The Chieftain (29 page)

“Sìleas’s lands are important to the clan, especially Knock Castle,” Connor said, draping an arm across Ian’s shoulders. “It
protects our lands on the eastern shore. We can’t have it falling into the hands of the MacKinnons.”

“What are ye saying?” Ian asked between clenched teeth.

“Ye know verra well my father did not force ye to wed Sìleas out of concern for the girl’s virtue. He wanted Knock Castle
in the hands of his nephew.”

“Ye can’t be trying to tell me to accept Sìleas as my wife.”

Connor squeezed Ian’s shoulder. “All I’m asking is that you consider the needs of the clan.”

Ian shrugged Connor’s hand off him. “I’m telling ye now, I’ll no keep this marriage.”

“Well, if ye don’t,” Connor said, “then ye must find a man we can trust to take your place.”

“Perhaps ye should wait until you’re chieftain before ye start giving orders,” Ian snapped.

T
he wind whipped at Sìleas’s cloak as she stood with their nearest neighbor, Gòrdan Graumach MacDonald, on a rocky outcrop
overlooking the sea. The mountains of the mainland were black against the darkening sky. Despite the damp cold that penetrated
her bones and the need to get home to help with supper, something held her.

“How much longer will ye give Ian?” Gòrdan asked.

Sìleas watched a boat crossing the strait, its outline barely visible in the fading light, as she considered his question.

When she didn’t answer, Gòrdan said, “’Tis past time you gave up on him.”

Give up on Ian? Could she do that? It was the question she asked herself every day now.

She had loved Ian for as long as she could remember. Almost from the time she could walk, she had planned to marry him. She
smiled to herself, remembering how kind he had been to her, despite the teasing he got from the men and other lads for letting
a wee lass half his size follow him like a lost puppy.

“Five years he’s kept ye waiting,” Gòrdan pressed. “That’s more time than any man deserves.”

“That’s true enough.” Sìleas brushed back the hair whipping across her face.

Her wedding was the worst memory of her life—and she was a woman with plenty of bad memories to choose from. There had been
no time for the usual traditions that made a wedding a celebration and brought luck to a new marriage. No gifts and well-wishes
from the neighbors. No washing of the bride’s feet. No ring. No carrying the bride over the threshold.

And certainly no sprinkling of the bed with holy water—not with Ian threatening to toss the priest down the stairs when he
attempted to go with them up to the bedchamber.

None of the traditions for luck were kept, save for the one. Ian’s mother insisted Sìleas wear a new gown, though Sìleas didn’t
see how a bit more bad luck on top of what she already had could make a difference. Regardless, Ian’s mother wouldn’t hear
of her wearing the filthy gown she had arrived in. Unfortunately, the only new gown to be had upon an hour’s notice was one
Ian’s mother had made for herself.

Sìleas rushed through her bath, barely washing, so she would be out and dressed before Ian’s mother returned to help her.
Quickly, she dabbed at the long gashes across her back so she would leave no telltale blood on the borrowed gown.

When she slipped the gown over her head, it floated about her like a sack. She looked down at where the bodice sagged, exaggerating
her lack. If that were not bad enough, she wanted to weep at the color. Such a violent shade of red would look lovely on Ian’s
dark-haired mother, but it made Sìleas’s hair look orange and her skin blotchy.

When Ian’s mother burst in the room, her startled expression before she smoothed it confirmed Sìleas’s worst fears.

“’Tis a shame we can’t alter it,” his mother said, clucking her tongue. “But ye know that brings a bride bad luck.”

Sìleas was sure the gown’s color canceled out any good luck its unaltered state was likely to bring her. A bride was supposed
to wear blue.

Then came the worst part of all. As she descended the stairs, with his mother’s hand at her back pushing her forward, she
heard Ian shouting at his father. His words were the last blow that nearly felled her.

Have ye taken a good look at her, da? I tell ye, I will not have her. I’ll no say my vows.

But with his father, his chieftain, and a dozen armed clansmen surrounding him, Ian did say them.

Sìleas blinked when Gòrdan stepped in front of her and took hold of her shoulders, bringing her sharply back to the present.

