Highland Scandal Page 2

  One more thing denied Lachlan. Nay, he was not feeling pity for himself. Never. His temper roared like a hundred Highlanders on a charge. He pushed away from the wall, only realizing Caelen had left him. Halfway out of the courtyard, he turned back. His duty was to stand with MacLean.

  He took his place at MacLean’s side. Ailsa craned her neck to look around her husband and looked at him for few moments too long. Duncan and the Lairdess welcomed Laird Murray and his son. Caelen and the Laird shared a quick greeting.

  “The bridegroom is here, but where is the bride?”

  “She is cleaning up from her journey.”

  Laird Murray slapped his son on the back. “You ought to do the same.”

  Eacharn nodded. “I do wish to meet her at my best.” He stood beside his father as Duncan and Caelen spoke of Hakon’s return home.

  “He is near Orkney. He should reach shore in mere days,” Caelen said. “From the shore, my clanfolk have spotted the ships.”

  “They will send an envoy for peace,” Duncan said.

  “Why?” Laird Murray asked. “I would fight again.”

  “Hakon is old. The isles are too far for him to govern if they bow down to his rule.”

  Lachlan listened to the men discuss the skirmish at Largs. To him, the fighting was less than a skirmish more of a forceful disagreement. The king, like his father before him, wanted those lands as part of Scotland.”

  “Lachlan,” Eacharn said, approaching him. “’Tis a while since we have met, but I have heard stories from a priest.”

  “It is all true.”

  “That I never doubted. I wish to speak to you, privately. Come join me for a drink.”

  Duncan and Ailsa led the way into the great hall. Lachlan stepped behind Caelen and the laird with Eacharn at his side. Lachlan poured them wine, and then handed the wooden cup to Eacharn. They moved away from the others speaking.

  Lachlan took a long taste. “What can I help you with?”

  Eacharn had taken a sip. He tapped a finger against the cup.

  Lachlan smacked his lips. He wanted to talk about Rowen. Men came to him to find out about bedding, what the lasses’ like, even what to say. He looked about the hall for an escape. MacLean stood with Laird Murray and Caelen. A few MacLean men gathered about along with some Murray men. Here he would remain even though he couldn’t have this talk.

  “I seek your advice. I know Rowen has spent a great deal of time here…since her brother was fostered here and being MacLean’s commander. I was hoping you could tell me more about her. Caelen told me that she is the most proper of ladies. I believe he worries that I am having doubts but I want to learn more about her.”

  Lachlan took another sip. The wine tasted sour. Speaking of her to another man. A burn flared through his chest. “She is as her brother described. She has a sharp mind, so always be honest with her. She will take time to be comfortable with you, but she will not be rude. She has a wicked humor and a keen sense of family. Also try not to stare at her. She does not like it.”

  Her face flashed in his mind. Her pale, golden hair glowed about her face like a halo. The ghostliness of her skin unmarred by even a blemish. Her steady, aquamarine blue gaze revealed nothing and could make a highlander tremble. The notched angle of her chin when surrounded by those people she was unacquainted with. People thought she was haughty. In a way, she was, but there was warmth behind her icy demeanor.

  Lachlan tossed back the rest of his wine, and then wiped his mouth on his forearm. Eacharn pressed his lips together and nodded as if acknowledging Lachlan’s love for Rowen.

  “So, give her time and take nothing to heart. She will open up to me.”

  Lachlan nodded, afraid his voice might betray him.

  “I thank you, Lachlan. I know this is hard for you.” Eacharn clapped him on the arm before he walked away.

  Lachlan stared into the empty glass and then set it on a stool. He moved to escape from the smoky hall, but then halted.

  Rowen stood between him and his exit. Her arisaid was of the finest material with the edge embroidered with a saffron design. The light color seemed bright against her embroidered heather-hued leine. Torch light caught the fine, purple threads.

  His breath rushed from his chest. She looked so alone, trying to be unaffected. He saw the small waver in her armor, a quick straightening of her leine. Her pink, plump mouth parted slightly and she held his gaze. The air crackled. He could hear it snap. She moved and he noticed Ailsa at her side.

