Chapter 3
Three days later, Flora was ready to leap from her tower prison.
The first time shed tried to leave, about five minutes after hed left her, her path had been blocked by two imposing guardsmen. Two men were entirely unnecessary, as it took only one to completely fill the doorway. If there was a man in this keep under six feet tall, shed yet to see him.
A pleasant-looking man of about forty years escorted hergently but firmlyback into the room. The laird wishes for you to enjoy his hospitality in your room for now, my lady.
So Im to be a prisoner? she asked, employing her most haughty voice.
Aw, now, lass, dont think of it that way.
How else do you suggest I think of it?
As a brief respite. When the laird is ready, he will send for you.
She pursed her mouth. It galled her no end to be at his beck and call. And when, pray tell, will that be?
The guardsmans face shadowed. Soon, lass. The laird is a very busy man.
Im sure he is, she said sweetly. Abducting any more helpless lassies this week?
Helpless? He chuckled. Ah, lass, you have a fine sense of humor, he chortled, closing the door behind her.
Busy. More like he enjoyed torturing her. The Laird of Coll. She still couldnt believe that the handsome kidnapper with enough raw masculinity to entice a nun was Lachlan Maclean. Why had she never seen him at court? She would have remembered him. He was a difficult man to forget.
Even days later, the memory of his presence filled the room. For a moment, with his body leaning over her and a glint in his hard blue gaze that made her feel warm and syrupy, shed thought
Shed thought he was going to kiss her.
And shed frozen like a silly fool, caught up in the powerful magnetism that seemed to surround him. Irresistibly drawn to him like Icarus to the sun. For a moment, shed wanted him to kiss her. To feel his mouth on hers. To melt against his heat. Her cheeks burned with the knowledge of how badly her body had betrayed her.
At least her initial fears had proved unfoundedhe did not intend to force her into marriage. But discovering that he meant to use her as a bargaining chip against her brother to exchange her for his castle wasnt much better. A man who made no bones about using her for his own ends was exactly the type of man she wished to avoid.
Up to a point.
For the next two days, she waited for his summons. Patiently. Or about as patiently as anyone could be expected to wait, when there was nothing to do but stare out the window for hours on end at the churning seas and the undulating dipping and soaring of the gulls.
Her sole sources of conversation were the hourly exchanges with the guardsmen every time she tried to leave her room, the occasional appearance of a very taciturn serving woman named Morag, and the two lads whod brought up the wooden tub for her bath.
But on the morning of her third day in captivity, her patience was exhausted. The fir-planked walls of the room were closing in on her. She knew every inch of the small space.
Fortunately, the chamber wasnt as horrible as shed initially thought. Though rustic and sparse, it was clean. Upon first seeing the threadbare linens and rushes on the wooden floors, shed feared fleas and mice. But the bed linensalthough a far cry from the rich silk taffeta hangings she was used tosmelled of lavender; and the old-fashioned rushes were still green and strewn with fresh herbs. Her pillow was stuffed not with feathers, but with surprisingly comfortable bog cotton.
A small fireplace and wooden bench took up one wall, the bed another, and a rickety wooden table with a pitcher for washing occupied the place beneath the sole window opposite the door. Though small, the window was paned with glass and had a wooden shutter for added protection from the wind and cold. Other than the door, which was well guarded, it was her only means of escape. But even if she could manage to squeeze through the small opening, there was nowhere to go. Situated on a level summit overlooking the Sound of Mull, Drimnin keep was a simple rectangular tower house with a single external stair turret on the east side of the southern wall. The laird had placed her in the uppermost chamber of the tower in a small garret. To escape, shed have to climb down about forty feet of sheer stone.
Too ambitious by half, even for her. Although if she was locked in here much longer, she might be willing to take her chances.
A trunk containing an extra plaid, a brush, and a small hand mirror had been placed at the foot of the bed. Not long after shed arrived, a tub had been sent up along with a change of clothing to replace her mud-and blood-spattered dress. In quality, it was not much better than the gown it had replaced, but at least it was clean. Shed cleaned her satin slippers as best she could with a small brush, but for more reasons than one, she wished shed worn her new leather boots.
