She snorted. “What a memory to build a marriage on.”
“There are others.” He took her hand and led her back over to the stairs, pulling her down onto his lap. “We swam naked together in the loch when we were bairns. Your da liked Jamie a lot, as I recall.”
“He thought you were a quarrelsome wee beast,” she said dryly, leaning her head against his. Then: “Jamie, why did you and the chieftain have words?”
He hesitated, his brawny arms tightening around her waist as if he knew she’d flee when he admitted the truth. “Lass, what I’m going to confess will hurt ye deeply, but I’d not have the chieftain tell ye out of spite. He caught me wi’ one of yer clanswomen.”
“Caught you what?”
“You know.”
“Caught you—” She stiffened in his arms as comprehension dawned. “You pig, Jamie MacFay. You incredible, disgusting pig. I wish I had that hammer right now.”
She struggled to escape, but he held her fast, grinning in approval at her temper. “The way I see it, I’m winning ye by default, Marsali Hay. There’s no other man wi’ the stamina to handle ye.”
“You’re a disgusting beast, Jamie.”
“Aye, but all that’ll stop the day we take our vows. From what yer friends say, it’s either me or a lifetime of spinster-hood in yer brother’s cottage. And if I betrayed ye in body, ’tis nothing compared to the way you looked after the chieftain just a few minutes ago.”
She wriggled to her feet. When she backed away, her hair fell streaming around her stricken face. “It’s that obvious, is it?”
“To me it is.” He rose and took her hands in his. “I need yer dowry, Marsali, and I’ve wanted ye for years. If we live a
long life and raise a family, then so be it. But if we die together fighting against the Sassenachs, then that will be all right too. The point is that we’re alike, you and I. The chieftain isna one of us, lass. He has no heart.”
He sealed the odd betrothal with a gentle kiss. Marsali relented but did not respond. For all Jamie’s rugged charm, it was Duncan’s dark sardonic face that burned like a flame in her mind. She wished she could forget the look he had given her a few minutes ago, the raw pain of realization that he had failed, just for an instant, to hide.
Jamie nudged her. “Come on. Let’s pretend to ask for his permission, and then we’re away from here.”
“Away?”
He started walking toward the hall. “My father’s dying, lass. ’Twould be nice to have a wedding before a funeral, don’t you think?”
She didn’t answer. She trailed him as if in a trance. She couldn’t envision marrying Jamie, or living in bleak Dunlaig on the eastern coast and leaving all she loved behind. She couldn’t think of anything past the callousness of Duncan giving her away to a man he had caught rutting like an animal with another woman. She was disgusted at both him and Jamie.
She stopped in midstride. “I want to go to Virginia, Jamie.”
“Virginia?” He swung around, almost knocking her against the wall with his elbows.
“It’s my dream
.
”
He stared down at her, nodding slowly. “All right, lass, we’ll go.” He didn’t know where the hell this Virginia was; probably somewhere near London. But he’d take her there because he was smitten enough with her to agree to anything and because she’d probably flatten his head with a hammer if he refused.
He paused outside the door to the great hall. “Do I look all right?”
“What?”
“Is my hair tangled?”
Marsali just stared at him. Aye, he was handsome, with the bold looks of an Apollo. The trouble was that his physical appeal was exceeded only by his vanity, and even
when she was younger, she’d often thought that holding a conversation with Jamie was as fulfilling as talking to a tree.
“Your hair is lovely, Jamie,” she said, moving past him.
He caught her arm. He gave her a knowing wink. “Wait, lass. Let Jamie go in first. So they won’t be disappointed.”
She shrugged, stepping away from the door, which Jamie opened with a flourish before striding into the hall. As expected, he stood basking in the adulation of the clansfolk who greeted him. His smile dazzled like the sun. He tossed his flowing locks and threw out his arms to let his minions admire him.
“Jamie is back!” he cried, allowing himself to be borne forward by the small crowd who rushed him. “And he’s brought his betrothed!”
C
h
apter
19
D
uncan’s mouth curled into a cold feral smile as he watched them enter the hall. His hands gripped the arms of his chair as Jamie hovered possessively over Marsali, touching her shoulder, leading her by the hand as if he already owned her. A loud cheer went up as Jamie caught her hand and half-dragged her to the table. Donovan plucke
d a heart-
stirring lover’s lament on his harp.
Edwina sniffed, bringing her scented handkerchief to her eyes. “They’re a lovely couple.” She gave her nose a resounding blow. “To think I helped bring them together.”
“He’s a pig,” Cook said behind Duncan’s chair, and when he glanced up at her, she dropped her voice so only he could hear. “That was my niece on the stairwell.”
Their eyes met in mutual accord; for the first time the two adversaries stood on the common ground of dislike for the MacFay. But as Duncan swept a critical gaze around him at the soppy faces of his clansmen gazing fondly at the young couple, it appeared that he and Agnes were in the minority. Even Edwina, the traitor, looked as if she were enjoying every minute of the budding romance.
Jamie MacFay, reckless Jacobite and hotblooded Highlander, had caught the clan’s fairy princess in his palm. And they couldn’t be happier.
