Читать книгу The Maid of Lorne - Terri Brisbin, Terri Brisbin - Страница 11

Not one to prevaricate once he’d made a decision, Sebastien surprised himself by standing outside the bedchamber door and wondering if he’d handled things well enough. Orders, especially from his king, were orders, in spite of the fact that many times the Bruce allowed him to decide the method of implementation.

When innocents were involved, Sebastien preferred guile over bloodshed, seduction over force and negotiations over murder. When facing his enemies, there were no such alternatives. When dealing with women outside his bed, no rules or reason seemed to work.

Now, listening to the sobbing inside the chamber, Sebastien knew he would not be able to handle his wife in the same manner as he had handled everyone in his life before this day.

Leaning back against the cold stone wall, he remembered the moment of her surrender. In an instant he’d felt her resistance melt away and her stiff body soften under his hands and mouth. Knowing she was untried and nervous, he’d used his experience against her innocence, and bedded her without force. Consummating the marriage was no chore and had brought both of them pleasure, so why did it weigh on his mind so much now?

Shaking off this introspection, Sebastien nodded to the guard posted at the door and walked back toward the chamber that he was using on a temporary basis. A form separated from the shadows in the corner of the corridor and he tensed for a moment. Then he recognized the red-haired young woman as Lara’s maid.

“Sir,” she said, nodding her head in an unsuccessful attempt at obeisance. Anger flashed in her dark eyes as she met his gaze, and showed in the set of her chin. Anger?

“What is your name?” He stepped closer, forcing her to look up at him. He was a master at this game.

“Margaret,” she said. No “sir” this time.

Did she not realize the precarious position she was in? He held her life and the lives of everyone in this keep in his hands and could order her death at any moment. Then he noticed that her own hands, clasped tightly before her, trembled slightly. Good. She was worried.

“What do you want, Margaret?”

Before she could speak, an older woman reached her side and then moved to stand in front of her, as if to protect the maid from him. The sound of running followed, and a moment later, his man François rounded the corner and stopped before him.

“Your pardon, sir,” he began, out of breath from hurrying. “I did not realize this one had slipped from the hall.”

François took hold of Margaret’s arm and tugged her away, obviously intent on dragging her back to where Sebastien had ordered all of Lara’s people to stay. Another guard arrived, took hold of the other woman and awaited his orders.

“I would see my lady,” Margaret called out to him, struggling with François and slipping from his grasp. “Sir, I beg you…”

Somehow he knew the cost of her words, and he held up his hand to halt his men. The two women moved closer and Sebastien waited for their explanation.

“I would see my lady,” Margaret repeated.

“You will see her, girl. She will arrive in the hall for the meal in a short time.”

He had not thought that faces could pale as quickly as theirs did then. All of the color in their cheeks drained and they looked at each other in dread.

“Who are you and why are you here against my orders?” he asked, pointing at the older one.

“I am called Gara, sir.” She showed the wisdom of her age and bowed her head to him. “I served the MacDougalls as a healer, sir.” She raised her head and gazed at him, but did not challenge him as the maid had.

A healer? Now he saw their purpose and their mistake.

“The lady needs no healer, Gara. Go back and take this one with you to await Lara’s arrival in the hall.”

Margaret broke free at that moment and ran to him. Slamming her fists ineffectually against his chest, she cried out, “Is it not enough that you have shamed her before her people? Must you now add to her humiliation by forcing her to face them before her blood on that sheet is even dried?”

François reached her before she could say anything else, grabbed her by her hair and forced her to her knees on the floor. Sebastien looked at Gara and knew now what they thought had happened. Startled by Margaret’s words and her vehemence, he first thought to explain, but realized he owed them nothing. He was the victor here, not they.

“Release her,” he ordered. “Go back to the hall now.”

When the maid looked as though she would argue, Gara grabbed her arm and pulled her along the corridor, whispering harshly as they moved.

“I want no other MacDougalls in this tower, François. Not without my orders.”

