Maybe This Time, page 10
The lout could be merciful. He could be grateful. But, no, not him. He had to dismiss her—without as much as a whisper of praise for her efforts. She snorted her feelings on that. The man was a lout. A very large, very loud, very ungrateful, lout.
She stomped down to the small stream tumbling through the glen. The smell of the fragrant pines, though robust and sweet, didn’t soothe her frayed nerves or her temper. What had the man expected her to do? If her clan hadn’t answered his call, he’d have declared war on their heads. It wasn’t bloody likely he wouldn’t have noticed their absence. And a moron would know war with the Buchannan would annihilate Clan Cameron. He couldn’t have expected she’d permit her clan to be annihilated.
Confident that Duncan would see to her privacy, she stripped off her clothes, stepped around a mossy stone, then edged down the sloping shore and waded into the water. It was frigid. Before she’d wet more than her ankles, her teeth started chattering. The sun was warm, but the wind had a nip as cold as ice on her bare skin.
Gritting her teeth, she ventured thigh deep but, unable to swim, she didn’t dare go any further. The ground didn’t appear to sink.She couldn’t be certain of it, or of her footing against the current. Currents could be wickedly swift and unforgiving.
Washing quickly, she scrubbed her scalp with her fingers. Lord, but it was tender. Having her hair cramped up under her hood for so long had smashed it flat. Cupping her hands, she drizzled cold water over her head, rinsing the dirt from her hair. Long before she finished, the tips of her ears felt frozen. Her temper, too, had cooled.
Fluffing the long wet strands clinging to her shoulders, she shivered against chills. Whatever her laird did to her, she deserved it. She’d deceived the man for five years, after all. And that kind of loyalty, he couldn’t afford to approve. He’d have to kill her—or lose face with the clans.
Resigned, she completed her bath and left the water. Since he knew her identity, there was nothing to be gained by wearing her disguise. But dressing as a woman might affect the way he killed her. She truly doubted it, though. He was terribly angry.
Still, looking soft and feminine couldn’t hurt. Duncan had always advised using any weapon one could muster in times of distress. And if her laird’s anger with her didn’t qualify as distress, nothing did.
IN HER ABSENCE, the clans had all gathered near the Buchannan’s camp. Paying their respects before departing for their own holdings, Alyssa supposed.
Dressed in a flowing green gown, she couldn’t escape their notice unless she walked miles out of her way, and there wasn’t any sense in bothering with that. The clans would learn of her duplicity anyway. She might just as well face their scorn now and have the matter done.
Stiffening her shoulders, she walked down the trodden path to the huge clearing, looking neither left nor right. She didn’t have to see the men’s faces to know that she’d been noticed; not with the sudden silence following in her wake proving it.
Giving herself a serious lecture on courage, she kept walking toward the cluster of sage, where her clan stood gathered. She couldn’t avoid their glances, and with each step, her feet felt heavier. By the time she could clearly see their faces, more than nine hundred men stood watching.
Before she could get to her own clan, Kenrick Innes caught her eye. His face was the same shade of red as his plaid, and his jaw was clenched tighter than Streak’s when she was set on refusing her bit. But Lord Innes didn’t look like he could be soothed.
Well, wasn’t just everyone fired up at her today? Alyssa held her back straight as a blade, resisted the urge to smooth her skirt, and kept walking.
To a man, silence fell. Kenrick braced his fists on his hips and blocked her path. “Good day, Lord Innes,” she said, smiling brightly and trying to skirt around him.
He grabbed her upper arm and jerked her to a stop. “What are you doing here?”
Somehow she held onto her smile. Why didn’t someone start talking? Brawling? Anything to shift the attention away from her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Buchannan. The ungrateful lout looked amused—and like he’d no intention of intervening. In more ways than one, he’d have his pound of flesh. “Clan Cameron was called, Lord Innes. You yourself delivered the message.”
He raised his hand as if to strike her. She glared up at him. Her men circled her but, without her express order, none moved to stop him. She caught a glimpse of the Buchannan—none blocked his view—yet she didn’t know what to make of his expression. He no longer looked amused. He looked bloody bored.
