A Rogue's Heart

by Debra Browning

  “Hear, hear.” Gilchrist raised his ale cup and drained it.

  “Nay, you dinna understand. She…doesn’t love me.”

  “Are you certain?” Rachel leaned forward, one delicate brow arched in anticipation of his answer.

  Alena studied him, as did his brothers. They were all ears.

  “Aye, well…reasonably certain. She’s married Symon. She carries his babe.”

  Rachel clucked her tongue. “That means little. What did she say when you told her?”

  “When I told her what?”

  “That ye love her, ye dolt,” Gilchrist said.

  Even the men at the far end of the table, men Conall had known all his life, were silent, ears pricked.

  Conall shrugged. “Well, I didna exactly tell her. I mean…it could hardly have mattered. She’d made her choice. She was happy about it—about the babe, at least.”

  More than I can tell you.

  Mairi’s words burned fresh in his mind, as they had the whole long ride back to Findhorn. The look in her eyes when she’d said them was one he’d ne’er forget. ’Twas a raw fusion of love, sadness and things he couldn’t fathom but could feel.

  “Conall.” Alena placed a gentle hand on his arm, drawing him back to the present, and forced his gaze to hers. “If she does not know you love her, she hasn’t made a choice at all.”

  He hadn’t thought of that.

  “Do you know—and do not be offended—was it the child came first, or the wedding?”

  “I know not.” In truth, he couldn’t bear to think on it.

  Alena exchanged a quick glance with their sister-in-law. “Mayhap the child came first, and who knows how it might have happened. Mayhap she had no choice at all.”

  Another possibility he hadn’t considered. A possibility that enraged him. He felt warm all of a sudden, as if blood rushed to his head. Abruptly he stood.

  Rachel followed Alena’s lead. “Perhaps Mairi Dunbar has simply done what’s best for her child. Any woman would have done the same.”

  “Aye,” Gilchrist said. “Particularly if the man she loved left with no’ so much as a word of farewell, and with no firm plans to return.”

  He hadn’t told them how it had been between him and Mairi when he’d left her that rainy day three months ago. But his brothers knew him well—too well—and Gilchrist had guessed rightly.

  The sound of Findhorn Castle’s great door swinging inward distracted him for only a second before he said, “She doesna know how I feel. I never told her. I was…” He shook his head.

  “Ye were a great numbskull, is what ye were!”

  The diners turned toward the entrance to the hall. Rob stood in the vestibule, dwarfed by the half-dozen men who accompanied him, his chubby hands fisted on his hips, his beard nearly frozen, looking as if he’d ridden all night.

  The sight of Rob’s compact but stalwart features after all these months buoyed Conall’s spirit. All the same, he didn’t have it in him to argue. “She’s married,” he said simply.

  Rob’s tawny brows shot skyward. Likely he wondered how Conall knew. “She’s nothing of the kind. But she means to be, day after tomorrow.”

  “What?” All three brothers spoke at once. Iain was on his feet. Gilchrist, too.

  “That’s why I’ve come,” Rob said. “To bring ye the news.”

  Conall’s head spun. A dozen times in the past two days he’d thought about what he might have done had Mairi not already wed Symon.

  He loved her. More than all the world. More than clan, more than family. Though, thank Christ, he had no such terrible choice to make, as had both his brothers when first they’d met their brides. But he did have another choice, one that might seem impossible to others, but to him was blindingly clear.

  “If she’s not wed him, there’s still time.” He whistled for Jupiter, then turned a quick circle in search of his weapons.

  The mastiff lumbered to his feet, brown eyes bright, drool hanging from the side of his mouth. The children fell silent as Gilchrist walked calmly toward the hearth where Conall had stowed his few belongings, and handed him the shoulder baldric housing his broadsword.

  “Ye’d love a child not your own?” Gilchrist looked hard at him, as did Iain.

  “What are ye talkin’ about?” Rob plucked a full ale cup from a passing maidservant and began to drink, his eyes on Conall, waiting for his explanation.

  For weeks at Loch Drurie, Conall had battled the love he’d felt for the boy, Kip. A love he knew in his heart was as resolute as if the lad were his own blood.

