by Mary Wine
His hand moved on her shoulder, stroking it slowly. “Let me worry about that, Shannon. Ye would nae be the first daughter wed to the laird whom her father had been warring with. It is not an unknown way of settling things.”
“Except that my father has pledged ye no peace. Ye would get nothing. Which means ye are pitying me once more.”
She shook her head and pushed free of his embrace. Her pride noticed that he allowed her to turn and face him, but there was nothing she might do about how much stronger he was than she.
She enjoyed that strength far too much to complain about it.
“I shall not cling to ye, Torin McLeren, simply because ye are my lover. I am nae a coward.”
“I know that.” He delivered each word in a solid tone. “But ye are also a woman.”
Shannon drew herself up stiffly. “That makes no difference to my way of thinking. I’ll face what comes my way.”
“Not alone, ye won’t, and there is no point in trying to debate the matter with me. It is that spirit that has me trying to hold you next to me, lass. Besides, I stole ye, and a Highlander keeps what he brings home.”
Shannon pressed her lips into a hard line.
“Ye’re being stubborn, Torin McLeren.”
“No more so than ye are, Shannon McBoyd, so that makes us a good match.”
She snorted at him. “Enough, I’m going to bathe, since I’m half soaked.”
She turned and began walking out from behind the weapons rack but jumped when a hard smack landed on her bottom.
“Torin McLeren!”
He caught her and kissed her in spite of her squirming. She finally gained her freedom and made it into the hallway, but his arrogant laughter followed her. Her bottom stung just a tiny amount from that smack. And part of her liked it. She smothered a word that she shouldn’t know.
“Barbarian.”
But one she enjoyed, so who was more uncivilized?
***
“Ye shall eat at the high table tonight.”
Shannon turned to glare at Baeth. She didn’t care if it was the hardest look she’d ever sent toward the head of house or if it was disrespectful. Baeth did naught but lift one hand and point a single finger toward her.
“Ye will mind me, girl, because the laird is the one who told me to sit ye there, and the only way ye will be telling me what to do is if ye wed him and become mistress of this tower. For now, I am set above ye.”
Shannon gasped. “Not you too.”
“Not me, what?” Baeth shook her head. “Once again ye did nae know what to stop struggling against. I see the way the pair of ye look at each other. That is a rare gift, lass, too hard to come by to cast it aside. To be wed to a man ye love, now that is a precious gift indeed.”
Was it true? Shannon turned to see Torin watching her. He was sitting at his high table with plenty of his own women trying to catch his eye, but he only looked at her. Her cheeks heated, and she began walking toward him without thinking. She had been thinking far too much. Her entire life, it seemed, had been nothing but thoughts and ponderings.
She was sick unto death of it. She wanted to touch and be touched in return. Torin’s face transformed as she moved, becoming practically radiant. Approval shone in his eyes, and his lips curved into a smile that was full of joy. She felt that same joy filling her heart.
He stood up and offered her his hand. The hall quieted, heads turning in their direction. But it was the approving nods that made her quiver. She sat down and squirmed because so many still looked at her.
“This is Quinton Cameron, and ye have met Connor Lindsey.”
Shannon offered the two men a respectful nod before sitting down. Connor offered her a silent kiss that earned him a glare that Quinton Cameron didn’t miss.
“I believe I’ve come late to the gathering and missed something enjoyable.”
“It was nae enjoyable.” Shannon kept her tone sweet, and it gained her a smirk from Connor.
“I recall the moment differently.”
Torin sent his fellow laird a hard look. Connor laughed, his amusement turning several heads toward them.
Cameron made a low sound. “Now I am truly envious.” He turned toward Shannon and captured her hand before she realized that he intended to touch her. His hand was large, completely covering her own.
“Tell me ye did nae make a choice between these two pitiful excuses. I assure ye, I am a much better specimen for your consideration.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and placed a kiss against the back of it.
“I assure ye, Laird Cameron, I was never in any doubt as to my feelings.”
“I’m wounded,” Connor announced.
Torin chuckled. “So I heard.”
Connor didn’t take offense; instead the man laughed, and Cameron pushed his lower lip out. “This is what becomes of spending too much time at court: I miss all the fun.”
The meal continued, and Shannon found herself enjoying the banter of the men. They teased one another and laughed with honest emotion. But she was keenly aware of Torin beside her, her attention settling on his hands as he reached for his goblet. The skin on the backs of her thighs recalled exactly what those hands felt like against them. The sensation spread upward, until her breasts were warm and felt swollen behind her robe. Torin cut his gaze toward her, and her hands froze. In those dark orbs was a hunger that sent her thoughts away from the meal completely.
He pushed his chair back and stood up.
“Come, Shannon.”
He offered her his hand, and she heard the hall grow silent once more. She didn’t care. All that mattered was the invitation so close at hand. She placed her hand in his and felt someone pull her chair back when she stood up. Torin pulled her gently toward the stairs, and she felt his hand quiver.
