At The Laird's Command Part 8

Then the laird's eyes fell upon the ax in the middle of his bed, and he admitted something that pained him to the core. "I've endangered her. I can't have her here at night in my chambers anymore. Not even with a guard at the door. Nor can I send her to her own chambers unprotected."

Ian nodded, as if he had never been fooled, for even one moment, about the girl's true importance to the laird. But he stopped nodding when John added, "You will have to take her into your own chambers until the danger has pa.s.sed."

Chapter Eight.

HEATHER.

"May the Donalds and MacDonalds rot in h.e.l.l!" my sister cried, helping to wash my skinned hands and knees. Malcolm had taken me straight-away to her chambers, which had been my chambers before the laird insisted upon me in his bed each night. I saw that Arabella had made herself at home, replacing a number of my candles and other pretty things with jars of dried sticks and weeds. "I don't suppose I have to guess what the a.s.sa.s.sin meant to do to you, throwing you down on your hands and knees."

My sister had been abducted and quite nearly violated by the enemy not long ago, and in spite of the terrible shock I'd just suffered, I still found it within myself to want to protect her from reliving any of that. "It was actually the laird who did it," I explained, careful not to slip up on any of the particulars of the official story. "He threw me to the floor to save me from a blade..."

"Gallant of him," she said with an edge of sarcasm. My sister didn't entirely approve of the laird-and she was, no doubt, worried about her betrothed, who had disappeared like a ghost from the castle. Truthfully, I would have been more worried about her betrothed were it not for some odd pieces of information I had put together.

When Ian had reported Davy missing the laird dismissed any notion that Davy might have been a traitor. Instead, he suggested that Davy may have come to harm. Strangely, the laird never mentioned sending Davy on any sort of special mission. Which meant that whatever he'd asked Davy to do was something he didn't want Ian to know about.

I'd kept quiet at the time, but for my sister's sake, I planned to get to the truth of the matter.

Meanwhile, Arabella grimly pulled the stopper from a bottle with her teeth, then wetted down a rag to swab my skinned knees with the fluid. I hissed at the sting of it. "Ow!"

"It's just vinegar," she said. "The physicker says it helps clean wounds."

"By burning the dirt away?" I groused, but let her continue as she was, finding it strange to let her tend to my wounds when I was the older sister and had spent the better part of my childhood tending hers.

"What's this?" she asked, eyeing what looked to be finger bruises on my arm.

They'd got there from the laird holding me down so hard to the bed. I hesitated to tell her as much, but given her own unconventional personal arrangements, I dared to say, "These were taken in love play."

Arabella frowned. "Love play. And yet, you complain of the vinegar."

Well, that was different, wasn't it? It wasn't the pain that I enjoyed but the l.u.s.t of the man who did it. Burning with embarra.s.sment, I ventured, "Surely you know that there's a pleasure to being roughly grabbed by a man..."

"I'm sure I don't," Arabella said with a sniff. "Davy is quite gentle."

I couldn't let her get too above herself in judgement of me. "And Malcolm?"

Her cheeks pinkened, but on the whole, she was quite shameless. What doxies we'd both become! "Neither man would leave marks like the ones I've glimpsed on you. There's even a fresh, scarlet bruise at the base of your throat."

I couldn't imagine how that got there, unless it was the sucking that Ian had done on my neck. I blushed anew, but fell silent without offering further explanation. Arabella might have understood if I told her I had the affections of two men, but she likely would never understand that I let the man I loved give me to a man I didn't. Worse, that I had enjoyed it.

When all my wounds were stinging and bandaged and I smelled like I'd been pickled in vinegar, a knock came at the doorway. It was Brenna with a s.h.i.+ft for me to wear. "It's a bit tattered, but I managed to mend it," she said in her mousy voice which, nonetheless, managed to convey some disapproval.

I couldn't blame her; what was she to think about the fact I didn't possess any sleeping gowns of my own even after she'd given me several? In fact, since I'd come to the palace, Brenna had been asked to acquire for me new clothes at an alarming rate. Fortunately, she was more concerned about the attempt on the laird's life than the fact I was wrapped only in a blanket. "No one was killed?"

"Only the a.s.sa.s.sin," I replied. But knowing that Brenna was a timid, I added, "You needn't be afraid." The laird had told me how important it was to keep a brave face for the people. "This is a sign of nothing more than the enemy's desperation. They mean to starve us out, but find themselves cold and undernourished and exposed to the elements. We must simply have fort.i.tude, like the clan's motto. And we'll break this siege. They cannot outlast Clan Macrae."

