All The Time You Need (21 page)

She hesitated for a long moment, and it surprised him to see tears pooling in her eyes when she finally spoke.

“I wanted to see if I recognized anything.” She shook her head and a lone tear trickled down her cheek before she swiped it away. “I tried to think of some good story for you, Alex. I just don’t have one. I know you don’t believe that I come from another time, but I swear it’s true. This wall was little more than rubble in my time. I climbed over it when I explored the area. I just wanted to see if anything on the other side looked the same as in my time.”

Her words sounded truthful. Her eyes reflected the sincerity he heard in her voice. But any good spy would be able to do the same. To believe her would require that he accept the truth of his grandfather’s stories. The truth of the Fae. And that would mean accepting as truth that the Fae had control of what was to happen in his own life.

And that was something he simply wasn’t ready to accept.

“Come on. Let’s get you down from here,” he said, forcing himself to step away from her. “Not that way,” he added as she cast a fearful glance in the direction of the ladder they’d used to get here.

She nodded and stepped forward, her body still outwardly trembling.

And who is to blame for that?
his conscience goaded him like someone pulling a scab off a wound. He was, of course.

Spy or Faerie, he’d already scared her silly. He’d be damned if he’d be responsible for allowing her to actually come to any harm as a result of his foolish decision to let her come up here.

“By the saints,” he muttered, sweeping her off her feet and into his arms.

“You don’t have to carry me.”

“But I am,” he answered in his best laird’s voice, the one that brooked no argument.

He carried her around the wall, past the guard stations, doing his best to ignore the curious looks he got from the men on duty.

“Laird Alex,” one of them said, hurrying forward. “Do you need our help?”

“Get back to yer post,” he growled, continuing on the door that would lead him down through the wall to the bailey below.

He refused to give in to their curiosity. He was laird of the MacKillican. It wasn’t up to them to question what their laird did, no matter how strange it might look to them.

And this, his carrying a woman the length of the wall-walk, must look strange indeed. Nevertheless, he continued on, pushing everything from his mind except the woman in his arms. To his surprise, concentrating only on her came much more easily than he would have expected.

Only moonlight and the occasional torch lit their way by the time they reached the bailey. Slowly, he allowed her feet to touch the ground, but, for some odd reason, his arms seemed to have missed the instructions from his brain to release her. They stood in a shared silence, her pressed against him in his forgetful embrace, their eyes locked on one another.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last. “That must have been pretty uncomfortable for you. Trying to think of some explanation to give your men, I mean.”

“Not at all,” he lied. “A laird has no need to explain his actions.”

A good thing, that rule he’d just made up. It came in handy an instant later when he dipped his head to brush his lips over hers before leaving her standing there, eyes closed, lips sensuously parted as if waiting for more.

For the life of him, he couldn’t begin to explain why he’d done such an impetuous thing. All he could say was that he was more than glad that he had given in to the reckless impulse. He’d wear the tingle of her touch for the remainder of the night, accompanied now by the taste of her on his lips.

Chapter 13

“The Gordons have arrived.”

Alex had known this moment was coming. He’d initiated it by his own order. But neither of those facts alleviated the sick knot in the pit of his stomach. Within the hour he would know for sure whether Annie was a spy sent by the Gordons.

The very idea tightened the growing knot, making him briefly consider leaving the hall to empty his stomach before greeting his visitors.

But that was not an acceptable recourse for the laird. Certainly not acceptable for the MacKillican laird. His father would never forgive such a weak and pathetic act on his behalf.

Squaring his shoulders, Alex rose to his feet. The expression Jamesy wore after announcing their visitors warned clearly enough that his friend read his dilemma. With a deep breath, Alex firmly pulled his mental shield back in place, blocking all thought of the beautiful face that had floated in his mind only moments earlier.

“Make sure everyone is on their guard. Everyone armed and at the ready.” One second to prepare himself, to blank every shred of emotion from his face. “Send them in,” he ordered.

Jamesy disappeared through the large doors at the far end of the room, and a moment later, three men swept into the great hall. It didn’t take long for Alex to realize that the one in the center was clearly the man in charge. The other two held their step a respectful distance behind, indicating they weren’t viewed as equals. These men appeared to be attendants more than guards.

Before Alex could speak, one of the men stepped forward.

“Allow me to present to you Peter, son of Malcolm, second son of the House of Gordon.”

Alex held his emotionless mask in place, refusing to give in to the temptation to roll his eyes. He’d met men of this ilk before. In his experience, these were men who’d had the opportunity to visit the royal court and, as a result, had been influenced into touting their own importance.

Importance they may or may not actually have.

Nevertheless, these were guests at Dunellen and, as such, deserved to be treated with respect, regardless of his initial impressions.

“Welcome to Dunellen, Peter, second son of Malcolm, House of Gordon.” Alex inclined his head as a show of greeting, barely refraining from grinding his teeth as his guest preened before him. “I take it you speak for your laird and that you understand the nature of our having requested your presence here?”

“Only in the vaguest terms,” Peter said, lifting a hand dismissively. “I am given to understand that you hold as prisoner within these walls the woman I am pledged to wed?”

And there it was, as painful as a fist to the gut, the statement Alex had feared he would hear from the moment he’d learned the Gordons had arrived. Annie was pledged to wed this peacock of a man. Pledged to a Gordon.

“Analise Shaw is hardly a prisoner here. She is our kinswoman and a guest at Dunellen. As soon as she was found on our lands and we learned of her betrothal, word was sent out to your father in an attempt to get her safely to the place where she belongs.”

