Authors: Highland Princess
“Forgive me, sir,” she said in an undertone, “but if you can afford me a few minutes, I would speak privately with you.”
“Of course,” he said at once. “Shall we step outside?”
She waited until they reached the porch, but then, knowing it would avail her nothing to couch her words tactfully, she came straight to the point. “I wondered, sir, how firmly you are set on my marrying Alasdair Stewart.”
His surprise visible in the light of the torches flanking the porch and lighting much of the courtyard, he said, “Why do you ask, child?”
When Lachlan had said she must do it, it had sounded easy, but now it seemed absurd. She scarcely knew him and should not have to do the asking. She remembered that she had been going to remind him of that, but it was too late now.
Drawing a deep breath, she said, “Lachlan Lubanach . . . that is, I should like to know, sir . . . that is, he would like to know if you might possibly consider—”
“Faith, does the man want to marry you, daughter?”
“Aye, sir, he says he does. ’Tis true that I scarcely know him, or he me, but he is most amusingly attentive in his conversation, sir, and he seems kind.” She did not think MacDonald would be swayed by the argument that Lachlan’s voice stirred emotions she had not known herself to possess or that his slightest touch heated her blood so that it felt as if fire flowed through her veins.
He said, “The sons of Gillean are popular with everyone here, daughter, so it does not astonish me that you like him. Nor does it surprise me that he has fixed his interest with you. But desire, popularity, and kindness are hardly the most important attributes in my daughter’s husband. Moreover, your kinship falls within the forbidden degrees, so such a marriage would require papal dispensation.”
“Faith, sir,” she said. “You’ve told me yourself that if one follows the rules of the Kirk, nigh well every man and woman in Scotland lies within them, and Alasdair Stewart is my uncle!”
“Alasdair Stewart could one day be King of Scots, however.”
“With respect, your grace, that is unlikely.”
“Nevertheless, the Pope is much more likely to heed a request for a marriage between a daughter of the Lord of the Isles and a son of the future King of Scots than he is of that same daughter to a son of a little known Islesman.”
“But—”
“Faith, lass, what could a member of Clan Gillean—”
“His father is chief of that clan, a position to which Lachlan will succeed!”
“Even so, what can he offer to MacDonald’s daughter, or to MacDonald?”
“I would not have to leave the Isles, sir.”
“A woman belongs with her husband, Mairi. I cannot deny that your mother and I will miss you, but you will see more of your grandfather and will certainly enjoy life at the royal court. You won’t care then about leaving the Isles.”
Her throat tightened, and she felt a sudden desire to cry. That she would not have to leave had just popped into her head, but she knew that she cared very much.
MacDonald gave her an impatient look. “Doubtless Alasdair will allow you to visit us from his castle at Lochindorb as often as you like. Do not speak of this again, daughter, nor complain of it elsewhere. I will not have scandal.”
“No, sir.” Shivering a little, as much from the knowledge that she had displeased him as from the chilly air, she returned quietly with him to the hall.
Gillies were brewing punch by the fire. A piper accompanied Hector’s lute, and Hector was singing another ballad, this one less ribald, more haunting. Folks had drawn benches up and were nodding and tapping toes in time to the music.
Mairi moved closer. It was hard to imagine Hector being ferocious, and she decided that someone must have named him so in childhood as a jest. When the song was finished and he began to sing another bawdy one, she noted that his eyes twinkled exactly the same way that his brother’s did.
As the thought crossed her mind, Lachlan touched her arm, startling her because she had not sensed him near before that moment.
He smiled, but when she did not respond, he said, “I’m guessing your mission proved unsuccessful.”
“You must have known it would,” she said, glad he did not seem vexed.
“Nay, lass,” he said. “One never knows, so it is necessary to do the asking.”
“But ’tis the man’s duty, not mine.”
“I explained that. He would simply have told me that you are as good as spoken for. I’d hoped your words would have more effect.”
“Well, they didn’t.”
“Then there is but one thing remaining for us to do.”
“Aye,” she said with a sigh.
