The Beast of Clan Kincaid (26 page)

He continued to patronize her, as if she were a child—because she was a woman, she knew. But she represented her clan, where her father could not, and she must represent them well. That included not holding silent as his slights, however veiled, spilled from his mouth.

“I can think of a number of important reasons they have weakened.”

His eyes narrowed on her.

“Whatever the case,” he answered, speaking past clenched teeth, and a more apparent edge to his voice. “I would like to see a renewal of good will between our clans. A marriage seems the perfect way to effect this.”

“Whom are you proposing that I marry?” It was a question she had to ask, although she had no wish to hear the answer.

“My son Hugh, of course.”

The name echoed inside her head. Her gaze glanced aside to alight on the Alwyn's son. Hugh was taller than his father, but in features and coloring, a younger picture of his sire. But there, their similarities ended. She did not know how to explain it … but Hugh had always carried shadows within him—a fathomless darkness at the back of his eyes. She avoided looking into his eyes now, because she knew what she would see.

Nothing.

“What say you, Elspeth?” Hugh said, in the same hollow voice that always caught her off guard.

She did not answer. She only took a steadying breath. Just the thought of Hugh touching her made her skin crawl, let alone the prospect of marrying him. But there was another reason for her dismay.

“I apologize for my confusion,” she said. “But last I heard Hugh was betrothed to someone else.”

“We have decided to forgo that agreement,” the Alwyn answered briskly. “As this one deserves precedence. As I will further explain, if you will allow me to do so.”

His declaration made no sense. She could imagine no circumstances that would cause him to forgo a marriage agreement made with the ward of his powerful ally, the earl of Buchan. It mattered not what he proposed. She would never marry Hugh. Still, a very real sense of trepidation settled in the pit of her stomach because … why would he believe that she would? There was nothing to do but hear what he had to say.

“Well, then.” She nodded. “State your terms. I and my council will consider them with all the rest.”

He lowered his voice. “Then please listen well, and know that our terms come with a well-intended warning.”

“A warning, you say?” Her trepidation increased.

He nodded. “You know of our king. While some of his decisions in the past have benefited all of us, that he is not a …
dependable
friend to the northern clans.”

Aye, everyone knew the clans tested the king's patience sorely with their independent ways and infighting, and that he had no love of them. He considered them all savages. Which was why he had recently made his son, Buchan, the Justiciar, to bring the unruliest of factions to heel.

“Go on, please,” she said, trying to put the pieces of the growing puzzle together.

He pressed his hands together. “We have heard the king has been, of late, regretful of past decisions made and has undertaken to scrutinizing them, if you can believe that.”

“I believe it. But how does that pertain to the MacClarens?”

Because of the council meetings she had attended, she already feared that she knew what he would say.

“Ah…” he said. “It was told to me by someone privy to the king's ruminations—”

“The Earl of Buchan, no doubt,” she said coolly.

A self-assured smile turned the corner of his lips, and he nodded his head in concurrence. “They told me that your father did not turn out to be as strong an ally in the region as the king had hoped. Because of this, past agreements have been scrutinized. Divisions of property reconsidered. As you know, the castle and the lands the MacClarens now claim as their own were to have been mine.”

“That is not true,” Elspeth said, shaking her head. Her cheeks burned with annoyance that she must stand and listen to this.

He did not pause in his speech. “As proof, I have the original map, signed by the king's assessor.” He gestured with his hand as if to clear the air and to say “no matter.” “But that is all in the past, and we are all at the king's mercy, are we not? I only tell you this because I have heard he now wonders if someone else might better serve him, and benefit from holding what are now considered MacClaren lands.”

“You mean yourself,” Elspeth hissed.

Anger crashed like thunder inside her head. She had no doubt who had started the king's ruminations in that direction. The Earl of Buchan—whose feet the Alwyn laid at like a faithful hound.

“I said nothing of the sort,” he answered, appearing wounded by her accusation. “The Alwyns do not wish to betray our longstanding friendship with our neighbors, the MacClarens, though that friendship has been sorely strained in recent years. What we
generously
propose, given your father's poor health and the unlikelihood that his current marriage will produce an heir—”

Hugh gave a low, gravelly sounding laugh at this.

“—is that he and the MacClaren council appoint you, my dear, as heretrix of the MacClaren clan lands and
ceann-cinnidh
, the … female heir of the chieftaincy upon his death, and that you immediately, after this appointment is made, marry Hugh.”

“Why would I do this?” she asked, her eyes flared wide and her pulse racing.

He opened his hands and raised his eyebrows as if it were all obvious. “This will preemptively create a situation the king will find no cause to interfere in, as you see, his justiciar—who has proven to be a loyal friend to the Alwyns, will intervene on our behalf to preserve our interests. This way, the MacClaren lands remain under MacClaren control—as they should be, and the justiciar's wish to reward the Alwyns for their enduring loyalty to him is satisfied.”

“If the lands remain under MacClaren control, then what benefit do you get out of this agreement at all?” she asked.

He nodded, pointing a finger at her. “It would be agreed that any male child born of yours and Hugh's union would be named
ceann-cath,
formally recognized by all, at an appropriate age, to one day become chief of both clans.”

A child, of course, bearing the clan name of Alwyn.

“This is quite a plan you have presented,” she said in a voice devoid of any emotion.

He bowed his head. “In the name of peace and continued prosperity for our peoples.”

She nodded, and paced a few steps away.

“I will consider all you have said,” she conceded, though concealed within the long sleeves of her gown, her hands trembled.

“Understanding, I hope, that you have no choice.” His gaze grew sharp, like a wolf who had cornered a wayward lamb. “It is only a matter of time before the king acts.”

“There is always a choice,” Elspeth answered. “I will consider all options before making mine.”

