Highlander's Reckoning (The Sinclair Brothers #3) (4 page)

“I asked you a question, lass,” he said, no longer
trying to hide his irritation.

“And I don’t wish to answer. Will you shake it out
of me, as my father would have?” She raised her chin as she spoke, but he
didn’t miss the flicker of uncertainty in her bright blue eyes. She was testing
him, but because she didn’t know him yet, she wasn’t sure if he was the type of
man to use force against a woman.

“I’ll not harm you, lass. But as your future husband
and the keeper of this castle, I demand respect for my authority.”

“Isn’t that the difficulty with respect, though? You
cannot demand it. It can only be earned,” she retorted.

He felt his teeth clench at her sharp words. “So you
refuse to tell me where you have been for the last several hours and why you
have arrived looking like a bedraggled servant rather than the daughter of a
Laird and the future wife of the keeper of Loch Doon?”

Her head jerked down, seeming to only now realize
that her gown was coarse and simple, and that mud spattered her boots and her
wool hem. But perhaps he shouldn’t have taken aim at her appearance, for
instead of a cold fire in her eyes, she looked up at him with horror and
embarrassment.

“I’m sorry my appearance displeases you,
my lord
,”
she said, but her sharpness was gone, to be replaced with a brittleness that
belied her fragility.

Bloody hell, what a start they were making.

To try to get things on the right track, he made a
show of looking down at his own muddied, disheveled clothes.

“Perhaps we could both use a bath and a night of
sleep before we discuss this further.”

A look of surprise, swiftly followed by panic,
transformed her face. She thought he was proposing they bathe and sleep
together.

“Separately, of course,” he said quickly.

His words seemed to both soothe her alarm and cool
her temper.

“Very well, my lord,” she said with a conciliatory
nod. She turned toward the stairs leading to the chambers above, but before she
took a step, he extended his arm to her.

He wasn’t sure why he did it. Partly it seemed like
a husbandly thing to do and would help to further smooth things between them.
But he also couldn’t deny that he was curious to feel her slim, white hand
resting on his.

She hesitated for a moment, looking between his
outstretched arm and his face warily. Finally, she slipped her arm through his,
placing her fingers on top of his hand lightly. She allowed him to guide her
toward the spiraling stairs and begin their ascent.

They arrived at his chamber first, and before he
could take her hand in his, she had pulled away.

“Good night, my lord,” she said, averting her eyes.
She didn’t wait for him to respond. Instead, she dashed farther up the stairs
toward her own chamber.

Once he had closed the chamber door behind him, he
let his mind puzzle out the strange events of the day—and Rona Kennedy, most
strange of all.

The maid Agnes had sent a bathing tub and water
before the evening meal. The water had long since grown cold, but Daniel disrobed
and bathed anyway. He hoped the cold water would help clear his mind, but
instead the memory of Rona’s eyes, bright as a cloudless summer day, kept
creeping back to him.

At least she was fair of face and form, he thought,
but instead of the sour dissatisfaction he tried to muster, his body felt
heated at the images of her floating in his mind.

As he dried himself off and stepped toward the large
bed, he forced his thoughts from the lass’s looks. Although he was grateful to
the Bruce for bestowing upon him the honor of running Loch Doon and for
ordering him to wed a woman who stirred his lust, he silently cursed his King
for sending him into such a tangled mess.

Laird Kennedy would likely have to be sent away,
lest the castle and the village become divided in their loyalties. Speaking of
loyalty, he would have to make it clear to both the Scottish residents and the
English who so often lurked in the Lowlands that Loch Doon was firmly in the
service of the Bruce and the cause for independence.

And something must be done about Rona, though he
didn’t know what. He simply couldn’t have his soon-to-be wife disappearing and
refusing to explain herself. Normally he wouldn’t have permitted anyone to
speak to him so sharply and with such abandon, but Rona’s tongue and wit
intrigued him.

Perhaps he had gotten too used to people
unquestioningly following his commands. The lass’s spirited retorts reminded
him that he had to prove himself to all at Loch Doon. Just because the King had
placed him in charge didn’t mean that these people would automatically respect
and follow him. And just because Rona would be his wife didn’t mean that she
wouldn’t challenge him.

With that thought, Daniel fell into an uneasy sleep.

For a brief, delicious moment between sleep and
wakefulness, Rona had forgotten her impending marriage, the secrets she must
keep, and her disastrous first encounter with Daniel Sinclair. Instead, all she
remembered, all she felt, was hard, strong muscle flexing under her fingertips,
and blue-gray eyes like the sea swallowing her, devouring her.

But then the moment slipped away, and she was left
with the weight of her problems. She did notice, however, that a strange
awareness, a tingling in the back of her mind, followed her throughout the
morning, especially whenever she remembered Daniel Sinclair’s extended arm and
his eyes boring into her. Perhaps she was coming down with a cold.

