The Beast of Clan Kincaid

by Lily Blackwood

  Niall dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “Of course. You could always bolster your present forces with less. I will await your decision.”

  But he suspected, from the hopeful, relieved expressions of the council members, an invitation for a hundred men would be forthcoming.

  Conall looked at him evenly. “Have you any questions for us, before we meet privately to discuss your proposal?”

  Niall returned to his chair, and seated himself. “Other than the Alwyn clan, have you any other threats against your people or property?” Specifically, he wanted to know where his surviving Kincaid clansmen had gone after their laird was killed. “I have heard mention of wild barbarians from the Dark Hills?”

  The MacClaren was silent for a long moment. “We are not the first clan to possess these lands. The Kincaids were here before us. After David the Second displaced that clan, we absorbed some into our own clan, in that they took to the furthest edges of these lands, and for the most part kept to themselves. Others … the most lawless and rebellious of them … migrated to the Dark Hills.”

  It took all of Niall’s strength to conceal the rage that awakened inside him at hearing the laird’s passionless account, utterly devoid of any details about his personal involvement in seeing the Kincaid clan all but destroyed.

  “Aye, a fractious lot they be,” added Conall. “They come in the night, and harry us with endless petty bedevilments.”

  Fractious? Aye, he would take much pleasure in teaching the MacClarens the true meaning of the word. When the time was right.

  The laird scowled. “I don’t believe Donald MacClaren would appreciate your calling his daughter’s abduction a petty bedevilment.”

  Ennis, one of the council members, leaned forward. “We’ve never found her or the fiend who took her.”

  “Most believe the savage killed her,” said another, named Dunlop, with an aggrieved shake of his head.

  “Perhaps it is that she does not wish to be found,” suggested a female voice from behind Niall—one he instantly recognized as Elspeth’s. “Perhaps she has no desire at all to return home.”

  Chapter 12

  Niall turned, his gaze searching for and finding her. Behind the same scarlet screen that only partially concealed her stepmother, he perceived a slender figure reclining on a padded bench strewn with pillows.

  His skin flushed with pleasure at realizing she had been there behind him all along. He was not a boastful man, but took pride in the accomplishments he had made during his lifetime—the greatest of which was yet to come. It pleased him that she should know more about him. That he might now be more esteemed in her eyes.

  “What do you mean, Donald MacClaren’s daughter would not want to be found?” demanded Dunlop. Turning to Ennis, who sat beside him, he repeated, “What does she mean?”

  Behind the screen, Elspeth shrugged. “All I’m saying is that she may prefer the Kincaid savage who stole her away, to the tyrant her father betrothed her to marry.” Her voice dipped. “Certainly I’m not the only one who heard she went willingly.”

  Lady MacClaren lowered her frame to her lap, and peered imperiously toward her stepdaughter. “Elspeth, now is not the time to share gossipy details overheard from the lips of servants.”

  Niall returned his attention to the men at the table and observed the MacClaren’s jaw twitch in annoyance, he could only suppose, at the prospect of a disobedient daughter.

  “We are done here, now, I think,” muttered the laird, who then paused to cough into a linen cloth. “If you and Deargh will leave us now, I and my council will come to a decision.”

  Niall followed Deargh from the room.

  Conall followed. “I will come and find you shortly. Don’t go far.”

  Recalling the MacClaren’s demeanor when they had left the room, he suspected Deargh’s earlier judgment was right. The laird was ill—more ill than anyone realized. If the MacClaren realized this, he would rush to marry his daughter as best he could, while he still remained in full control of his clan and his council.

  The way she’d spoken to her father and his council with such ease … his admiration for her grew. And yet she had seemed a thousand miles away behind the screen, and had not in any way addressed him directly.

  Suddenly he felt separated from her by more than just a screen. Doubt weighted his thoughts. He had been arrogant to think he had time. To simply assume the power of their attraction would bring them together.

