Lyon's Gift

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  “Randy bastard!” Baldwin accused him.

  Lyon merely laughed.

  “I’m telling you, she’s more trouble than it’s worth,” Baldwin warned.

  Lyon arched a brow. “I shall be the judge of that.”

  Baldwin sat upon the table. “She’s insane,” he said with conviction.

  Lyon was tired of hearing it. “Nay,” he disagreed, “I assure you she is not.”

  “What if she is?” Baldwin persisted.

  “She’s not. She’s simply a cunning little wench, is all.”

  “And you seriously mean to do this?”

  Lyon ran his hand over his jaw. “As serious as I can be.”

  “Christ, but you are!” Baldwin gave a low whistle, and shook his head.

  The two remained silent an instant, considering the gravity of Lyon’s decision.

  “And what of MacLean? What will you say to him? He’ll not be pleased, Lyon.”

  Lyon leaned back in his chair. “I know.”

  “He is counting upon this alliance, I do not have to tell you.”

  Lyon’s lips twisted. “Well, we’ll simply have to find the proper compensation for him, will we not? Every man has a price, as they say. As for David,” he continued, “I am not so dim-witted that I do not understand why he gave me this land to begin with.”

  Baldwin nodded.

  “He needs me here, else he’d never have risked the displeasure of these Highlanders to begin with—not when he is trying so desperately to win them over. Nay, he did not barter land from MacLean simply to reward an old friend. He’s too shrewd for that. He placed me here because I’m damned good at what I do.”

  “This is true,” Baldwin affirmed. “No one is better at commanding wayward men.”

  Lyon leaned forward in his chair and over the table, peering up at Baldwin. “He also realizes that while I want this—and I do—I’d as soon leave it all as to sell myself any longer. I’m through with all that, Baldwin. I’ve gold enough to do as I will. Life is too short,” he concluded.

  “That it is. What can I do? How can I help?”

  Lyon smirked up at him. “You can get your stinking arse off the table I eat on, to begin with.”

  Baldwin laughed.

  “And then you can take Fia up to see her granddaughter,” Lyon added with a note of wry humor.

  Baldwin shook his head and hopped off the table, but, to his credit, said nothing.

  “Thank you,” Lyon added as his friend turned to go. “I realize this has the potential to make life difficult for the lot of us. Not only me.”

  Baldwin smiled. “You have done far more for me. Supporting you is the least I can do. Anything else you need just now?”

  “Just one more thing,” Lyon said. “Get her name for me, if you will, that I might have it before the evening meal.”

  “Very well,” Baldwin said, and started away just as the lad returned, bringing Lyon his quill, inkwell, and parchment.

  Lyon took the items from his hands and then sent him on his way with a ruffle of his dark hair and a word of thanks. And then he set about writing the necessary letters: one to Dou-gal MacLean, one to David of Scotia, and one to her damned brothers as Lyon was certain they’d be wondering over her whereabouts just about now. It served little purpose to keep them in suspense. They were going to be brothers by marriage, after all.

  In fact, while he was at it, he thought he might simply make it a wedding invitation and remind them to bring their own ale.

  The little lamb was growing weary.

  Meghan could tell by the way it seemed to wobble on its wee legs. And yet she knew the poor creature couldn’t possibly make itself at ease enough in this strange place long enough to fall asleep on its own.

  “Poor wee thing,” she cooed, and lifted the creature upon the bed, commiserating with it.

  Weary as it was, it dropped down beside her, and she sat stroking its head while it grew still, listening to the sound of her voice. She’d always had a great love for animals—something she’d indubitably inherited from Fia. And having spent the entire day with this one, she was beginning to grow quite fond of the little beast. They seemed to have a natural affinity between them. In truth, strange as it seemed, she was even beginning to think of it as her Minnie Fia!

