She stared down through the hole into the great hall again as if she thought they were laughing at her. Nay, the people below did not know the two of them were in here.
Neacal sucked in a sharp breath. "Pray pardon," he whispered. "I forgot myself." He turned to the door, hoping she didn't know of his raging arousal. Had he pressed himself against her? Had she felt how much he wanted her?
If so, he couldn't blame her for drawing away. He was naught but a bad-mannered rogue. Exiting the room, he helped her into the corridor, then quietly closed the door.
Facing her, he said, "I hope you can forgive me."
She swallowed hard, her face still flushed. "There is naught to forgive, m'laird."
M'laird? She had already reverted back to his title. She must indeed be vexed at him, although not admitting to it. He gave a brief, caustic laugh. "I beg to differ. You're helping me and I'm…" He shook his head, unable to voice how loathsome he felt.
Her wide curious eyes searched his and he wondered what she truly thought of him. Clearly she did not fear him, or she would've run from him as if he were the devil himself.
Had she liked the kiss as much as he'd thought she did? As for himself, he had enjoyed it more than anything in the past several years. Mayhap more than anything in his life. A new burst of arousal struck him and it took all his strength not to pull her to him and claim her sweet mouth again.
He forced his gaze aside. "I thank you for telling me of the traitors," he whispered.
She nodded. "You're welcome. I'm glad to help." She turned and walked away slowly.
He could not believe it. She didn't fear him as most women did… even though he'd kissed her like a man bent on ravishing her. Saints, how he craved feeling her bare skin and curves brushing along the length of his body.
He ached for it.
Shaking off the yearning, he descended the stairs in search of his most trusted men. He had to discover how many traitors lived within these walls. He hoped his friend Colin Cameron showed up soon with an army of several dozen. 'Twas sad he trusted another clan more than his own.
***
Anna rushed toward her small bedchamber on the servants' floor. Good heavens! What had she just done? Kissed Neacal! She pressed a hand to her burning, sensitized lips.
Surely, she'd lost her mind.
Well, he'd kissed her first, and how could she possibly resist? She closed her eyes, remembering what a stunning, dreamy kiss it had been… and unbelievably seductive, but she'd also felt his loneliness pulling at her soul. The kiss had been as dark, tormented and sinful as the man.
He was dangerous temptation itself. Although some women might fear his glares, or find his scars unappealing, she could easily look beyond his forbidding surface to the agony beneath. The angst in his blue eyes drew her in. She felt his isolation, for she lived the same sort of existence—surrounded by dozens of people but not truly a part of the group. 'Twas the pain and secrets of the past that made it so.
If he followed her to her room now, in pursuit of another kiss, she would be hard-pressed to resist him. But she must! No matter how much she'd enjoyed the kiss, she was daft to have allowed it to happen.
Although she had not willingly married Blackburn MacCromar, she feared she was wed in the eyes of the law. The priest had heard her say nay many times during the ceremony, but in the end, when Blackburn had his man press the tip of the sharp blade against her sister's throat, she'd been forced to say aye to save her sister's life.
Of a certainty, she did not feel married to Blackburn, nor claim him as a husband. Still, if he ever found her, he would force her back to the MacCromar castle, lock her inside, then beat and punish her. Since he was a man and now a chief, the law would be on his side. The only way to escape him would be to kill him, but she was not a murderess. Nor did she possess his strength, fighting skill or manpower to best him.
Regardless, she must stay away from Neacal. Aye, she'd loved slipping about and eavesdropping on the clan with him in the wee laird's lug, but that was folly. She could not get too close to anyone, especially Neacal, and risk exposing her secrets.
***
Neacal found Matthew in the great hall, rising from the table after breaking his fast.
"Have you a minute?" Neacal asked, forcing himself not to glance in the traitors' direction. He did not want them to suspect he knew.
"Aye, of course, chief."
Neacal headed toward the library, which he knew to be secure with no places to eavesdrop. Not enough time had passed for Lawler and Roth to return with Colin Cameron and his men… if his friend decided to help him with manpower. Besides, Neacal had to discover the traitors among his clansmen for himself. Hopefully before Colin arrived.