She finished pulling the brush through her hair and headed for the door. The drawbar had been removed, preventing her from locking himor anyone else, for that matterout. Swinging it open, she was shocked to find empty space.
Good morning, my lady.
She turned to her jailer, who stood waiting to the side of the door. Well, arent you going to block the doorway, Alasdair? she asked, referring to the little dance they engaged in every time she tried to leave.
He smiled, revealing the crooked grin that despite his advanced years still managed quite a bit of roguish charm. Nay, not today, my lady.
She turned to the other guardsman. Is it to be you today, then, Murdoch?
He shook his head and wouldnt meet her eyes. Murdoch couldnt be much older than eight and ten, and despite his towering height, he seemed flustered by her presence. Nay, my lady.
Then I am free to go?
Alasdairs grin deepened, a twinkle in his well-lined eyes. Well now, lass, not go, exactly. The laird has requested you join him in the great hall to break your fast.
She crossed her arms, her gaze shifting back and forth between the two men. Oh, has he now? She tapped her foot. Her summons had apparently come. She was tempted to ignore it but was too desperate to leave the room to allow stubbornness to interfere. Its about time. And with her shoulders pushed back as regally as any queen, she alighted through the open doorway and proceeded down the winding stairs.
As in most tower houses, the great hall was on the first floor. Perhaps she should just call it a hall. There was nothing great about the room at all. Austere was an understatement. Wooden floors strewn with rushes, plastered walls, wooden-beamed ceiling, a fireplace, iron sconces to hold the candles, about four arrow slits sufficed for windows, half a dozen wooden tables and benches, and that was it. No dais, no tapestries, no oil lamps, no rugs, no decoration of any kind.
And standing before a window with his back toward her was the laird himself. The Chief of Maclean of Coll. How could she have not realized who he was right away? Even his stance was commanding. But also wary. Much like the man, she suspected.
He turned as she entered the room. The sun beamed down on his head, catching the occasional strand of gold in his dark brown hair. She resisted the urge to draw in her breath. She couldnt, however, prevent the sudden spike in her pulse. It seemed from the first, this man had a strange effect on her that had not lessened in the intervening days. Her body felt blanketed with awareness. That the mere sight of him should affect her was troubling. But perhaps not surprising. He was an impressive man.
Strong and dangerously handsome. In the stark light, the hard lines of his face seemed carved from stone. Tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular, he was a force to be reckoned with. Never had she met a man whose physical strength blended so seamlessly with his appearance. Or one who was so undeniably masculine, almost primitive in his appeal. He dominated his surroundings, radiating an unmistakable aura of authority and command that had been forged by generations of the proud warriors and leaders who had come before him.
He was everything shed been taught by her mother to revile: a Highlander, a warrior, and a chief. Yet she didnt revile him at all. It was disconcerting, appalling even, but she could not deny it. Lachlan Maclean wasnt at all what shed expected.
In the Lowlands, Highlanders were looked on as rough, uncouth brutes. The wild savages of the North. A sentiment perpetuated by King James, who referred to his Highland subjects as barbarians. Her mother had spoken of proud, cruel, warlike men incapable of emotion. Men who thought themselves kings over their own fiefdoms.
In some ways, the prejudice was warranted. Lachlan Maclean, like her brothers, was inalienably proud and more primitiveless refinedthan Lowland courtiers. An authority unto himself. Hed abducted her, after all.
But he hadnt ravished her. Nor could she forget that hed seemed to purposefully avoid killing any of Lord Murrays men. Hardly the bloodthirsty warmonger shed come to expect. Indeed, even though shed stabbed him, hed treated her with surprising courtesy.
His strength, control, and blatant sensuality were difficult to ignore.
Paradoxically, the very things that should repel her were the very things she found appealing. On a base level, she was deeply attracted to this man whod abducted her. The type of man shed avoided most of her life. But acknowledging the truth only hardened her resolve to leave this wretched place. She would never let him know the effect he had on her.
