Authors: Victoria Roberts
Declan broke his fast and reveled in the knowledge that he would shortly be granted an audience with His Majesty. Castle Campbell.
His.
It was only a matter of time. And unlike the bloody Campbell, he had not needed any manipulation or political aspirations on his part to gain such a worthy prize. He had won the tournament simply on skill and he was rather proud of himself.
Finishing what was left of his biscuit, he was reminded of Ealasaid’s cooking. He had to admit, a part of him—a small part—sorely missed home. He wondered if his clan would have new respect for him now that he would be master of Castle Campbell. He had just risen from the bench when a young page approached him.
“His Majesty summons you.”
As Declan walked through the halls of court, he could not ease his pounding heart. He was elated; his life held new meaning. He only wished his father and mother had lived to see his success. Holding his head high, he entered the king’s solar.
“Your Majesty,” said Declan cheerily, giving his liege a low bow.
King James sat behind his massive desk and chuckled at Declan’s lightheartedness. “Please sit, MacGregor. Your skill with a bow is truly to be admired. That was an excellent shot.”
Declan sat down in the chair and leaned back, relaxing in the gentle companionship. “Thank ye, Your Majesty.”
King James shuffled through a pile of papers and pulled one out of the stack. For a brief moment, he studied the document. “I have summoned you to discuss the particulars of your recompense.”
Sitting forward on the edge of his chair, Declan was barely able to contain his anticipation. This was the moment he had been waiting for.
“Ciaran MacGregor shall hold a portion of the Campbell lands. Declan MacGregor, Castle Campbell is yours…with Argyll’s sister as your wife.”
Declan was too stunned to offer any immediate objection. What the hell just happened? Had he been commanded to wed…
the
healer
? Was his liege mad?
When the king cast him a puzzled look, Declan realized his mouth had fallen open. Trying quickly to recover his wits, he hunched over and rested his arms on his thighs. He needed a moment—or several days—to comprehend his liege’s words.
“MacGregor?”
“My apologies, Your Majesty. I am trying to understand,” said Declan, lifting his head and running a hand through his hair.
King James’s eyes flashed a gentle but firm warning. “What is there to understand? You thought that I would just hand over Castle Campbell and expect nothing in return?”
“The reward for the tournament was Castle Campbell—naught more,” Declan blurted out, a little harsher than he intended.
“And you are being justly rewarded. You seem to have taken an interest in Argyll’s sister and—”
Declan could barely rein in the frustration that coiled within his body. “Your Majesty, I can assure ye I have nay interest in Argyll’s sister. I cannae wed a Campbell.”
“Pardon the intrusion, Your Majesty. Viscount Cranborne has arrived,” said the king’s page.
Cranborne?
“Your Majesty,” said Cranborne as he entered the room and gave a low bow.
King James gestured for Cranborne to rise. “Sit and join us.” Cranborne tugged at his doublet and took his seat, uneasy under Declan’s scrutiny.
If Cranborne had a hand in this, there was no doubt in Declan’s mind that he would be hanged for killing a peer of the realm. The man’s guilt was further confirmed when he hastily looked away under Declan’s gaze.
Declan seethed with mounting rage.
“I was explaining to MacGregor the conditions of our agreement,” the king explained to Cranborne.
“Of
your
agreement?” Declan asked Cranborne, his voice cold.
His Majesty smirked and shook his head in disgust. “All that reaches my ears is discord between the Campbells and MacGregors, and the Highland squabbles that grow ever so tiresome. The lairds continue to fight among themselves with no regard for my command. I have decided to heed Cranborne’s recommendation.”
King James leaned forward in his chair and spoke in a grave voice. “Your clans have been warring for years. I cannot think of a better example to be set than by the two of you. You gain a portion of your enemy’s land but, in doing so, must wed Campbell blood. The Highland lairds may think twice before they act and cease with these trifling quarrels. Make no mistake, I
will
be obeyed.”
***
Liadain sat up abruptly, instantly wide awake. “Give me but a moment.” She sprang out of bed and hastily donned a clean gown. She was shaking, aware her day of reckoning could not be postponed forever. She had to fight a battle of personal restraint not to flee. King James had made up his mind. Why else would he summon her?
