“Pagh!” Lennox spat. “The Comyns are nothing. They will never rule Scotland and ‘tis a waste of our breath to speak of them.”
Meghan was again surprised at her uncle’s unprecedented virulence. She wondered what had brought it on. There had been so much change in the last few weeks, she should not have been surprised at Lennox’s about-face, yet she desperately needed something stable, something reliable to cling to in this suddenly topsy-turvy world.
“So it is war then,” she finally said.
Lennox seemed about to argue and then clapped his mouth shut. A trick of the light, or perhaps the glaze of the wine made his eyes seem filled with cunning, as if a plot were forming in his mind that did not include her. Meghan forced her suspicions down. She had enough troubles without inventing new ones.
The alleged gleam disappeared from his gaze and Lennox said, “There are some who will follow you to war.”
“Some?” Meghan asked, distressed that she did not have her clan’s full support.
Lennox shrugged. “At least half—you must remember that some of our warriors prefer the comfort of a warm fire on their old joints to the damp chill of a battle march. But the rest, they will follow you.”
“Follow me?” Meghan whispered.
“Aye, ye are the laird now, are ye not?”
“Of course. ‘Tis just that...” Just that she had not the first idea how to lead troops to war. In all of her father’s meticulous training, he had never allowed her to carry a weapon larger than a dirk. He had always assumed that she would have a warrior husband to lead the clan in battle. She told William the truth when she boasted of her skills with a bow, but an archer could never organize foot soldiers.
“Will you lead them with me?” she asked Lennox.
“My rickety old bones in battle? Ye wouldna want me, lass. I’d be more trouble than I was worth. Nay, I should remain at Innesbrook and watch over it for ye.”
Meghan swallowed her fear. If only her father were here! She would cheerfully endure his wrath at her alliance with the Bruce is only she could have the comfort of his unwavering strength. “Aye. Very well. Let us return home immediately, then. We’ve a great deal to accomplish in a short time.”
Lennox nodded. “I’ll be ready to leave within the hour.” He turned to leave and Meghan stopped him.
“Uncle.”
“Aye?” he said, pausing at the tent flap.
“Have ye any coin? I need to make a few purchases.”
Lennox raised his brows but said nothing. Digging in his sporran, he withdrew a leather bag, it weight evident in his hand.
“How much will ye be needin’?”
“I’ve no—I’m not sure. Are those the quarterly rents?”
“Aye.”
“I’ll take them and save what’s left.”
Lennox seemed loath to part with the bag, but gave it over.
Once alone, Meghan closed her eyes and sent a brief prayer for help. While she had never doubted her ability to lead her clan, she had always envisioned having several more years of her father’s training. She felt overwhelmed at the speed with which events were transpiring and she had recovered not at all from William’s betrayal.
Seeking to block all thoughts of Black William from her mind, Meghan stormed from the tent and with determined strides, headed for the blacksmith. If she was going to lead Clan Innes to war, she would need a sword.
Chapter 16
William had a headache. His head had actually ached since they arrived in Scotland, its dull throb sharpening each time he looked at Meghan. For the first time in his life, he had no idea how to approach a woman. He understood her hurt and cursed himself for mentioning his mission to Edward’s court. If only he’d been able to free her father as well—but no, that never would have happened for Oengus was at Colchester as they’d only just learned from Meghan’s uncle. With an awareness of another’s feelings that was new to him, he knew Meghan felt betrayed by him, used as nothing more than a pawn. Nor could he blame her.
He rubbed his brow and was startled to hear his cousin call his name. Glancing up, he saw Robert coming toward him, a coronet upon his own brow, clear statement that he was firmly ensconced as Scotland’s king—at least in the eyes of his fellow Scots.
The two men embraced briefly. “I’m glad you escaped Edward’s clutches. I’ve had mass said for your safe return each morn since you left.”
“Thank you,” William said.
“Walk with me,” Robert said and the two headed through the maze of tents. “Did you speak at all with Edward?”
William shook his head. “There wasna time. The English king’s steward had just agreed to arrange a meeting when word arrived that you’d attacked Edward’s troops. Why did you no wait as we had planned?”
“The English had crossed the border. They were harassing villages, trying to flush out our scouts, learn what we were up to. We had to stop them.” Robert paused and threw William a wicked grin. “Then too, we received a shipment of arms from France and the men had to try out the swords.”
William stopped where he was, impervious to the bottleneck he caused in the narrow path between tents. “France?” he asked, stunned. “But they’ve an agreement with England. For God’s sake, the French princess is married to Edward’s son!”
Robert laughed at his friend’s amazement and tugged on his arm to get him moving again. “In the first place, cousin, young Isabella is merely a child and still in France. More importantly, the French realize that a strong, independent Scotland will more than occupy Edward’s council meetings, leaving them no time to meddle in the affairs of France.”
William shook his head and snorted derisively. “I offer up daily prayers of thanks that ‘tis you who are enmeshed in this tangled web of politics and not me, cousin.”
“A mere accident of birth,” Robert said with a wave of his hand, though both men knew he thrived on the quest for power while William abhorred it.
