Highland Conqueror (15 page)

“What?”

“Sir Sigimor Cameron’s wife.”

“He is married?” Donald shook his head. “Weel, that puts a sure end to all of your plans, that does.”

Barbara ignored her cousin, recognizing a cunning in this Englishman that matched her own. “Are ye sure we speak of the same mon? That Sigimor Cameron, laird of Dubheidland, is married?”

“For now.” Harold sipped his ale, giving her time to think over his words, before standing to introduce himself and Martin. After she introduced herself and her cousin, he said, “Shall we talk, m’lady?”

Harold smiled when, after another brief moment of thought, she nodded. Her cousin obeyed her command to get them each a seat, then joined Harold and Martin at their table. He knew he could make use of this woman, that she was one who was willing to do anything and sacrifice anyone to get what she wanted. For the first time since he had learned that Jolene had married the lord of Dubheidland, Harold felt some of his rage ease. Even beating that priest near to death had not accomplished that. Through this woman, Harold knew he would gain some measure of revenge against Jolene for all she had lost him.

Jolene’s eyes widened as she looked at the gown Old Nancy held out to her. It was a beautiful deep green. She knew it would look good on her and even looked like it would
fit her well. Then she frowned as she began to wonder where Sigimor had gotten it and for whom.

“Where did you find that?” she asked, knowing her suspicions tainted her voice for Old Nancy grinned.

“Jealous, are ye? Good.” Old Nancy ignored Jolene’s muttered denial. “This belonged to the laird’s sister. After she gave birth, she returned to being as slim as she e’er was, but there were a few subtle changes in her body. They were just enough to make this gown and a few others nay fit her as weel as they once did. She left them here for she felt there might be some use made of them and they would do if she had naught else to wear during one of her visits.”

“Tis beautiful,” Jolene said, marveling at the softness of the wool beneath her fingers.

“And ye will look verra beautiful in it. Ye will be a pure treat for our laird’s eyes and set the rest of the fools back a step or twa as weel.”

“Mayhap I should have my meal here. That would allow Sigimor’s kinsmen more time to become accustomed to the idea that Sigimor is married now,
and
to an Englishwoman.” Jolene looked around the sparsely furnished bedchamber and nearly grimaced, for the only real touch of softness in the room was the sheepskin rug on the floor before the large fireplace.

“Aye, it needs a woman’s touch,” Old Nancy said as she tugged Jolene off the bed. “Most of Dubheidland does.”

“The furniture is very finely made.” Jolene reached out to smooth her hand over one of the thick, finely carved bedposts. “Odd that the mothers did not make much of a mark.”

“Ye will find their touches in the solar, the kitchens, and the herb hut. The rest of the keep they left to the lads. Oh, and a wee bit in Ilsa’s bedchamber. Tis now used for her and her husband when they come to visit, or if some lady comes here. Few have. This has been a mon’s place for a long time. E’en most of the lasses and women who work here, dinnae sleep here. Mayhap a few will now that there is a lady of the keep. Come, let us get these clothes on ye. The laird slipped in to dress ere ye woke and he will be waiting for ye.”

Jolene was pleased with the diversion. She had begun to feel intensely guilty as Old Nancy had spoken of what she might accomplish as the lady of Dubheidland. Even though she knew it could mean an abrupt end of her time with Sigimor, she suddenly wanted this trial to end. She wanted Harold dead and buried. She wanted to know who would be chosen as Reynard’s guardian. She wanted her choices set before her so that she could make them and be done with it. There was heartbreak ahead of her no matter what path she chose and she wanted that blow struck so that she could cease fearing it.

“Now, m’lady, no need to look so worried, aye?” said Old Nancy as she efficiently braided Jolene’s hair, pinned it up, and attached a pale green veil to her head to modestly cover Jolene’s hair. “Ye look verra fine. Ignore the scowls and grumbles ye might hear this eve. They are all good lads, but they dinnae like surprises. And, they all worry about Sigimor though he would probably beat them all soundly if he kenned it.”

Although she knew the woman was only trying to put her at ease, her last statement only darkened Jolene’s mood. As Old Nancy escorted her back to the great hall, Jolene realized she was about to meet a horde of Sigimor’s kinsmen who would certainly hate
her soon if she chose Reynard over their laird. At the very least, Sigimor would be somewhat humiliated when his new wife left him to return to England. She would not only be heartbroken, but would have to accept that there was a veritable army of Camerons cursing her name. Undoubtedly, the MacFingals would join in the chorus. Just thinking about the fury she could stir up made her want to go back to bed.