A shadow appeared in the open doorway. It was the laird, who had heard my words, and his chest puffed up as if in pride. In a low baritone that I had come to treasure, he said, "Perhaps I should have you speak to my men, la.s.s. No doubt, you'll inspire them."

It warmed me to be praised in such a way, and I wanted to rush to his arms, bury my face against his shoulder, and cling tightly to his neck. But I managed to keep my dignity as he commanded everyone to leave us. Then he drew up a stool beside me where I sat on Arabella's bed and examined my face. I thought, at first, he was looking for wounds, but then had the strangest sense he was trying to memorize each contour and curve. "I nearly lost you tonight, mo chridhe."

Taking his strong hands in my bandaged ones, I said, "And I nearly lost you. T'was a horrible night. I'll be glad to see the morning."

A twitch showed itself at the corner of his eye. "Was it a horrible night? The whole of it? Was what we shared with Ian as terrible for you as you feared, my sweet?"

I trembled a bit, fearing his reaction, by near light of day, to how I had behaved in his bed with his kinsman. "You know it was not."

But the laird's voice was filled with affection. "What I know is that you fill me with pride, Heather. Never more than this night. You were so perfectly obedient to me. So verra sensual. I have never felt-never truly felt-as if I could dare to love a woman before. I felt as if I didna have the right to. That even if I could bring a woman pleasure, I could never trust in her...or be trusted. But you are some exquisite kind of creature, filled with grace. You find a way to embrace things in me that are difficult, and inspire me to be stronger myself. You are truer to me than any wife could be, and I will be as true to you as any husband. I never want to let you go."

He had spoken beautiful words to me in the immediate aftermath of our lovemaking with Ian. Words that had touched my heart. But these were even more precious, and as tears slipped over my lashes, I touched his face, softly, to soothe. "Then never let me go, my laird. Because I love you with everything in me. With my every breath and every drop of blood."

"That is good," he said, with a whisper, kissing the bandaged palm of my right hand. I felt his whiskers sc.r.a.pe the underside of my wrist as he kissed it again. "That is good. I thank you for that, la.s.s. Because you've given me a clarity and steadiness I've not felt in quite some time. Which is why I know I must let you go."

I pulled my hand away, as if it were burned anew. "No."

I shook my head, unwilling to hear what he would say next. Dreading every word! His Scots brogue always showed itself more strongly when he was upset, and I could see he was upset now. "I canna let you come to me in my rooms at night. I canna have you known throughout this castle as my woman, my mistress, my love. If it doesna end in your death, it will end in my surrender to the enemy, ye ken?"

"No!" I cried again, squeezing my pained hands into fists.

"The enemy wants my head," he said, throatily. "They willna hesitate to use anything and everything against me, including my heart. That ye were not kilt tonight was a happy accident. I canna risk it again."

Feeling a panic deep down in my bones, I pleaded with him. "You sent me away from you once before, do you remember? And I was nearly abducted by the enemy. Don't find some excuse to be apart from me. Not now. Not after telling me that I'm your heart. Not when you need me!"

He hung his head and it was a moment before he spoke again. "I do need you, la.s.s. But I need you alive and well more than I need you in my bed. Which is why you must spend your nights with Ian Macrae."

It was like cold water had been flung into my face. Though I felt suddenly dizzy, I shot to my feet. I was stopped only by the laird's firm grip. His eyes found mine, dark and filled with emotion. "Be still, mo chridhe. It is no different than what I already asked you to do, and which you've done for me so well..."

I found myself quite incapable of speech or motion. I stared at him, as if the words he'd spoken were in a language I didn't understand. When I could make my tongue work, my voice came out in a rush. "You were there with me. It was something we did together. It's entirely different!"

"I'll still be there with ye," he said, pressing a kiss just above my breast, where my heart thumped madly. "Right here. Where my kiss lingers. You told me that you'd never resist me, la.s.s. You promised me again, just tonight, that you will always obey me. That you're mine to take or give away."

How that reminder stabbed at me, putting me into agony. I had said those words. I had meant those words. And I'd been true to them, even as I feared he meant to discard me. Now I knew it was true that he meant to discard me.

My laird had paid me in kindness and dresses and his mother's pearls.

He might love me, but I was, in the end, only his harlot.

I'd been warned that what the laird did to his women should make me curl up in bed and weep half the day. I had not believed it until this moment. For it was not the pain of his belt that would break me. It was the pain of the heartbreak.

As bitterness and bile rose up in my throat, I whispered furiously, "And who will be next after Ian Macrae? Shall I spread myself upon the table in your hall and take all comers? I suppose when the siege is over, you shall give me to some local shepherd or have me set up in a brothel as was your intention all along."