To appease both her father and her future husband,
Rona repeated the string of primping and preparing she had been put through the
day before. With Agnes’ help, she was whipped back into looking like a lady
rather than a—what had he called her?—a bedraggled servant.

Because of the extra time it took to get ready, she
descended the stairs to the great hall later than usual. Before she even
reached the last few steps, however, she heard loud voices in the hall and the
sounds of many people shuffling around.

The sight that greeted her when she stepped into the
hall had her jaw slackening.

It looked like the entire population of the castle,
and half of the village on top of that, crowded into the great hall and spilled
out into the courtyard. Rising on her tiptoes, she peered out the open hall
doors to the yard. She had been mistaken. Half the village wasn’t there—nearly
the entire population was gathered on the island.

“…And do you swear loyalty to King Robert the Bruce
of Scotland?”

Her eyes whipped around to the raised dais where she
and her father normally ate. Standing atop the dais was Daniel Sinclair, who
had just spoken. There was a small opening in the crowd in front of the dais,
and to her horror, Rona realized that her father knelt before the Highlander.

“I do swear,” her father said, loud enough for all
to hear.

“Do you swear loyalty to me as keeper of Loch Doon
and proxy for our King’s commands?”

“I do swear.”

The crowd murmured in response to her father’s
words, but she couldn’t tell if it was in approval or dissatisfaction.

Her father stood and stepped to the side. Just as
Malcolm, her father’s right-hand man, was about to kneel and swear fealty to
their new lord, Daniel Sinclair’s head turned and he caught sight of her at the
base of the stairs.

She was instantly pinned by his intense gaze.
Sensing a change in him, those filling the hall turned to see what held his attention.
She cursed silently, hating the feel of all those eyes on her. The crowd parted
slightly, making a path directly to where her future husband stood on the dais.

Forcing herself to straighten her spine, she glided
forward, telling herself that it was her choice to approach and not the power
of his gaze that drew her to him. His eyes raked over her, just as they had
last night, yet his face was hard and unreadable. Did her appearance displease
him again?

That thought almost sent her spinning on her heels
and clambering back to her chamber. She knew she wasn’t pretty the way the
fair-haired, petite, milk-skinned girls in the village were. She was too
tall—she stood a few inches above her own father—and slim rather than
curvaceous. Freckles marred her face, and her hair was unruly and wild. But she
also knew that this was as good as she would ever look, cinched into a fine
blue gown that brought out the color of her eyes, her hair combed and pulled
back around her face, and the circlet of gold Agnes had insisted she wear today
resting atop her head.

Trying to soothe her nerves, she halted in front of
the dais and looked up at the new lord of Loch Doon. He already would have
towered over everyone gathering in the hall, what with his remarkable Highland
height, but with the added boost of the dais, he stood at least two feet over
her.

“You look well today, my Lady Rona,” he said
smoothly—and loud enough for those gathered to hear. Then more quietly, he
added, “Though I suppose I should count myself lucky to see you at all, given
your disappearance yesterday.”

She flushed at his barb and felt her anger rising.

“And I see that you still wear the kilt of a
northern barbarian, my lord,” she said tartly. “I had assumed that those were
your traveling clothes, but I see that I should consider this your best
attire.”

In truth, he wore a fresh shirt and kilt, the red of
the plaid bright and vibrant. She also noticed that his boots were mud-free. He
must have brought several clean versions of this outfit. At least he had an
appreciation for cleanliness, she thought grudgingly.

“Why do you northerners wear such—” she waved at his
kilt, “—such strange garb anyway?”

She waited for his frown at her sharp tongue, but
strangely, half of his mouth quirked up as if he were close to smiling. His
look made her feel suddenly unsure of herself.

“Because it is far more comfortable than your
southern breeches, my lady,” he said wryly. “Lots of…fresh air moving about.”

Her cheeks flared in a blush at his words and his
implication about what he wore under his kilt.

Nothing
,
her mind whispered.

Unbidden, her eyes darted down to his kilt, which
was level with her chest. She silently cursed herself again and ripped her eyes
back up to his face, which bore a knowing grin. Blessedly, he spoke again,
distracting her from her embarrassment.

“Will you take an oath of fealty, as your father
has, Lady Rona?” he said, shifting into that clear, commanding voice.

She flushed again and her stomach pinched. Why must
it happen so soon, and so publicly? But what else could she do? She couldn’t
simply refuse to pledge her loyalty to him and Robert the Bruce—that would set
a bad example for her people. As unconventional as she was when it came to
serving as lady of the keep, she couldn’t fail them by throwing them into
strife with their new lord.

The hall was very silent as they waited for her
answer. Finally, she willed herself to speak.

“Aye, I am ready.”

She knelt on the hall floor, thankful that the
servants had put down fresh rushes for the Highlander’s arrival. She kept her
head lowered as she spoke the words, in effect renouncing her father’s
authority at Loch Doon and giving it to this stranger.