Then she saw Sigimor waiting for her at the entrance to the great hall. He wore a plaid, a rich blend of red and black, a white shirt, and soft deer-hide boots. Jolene barely stopped herself from sighing in appreciation like a moonstruck girl. He looked so big, so strong, and just a little uncivilized. If she had to leave him in the end, she knew this would be how she would see him in her memories for the rest of her life. Jolene suddenly doubted she would ever be able to remember him without feeling the pain of loss.

Sigimor looked at her and she nearly preened beneath the appreciation he revealed in his smile. That strengthened her waning courage and she stepped up to him, slipping her hand into his. It faltered again when he looked at her head and scowled. A little nervously, she touched the light veil shielding her hair.

“What is that on your head?” he asked. “Why are ye hiding your hair?”

“A wedded lass is supposed to cover her hair,” said Old Nancy.

“Nay this one.” Sigimor quickly removed the veil and thrust it into Old Nancy’s hands. “I dinnae like it.” He was not sure he much liked the way Jolene’s hair was all coiled up on her head, either, preferring the long braid she had worn before, but decided to leave that argument until later. “Ye can explain it all to me later,” he said to Old Nancy when she began to sputter in outrage. “If ’tis some custom a wife is expected to follow, mayhap Jolene can do so if we have to go to court or the like. She doesnae have to do it here. Nay amongst family. This is Fergus the Last,” he introduced his youngest brother who lurked at his side. “The bairn of the family.” He winked at Jolene when Fergus glared at him. “He has asked to sit next to ye.”

“I would be honored,” Jolene said, smiling at the beardless boy who was nearly a head taller than she was.

As she walked with them to the head table, Jolene calmly answered Fergus’s questions about Reynard. He was especially fascinated by the fact that such a small boy was both an earl and a baron. As she talked she studied the men in the great hall. It appeared that their shock had faded, but wariness had set in. The one that interested her the most, however, was Somerled, Sigimor’s twin. He stood up as she approached and was all that was polite as she was seated on Sigimor’s left, but she sensed that he did not approve of her, of her place as Sigimor’s wife.

The friendly smiles and greetings from Liam, Tait, David and Marcus calmed her only slightly. She could not count on them to gain her the approval most of Sigimor’s family now withheld. When she thought of how they would feel if she left Sigimor, her mood quickly grew dark again.

She struggled to eat the food Sigimor piled upon her plate and ignore the watchful gazes fixed upon her. Talk of all that had happened while Sigimor was gone swirled around her as she studied the great hall. It was well furnished, the chairs, benches, and tables all of the sturdiest oak. There were quite a few chairs, she realized, far more than she had seen in even the finest English hall. The better plates, eating utensils, and tankards were not just at the head table, either. Some weaponry decorated one wall, most of it of the finest quality, and a large, rich tapestry depicting some battle hung over the
massive fireplace at the far end of the hall. Jolene began to think that the Camerons of Dubheidland might not be considered wealthy by English standards, but they were far from poor.

Just as Somerled fixed his gaze on her and Jolene tensed, preparing herself for a confrontation, there was a commotion just outside the doors to the great hall. For one brief moment, Jolene was pleasantly relieved. Then a beautiful, voluptuous blonde was nearly carried in by two men. One quick glance at the look on Sigimor’s face, an odd expression of dismay and fury, told Jolene that the woman was Lady Barbara MacLean. Suddenly, dealing with the cautious mistrust of an army of Camerons did not seem so unpleasant.

Her grip on her eating knife tightened as Sigimor moved to greet his uninvited guests, after hastily telling Somerled who the woman was and confirming Jolene’s suspicions. The way Lady Barbara draped herself all over Sigimor as he helped her to a seat by the fire had Jolene clenching her teeth. When the woman kept hold of Sigimor’s hands even after she was seated, Jolene slowly rose from her seat and walked toward them, barely aware of Fergus at her side.

“What ails her?” Jolene asked, both infuriated and dismayed by the woman’s beauty.

“She says she and her traveling companions were set upon by thieves,” Sigimor replied, studying his wife’s furious expression with keen interest. “In the melee, she hurt her ankle. Or her leg. She isnae being too clear.”

The woman uttered an ear-piercing screech when Jolene flipped up her skirts, exposing her legs. Jolene looked for an injury, but saw little more than a few faint bruises on her right leg. Although she knew she was no expert, there was something about the bruises that roused her suspicions. They just did not look like the sort of injuries one would get from a fall or an attack upon one’s person. A quick glance at the two men with her revealed only slightly disarrayed clothing and a few facial bruises. Jolene looked at Lady Barbara and knew, deep in her heart, some game was being played.