“Don’t try to kiss me again,” she said, turning her head. “Ye know it’s not right.”

“What I know is that ye deserve a husband who will love and honor ye,” Gòrdan said. “I want to be that man.”

“You’re a good man, and I like ye.” Gòrdan was fine looking as well, with rich brown hair and warm hazel eyes. “But I keep
thinking that once Ian returns, he’ll…”

He’ll what? Fall on his knees and beg my forgiveness? Tell me he regretted every single day he was away?

Truth be told, she wasn’t ready to be married when they wed. She had needed another year or two before becoming a true wife.
But five years! Each day Ian didn’t return deepened the wound. By now, she should have a babe in her arms and another grabbing
at their skirts, like most women her age. She wanted children. And a husband.

Sìleas drew in a deep breath of the sharp, salty air. It was one humiliation after another. Ian could pretend they were not
wed, because he was living among a thousand French folk who did not know it. But she lived with his family on this island
in the midst of their clan.

Where every last person knows Ian has left me here waiting.

“If you cannot ask for an annulment…” Gòrdan let the question hang unfinished.

Though she could ask for an annulment, she could not tell even Gòrdan that—at least, not yet. She had been lectured on that
point quite severely by both Ian’s father and the chieftain. If her MacKinnon relatives heard that her marriage was never
consummated, they would attempt to steal her away, declare the marriage invalid, and force her to wed one of their own.

Yet her marriage to Ian was not a trial marriage, as most were. Through some miracle, the chieftain had found a priest. The
chieftain had wanted them bound—and her castle firmly in the hands of the MacDonalds of Sleat.

For the same reason, it would have been useless to ask her chieftain to support a petition to annul her marriage. A bishop
wouldn’t send a petition to Rome on her request alone. Consequently, she had written a letter to King James seeking his help.
For six months, the letter lay hidden away in her chest, awaiting her decision to send it.

But now, both King James and her chieftain were dead.

“If you can’t ask for an annulment,” Gòrdan said, “then simply divorce Ian and marry me.”

“Your mother would no be pleased with that,” she said with a dry laugh. “I don’t know if she would faint dead away or take
a dirk to ye.”

Although it was common in the Highlands to wed and divorce without the church’s blessing, Gòrdan’s mother had notions about
the sort of woman her precious only son should wed. A “used” woman was unlikely to satisfy her.

“’Tis no my mother’s decision,” Gòrdan said. “I love ye, Sìleas, and I’m set on having ye for my wife.”

Sìleas sighed. It was a precious gift to have a good man tell her he loved her, even if he was the wrong man. “Ye know I can’t
think of leaving Ian’s family now.”

“Then promise ye will give me an answer as soon as ye are able,” Gòrdan said. “There are many men who would want ye, but I’ll
be good to ye. I’m a steadfast man. I’d never leave ye as Ian did.”

Though he meant to reassure her, his words pierced her heart.

“’Tis time we returned to the house.” She turned and started toward the path. “I’ve been gone too long.”

“Ach, no one will begrudge ye a wee time away after you’ve been working so hard,” Gòrdan said, taking her arm. “And if ye
marry me, they’ll have to learn to do without ye.”

As they walked up the path, Sìleas looked over her shoulder at the dark water.
Where was Ian now?
Even after all this time, she missed the boy who had been her friend and protector. But she didn’t think she still wanted
the angry young man who had left her—even if he deigned to return to claim her after all this time.

Five years she had waited for Ian. It was long enough. Tomorrow, she would rewrite her letter and send it to the dead king’s
widow.

“Perhaps ye should ease up on the whiskey,” Alex said.

“Ye can’t expect me to face this sober,” Ian said.

Ian tipped the jug back one more time to be sure it was empty then tossed it aside. When they rounded the next bend, he saw
the smoke from the chimneys of his family home curling against the darkened sky and felt a piercing longing for his family.
It would be good to be home… if not for having to face the problem of Sìleas.

“Most women don’t appreciate a man who is slobbering drunk, cousin,” Alex said. “I hope ye haven’t had so much you’ll have
trouble doing your husbandly duty.”

