again and dragged his fingers through his hair. He'd best forget about how bonny she was and focus on the traitors out to destroy him. How many of his own clansmen were actually his enemies? They were liars, for they'd pledged an oath to him, twice.
"I'd best be getting back to my own chamber." She stood.
Though he didn't want her to go, he knew she was right. The gossips wouldn't be kind if they knew she'd been in his chamber.
"I thank you for telling me about the traitors. I have an idea. In the morn, try to eat early. Then, while everyone is in the great hall breaking their fast, meet me at the top of the stairs that lead up here. I want you to secretly point out the two men you heard talking. I'll tell no one that you were the one who informed me."
"Very well, m'laird." She curtsied, then exited, closing the door behind her.
He'd told her more than once to call him Neacal. Why wouldn't she do it in private, at least? Every time she called him m'laird, some part of him rebelled against it. He knew not why. He was the laird and had to grow used to the title. But he had been Neacal the whole of his life, and now very few called him that. 'Twas as if they expected him to take on a new name and new identity simply because his brother had died.
After barring his door, he paced, thinking of each of his clansmen. Which two were traitorous? They had to be some of the ones who had hung back slightly when all the men were pledging their allegiance again a few days ago.
Chapter Five
Early the next morn, Anna ate a bowl of porridge in the kitchen while Mistress Pottenger and servants prepared the meal for the rest of the clan. She could not help the anticipation that quickened her pulse and hurried her motions. 'Haps she liked the chief a bit more than was wise, but she could not seem to help herself. After breaking her fast, she proceeded up the steps to meet him. She didn't know how she could point out the traitors to Neacal in the great hall without everyone watching her do it.
When she arrived at the top of the steps in his corridor, Neacal stood waiting, tall and dark, leaning against the stone wall. His great wolfhound sat by his leg, wagging his tail in greeting.
Neacal's long, midnight hair was combed smooth and still damp. His blue eyes glinted with a bit of morose wickedness. Good heavens, he was breathtakingly handsome in the light of early morn. Surely he must have been a devastating rogue before his capture, one who stole the hearts of all the lasses from many miles around. He had a profound seductive air about him, though now 'twas overshadowed by a cloud of dark intensity. This made him even more appealing to her.
"A good morn to you, Anna," Neacal murmured in a husky, intimate voice, for her ears only, making her imagine things she should not. Things like… waking up beside him.
"Good morn, Neacal." She curtsied.
His expression lightened and she thought he might smile—hoped he would. Instead, he turned and proceeded down a short narrow corridor, an offshoot of the main one, then opened a small, almost hidden door. "Stay, Dunn," he told his dog, before squeezing his broad shoulders through the doorway. Once inside, he held out his hand to her.
She took it, the heat of his roughened palm making her tingle, and stepped inside the confined dark space. "Heavens. Is this a closet?"
"Shh," he hissed softly against her ear, his warm breath teasing her skin and giving her delightful shivers. Goodness! He really shouldn't do that, for it inspired all sorts of unladylike urges. Finding herself suddenly short of breath, she inhaled his luscious, clean male scent combined with that of a spicy soap. Her thoughts took flight and she no longer cared why they were in this small room. She only wanted to press her nose against his throat and breathe him in.
He drew her toward a square opening where light and the murmur of several conversations filtered up. What was this? Where were they?
Holding her breath, she eased forward and found herself staring down at the tables of the great hall, filled with many people eating their first meal of the day.
Of course, this was a laird's lug, or laird's ear. She had heard of these little eavesdropping chambers but had never been into one. Neither of the castles she'd lived in had them. How unnerving to imagine someone spying on her below, without her knowledge, but 'twas also true that lairds had to be extra careful about conspiracies and clan politics.
Neacal stood just behind her, not quite touching, but the presence and heat of him were palpable. His delicious scent surrounded her, sending her woman's instincts into overload.
"Do you see them?" he whispered, his warm breath fanning the hair by her ear again.
She shivered as a more intense heat and awareness washed over her. It took all of her strength not to turn and melt into him. More than anything, she craved looking into his eyes… or pressing herself against him, but she had more important things to do. She forced her attention downward, into the great hall. She scanned the many clansmen and finally found the co-conspirators sitting at the far end of a table near the entry, their heads bent together once again.
She pointed at them. "There," she breathed.
Neacal moved his head forward, beside hers, to peer through the opening. With his tall height, he loomed over her in the cramped space.
"The ones sitting at the end of that table," she whispered. "It appears they are plotting even now. The chubby, ginger-haired one has on a green doublet and the slim, brown-headed man is wearing a blue doublet." She glanced aside at him.
Neacal narrowed his eyes, observing the men with a sharp glare. "Roy and Parlan."
She was so close to Neacal she heard his teeth grate together. Of a certainty, she would never want to make an enemy of Neacal MacDonald. He would be a deadly foe. But with more than one—perhaps several—in his clan against him, h
is life could be in danger.
***
Neacal could not believe it. His own distant cousins plotting against him. He should've expected it. Though they had pledged their fealty along with every other clansman, they had always remained aloof and often observed him warily. Although anger at their betrayal twisted his gut into a black knot, something else demanded his attention—Anna stood so close in front of him his skin tingled. The spellbinding scent of woman and lavender had filled his senses since she'd entered this room with him. Her hip barely brushed against him but it set his body on fire with powerful yearnings he had not felt in years.
Ignoring the traitors, he dropped his gaze to her and was surprised to find her staring up at him. The intense expression in her green eyes snatched his breath away and captivated him. His own longings were reflected there.
Unable to stop himself, he lifted a hand and stroked his fingers along her perfect, satiny cheek and smoothed a stray flaxen curl behind her ear.
She drew in a sharp breath and her eyes flew wide. Aye, he'd shocked her but 'twas not enough to deter him in his pursuit of a wee glimpse of paradise. He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. She gasped, but at the same time, latched her small hand onto the plaid crossing his chest to pull him closer.
Aye, he was right. Paradise. He flicked out his tongue for a taste of her, sweet as honey. Damnation, it had been so long. Forever. He gathered her close, kissing her harder, more ardently. He could not get enough of her. Saints, he near drowned in the delicious female taste of her.
He relished her hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer. She accepted each of his lustful kisses and returned them. She was exceptionally skilled at kissing. Aye, experienced, for she was a widow.
But who was she, really? At the moment, he didn't care. Damned if he could stop kissing her even if she was the worst of the traitors.
Loud laughter echoed up from the great hall.
She jerked back from him, gasped and covered her mouth. Her wide eyes said she was horrified. At him, or herself?
Highlander Unbroken (Highland Adventure Book 8) Page 7
