Highland Persuasion (The MacLomain Series- Early Years) (3 page)

But they both knew her word suited her own purposes.

Iosbail always liked to think that meant she maintained control in a world led by men.

It was with that very thought in mind that Iosbail rode horseback due north the next day. Aye, it would’ve been far simpler to have snuck into Adlin’s chambers and traveled through the Defiance, but traveling this way allowed her time for thought.

She remembered long ago whispering in King William’s ear about the Sinclair baron’s over eagerness, how it would put other newly formed Scottish clans up in arms. Too much too soon was her argument. And one that properly bent the king’s ear… a king new to such a wild and unstable country. Or at least that’s how she described it.

Iosbail remembered clearly lighting the candles, straddling King William, and purring her definition of Scotland right down his somewhat flabby torso. “You take power of a land divided. The clans rule here. You can choose to slaughter.
Such a powerful choice!”
Then she’d put her mouth where he needed it and murmured. “Or you can declare just the fraction.”

He grunted, aroused and curious.

With a sensual smile and soft eyes she said, “Dinnae conquer all at once my laird, take bits and pieces of Scotland. Threaten to take more. ‘Twill keep your people not sure whether to sell off their bakery or not.”

 It was a good, productive night. One that Iosbail had hoped would be their last.

Regrettably, young ears listened.

The baron’s son, Alexander, who spied, curious to catch a glimpse of sex, heard more than he’d bargained for. Naturally, he told his mother who told his father. When his father learned the truth he cried a mighty roar.

But the King’s will was the King’s will.

In one fell swoop, because of a mere woman, the highland laird had lost the land in which the Brouns ruled, East Lothian. This land—as all knew—would become one of the most powerful seats in Scottish diplomacy.

Iosbail steered her horse along the coast and grinned.

She had a new target.

A new time.

Young Alexander, all grown up.

She hadn’t lied when she told Adlin she would make it all better. Indeed she would. She’d ensure that the Sinclair clan destroyed themselves.

Better yet, she’d ensure that their chieftain, Alexander Sinclair, saw to it.

Chapter Two

Northern Scotland

Sinclair Clan

1094

“Where the bloody hell is it?” Alexander yelled.

“Over your shoulder, my laird!

But it was too late.

The mock arrow met its target.

With a heavy thump, Alexander fell to the ground. The world spun. The sky grew cloudy. Yet he smiled. Triumphant, he said, “Down with the enemy!”

“Down with the enemy!” the men cried.

“’Tis not right in the head, what you do.” Shamus held down his hand, hair wild, smile broad.

“Makes them happy, aye?”

“
Me
thinks it makes you happy.”

“My Irish friend,” he murmured as he stood and pulled free the mock arrow from his armor. “A happy following is a true following. Remember that.”

“You overestimate.”

“Nay, ‘tis a good thing to let them see my sense of humor.”

Shamus tipped his head and raised his brows in resignation. “So you say. Then again, wearing British armor makes for a bloody good target. Could be you made it too easy.”

“Aye.”
Alexander rolled his shoulders and flexed his muscles beneath the heavy chainmail. “’Tis no wonder they move like slugs on the battlefield. Leave it to the Sassenach to carry so much weight only to protect their delicate skin.”

“You forget too easily your kin once welcomed the Sassenach king.” With a gesture, Shamus waved for some skins of mead.

“Perhaps my da.
Never me.
Enough with this.”
Alexander leaned over and slid the metal off his body. Slick with sweat, he received the mead and winked at the comely lass who’d delivered it. Thirsty, he drank long and deep.

“Perhaps you’ll visit my chambers later?” She mouthed silently.

No need to nod. The lass knew he would. Alexander watched her walk away, smiling in appreciation at the purposeful sway of her hips.

“’Tis time you take a wife, my friend.”

“No point in it.
At least not yet.
‘Twill
be
the king’s match when the time comes, not mine,” he remarked.

“I’d say the time is coming soon.” Shamus shook his head. “There’s unrest in the south.”

“The Broun’s,” Alexander muttered under his breath.
“Ever the thorn in our side.”

“Old disputes never go away in this country.” Shamus said a prayer under his breath.
“Much like in my homeland.”

“Edgar won’t dare marry me off to a Broun. I’d rather fight a wild boar blindfolded with my hands tied behind my back then lay with that sort.”

Though his memory wasn’t as clear as it used to be, he still remembered his father’s rage when he’d learned he’d lost so much land to the whisperings of a Broun lass who’d found her way into King William’s bed. For shame the man was swayed by a mere slip of a girl.

When his blood heated not with rage but lust, Alexander inwardly groaned. Though he’d only seen the slim curve of her back and long black waves of hair, witnessing that woman straddling the king had been, by far, the most erotic moment of his life. The way the candles had flickered and she’d shifted slightly, purposefully, not so much that he could see her face but enough that he knew she knew he was there.