“What are ye doing, lass?” Sigimor asked calmly, idly wondering if he ought to relieve Jolene of her dagger.

“I was judging the extent of her wounds,” Jolene replied and noticed that Barbara was very slow to cover her legs again. “If a bone had come through the skin, we would have to cut that piece off ere it rotted her whole leg.” Her eyes narrowed as Barbara grabbed hold of Sigimor’s hands again. “Might still need to cut off a piece or two.”

“Ye can use my knife,” said Fergus. “Tis bigger.”

Sigimor hastily swallowed the urge to laugh. Ignoring their scowls, he ordered Jolene and Fergus to go help Old Nancy prepare some rooms for their guests. Although he was pleased by the jealousy his wife had revealed, he was a little uneasy as well. Barbara was trouble, always had been. He did not need any more trouble now, especially not in his marriage. Once Jolene was gone, he looked at Barbara and wondered how long he needed to be hospitable in order not to offend any of her powerful allies and family.

“Sigimor, what is that Englishwoman doing here?” Barbara demanded. “She held a dagger on me!”

“Actually, she was just holding one. She hadnae taken aim with it yet.” Sigimor heard a faint choking sound at his side and realized Somerled and Liam had joined him, both men obviously trying hard not to laugh. “And that Englishwoman is my wife.”

Barbara looked shocked, but Sigimor suddenly had doubts about the truth of that reaction. She pressed a hand to her fulsome breasts, but the gesture looked practiced, one used specifically to draw a man’s gaze to her much-admired breasts. Although he was not sure how she could have discovered the fact, Sigimor felt certain that she already knew he was married. It was also curious that she was so close to Dubheidland when she had left Scarglas nearly a sennight ago.

“What possessed ye to marry a Sassenach?” she asked.

“That isnae really any concern of yours, is it?” The flash of anger she was quick to hide was more like the Barbara he knew, and Sigimor relaxed a little. “Now, see if ye can tell me what happened more clearly, without all the wailing.” He listened carefully to her tale, then looked at her cousin Donald. “Is that what ye recall?”

“Aye,” Donald replied but added no details.

Realizing the man was not inclined to say any more, Sigimor studied him closely. He shared the looks that made Barbara such a beauty, the fine features, the rich blue eyes, and even the golden blond hair, but he was tall and slender. He looked almost sulky and, even though it could be because he had not shown well in the battle with the thieves, Sigimor felt it was something else souring his mood. Was he an unwilling cohort in some scheme of Barbara’s?

Since she had shown an interest in him when she had been a guest of the MacFingals, Sigimor wondered if she was here to try to ensnare him. It seemed vain to think she would go to such trouble for him, especially as it could gain her no more than an adulterous tumble. He was already married and he still felt she had known that before her arrival. It was possible that Barbara did not see his marriage as permanent since his wife was English. There was some justification for the woman to think that as he suspected, the English courts and the English church would be willing to give an Englishwoman an annulment of any marriage made with a Scot. He quickly shook aside that thought, unwilling to linger on it.

“From what I saw, your injuries are nay so dire,” he said. “Ye willnae need to rest here for long. I will fetch ye some drink. Twill be a wee while ere the rooms are readied for ye.” Ignoring her stuttered attempts to hold his attention, Sigimor strode back to the head table, Liam and Somerled close on his heels.

“Who is that woman?” asked Somerled.

“Someone I kenned ten years ago,” Sigimor replied as he grabbed three empty tankards and gave them each a fleeting wipe with a square of linen. “A foolish young mon’s folly. She married a rich old mon who has recently died.”

“And left her a rich widow?”

“I dinnae think so.” Sigimor told him about the conversation he had had with the aging Lord MacLean two years ago. “I think he left her a verra poor widow.”

“Ah, and so she seeks a new husband and has set her sights on you. Thought this
wee game up to get herself under your roof.”

“Ye dinnae believe her tale, either?”

“Nay, we dinnae have much trouble with thieves. And, the ones who have dared trouble this area from time to time wouldnae be so gentle with their chosen victims.”

“Aye,” agreed Liam. “They would have left those three with a lot worse than the wee love pats they are whining about, if they left them alive at all.”

“Tis just what I was thinking,” Sigimor said as he filled the tankards with wine. “I am tempted to throw then out.”

“Why dinnae ye?”

“The last I kenned, Lady Barbara had some verra powerful friends and kinsmen. Unless I find out otherwise, I dare not refuse her common hospitality. She would be quick to cry to them if I did. Aye, and she would make it sound far worse than simple rudeness. They arenae the sort ye wish to anger or offend.”