Attempting to tame her unruly locks, she fumbled to secure the loose tendrils with a couple of pins. That would have to do. With a deep, penetrating breath and a not-so-steady hand, she opened the door.
His Majesty’s young page stood before her. “M’lady.”
As she was escorted through the halls, she could not stop herself from feeling a shiver of apprehension. She wiped her palms on her dress. Being a ward of the court, she would inevitably be forced to wed. But what if the king arranged for her to wed someone as unsavory as Lord Dunnehl? Liadain tried to swallow the lump in her throat. No matter King James’s feelings toward her deceitful brother, she was still the sister of an earl. Surely that should count for something.
The young page approached the massive wooden doors, and as soon as she passed the guards, her nervousness was back to grip her. Stiffening her spine, she held her head high as she entered King James’s study. She would accept her fate with grace and dignity.
Rows of books graced several shelves, and a huge wooden desk took up the entire end of the room. A long table with at least ten chairs stood in the center of the study and there was still ample room to move around it. Heavy drapes hung over the windows and there was an open view to the fountains. The study was truly one of the many magnificent rooms at court.
“My lady,” King James said.
Whipping her head around, she realized she was rudely gaping. She lifted her skirts gingerly to the sides and bowed her head, bending in a deep curtsy. “Your Majesty.”
“Please rise.”
“Thank ye, Your Majesty.” As she rose, she caught something out of the corner of her eye.
What were
they
doing here? Her nerves had been too on edge to notice them before. Why would King James have MacGregor and Robert present to hear her fate? Robert’s gaze came to rest on her questioning eyes while MacGregor kept his eyes forward.
“Please sit,” said His Majesty, gesturing to a chair in front of his enormous desk.
Everyone sat silently for a moment and Liadain tilted her head to one side, stealing a slanted look at MacGregor. He sat very still, his eyes straight ahead. In fact, he did not move at all. The man was always composed, but she sensed something was amiss. Perhaps King James had rescinded his reward for the tournament. She hoped that was not the case. MacGregor had won the contest fairly and she would be the first to say as much.
The king sat forward and studied her intently. “I want you both to wed.”
Liadain gasped as she tried to fight for collectedness. Was he mad? Why would King James pair her with MacGregor? In fact, where would he get such an idea? Only one thought came to mind.
Cranborne.
She was so disgusted that she could not even look at Robert. No wonder MacGregor appeared distraught—he must be furious. She had to convince the king to change his decision by any means necessary.
“Your Majesty,” Liadain’s voice trembled with uncertainty. “I beg ye to see reason. There is nay advantage to this union. MacGregor is but a third son and I am still the sister of an earl.”
King James pursed his lips. “Ah, the sister of Archibald Campbell, seventh Earl of Argyll.” His eyes narrowed and he spoke in clipped tones. “Your brother disobeyed my orders. Your brother sought for himself and his own personal gain. Your brother was full of greed and deceit. So yes, let us speak of how you are the sister of an earl.”
She paled and shuddered.
The king studied her. “Since you have no other relation, and Cranborne and Argyll were of acquaintance, I had asked him to see to your welfare. I have also decided to heed his recommendation.”
Liadain cast Robert a disgusted look. At least the man was wise enough to cower under her wide-eyed stare.
King James leaned back in his chair and spoke in a tone that forbade any further question. “Since Ciaran MacGregor now holds a portion of Argyll’s lands and Declan MacGregor won Castle Campbell, the Campbells and MacGregors will be joined—by marriage. You should be in high spirits, Lady Campbell. You are going home.”
Silence enveloped them.
“Cranborne, see it done this day. MacGregor, you are free to take your wife and your leave after the exchange of vows.” The king rose, as they were clearly dismissed. “Now if you will excuse me, I have other pressing matters to which I must attend.”
Liadain sprang to her feet. She lifted her chin and boldly met the king’s gaze. “Your Majesty, I cannae wed this man,” she said sharply, abandoning all pretense.
