Читать книгу At The Highlander's Mercy - Terri Brisbin - Страница 10

‘You cannot succeed in this.’

Symon merely laughed at his words as Rob entered the small chamber and closed the door behind him. No matter Symon’s attempts to goad him in front of everyone, his reaction at this time would be handled in private. There would always be time to take action against him before the clan later.

‘You have as much or more to lose than I do, Symon,’ he warned, walking quietly to the window and looking out at the frenzy of activity that his cousin’s actions had caused.

‘You are a disgrace to the clan,’ Symon spat out in a fierce whisper. Turning to face his cousin, the frank hatred in the man’s eyes surprised him. ‘They should not have chosen you.’

‘But they did. And I am not the first bastard chosen as chieftain of a clan before, Symon. If you would look past your own insulted consequence to the good of the clan—’ He had not even finished the words before Symon shook his head.

‘I should be chief and laird. I have a claim stronger than yours,’ he argued.

‘Stronger than blood?’ he asked.

Illegitimate or not, his father had been chief and laird here and Symon’s claim through his mother to their common grandfather had not been strong enough to cast Rob aside in his favour. Hence the ongoing defiance and now this frank stupidity. His words struck something in Symon, for his cousin’s gaze narrowed and he glanced away.

‘If my father’s wife had delivered a son in a few months, neither of us would be questioning our positions here,’ he offered, waiting and watching for any indication of his cousin’s involvement in the recent accident that claimed Angus Matheson and his heavily pregnant new wife.

‘Aye, but she will not, will she?’ Symon asked, neither the expression in his eyes nor the way he held himself betraying anything more.

‘You will stand in the same position now as you would have in that—cousin and adviser to the next laird.’

The elders had already given their support to a betrothal of Rob and Symon’s sister so that the fighting between the two branches of the clan could be settled and to strengthen the connections between all of them. Though Rob had his own doubts and reservations about it, it did seem the perfect answer to the problems brought about by Symon’s claims. Symon’s blood, through his sister’s sons, would rule the clan and he would be a valued adviser to the next laird. Symon’s gaze darkened, but his tongue remained silent. Rob wondered if his cousin had realised how those arrangements would be muddied and troubled now with the presence of Lilidh MacLerie.

‘My sister will not abide you taking the MacLerie’s daughter to your bed,’ Symon warned.

Rob raised one edge of his brow and smiled. ‘Something you should have thought about before bringing her here. I’m certain Tyra understands the way of things among men.’

Men, especially men in power, had women to serve their needs. Wives provided heirs, but no one, no one, would question Rob’s right to treat Lilidh however he wished. If this was to be war, hostages and their treatment were controlled by the chief. Since Symon had delivered her into his hands, he could blame none but himself if his sister was now unhappy over the situation. Symon swallowed deeply and would not meet his gaze. Rob nodded once more.

‘I have given you much freedom in speaking your mind here, Symon. But that comes to an end now. You have pushed me and our clan into circumstances that could prove our demise. If you continue to interfere and do not follow my orders, I will outlaw you.’ Symon turned swiftly and faced him, his fists clenching and releasing at a furious pace.

‘You cannot!’

‘The elders approved me as laird. I can. I will if you push this,’ Rob promised. ‘If you cannot console yourself with the place of honour and value you have here, you will be forced out. Doubt it, doubt me, not.’

Symon looked as though he would argue, but at the last moment, he nodded and began to leave. Rob thought it best to add one more item for Symon to consider as he ruminated over his choices and his actions.

‘I will not take the sister of a traitor as my wife, Symon, even if the elders believe it will heal the breach between our two lines. I will not marry her if you cannot be loyal. So think long and hard before your words or your actions continue to declare you as such.’

The door slammed without another word being spoken, but as it bounced back open, he watched Symon stride away down the length of the hall. Instead of seeking out his cronies, he waved them off and left the keep.

Since he never doubted that Connor would arrive at his gates due to Symon’s actions, he had many things to see to now. All of the clan elders and counsellors would be arriving at his call. When given the true accounting of what Connor could bring against them, Rob felt certain they would understand their precarious position and want to end it quickly. The threat to the clan, their meagre lands and keep included, should be enough to warn them off this dangerous path.