“So we are stuck with the wench for a while,” Somerled murmured. “Mayhap now that she kens ye are already married, she will quickly end this game and leave.”

“That would please me,” said Sigimor, “but I doubt that will happen. Truth is, I think she already kenned that I was married.”

“Then why play this game at all? She can gain naught from it. Weel, nay unless ye break your own rules and decide adultery isnae such a great sin.”

“That willnae happen. It certainly willnae happen with that bitch. She was weel used when I kenned her and, if all I have heard of her since then is true, ’tis a wonder she isnae bowlegged. Since neither of ye have a wife to shield ye from her tricks, I would advise ye to be wary.”

“We arenae poor, but we arenae lairds and we dinnae hold any lands. Too poor a choice for the likes of her.”

“That depends upon how desperate she is.” He almost smiled at the identical looks of dismay the men wore. “Try to get close to her cousin Donald. Whate’er game is being played here doesnae sit weel with him. Although he has been her little pet for years, he isnae completely of her ilk. He may be the weak link. Something is afoot here and I cannae shake the feeling that more than getting some fool to marry her is behind all of this.”

Once Liam and Somerled agreed, Sigimor took the wine to his unwanted guests. He responded curtly to all of Lady Barbara’s attempts to engage him in conversation. It annoyed him when she made sly, flirtatious references to their past relationship. She seemed completely oblivious to the possibility that his memories of that time might not be fond ones. The way she tried so hard to ignore Liam, and so often failed, was almost amusing. Barbara might be eyeing him as her next husband, but she was clearly unable to resist any handsome man, and especially not one as handsome as Liam. She seemed to have enough sense to know bedding Liam could ruin her chance of becoming Lady of Dubheidland, but Sigimor suspected even she was not sure how long she could resist the temptation Liam offered. If he was not so worried about what trouble this woman could cause him, Sigimor knew he would find her battle with her own licentious greed extremely entertaining.

When Old Nancy arrived to say the rooms for their guests were ready, Sigimor breathed a sigh of relief. A heartbeat later, he found his arms full of the voluptuous Barbara. He was impressed by how quickly she had moved, even as he fought the urge to
drop her on the floor. As he conceded the victory to her this time and started to carry her to her room, he noticed the scowls his kinsmen wore and felt somewhat comforted. His family might not have decided to fully accept Jolene, but this show of disapproval for Barbara indicated that the seed of acceptance had already been planted. Sigimor felt confident that Jolene herself would be enough to make it grow.

Once in the bedchamber assigned to Barbara, Sigimor discovered that the woman was stronger than she looked. As he set her down on the bed, her grip had tightened around his neck, and he had barely stopped himself from sprawling on top of her. Now he stood next to the bed, her arms around his neck like a noose, and wondered how to get loose without hurting her. Sigimor held himself as tautly as he could as he lifted his hands from the bed and grabbed her by the wrists.

“Let go of me, Barbara,” he ordered, struggling to control his rising temper when she pulled herself up against him. “Now.”

“So cold to me, Sigimor,” she said. “Ye ne’er used to be. Dinnae ye remember all those times we were together?”

He stared at her beautiful face and briefly looked over her fulsome body. She had been a young man’s dream, but he realized that dream had died a long time ago. Sigimor found that he could acknowledge her beauty, but was not moved by it in the slightest. Now he was all too aware of the rot beneath that fine skin. Even if he was a free man, he doubted he would be seduced by her, so completely unmoved did she leave him.

“I am married,” he said and tightened his grasp on her wrists. She winced faintly, but did not let go of him.

“To that Sassenach? That bone-thin, black-haired child?”

“’Ware, Barbara, I dinnae tolerate any insult to my wife.”

“Ye ken as weel as I do that ye need not hold to this marriage. Either one of ye could have it annulled with ease simply because ye are a Scot and she is a Sassenach. Come, my braw knight, let me remind ye of what we once shared.”

Sigimor knew she was about to kiss him and he was tempted to let her. He knew he would remain cold and that might pinch her vanity enough to make her give up this game. Then, just as her lips were a breath away from his, he saw her cast a swift, sly glance toward the door. He jerked his head back and tightened his grip on her wrists enough to make her gasp. Unfortunately, it was still not enough to make her let go and he inwardly cursed when Jolene stepped up next to him.

Jolene had a good idea that her husband was not a willing captive, but that only eased her jealousy a little. Some other time she might even be able to think back on the look of horror in his eyes and smile. Just now she was trying to decide which one of them she wanted to hurt—badly. She caught a glint of triumph in Barbara’s expression and decided she would not give the woman the satisfaction.