Robert ducked beneath the taut lines of a tent and turned another corner.
“Where are we going?” William asked.
“You must pick out a sword from the French bounty. I’ve set aside the best for us.” Robert glanced back at his cousin. “And ‘tis lucky for you that I did. What happened to your sword?”
William shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Lost it in London.”
“Difficult time leaving?”
William shrugged again but remained silent. Robert slowed down until the two men strode side by side. “Speaking of difficult times, how was your interlude with the Innes heiress?”
“What do you mean?” William asked with a frown. Surely Hamish hadn’t talked...
“I mean the journey to London. Did you have time to straighten your differences, mend your hearts, seal your lips—“
”No! I mean yes—that is never mind. We were there to accomplish a mission and we failed. On both counts,” William finished softly.
“Ah yes, Oengus Innes.”
“Did you know he was not even in London?” William asked, hoping that his cousin had not.
“Nay. We didn’t learn so until word arrived that he’d been executed. Damn shame, that. We could use a stronger alliance with his clan, especially now. Perhaps the girl will have some influence with the clan.”
“Don’t count on it,” William mumbled.
“Aye, an unwed female wilna sway her menfolk. Still, there is her uncle. Lennox, if I remember correctly.”
“No,” William blurted.
“Not Lennox?”
“Yes Lennox, but no—“ William paused, trying to put into words the strange feeling he’d had when Lennox had greeted Meghan just an hour before. The older man’s eyes were shifty, greedy, a trait William had not noticed before. “I dinna trust him.”
Robert lifted his brows but said nothing. “Verra well.” They rounded a pen of cattle and he said, “And here we are.”
William glanced up to see the armorer’s tent. The fire burned brightl
y in the forge before the tent and the acrid smell of hot metal filled the air. The rhythmic clang of hammer against steel sang the warrior’s song of anticipation. William felt his blood rally to the cry and then he saw her.
She was standing in front of the armorer, her hands on her hips, a scowl marring her beautiful face. The sun turned her coppery hair to flame and a slight breeze made soft curls dance around her head, further heightening her likeness to an inferno.
Beside him, Robert laughed. “I dinna know whether to pity the man or envy him.”
“What?” William said, not taking his eyes from her face as she argued with the soot-covered armorer.
Robert appeared not to have heard him, his thoughts clearly on the weapons from France. “I’ve the swords in the back of the tent. Let’s find you a mate, shall we?”
William nodded. “I’ll join ye in a moment.”
Robert narrowed his eyes at Meghan, suddenly recognizing her, then shifted his gaze to William. “As ye wish.”
Even after his cousin stepped beneath the tent flap, William remained riveted where he was. He did not know how to approach her, only knew that he must. She must understand that he had wanted to save her father, he simply had another task to complete as well.
“Meghan,” he said softly. So intent was she in arguing with the armorer, she had not heard him approach and did not acknowledge her name.
“I’ve paid for the bloody sword, ye can damn well cut it down!” she said sharply.
“This is a thing of beauty,” the smith said, gesturing to the length of steel in his hand. “To be used by a man in battle. “‘Tis no fit to cut it to pieces so ye can wear it like a piece of jewelry. Now I’ve several jewel-handled dirks in the tent. One of those would suit—“
”I do not intend to wear it as a piece of jewelry,” Meghan spat from behind clenched teeth. With a fast and fluid motion, she whipped her dirk from her belt and held it to the man’s florid neck. “Nor do I need another dirk. What I need is a sword and I want one that I can lift. This sword is unbalanced as it is, it will do it no harm to cut it down. Now, do I need to explain it again or are ye going to do as I asked?”
William grabbed Meghan’s arm, pulling the weapon from the smith’s neck. “What are ye doing?” he asked, and then jumped back to avoid the cut of the dirk as she turned on him.
When she saw his face, she stopped suddenly, her face wiped clean of expression. She looked at the armorer and with a jerk of her head, indicated that he should proceed. The smith muttered a curse beneath his breath, but began the laborious process of cutting down the sword.
“What are ye doing, Meggie?” William asked softly.
She turned her head quickly, pain and anger sharpening her gaze. “Do not call me that.”
“What need have ye for a sword?”
She remained silent, her lips pressed together, her gaze locked on the glowing coals of the forge. William gently took her arm and turned her to face him.
“I lead my clan in battle when the king calls for his troops.”
“What?” William said, amazed.
“Are ye losing your hearing?” she snapped, her Scots thickening with her fury.
His own anger flaring to life, he snapped back. “I heard ye aright, I just don’t believe it.”
“Why, because I’m a woman?”
“Yes! Because you’re a woman with no training for battle. Ye told me yourself ye only know how to shoot an arrow!”
“It canna be that hard,” Meghan said, returning her gaze to the armorer at work.
“Aye, it can and ye damn well know it. Why would you even consider such a thing?”
“Because I am the leader of Clan Innes!” she said furiously.
William raked his hand through his hair, trying to think of a way to talk her out of her mad scheme.
“What of your uncle? Surely he could lead your men while you watch over the keep.”