Just a tiny amount, but it was dear. It proved that they were both drawn to one another and that Baeth was correct. It was too rare to struggle against. So she would not. She followed her lover to his chamber, unconcerned with the number of people who watched. What mattered was the privacy beckoning to her, that wonderful place where they might be only themselves.
***
Torin was awake before dawn. Shannon lay against his side. He could smell her, the soft scent of her skin. He smiled as his fingers encountered the length of her hair, loose and curling against the sheets. He had never shared his bed with a woman, not this bed that belonged to the laird.
Shannon belonged in it. He’d heard other men talk of enjoying having a woman sleep next to them, but he had never believed it could feel so good. His fingers toyed with one curl while he listened to the sound of her breathing.
He would find a way to keep her. There had to be a solution, and he was not interested in hearing otherwise.
That single thought burned in his gut. It also churned up the dread that he’d been avoiding. There was no mistaking that time was running out. James II would have been crowned by now, leaving the way clear for the Earl of Douglas to cut down those who had stood with Atholl. There was no doubt in his mind that blood would be flowing soon. McBoyd blood. He looked over at the long table across his chamber. Shannon’s arisaid sat there, neatly folded, a glaring reminder that she was the daughter of a known traitor.
There had to be a way. He just didn’t know what exactly it was yet.
He eased out of his bed, tucking the covers around Shannon. He listened to the morning and heard the faint sounds of hooves on the bridge. It was slight because the gate was still down, so the horses would be standing still. He dressed quickly before he took his sword up from where it was still leaning against the wall near the bed and left the chamber.
He met Brockton halfway down the stairs.
“Messengers at the gate, Laird.”
Torin nodded. “I’ve been expecting them.”
Torin walked into the yard withou
t a care for the limited light; his attention was on the messengers and the orders they would no doubt be giving him.
Brockton lifted one arm and waved toward the men waiting, poised above the heavy iron gate that kept Donan Tower secure by night. There was a groan as the men above the gate began to wind up the chains that moved it.
“Company so early?”
Connor Lindsey appeared, with his men following closely.
“Aye, messengers from Edinburgh.”
Torin watched the men ride through the rising gate. They wore Douglas plaids and looked around the yard before entering it completely.
The man leading the messengers reached up and tugged on his bonnet when he met Torin’s gaze. The man dismounted and crossed the space between them. “Archibald Douglas has been made lieutenant general.”
Torin stiffened. “I expected as much.”
“Aye.” Connor added his voice to the moment.
“He’s marched on the McBoyd.”
Torin felt his teeth grind.
“Get to it, man. I’m no’ a woman who needs gentling.”
The messenger offered Connor a quick tug on his knit bonnet before reaching beneath his jerkin to remove a letter.
“The Douglas orders ye to McBoyd land.” The messenger aimed a hard expression toward him. “Laird Lindsey is to ride with ye.”
“Then we go.”
Torin didn’t waste any time. He covered the distance to his stable with long strides fueled by his need to see the last obstacle between him and Shannon removed. He returned to the yard a few moments later, while his men hurried to join him. It wouldn’t take long; they were Highlanders well used to taking to the road whenever they needed to.
“Ye’re not bringing the girl?” The messenger looked toward the steps that led into the tower.
“Nay. Whatever Douglas wants, he can have it from me. Highlanders do nae make war with women.”
The Douglas messenger raised one eyebrow, but Torin shot him a deadly look.
“Shannon McBoyd is mine. I stole her, and a Highlander keeps what he steals.”
Connor’s horse rode up next to him, and his friend added a colorful word to the moment. “We want justice from men, no’ women. I’d think the Douglas would understand that. Unless ye have been at court too long and listening to too many English.”
Something flickered in the messenger’s eyes, a brief glimpse of the uncivilized man inside him. “There are too many English at court.”
Torin wrapped the reins around his fist and felt his stallion paw the ground with eagerness. “Then we go, and after justice has been satisfied, I will tell the new lieutenant general that I will nae give up Shannon McBoyd, no’ even if he demands my life.”
The messengers all grunted, but they were eager to be free of a stronghold that was not their clan’s. They rode for the gate quickly, while Torin gave his retainers a few more seconds to kiss their wives and sweethearts.
“Are ye sure about that, Torin?” It was Connor who spoke, his voice low and his horse close.
Torin turned a hard look toward his friend. “Ye were the one that mentioned it was time for us both to consider what we might leave behind us. Shannon will make a fine wife, and wedding her will do something that the Douglas’s marching on the McBoyd will nae achieve, and that’s bring a sense of justice to my kin.”
“Aye, I see what ye’re thinking. If ye marry Shannon, there will be peace next season.”
“It is no’ all I am thinking.”
Torin watched his friend consider him from narrowed eyes. Torin didn’t care. He couldn’t think of anything else save keeping Shannon in his life. Maybe his uncle had been correct about his inheriting his mother’s common blood, because he wanted love along with his heirs. He wanted the tranquility that had been filling his chamber since Shannon had been sleeping in his bed. Even so short a time had branded the feelings into his heart.
“I will nae consider any other action.” He kept his voice low and between Connor and himself. “I believe I love her, Connor.”