  He knew he could love Mairi’s child, regardless of who the father was. He did love it already. ’Twas part of her. In time, ’twould be part of him.

  “Aye,” he said, “as I love her. It matters not to me if the child is Symon’s.”

  Rob sprayed ale over the lot of them. Gilchrist jumped back. Iain swore. Conall didn’t know what to think.

  “’Tis no’ Symon’s child, ye dolt.” Rob poked him in the chest with the empty ale cup. “’Tis yours!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Today was her wedding day.

  She should be joyful. At least she might pretend to be for the sake of the good people of Geoffrey’s clan that she’d known all her life.

  Unable to keep still, Mairi paced the rush-strewn floor of the chamber in which her husband-to-be had installed her for the past two nights. She was unused to lying about with nothing to occupy her time, no enterprise in which to throw herself.

  But Geoffrey was insistent. He would not have her working. He would not even allow her out-of-doors for longer than a few minutes at a stretch. The cold was too bitter, he’d say, each time she attempted to step out for a walk about Falmar’s busy bailey.

  A wife should be pleased that her husband cared so much for her and her unborn child that he would not risk their health. But in the back of her mind, Mairi had a feeling Geoffrey’s motives for keeping her indoors had more to do with controlling her than with safeguarding her health.

  E’er since the day she’d agreed to be his wife, he’d kept close watch on her. He’d sent Tang to camp out above the village until his escort had come for her two days ago. She’d known, because Rob had seen the Oriental up in the wood watching them. The diminutive warrior had wanted to send him packing, but Mairi had insisted he not.

  Now, here at Falmar, she regretted that she’d not allowed Dora and Rob to accompany her that day, as they’d wished. They were to have come today, along with the rest of her clan, to join in the wedding festivities, but Geoffrey sent word just this morn that they were not to come till the morrow.

  She felt alone, isolated. Trapped in an odd sort of way, though ’twas ridiculous. Geoffrey had been nothing but kind to her these past months. A new man. A changed man. A man who, at every opportunity, told her he loved her. But ’twas not his love she wanted, though she was grateful for it. Grateful that her child would have a father and a name.

  “Would that his own father wanted him.”

  In a fit of anger she grabbed a ceramic ewer off the chest near her bed and dashed it to pieces against the hearthstones.

  There. She felt better now.

  Her tantrum, she knew, wasn’t directed at Conall Mackintosh, but at herself, for being so foolish, so weak. She must be strong now, for her child. For herself and her clan. A new day had dawned, and though ’twas gray and cold, fueling with each hour a nonsensical premonition that winter would never end, she was determined to do now what must be done.

  Make peace with herself and get on with her life.

  Aye, but if she were to do that, she’d need more freedom than Geoffrey had granted her. The air was stale in the room, and she could use a good stretch of the legs to get her blood pumping, to put some color into her cheeks.

  Smoothing the skirt of her mother’s one good gown over the softened curve of her abdomen, she readied herself to go below stairs and seek out the man who, in a few short hours, would be her husband.

  G
eoffrey had summoned one of the traveling priests that serviced the clans in this remote part of the Highlands. He was expected today. Tonight they would say their vows before him, and after that…

  Well, at least she knew what to expect.

  As she made her way down the staircase and turned into the corridor, she allowed herself to remember, one last time, what she had felt like in Conall Mackintosh’s arms that night in the lake house—his mouth on her breast, his hands caressing her, their bodies joined in what, for her at least, had been a coupling of heart and soul and mind, manifested by a pleasure so powerful that the mere memory of it threatened to buckle her knees.

  She grabbed hold of a stone archway for support and closed her eyes, banishing the vision from her mind, willing the instinctive response of her body—her quickening pulse, an ache in her breasts, the pooling of heat at her core—to cease.

  “What of Fraser?” a familiar voice said, jolting her from her thoughts.

  Mairi froze in place in the dimly lit corridor, realizing that the chamber just beyond the archway was Geoffrey’s study. He was conversing with Tang.

  “He comes today,” Tang said. “Our sentries report he is but hours from the demesne.”