  She lay upon the bed, contemplating her prison as she stroked the animal’s newly sheared coat. It wasn’t a large room, nor was it precisely small. It was really quite unremarkable in every aspect, save for the gaping hole in the ceiling on the far side of the roof. It was growing dark; Meghan watched the gloaming sky fade to night before her eyes.

  She knew her brothers had begun to search for her by now. She also knew they would worry, and felt a stab of guilt for putting herself at risk to begin with. She should never have taken the shortcut through the woods.

  And Colin, she knew, would blame himself most because he’d been the one to let her go.

  Although Colin was the most indulgent of her brothers, he was quite protective of her still. He merely allowed her a little more freedom because he valued his own so much.

  And yet, if it weren’t for the fact that she knew they were home fretting... or out searching and thinking the worst... in truth she might not be wholly regretful of her circumstances.

  No matter that she told herself she was content to be alone, she was fiercely lonesome, and this union could at least give her children some day.

  “You know what?” she asked the wee lamb, now resting peacefully beside her. Seeing it so at ease in her presence made her feel a sense of achievement. “The Sassenach is right,” she continued, speaking low lest someone overhear her. “This truly might be the perfect solution, were I to wed the brute,” she reasoned. “What do you think?”

  She stared at the animal’s serene face and thought of Fia when she’d slept. It brought a smile to her lips. How many mornings had she gone tiptoeing into her Minnie’s room, only to find her stretched out upon her bed, lying so still, looking as though she had passed in her sleep during the night. Meghan would approach Fia’s bed with wide-eyed apprehension and a valor that she’d hardly felt. She’d stand there, watching her Minnie’s breast for some sign of life. But Fia always slept much too peacefully, and Meghan would wave a hand before her nostrils to feel the warm breath leave them in order to reassure herself. And then Fia would startle the life from her, coming awake abruptly.

  “Och!” she would complain. “Cannot an auld woman rest in peace?”

  Meghan would gasp in fright and then sigh in relief, and then feel wracked with guilt over waking her Minnie.

  The memory filled her with sorrow. Fia had been her sole companion, and Meghan had lived in fear of losing the one person who had truly understood her. Her mother had been too brokenhearted to think of anyone ever.

  Meghan didn’t fault her mother for it, because it had been so apparent by the look in her eyes that her grief had been real. After her father’s death, her mother’s pain had been so great that it had seemed easier for her not to feel at all. She had spent hours alone simply staring from her window—and nights weeping in her bed. Meghan knew that, somewhere in her heart, her mother had loved her too, but her guilt and her pain had been too great for her to express it. Her father’s jealousy had carried him to his grave, and her mother had never forgiven herself for her wayward smiles. Nor did she ever forget Meghan’s da till the day she last closed her eyes. As for Megan’s brothers, they were too involved with their own lives—Leith with his duties to the clan, Gavin with his God, and Colin with his women—to spend time enough with Meghan.

  When Fia died, Meghan had felt as though she’d lost her mooring, for while Alison was as true a friend as any could have, Meghan was more a mother figure to her in many ways; Alison had often shared her woes with Meghan, but Meghan had never felt comfortable to do so in return. It had always seemed Meghan’s duty to be the strong one. And she had felt so alone for so very long.

  She peered hard at the little lamb’s face
and wished with all her heart that she could live such a simple life... a silly thing to wish... but she did.

  Oh, to be more plain, like Alison...

  Alison was lovely from within and it radiated without. Alison would someday find herself a man who would look past the flaws in her face and would love her for her soul.

  Meghan’s own face had always been a bloody curse. Women rarely received her warmly because of it, and men only wanted to possess her for it.

  Now that Fia was gone... nobody seemed to care enough to know the heart within her silly body—not even her brothers! And Meghan had long since resolved herself to spiritual solitude. She’d learned from Fia’s example how to tend her own gardens behind the stone walls that sheltered her heart. And if she kept those walls erect, it was only because somewhere within she feared no one would like the imperfect soul behind the perfect face. She’d learned the importance of being content with herself and embracing even her flaws—especially her flaws—as it was foolish to place her happiness into someone else’s hands.