“Will ye no leave it alone?”

“Ach,” Alex said, rubbing his arm where Ian had punched him, “I only meant to cheer ye up with a wee bit a teasing.”

“’Tis good you’re coming home with me,” Ian said. “Since Sìleas will be needing another husband in the clan, it may as well
be you.”

“And I thought ye were fond of the lass,” Alex said.

In truth, Ian was fond of Sìleas. He wanted a good husband for her.

He just didn’t want it to be him.

For five years, he had this false marriage hanging over him. Not that he’d let it constrain him, but it was always there in
the back of his mind like a sore that wouldn’t heal. Now that he had come home to Skye, it was time to take his place in his
clan. He supposed he would have to take a wife—which meant he had to deal with the problem of Sìleas first. He still got angry
every time he thought of how he’d been forced to wed her. And whether she’d done it on purpose or not, it was her fault.

Once he was out from under the marriage, he could forgive her.

A dog barked somewhere in the darkness to herald his homecoming. The smell of cows and horses filled his nose as they passed
between the familiar black shapes of the byre and the old cottage where his parents had first lived. Just ahead, lamplight
filtered through the shutters of the two-story house his father had built before Ian was born.

Swaying just a wee bit, Ian found the latch and lifted it. The earthy smell of the peat fire enveloped him as he eased inside
the door.

Ignoring Alex’s nudge from behind, he paused in the dark foyer to survey the people gathered around the hearth. His mother
sat on the far side. Her face was still beautiful, but she was too thin, and her thick, black braid had streaks of white.

Across from her, a couple sat on a bench with their backs to the door. Neighbors, most likely. Between them and his mother,
a young man with his brother’s chestnut hair was sprawled on the floor, as if he lived here. Could this long-limbed fellow,
talking in a deep voice, be his “little” brother Niall?

There was no sign of his father or Sìleas, so he would have the easy greetings first.

“Hello Mam!” he called, as he stepped into the hall.

His mother shrieked his name and ran across the room to leap into his arms. He twirled her around before setting her back
down.

“Mam, mam, don’t weep.” Her bones felt sharp under his hands as he patted her back to soothe her. “Ye can see I am well.”

“Ye are a wretched son to stay away so long.” She slapped his arm, but she was smiling at him through her tears.

“Auntie Beitris, I know ye missed me, too,” Alex said, as he held his arms out to Ian’s mother.

“And who is this braw man?” Ian said, turning to his brother.

Their mother had lost three babes, all of them girls, before Niall was born, so there was a nine-year gap between Ian and
his brother. When Ian left for France, his brother had barely reached his shoulder. Now, at fifteen, Niall stood eye to eye
with him.

“Surely, this cannot be my baby brother.” Ian locked his arm around Niall’s neck and rubbed his head with his knuckles, then
passed him to Alex, who did the same.

“Look at ye,” Alex said. “I’d wager all the lasses on the island have been after ye, since I wasn’t here to divert them.”

Niall and Alex exchanged a couple of good-natured punches, then Niall caught Ian’s eye and cocked his head. Ian had forgotten
all about the couple on the bench, but at his brother’s signal, he turned around to greet them.

The room fell away as Ian stared at the young woman who now stood in the glow of the firelight with her eyes fixed on the
floor and her hands clenched before her. Her hair was the most beautiful shade of red he had ever seen. It fell in gleaming
waves over her shoulders and breasts and framed a face so lovely it squeezed his heart to look at her.

When she lifted her gaze and met his, the air went out of him. Her eyes were a bright emerald, and they seemed to be asking
a question as if her very life depended upon it.

Whatever this lass’s question was, his answer was aye.

Knight of Desire

Knight of Pleasure

Knight of Passion

The Guardian

The Sinner

The Warrior

“4 ½ stars! Top Pick! Mallory’s Return of the Highlanders series continues in this riveting story with great depth and sensuality.
Her vibrant characters are so real readers will feel they are experiencing everything with them… Readers will be completely
caught up in the beautifully crafted and compassionate love story.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“Margaret Mallory creates magic with her words, and draws the reader into her story from page one.”