Once they were inside the library, he closed the door.
He had known Matthew since they were lads. They had always been friends back then, in addition to cousins. He didn't believe Matthew would be a turncoat.
"There are traitors among us," Neacal said, keeping his voice low.
Matthew's dark eyes widened. "Indeed? Who?"
"Roy and Parlan. There could be more."
"Saints! I never suspected."
"Nor did I."
"How did you find out?"
"Someone overheard them talking and reported it to me." Neacal did not want to bring Anna's name into this, for that might put her in danger.
"Do you want me to lock them in the dungeon?" Matthew asked.
Neacal shook his head. "I want you to act as if you're disgruntled with me in front of Roy and Parlan. Pretend to be on their side and find out how many clan members are in with them. See if you can discover their plans. It has something to do with Sleat."
"Damnation, man. They plan to overthrow you and bring in Sleat as chief, do they not?"
"I think so. Have you heard anything?"
"I just remembered—after your brother was killed, a couple of the men suggested asking Sleat for his help."
"Do you remember who?"
"Gegrim was one."
"Aha." Could it be possible that all his guards were against him? How on earth would he find so many replacements? He would worry about that later. First, he had to weed out all the dishonorable men. "Pretend I have relieved you of your position as war leader." Neacal gave a wry grin. "That will convince them you have truly turned against me. I'll run the sham of searching for a replacement."
"'Tis brilliant… although I hate to imagine or pretend such a thing. I am truly honored and grateful you chose me for such an esteemed position."
"And I'm honored and grateful you agreed to do it. You're one of my most trusted clansmen and friends. As you pretend to be angry with me, also observe and report back to me those men who seem loyal to me. I need to know if there are any I can rely on."
He prayed he could trust at least a few of them.
***
Late that night, after Vardon finished piping, Constance awaited him at the edge of the great hall. She had been secretly talking with him at every opportunity and sending him flirtatious glances, which she knew he couldn't resist. No man she set her sights on could resist her.
'Twas not his person she wanted but what information he carried. Surely, he or the other musicians knew something about Anna Douglas that Constance could use to remove her from Bearach Castle.
She had observed Neacal watching the harlot and 'twas clear he was enamored with her. If they were in the same room, he could scarce keep his eyes off her. If Constance was not allowed to keep her love, then neither would Neacal be. He'd destroyed her life and any chance she had at happiness.
When Vardon's eyes met hers, she winked and forced a playful smile. After covertly glancing around to see who might be watching, he headed toward her. She retreated through the doorway, took two steps up the stairwell and looked back. When he appeared, she motioned for him to follow her. Upstairs, she waited inside her bedchamber doorway. 'Twas mostly dark, the only light coming from the low-burning hearth fire and a few candle
s in her room.
He emerged from the darkness of the stairs, still carrying his bagpipes under his arm, then he drew to an abrupt halt. "What are you about, my mysterious lady?"
"Come inside and find out," she whispered and pushed the door further open.
He glanced behind himself, eyed her for a moment as if trying to decide, then hastened inside.
Smiling, she closed the door. "I've been wanting to see you in private," she said, keeping her voice low and seductive.
"Aye, well. I've been craving the same thing."
She approached him slowly, so as to appear impassioned but not too forward. After laying his pipes on the foot of the bed, he hesitantly placed his hands at her waist. Although he was a nice-looking man, he was not the kind she was drawn to. He was too tame for her. Only daring, devilish and exciting men got her blood to pumping. But she could tolerate him long enough to gain the knowledge she wanted.
"Why am I so drawn to you?" she breathed, sliding her hands up to his shoulders.
Appearing entranced, he shook his head.
Lifting to her tiptoes, she tilted her face toward his. Taking the hint she was hoping for, he leaned down and kissed her. He was not a bad kisser but he was not Farquar. She drew away like a shy lass and pressed her forehead against his shoulder. "I'm sorry. You must think me scandalous," she whispered.
