Her heartbeat increased. Was he threateneing Cull’s life? Despite his having abducted her from the camp, his threat shocked her still. She had known the two men did not like each other, and that Duncan seemed to perceive some sort of competition between them, but now the true depth of his hate for Cull had been made clear.
Derryth’s blood went cold. Duncan was just as wicked as his father.
“What is it that you want?”
“I want Inverhaven,” he replied, peering at her down his prominent nose. “I always have. Properly governed, those lands would be a bastion of northern power. And they will be mine, once I convince my father that Cull is not deserving. I also intend to marry you.”
Marry her? She peered at him in stunned silence as the words thundered inside her ears. She could not marry him. Her mind rejected the very idea. There was only Cull. Her heart would accept no one else.
When he grazed her cheek with his knuckle, she flinched.
“What’s wrong?” he chided. “Do you find my touch so distasteful? Or are you troubled that Cull never offered to marry you? Of course he did not. He thought you were just a baseborn peasant, worthy only of being his mistress.” Duncan chuckled. “All this time … he had no idea of the jewel he held in his hands. The key to the northern realm.”
Derryth’s breath hitched in her throat. She closed her eyes, feeling cold and numb, wanting nothing more than to cover her hands with her ears. To block out the words. But why, when she already knew what he would say?
Duncan leaned closer, and purposefully closed his hand atop hers where it rested on her leg. “You are the daughter of the man who by right and royal edict should never have been ousted from those lands. Your sister foolishly chose to marry that imposter. What a grave mistake on her part. Once the castle and lands are taken, a marriage to you will only strengthen my claim.”
He looked out over the landscape, which the dim, creeping light of dawn had just begun to reveal.
“It is my sons … our sons, who will rule the north.”
Chapter 17
Cull spent the next sennight waiting. His days, he immersed himself into leading his men and tirelessly maintaining the siege. Each night he spent in restless misery, thinking of Derryth inside the castle. When at last a courier arrived, riding from the south, and presented Robert with a sealed missive, the two of them withdrew to the privacy of Cull’s quarters. Watching Robert’s face as he silently read, he understood what the written words would say before they were spoken. Still, he read each word, until fury blackened his gaze and he could read no more.
“Damn your father,” Cull cursed, his fist clenched atop the table where he’d crashed it down on the crumpled missive.
“Aye,” replied Robert tersely, already pacing the room. “While he’d convinced a good number of Parliament to support him in his attack against the Kincaids, there was greater dissent against any action. No orders were issued. This attack against Inverhaven is being undertaken without proper consent.” He covered his mouth with his hand for a moment, before dropping it away. “He lied to you. He lied to us all.”
Cull stared into the shadows. It took everything within him to contain his rage. The man who had once saved his life … who had given him a future, had manipulated what Cull had considered an almost sacred bond between them, and used him like a pawn.
“It is not the first time he has lied to me,” said Robert, his voice edged with bitterness. “Even so, time and time again, I played the dutiful son, and carried out his orders, seeking to gain his approval—and his trust. Toward what end? Even knowing him so well … his history of aggression toward those who displease him, and duplicity to have his way … Cull, this time he has gone too far.”
Cull hissed, and paced the floor, his quarters suddenly feeling too small and confining. “He has compromised my honor as a warrior, and as a King’s Guard.” He fixed his gaze on the other man. “Not only my honor, Robert, but yours and even Duncan’s—and that of all our men.”
Robert stared back at him, his features drawn in anguish.
What outcome had Buchan thought to achieve, in the end? The deaths of his enemies, before any intervention could come from outside? That he would seize these lands, and defend his claim to them later? One thing he knew for certain, Buchan had no right by the laws of Scotland to promise the lands to him as any sort of prize. That the earl had dangled such a false reward in front of him, to gain his cooperation, only infuriated him more. Certainly Buchan, knowing Cull’s past, also knew his heart’s desire. To have a name. To possess lands, and a family. That Buchan had used Cull’s deepest, most private yearnings against him, to draw him into this wicked plot, was the greatest of unforgiveable betrayals.