  Och, but she knew it was foolish to hope for unconditional love.

  Aye... so this might very well be the perfect solution for all... save that Piers Montgomerie was no different from the rest.

  Meghan was well aware of and none too pleased by the fact that that peace between their clans was not his true motivation. Like all other men, Piers Montgomerie was driven by lust. He lusted after beauty and perfection, and little did he realize that Meghan was a fraud. Her face might be pleasing, but her soul was fraught with flaws! She was not sweet and well-mannered like Alison—nor was she patient and warmhearted.

  She was not perfect.

  Never had been.

  Never would be.

  CHAPTER 12

  It was the wee hours of the morn when the torches were once again returned to their sconces upon the walls.

  They had searched the woodlands, the meadows, the loch’s edge even, and still there was no sign of Meghan.

  Leith Mac Brodie slumped behind the table where MacLean’s daughter sat still, waiting, with her head cradled wearily within her arms. Her lovely copper tresses pooled about her upon the table. He resisted the urge to reach out and see for himself whether it was as soft as it appeared.

  She peered up when he sat, looking as frightened as a wee rabbit startled by a pack of wolves. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks stained with tears. His heart wrenched a little at the sight of her, and his conscience pricked him.

  They had yet to take her home, and he knew it would bear its own consequences come the morning light, but it could scarce be helped. He could spare not a man to see her safely to her father—could not spare them from the search for Meghan. And neither could he simply have let her go, not as a matter of principle, and certainly not in light of Meghan’s disappearance.

  He averted his gaze, rubbing at his temples, unable to face the lass as yet, as he knew she was like to have considered the consequences of her having spent the night unchaperoned in his home.

  Damn, but troubles never ceased.

  “You did not find her?” Alison asked apprehensively, though hopefully, peering up at him, her eyes wide.

  Leith met her gaze, shook his head, and sighed. “Nay, lass. We didna.”

  “And did you search the meadow?”

  Leith nodded.

  “And the woodlands?”

  “Aye, lass,” he answered. “Colin and Gavin are still searching as we speak.”

  “Poor lads,” she said, her expression full of concern.

  Leith knew she was thinking of Colin; he recognized that forlorn look upon her face. He couldn’t understand why Colin did not see the good in her. He couldn’t perceive how his brother placed such weight upon the fickle face, and so little upon the heart. Alison MacLean was possessed of a beautiful heart and even lovelier soul. It was discernible in her eyes and in every expression that graced her sweet face.

  And that hair, the color of Meghan’s it was her most remarkable feature. Even her eyes, crossed as they were, were like Meghan’s... The two were not so dissimilar, he thought. As children they had looked naught alike, but it seemed to Leith that as they’d grown up together, the two had begun to resemble one another somewhat. It was peculiar.

  He stared at her, thinking that a man could do much worse than to look into those eyes before he closed his own to sleep at night.

  “Did you find the wee lamb, perchance?”

  He cocked his head at her. “Lamb?”

  “Aye,” she replied. “Do you not recall I told you I left a lamb for Meghan to find?”

  “Oh! Aye!” He straightened in his seat. “No sign of the lamb either,” he told her.

  Her brows knit. “None at all?”

  “None.”

  “It seems to me,” she said, thinking aloud, “that there should have been some sign of the animal—hoof marks—something to show the path it took away from the meadow. Don’t you think so?”

  “The ground is dry,” he pointed out.

  She nodded, frowning. It was only then, with that small defeat, that he recognized the dread in her expression. Her face grew wan. Her eyes met his, and they were so full of fear that Leith once again had the most incredible urge to hold her... to fold her under his arms like a mother bird did with her hatchlings.