  Niall paced a few steps, ignoring Deargh’s inquiring gaze. Of course, he would reclaim his birthright, with or without Elspeth, but in his mind she had become the jewel in the crown of his revenge. He loved a good challenge, and this one set his blood afire. He would have her, one way or another.

  “I know what you’re seething about,” growled Deargh, beside him. “But forget her for now. We have a much larger problem. Buchan? Damn it. We need to talk.”

  Niall shook his head in impatience. “There is nothing to talk about. Nothing changes. Buchan has no idea I am son of the Kincaid, and even when he does, he won’t raise arms against me.”

  “And if he does?”

  Niall’s eyes narrowed. “I will deal with him then.”

  Men’s voices sounded behind them as members of the council emerged from the corridor. Some returned to the great hall, while others made their way to the bailey. Conall crossed the room toward them.

  “It is decided,” he said, smiling. “The council is in unanimous agreement. Summon your hundred.”

  Niall’s chest expanded in triumph—and no small amount of relief. His seizure of the castle and surrounding lands would go relatively unchallenged with his force in place.

  Deargh nodded. “Very good.”

  “How long until they arrive, do you think?” the captain asked.

  “A fortnight,” Niall answered, looking toward Deargh, who nodded in affirmation. “A little longer, perhaps. They will travel with horses, livestock, and supplies, so we must account for that.”

  “Just after we return from the Cearcal. That is more than sufficient.” Conall crossed his arms over his chest. “It gives us time to prepare. The MacClaren wishes to build new structures in which to house them, and a barn as well, I suppose. We must also prepare our MacClaren men and families. Some won’t take kindly to outsiders coming in such large numbers.”

  “Understandable,” answered Niall. “Remind them the arrangement is temporary and will remain in place only until the Alwyn threat is resolved. And be assured, as well, that this is a well-disciplined force that will answer to me. Your people should not fear for their safety or property. We will discuss all this more in detail later, but I suggest that once my men have arrived, we station your men at the castle and in the village, while my mercenaries will make a show of patrolling the borders, where they will be most visible.”

  It was a false plan. By the time his men arrived, he intended to have gained the trust of all involved, allowing him to place forces within the castle itself, as well as without.

  Conall nodded. “A sound strategy, I think, as it provides a comfortable degree of separation.”

  As the three of them made their way to the doors, Elspeth emerged from the corridor, wearing a vivid saffron-colored gown. Her hair had been twisted into a smooth coil at her nape, which drew his eye to her graceful neck and delicate shoulders.

  She paused, her gaze grazing heavily against his, until the Lady MacClaren appeared behind her.

  “The task simply cannot be put off any longer,” her stepmother announced. “I will summon your sisters to assist. The upstairs maids, if necessary. Everyone must live and breathe with a needle in hand until your household linens are complete.”

  Elspeth closed her eyes in obvious unhappiness.

  Yet the Lady MacClaren continued on with her henpecking, urging Elspeth up the stairs. “Don’t sigh at me. What if you are married at the Cearcal? Your things must be ready. We wouldn’t want you to linger here any longer than need be, when you could be off star
ting your new life elsewhere, now would we?”

  Conall shook his head, muttering under his breath. Niall knew he was not mistaken in detecting an insincere, even cruel undertone to the woman’s voice. Even now, when he looked at the Lady MacClaren, all he could think of was the bright hand mark on Elspeth’s cheek, erased now by time—but never from his mind. Though he could not intercede on Elspeth’s behalf now without drawing attention to himself and his motives, he took satisfaction in knowing that Bridget, like her husband, would soon have no authority in this castle.

  After that the afternoon passed quickly, with barely a moment’s time to think of Elspeth. There was a careful review and inventory of the armory, the promised visit to the blacksmith, where he and Deargh examined newly hewn weaponry. Afterward, they rode out to see the MacClaren’s flock of sturdy ponies and as night fell, returned to the castle, in time for the evening meal.