Several tasks had called to him at the same time, so he saw to those and waited on word about Lilidh’s servant and guards. If they were alive and she kept unharmed, it could alleviate the MacLerie’s legendary temper before he massacred every Matheson there. As he walked from the chamber, the irony struck him.

He would be unworthy of being chieftain if he simply capitulated and released Lilidh to her father and husband.

Though for all the wrong reasons, her presence here gave him an opportunity to improve his family’s conditions. With her as a bargaining tool, he could make things better for the Mathesons. Of course, it would mean cementing her hatred of him for ever—though he doubted she felt little else for him even now—and it would be the last time he would see her or speak to her.

And though kidnapping an heiress was a time-honoured tradition here in the Highlands, taking a chief’s daughter who happened to be another man’s wife did not usually get the same results. With one, a man could end up wealthier with his clan well supported. With the other, wars, death, humiliation, mayhem and possibly beheading or castration followed. Now, since the first was not an issue, he needed to find a way to not allow the latter to happen.

By the time Rob made his way back up to his chambers that night, several things had fallen into place. Symon seemed cowed for the moment. Only two of Lilidh’s guards had died and, though he’d not told her yet, her old serving woman would recover. Beathas reported that the only injuries Lilidh had suffered were the obvious ones and those would heal.

However, the problems that Lilidh caused had not gone away and would increase with every passing hour that she remained in his keep. Until she was healed and he could get to the bottom of this mess, he must hold her and hold her close—for her protection as much as his own.

Walking down the corridor to his chambers, he nodded to the two guards there and sent them off with a wave of his hand. Rob had already set an order for guards to be in place there whenever he wasn’t in his room, so he knew they would be back at dawn. Lifting the latch, he stepped inside, ready, he thought, for anything.

The sight before him made the very floor beneath his feet shift.

Lilidh lay on his bed, her hair spread like a wild, dark storm on the pillows. Her face, washed of grime and dirt, showed the delicate curve of her chin and the pale pink of her lips revealed itself. The potential in her as a child and young girl had blossomed to full beauty as she’d reached womanhood. Beathas had washed her and given her a clean gown. Asleep in his bed, without the fear or pain or anger that had controlled her expression earlier, he could have believed she belonged there.

And from the way his heart thundered in his chest and his blood heated his veins, the sight of her there was something he wanted. Rob nodded to Beathas, who sat by the bed watching over her charge. She put down the garment she worked on and came to him, putting her finger to her mouth, warning him to silence.

‘She has just now quieted,’ Beathas whispered.

‘The potion did not keep her asleep, then?’ He glanced across the chamber to watch the slow, calm rise and fall of her chest under the sheet.

‘It worked while I had need of it,’ Beathas replied.

While the healer tended to the worst of her injuries.

Rob walked closer to the bed. ‘Any instructions?’

‘Ha,’ Beathas grunted out. ‘You plan to care for her?’ she asked from just behind him.

He’d not really planned this, not really thought beyond Beathas seeing to her injuries. The bold boast he’d made about taking her to his bed muddied things now. Surely no one would expect him to ravish her while unconscious from a head wound?

‘I can see to her.’ If she planned to argue, she changed her mind then.

‘A wee bit of this,’ she said, reaching over to the table and lifting a small glass bottle. ‘Add it to water or ale and it will help the pain in her head. No’ too much, though.’

‘Will she sleep now?’ Rob asked. He leaned down and smoothed the blanket over Lilidh.

‘Nay. Too much sleep when the head is injured is no’ a good thing, Rob. If she wakes, let her. If she sleeps, rouse her every few hours and make her speak to you. The potion is only for pain.’

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. ‘I will summon you if I have need of anything else.’

Rob did not turn to see if the older woman obeyed. Though he expected an argument, none came. Her shuffling feet scuffed over the wood floor as she left. When silence filled the chamber, he let his guard down for a brief moment, running his hands through his hair and letting out a deep breath.