The Alwyn's eyes darkened, and a look of annoyance flickered across his face. “You do that, child. We will await your answer. Here, if need be.”

She shook her head. “It will not be before morning. So you may go.”

Behind the Alwyn, Hugh scowled.

“Until morning then,” said the Alwyn.

With that, he and Hugh turned and pushed through the curtain. Hugh looked over his shoulder at her, and for the first time their eyes met. Caught in his gaze, Elspeth felt smothered … unable to breathe—but then he was gone.

Elspeth turned to Conall, panic pricking her skin. “Is what he says the truth?”

“I do not know,” he answered solemnly, his eyes intense.

“Is it possible that he can do what he says?” she demanded.

“Yes,” he answered through clenched teeth. “It is much the same way your father came to possess the Kincaid lands. The king can give and take as he pleases.”

“What am I to do?”

“I do not know.”

“That answer is not good enough,” she exclaimed.

She paced the length of the small chamber.

“I will send a message to your father,” said Ennis. “I'll send a rider now.”

Elspeth nodded. “Yes, inform him of everything. Tell him we will return home the day after tomorrow, and that no decision will be made without him.”

She strode past Deargh, toward the curtain threshold.

“Elspeth, where are you going?” called Conall.

If they had no answers for her, she must arrive at them on her own.

“I need time to think. I will not marry Hugh. It must be someone else. One of the others. Someone with as much power as the Alwyn, who will compel him to retreat on his claims. I will have some sort of decision for you in the morning.”

As she swept past the curtain, Deargh moved as if to accompany her.

“Deargh,” called Ennis.

He stopped in his tracks, and turned around. “Yes?”

“We need a messenger. A fast rider—”

She did not wait to hear the rest, but pushed through the crush of clansmen and guests, making her way to the entry.

“Mistress, what is wrong?” said the youngest of her maids, coming after her.

“I am but tired and will retire to the tent. Stay here and enjoy your last night, all of you.” She adored them, each and every one, but she could not suffer their chattering now, not when she needed to think.

Outside, the air was cold, and when she breathed, she saw her breath. Walking through darkness, she took the path between two rows of tents. The wind rippled their sides, and twisted her skirts about her legs.

Something grabbed hold of her roughly—she felt herself yanked to the side.

Shoved into a dark tent, one used as a storeroom—Elspeth could see nothing—only the indistinct shape of a man.

“You say you have choices?” a voice said. A cold, hollow voice she recognized as Hugh's. “I'll make certain you have none.”

She tried to dart past him, but he seized her by the arm.

Elspeth screamed—

And in the next moment, she felt the hard strike of his palm against her cheek.

*   *   *

“Where is Elspeth?” Niall said, pushing through the crowd, toward Deargh.

“Gone, I think—a few moments ago.”

Niall quickly counted each of her maidservants as still being present.

“With whom as her escort?” he demanded.

“I don't know,” Deargh snapped. “Ennis distracted me for but a moment, asking for a messenger to be chosen to ride back to Inverhaven. When I looked back, she was gone. I assume her women went with her—” His gaze froze, fixed across the tent. “Ah damn, there they all are, every one of them.”

Niall backed away. “I will go and find her, just to be certain.”

He would not rest that night until he knew she was safe.

He turned toward the entrance, but Deargh caught his arm. Turning back, he peered into the man's tattooed face.

“The Alwyn was here and has a plan to force a marriage between her and Hugh. Niall, Buchan is involved somehow. He has made some sort of promise, and emboldened the Alwyn in his claim, that they might obtain, by marriage, not just Elspeth's
tocher
but all of the MacClaren lands.” He dipped closer, his teeth gritted together. “Your lands, my laird. The challenge before us just got a little more complicated, and I would say with a certainty the time we have to put our plan into effect has grown much shorter.”

Niall jerked his head. “I know. Magnus told me.”

“Magnus?” Deargh's brows gathered in question.

“I will tell you later. For now, I must find Elspeth and settle my mind that she is safe.”

Outside, he made way toward her tent, but along the way, a sound caught his ear. From inside one of the supply tents, came a man's voice muttering in a threatening tone—and a woman's muffled, but terrified cries, which he immediately recognized as Elspeth's.

His heart seized in his chest, and he knew terror such as he had never known. Pushing inside, lunging into the darkness he perceived the vague outline of a man, crouched on the ground.

Then came the sound of a fist striking flesh. The man's head flew back and he grunted in pain.

“You'll pay dearly for that,” he growled, bending down again.

“No,
you
will,” growled Niall, tearing him up and onto his feet and spinning him round so that for one brief moment they faced one another in the dark.

Light from the tent's open flap revealed Hugh sneering back at him.

Niall slammed a fist into his face.

“Ooof,” Hugh grunted, going down hard on his back.

Rage consumed Niall—more powerful and
personal
than anything he had ever experienced on a battlefield.

Hugh pushed up, but Niall fell atop him, fists beating his face again and again until he felt a
crunch
and Hugh's body went lax beneath him.

Breathing hard, Niall stood. Hugh did not move. Was he dead? Niall did not know. He did not care. All he cared about was Elspeth, and that Hugh would never touch her again.

Turning, he found her standing against the far wall of the tent in silence. She made not a sound. Not a sniffle or a cry.

“Elspeth?”

She did not answer. He stepped closer.

“I am here,” he reached for her. “You are safe now.”

But she resisted any comforting embrace, backing away, out of his reach.

“I am
not
safe,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. “I will never be safe again.”

What had Hugh done to her? He felt half out of his mind with fear that her virtue had been taken in violence.

“Come into the light. I must know if you are all right.” Again, he reached for her, but she shifted away. “Let me help you, Elspeth.”

“I don't need your help.”

And yet she faltered, her legs failing. He lunged, and she fell against his chest. Lifting her into his arms, he held her close.