He held her gaze as she approached. As she drew closer, she could see that something was different. He looked tired and slightly pale. As if hed been ill.
The realization struck. He had been ill. He hadnt been ignoring her; hed been recovering from his wound. He was human, after all.
She halted a few feet away from him, plastering her hands to her side before she did something embarrassing like reach out and touch his arm. Youve been unwell.
His already gruff expression hardened. No. Im sorry you were confined to your room, but I had other matters to attend to.
He lied. He was not the type of man to explain his actions. Obviously, he was too proud to condescend to weakness of any kind.
The same sense of regret hit her as when shed watched him with the hot blade. She hadnt meant to
But she had. Shed wanted to hurt him. She knew she shouldnt feel guilt or regret, but the truth was that it bothered her to be the source of his pain.
Im It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize, but she couldnt quite get the words out. Her cheeks flooded with heat.
You defended yourself well, Flora, he said, acknowledging her discomfort. The fault was mine. I underestimated you. But only once. Never again. His voice held the unmistakable ring of a warning. Come, sit. He indicated a seat at what must be the lairds table, because it had carved wooden chairs instead of benches.
She considered refusing, but when platters of steaming bread and beef started appearing, she thought better of it. Shed hoped for an improvement from the meals brought to her room, but the fare wasnt much better down herebland and overcooked. At least it was hot.
They ate in silence, but she could feel his eyes on her. She tried to ignore it, but it made her self-conscious.
Finally he spoke. Youve been well treated?
She finished chewing the bit of coarse brown bread that could use more salt and considered him over the rim of her ale. The combination of his dark, almost black hair and blue eyes was truly striking. She was glad to see that her nail marks across his cheek had nearly healed. If you consider being locked in a small room for three days well treated. Actually, Ive been bored out of my wits.
Her response seemed to annoy him. Im afraid we do not have time for masques and revels at Drimnin.
Clearly, he thought her just another spoiled courtier, and his barb was not without effect. The differences between their lifestyles could not be more divergent. But this time, she hadnt been criticizing him. She ventured another glance and saw his frown. Thats not what I meant. I hardly expect courtly entertainment, but I doubt even Highland women sit in their rooms for hours on end with nothing to do.
He leaned back in his chair and paused thoughtfully. No, youre right, they dont.
The concession surprised her. Prompted by the apparent thaw in his temper, she decided to broach what had been on her mind for the past few daysleaving. Have you written to my brother?
He lifted a dark brow. So anxious to go? But youve only just arrived.
She ignored his attempt to defray the question. Have you?
A messenger left for Coll not long after we arrived.
And has Hector acceded to your demands?
Not yet.
Nor will he.
Well see.
He sounded so confident. But she wasnt so sure. A terrible thought suddenly occurred to her. What will you do with me if he does not agree?
He held her gaze with piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through her. Hell agree.
But what if he does not? You cant keep me here forever. Eventually someone will realize Im missing.
Eventually. But I would wager that youve bought me quite a bit of time with your attempted elopement.
What do you mean?
I rather doubt that you left Holyrood in the middle of the night without explanation.
Her face fell. She thought of the notes shed written to both Rory and her cousin Argyll that shed gone to see Hector. Notes that would prevent anyone from looking for her for some time.
But how had he guessed?
Hector would know soon enough, but he was on ill terms with both Argyll and Rory. Her only hope was that William would alert her cousin to what had happened. But then there would be some explaining to do. Would he risk it?
The laird was watching with an inscrutable expression on his face. Why have you never married? he asked suddenly. You are certainly of age.
Her body went rigid. I hardly think that is any of your concern.
His gaze swept over her face and down her breasts. You are pleasing enough.
She gasped. Did that suffice for a compliment? Blandishments were obviously not his forte. But it wasnt the lack of gallantry that stung. He could have been inspecting her like a horse at market. The simple gesture summed up everything she despised about her position. She was flesh and blood, but no one would ever see her as such. All they saw was the wealth and connections she would bring them. And this man saw her only as a bargaining chip.