Meghan shook her head and blinked several times. William wondered if her tears were from the smoky forge or perhaps his presence.
“Why can Lennox not lead the men to battle. That would bring no shame to ye,” he said softly.
“My uncle agrees with my plan,” she said tightly. “He wishes to remain at Innesbrook with the old men and women. I will lead the younger warriors.”
William’s earlier distrust of Lennox intensified. He chewed his upper lip as he stared at her. She avoided his gaze, staring instead at the smith as he pared the heavy sword down into something she would be able to swing.
What was her uncle thinking, allowing an untrained woman to march off to war? Perhaps Lennox was old and out of practice, but the man had fought in his share of battles and surely a rusty veteran was better than an untrained novice, and a woman at that. Women had occasionally participated in battles in the past, and William had no doubt that had Meghan the right training, she would be a competent soldier. But she was more than just a woman. She was his woman.
The thought hit him like a thunderbolt and all of a sudden he realized what he was in danger of losing. What a fool he had been to allow their breech to continue. Their passionate union on the ship from London had not been a mere dalliance. He had known months ago when they first met that he wanted to make her his, had known the moment their bare skin had touched that she was the perfect mate for his body, his soul. She was hurt by his deception and he ached for her, trying to think of a way to make up for his duplicity and her father’s death, to show her his true feelings.
"Marry me," he said, his voice husky with the unexpected surge of emotion the request evoked.
Her gaze flew to his and he saw her lip tremble before she clenched her jaw tightly and returned her attention to her sword.
Undaunted, William grabbed her by the arms and forced her to face him.
"Marry me. Here, tonight. I will lead your troops."
"You're mad," she whispered.
"Aye, I am."
"My clan would never follow a Bruce," she said.
"If ye follow the king, ye follow a Bruce." He searched her eyes for some reciprocation of the emotion he had for her. In her pale gray depths, he read torment, indecision...joy?
"My clan would never follow the man who let my father die. I would never follow the man who let my father die."
"But Robert only just found out that your father had been taken to Colchester instead of London. How could he have-"
"No!" she shouted, throwing off his arms. "Not Robert, you! You could have found out where my father was if ye hadn't been so busy plotting to deceive the English! You could have forced a meeting with Edward if you hadn't been trying to stall him! And you could have stayed in London to prove to the English king that you were there for honorable reasons only--to win my father's freedom. By fleeing as you did, you acknowledged your complicity with Robert! You condemned my father to die and I allowed you!" She sobbed this last sentence and backed up a step when he moved to embrace her.
"I will never follow you," she vowed and then she turned and ran, stumbling blindly into the soldiers who were going about their business.
William stared after her long after she had disappeared into the crowd.
"Do ye want to deliver it to her?" the armorer asked, thrusting the shortened sword into William's hands as if the very touch of it offended him.
William looked down at the finely honed blade. It made his own skin crawl, though for different reasons. This sword would bring about Meghan's death, of this he was certain. With a loud, frustrated, "AARGH!" he thrust the blade into the ground and strode off, leaving the smith to deal with the damned thing.
***
“We march in a fortnight,” King Robert told his commanders as they gathered in his large receiving tent. “Our scouts report that Edward views us as a minor threat at this time. He thinks the skirmish on York a mere mischance,” Robert grinned like a wolf as his men laughed at the English king’s folly. “He gathers his troops, but slowly, for he is a dying man. His weakling of a son was on
ly just knighted and will join him on the field. When they finally march north to teach us a lesson, we’ll be prepared for a massive war!”
William scarcely paid attention as his cousin laid out his plan of attack. Flanking strategies and troop maneuverings faded to a drone as William heard in his mind, Meghan’s desperately furious claim, “I will never follow you!”
If only he’d managed to free her father! In truth, he’d cared nothing for Oengus Innes. The man was responsible for no end of grief between the Bruce and the Comyn clans as they’d vied for the throne of Scotland through the years. And it was Oengus who had poisoned Meghan against William’s clan. Had it not been for that sour auld goat, Meghan and he would have been wed that final night at Earl Seamus Graham’s keep. They would be wed and she would not be able to storm off when she grew angry with him.
William grinned to himself. Nay, that feisty lass would always storm off and she would always be quick to anger. He felt his loins tighten with sharp need. Aye, she was quick to anger, but just as quick to passion as he’d learned. Hers was a passion that scorched him like a flame and left him hungrier for her with each touch and every kiss.
Instead of a tent full of sweaty men, William saw the cramped, candlelit ship’s cabin in which Meghan had first infuriated and then inflamed him. He could recall in precise detail the velvet smoothness of her inner thigh, the gentle curve from ribs to waist, the delicate firmness of the small of her back. His fingers twitched, remembering the tangled softness of her hair. He brushed a hand against his lips and recalled the way her innocent lips had quickly learned to kiss him back. In fact, her inexperience had only made her that much more of a powerful seductress. Each hesitant caress drove him insane with wanting. Her final capitulation was that much sweeter for its newness. She had faltered but a moment and then gave herself to him completely, body and soul.
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