His friend drew in a stiff breath. “Then I will ride at yer side and help ye keep her.”
Twelve
Something was wrong.
Shannon didn’t know how she knew it, only that she sensed it the moment she stepped on the main floor. The sounds of the morning meal were muted. She was not used to being greeted warmly, but somehow she had missed the fact that the McLerens had taken to her better in the last two weeks. She noticed today because many of them stared at their meals instead of looking at her when she entered the great hall.
“Cursed McBoyd.”
The cause of the tension announced himself with a loud snort. Still wearing the dust from the road and their swords across their backs, these men wore the McLeren colors, but they ate only with one another.
“Why is this filth allowed in the hall?”
Shannon stared at the man insulting her. He looked a great deal like Torin, with the same features and strength, and yet she found him unpleasing. His face lacked anything she might consider attractive, because of the hate twisting his lips. He spit on the floor in front of her.
“Someone bind this traitor up as she deserves.”
Shannon felt the blood drain from her face, but she lifted her chin, refusing to show her fear.
Where was Torin?
“She has been given the freedom of the tower by the laird.” Brockton stood up, squaring his shoulders.
“Well, me cousin is nae here, so that makes my word law.”
Snickers rose from the newcomers, and the sound sent a chill down her back.
“The laird’s order stands. Just because he is no’ here does nae mean his word is nae to be followed.” Brockton refused to budge, even when Torin’s kin advanced on him.
“Unless he manages to get himself killed, and then it will be me who is laird. Best remember who is set to inherit here, laddie, because I’ll be recalling who cannae tell a traitor just because she happens to have a pair of tits.” Torin’s kin turned his attention toward her. “I’m Lundy McLeren, and don’t think that I’m impressed with ye because ye warm me cousin’s cock.” He reached down and pulled a dirk from the top of his boot and sneered at her.
“In fact, I think I might just do me cousin the favor of slitting yer throat, since the man seems to lack the courage to do it.”
The hall erupted into madness. Shannon didn’t have time to become scared. Someone pulled her backward with enough force to see her feet sliding right across the floor without her moving a single muscle. Brockton barreled toward Lundy, clamping both hands around the one holding the dirk. Benches overturned and platters hit the floor, spilling their contents. Shannon lost sight of it in the mayhem as Torin’s men pushed her behind them. They crowded in front of her, their wide shoulders making it impossible to see what was happening between Lundy and Brockton.
“Come with me, lass.”
Shannon wasn’t given a choice. Baeth grabbed her wrist with more strength than the woman looked like she had in her aged body. But it was Quinton Cameron who lifted her clean off her feet and placed her behind him. He blocked out her ability to see past him, and his men quickly moved her farther back so that they stood at their laird’s back.
“Enough!” Quinton’s voice bounced off the walls, and the shouting died down in response. “Lundy, ye are a pitiful man to pull a dirk on a woman.”
“How dare ye insult me?” Lundy’s voice rose in pitch until it sounded like a child’s.
Quinton folded his arms across his chest. “How dare you pit McLeren against McLeren. The English do like to say that we Highlanders are uncivilized, but I, for one, do nae appreciate yer proving them correct.”
Laughter echoed around the hall. It seemed to cut through the tension, and she heard the benches being righted.
“Enough! Do ye hear
me? She is the daughter of a traitor! The only thing yer words are doing is making me even more sure that she needs to die before she follows her father’s example and kills my cousin while he’s sleeping like a besotted fool beside her.”
“Shannon would nae do such a thing,” Brockton snarled at Lundy. “And my laird is no fool when it comes to judging those he allows near.”
“My blood is better than yers.”
Lundy was furious. Rage colored his face scarlet, and he shook with it. Brockton still refused to move from the man’s path, standing between the Cameron and Lundy. Baeth was still gripping Shannon’s arm, and she began to pull her backward while Lundy screeched.
The Cameron lifted one finger and pointed at Baeth. “She stays with the Cameron since Torin is riding with the Douglas. There will be no blood flowing in this hall while Torin is away. I’m promising ye, Lundy, try it and I’ll be the man who sets ye down, blue blood or nae.”
“She is a traitor, and I’m here to take her to Archibald Douglas.” Lundy seemed set on spilling her blood, and Shannon found herself disgusted by the man.
The Cameron shook his head. “Ye seem to be having troubling recalling that we were told to bring the girl to him alive.”
Lundy spit on the floor once more, his eyes bright with rage.
Quinton stepped forward. “Or didn’t ye think that I also received a message from the lieutenant general?” He reached inside his shirt and withdrew a letter. “He’s wanted to see the girl… alive.”
“She is a McBoyd. Scotland does nae need their like. I wager that the Earl of Douglas would be happy to have us do the deed for him. But if ye want the chore of taking her to the new lieutenant general, ye are welcome to it. I’ll no’ be wasting food on a traitor. I’d like to slit her throat before she whelps another disloyal subject for the king to suffer.”
“Ye are letting yer own agenda cloud yer thinking.”
“I will nae have her giving my cousin a son with her tainted blood flowing through his veins.”