  Lachlan slipped from the hall and away from her.

  A fortnight and she would be gone.

  Forever.

  Chapter Two

  Eacharn met her as she joined the others. Laird Murray pushed aside his son and stared at her. Rowen raised her chin. Her nostrils pinched at the stench of sweat, wine, and unwashed flesh. His heavily hooded eyes obscured his gaze. Her hairs lifted. She leaned away from him when she wanted to flee.

  “You may not be wed yet, lass, but I welcome you to the clan.” Laird Murray raised his cup.

  Eacharn pushed aside his father. She waited for the shiver that happened when men looked upon her. He smiled warmly.

  “Forgive me, I didn’t clean up. Perhaps, you will walk with me.”

  His voice was gritty and possessed warmth. His smile seemed genuine.

  Her shoulders lowered from around her ears. “I shall.”

  In silence, they headed from the great hall and up to the battlements. The wind blew about, sending her hair blowing across her face. She grabbed the ends, twisted the length of her strands, and tucked them in her arisaid. She took in the landscape while he fastened his attention on her. At first, she ignored it. She felt his regard bore into her as his gleaming blue-eyed gaze flittered over every sliver of her face. The moment dragged on. A hot, prickled itch spread from her cheek down her neck. She clenched her jaw, feeling as if the bone could turn to dust in any moment.

  “Enough of your staring. It is unnerving.” His gaze had not turned away from her. Much like his father, he possessed hooded eyes. Between the heavy lids, the piercing blue hue shone brightly. The color proclaimed his Celtic roots.

  His brows resembled half circles and made him look comical as they rose up, pleating his small forehead. His cheeks flushed a deeper red. His thin lips formed an O, and then he pressed them together. His little double chin shook. “Forgive me. I did not know I was gawking. You are very striking.”

  He tapped his thick fingers together. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  She faced him. “Neither one of us knows what to say. I hope our union will have better conversations.”

  His arms dropped to his side. “Me too. All arrangements happened very swiftly. My father talked about it one eve, and then it seemed we were to wed. Rowen, I promise to be a good husband to you. I do not beat women and hope one day we will have some tenderness.”

  “I am glad. I wish for some tenderness as well. Let us begin with a friendship.”

  “Aye. Samhain is days away.”

  “You have heard the stories? Of course, they have spread across Scotland. I am not a witch.”

  “I know. You are the MacKenzie banshee. I hope you will protect the Murray clan as you do your own.”

  “I do not ride out in battle,” she bit out and looked down her nose at him.

  He gave a nervous chuckle. “This was not how I planned this to go. I meant to be charming. I hope that you will give a piece of your loyalty to the Murray clan.”

  “That will depend upon my treatment.”

  “I vow that no one shall treat you less than your station deserves.”

  His thick, black hair swayed in the swirling breeze and added a fierceness to him. His bright eyes softened. He was earnest. How much did he wish for this union? More than herself, she knew. She swallowed.

  “You cannot make such a promise.”

  His black brows pinched. “I can because I shall treat you as your position as my wife demands. I shall not allow anything less from my people.
”

  “I believe you.”

  He smiled with such relish his eyes became crinkled slits. “Let’s return so I can clean up before the evening meal.” He motioned her ahead of him. She walked to the stairs.

  Her hopes rose. She looked over her shoulder at him. Eacharn wasn’t domineering, but commanding. If not for her giving up the man she loved, Rowen would have entered this marriage with more hope than she felt.

  Reaching the hall, he departed to clean up. The reinforced door opened, sending in the Highland air that carried the scent of rain. Lachlan walked by her and whispered, “Tonight.”

  No other words were needed. She knew the exact location and time. A white-heat raced through her.

  He loved her.

  That made everything worse.

  “Your opinion of him?” Caelen asked.

  “Everything you said sounds like a command.”

  “It is. Now, tell me.”

  She debated whether to tell him or not. The man didn’t need any more boast to his hauteur. “He is as you say. Pride is a sin.” She raised a finger in rebuff.