His men bowed and retraced their path away from him. Alone once more, he turned back to his chamber and entered it. It took no more than a few minutes for him to ready himself for the meal—his only clean surcoat and mail replaced the robe, which had been a gift from the Bruce. A warrior did not have many wardrobe choices and his trunks had not yet caught up to him. His squire, Philippe, fretted over him and then followed him down the corridor and stairs, into the hall and up to the chair set in the middle of the table on the dais.

Sebastien noticed the silence in the room. Then he observed the divide among those present—the few remaining MacDougalls off to one side, restricted to sharing one long table, and his men spread out through the rest of the hall. The MacDougalls watched him with open suspicion, while his men toasted him and his accomplishments openly.

He did not expect it to be a comfortable first night in his newly conquered keep, but he had not anticipated the overt and palpable mood of anger and uncertainty. When a few of his soldiers called out bawdy comments about his bedding of the Maid of Lorne, and the rumbling began to bubble up among the crowd, he knew he had underestimated the situation, after all. From the belligerent expressions on the faces of the MacDougalls he knew that war would break out anew if he brought Lara here now.

Motioning to one of the guards, he gave new orders about visitations to his wife and sent the man off. Then, with a word to Philippe, he climbed the dais and sat at the table that had so recently hosted his enemy.

Security was his first concern, and seeing the keep and those in it under his firm control his first priority. It mattered not to him if some here thought he saved their lady some embarrassment. If it helped gain their compliance, all the better.

Guile over bloodshed.

Without the distraction of his wife in the hall, Sebastien finished his meal quickly and then called his commanders to make plans for holding Dunstaffnage and moving forward with the Bruce’s battle plans to take the west of Scotland.

Her nose itched.

Lara ignored it for as long as she could before opening her eyes to face this new day. Untangling the layers of her cloak from over her arms, she could finally reach up and rub the irritation away. It would not be so easy to rid herself and her clan of the invaders who now held her home and her siblings in their grasp.

Light poured in through the opening in the wall, and she tried to loosen muscles that were stiff from sitting rigidly through the night. After Margaret and Gara’s short but welcomed visit, she’d dragged her father’s chair to the farthest corner of the chamber and fallen asleep there.

She would not lie waiting for him in the bed where he had…they had…And she would not face him in any manner but fully dressed and ready to defend herself from anything else he’d planned. The necessary requirements for him to prove his claim had been made, and she did not intend to share his bed again.

From Margaret, Lara had discovered that her sister and brother were being held, apparently safely for the moment, in a chamber with several of the younger women who had remained in the keep. On Lord Sebastien’s orders, no one had been accosted or harmed.

Pushing off her cloak, Lara stretched out her arms and tried to release the tightness between her shoulders. Looking around the room, she saw so many reminders of her father.

No word of his end had reached her. Neither of the other women had news of it, nor had they heard Sebastien’s soldiers talk of it. Had he died in battle? Had it been at the Bruce’s hands, or at those of the man who had gone on to spill her blood, as well? A shudder racked her at the thought of her actions in the arms of this enemy. Pray God, her father had not learned of how she’d lost the castle and her honor to this man.

The growing noises in the corridor drew her from her thoughts, and she took up a position against the wall where the shadows hid her from anyone entering the room. The door opened with a bang as two men and then another two carried in large wooden chests and placed them along one wall.

The procession continued, with furniture and trunks being brought in and others being taken out, all without even a single man glancing in her direction. In a short time, the room had been transformed from her father’s into someone else’s. After the servants left, she peeked inside the storage boxes to see what kind of possessions Sebastien carried with him, and was surprised to find some of her own belongings in the unfamiliar chests.

Searching through to discover what was there, she never heard him enter.

“Fear not. Your belongings are all present.”

Lara stood and backed away from the trunks. The nobleman was gone; the warrior stood before her now in his battle armor, with his sword at his side and his helm under his arm.

“I did not accuse you of stealing my gowns,” she began. The thought had crossed her mind, but common sense held back any words of blame.

“This is our chamber now and your things have been brought here. I ordered your belongings searched for any weapons first, so that is the cause for the disarray.”

He pointed at the one nearest her, the one she’d been searching, and she realized that Margaret’s neat work was completely undone. Anger grew within Lara, but the cold look on his face and the set of his chin stopped her from protesting.

