“Malcolm is bleeding.”
“’Tis only a small scratch.”
“That can fester.” Aileen tapped her foot impatiently. “They wear no armor, only helmets.”
“’Tis training, not a battle.”
“End it. Now.”
“’Twould be madness to come between them,” the McKenna protested. “I could get sliced to ribbons.”
Aileen let out a grunt and grabbed her husband’s arm. “Now, Brian.”
The McKenna threw his hands up in the air, then bellowed at the top of his voice. “Malcolm! James! Enough! Ye’ve both proved yer skill and heart. Stop yer swordplay!”
At the sound of his father’s voice, Malcolm turned his head. Seizing the advantage, James rushed him, knocking them both to the ground. They wrestled in the dirt. James wrapped his legs around Malcolm’s hips, holding him in place, but the advantage was soon lost as Malcolm lashed out, bucking upward.
“Brian!” Aileen screeched.
“I did as ye asked,” the McKenna countered. “They have dropped their swords.”
Malcolm threw off the hold, flinging James onto his back. Instinctively, James reached for the dirk that protruded from Malcolm’s belt, brandishing it recklessly at his brother’s throat.
Startled, Malcolm’s body tensed with humiliation at having his own weapon held against him. The knife blade flickered in the dull sunlight and he reached to gain control of it, but James evaded the maneuver.
“There! It ends in a draw,” Aileen shouted.
A draw? Clearly, I’m the victor. James narrowed his eyes and gazed up at his brother. Malcolm’s face revealed his surprise and equal displeasure at their mother’s verdict. It was obvious he had no intention of stopping. There was still plenty of fight left in him.
Swiftly, James weighed his options. He had the upper hand now, but that could easily change. His brother was fit and skilled and angry. Realizing it served no purpose to jab at Malcolm’s already bruised pride, James dropped the dirk and raised his hands in surrender. “Ye fight with skill and honor, brother, but these past five years I fought each day to stay alive. When yer life depends on the quality of yer sword, ye fast learn a variety of tricks.”
“Trickery? A true Highlander fights with honor.” Malcolm scowled as he got to his feet. He held out his hand to James. After a moment’s hesitation, James accepted the gesture.
“Nay, lads, a true Highlander fights to win!” The McKenna came forward and draped his left arm around Malcolm’s shoulders and the right across James’s. “Ye did me proud. Both of ye.”
“But they stopped before a true winner was named,” one of the men protested.
“It was a draw,” Aileen insisted.
“Nay, Malcolm was clearly bested by his brother,” a deep voice shouted. “James can claim victory.”
“Och, yer eyes must have been closed during the scrimmage,” another chimed. “’Twas obvious that Malcolm would carry the day.”
Aileen quieted the grumblings with a single stony stare of reproach. James dragged his arm across his dripping brow and watched in amazement as his mother brought the squabbling men to heel.
The McKenna turned to his wife and raised his beefy hand. A jolt of concern bolted through James. He moved forward protectively, only to watch his father tenderly caress her cheek. The natural, genuine display of love and affection struck James harder than any blow, for it reminded him of what he had once yearned to have.
And was now forever lost.
James grit his teeth against the pain that could still unexpectedly seize him. He blinked, then blinked again, fighting it back. Years on the battlefield had taught him never to betray a weakness of any kind. And he was determined to heed that lesson well.
The exhilaration of the swordplay passed slowly from him, leaving James once again restless. Striding across the practice field, he headed toward the stables, hoping a long ride in the brisk air would clear his head.
“James!” the McKenna boomed out. “Wait fer me in my private solar. We have much to discuss.”
Though used to obeying orders, James’s temper heated. He preferred solitude right now, not company. But one look at the expression of impatience on his father’s face told James he had little choice in the matter. Resigned, he turned away from the stables.