  And it struck him then that she had yet to voice concern for her own situation. He knew she had to have considered the consequences of her remaining unchaperoned in his home. How could she not have? With every moment that passed, she was compromised all the more. As it was, dawn was quickly approaching, and they had not even sent a messenger to her da, letting him know of her whereabouts. As much as he loathed the thought of doing so—weary as he was, concerned as he was for Meghan—he knew he had to rouse himself once more... for Alison’s sake.

  “I came to take you home,” he told her.

  She seemed to take in a fretful breath, but nodded bravely. “Verra well, then... I am ready to go.”

  Guilt pricked at him once more. “I’m sorry we did not take you sooner, lass.”

  “I understand why you didna,” she assured him, but it didn’t help to soothe his conscience. “I could not have expected you to do so.”

  Leith nodded, as he didn’t know what to say to her. She was right, of course; Meghan was his priority just now, but he knew her da well enough to know that she was not going to be well-received.

  She seemed to understand what it was he could not say, for she told him then, “I came knowing it would be so, Leith Mac Brodie... Dinna fash yourself over it, please.”

  Compelled to speak his mind, Leith reached out and took her chin within his hand, lifting it so that her gaze would meet his own. “You’re a good lass, Alison. Dinna think otherwise. My imbecile brother does not deserve you.”

  She smiled softly, and the sight of it lifted him at once, but he wasn’t simply saying so to make her feel better. He believed it with all of his heart. Aye, MacLean’s daughter would make some man a fine, fine wife.

  “Come now,” he urged her, “let us go and deliver you home.”

  She didn’t come down for the evening meal, and Lyon thought it prudent to leave her be, as she needed time to think about his proposal. No matter that he’d threatened to force her hand, he would not, he knew. He might not need her compliance, but he wanted it nevertheless, as he was well aware that forcing her to wed with him would not bode well for peace between their clans.

  Nay, it was best to allow her some time to think.

  And it was just as well that she’d not appeared, for it had taken him long hours to prepare his letters. He returned to them directly after supping, and only completed them when the hall had fallen to silence for the evening.

  His chamber was dark when he returned, and he stood in the doorway, allowing his vision to adjust to the blackness before entering.

  The only light that filtered within the room was that from the gaping hole within his ceiling. The shutters were nailed s
hut as they had been in peril of falling off when he’d moved into the manor a mere month before, and he’d thought it better, for now, to keep them closed rather than to have them not at all. At least they were secure.

  There was much work to be done, and so little time. His chamber had been left to repair last, as he had only so many men to spare, and the entire manor had been in disrepair when he’d acquired it. It made no difference to him, at any rate. He had slept in worse places than this—hard cold stone floors and bare ground.

  To him the bed was an indulgence.

  And the woman within it a mystery.

  Peering up at the yawning hole in his ceiling, he gauged the night sky. The stars were clear and the moon high, but it was hardly bright enough to illuminate his way across the room.

  No matter, he knew his way well enough.

  Having accustomed himself enough to the darkness, he made his way unerringly across the creaking wood floor, stopping when it seemed to sink beneath his feet midway across. He frowned, testing it, and then looked up again at the hole in the roof, shaking his head in disgust of the condition of the place. There was no telling how long the hole had been there, or for that matter how much snow and rain had dampened the floors.

  Sighing, he made his way to the small desk that occupied his bedside. Upon it he kept his most prized possessions: his personal treatises. Placing the quill and inkwell down upon the desk, he slumped within the chair, wishing now that he’d carried up a candle to write by.

  Tonight was one of those nights he knew sleep would elude him... like a veiled lover whose face he craved but could not see.

  His gaze was drawn to the shadow stretched out upon his bed.

  He tried to make her out, but could not. The room was entirely too dark, and his eyes too weary from staring so long at his scribblings. He’d had to word the letters just so. He knew how important it was to convey a precise message. And he was pleased with the outcome. He planned to dispatch the letters first thing in the morn.

  David would feel thwarted, he knew, for he had his well-laid plans and liked to see them carried out exactly so, and yet Lyon also knew that his longtime friend was smart enough to adjust when the need arose.