He blanched as if he'd taken a physical blow. "That's not the way of it, la.s.s."

Brus.h.i.+ng hot salty tears from my cheeks, I asked, "Then explain it to me."

He took a deep breath. "I saw tonight that Ian cares for you. That he could be made to care for you even more than he does now. That's what I need from you. To bed down with him. To make him love you as you made me love you. To find love with him, if you can. That is my command."

...I began to s.h.i.+ver. It started in my fingers, then worked its way up to my arms, and it felt like a sickness, until I recognized it as a terrible rage. One that I'd never felt before. Never known I could feel. Through my teeth, I said, "You can speak to me of being as true as a husband, and then tell me to find love with someone else?"

There was an unfamiliar tone to my voice-one of pure fury. And he heard it, for his eyes widened slightly. If he would box my ears for it, I wouldn't care. Perhaps I would even welcome it, so I jutted my chin out in challenge.

"Yes," the laird finally rasped. "Because in this situation, this is what a true husband would do. So you can either obey me because I'm your laird or obey me for coin, but either way, you will obey me."

What happened next I cannot explain.

I didn't feel my own arm raise until I had already slapped him across the face. And even though the blow was muted by my bandages, the whole room echoed with the blow. I had struck the laird. I had dared to raise a hand to our chieftain.

His grip closed over my wrist as his dark eyes filled with anger; I realized he would have the right to...

...I couldn't think about that. I could only think about the outrageous pain he had unleashed in me. The way it felt as if my heart was cracking in half.

So I slapped him again with the other hand. And I kept on slapping him, snarling and spitting and screeching, "How dare you? I've obeyed you from fear and I've obeyed you from l.u.s.t and I've obeyed you from love, but never for coin or jewels or anything else. That was not why I came to you in the first place. It's not why I made a vow to you. d.a.m.n you to h.e.l.l if you believe otherwise, John Alexander Ramsay Macrea!"

I had never spoken to the laird this way; I doubted anyone ever spoke to the laird this way. His whole face reddened. I thought he might slap me in return. That he might beat me in earnest, but he didn't. Instead, he threw up his hands in surrender. "I shouldn't have said it! It's only that I want for you the kind of love you read about in poetry books. The kind that you longed for. I want that for you, mo chride. And you cannot have that with me."

I wanted to slap him again. I wanted to pummel at his strong chest, ineffectual as my little blows might be against such a wall of muscle. I wanted to hit, and scratch, and bite and make him hurt as much as he was hurting me. I'd thought, deep down, I was a good and understanding girl who wished nothing but to do her duty and please her laird, but inside me I now discovered something else. Something darker. A love so strong it felt like hate. "It will break my heart to go to Ian, do you hear me? It will break my heart. I want love with you or no one! "

That's when the laird grasped me by the arms and shook me until my teeth rattled. "Do you not realize that I'm not long for this world? We willna grow old together, la.s.s. We willna have a life together. This is a war I'm going to lose and when I do, there is one thing, and one thing only that will make death easier. That is to know that I've ensured your future! Even as we speak, there may be inside you a babe of my blood, and by G.o.d, there is nothing I willna do to protect you both. Not even if I must break your heart to do it."

His words knifed across my heart with more pain than I thought myself capable of bearing. And I began to sob. "It's not true! The castle is well-stocked. I've heard you say that the Donalds will throw themselves against the walls and drown in the sea as they always do. Clan Macrae can outlast this siege!"

"Yes, Clan Macrae will survive. But I will not," the laird said, with cold finality. "Unless reinforcements come, my life is forfeit. I willna starve the villagers or force them out of the castle. I willna surrender the castle or break my alliances. That means that the enemy will have my head, whether they must do it through a.s.sa.s.sination or treachery. And when that happens, Ian will be the laird of this clan. Do you understand now, why I must command you to make of yourself his woman, and not mine?"

Some part of me did understand. The calculating, strategic part that the laird had taught to play chess upon his board. It was a gambit. I had already learned the harsh reality that my body was a p.a.w.n to play for survival; the laird was now trying to tell me that my heart-and Ian's heart-were just more pieces to move, maybe three s.p.a.ces at a time.

But I had my Scots pride. And it's all I had left. "You still don't know what it is you have in me, laird. You can command my body. My words. You can make me take a paddling. You can make me crawl naked into your bed. You can command me into the bed of another man. Yes, you can command many things and I will obey. But you have never commanded my heart or my love. Not now, and not ever."