His mood improved once he was inside, traversing the hallway on the way to the McKenna’s solar. Winking at a serving lass who scurried past him, James snatched a full tankard of ale off the tray she carried. He gulped it as he walked, the cold brew pleasingly quenching his parched throat and helping to even out his temper.
The chamber was empty when he arrived, but within minutes the door opened. Rising respectfully to his feet, James was startled to see his brother standing in the doorway. Malcolm favored him with an unenthusiastic glare and took up a position near the long, thin, window.
“Father commanded my presence,” James explained, hoping his tone conveyed how little he wanted to be there.
Malcolm shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but James could see his jaw moving back and forth in agitation. There was, however, no chance for further comments. The door opened and his parents entered. The sight of his mother startled James for an instant, and then a small grin emerged.
Lady Aileen wielded nearly as much power as her husband, especially when it came to family business. Naturally, she would want to be a part of any private conversations that involved her son.
James placed his tankard on a nearby table and politely offered his mother a seat. Aileen patted him affectionately on the arm before settling herself regally in the cushioned chair. As he looked down, James caught sight of a few gray hairs nestled among his mother’s auburn tresses. The obvious sign of her aging caused him a pang of distress.
The McKenna narrowed his gaze and turned his full attention toward James. “Yer mother and I were sorely distressed to have ye leave us so suddenly.”
“I sent word,” James replied, knowing that was hardly an adequate defense.
The McKenna grunted with exasperation. “Ye wrote that you were following James Douglas on Crusade. What happened?”
A twinge of unease swept through James. Part of the reason he had avoided returning these past few years was knowing this day of reckoning would come. Yet how much of the truth was he prepared to reveal?
“As I’m sure that you know, Sir James was killed in Moorish Granada,” he began. “We found his body and the casket containing the Bruce’s embalmed heart upon the battlefield. Sir William Keith brought them both back to Scotland.”
His father’s accusing eyes met his. “Yet ye dinnae return.”
“Nay, there were many who decided to stay and continue the fight.”
“We’ve heard no reports of great victories,” Malcolm interjected.
“Alas, we dinnae achieve our goal to reach the heart of the Holy Land. ’Twould have been glorious, indeed, to set foot in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and stand upon the very spot where Jesus rose from the dead.”
Aileen released a hearty sigh and hastily crossed herself.
“I dinnae realize ye possessed such religious fever,” Malcolm said dryly.
“Each of us show our devotion in our own way,” James replied breezily.
“Tell us more about yer time across the sea,” his mother pleaded.
James’s brow furrowed. But he knew he owed them some explanation, so for the next thirty minutes he calmly answered their questions, though he deliberately glossed over the details of the more intense fighting. There was no need for his mother to hear how his head had nearly been severed from his body during the siege of Teba when he lost his footing on the blood-soaked ground. Or how he had single-handedly killed six men and wounded five others in a skirmish on Olvera Castle.
“Well, that is enough of my adventures,” James said when he ran out of acceptable tales. “Tell me the news of the McKenna clan.”
“Well, while ye have been off fighting fer the glory of the Church,
we’ve had our own difficulties to face,” Malcolm said.
“Is there much unrest in the land?” James asked.
“Enough.” His father shrugged. “Some of the clan chiefs hunger fer power and prey on the weaker clans. Without a strong king on the throne to stop them, they grow ever bolder. ’Tis why alliances are now more important than ever.”
“Aye, nothing has changed. It’s not uncommon fer yer friend to turn into yer foe without any warning,” Malcolm grunted. “We Highlanders must always be vigilant.”
Aileen pursed her lips. “When I broke my fast this morning, I heard some of the men saying that ye were attacked on yer way home from Armstrong Castle, Malcolm. Why did ye not tell me?”
His mother crossed her arms and glared at Malcolm. His brother favored her with a winning smile, which miraculously seemed to soften her anger. “There’s naught to tell. We fought off the knaves, incurring only a few superficial wounds. Neither Lady Davina nor her companion was harmed.”