Kenrick’s shout reclaimed her gaze. “I’ll not bear your insolence, woman. You’ve no business here.”
Alyssa bit her tongue till it bled, but it didn’t soothe her temper. She’d had enough, by God. She’d been asked if she was a fricatrice, been belittled for her lack of women’s skills, been dressed down in private—and now publicly, in the presence of all the clans. Well, someone else could just have the pleasure. She’d been gifted with a belly full of other people’s anger already this day. “Are you suggesting, Innes, that I ignore my laird’s call?”
“Lord Innes, Alyssa.” Kenrick stepped toward her. “And you received no call. It’s your father who should be here.”
The crowd’s mumbles and mutters of agreement evidenced their opinion, and did nothing to cool her temper. It escalated from a steady simmer to a full boil. “My father couldn’t respond. You well know that a Cameron must lead Cameron warriors into battle, just as you know I’m the only other Cameron to accept this duty. I’m loyal to my laird, Lord Innes. And I couldn’t send my soldiers and stay behind like a coward. Could you have done that? Would you send your warriors off to fight without you?”
“I am not a woman.”
“And I am. By God’s choice, my lord, I am a woman. Say you God erred?” She heard many shocked gasps. Before Innes could answer, she rushed on. “Nay, I thought not. Woman or no, I am first a Cameron. An allied-vassal to Laird Buchannan. True, as a woman, I could hide in the safety of Cameron hold. But as a Cameron, I could ask no warrior to risk his life while I protect my own.”
“I rue the day I must wed you, Alyssa Cameron.” Kenrick bellowed. “A real woman, you are not.”
The watching warriors fell silent. The insult was clear, and Alyssa supposed their reactions to it were mixed. Scanning their expressions, she saw everything from pity to outrage, and sent them a look to remind them that, had Kenrick made such a remark to the lord of any other clan, that man would have declared war on Innes before he had blinked. A few expressions turned sheepish.
Duncan stepped forward, reaching for his sword. Alyssa stretched out her arm and stayed him. “No, Duncan. He is my pledge.”
She narrowed her gaze, leveled her betrothed with a warning glare. “Be grateful we are to wed, Lord Innes. If we were not, I would take your life for your insult. I am a woman, yes. And all I have done, I have done with honor and in loyalty to my laird.”
Her implication that Innes had not been honorable in his attack on her was clear. Because they were to wed, she was being merciful, granting him quarter.
Kenrick slapped her.
She fell to the ground. Before she felt the sting on her cheek, she cried out, “No, Duncan!”
She’d seen Innes’s strike coming. Yet she made no move to stop him or to deflect the blow.
And every warrior present knew she could have.
“My lady. You permit him to strike you?” Duncan reached down to help her to her feet.
“Don’t touch me.” From where she lay, she glared up at her pledge. Her voice shook with rage. “Strike me again, Innes. I’ve shamed you and dishonored my clan by fighting at its side. I’ve shamed my laird—hell, even my king. Well, go on. Beat me. Make me pay for my treachery.”
The veins on Kenrick’s neck bulged. He yanked her to her feet and raised his hand. She steeled herself for the blow that would knock her senseless.
“Release her.” The Buchannan shouted, striding forward. “Release her, Innes.”
Kenrick blinked. Alyssa held her breath. The battle in Kenrick’s eyes was fierce. He would kill her, but he feared his laird’s wrath.
The Buchannan shouted. “I said, release her, Innes—now!”
Kenrick growled from deep in his throat and flung her from him. While she caught her balance, Duncan stepped between them, rage and disgust warring in his eyes.
She looked at the crowd, afraid to move. To a man, their expressions were grim, their eyes ablaze. The sharp wind had their hair slicked back against their skulls, their clothes rustling. And far too many of them had lowered a hand to their sword’s hilt. Good God, what had she done? They were standing in line for a turn at her.
Shivers raced between her shoulders and up her neck. She darted a worried look at Duncan. He didn’t speak, but he looked . . . pleased?