And though Buchan’s deception had brought Derryth into his life … it was also because of him that he’d lost her forever.
Or … had he?
Everything was changed now. He could not give his loyalty to a man who clearly stood for everything he despised. With his mind now freed to rebel against the man who had betrayed his trust and his soul, his heart returned instantly to her.
“What do you intend to do?” Robert asked pensively, watching him.
He would end this thing with Buchan. As far as he was concerned, his debt was paid. He was done. No matter what kindness was done to him those years ago, he could not carry out Buchan’s personal campaign of hate and vengeance.
“I must go to Carven,” said Cull. “I will relinquish my command of this siege. If he proceeds, he must do so without me.”
Only then could he return to her.
* * *
“This green color is very pretty on you,” said Ainsley, with a smile. “I’m so glad we chose it. Duncan will be so pleased.”
The dark-haired, sharp-eyed young woman held up one of Derryth’s new kirtles, sewn by Mairead’s personal tailor—Mairead, being Buchan’s wife. Not his church-wed wife, who was named Euphemia and from whom he was estranged, but his Gaelic handfasted wife, who was mother to seven of his children, including Duncan and Robert. Ainsley had explained all of this soon after Derryth had come to Carven Castle, where they were all guests of Lord Nester, Buchan’s trusted ally.
Derryth had learned many things from Ainsley, as most of their conversations were one-sided, and the young woman loved to talk. Although everyone repeatedly called Derryth a guest, she was a prisoner—held here against her will—and no pretty garments or gracious words would change that. But her first night, locked alone in her windowless tower room, she’d decided that though she could not bring herself to smile and laugh, as if she was in any way happy here, she would play the quiet and docile girl in order to learn all she could about her enemies. Some detail … some passing comment might later be useful. For that reason she passed each day silent and sullen, watchful and listening.
In this manner she learned that Mairead was not Ainsley’s mother, but Buchan was her father. Other than that, the details of her birth were not exactly explained and Derryth did not pry. She only knew that Ainsley moved about the castle at ease, and seemed to get along well with Mairead.
They were not in her room at present, but in Ainsley’s, preparing for the evening meal. Derryth had napped for hours at midday, burdened by a soul-deep weariness that she hadn’t been able to shake since arriving. Even now she could feel the pull of sleep behind her eyes. She could only assume her psyche sought to escape the strain of being at Carven by seeking to hide away in dreams.
But she would be expected belowstairs. A deft-handed maid had styled Derryth’s hair. She wore a new scarlet kirtle, which might as well have been sackcloth for all she cared, because the garment had been paid for by Buchan.
Buchan … who remained very much a mystery to her, passed in and out of her days, speaking little. Glowering much. He kept mostly to his chamber, accepting and sending missives, which, according to a passing comment by Mairead to Lady Nester, kept him informed of the king’s health and the ever-changing alliances being formed betwe
en his two older brothers with the nobles and powerful men of the country—something he seemed fixated upon, and yet at the same time seemed to shun by hiding away here at Carven, his days and nights filled with rest and entertainment.
Dreading the evening before her, when she would be returned to Duncan’s company, Derryth glanced out the open window again, searching the deepening night for something … someone she feared would never come.
“I cannot wait to have you as a sister,” Ainsley exclaimed, allowing the maid to fasten a bracelet at her wrist. “I will help you with your wedding to Duncan, and when the time comes, you can help me with mine.”
A wedding to Duncan that had not yet been agreed to by Buchan, something she knew from the terse conversations between the two men each night.
“Marriage can be such a magnificent thing,” declared the young woman. “When two people are in love.”
Ainsley hadn’t always been so friendly. She’d circled Derryth warily for days. Likewise, Derryth had done very little to encourage a friendship between them. She could only believe Ainsley wanted someone her own age to talk to. This afternoon, it was as if a font had sprung open. Since then, Ainsley had been a nonstop stream of chatter.