His smile widened to a grin. “I believe you’re sorry he said no.”
Resisting an impulse to smile back, she said wistfully, “If I am, it is because I would like to know you better, sir. I did much enjoy our conversation.”
“Aye, well, I’ve more to me than conversation, lass, as you’ll discover if you’ll but follow my lead.”
“I must obey my father.”
“Aye, you must, so we’ll give him no cause to issue orders we do not like.”
She frowned. “I do not like such talk. You said there is only one thing to do.”
“Aye.” He raised his eyebrows. “But mayhap you lack the steel I believed you had in you. If that is so, ’tis as well I’ve found out before it is too late.”
Bewildered, and realizing they had been assuming different things, that he did not intend to submit to her father’s decision, she said, “Too late for what?”
“I told you,” he said. “I have decided that I must marry, and I believe you are the perfect choice for my wife. However, grand goals necessitate bold steps. Thus, I require a wife whose courage matches that of the powerful Islesman she marries.”
Suppressing indignation at the suggestion that she lacked courage to match his, she said, “But you are not so powerful a man.”
“I shall be one day though, and soon.”
She believed him. His air of confidence and the near smile tugging at the corners of his lips made it impossible to doubt him. Tempted almost beyond endurance to insist that she was courageous enough for any man, but certain that was what he expected her to say, she resisted, lifting her chin and glaring at him.
He chuckled, saying blandly, “Art afraid to walk with me?”
“I wish you would not be so absurd.”
He offered his arm, and she let him escort her to the side aisle, where they could stroll and still hear the music. However, instead of turning at the end and strolling back, he continued toward the anteroom door.
“Where are you taking me?” Mairi demanded.
“Outside where we can talk undisturbed. No one is paying us heed.”
She doubted that that was true. Folks might not be staring at them, but she could not believe that no one would note their departure.
At first, the air felt chillier than when she had gone outside with her father, but when Lachlan put an arm around her shoulders, she suddenly felt too hot. She would have liked to lean into that arm and feel it tighten around her, but she said firmly, “Please, sir, you must not.”
He took his arm away, and the chill settled over her again.
In the light of the torches flanking the hall entrance, Lachlan could easily read her expression, and he knew she was wary. He would have to tread carefully if his plan was to have any chance of success.
He walked silently toward the grassy terrace leading to the chapel and was relieved when she walked beside him and made no objection, less pleased that she did not speak at all. Still, he was a patient man, and he needed to think.
They had left the torchlight behind, and the darkness was peaceful. The moon was up, no more than a white, crescent-shaped sliver amidst a blanket of stars. A slender, translucent cloud drifted across it, glimmering dimly in its light.
As they approached the grass, he remembered that her slippers were thin and realized the grass would be damp. Moreover, if anyone came in search of them, there would be less to condemn in a quiet stroll at this end of the paved courtyard than one that led them into darker reaches of the complex.
She fascinated him. Not only was she the most beautiful woman he knew, but delightfully unpredictable. The flash of anger in her eyes had told him the wee dart he’d thrown, questioning her courage, had hit its mark, but she had barely flinched. Instead, she had looked him in the eye, daring him to call her a coward.
He did not think any such thing, because she had more nerve than most men he knew. He had learned that the first time he’d seen her, when she had stood before MacDonald in his own court and demanded to be heard. And he had watched her make her case and save the lad, Ian Burk, from certain hanging.
Nevertheless, the very traits that drew him to her likewise provided obstacles to his plan. She would not be easily swayed by dulcet words or enchanted by his wit or charm. That she reacted with anger was a good sign that he could touch her emotions and stir her passions. That he felt a strong connection to her, almost as if he could step into her mind and listen to her thoughts, was encouraging too.
It had been years since he had known a woman with whom he felt such a connection and had never expected to feel it again. Still, it was not a constant factor in their relationship, which puzzled him. Such a connection, if it existed, should be more reliable. In a perfect world, one of his creation, it certainly would be.
