Claimed by the Highlander (11 page)

“We’ll dine in the hall again tonight,” he said. “It’s important that the clans feel united. You’ll see to the arrangements?” He eyed her expectantly.

“Of course.” Heaven help her—her heart was slapping uncontrollably against her rib cage.

“And don’t wear that ugly frock you wore last night,” he said. “Wear something colorful. This place needs a bit more cheer.”

“Then you might try smiling once in a while.”

His eyes narrowed, then he took a step closer. “Would you like that, lass? Would it help you warm to me?”

She thought carefully about how to answer that, then decided that this time,
she
would be the one to walk away first. She turned around and headed for the door. “No. It would take considerably more than a smile to warm my heart where you are concerned.”

She was distinctly aware that he remained where he stood, watching her cross the vast distance of the hall. It brought a tiny smile of satisfaction to her face.

*   *   *

Angus found Lachlan in the bailey, supervising the rebuilding of the front gate, which they’d smashed to bits during the invasion the previous morning. The crack of hammers pounding on wooden pegs echoed off the castle walls, while a number of clansmen worked together to saw through fresh timbers and carry heavy planks of wood to the bridge outside the tower.

“Mornin’,” Lachlan said to Angus, while leaving a crew of three men to continue about their work. “Did you sleep well, back in your own bed at last?”

“I didn’t sleep a wink,” Angus replied, “for it’s my father’s bed I must occupy, not my own—and I swear that his ghost was pacing about the room, shouting at me.”

Lachlan chuckled. “And what did his cranky spirit say?”

“He told me I disobeyed him by coming home, and he slapped the back of my head with a book.”

Lachlan scoffed. “That’s bluidy ridiculous, Angus,” he said. “Your father hated reading.”

“Aye, but the MacEwen chief left a novel on the bedside table.”

“Maybe it was
his
ghost who whacked you in the head. That would make more sense, would it not?”

Angus looked up at the bright blue sky, then let his gaze travel along the battlements from one corner tower to another. “Have someone keep an eye on the comings and goings out of the kitchen today, but be discreet about it.”

“Anyone in particular you’re concerned about?”

He regarded his cousin coolly. “I’m concerned that my food will be poisoned, for one thing. Replace the head cook with a MacDonald, but leave the rest of them where they are. And make sure a MacDonald goes along to market today. Send someone observant.”

“Understood.”

Angus turned to go.

“Where are you off to now?” Lachlan asked.

“To the treasury. I need to examine the records and find another, less influential position for that puppet steward, Gordon MacEwen. I’ll need a MacDonald there as well.” He strode with purpose toward the entrance to the hall, but shouted one last important order over his shoulder. “Keep working on the gate, Lachlan, and make it stronger than before.”

“Why? Are we expecting company?”

Angus merely waved a hand.

*   *   *

Knowing it was important to carefully choose her battles with her future husband, Gwendolen decided to obey him in the small matter of her choice of gown for the evening. He had told her to wear something colorful, so she selected a crimson gown of silk and velvet, with gold trimmings across the brocade stomacher, and tiny sprays of white flowers along the hem of the skirt.

She entered the Great Hall and spent some time conversing with members of both clans, while going over in her mind what she had accomplished that day. She wondered how long it would take for her message to reach Fort William, and if the English army would even come. It seemed to be her only hope, for she had no idea if Murdoch even knew of their father’s death, much less the MacDonald invasion. They’d had no word from him in over three months, and he could be dead for all she knew.

Her mother approached and fingered an errant lock of hair that fell across Gwendolen’s forehead. “You look lovely this evening, darling, but do try to keep up a flawless appearance. Sloppiness will not do, now that you are the laird’s wife.”

“I am not yet his wife,” Gwendolen reminded her.

“No, but you will be soon enough. You may as well start playing the part now. Why wait?”

Gwendolen frowned. “This is not a theater, Mother. If I am to be his wife, I will take my position seriously, and I will use it to serve my clan.”

Onora glanced the other way. “Did you find out what his plans are for Kinloch? Does he intend to use it as a base for another Jacobite uprising?”

Gwendolen lowered her voice. “No. He says he has no interest in rebellion. He wants to live here in peace.”

“And you believe him?”

“I’m not sure.”

Onora shook her head. “Use your brains, Gwendolen. He is a warrior at heart. He won’t know what to do with himself once the smell of battle wears off his shirt. He’s a hot-blooded Highlander. He’ll be looking for another fight.”

“Perhaps not. Perhaps he’s already experienced enough violence to last a lifetime.”

Her mother shot her a frustrated look. “He’s a man, Gwendolen. They thrive on violence. Even if they are quiet for a while, they will eventually feel the need to roar.” She smiled at a MacDonald clansman who walked by. “Besides that, he could simply be lying to you. If he were planning something, he certainly wouldn’t trust
you
with it. At least not yet. Which is why you must try harder to capture his heart.”

“He is not capable of that sort of thing.”

Her mother rolled her eyes. “His
lust,
then. Whatever you wish to call it. I fear you are a very slow learner, Gwendolen. You have no concept of the power you could have over him, and others as well.”

She sighed irritably. “I don’t want power over my husband. All I ever wanted was love and respect. I wanted to be my husband’s equal, his supporter, and perhaps occasionally his adviser.”

Her mother cupped her daughter’s chin in her hand. “Darling, you must get your head out of the clouds. We are women, and love will get us nothing. We’re not the equals of men, therefore we must protect ourselves by being quietly cunning.”