MacGregor reached out to touch her arm in warning, and she pretended not to understand his look.
King James laughed as if sincerely amused, his expression one of complete unconcern. “I have given you a command.” He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal, firing her ire even more.
Tears of frustration welled in her eyes. Robert placed his hand upon her shoulder, but she quickly shook it off and spun on her heel. She walked out of the study silently, stepping firmly with each step sounding, until she was abruptly caught by the elbow and firmly held back to slow her pace.
“Unhand me,” Liadain said through gritted teeth.
“Let me explain,” said Robert hastily.
“What is there to explain? Your
recommendation
sealed my fate. Ye had nay right to intervene.”
“Aye, healer. Let him explain before I remove his head from his shoulders,” bit out MacGregor.
Glancing around the hall, Robert spoke in hushed tones. “This is not the place to have such a conversation.”
“Fine. We can speak in my chamber,” Liadain said haughtily. Not waiting for either man to catch up, she stormed off to her room. She threw open the door and entered like a whirlwind, not even waiting for the door to close. “What the hell, Robert?”
“Liadain, watch your tongue,” he reprimanded.
Without warning, MacGregor pummeled Robert against the stone wall with a heavy thump. “Aye. What the hell, Cranborne?”
Robert tugged at MacGregor’s arms to release himself, but the massive man simply did not budge. “Word spreads throughout court that Liadain is a witch. If these untruths fall upon His Majesty’s ears, she will face judgment, and you know what happens to those accused of witchcraft. There is no fair trial. Since Archie and I were of acquaintance, the king placed me in charge of her welfare and I saw it fit to remove her from court—immediately…for her own safety.”
“By marrying her off to me?” MacGregor bellowed. He shook his head in disgust and gave Robert another shove before he let him go.
Robert adjusted his clothing, keeping a watchful eye on MacGregor. “I see the way you look at her and thought—”
“Ye see the way I look at her for being a pain in my Highland arse?” MacGregor shouted.
Liadain was not overjoyed either, but the man did not have to put it that way. As if she wanted some arrogant, self-centered, could-not-keep-his-cock-under-his-kilt rogue for a husband.
How
dare
he!
Rancor sharpened her voice. “Bastard.”
MacGregor walked forward, stopping in front of her. He leaned in so close that she could feel his breath upon her lips. “I am nae a bastard, healer. Lest ye forget, I am only a third son.”
The true meaning of his words stabbed at her heart. She had unintentionally hurt him. This was a huge mess. She did not intend to denigrate him and she would have said anything to have him released from this union.
She had watched Archie for so many years, realizing everything her brother did was always with motive and reason—advancing his own gain. Liadain had thought by merely pointing out there was no advantage to this marriage…It was pointless to explain. MacGregor had already begun to pace.
She rubbed her temples, trying to alleviate the pain in her aching head. “Robert, ye did this. I am asking ye to undo it.”
His mouth dipped into a frown. “I cannot. His Majesty has spoken. You will have to wed. It cannot be undone.”
“Cranborne, I should run ye through where ye stand,” MacGregor snarled. “After all ye have done.
Ye
took her innocence. It should be
ye
before the altar.”
Robert held up his hands. “I understand your anger, but the fact remains, you must wed. I will meet you in an hour in the cathedral,” he said solemnly, walking out and closing the door behind him.
The shock of defeat held Liadain immobile. She closed her eyes, feeling utterly miserable. “My apologies, MacGregor.” Her eyes flew open when she heard the door close. She was left alone with nothing more than her misery to accompany her.
Having less than an hour of freedom remaining, she sat down on the bed. On one hand, there was no more uncertainty about her future. She supposed it could have been much worse—Dunnehl perhaps. All that time she had spent worrying on the unknown. Who would have thought she would be returning to her own home?
Forcing herself to settle down, she began to think this might not be as awful as she had initially believed. And she was going home.
Imposing an iron control, she rose to dress more appropriately. She donned a moss-colored gown with gold trim. When she took down her hair, waves of raven tresses fell down her back. She glanced into the looking glass and pinched her cheeks for color. That would have to do. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and walked out on her own accord. That was a start.