Duncan sucked in his breath as a bolt of jealousy struck him with the physical impact of a kick to his solar plexus. He had been prepared to give Marsali away, but not to a man like this. Jamie sent him a arrogant smile, as if to say, ’Twill soon be me sitting in the chieftain’s chair. I’m the one who’ll enjoy Marsali’s sweet body into the wee small hours. Her belly will swell with my seed. And when I die, men will weep at my grave and extol my bravery,
while you remain forgotten…
and unforgiven.
He passed his hand over his eyes as if to break the dark spell of his imagination. When he looked up again, Jamie and Marsali were standing at his side like a storybook prince and princess, awaiting his word of approval on their union. He detested the way Marsali eluded his eyes, her small hand clasped in Jamie’s paw. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
Despite the late hour, his entire clan had crowded into the hall. In the deep expectant silence, all one could hear were a few wistful sighs and the soft grunting of Effie’s piglets as they lapped up spilled wine and leftovers under the table.
Johnnie cleared his throat, grinning in anticipation at Duncan. “We are gathered here tonight, my lord, to ask yer permission for Jamie MacFay to take to wife our own wee Marsali Hay—”
“For as long as we all shall live,” Lachlan concluded, hurling his bonnet into the air with gleeful abandon.
Jamie smirked and elbowed Marsali in the side. She elbowed him right back, her gaze fixed fiercely on the floor. The bonnet landed in the remains of the platter of haggis on the table. Duncan felt Cook’s beefy fingers squeeze his shoulder in either reassurance or warning. It didn’t matter which. His mind was already made up.
He rose slowly from his chair. From the end of the table an overzealous clansman sent another dart whizzing toward his head. Cook deflected it with her rolling pin.
“You cannot ask for her yourself, MacFay?” he asked in an austere voice.
Jamie snickered, throwing out his chest with the confidence of a man aware he has at least a dozen swords to back up his bravado. “Jamie wants Marsali Hay,” he said, tossing
his head in recognition of the applause breaking out behind him. “He’s takin’ her too.”
“Nobody is taking me,” Marsali said, flashing Jamie an annoyed look. “I’m heeding my uncle’s advice and relying on myself from now on. I’m going to Virginia.”
“
We’re
going to Virginia,” Jamie corrected her. “We’re ridin’ there on our honeymoon.”
“Really?” Duncan widened his eyes. “Why, I should like to see that, MacFay.”
“Just keep your mouth shut, Jamie,” Marsali advised him over her shoulder. “He’s making you sound like an idiot.”
Jamie gestured to one of his retainers, his voice worried. “Is he makin’ Jamie sound like an idiot?”
Duncan’s mouth stretched into a slow unfriendly grin. The great doors banged open. “Not again,” Duncan said with a frown as Ef
fi
e breathlessly dragged a man and woman across the hall.
“Wait!” she shouted. “I’ve brought someone else to witness the betrothal!”
A disheveled-looking young man with dark hair and green eyes limped up to the table. He stopped to study Jamie and Marsali before looking up at the chieftain. A very pregnant woman followed, observing the same silent ritual. Duncan stared at them.
“I suppose I’ll have to give my approval,” the dark-haired man said with obvious reluctance. “It’s time someone took her in hand.”
“It’s time she settled down with a man and bairns of her own,” the pregnant woman added, looking Jamie up and down like a slab of beef. “Aye, he’ll do. Big on brawn but short on brains. I’d hoped for better. At least he’ll give her a home.”
“Excuse me.” Duncan leaned over the arm of his chair. “Who the hell might you be?”
“This is my brother Gavin and his wife, Bride,” Marsali explained, smothering a yawn. “They have seven children—”
“Eight,” Bride said, then patted her stomach. “With another in the oven. And by the way, Jamie, ye canna get to Virginia on a horse. It’s across the ocean.”
Duncan crooked his forefinger at Marsali to beckon her to
his chair. When she arrived, he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “Do you really want to marry this colossal idiot, lass?” he asked with deceptive gentleness.
Jamie frowned, overhearing this. Then he gestured to one of his retainers, whispering, “Is he tryin’ to insult me?”
“Of course not, Jamie. Why would anyone insult you, lad?”
Jamie accepted this and forced his way into the family gathering. The air of romantic revelry was fading from the hall. The effects of the ale were wearing off. The fish-oil candles that had been relit began to sputter and smoke. Several clansmen had passed out under the table.
He banged his hand against the hilt of his broadsword. “Well, my lord. I’ve the family blessing. All I need is yours.”
Duncan looked down his nose at Jamie. “No.” He folded his arms over his chest, his loud voice carrying across the hall with the power of his dominant will. “As laird and chieftain of Clan MacElgin, I deny you the right to marry this woman, who is under my protection.” He smiled with evil intent. “And by the way, Jamie, I’ve decided I don’t like you at all.”
Jamie’s mouth dropped open. He stamped his big foot, and six retainers came running. “Did he just tell Jamie no?”
