Highland Persuasion (The MacLomain Series- Early Years) (4 page)

While clearly she’d been poised to say something haughty her expression wavered—as if as confused as him—but she quickly regained her composure. “I am Iosbail Broun, she who is to be your wife.”

Despite the fact his King watched and tradition said he bow, Alexander did not. Instead he took her gloved hand and brought it to his lips where he made a point of giving
it
a cherished kiss while his eyes stayed locked with hers. Soft, so that it’d be barely heard, he said, “In name only will you ever be my wife.”

Unphased by his rudeness, she offered a small
smile,
thick black lashes lowered, full pink lips curled slightly. With a whisper light word she said, “Sinclair.” It was like she
was tasting
his name for the first time.

Alexander wanted to catch the single word and hold it against his heart.

Mortified, well aware the Devil was at work, he squeezed her hand a little too harshly. Her eyes rounded slightly. He lowered his head but never removed his eyes from hers.

‘Twas all that needed be said between them.

With a look meant to scathe, Iosbail turned and climbed into the carriage. Alexander watched the red velvet curtains shut behind her. In fact, he’d watched until her foot vanished inside the vehicle. If there ever did exist a truly lethal weapon against his defenses, the King had found her. He’d seen her but minutes and already…

Instantly on guard, Alexander made his expression flat and turned his regard to the King.

Edgar, naturally, was no fool. He’d seen precisely what he’d intended.

With a smug nod, he said, “Make welcome your king and bride to be.”

Alexander bowed and nodded. With that his men sprung to action. Horns trumpeted. Fiddles played. Even his kitchen had started to cook, so said the smell of fresh baked bread on the wind. While there had been a celebration planned for tonight now it’d become a grand, royal event. Old straw was hauled and new rushes laid in an instant. After all, this was Sinclair territory, a royal Highland clan.

Alexander and Shamus exchanged a wry glance as they fell in alongside Edgar’s guard. He knew now that the remainder of the night would be one made of old traditions. While he ruled this clan, Edgar ruled above him. As was proper, all would attend the king first.

“You came to steal my soul?” Shamus said under his breath.

Alexander narrowed his eyes.

Shamus grinned. “Your words, Sinclair, not mine.”

“She’s an unnatural creature,” he muttered.

“Bonnie one at that though.”

“She’s who we’ve been waiting for,” Shamus said.

“Aye, she is,” he said.

“Then we will see this through,” the Irishman said.

When Alexander scowled his friend said, “What say you and I go spar in the stalls, just to get the aggression out?”

“Nay, we’ll make ready for the festivities.”

Shamus grabbed his arm before he walked away. “She’s a Broun.”

He nodded. “Aye, she is.”

“What will you do?”

Alexander barely recognized his own response as Edgar helped Iosbail from the carriage. “I will make them pay.” He nodded, lost in thought. “I have been given an opportunity. If I am to marry her then I will be given the chance to make things terribly wrong for the Brouns. ‘Tis as if God himself handed her up on a platter for me to devour. And devour I shall.
Until there’s nothing left of her.”

“Your passion,” Shamus commented, “’Twill be your downfall.”

Alexander watched her vanish inside his castle. “Nay, my friend, my passion will be my revenge.”

But Shamus had vanished and he was alone.

Alexander leaned against a nearby stall. He had no desire to storm inside and play ‘laird of the castle’ though he knew he should. Edgar’s blatant disrespect today demanded it. Yet what was it to lay claim to a building that somebody else would always have more power over? Not much, truly.

There were better ways to succeed. There always were.

But what now with a new wife?
A Broun at that.

Alexander smiled. He knew precisely who Iosbail was and by God he was still reeling that she’d walked into his life so easily. But then he supposed it wasn’t just coincidence and eventually he’d understand why she’d come along when she had.

For now, it was time to figure out a way to shun her. She needed to know that he didnae desire her. She needed to know that he had a plan above the king even if they were married. Too long he’d been a pawn in the royal game when he was only a bastard. He ground his teeth. A bastard… a title that though his people disagreed with, the Scottish royals did not. It mattered not that he’d been born first; he’d been born out of wedlock. That made him less than the rest, no matter the royal connection.

Alexander ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

It’d never mattered much to be royalty, but to be denied his clan was another whole matter. He was a Sinclair, be it a bastard or no.

“My laird.”

Ripped from deep thoughts, he looked at the stable boy beside him.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, my laird?”

He looked at the boy, maybe eleven winters old, and shook his head.
“No, thank you, lad.”

Even as he trudged in and cleaned up, even as he adorned royal attire, Alexander grimaced. He had no desire to spend the eve with his cousin. As suspected, King Edgar already sat in Alexander’s seat when he arrived in the great hall. Head high, he made his way to the seat to the right of his cousin. When a goblet of mead was offered he took it and set it aside. This eve was not meant for drink but for rapt attention. Big things would happen.