Had it been her intention all along that he told his mother what he'd heard?

Nay.
He’d thought about that moment a million times since. His gut told him she’d been startled but controlled herself well. Extremely, gracefully well.

“Your cousin will marry you off to whomever he deems necessary.”

It was still hard to believe good King Malcolm was dead and his son, Edgar now ruled.

“The king makes me feel like a puppet in his own private game. No doubt I am.” Alexander took another swig from his skin. “A dagger in
his
back would find me King of Scotland.”

He felt the uncomfortable tension in his friend’s demeanor. Shamus said softly, “And is that a station you find yourself wanting? The good Lord knows you’d find much support.”

Alexander had long contemplated such a thing. He’d been told years ago that he shared a blood tie with Scottish King Malcolm III. But the truth of it was he'd rather remain here than rule Scotland. To rule the Sinclairs well was more than enough. If he became king he’d lose a freedom he’d come to cherish as well as his clan. For a king carried a heavy weight that Alexander had no desire to wear upon his head. 

No, his ambitions fell more to clan ties and land acquired.

Much like the ambitions held by his father before him.

Scotland was wild and young and still very much ruled by the clans despite what Edgar said. It had been for generations and if Alexander was correct would be for many generations to come.

They’d barely made the drawbridge when the thunder of horses sounded behind them. Alexander didn’t need to turn to recognize the sound of imperial hooves.

“Hell,” Shamus muttered and turned, walking backwards alongside Alexander. “’Tis as if he knew we spoke of him. Edgar isn’t due here for a fortnight.”

Alexander shook his head. “And here I’d been looking forward to a night of good ale and even better women.”

“All hail the King!” A cry roared from the battlements above.

With a heavy sigh, Alexander stopped and turned. Flags flying, Edgar and his retinue had just made their way onto the far field. Two things surprised him. The first, the king’s party was large enough to accompany a royal carriage. The second was that the men on the outskirts of his property hadn’t long ago told him such a retinue of royalty was on its way.

He narrowed his eyes. “My men were told to remain silent by Edgar and they listened.”

“’Tis the King.”
Shamus sighed. “His word means more than even yours.” His friend murmured, “Because you allow it.”

Alexander grinned. With only a plaid wrapped around his waist and sweat coating his body he said, “Think I should run and change from these clothes?”

Shamus chuckled. “If ye dinnae mean to make the king envious, aye. But what fun would that be?”

“Aye, but to still have been wearing the chainmail!”

Shamus hid well a hearty laugh as the retinue drew closer. Out of the corner of his mouth he said, “Good King Edgar would’ve had the perfect excuse to shoot you properly.
A Sassenach thick in Scots land!”

Tempted, Alexander eyed the abandoned chainmail. For if Edgar attempted to shoot him down, he’d evade and defend, then shoot back. When he aimed to kill, he never missed. But doing such would mean killing the king. And that wasn’t something he wanted. Despite his dislike of his cousin, Alexander would never be like him… a cold blooded murderer.

“Nay, nevermind that.” Shamus nodded at the upcoming trail of horses. “Is that a man of the cloth I see?”

A chill ran through his blood. Sure as said, a holy man rode alongside the king. “Bloody hell,” he whispered.

“Makes me wonder all the more who resides in that royal wagon.
A lass
methinks. One who’ll
be needing
a man to wed her.”

Alexander was without words. Was Edgar really so bold that he’d show up unannounced with a bride for his ‘cousin?’ He clenched his fists.
Without a doubt.
‘Twas the king’s privilege to marry Scottish royalty to whomever he pleased.

As king Edgar slowed then stopped in front of him, Alexander bowed then met his cousin dead in the eye. “You pay us a great honor, my king.”

Edgar took in his attire, his face turning red. “You might have dressed properly.”

“Had I known of your arrival,” he began but was cut off.

“Is this to be my husband then?”

The carriage curtain slid aside. Completely improper according to every Scottish decree, a woman stepped out unescorted. Though the king huffed he made no move to stop her.

Despite protocol, Alexander’s eyes slid from the king to the lass. While his senses slightly registered that she wore a Broun plaid, they were far too consumed with the rest of her to be rightfully infuriated.

Long and thick, blue-black hair flowed around a figure so alluring it was sinful. When she sauntered his way, Alexander stood straighter, reared up some might say, almost as though he were a wild horse first meeting she who would master him.

He didnae like the feeling.

Not at all.

When she stopped before him and looked up, Alexander reached for the sword at his side only to realize it wasn’t there. Forced to meet her blazing sky blue eyes and exquisite face, he said not the proper thing but, “You came to steal my soul.”