“Have you a betrothed then?” asked Derryth, if only to fill the silence.
“Not yet … but soon,” the girl replied slyly … giddily, her cheeks flushing scarlet. “The man I love is not a nobleman, and has no land or titles, but he is a well-respected King’s Guard. Soon, his circumstances will change, and then he will approach father to ask for me.”
Derryth tensed, for the description of Ainsley’s suitor seemed too familiar.
Ainsley stood, and peered at herself in a small looking glass that hung on the wall. Apparently liking what she saw, she smiled, and stroked the gleaming length of her hair. “I cannot wait. I love him desperately, you see. And I know he loves me too.”
Anxiety twisted Derryth’s stomach. She could hold silent, and ask no questions. But no … if it was Cull, she wanted to know. He had spoken vaguely of marrying into the nobility. Was it Ainsley’s hand that had been his intent?
“What is his name?” Derryth asked, suddenly finding it difficult to breath.
But just then, Mairead appeared on Ainsley’s threshold, dark haired and severe. “Come Ainsley and … you … Derryth … it is time to go belowstairs.”
Ainsley swept close, taking hold of Derryth’s arm.
“Later,” she whispered. “I can’t speak of him in front of her. She doesn’t approve of him for me.”
Neither did Derryth.
They joined Mairead in the corridor, where the older woman cast a sharp gaze upon Derryth, her hair and her new garments. “Better. At least you are presentable now.”
Derryth’s cheeks burned. When she’d arrived at Carven, she’d been filthy from three days of travel, her garments muddied and torn, and had been made to feel like a savage being accepted into civilization ever since. But she would not be provoked into speaking, or challenging Buchan’s other wife. Instinct told her she was just as dangerous as he.
Tension settled in her neck and shoulders, with each step they descended, for each night in the great hall meant torment for her.
Belowstairs, they entered the shadowy great room, lit by wall sconces and candles. From what she had gathered, the lord of Carven Castle had hosted Buchan and Mairead here for nigh on a sennight, as they awaited word of the king’s health, which from the last missive arriving from Ayrshire, had neither declined nor improved.
Suddenly Duncan was there, his hand at her back, possessive and claiming.
She had learned not to flinch so obviously at his touch. Though there had never been an easy moment between them, and he had made clear to all his intention to marry her, he had never attempted to force himself on her in any way, not even for a kiss. She had, however, caught him more than once staring at her with blatant interest, and remained wary of the moment his tactics would change.
“Come,” he murmured near her ear. “Tonight you will not hide away among the women, as you have on previous nights, but sit where you belong, between my father and me. I insist.”
* * *
At last, Carven rose up before them like a dark raven perched on the earth. It was hours after nightfall when they arrived in the courtyard, but Cull had refused to stop for the night, choosing to press on, for the sooner he was finished here, the sooner he could return to Inverhaven to issue final orders to his men to withdraw from Buchan’s folly, and to find Derryth.
Would she go with him, if he asked her? Despite her loyalty to her clan, he thought she would if the conflict between them was removed. Though now, with his world upended, he had difficulty imagining what a future between them would be.
But a life without Derryth seemed just as unimaginable. Each time he thought of seeing her again, his pulse quickened, and he felt half sick at the idea of her being in danger. Did that not mean something? Hell, he had not slept a sound night since she’d gone, for he lay awake, tormented by the fantasy of her, intermingled with the dark memories of his past. He was ready to sleep again, but he would only sleep with her returned to his side.
Moments later, after passing through numerous guards who instantly recognized them, and allowed them to pass, Cull and Robert strode through the castle doors, where music and voices and sounds of the evening meal underway emanated out from a great hall. A servant rushed forward, offering to take their cloaks, but both brushed the man’s efforts away.