Afraid to believe her eyes, she checked again. He did look pleased. The other warriors would feel little different than Duncan. Their anger wasn’t directed at her, it was directed at Innes.
“You forget you are a Scot, Innes.” The Buchannan folded his arms over his chest. His bandage looked stark against his bronzed skin. “We do not beat our women.”
No man flinched as much as a muscle—or doubted the Buchannan’s resolve.
“She’s my betrothed,” Innes reminded his laird. “I have the right to do as I wish with my chattel.”
“Aye, you do. But she is not your chattel, Innes. She is mine.” Though he hadn’t raised his voice, his tone cut to the quick. “Betrothed is not wed, and I, not you, am her laird.”
Though his gaze never left Innes, the Buchannan’s next words were spoken to Alyssa. “My lady. You saved my life at least thrice in battle. As repayment, I offer you three requests.”
The warriors gasped. One said, “She’s Lord Cameron what fought at the Buchannan’s back.”
Murmurs and comments rippled through the crowd.
When quiet fell among the men, the Buchannan spared her a glance. “Being a woman, you had no duty to fight. Yet you did, and I am pleased with you. State your requests, Lady Alyssa. But be warned. I’ll deny any request to declare war on Innes—unless he raises his hand to you again. Should he do that, I’ll declare war on him myself. You are not a warlord, but you are under the protection of one. Mine.”
As astounded as the warriors, Alyssa swallowed her pride and faced her laird. “I request release from my marriage contract with Innes.”
Whispers filtered through the throng of men. While none appeared surprised by the request, the air crackled with tension during the wait for the Buchannan’s response.
“Done. But, while your betrothal to Innes is severed, another will be formed—imminently.”
Disappointing, but expected. And he couldn’t do worse for her than her father and she already had. Her heart thundered. “Second, I ask that you permit me to head Clan Cameron,” she paused and looked to Duncan for approval and, seeing it, continued, “as I have done these five years past.”
The crowd’s whispers grew to mumbles and outcries of shock.
Again, the Buchannan held his response until silence fell. “I’ll return with you to the Cameron holding and then determine your suit. But know this, my lady. If I grant your request, the current laird must die.”
Alyssa shook down to her toes. “Then I withdraw that request, Laird. My goal was to protect my people, not to bring death to my father.”
“I’ll consider this withdrawal.” The Buchannan stepped closer to her and softened his expression. “And your third request?”
My but he was handsome when he wasn’t growling or snarling. “Mmm, with all due respect, a question, please?” Those odd quivers were dancing in her stomach again. Why did looking at the Buchannan affect her so strongly?
“Aye, you may ask.”
“Must I marry?”
“‘Tis your duty.”
She knew her duty, yet she’d hoped . . . Her spirits sank. Well, pity. There was no escaping it . . . unless—of course! The Buchannan would refuse. And because he had, his honor would forbid him to deny the withdrawal. He wouldn’t kill her father!
Her spirit soaring, she looked up at her laird. Sunlight streaked his black hair glossy. Appealing, that. He still looked bored, but she knew he wasn’t. He was intent—and interested. “May I choose my husband?”
Duncan groaned and mumbled a warning not to push her laird too far.
“You may state your desire,” her laird said. “But choosing your husband will remain my decision.”
She frowned as though puzzled. “Forgive me, Laird, but I wish to understand. Is your reasoning that you must approve my choice to be sure he is worthy of me?”
The Buchannan’s chest swelled. “Aye. ‘Tis my duty to see that you’ll be protected.” He slid Innes a glare. “And well-treated.”
Alyssa bit back a threatening smile and feigned demure innocence. “I trust your judgment, Laird.”
The Buchannan’s expression softened. “Of course, you do. I’m your laird, Alyssa.”
Dear God, he’d no idea what he’d done. He had taken her bait! Her knees knocked together and she prayed for courage. “If I must marry—”
“You must.”
“Then, my third request, Laird Buchannan, is to marry . . . you.”
His brows shot up. “What?”