—TheReadingReviewer.com
 

“Margaret Mallory’s Return of the Highlanders series is pure satisfaction guaranteed for Highlander lovers…
The Warrior
is dark and dangerous with its impassioned couple and remarkable story… [It] is as mighty as it is fierce. This romance is
a stand-out, and I’m Joyfully Recommending it!”

—JoyfullyReviewed.com
 

“An entertaining second chance at love tale… Fans will appreciate this engaging sixteenth century Scottish romance as love
heals the mind and soul.”

—GenreGoRoundReviews.blogspot.com

“Sizzling and captivating… Mallory weaves a fine yarn with plenty of spice and thrills.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“4 ½ stars! Mallory’s portrait of 16th-century Scotland and the lively adventures she creates for her characters certainly
engage readers’ emotions. The sizzling sexual tension between the hero and heroine will leave readers breathless.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“
The Sinner
is perfect! Alex and Glynis are sexy, stubborn and simply divine together.
The Sinner
should not be missed!”

—JoyfullyReviewed.com

“A wonderful novel led by two powerful personalities…
The Sinner
is an exciting, turbulent read from beginning to end. I will be waiting impatiently for the next installment of this story.”

—FreshFiction.com  

“Captivating… Alex is a delicious male lead that would send any woman’s heart aflutter… The chemistry and the fire that this
couple had was explosive and just seemed to leap off the page… This book needs to be savored with a nice glass of wine… I
am anxiously awaiting Duncan’s story.”

—NightOwlReviews.com

“4 ½ stars! Top Pick! Mallory imbues history with a life of its own, creating a deeply moving story. Her characters are vibrantly
alive and full of emotional depth, each with their own realistic flaws. Her sensuous and highly passionate tale grabs the
reader and doesn’t let go.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“Masterfully written… Mallory has created a series that every romance reader must read.
The Guardian
is truly a sizzling romance with high-impact adventure that captures the Scotland readers long for. The characters created
by Mallory have found places in my heart, and I am impatiently awaiting the next of this spectacular series!”

—FreshFiction.com

“An amazing introduction to what is fated to become a dangerously addictive series. With characters capable of breaching the
most impenetrable of readers’ defenses, riveting story lines (and even more intriguing subplots), quick, witty dialogue, as
well as wild sexual tension—the only thing readers will crave, is more.”

—RomanceJunkiesReviews.com

“Top Pick! As in the previous book in her All the King’s Men series, Mallory brings history to life, creating dramatic and
gut-wrenching stories. Her characters are incredibly alive and readers will feel and believe their sensual and passionate
adventures. Mallory raises the genre to new levels.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“I really enjoyed this story… Very intense… Fans of medieval historicals will especially love this one.”

—CoffeeTimeRomance.com

“An amazing story… a series that readers won’t want to miss… Filled with hot romance as well as adventure with a fascinating
historical background.”

—RomRevToday.com 
 

“4 Stars! A riveting story… Such depth and sensuality are a rare treat.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“Fascinating… An excellent historical romance. Ms. Mallory gives us amazingly vivid details of the characters, romance, and
intrigue of England. You’re not just reading a novel, you are stepping into the story and feeling all the emotions of each
character…
Knight of Pleasure
is amazing and I highly recommend it.”

—TheRomanceReadersConnection.com

“An absolute delight… captivating.”

—FreshFiction.com

“Thrilling, romantic, and just plain good reading… An enjoyable, historically accurate, and very well written novel.”

—RomRevToday.com 
 

“An impressive debut… Margaret Mallory is a star in the making.”

—Mary Balogh,
New York Times
bestselling
author of
At Last Comes Love

“5 Stars! Amazing… The fifteenth century came alive…
Knight of Desire
is the first in the All the King’s Men series and what a way to start it off.”

—CoffeeTimeRomance.com

“A fast-paced tale of romance and intrigue that will sweep you along and have you rooting for William and his fair Catherine
to fight their way to love at last.”

—Candace Camp,
New York Times
bestselling
author of
The Courtship Dance

“4 Stars! Mallory’s debut is impressive. She breathes life into major historical characters… in a dramatic romance.”

—
RT Book Reviews