Smiling at the sacrilege, he tried to focus on finding a solution to the puzzle at hand, but her very presence distracted him, and that, too, was unusual. He could think on his feet in nearly any circumstance, a trait that had saved him more than once from death or disaster. Now, instead, he was overly aware of the whisper of her skirts, of the wafting floral scent of her perfume, of the way she moved silently yet ever so gracefully beside him.
Mayhap she thought he was angry with her for saying he should not put his arm around her. He was not, for he had done it just to see how she would react. He believed in subtlety, particularly when he was negotiating for something, and even more so when it was something he particularly wanted, but sometimes directness served his purpose better.
“Art vexed with me, lass?”
Her answer came instantly and calmly. “Should I be, sir?”
“Nay, but I did wonder. You have grown so quiet.”
“I’m thinking that I should feel guilty, wandering about out here with you, especially since my father has forbidden us even to think of marriage.”
“Did he truly say we must not even think of it?”
She thought, her brow delightfully furrowed. “No, not in those words,” she said at last, “but he did say I must marry Alasdair, and ’tis the same thing, is it not?”
“Not if he did not say it,” he replied firmly.
“He said I must not talk of it or complain. He does not want a scandal.”
“Then we must speak of it only between ourselves. Will you ride out again tomorrow? I mean to do so, and we can ride together if you like.”
She shook her head. “Although I may choose to ride, sir, we must not ride together. My father has not forbidden that either, but he would not like it.”
“Very well then,” he said with a sigh. “I did expect as much.”
“Because you think me a coward?”
“Nay, lass, only an obedient daughter, and I find naught amiss in that.”
Nevertheless, he was content to let the notion that he might somehow think her a coward play in her head for a time. He would disabuse her of it soon enough.
“Have you truly read so much?” she asked abruptly.
“Aye,” he said. “Clan Gillean is one of the hereditary learned clans. For centuries, men of each generation have devoted much of their lives to study. My father is one of those. He taught both Hector and me, and then sent us to France to learn more. I showed more aptitude for study than Hector did, and he showed more aptitude for weaponry. Do you want to learn to read, lass?”
“I can read,” she said. “My father, too, believes in educating his children, sir, even his daughters, but I wish I knew more.”
“One can spend too much time in study,” he said, thinking of his father, and his mother’s complaints before her death that because Ian Dubh saw study as a solemn duty, he neglected matters that were, in her eyes, much more important.
“I suppose one can spend too much time at anything,” Mairi said. “Niall told me that you and Hector are twins. You must be the elder.”
“Nay, Hector is, by nearly an hour.”
“But you will be chief.”
“My father said he thought ’twas time for brains rather than brawn to lead Clan Gillean, and Hector agrees.”
“I see,” she said, adding with a sigh, “We should go back to the hall.”
“In a moment,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder and turning her to face him. The top of her head barely reached his chin. With a single finger, he tilted her face up. Her eyes reflected distant torchlight, making them sparkle despite her solemn expression. She did not blink or try to pull away. No one else was in sight.
Gently he bent toward her, touching his lips to hers. With delight, he felt her sharply indrawn breath. She did not draw back.
Slipping his free hand behind her head, cradling it gently, wishing he could feel her hair instead of the rough netting of her caul, he kissed her firmly, savoring the taste of her lips.
Pausing, he murmured, “I want you for my own, Mairi of the Isles.”
“I know,” she murmured back. “Will you kiss me again?”
“Aye, I will, but let us first move into the shadows nearer this building, where we shall not draw unwarranted attention.”
“This is where our house servants sleep,” she said, but she made no objection when he drew her into the shadows.
Pulling her against him, he kissed her more thoroughly and fervently than before. When she responded with equal fervor, it was all he could do not to sweep her into his arms and carry her to an even more private place where they could learn as much about each other as they liked.
Deciding to see how much she would allow, he touched her lower lip with his tongue, pressing gently to see if she would let him explore within.
The answer was a low moan from her throat, and hearing it, he pressed harder until his tongue filled the warm interior of her mouth. His body stirred, aching for her as his hands moved over her slender curves. One hand paused to cup a soft breast. Her only reaction was to press harder against him.