He looked shocked. Certainly he was shocked; how could he not be? No woman would dare ask her laird to take her to wife. At least none had—until now. But she was desperate to save her father. “If I must marry, I request—”
“I heard your request, woman.”
Hoping she looked innocent, she glanced up at him. “You would treat me well—’tis your nature—and surely you approve yourself suitable.” She paused to pretend to weigh a matter, then went on. “And, well, I think you are able to protect me. Don’t you agree?”
Duncan groaned, deep as the tortured.
James MacMillian wailed. “Aw, hell.”
David gasped “Sweet Christ,” and his jaw fell slack.
With each negative reaction, Alyssa felt more droplets of sweat pop out on her skin. Even the wind stilled, waiting. She had issued a challenge no man, least of all a chieftain, could deny answering.
Just when Alyssa was sure he’d murder her, she saw the white line circling his mouth fade. He reared back and roared laughter. The clans, save Innes’s, joined him.
Alyssa frowned. This wasn’t the reaction she’d planned on getting. She slid the men a withering glare to silence them, then looked back at the giant. “I didn’t mean to amuse you, Laird. I was serious.”
“By God, you are an insolent lass.”
“Insolent?” Alyssa fairly shouted to be heard above the laughter. “Nay, I’m not. I don’t jest in matters that affect the future of my clansmen.”
The truth in that comment restored quiet. Tension mounted. Alyssa’s nerves strung tighter than a stretched rope. When he didn’t respond and she couldn’t stand the wait another minute, she prodded him. “Well, do you grant or deny my request?”
The Buchannan sobered. “You do not jest?”
“About the security of my clan?” She thrust out her chin. “Nay, Laird, I do not jest. You offer more security to my clan than any other man known to me.”
His gaze grew solemn, measuring. He brazenly scanned her length, his expression as masked as if carved in stone. She stiffened, swearing if he’d been any other man, he would regret that look. But he was her laird. In the eyes of Scotland, it was his right to do with her what he wished. So in silence, she weathered his perusal, promising herself that later he’d somehow pay for her embarrassment.
“David.” The laird abruptly turned to his second.
“Yes, Kevan.”
“Summon the priest.” The Buchannan smiled and, while there was certainly humor in it, there wasn’t a speck of warmth. “Saddling another with the tortures of controlling the hellion is an unfair test to any man’s loyalty, eh?”
Silence fell. Seeing spots, Alyssa blinked and reminded herself to breathe. But even sucking in deep gulps of air didn’t seem to help her starved lungs. Her chest fairly throbbed. “You—you accept? You mean to marry me?”
The Buchannan’s voice thundered. “I wed!”
It was a short speech, but long enough to state his intent. Shouts and raucous roars rolled through the hills.
Near to fainting, Alyssa pressed her hands to her middle. She wouldn’t lose her stomach. No matter what, she wouldn’t. What in pity’s sake had she done? The man wasn’t supposed to agree. He was supposed to feel guilty because he refused. He was supposed to not kill her father.
Sensing someone’s gaze boring into her, she looked and clashed gazes with Kenrick Innes. Hatred burned in his eyes, a dark and evil hatred that threatened her a hundred fold more than his striking her had. Her heart turned stone cold. He gave her no choice. She glared back at her former betrothed and solemnly nodded.
The message sent had been received and answered.
They were enemies.
Until death.
Five
SOME PREDICTED the Buchannan would kill her within a month.
Some predicted Lady Alyssa would have him crazed within a week.
And some predicted King Edgar would kill them both long before any of the other forecasts came to pass.
On hearing of the prophecies circulating among the warriors, Lady Alyssa took to her horse without disclosing her thoughts on the matter. But Duncan knew from the way she shot out of the camp, riding hell-bent-for-leather, she was none too pleased.
And when David reported the predictions to his laird, Kevan’s deep rumbling laughter echoed through the Highlands.
Sitting beside the campfire, David slapped the dust from his boot and frowned over at his laird. “‘Tis no time for laughter, Kevan. The men admire her prowess, but I’ve heard more than one question her—”