  “I am not being prideful. I’m right.”

  The garrison marched in the great hall in a cacophony of male guffaws and grunting tones. A racket shook through the hall at the thump of the benches being pulled out and the pound of their hands against the trestle tables. Her head thumped in rhythm with the noise. Rowen steeled herself. Silly, aye, but she would be sharing this meal with Eacharn and Lachlan. During her other visits, she had sat with Lachlan—when Caelen wasn’t forcing them apart.

  Duncan appeared with Ailsa at his side. Rowen took her position alongside her brother and walked to the dais. She might be acting histrionically, but this night, her old life was over. She stood beside her seat and the first face she saw was Lachlan’s. She wasn’t ready to leave him behind…yet.

  A feast spread before her, not that Rowen tasted one morsel of it. She presented her best manners. Truth was Eacharn did make the meal less tense. He had an easy laugh that stirred her own laughter.

  “I had meant to show the wee lad how to balance the point of the blade on my fingertip. It balanced there”—Eacharn pointed to the exact point on his finger—“the firelight glinted off the sharp point. Then it teetered and fell. The point buried right in my foot. I stood there, unsure what to do. I knew I couldn’t leave it in my foot.” He leaned toward her. “But I didn’t want to pull it out. Tell no one.” He leaned back. “Gathering my courage, I bent down to pull it out. I lost my balance. My arms flapped back like a duck about to take flight. I fell over and onto the lad. I do not know who was more surprised, me or the lad. As luck would have it, the blade popped right out.” He laughed. He bowed his head, sending his thick, black hair to flap about with every move. Eacharn resembled a naughty boy getting away with a little trick.

  Rowen smiled. “You find the oddest things humorous.”

  He hooked a finger under his earlobe. “I heard your laughter.”

  “Guilty. You do tell a grand tale.”

  He laid his hand on her own. She did not jerk away from it. His touch wasn’t vile. That didn’t mean that she didn’t feel tightness settle in her breast. She snuck a glance at Lachlan. He was refilling his cup.

  Laird Murray’s croaky voice rose about the other conversations. “Tomorrow shall be a good hunt. Will you be joining us, Mistress MacKenzie?” Oil shined around his mouth.

  “Aye, I do love to hunt.”

  Caelen shared a warm glance with her. Hunting was an activity they both shared with their father. She had not joined one since his death. She had tried, readying her horse, yet she never mounted.

  “Caelen had told me how you killed a boar. You are a fierce woman,” Eacharn said.

  “I did not kill it with my bare hands.”

  “Rowen, do not diminish your accomplishment. You should boast to all. I would have it proclaimed.”

  “Women are more modest, but next time, I shall. Sadly, the beast has been eaten and its parts used for objects, otherwise I would wear the skin as my trophy.”

  “Exactly. Perhaps its head as a lovely headdress.”

  “I would surely frighten all.”

  Eacharn craned his head to meet her eyes. “Nay, they would tremble in righteous fear.”

  “You do say the most wonderful things.” She shook her head ruefully.

  “Good. I would not want otherwise.”

  “I find that I do like you.” She blinked at him, surprised at her own confession.

  “Once more—good. It bodes well for us.”

  “That it does.” Her lashes fell to cover her embarrassment. As they swept up, she caught Lachlan watching her. His easy expression was missing. A servant stepped between them, blocking him from her view. Her chest constricted as if someone reached into her and stole her breath. The servant moved away. Lachlan had turned from her and laughed with the man beside him.

  Servants swept in and cleared the tables. Eacharn led her to a bench facing the dais. The harper sat and began playing.

  Lachlan stayed far from her. There were moments when their eyes met over the heads of the audience. She loved those moments. Her cheeks heated. When she looked away, she felt a tug of guilt. Eacharn never noticed. Each time, he appeared to be interested in something else other than her.

  Eacharn stumbled to speak. A flush spread across his cheeks. Before he could gather his words, Caelen stood at her elbow. Both shot a look at her brother.