You are too kind. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. But what has marriage to offer me that I dont already have?
There were many ways to answer that question, but having care for her innocence, Lachlan refrained from the blunt one. One glance at that beautiful face and lush body, and he need look no further for a reason why the lass should be wed: swiving. And lots of it.
It had been the foremost thing on his mind since shed walked into the room. When hed had to force himself not to blink to see if she was realthere was such an ethereal, almost fey quality to her beauty. The face that had haunted his dreams while he recovered from his wound was even more breathtaking in the flesh. There was no mud to obscure her features or horrible cap to hide her hair.
The old gown hed borrowed from his sister was a shade small and clung to her breasts and hips, emphasizing the seductive curves of her body. Her long blond hair tumbled in loose waves around her shoulders, catching the sun in a golden halo of light. Freshly scrubbed cheeks revealed the translucence of her pale skin, a luminous contrast to sea blue eyes framed in thick dark lashes and to her bold red lips.
It was her mouth that was driving him mad. Filling his mind with dark, erotic images. Her lips were soft and wide with a deep, sensual curve, highlighted by a tiny naughty dimple on one cheek. He thought of how close hed been to kissing her and regretted the forbearance that had only increased his hunger. He wasnt a patient man by nature, especially when he wanted something. And he wanted Flora MacLeod. With a force that sent a surge of heat rushing through his veins.
Tearing his gaze from her mouth, he realized she was waiting for his response. Though shed spoken derisively, Lachlan heard the underlying challenge in her question. What did marriage have to offer her? Stretching his legs out in front of him, he leaned back in his chair and took a long draught of ale. Obviously you have no need of connections or additional wealth. He wished he could say the same.
She lifted a finely arched brow, surprised that he was taking her question seriously. Obviously.
Hmm He paused, considering. May I presume that love is too trite a reason? Although in his experience, young womenhis sisters includedthought of nothing else.
Its as good as any, I suppose. Though perhaps not a practical one. One may wait a lifetime for such an occurrenceif it happens at all.
Her answer surprised him. He would have thought her pragmatic like him. Romantic love had no part in his decision to marry, simply because he would never allow emotion to influence his decisions. Love was for other people. His devotion and loyalty belonged to his clan and to his family. No one woman would ever change that. And certainly not this one. He was too old to confuse lust with love.
She would bring him much. But love wasnt part of the bargain.
But Flora was not wholly without illusions of romantic love. He filed the knowledge away for later, when it might be helpful. First he needed to understand the way she thought, before he decided how best to approach her with his offer. He hadnt told her of his intentions from the first, because he knew she would be too angry to see reason. And hed been warned of her contrariness. But he would do whatever it took to secure her agreement to marry. When he played, he played to win. He hadnt survived the years of attack by shirking from doing what was necessary.
He held her gaze. Then what of passion as a reason to marry?
He thought a tinge of pink appeared upon her cheeks, but if she was embarrassed, her response gave no hint of the fact. I do not believe one is a prerequisite for the other.
The flash of anger hit him swift and hard. Had she and that popinjay? The mere thought filled him with rage and a feeling of incomprehensible possessiveness. Why the lasss innocence was important to him, he didnt know. Simply that it was.
What do you mean? He held his voice even, though his knuckles turned white as he gripped his goblet.
She shrugged. I do not believe passion is confined to the marriage bed. In fact, from what I can tell, the marriage bed rarely holds much passion at all.
He didnt like the cynicism of her answereven if he happened to agree with it. Lack of passion in the marriage bed was one of the many reasons hed delayed taking a wife. That and the fact that hed been too busy defending his land from attack and his people from starvation.
Yet the marriage bed is the only respectable place for a woman of your position to find it.
She bristled. I do not need to be lectured on respectability by you. A man who abducts women is hardly in a position to be casting stones.
He didnt miss that she hadnt answered him. He leaned closer and looked her straight in the eye. And are you respectable, Flora?