"Nay. I think you are a lovely and sweet lady," he murmured.
"And you are a gentleman. I don't wish to give you the wrong idea. I simply… wanted to spend some time with you, getting to know you better. 'Tis too difficult in the great hall with so many people around."
"I agree."
"Let's sit." Taking his hand, she led him toward the settle by the fire where they sat side by side. She was not desperate enough to sleep with him… yet. Mayhap she could draw the information from him before extreme measures were called for. "Would you like some wine?" she asked, pouring a goblet.
"Oh, aye, that would be nice."
She handed him the first goblet, then filled her own. "Tell me what it was like growing up in your village," she said.
He droned on and on about his childhood and youth, his main focus on studying piping. He stopped now and then to drink the wine. A half hour later, she could hardly keep her eyes open, but forced herself to while she sipped her wine, smiled and nodded at the appropriate times.
She refilled their goblets. "And when did you meet up with the other musicians?"
After guzzling the wine, he spoke of Eli, Harriet and Jules and how happy he was to join them, for they were like family.
Finally, the opening Constance had been waiting for appeared. "And when did Anna Douglas join your group?"
"In Edinburgh, probably two years ago. She approached us in a coaching inn where we'd been playing. She said she could sing and wondered if she might travel with us. Once we heard her, we could hardly believe it."
"Aye, she does have a lovely voice."
Vardon nodded. "Indeed, the best I've ever heard. Naturally, we all wanted her to join our group for we thought we could ask for better pay."
Constance ground her teeth, well and truly sick of hearing how amazing Anna's voice was. "Where was she from and why did she simply appear out of nowhere? She doesn't seem like a peasant."
"Oh, nay, indeed." Vardon smiled, then lowered his voice. "I'll tell you a secret if you promise to tell no one."
Her heartbeat accelerating and excitement buzzing along her nerve endings, she scooted closer to him. "Of course I won't tell anyone. I'll keep everything you say a complete secret."
"Well… you're right. She's no peasant, but a lady, in truth. A week or two after we met her, and we were still in Edinburgh, a man approached me—the henchman for a Highland chief. He showed me a small portrait, a very fine painting of a beautiful woman. 'Twas Anna. But the man called her Susanna. He said she was the wife of the MacCromar chief from near Inverness."
"Is he dead now? Everyone says she is a widow."
"She told us she was a widow when first we met her, a week or two before they were searching for her. I didn't let on like I'd seen her. I talked to Eli about it and we figured if she'd run away from her husband, she had good reason. Mayhap he was abusive. She is a kind woman and I would hate to see anyone mistreat her."
"I see what you mean. I would feel the same way," Constance said in a compassionate tone, that she hoped fooled Vardon. "Poor lady, giving up life in a castle. She must've had a terrible life back there." And Constance wanted to be sure Anna returned to her terrible life, far from Neacal. She would have one of her own guards deliver a missive to the MacCromar chief.
***
During the next week, Neacal and Matthew made two lists of names—one for the possible traitors and one for those who appeared loyal to Neacal. During that time, he forced himself to stay away from Anna, but he did think of her near every minute. What was she doing? Did she remember the kiss with fondness? Of a certainty, he did. At night when he was alone, he could think of little else.
Once each day, he asked Tavia for an update on Anna's burn and bruises. With a knowing smile, the healer told him Anna was much better. He didn't mind if Tavia knew he cared more than he should about the lass.
During supper that evening, Neacal was again distracted by Anna as she ate at one of the lower tables. How he wished he could pull her aside, into the library or some private room and have a simple conversation with her or… 'haps even steal a kiss.
Nay, that would be madness. Even so, he could think of little else.
One of the guards named Forbes hastened across the great hall toward him, drawing his attention. He stopped in front of the high table. "The MacRurys have arrived by galley, m'laird."
"Indeed?" Neacal asked. What the devil were they doing here? Did the chief have some business to discuss? Chief MacRury was the age of Neacal's father, and they had met several years before. He arose from his seat and proceeded across the great hall.