  The first thing he saw upon entering the room, was Elspeth’s straight, proud back.

  * * *

  Elspeth knew the moment Niall came into the hall. It was as if her every instinct—or perhaps it was her soul—took notice. Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes met his blue ones, and a thrum of excitement awakened in the pit of her stomach. Which was why, when her father summoned Niall to sit at his table, she quietly removed herself to sit, with her half-sisters, a table away—her back to him, so she would not be tempted to look upon him again. Though she could not help but notice with no small amount of consternation that Derryth stared and smiled at him quite openly.

  “The mercenary is even more handsome when he is near,” she said.

  “I had not noticed,” answered Elspeth.

  Mairi looked at Derryth. “Maybe you could marry him.”

  A sick feeling settled into the pit of Elspeth’s stomach. Such a thing was certainly possible. Derryth was not the eldest, and her tocher not as generous. She would not be expected to marry as prestigiously as Elspeth. And Niall had elevated himself in the opinion of everyone that morning, when he had revealed his ability to command a small army. He was certainly a good enough husband for the laird’s second daughter.

  She prayed her sister was not serious. If such an arrangement came about, she feared she would not survive it.

  “Look, he’s smiling at me,” said Derryth, blushing.

  Mairi rolled her eyes. “He’s smiling at Catrin because she put that lettuce up her nose.”

  Derryth glanced down to her side, her expression mortified.

  “Catrin,” she hissed. “You stop that right now.”

  The sound of his laughter, intermingled with Deargh and the others, came from behind. Elspeth steeled herself against the urge to turn and look at him. And yet somehow, not seeing him only made her more attuned to his presence. Against her wishes her ears listened, craving, and taking pleasure in the sound of his voice. Admiring the deep, smooth tones in which he spoke. The slight accent he had acquired from traveling abroad.

  It was the same voice that had murmured her name in her ear this afternoon. It took all her concentration to remain composed and to appear disinterested, when inside, her thoughts and emotions spiraled into disarray, returning time and time again to the memory of their forbidden kisses in the forest … and the way he had touched her so boldly, setting her body on fire. And she burned still.

  After the meal, circumstance found them together beside the fire in the company of others. When their elbows touched, she nearly gasped in reaction. Knowing she could remain no longer, she went directly to her father and said her good night.

  Conall passed her on the threshold and gently caught her arm. “I could not help but notice you seem to avoid the mercenary, Niall. Is something wrong?”

  She shrugged. “It is nothing. As you yourself told me, he serves his own purposes, and I have seen enough to know that is true. But in truth it is nothing more than I simply wish to spend time with my sisters, rather than listen to men talk of patrols and horses and weapons.”

  He nodded, but did not bother to conceal a knowing look. Which was fine and good. Let him believe she disliked Niall.

  At least she had succeeded in convincing someone, if not her own heart.

  * * *

  Niall lost interest in his MacClaren companions the moment Elspeth left the room. She had held herself cool and distant, and he found himself at a damnable loss as to how to get closer to her. His blood agitated, and his mood gone dark, he lingered a while longer, feigning interest in his companions’ jests and stories, until he could bear their voices no more. It had been a long day, spent in the company of his enemies, and he had much to think about. As had been his practice on previous nights, he left the great hall early and alone.

  But he did not return to his quarters. Instead, he collected his mount from the stable and rode in the night, taking a path that led him to a steep incline at the foot of a towering crag. When the ground became too steep, he left his horse tied to a tree and continued on foot, placing his hands against stones that he and his brothers had touched years before. Aye, they had come here together often, and played, just themselves and with an unruly hoard of village boys. But even those were not the best times.

  The best times were when he had come here with his father, at night, just as it was now, with only the light of the night fires to illuminate the walls of the castle below.