E
veryone thought at first that the chieftain was joking. Uneasy sniggers punctuated the astonished silence. Marsali stared up at him as a strange undercurrent passed between them. What was he doing? His firmly chiseled mouth curved into a hard line of satisfaction. For weeks he had plotted to be rid of her, and now, when he could have easily done so, with a snap of his long elegant fingers, he had pulled her back into his power like one of his toy soldiers.
Suddenly she was furious at him. Not because he refused to let her marry Jamie, which she didn’t really intend to do anyway. But because he enjoyed using his supremacy to play God in her life. Aye, he enjoyed making Jamie look like a nincompoop—which wasn’t a difficult task, she had to admit—but it seemed that Duncan didn’t want her for himself, and he didn’t want anyone else to have her either. He just wanted to order her around.
Jamie jostled her into the table, his hands on his hips. “You can’t do this.” He pushed a plate of peas onto the floor and stomped on them like an irate child throwing a tantrum. “Yer entire clan stands behind me.”
“Duncan,” Edwina whispered uneasily, touching his elbow, “what has gotten into you?”
Duncan shook off her hand, not bothering to answer. Johnnie picked a path through the squashed peas to address Duncan. “Jamie MacFay is a good man, my lord. Ye’ve no cause to refuse his suit.” He lowered his voice, looking puzzled. “I thought ye liked him. He’s a bit dense, but he’s no as bad as the others.”
Grunts of assent from the clan underscored Johnnie’s opinion. Resentment was still running high toward Duncan for all the discipline he’d inflicted over the summer. By Highland standards his behavior seemed grossly unfair. Worst of all, he was actually making them work.
“Aye, and he hasna even stood the oath on the white stone yet,” one clansman grumbled.
“He plays wi’ dolls too.”
“He’s no right to be speakin’ fer us all.”
“The MacElgins and the MacFays have been friends for centuries.”
Duncan’s expression did not soften as the seeds of rebellion sprouted like barley shoots after a spring rain. Damn them. He wasn’t about to defend an action he didn’t wholly understand himself. His denial as chieftain should suffice. It was the first time he’d appreciated the power of his birthright.
Then suddenly Cook was at his side, harrumphing, the rolling pin tapping in agitation against the table. Duncan cringed reflexively, Johnnie retreated a step in self-defense.
“He speaks fer me,” Cook said in a voice that dared anyone to defy her. “I’m castin’ my vote against the MacFay.”
“So am I,” Edwina said, eyeing the rolling pin with respect.
Duncan’s voice was droll. “I appreciate the support, but you’re not a clansman, Edwina. You don’t have the right to dissent.”
“I’m wi’ Cook,” Lachlan said loudly, and Duncan didn’t have a single doubt that the unspoken threat of starvation and Cook’s wrath had swayed his vote.
One by one the clansmen threw in their support to Cook’s side. Duncan stood in awe of the stout woman’s influence.
“Thank you, Agnes,” he murmured.
She nodded stiffly, a queen accepting her due. “Ye’ll have a hell of a problem on yer hands now wi’ Marsali,” she warned him quietly.
Duncan’s gaze drifted to the dainty figure in white lace who stood in Jamie’s shadow. The two of them were whispering, standing too close together, plotting. His mouth tightened. He hadn’t missed the look of pure fury on her face when he had turned Jamie down. Well, he could deal with her anger. At least he wouldn’t lie awake tonight tortured by thoughts of MacFay’s clumsy hands mauling her.
She glanced up as if sensing his gaze on her. Her eyes flashed like fire against the terse whiteness of her face. Did the damn girl not guess he was trying to spare her pain?
Suddenly Jamie left Marsali’s side. His heavy blond eyebrows drawn into a scowl, he stalked up to Duncan and shoved him in the chest. Duncan did not move. He seemed to have not even felt the childish assault.
“Nobody tells Jamie no.”
A collective gasp of anticipation went up around the hall. Even the piglets stopped their munching, snouts lifted to the chieftain’s chair in trembling expectation.
Duncan smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile, although Jamie was a little too dense to quite realize that. Encouraged by the chieftain’s apparent passivity, he squared his palm to give Duncan another shove.
No one saw it coming, but to those standing beside the chieftain’s chair, it looked like Duncan merely touched the heel of his hand to Jamie’s sternum with the amount of energy he might have exerted to swat a fly. And sent him crashing backward down the hall, over chairs, squashed peas, into the arms of his astonished clansmen.
“This isn’t the end of it, MacElgin,” Jamie shouted from the doorway, his retainers brushing him off. “Ye’re no the
last court of law in the land! I’ll appeal to a higher authority.”
“What does he mean?” Edwina asked in an undertone of amusement. “Surely the big lout doesn’t hope to take his case to the king?”
Duncan slowly shook his head.
“I’ll go to the chief of yer clan,” Jamie threatened as he backed away from the table. “Aye, I’ll go above yer bloody head to the MacElgin
Mor.
We’ll see who holds the power then.” His retainers were dragging him away, wisely realizing they were outnumbered and in no position for a fight. But Jamie was livid, his pride insulted.
“Jamie wants ye, Marsali Hay!” he could be heard yelling down the hallway. “Aye, and he’s havin’ her too, MacElgin, ye bloody bastard!”