"Several ladies are with the chief," Forbes said.
"Ladies?" Sudden realization struck Neacal and he halted, glaring back at Uncle Bhatar and Sir Hugh, sitting at the high table. Bhatar pretended to focus on eating, while Hugh gave a smug grin. Fury struck Neacal like lightning.
He'd told them he wanted no wife now. Why the bloody hell wouldn't they listen to him? The hoary-haired bastards!
Although rage clawed its way through his vitals, he could not send the MacRurys away now. 'Twould be the height of rudeness to deny them hospitality after they'd traveled so far.
Neacal turned and strode outside. In the bailey, he headed toward the newcomers. Although he was angry with the elders, he couldn't blame the MacRurys and would endeavor to make them feel at home.
Shoving away his ire, he offered his hand to the middle-aged man with the brownish-gray beard and collar-length thinning hair. "Welcome, Chief MacRury," Neacal said, noticing the man was dressed in a bright new plaid and his Highland finery. "'Tis nice to see you again."
"And you too, Neacal… I mean, Chief MacDonald. I was sorry to hear of your brother's passing. And your father, too, of course. Your da was a good man and I always considered him a friend."
"He thought very highly of you."
"I'm glad to see you're well-recovered from your injuries."
"I thank you."
Behind MacRury stood four women.
"This is my wife, Lady MacRury, and my daughter, Lady Ophelia," Chief MacRury said, motioning to the two well-dressed females, both dark-haired. Saints! Surely the petite lass could not be old enough to marry. She looked as if she was barely out of the nursery.
Staring at Neacal's face, she blanched and curtsied, her dark eyes wide. 'Twas his scarred face which frightened her. He ground his teeth, though she couldn't be blamed. She was practically a child, after all.
What nonsense!
Ignoring her reaction, Neacal bowed. "A pleasure, ladies."
The MacRury then introduced a few of his prominent clansmen and Neacal shook
their hands.
"Supper has started. Please, join us." Walking beside the other chief, Neacal led the way into the great hall. Since the girl appeared terrified of him, surely she would tell her parents she wished for a less damaged husband. Hopefully, he would think of some fathomable excuse to let her father know he wasn't interested… without angering him.
At the high table, servants rushed to bring the newcomers food and ale.
During the commotion, Neacal slipped in behind Bhatar's chair. "I need to speak to you, uncle."
The older man pretended not to hear, blast him. He was not deaf. In fact, his hearing was almost as good as Neacal's.
He tapped his shoulder. When Bhatar glanced around, Neacal motioned with his head toward the library.
The man reddened and dropped his gaze.
"Now," Neacal growled low, then strode to the library to wait. He'd had it with the meddling elders.
Once Bhatar joined him, he closed the library door. "You sent for that young lady?"
"Not just me, all of us. Did you see how bonny she is?" His blue eyes twinkled like a mischievous elf.
"Damnation," Neacal growled low. "I told you I am not yet ready to be saddled with a wife."
"But sometimes a pretty face can help you be ready." Bhatar winked.
"Cha toir á bhòidhchead goil air áphoit. Beauty won't boil the pot. Is that not what you always say?" Neacal snapped.
"Aye." Bhatar grinned. "But it never hurts."
Neacal had the urge to hit something… or choke someone. He turned away, lest he throttle his elderly uncle. "I meant what I said. I have no intention of marrying now. If her clan is offended by my lack of interest, 'tis on your head."
"Och. You must learn how to be diplomatic, Neacal," he said in a cajoling tone. "You let your fiery temper rule you."
If Bhatar had been tortured he would no doubt have a bad temper, too.
Neacal wished he was mild-mannered and charming, more like he used to be. But wishes and reality were often miles apart.
"I have good reason," Neacal grated. Besides, he had improved over the past few months, he thought. And he would be even better if people, like the elders, didn't intentionally provoke him.
Highlander Unbroken (Highland Adventure Book 8) Page 8