As she said the last words of fealty in her loudest
voice, she sensed that her future husband had moved on the dais. She glanced
up, only to find him half crouched and leaning down toward her.

Without waiting for her to comprehend what was
happening, he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her into the air.
She gave out a decidedly indelicate shriek of shock as he set her on the dais
next to him. Sounds of surprise and amusement rippled through the crowd at
their new lord’s display of strength.

Rona barely noticed, though. Despite the fact that
her feet were solidly on the wooden dais, she still felt like she was floating,
with only Daniel’s strong hands to anchor her. All too soon, he let his hands
slip from her waist and turned back to the crowded hall.

“Your former lord and lady have sworn their
allegiance to Robert the Bruce, and to me in his stead,” Daniel said to those
gathered. “And tomorrow, your lady will become my wife.”

The crowd rumbled their approval, but his words hit
her like a splash of cold water.

“Tomorrow?” she hissed under her breath at him.

He turned back to her, speaking quietly. “Aye. I
decided that it would make the transition for all of us smoother to just do it
quickly.”

Smoother? In the span of two days she was expected
to meet her betrothed, renounce her father’s position as keeper of Loch Doon,
accept this Highlander’s new rule, and be married? She doubted very much that
he had a smooth transition in mind. More likely, he wanted to assert his
authority—over both Loch Doon and her—as swiftly and definitively as possible.

Despite the frustration that now heated her blood,
she tried to keep her voice level and low. “Surely it would be better to get to
know each other a bit more before we are wed.”

He shrugged, but his eyes were sharp on her. “It
makes no difference how well we know each other, lass. We have been ordered by
the King to marry.”

For the first time, she got the impression that he
might be just as displeased about their arranged marriage as she was. But then
he dropped back into the even coldness that was becoming familiar to her. “As I
said, we will wed tomorrow.”

He turned back to the crowd and proclaimed that one
at a time, each member of the household staff, each resident of the castle, and
each villager gathered on Loch Doon’s island would kneel before their new lord
and swear fealty to him and the Scottish King.

Rona stood mutely by his side as the familiar faces,
each of whom had been loyal to her father, who had served the Bruce as best he
could, pledged their fealty to this outsider. Daniel stood like an unyielding
rock on the dais, asking each individual to swear their oath.

By the time the midday meal rolled around, Rona was
exhausted from standing rigidly next to Daniel. Her gown was cinched too
tightly. She realized that she hadn’t eaten anything all day, and she swayed
slightly on her feet, praying she wouldn’t faint up on the dais for all to see.
She wasn’t one of those ladies who could skip meals. She had a healthy
appetite, and when it was denied, she got woozy.

Daniel finally called a recess in the seemingly
endless stream of oath-swearers. He ordered a simple meal of bread, cheese,
dried fruits, and meat be passed around to all gathered, with the promise that
they would all be invited back for a larger and more festive wedding celebration.
Those gathered seemed content with the meal and with a day spent watching the
new lord interact with their lady.

Rona raised a shaky hand to her face, trying to
steady her legs. If he could be so strong and unbending, so could she. She only
closed her eyes for a moment, but the whole room spun when she did.

Suddenly, Daniel’s large hands were around her waist
again.

“Are you all right, lass?” he said in a low voice
next to her ear.

“Aye, just…not feeling well,” she managed.

He ordered a chair brought over and held her steady
as it was placed on the dais by two servants. He eased her back into the chair,
letting his hands slip away from her waist slowly. After he saw bread and
cheese placed in her hands and watched her chew hungrily, he knelt by the side
of the chair so that their faces were level.

“I apologize, lass,” he said quietly. “I didn’t pay
enough attention to you. It won’t happen again.”

For some reason, his serious words stirred her.

“It’s all right. I forgot to break my fast, and
then…” She waved at the bustling, crowded hall to indicate the unusual
circumstances.

“I have never been a husband before,” he said, his
mouth half-quirking as it had before.

Despite her fatigue and the confusing mix of
frustration, anger, and fear she felt at the thought of marrying him, she found
herself cracking a small smile.

“I’ve never been a wife before.”

“Then perhaps we can find our way together,” he
said, taking one of her hands in his. He lowered his dark head over her hand,
pressing his lips to her knuckles. Even that faint touch sent a shiver through
her.

She nodded, suddenly finding herself at a loss for
words. Those gathered in the hall must have noticed what transpired between
their lady and their new lord, for a few whistles and chuckles went up, breaking
the trance he had cast over her with his touch.

She jerked her hand back from his hold and broke the
gaze that was pinning her.

“If you don’t mind, my lord, I’d like to retire to
my chamber,” she said.

“Aye, if that’s what you wish,” he said slowly, suddenly
more guarded than he had been a moment ago.

Before he could confuse her further with his searing
gaze or intimate touches, she stood and stepped down from the dais. She hurried
toward the stairs and the sanctuary of her chamber, but even as she reached her
chamber door, the memory of his stare still heated her cheeks.