  “Good. I’d have him witness this joining of Dunbar’s lands to mine. ’Twill please him, nearly as much as it pleases me.”

  Mairi held herself in check. She’d known all along, for more than a year, that Geoffrey lusted for Dunbar land. ’Twas no surprise to her. And why shouldn’t he have it? ’Twould make him more powerful in the eyes of the Frasers, to whom, years ago, he’d pledged his allegiance.

  The creak of a leather seat and the sound of footfalls muffled by fresh straw told her Geoffrey had risen from the chair that was his favorite and was now pacing the room. Mairi inched closer to the doorway.

  She knew ’twas wrong to eavesdrop on Geoffrey’s private conversations, but she couldn’t help herself. The uneasiness she’d felt since her arrival at Falmar escalated, though for no good reason she could pinpoint.

  “Well done, lord,” Tang said.

  “Some say I should have acted sooner, with force if need be, to secure the lands and the lake trade that now comes with it. Fraser himself backed the idea.”

  She liked to think the land wasn’t the only reason Geoffrey wanted her. He’d professed for months that the land had nothing to do with him desiring her for his own. She knew ’twas a lie, but still, she wanted to believe his affection for her was real.

  “Yet you did not.” She heard the shuffle of Tang’s slippers across the floor.

  “’Tis better, I think,” Geoffrey continued, “to have my bride willing, than not. See how well it has all turned out. Fraser will be pleased, indeed.”

  “And the child?” Tang said.

  Mairi held her breath.

  The only reason she’d agreed to wed Geoffrey was that he’d been so willing to safeguard her child as his own. To love him, and Kip, as well, as if they were all his family. He’d made her that promise the day she met him at the edge of the village, and ’twas the solitary reason for her compliance.

  Geoffrey laughed. ’Twas not the response she’d expected to Tang’s question. ’Twas a low, sober laugh, not at all a sound of joy or even amusement. His next words chilled her to her very bones.

  “There will be no Mackintosh bastards in my household.”

  She stifled a sound that was half gasp, half scream. One hand flew to her mouth lest she betray her presence, the other to the soft swell of her abdomen.

  “Ye have ways,” Geoffrey said, “potions and such, that ye might use to ensure such an outcome.”

  Mairi felt her knees give way, and struggled to remain upright, grasping for handholds in the rough-hewn stone of the corridor.

  “Of course,” Tang said.

  “If she’s otherwise harmed in any way…”

  “Nay, she shall survive it well, and go on to breed new sons. Your sons, lord.”

  Her stomach threatened to empty itself where she stood. Mairi battled the urge to retch, even as she felt a telltale flash of heat consume her and perspiration break across her skin.

  “Excellent,” Geoffrey said.

  She refused to hear more. She clamped her hands to her ears and closed her eyes against the tears welling, hot and terrible, from a place deep inside her that felt, all at once, viciously, violently ravaged.

  He’d tricked her! Betrayed her trust. He’d convinced her of his affection and his intent to keep her and hers safe from harm. She should have known he would never have accepted Conall’s child. She should have known!

  “Mairi.”

  Geoffrey’s voice shocked her back to the moment. Her eyes flew open. Her hands moved protectively to her abdomen. He stood in the corridor, not an arm’s length from her, his face half in shadow, his expression grim.

  “Are ye no’ well?”

  “I…I’m f-fine,” she breathed.

  He stepped closer and gathered her into his arms. His hands were cold on her back, his scent hot and cloying. ’Twas all she could do not to break free of him and run.

  “I see ye are not. But dinna worry, love. I’ll have Tang prepare something special to soothe your nerves.”

  A strangled cry escaped her lips. Her knees gave out beneath her. Before she could stop him, Geoffrey lifted her into his arms.

  They rode all night.

  By late afternoon of the following day, Conall and his brothers had nearly reached the crossroad on the forest trail leading west toward Falmar Castle. Rob, along with forty of Iain’s warriors in full battle dress, accompanied them. Jupiter followed faithfully behind. Earlier that morn when they’d passed the diversion to Monadhliath, Gilchrist had sent a man up the hill to muster some of his own men should they need them.