“Did he die at your hands?”

She blurted out the words before she had even thought of asking him. Lara clasped her hands together and prepared for the news.

“I would not kill a child,” he whispered through clenched teeth. His own hand moved to the hilt of his sword and grasped it. Now, both horror and anger shone from his eyes at the misunderstood accusation. “Your brother is safe, as is your sister. They will be brought to you soon.”

“No, no,” she stuttered, shaking her head. “I did not mean Malcolm. I was speaking of…I would know my father’s fate.” Lara held her breath, wondering if his words would give her any measure of comfort at all.

“Your father lives, Lara. Although he dishonored himself and all of you by breaking his truce, his life has been spared.”

She let out a shaky breath and shook her head. “I did not think the Bruce would let him live. I did not think any of us would survive if the Bruce took the Pass.”

“Ah, so you know of the battle then?” Sebastien took a few steps toward her and she realized she had erred in bringing up yesterday’s battle. “Did you know of your father’s plans to ambush our forces while still under the flag of truce?” Another step and she was forced to tilt her head back. “Did you know of his negotiations with Edward of England to hold this place in that king’s name?”

Lara swallowed and then swallowed again, the lump in her throat tightening and preventing her from speaking, which may have been a good thing since she did know all of those things. She knew almost everything about her father’s battle plans and his intention to rule in this area on behalf of the English king. Her father had no faith that the Bruce was rightful king of Scotland, or of his abilities to gather all of the clans under one banner.

This man would use that information against her and her family. She knew that from nothing more than the hardened gaze of his eyes.

“I am but a mere woman, sir,” she said, tilting her head in what she hoped was an appropriate manner when acquiescing.

Silence filled the space between them for a moment that stretched on and on, finally broken by his sarcastic laugh. Startled, she met his gaze now and found no humor there.

“Others may believe that tale, but they did not face you on the battlements. Believe this, lady—I will keep my back protected when it comes to dealing with you.”

Though secretly pleased at his words, she reacted to the insult within them. “As will I when dealing with you.”

He examined her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and then met her gaze. She thought his lips might twitch into a smile, but they turned downward into a grimace instead.

“Just so, lady.”

He stepped away now and she felt the moment of confrontation end. He switched his helm to his other hand and pointed at one of the trunks.

“The Bruce will be here shortly. Prepare yourself and come to the hall so that you can be presented to him.”

“I would rather not meet that…” There were so many ways she could describe the man Sebastien followed—worm, despoiler, murderer—that she could not choose which to say. Settling on a simple one, she pushed it through clenched teeth. “…bastard.”

Sebastien’s move was so swift, she did not see him until their faces were inches apart and he held her chin in his hand, his tight grip becoming painful as she fought against it.

“You will meet the king when he calls for you,” he whispered in an ominous voice. “And you will do nothing but bow your head and hear his words. Do not speak to anyone. Do not dare to address him other than to answer a question, and take care when you select your words.”

“I…” She tried to argue with his pronouncement, but his next statement not only stopped her but chilled her heart.

“The Bruce may hold your father responsible for your actions, but I will hold you and your siblings hostage for your good behavior. Disobey me in this and you will all suffer the consequences.”

The part of her that could not believe he would harm a child was not so certain when hearing his menacing tone of voice. Her gaze met his and she nodded slightly.

“He will be here anon. Ready yourself.”

This time he did not wait for her answer, turning abruptly and leaving the room. The now ever-present guard reached for the door and pulled it closed.

A clamor in the yard gained her attention and she looked out to see what was happening. A large contingent of armed men, led by the only man it could have been—the Bruce—entered through the gates in the wall, to the boisterous cheering of those watching. Lara shivered at what this man represented.

An end to her family’s dominance in Lorne. An end to her family itself, since she knew that the Bruce would not allow her father to remain here. An end to everything she had done and to the person she was.

Shaking herself from such thoughts, Lara knew that her behavior this day would determine her brother and sister’s fate. Not ready to trust Sebastien of Cleish’s words or his actions, she decided to comply with his orders. Once she learned her family’s fate, she could make plans to escape.