“Another easy victory fer the mighty McKenna warriors,” James remarked, scowling inwardly at the thought of his brother doing what he had failed to accomplish—protecting Davina.
“The McKenna men fought bravely, but I’m not so vain as to believe these ruffians ran when they saw our strength,” Malcolm said.
“Perhaps once they drew near, they realized ye had nothing of great value,” the McKenna suggested.
“Then why would they attack in the first place?” Malcolm shook his head. “Nay, this was not an ordinary raid. The men wore no plaids, carried no banners. We had a sizable contingent of retainers. We had no carts laden with goods that would attract a band of ambitious thieves. They were after something else. I’m sure of it.”
“Something else?” Aileen idly rubbed her fingertips over the skirt of her woolen gown. “Or someone else?”
James was so startled by his mother’s revelation that he promptly broke his vow to remain silent and uninvolved. “Do ye believe they were after Davina?”
Aileen shrugged her shoulders and raised her hands. “She is an heiress.”
“Of a small, insignificant keep,” James added.
“Have ye seen it?” Malcolm asked.
“Nay. But Davina spoke of it often, as it was her childhood home. Her father was a second son; the land belonged to his mother and she bequeathed it to him when she died. ’Tis a small place, on rough terrain, best fer raising sheep. I cannae believe that any would bother to fight to possess it.”
“Well, someone sees its value,” Malcolm speculated.
“Kidnapping an heiress and making her yer wife is one of the easier ways fer a man to obtain property,” Aileen commented dryly.
“Ye mean cowardly,” Malcolm interjected.
James found himself nodding in agreement.
The McKenna stroked his chin thoughtfully. “This will continue to be a problem fer the lass until she weds. The best way to protect her now, and in the future, is to make certain that she has a strong husband. A good Highlander, skilled with his sword, loyal to the crown, would be the ideal match.” He paused, looking first at Malcolm and then at James. “Are either of you interested in taking on the responsibility?”
Chapter Nine
Startled, James took a step forward. Annoyance crawled over his face at his father’s poor humor, which quickly turned to irritation when he realized that his father was serious. Impossible! Yet a second, harder look proved that the McKenna didn’t alter his expression or his firm stance, indicating he expected an answer from his sons.
James managed to keep his expression blank, yet wondered if his family could hear the grating of his teeth.
“Will ye not merely be taking on whatever troubles ye imagine come with the lass by bringing her into the clan?” James questioned.
“’Tis possible.” The McKenna’s attention focused on James. “But we could also be gaining fer the clan whatever these men seek.”
James went still. He had had years to wonder if there was more behind the ambush on the hill that had ended his relationship with Davina and caused him to leave Scotland. But he had never been able to devise a reasonable cause. “The Highlands are a refuge fer all sorts of unsavory men. ’Tis no surprise that some of them would prey on travelers.”
“Even an outlaw knows better than to attack a McKenna,” Malcolm boasted.
James snorted in annoyance. “Ye have no proof that it was Lady Davina these men were after.”
“But I’ve a feeling about it. A strong feeling,” the McKenna answered stubbornly.
’Twas only through sheer will that James was able to resist rolling his eyes. His father’s feelings were legendary and unfortunately over the years had proven to be correct just enough times to give them credence.
“We still have no right to pick a husband fer the lass,” James insisted, trying a different tack. “’Tis a duty reserved fer her family.”
“Aye.” Intrigue radiated from the McKenna’s eyes. “’Tis also a duty that has been sorely neglected. And it’s clearly put the lass at risk.”
“She wouldn’t be at risk if she were where she belonged,” James muttered. “Safely ensconced within the walls of Armstrong Castle.”
“We can claim a distant relation to the Armstrongs from my father’s mother,” Aileen offered. “Her sister married into the clan.”
“When? Sixty, seventy years ago?” James rubbed his temples. “That scarcely gives us the right to arrange a marriage fer her. Which brings me to another question—why is she even here?”