Her eyes sparked with anger. How dare you! Its none of your damn business.
God, she provoked him. This woman possessed an uncanny ability to rile his anger. He wanted to grab her arm and shake the truth out of her, but instead he took another drink of his ale and allowed his blood to cool. It was his business, although she didnt know it yet.
But she would.
She pushed back from her chair and started to stand up. If you have run out of reasons
Protection. He took her wrist, holding her in her seat. His fingers wrapped around bare skin. Incredibly soft, bare skin. Though tall for a woman and well curved, she had slim, delicate bones. Suggesting a fragility otherwise obscured by the outward strength of her character. An unmarried woman, especially one with wealth and lands, is vulnerable without a husband to protect her.
I dont need She stopped, realizing that her very presence in his keep was proof to the contrary. She lifted her chin. My mother protected me.
But your mother is gone. He stated it simply, as a fact, but she flinched as if hed struck her.
She turned to him with such a look of despair in her eyes, it cut him to the quick. Im well aware of that, she said softly.
He felt a strong urge to comfort her but held it back. Feeling sorry for her would only complicate matters. He couldnt allow compassion to interfere. But he didnt miss the flash of loneliness.
And yet for all your protesting to the contrary, youve implicitly acknowledged that there is some benefit to marriage.
What do you mean?
Do you forget your betrothed already?
Her cheeks fired. Of course not.
But it was clear she had. So was it protection or love, Flora? he asked quietly. The answer was somehow important. He wouldnt consider the other possibilitypassion.
She looked away. Lord Murray was my choice.
Shed said as much before. He was beginning to understand what might have caused her to elope. Rory would not force you to wed. Which was the very reason he was in this predicament. He needed her agreement.
A wry smile turned her lips. You know him so well?
Well enough. Hes spoken of you.
It surprised her. He has?
She tried to hide her eagerness by shifting her gaze to her plate, but not before Lachlan had glimpsed the yearning. Did she think her family had forgotten her?
Of course. You are his sister. He saw the disappointment in her face, and before he could stop himself he added, He cares about you.
Her eyes brightened, and he felt a sharp tug in his chest. This urge to please her was dangerous, and one that he would need to keep a tight rein on.
Even so, she countered, my cousin might.
The Earl of Argyll. Lachlan masked his reaction, understanding too well why she would fear her cousins interference. Her fear was warranted. Although Rory controlled her marriage, helike Lachlanhad entered into a bond of manrent with Argyll. That alone gave Argyll plenty of influence in the decision.
Your cousin has a habit of interfering where he does not belong.
And Ive seen too often the misery that type of interference can bring. When I marry, if I marry, it will be my decision and no one elses. Not my brothers, not my cousins, but mine.
She spoke with such passion, he knew that this was the crux of understanding her. Her elopement was not simply the actions of a spoiled, headstrong girl, as hed first thought. There was a far deeper reason. A real fear behind her actions. It wasnt marriage itself she feared, but being forced into it.
He tested his theory. But it isnt a womans right to make such decisions. Like it or not, the choice of your husband doesnt belong to you.
She looked at him as if hed struck her. The irony, of course, was that she had more power than she realized. But perhaps it was better for his purposes if she remained unsure.
So its a womans lot to be bartered to the highest bidder?
It was rather crude when put that way, but accurate nonetheless. It is.
Well, its a lot I do not accept. A glint of steel appeared in her eyes. Headstrong was putting it mildly. He would need to tread carefully, but time was a constant weapon.
He suspected the source of her discontent. He knew something of Janet Campbell. Like her daughter, Janet had been one of the most sought-after heiresses of her day. Married to four powerful Highland chiefs. Unhappily, it was said. Your mother was wrong to put such ideas in your head.
You presume too much. You dont know anything about my mother. Her hand went to a large pendant she wore around her neck.
Suddenly, his entire body froze. He nearly ripped it out of her hand. Where did you get that? It wasnt a pendant, as hed first thought, but a brooch hanging from a chain with a large stone set in the center.