“I thought it my duty to come and see if our guest was comfortable,” Jolene said, proud of the calm tone of her voice. “I see you have taken care of settling her into her bed, husband.”

“Aye, I just cannae seem to get loose,” he said, seeing no sign that she believed him.

“Ah, I see. Easily taken care of.”

She moved so quickly, Sigimor was not exactly sure what she did but it worked. Jolene’s hand flicked toward Barbara and was back at her side in the blink of an eye.
Barbara screeched and let go of him. There was even the glint of tears in the woman’s eyes. Then she slipped her hand under her armpit and Sigimor almost smiled, knowing exactly where Jolene had struck and that it hurt.

“Shall I leave you to making sure that our guest is comfortable? Aye, I believe I shall,” Jolene said, not waiting for an answer and heading for the door. “Do let me know if she needs her injuries seen to.”

So sweet of voice, so polite, so absolutely furious, Sigimor mused as he watched Jolene leave. Her eyes had been nearly black. He was going to have to be very good at explaining what she had seen if he wanted to be slipping beneath the blankets with her tonight. Barbara was already stirring up trouble, he thought as he turned to look at her. The pretty little pout she wore only angered him more. Just how stupid did she think he was?

“Your wife hurt me, Sigimor,” Barbara said, sniffing delicately. “That was cruel.”

“That was weel deserved,” he said.

“Sigimor! How can ye speak so harshly to me after all we shared?”

“We shared naught, m’lady, save for a few bouts of sweaty rutting.” He watched her struggle to keep her temper under control, all the soft flirtatiousness in her expression rapidly disappearing. “If ye didnae have such powerful allies, kin and otherwise, I would have left ye to rot outside of my gates. Did ye think I had heard naught of ye since the day I found ye with that young Douglas lad atween your thighs? Ye are trouble, Lady Barbara. Ye stir it up where’er ye go. Weel, ye willnae stir it up here. Ye can stay until I decide ye are better or until I find out whether ye have any allies left or nay. Then ye will go.” He started toward the door, but paused just inside it to add, “If ye hurt my wife, ye will wish ye had ne’er started this game.” Sigimor headed down to the great hall, feeling a need for a strong drink before he faced Jolene.

“Did ye sort her out?” asked Liam as Sigimor entered the great hall and, upon reaching his seat, immediately poured himself an ale.

“Aye, the bitch is settled in her bedchamber and, if she has any wits at all, she will stay there until she finally leaves.” Sigimor slouched in his seat and took a deep drink of ale. “We need to keep an ear to the ground more, mayhap e’en send someone to the king’s court more often.”

“Why the sudden interest in such things?” asked Somerled.

“If I kenned where Barbara stood with her allies or e’en with her kinsmen, I might not be caught in this snare,” Sigimor replied. “If she has cut them off or been cut off by them, I could kick her out. We have always been verra good at finding out a lot about one thing at a time, one enemy or possible enemy or e’en a possible ally. I believe we must needs stop being so selective.”

“Tis a thought. Considering how twisted and ever-changing things are, it might be a good way to stay safe
and
solvent.”

“I assume from all this that the Lady Barbara has already tried to make trouble,” Liam said.

“Tried and may have succeeded,” replied Sigimor. “Once I get the backbone to go to bed, I will find out for certain.”

“What did she do?” Liam’s eyes widened with amused sympathy as Sigimor explained what had happened. “The woman wastes no time, does she? Are ye certain ye ought to leave Jolene alone to think about it for too long?”

Sigimor sighed. “Nay, but I will. I need to think about a few things myself ere I join my wife. Tis possible Barbara still seeks a husband. My having a wife doesnae seem to trouble her or deter her. That makes no sense.”

“She could think that she could drive Jolene away. Jolene would go back to England then, wouldnae she.”

“But she would still be my wife.”

“Nay for verra long. Either one of ye could probably get the marriage annulled with ease. Jolene may not ken it now, but once back in England she would find out quick enough.”

“Possibly. Barbara said much the same.” Sigimor really hated to think of how easily Jolene could be shed of him if she chose to be. “I am surprised that Barbara would have any knowledge of such things, though. Yet, I cannae shake the feeling that there is more here than Barbara’s need for a husband and her thinking me fool enough to step into her snare.”

“Women like Barbara are verra vain. And, so many men have tumbled into her trap for so long, she probably cannae believe ye willnae do the same. She has fooled so many, ’tisnae surprising if she thinks we are all idiots.”