“I invited her to celebrate Christmas with us,” his mother said. “I’ve wanted to meet her fer quite awhile. We began a regular correspondence a few years ago, each seeking solace in our friendship. Though her letters never made direct mention of it, I could not shake the feeling that she’s been a prisoner inside the walls of her family home fer years. ’Tis also another reason why I wanted her to come here, so I could see fer myself if it was true.”
“Is it?” James asked impatiently.
He could see his mother’s back stiffen. “Well, she has only just arrived. I’ve not yet had the opportunity to find out.”
“’Tis true that her aunt and uncle acted oddly when she told them she intended to journey here,” Malcolm volunteered. “But they dinnae prevent her from leaving.”
“Perhaps they wanted her to leave so she could be taken in the woods,” the McKenna said. “Those men might have been acting under the orders of her relatives.”
“That seems a most far-fetched notion,” James scoffed. “Especially since she resides under their roof. She is already under their control.”
“I agree that something strange is going on,” Aileen said. “Yer father is right to be concerned about the lass. The only way to secure her safety is to make certain she has a husband to protect her.”
“I’ll say it again,’tis no business of ours,” James insisted, searching for support from his brother. Malcolm could not possibly be in favor of this mad plan. But his brother met James’s desperate gaze with curious interest.
Malcolm glanced at their mother. “I agree it could be the best solution.”
James narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath before blurting out, “God’s blood, ye cannae force her to marry!”
“Who said anything about forcing the wee lass?” The McKenna stared innocently back at his son. “Yer mother would have my head served on a platter if I demanded such a thing.”
Aileen’s head bobbed in agreement. “Though most think differently, I find it barbaric fer a man to take a bride against her will. I would never allow it. Nay, Davina will be given a choice of husband.”
“And what of our choice?” James asked.
“I’ll be giving ye the same power. Ye are free to decide if Lady Davina would be a suitable bride,” the McKenna answered. “If ye both decide against it, I’m sure we can find another member of the clan who is worthy of the honor.”
“Truth be told,’tis something I’m already considering
,” Malcolm said casually. “She’s a different sort, but a fine lady nevertheless. And Lileas likes her.”
“Aye, but does she like Lileas?” The McKenna laughed and Aileen joined him.
James sucked in a loud breath. He started to walk away, then turned and stared at Malcolm, frustrated when he realized he could not read the emotion on his brother’s face. Was Malcolm jesting? Or was he serious about taking Davina as his bride?
The impact of such an event struck James hard. Wounds he believed had healed slowly began to open and fester. He knew the trauma that Davina had suffered; he knew her reasons for not wanting to marry.
But that had happened years ago. Perhaps she was now ready to put the past behind her and consider becoming a wife. To Malcolm? James gave his brother a hard look. He was the heir, the one with more to offer. Yet beyond the material, women found him charming, clever, and fascinating.
Would Davina feel the same? The very idea rankled, taunting James. Frustration and anger rose inside him. Was it merely fate or bad luck that always seemed to place Malcolm in the more advantageous position?
“So, will there be a contest between us, James, to see who can win the lovely Davina?” Malcolm smiled affably, but underneath was a steel glint of determination. No matter what the competition, his brother despised losing.
“Nay. ’Tis a game I have no stomach to play,” James replied airily, hiding his tightly clenched hands behind his back. “If ye want her, and win her, then she is yers.”
Even as he spoke the words, James knew he was deluding himself. Witnessing his brother claim Davina for his wife would be torture, a blow from which he might never recover.
And yet, he refused to say anything more on the matter.
“The McKenna wants to see ye,” the maid said as she waylaid Davina in the hall. “I’m to take ye to his private solar.”
A sense of unease stole over Davina. She swallowed back her nerves as all manner of thoughts entered her mind. Why did the laird want to see her privately? Had James said something to his father about her? Would she be asked to leave?
“Is something amiss?” Davina asked.
The Highlander Who Loved Me Page 11