She paled and tried to slip it down the bodice of her gown. It belonged to my mother.
He reached out to stop her, taking the amulet in his hand. He couldnt believe it. Excitement coursed through him as he examined the faded etchings of axes and thistle in silver that surrounded a large center stone of cairngormthe yellowish brown stone of the Highlands. Axes and thistle were the emblems of the Macleans. He turned it over to read the inscription on the back: To my beloved husband, on the day of our marriage.
He couldnt believe it.
The irony could have made him laugh. Marrying Flora MacLeod would be a boon in more ways than one. Their marriage would be a powerful symbol. An end to a curse. A curse that he didnt believe in, but that didnt matter, his people believed in it. They blamed the curse for the misfortune that had haunted their clan for the last eighty years.
Still holding the amulet, he looked deep into her eyes. Its you. Youre the Campbell lass.
Flora cursed herself for her stupidity. She should have kept the amulet well hidden. But how could she have guessed that he would recognize it so easily?
He was a Maclean; of course he knew the legend. The chief who had chained poor Elizabeth Campbell to the rock had been his ancestorhis grandfathers fathers father, if she wasnt mistaken. But she wouldnt have expected him to give it much credence. Not in this day and age.
But how could she have forgotten that putting an end to the curse was one of the reasons her mother had been forced to marry her first husband?
You cant believe in that old tale, she said dismissively.
No.
Her relief was short-lived.
Although many in these parts do, he finished.
Its ridiculous. My mothers marriage to Hectors father should have put all those old superstitions to rest.
Instead it strengthened them.
He was right. For a few years, with her mothers marriage to Hectors father, the Maclean of Duart, the bad luck that seemed to follow the Macleans had temporarily ended. Until his death, when the misfortune returned. The small lapse had only fueled the superstition.
What had she done? Had Coll reconsidered his intention not to marry her? She couldnt let that happen. It doesnt matter. The amulet belongs to me, and I will never willingly bestow it. On you, she left unsaid. Most believed that the curse would end when the amulet was bestowed willingly on a Macleansomething her mother had never done.
Something sparked in his eyes. Hed taken her words as a challenge. He leaned closer, invading the safe buffer of space between them, engulfing her senses. He was big and strong and thoroughly overwhelming. And he smelled amazing. Warm and spicy, with just a hint of myrtle and soap. Awareness surrounded her. She became achingly conscious of his mouth only inches from hers. Of fine stubble along his jaw. His lashes were so long and feather soft, a sharp contrast to the hard angles of his face.
He reached out, and she froze, thinking he meant to touch her, to kiss her. Instead, he untangled a strand of hair that had caught in her lashes and tucked it gently behind her ear. Her stomach clenched as she breathed in the scent of him. Of myrtle, soap, and man. The sensation of his fingers on her skin made her shiver.
How did he do this to her? Turn her into a quivering mess in a matter of seconds.
He held her gaze, letting her feel the power of the tension sizzling between them. His thumb strayed for just a moment across her cheek in a soft caress. Can you be so sure?
IIyes. She couldnt think.
And the arrogant brute knew it. He chuckled and released her. Well see.
Outrage fired her cheeks. Do I need protection from you, my laird?
He gave her a long bold look, one that was blatantly sensual. You might.
You promised.
He seemed unabashedly unconcerned. So I did.
You have no honor.
He quirked a brow, infuriatingly amused. Obviously, or you wouldnt be here.
A prisoner, she said forlornly.
Whether you are prisoner or guest is up to you. His gaze narrowed. Do not defy me and your stay here will be pleasant.
She stiffened, her deep-seated resentment of being told what to do flared. And what am I supposed to do while Im your guest? she asked, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.
Whatever it is that women do to keep themselves busy. Do what you like, as long as you do not try to leave the walls of the keep.
She spun around to hide the smile on her face, her mind swarming with all kinds of ideas. She would keep herself occupied all right.
Lachlan Maclean had abducted the wrong woman. And she was going to make him sorry for it. Very sorry indeed.