  Within days they could raise hundreds more amongst the Chattan clans scattered across the highlands that stretched from Monadhliath to Findhorn and on to Inverness, but Conall thought none of it necessary. Symon was no fool. Even with Fraser to back him, he didn’t think the chieftain would dare take up arms against so formidable a force as the alliance.

  Besides, ’twas not a clan dispute. ’Twas not a dispute at all. What Conall had to do, what he had to say, was between him and Mairi. Now when he recalled their brief meeting in the wood—her words, her expressions, the few times she’d ventured to touch him—every moment of their time together held new meaning for him.

  Are you happy? About the babe, I mean?

  More than I can tell you.

  “Christ, I was a fool.”

  Gilchrist shot him a pithy glance as they drove their mounts up the short rise toward the crossroad. Conall ignored him.

  “Why didn’t you fetch me sooner?” he hissed to Rob, who goaded his short mare into parallel step with Conall’s borrowed mount.

  “I told ye. Mairi’d have none of it. Dora begged her. I begged her.”

  None of this surprised him. She was as stubborn as a summer day was long.

  “You should have come anyway, when first you discovered she was with child.” My child. Our child.

  ’Twas a blessing he didn’t deserve. He couldn’t wait to see her, touch her, gather her into his arms and tell her his heart, beg for her forgiveness. Would that he had done so two days ago when he’d had the chance. Three months ago, when first he knew he loved her.

  Aye, he’d known it then, but had fought it, denied it.

  And now, he’d ne’er forgive himself if she married Symon. He marveled, not for the first time, that the chieftain, proud as he was, was willing to have her, knowing she carried Conall’s babe. He’d obviously misjudged Symon’s regard for her.

  ’Twas his own bloody fault all of this had happened. His alone. He shook his head, remembering more of their conversation in the wood. She’d clearly thought he didn’t want her, that he didn’t want his own child. What else would she think? He’d actually told her he thought Symon would make the babe a good father, and her a good husband.

  C
onall swore and drove his mount faster.

  “’Twas no’ much more than a sennight ago she told us,” Rob shouted, catching him up. “Besides, I didna truly think ye were at Findhorn. I’d thought to tell your brother in your place. There’d been no word o’ ye for months.”

  On the long ride, Conall had revealed to Rob all the events since last they’d seen each other at Loch Drurie. Rob was as enraged as Iain had been when Conall told him about the ambush in the wood and the Nordic slaver.

  “You did right in coming, and I owe you much. Had I been able to get word to you, to anyone, I would have.”

  “That whoreson will pay.” Rob’s cheeks blazed with color, and Conall knew it wasn’t from the cold.

  His brothers shared Rob’s view, which is why they took an army with them to Falmar.

  “I cannot think on that now,” he said. “’Tis the farthest thing from my mind, truth be told.”

  Besides, what there was to settle with the Symons was between Conall and the chieftain alone. He’d told Iain that a dozen times in the past twenty hours, but his brother would not be swayed.

  “Hold up!” Gilchrist cried as they topped the rise.

  “The crossroad,” Conall said, and spurred his mount to the head of the pack. Jupiter bounded to his side. The mastiff’s fortitude was amazing.

  The horses were lathered, the men spent, everyone’s breath frosted the icy air. They’d barely rested since leaving Findhorn, and it appeared Iain would now call a break. Conall would have none of it.

  “I’ll ride on,” he said to his brothers. “You can catch me up.”

  “Nay.” Iain nudged his mount alongside him. “We’ll all go.”

  Conall smiled at him, unsurprised. “My thanks for this, brother, even though ’tis not entirely necessary.”

  “Of course it is,” Gilchrist said, edging his way between them. “We’re clan. Family.”

  “Aye.” Conall met their steady gazes in turn and nodded. “That we are.”

  “All right, then,” Iain said. “Let’s ride.”

  Dark clouds masked the setting of the sun, when it finally came. There was no twilight to speak of, just a dull, dim gray. A nightingale’s song broke the steady thud of hoofbeats on the half-frozen ground, and the sounds of creaking livery as the men rode in silent determination toward their goal.