“So what do you think of her?”

The king spoke of Iosbail of course. Alexander nodded. “She is very beautiful.”

“Indeed.” Edgar sipped from his mug. “You will marry her.”

“Of course.”
Edgar’s sly eyes slid his way. “And rule her clan.”

Alexander kept his dark thoughts at bay.
“Aye.”

After a long drink, Edgar set aside his cup and said, “In Lothian.”

It took the mighty God and all the gods before him to keep Alexander from showing emotion. “I can rule the Broun’s from Sinclair land, my king.”

“Can you?
Nay.”
Edgar’s too eager grin made Alexander’s stomach sink. “Who shall you appoint to rule the Sinclair clan in your absence?”

Before he rethought his words, Alexander blurted, “No need for another to rule. I will stay and take care of the Broun lass.” He repeated, “I can rule the Broun’s from here.”

His heart was here.

“Nay!”
The king said it so loud the crowd quieted. “You, Alexander, will now rule the lowlands. You will become chieftain to not only the Sinclair’s but the Broun’s as well.”

Had he a blade in his hand, it would’ve sliced his cousin’s throat.

Instead, with a heavy swallow, he said, “I am to leave the Sinclair’s.”

As if on cue, Iosbail and her maids entered. In full royal attire, her face was veiled. But that didn’t keep Alexander from glaring at her nor did it keep Edgar from chuckling.

Soft and direct, Edgar said, “They love you here. They will love you there if you tie together two warring clans. Lothian is far too important.” He leaned over and narrowed his eyes. “You are not. You are now a means to an end.” He cocked an evil brow.
“'Tis now your duty to Scotland to make clan Broun the Sinclair’s whore.”

Had that not been Alexander's intention all along?

Regardless, fury filled him.

This was
his
goal. Now it had become his cousin’s.

His King.

Why now?

“I declare a dance!” Edgar said.

Alexander closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Now the king would see his illegitimate cousin court his newly appointed wife. Thus forth, everything would be purposefully catered toward the crowd.

After all, the king’s puppets would be married by dawn.

Calmly enraged, strangely accepting, Alexander watched his bride walk forward and bow. As dictated he stood, bowed and walked to her. Hand in hand, they walked the line. A dance that portrayed they accepted all.

He didn’t look at her.

Had no need.

The pipes trilled.

The crowd remained silent.

When the laird danced with his wife-to-be, all were to remain silent and worship. Alexander ignored her sweet ginger scent, he overlooked her petite stature, but he did not hesitate to swing her hand the king’s way the moment the music ended.

 “Coward,” she whispered as he turned away and took another’s arm.

He was no coward, but courageous and cornered. The next time their turn passed in dance he whispered, “”Twill not be an easy marriage for you, lass.”

Iosbail’s eyes narrowed as she was swung into another’s arms.

Despite his frustration with the situation, Alexander could admit that he enjoyed the lass’s fire. Faced with a foreign clan and a marriage to a man who obviously despised her, she showed no fear. Instead, as seen from the onset, she seemed quite up to the challenge.

Alexander found himself unpleasantly eager to rise to that challenge.

Perhaps he’d had it all wrong when he thought to shun her.

It suddenly seemed a far better revenge to first seduce then turn away her young and very broken heart.

Chapter Three

Iosbail stood across from Alexander and tuned out the holy man’s words. Everything was falling perfectly into place. As suspected, King Edgar was an easy target for seduction. She’d not even needed to bed the swine. All she’d needed to do was bat her lashes and present a reason why Alexander be removed from the Sinclair holding. Sometimes simple politics and taking advantage of family rivalry was indeed the best weapon. It was easy enough to convince the king she was the daughter of the recently deceased Broun laird and that a tie with the Sinclair’s would provide her clan the leadership it was so in need of.

Now she stood across from her target with
a calm
, accepting expression. While she’d tried her best to be submissive with the man—a tactic that worked with most—she found it much more natural to be defiant.

It seemed Alexander liked
a lass
with a little fire in her blood.

From beneath her veil, Iosbail once more let her eyes wander over the fine-cut Highlander. She’d not expected the young, gangly boy to grow into such a handsome specimen. His Norseman blood showed true in his tall, muscled frame. Classically Nordic, his face well represented the gods his ancestors once worshiped. Chiseled cheekbones gave way to a strong jaw. Curved well, Alexander’s lips were designed specifically for seduction. His hair was cut shorter than currently fashionable and its color mixed light brown with varying shades of wheat. Perfectly sun-tipped she supposed.

But the feature that had gained her full attention was his eyes.

Like the steel of a sword when it glowed within the hottest point of flame. Beneath dark slashed brows, they were molten silver. A breathtaking shade consisting of pale gray in the center rimmed with a dark, brooding gray. Somehow, despite all her long years, she’d never seen the like. They seemed the sort of eyes that could easily and ruthlessly cut through to a person’s heart… their very soul.