  “I shall bid you a good night until the morn.”

  Rowen wished him the same. When Eacharn departed, Rowen elbowed her brother in his ribs. “You frightened him away.”

  “I am not here because of him.”

  Rowen spun around and left Caelen to march behind her.

  Her brother saw her to her chamber. “Sleep well.”

  Did he warn her?

  She had to close the door in his stern face. Inside, she threw herself on her bed. Her weary body sank into the small feathered mattress, not that she was ready to sleep. Her mind raced, impatient for the time to meet with Lachlan. She flipped on to her back. She rested her hands on her chest and drummed her fingers. She hummed. She tapped her foot.

  The proper behavior of a betrothed lady would be to stay away, but Rowen never considered it. To face the life that stretched before her, she was willing to risk all for a few memories to carry with her.

  From her chamber, it seemed the night had ended. Drunken voices no longer swirled outside her window. She slipped her shoes on. She cracked open her door and slipped into the hallway. She felt her way down the darkened stairway to the great hall. The castle was asleep. The castle dogs were snoring before the banked hearth. The dogs growled. She whispered some sweet Gaelic words. One of the dogs stretched and yawned before following her. The scrap of its nails blended with her breathing. She continued down to the bowels of the castle. She shivered at the biting cold, thick with dankness. Her fingers chilled. She passed the castle stores. A torch light flickered odd angles against the walls and floor. Lachlan was hunched down and petting a castle cat. The dog lay down, keeping watch, while Rowen crossed into the light.

  Lachlan faced her. She wanted to run into his arms. She didn’t. She was too afraid of his rejection. She shivered from the dampness and the wind rushing through the corridor.

  “Rowen.” His longing tone twisted at her. She hurried to him. He stretched out his arms and wrapped them around her. He squeezed her tightly, lifting her to her toes. His delicious heat banished the cold. He cupped her cheek. His touch didn’t stop there. He ran his hand over her head as if remembering the feel of her for the last time.

  She laid her forefinger against his chin. She smiled, feeling happiness, excitement, and anticipation whirling within him. She trembled from the sensation. His hand traveled down her back. His fingers danced along her spine. White-hot tingles sparked. His hand rested on her hip.

  He claimed her mouth.

  She shouldn’t kiss him back. She wanted to.
She kissed him, loving his mouth with every fiber of her. A rushing fervor turned the kiss into a ravishing one. This one tasted sweeter, yet spiced with an underlying layer of grief. This may be her last one. She buried her hands in his hair. The silken strands tangled around her fingers. She wouldn’t let him stop. He moaned low in his throat.

  At this moment, nothing else existed but his mouth. As long as she kissed him, she didn’t have to think about her coming marriage and a life without him. Lachlan was the only man she loved. Kissing him let her deceive herself.

  Just beyond her, like the darkness, was reality. But in his embrace, she could let them linger within this warm cocoon. There was nothing better in the world than this. So she kept on kissing him. Her heart drummed a wild tattoo against her breast. No doubt, she would be bruised from the inside out.

  She held onto him, drunk from the kiss. She swayed, feeling tossed about like a boat caught in a storm. His unyielding shoulders that carried the burdens of his life supported her.

  Lachlan pulled away a scant space. His ragged breathing blasted against her face. Slowly, she steadied. He licked his lips, and then planted a quick peck. Even he didn’t want it to end, but their lungs demanded air. He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. His calloused fingertip snagged on her lip.

  “This is wrong.”

  * * * *

  Rowen yawned. Her lashes weighed down her eyes. She had splashed her face time and again. The cold water failed to shock her awake. She rubbed her eyes. The misty huffs of horses resonated through the morning mist. Voices were still gritty from sleep. The dawn wind drowned away the small snatches of muted conversation. The new day’s gust was crisp, scented with dirt, horse, and leather. Through the thick whiteness, she saw the shapes of the horses. The big cock had crowed awakening her. Now, the young cock crowed. Its echo bounced about the courtyard and blared in her ears. Dogs barked and snapped.