Gwendolen felt a great wave of melancholy move through her. “Sometimes I believe you speak the truth, Mother, but other times, I want something more. I want to have influence, but through honest means. I want to earn my husband’s respect, so that he can rely on me. I do have an intelligent mind. I can offer insight.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, then her mother’s eyes softened with a show of sympathy. Gwendolen was surprised to feel the touch of her hand at her back. “Perhaps you are not such a slow learner after all. Perhaps you are faster and more ambitious than all of us. I am just not sure that you are realistic.”

Her future husband entered the hall just then, and Gwendolen wondered if she was indeed a dreamer. Of all the men in the world, this one was least likely to bend and allow anyone to wield power over him. He’d already told her in no uncertain terms that romantic love made a man weak, and that he wished to avoid it at all costs.

He seemed just as determined to avoid feminine manipulations of a sexual nature. When it came to the bedroom,
she
was the one who was seduced into a puddle of dazed surrender—and that did not bode well for her future influence as Mistress of Kinloch.

*   *   *

It was a fine night for a feast, Angus thought as he entered the Great Hall and was arrested on the spot by the sight of his future bride on the other side of the room, dressed in a bloodred velvet gown that accentuated the curve of her hips and heightened her full, luscious bosom. The gold trimming transformed her into a priceless trophy, and her purity somehow mixed sensuously with the red-hot color of the gown against her ivory skin and glossy black hair. It was hot sex and sweet innocence combined, all wrapped up in one tempting, pretty package, and it aroused a rough and unruly restlessness in his core.

Someone knocked into him and apologized, then engaged him in conversation. Yes, it was a fine night for a crowd. He needed the diversion, for he’d had trouble during the day concentrating on more important matters, like the management of Kinloch, now that he was chief.

He’d spent many hours going over the record books in the treasury and had found everything in order—perhaps even better managed than it had been when his father was laird. Revenues were up in all areas, and a number of useless, miscellaneous expenses had either been decreased or removed from the accounts entirely. As a result, he decided to allow Gordon MacEwen to keep his position as castle steward, with one of his own men to take on the role of assistant, and keep a watchful eye.

A chorus of laughter from the interior of the room drew his attention. He found Lachlan in the center of it and led him away to discuss the matter with him, but was again preoccupied by the attendance of his future wife, who was moving about the room with effortless charm and a smile more dazzling than the sun.

He realized at that moment that this political marriage was going to be a problem, for he was completely out of his element. He was an experienced warrior who faced lethal deathblows on the battlefield and struck back with ferocity. When he fought, he fought fearlessly, but he was not on a battlefield now. This was foreign territory, and he had no idea how to “conquer” a proper wife. She was not a woman of loose morals, like his usual sexual partners, who were more than happy to lift their skirts for the famous Scottish Lion. He certainly couldn’t challenge her to a swordfight. Nor could he bed her against her will. Life experience prevented that sort of thing.

So if he could not take her by force, he would have to seduce her into wanting it—which was proving to be more difficult than he’d anticipated. Because he did not wish to be intimate with her. Not now. Not ever. Love and intimacy made a man weak. It led him down a path that made him believe happiness was possible, and that he could forget all the evils in the world.

Angus could not afford to rely on someone else for his happiness. Nor could he forget certain evils. He simply could not let down his guard. He could not become weak.

*   *   *

“I find it odd,” Gwendolen said to Onora that night after the feast, “that Angus has not forced himself upon me. He has had two opportunities, and it was hardly necessary for him to negotiate my terms of surrender. He simply could have bent me over the table in the hall and claimed me as his property, right then and there.”

They moved through the torchlit corridor to her bedchamber. She unlocked her door, entered, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I learned something about him tonight,” Onora said, as she removed her shoes and placed them together on the floor. “His cousin Lachlan is quite a charmer, and with a little persuading, he was willing to indulge me when I asked some delicate questions.”

Gwendolen swiveled on the bed to face her mother. “What exactly did you learn?” She wasn’t sure she had ever craved information with such fervor before.

Onora sat down on a chair. “He told me that Angus’s younger sister was raped and killed by English soldiers a few years ago. It’s part of the reason why he was banished. He went absolutely mad with vengeance against the English and betrayed a close friend who married an Englishwoman, and it was all very ugly in the end. Lachlan is not surprised that Angus is waiting until your wedding night before he beds you. He said Angus cannot bear to see any woman cry or plead, for it makes him think of his sister’s final moments. It’s why he has ordered his men to stay away from our MacEwen women. He wouldn’t stand for any raping or pillaging.”

Gwendolen pondered this with a rather morbid curiosity, and not without some sympathy. “And yet, he told me he wanted to kill that Englishwoman.”

“But he didn’t kill her, did he? And Lachlan said he had plenty of opportunities.” Onora rose to her feet. “From what I understand of the situation, that friend he betrayed is now married to that woman, and they are very much in love. They have a son and another child on the way.”

Gwendolen pulled the pins from her hair. “He told me about his friend, and that he betrayed him, but he didn’t tell me why. I had no idea it was because of what happened to his sister.”

Onora shrugged. “Well, at least it has given him reason to spare you for a week or so. You’ll have time to prepare yourself for your first encounter. It won’t be so terrible, darling. You’ll see.”

Rising from the bed to undress, Gwendolen wondered if she would ever truly be prepared for it. And despite everything her mother had just told her, she was still amazed that Angus had shown such mercy toward her and her clan. Bitter, brooding vengeance was blatantly visible in his eyes. His deep anger and contempt for the world was obvious, and it never ceased to unnerve her.

No, she was not yet ready to lie back and give herself over to him without fear. He was a dangerous man, and though he could be merciful in some ways, he did not seem capable of genuine tenderness or love. She was still very much afraid.