How had his life gone from tolerable to hell in a matter of a few days? How had his position as chief and laird, one he never expected to hold, passed from unquestioned to strongly challenged? Worse, how would he keep his promises to his clan and violate those he’d made years before about Lilidh? Her presence here, and in his bed, broke oaths sworn to her father.

Walking to the table, he poured a cup of ale and sat by the fire, watching her sleep. All of his hopes and fears, all of his aspirations and desires, had once centred on the woman now in his bed. He’d allowed himself to dream of having her as his wife and at his side. He’d believed he could be worthy of her and that her father would accept, even support the match. The truth of it, so far from the dream, had torn them apart years ago.

Was this the fates laughing at him? Did the Almighty have a keen sense of humour after all? Chuckling over the strangeness of it and trying to figure out a path through the quagmire before him, them, he only then noticed her eyes were open.

‘Lilidh,’ he said in a hoarse whisper, ‘how do you fare now?’ When he began to stand, her expression turned to fear, like a wild animal with no place to run. Hating the sight of it, he rested back on the wooden seat.

She began to push herself up as though to move as far from him as possible, but the wincing expression told him of her pain. Then she stopped and closed her eyes, gasping with each movement, no matter how slight.

‘Here …’ Rob jumped to his feet and strode over to her then. He reached over, grabbed the bottle left by Beathas and poured some of it in the cup of ale there. ‘Try sipping this. It will lessen the pain.’

With shaking hands she lifted the cup to her lips and took a small swallow of its contents, grimacing as the bitter liquid trickled into her mouth. Beathas’s concoctions, though effective, were known for being nearly undrinkable. Even ale or wine could not cover the less-than-savoury ingredients she used. Rob had not relinquished the cup to Lilidh’s control, so he lifted it once then twice and again before taking it from her. That should be enough.

‘So, is it time then?’ she asked softly, leaning her head back against the wooden headboard.

‘For someone who held on to her virtue so tightly for so long, you seem very ready to have your honour taken from you now. Has marriage done that to you?’

He regretted that last barb as it left his lips. Speaking of her marriage to another man was not a topic he wished to think about, let alone discuss with her as she lay in his bed, awaiting ravishment. Rob turned from her, forestalling any reply she might make, and began to put out the candles and bank the remaining flames in the hearth for the night. The inscrutable expression in her eyes when he at last turned back to face her confused him even more.

Did she really expect that he would force himself on her? He knew their parting had been a bad one—he’d shamed her before her family and left her to face their wrath—but never had he forced her. Seduced, cajoled, even begged, but never against her will or without her permission. Had Symon now convinced her that she would pay that price so thoroughly that she accepted it as unavoidable? Shaking his head, overwhelmed by the day’s events and confrontations, Rob walked to the last candle at the bedside table and nodded to her.

‘Lie down.’

Lilidh’s eyes glazed over a bit now as the concoction began its work. Soon, she would once again be in sleep’s grasp and he would have time to consider his actions and plans without her interference. He laughed roughly then, which caused her eyes to widen in fear once more. But she followed his order and slid back down under the covers.

After watching until her eyes drifted shut, he put out the last candle, loosened his belt and allowed his plaid to drop to the floor. His boots and shirt went next before he gathered up the length of plaid, climbed on to the bed and covered himself with it. Stretching out, he crossed his arms behind his head and listened to the pattern of her breaths. Soon, without a word more spoken between them, it grew even and deep, signalling her descent into sleep.

He must assert himself on the morrow and bring a calm, reasoned approach to this. He must divorce himself from acting on his feelings of anger and mistrust and lead the clan. He must let go of his past with Lilidh and handle her with detachment and logic. Closing his eyes, he repeated those decisions over and over to himself as he drifted to sleep.

And he might have succeeded had she not whispered a word that put all his thought of control and rationality aside. One whispered word and jealousy and possessiveness and all the long-ago hurt and knowledge of his unworthiness reared within him.

‘Iain,’ she whispered.

One name. With that one name spoken on a breathless sigh, she ruined all his hopes and once again reminded him of the fruitlessness of his dreams.