“As one man of honor to another, I have no choice but to accept yer word upon this. But as a show of yer own good faith in this matter, I’d ask that my future bride be brought to me now so that I might assure myself she remains unharmed.”

“Fair enough,” Alex answered, summoning Finn to his side. “Please fetch Mistress Shaw and accompany her to the hall to meet with her intended. And Lissa,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “Bring my sister as well, to attend Mistress Shaw at this meeting.”

Finn’s eyebrow quirk was barely evident before he turned and strode from the room.

“Please make yerself comfortable,” Alex said, forcing something he hoped resembled a smile to his lips. “The ladies should be joining us shortly.”

Alex strode away from his guest, to the side of the room where Jamesy waited. At this particular moment, he felt a need of his friend’s presence, much in the same way he’d wanted Lissa here. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d asked that his sister be brought to the hall. Whether it was to show her that the woman she’d defended had lied to her or to have her as emotional support for Annie, he didn’t know. All he knew for sure was that she needed to be here as much as anyone did.

“Anything I can get for you?” Jamesy asked, his voice devoid of his usual foolery.

Alex shook his head, biting back any reply. What was he to say? That the time had come? That they’d know in a few more minutes what they’d tried to discern for the past weeks? There was no point to anything he might say now. All would be resolved shortly.

For now, all that was left was to adhere to the intricate steps of the political dance that was about to begin between the clans.

* * *

Fools!

Peter Gordon accepted the seat offered by the new MacKillican laird to wait for his bride to be brought to him. When he could no longer hold back his smile of satisfaction, he allowed it to settle on his face. And why not? A man come to claim his bride had every right to smile.

The situation couldn’t be more perfect if he’d arranged it himself, which, to some degree, he had.

When the rider had shown up at Gordon Hall, his father had dismissed the overture from the MacKillican representative out of hand, refusing to even meet with the man. Only Peter had seen the potential in the situation.

Only he had thought to accommodate the man with food and drink. Only he had thought to have those things delivered by the fairest of their serving wenches. Peter had learned long ago that there was nothing like a full-bosomed serving maid and a bottomless cup of fine whisky to loosen the tongue of even the most loyal messenger. It was in this manner he’d learned that the Shaw woman was a complete mystery to her MacKillican hosts, a situation ripe for the picking by a forward-thinking, industrious man.

A man exactly like him.

He might be only a second son now, but what he planned to accomplish would leapfrog him ahead of his elder brother in his father’s estimation. After he claimed the Shaw woman as his bride, he’d demand a dowry. A dowry that neither the Shaws nor the MacKillican clan could ever afford, but one that would have to be paid in order to avoid insult and war with the mighty Gordon clan. To keep the peace, the MacKillican would be forced to cede a portion of their land to pay the debt. His father had long had an eye on the more fertile MacKillican lands, and had never missed an opportunity to let that fact be known. There was very little his father wouldn’t do to increase Gordon lands, especially if that increase could be accomplished at no cost in either silver or men. Once Peter was able to present to his father those coveted lands, obtained by such a clever diplomatic coup, he would, without question, ensure his place as the Gordon heir, ahead of his elder brother.

He’d been very clever, leaving nothing to chance.

Even now, while two of his men flanked him for protection, one of his party hastened back toward Gordon Hall to explain what he was doing to his father and bid the elder Gordon to join him here at Dunellen. A fourth carried word to the Shaw chieftain, offering him the protection and friendship of the mighty Gordons as payment for his agreeing to this plan as if it had been fact from the beginning.

Everything was going exactly as he’d hoped from the moment he’d heard the MacKillican messenger’s story. The Shaw woman herself might offer up a bit of trouble, but her part to play in all of this was really only as a minor character. Her opinion mattered not at all. Daughters were frequently wed off for political or financial purposes. Certainly, neither her looks nor her intelligence mattered to him in the least. After all, her part lasted only long enough for the marriage to take place and the dowry to be collected. Once they were married, there were any number of ways an unwanted wife could meet her end. And quickly, too.

Peter had waited for a moment like this the whole of his life. The heady taste of the power of his clan filled his mouth as if he already held it.

“MacKillican,” he called out to his host, drawing the attention of the man to whom he spoke. “My journey here was long. A meal would be a welcome courtesy.”

“How thoughtless of me,” the MacKillican replied with a gracious nod before lifting his hand to summon a serving girl. “Do see that our guests are brought food and ale to pass their time while they wait.”

In very short order, a trencher was set before him, filled with chunks of meat. Cheese and bread followed, along with a tall tankard of ale.

Now this was more along the lines of what he expected. This was the way to treat the future laird of the mighty Gordon clan. Perhaps this MacKillican lad was brighter than Peter had given him credit for being. Perhaps the young laird realized that this could be his opportunity to gain a powerful ally.

A murmur behind Peter alerted him to turn just in time to see two women enter the room, accompanied by the man who had gone to retrieve the Shaw woman. Both were equally pleasing to the eye, though they were strikingly different. One short, with wild red curls, and the other tall, her nondescript brown hair tied back demurely from her serious face.

He almost hoped the redhead would be the Shaw he’d come to claim. Taming one such as that might provide him with a few nights of enjoyment before she met her end, if that was to be her fate.

The two women waited just inside the doorway, holding hands, as if daring him to claim one of them. So that was how they intended to play it. So be it. He learned the value of playing games long before either of these two had let go their mothers’ skirts.

He rose to his feet and wiped his mouth on the back of his forearm before extending a hand, a gesture the right woman could hardly ignore.