Cull kept away from the open doors, uninterested in the revelry or entertainments. Already tension pulled at his shoulders, and his mind burst with the words he would say.
To Robert, he said, “I have no wish to sit with him at a table and pretend that we are in good stead.”
Robert responded with a curt nod, and eyes that burned as angrily as his own. “I’ll let him know we must speak to him alone, and that we have no wish to wait until tomorrow.”
Striding away, he disappeared inside—
Only to return moments later, his jaw clenched. He avoided meeting Cull’s gaze, and issued a vile curse.
“What is it?” said Cull, knowing Robert had seen something.
Something inside the room behind him. His torso tensed, and his arms tightened. He moved forward, but Robert’s shoulder met his, halting him in his tracks. His hands grasped his arm.
“Don’t go in there,” Robert growled between clenched teeth. “Not yet.”
Cull froze. “Why.”
“She’s there.”
Who was there? What woman would provoke such a response in Robert, and a warning to keep him away? His mind hurtled out only one reply.
“Derryth,” he murmured.
His soul thundered. Was it true?
Here? Not at Inverhaven? How?
He moved toward the door.
“Robert?” called a woman’s voice—one he vaguely recognized. “Is that you? Oh, come back!”
But it was Cull who entered to search for one face among the shadows.
* * *
Duncan’s hand closed over hers. Derryth tore it away. They had long since finished eating, and now sat on benches near the fire, intermingled with Buchan and Mairead, Lord and Lady Nester, and others. Everyone laughed and talked all around them, unaware or unconcerned about her growing distress.
Duncan leaned close to growl into her ear, “What will it take for you to warm to me? Have I not played the part of the gentle suitor? Have I not shown you that I am capable of patience?”
Derryth bristled at the intimate tone of his voice. His attentions … his expectations closed around her, smothering and offensive. Even the lingering smell of roasted meat became too much, threatening to turn her stomach. She had thought she could play the submissive captive, but she’d been wrong. She could not abide his touch, or his words.
“You are no suitor of mine,” she blurted. “I am a prisoner here. I am being held against my will. Your father seeks to destroy my clan, as do
you, and I will never forgive that.”
“Oh come now,” he chided, his gaze brightening with anger. “You wouldn’t be the first captive bride to fall in love with her husband.”
What he proposed was impossible. She was in love with Cull, her heart filled to overflowing, and there was not one smidgeon of room for any other man. That would never change. She could not even force herself to pretend.
“I will never love you.” She turned her face, looking away, toward the doors, wanting to escape, but knowing she would never make it past the guards.
Suddenly, Cull was there—his pale hair gleaming in the light of a wall sconce—tall and arresting, dressed in dark oiled leather, scowling into the shadows—
“Cull.” Ainsley stepped into his path, her dark hair shining down her back, and in the next moment—threw herself into Cull’s arms.
Derryth also moved to stand from her seat, her emotions tangled, fear and love—
And pride, for was not Cull the most magnificent thing?
Only for Duncan to ensnare her by the arm, and force her back down.
“Do not make that mistake again,” he growled near her ear, any vestige of his former gentleness gone. “You will remain beside me. Your eyes will remain on me. Do you understand? Remember what I said?”
That he would kill Cull, if she showed any preference for him.
She didn’t believe it. Cull would slay Duncan in an instant, if provoked or given no other choice. She did not doubt his fighting prowess. But she must consider their surroundings. Buchan was here, and Lord Nester, each of them boasting scores of men, who would act on their orders.
“Aye,” she hissed, furious at being controlled in such a way when she wanted nothing more than to rush to Cull’s side.
“I meant it,” Duncan gritted.
She waited for Cull to approach, her heart beating wildly. She heard the even fall of his footsteps on the stones … saw his boots, but that was all, because fearing for him … wanting to keep him safe, she kept her face averted. And yet. Seeing the hem of Ainsley’s kirtle appear so close beside him …
The Warrior of Clan Kincaid Page 19