  He climbed quickly, until his thighs burned, and soon reached the top. There, with a bracing wind on his skin, catching his hair and his cloak, he strode toward the Laird’s Perch, or at least that was what the Kincaids called it, a natural formation in the stone, nestled into the side of the crag, shaped like a throne. His father had brought him here, along this high ridge, and they had spent hours side by side, looking over the castle, the village, and their lands. This was where the Kincaid told him stories of their Norse ancestors and how they had arrived on the shores of Scotia and conquered, but most importantly, intermarried and settled here, and built a proud history that they as lairds, must defend at all costs.

  But seeing something ahead … Niall slowed. A faint glow of light emanated upward from the perch. His mood fell. He had come here to be alone with his thoughts. To remember. To ruminate over all he had heard and seen tonight. It annoyed him that he could not find solitude in this, his sacred place. He glowered for a moment, seething on the spot, and almost turned to depart, but curiosity drew him near to the edge in careful, silent steps, where for a moment, he stopped breathing.

  It was her.

  Elspeth sat at the center of the perch, wrapped in a cloak, with a small lantern at her side. She leaned forward, looking across the valley, where below, the windows of the castle glowed with light, and bonfires dotted the darkness. Her hair, no longer bound in the careful style she had worn earlier in the hall, rippled out over the shadowy expanse like a banner. She looked beautiful and mysterious and … perfect. A gust of wind blew her hair across her eyes. She smoothed it away, against her shoulder, and in doing so, turned her head toward him.

  She gasped, startled. The lantern’s glow illuminated her wide eyes, and she stood.

  “I did not mean to intrude,” he said.

  And yet he did not step back. Now that he was here, with her … alone, he would not retreat.

  Another strong gust of wind swept along the ridge, sweeping her cloak back, momentarily revealing the blue gown she wore beneath, and the alluring curve of her hips and waist.

  Claim her.

  “May I sit?” He stepped closer.

  She swayed, almost as if she would flee. But she did not. Nor did she tell him no.

  “There appears to be room enough for us both,” he added, in an easy tone.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Her dark-lashed eyes widened as he stepped down onto the narrow path and made his way toward her, his heart beating harder as the distance between them closed.

  Out of nowhere, like a blaze of fire across his mind, his instincts warned him to tread cautiously.

  Why?


  He knew the answer. It was because Elspeth …

  Elspeth—with her innocent eyes and enchanting manner—was different. She was the sort of woman a man lost sleep over. The sort of woman that enslaved a man’s heart. She was the sort of woman a man would throw himself on a sword to defend and keep. Which made her just as dangerous to him as she was desirable. If he allowed himself to feel too greatly for her—

  Ridiculous thoughts. Why was he having them?

  Because he was here, in this place that meant everything to him, his damn heart torn open in grief and remembrance. He would risk nothing in his quest to retake Inverhaven.

  She was just a woman. His enemy’s daughter. A forbidden prize to be claimed.

  He must stop thinking and feeling—and act.

  When he was close enough to touch her, she quickly sat on the far side of the lantern, leaving the space on the other side for him, too far away for his liking.

  But as he sat, he lifted the lantern by the handle and, lowering himself beside her, set the metal cage on the other side of his booted feet, leaving the two of them shadowed in deeper darkness, side by side, close but not touching. The muscles along either side of his abdomen tightened, spearing into his groin, as his male body took notice of her delicate person, so pleasingly different than his own.

  He turned his face to look at her. She looked back at him, her gaze cautious.

  “I … am sorry I made you unhappy in the forest. That I kissed you when you did not wish to be kissed, so that you wanted to kill me with your mighty stick.” He chuckled, low in his throat—a rueful sound. “That you … dislike me now, and feel you must now avoid me.”

  Taciturn by nature, Niall had never been good at conversation with ladies, but then, he supposed he had never really seen the need to try very hard, because they seemed to like him well enough without words. In this way, he found himself very much out of his element with Elspeth.

  She still did not speak, but she listened, her eyes fixed on his mouth.