And with that, I wrenched free of his grasp, and walked away.

Love and hate are closer siblings than we would like to admit, and heartbreak is a mysterious thing. It hurt far worse then the burns and sc.r.a.pes on my hands and knees. It seemed like the sort of thing a physicker should rush to heal but I supposed no one could see the wound but me.

I'd been ordered to the rooms of another man. Ordered to take a new lover. A new love. But I felt nothing in my heart but pain and anger. A resentment for myself that I'd let it come to this. I'd known better. What was it that I'd been thinking in my secret heart of hearts? That the laird and I would some day marry and live happily ever after?

Me, a disgraced daughter of a crofter and him, a laird of all the clan albeit one who might not survi- No. I cut that thought off before I could think it. It was too much pain already to think of losing him from my arms. More than I could bear to think of losing him from this world. So I stumbled about the castle in a fog, sleepless and wanting to think about anything other than my own pain.

In defiance, I would not go to Ian Macrae.

I couldn't go to the laird.

I couldn't return to my old chambers either.

So I found my way to the library where I stared at the Book of Runes, trying to figure out the meaning of the symbols carved into the jar my sister had given me. It was useful work, the only thing I could do to numb myself to the storm in my heart. Unfortunately, I could make no sense of the symbols, even with a translation. Something about spirit dreams and a beautiful woman.

A cosmetic, perhaps?

Without sleep, I worked on the problem until I was too exhausted to keep my eyes open. I drifted off with my head against the pages and my bandaged hands curled by my cheek.

It was Ian who came to fetch me.

"Come now," the stern warrior said, gently shaking me awake. "There's a bed for you in my chambers."

I didn't know the hour. He'd had time to clean himself of the blood he'd spilled the evening before. And I hadn't heard the bell that announced mealtime, though I couldn't have eaten a bite. Perhaps I had slept the whole morning away and it was late afternoon. Yet, I didn't want more rest.

Most especially I didn't want to go with him.

In spite of the pleasure I'd given and taken from him, I resented being traded away. Given, like a book. I couldn't let him read my pages. So I took the carved Rune jar and followed Ian Macrae silently, sullenly, lost as I had never felt before in my life.

When we entered his chambers, I saw that my pitiful little collection of belongings had been given over to him. The vial of rose perfume. And the pearls the laird had given me, too. Setting the rune jar beside them on the windowsill, I nearly sobbed to see them.

The Ian surprised me by saying, "I've made up a pallet on the floor. You may take the bed."

I could make no sense of this offer. It was a sign of Ian's status in the clan that he retained a chamber of his own in the castle-especially given the crowded conditions of the siege. That a man of his importance, especially one who the laird considered his heir, should offer me his bed while he took to the floor was unthinkable. And I worried that even after having been inside my body, he still held me in contempt. Too much contempt to share even a bed.

"I-I don't take up much room," I offered, tears br.i.m.m.i.n.g in spite of my efforts. I valiantly swallowed them back, but I wasn't yet adept at artifice. I suppose if this was to be my profession, I would have to learn. "I can be comfortable on the floor if that's where a man should want me."

Ian glanced over his broad shoulder, a look of consternation on his face. "Where I should want you...you're not sated yet, woman?"

A flare of embarra.s.sment burned my cheeks. Embarra.s.sment I didn't think I was still capable of feeling. Anger, too. When the laird shamed me for my wanton ways, it was with always with approval. But Ian's shaming I couldn't bear. "I-I didn't mean it that way. It's only that growing up, I slept on the floor sometimes and left the bairns to cuddle together upon the bed. I meant that if you didn't want to share the bed, I wouldn't mind the floor."

Perhaps I wouldn't mind it, given that I felt so cold and hollow inside already I couldn't imagine the floor would make any difference.

"What kind of man would I be to make an injured woman sleep on the floor?" Ian asked, mindlessly readying himself for bed, taking off his white linen s.h.i.+rt.

Remembering how we came to be in this situation, I answered, "The sort of man who needs rest so that he can relieve the watchmen on the walls. I'm not the only one injured."

Ian glanced down at his bandaged forearm, "Och, I've taken worse. I wouldna taken it at all if I hadn't been taken unawares, and fighting in the dark."

"But you were taken unawares in the dark," I said softly. "I think it half a miracle that you were able to find your sword."

"I like to know where it is at all times, even when..." A blush actually came to his cheeks. "I s'pose it makes no sense to pretend that what's pa.s.sed between us hasn't pa.s.sed between us. That we haven't-that you aren't..."

I would have helped him in his struggle, but I was struggling too. "No, and I don't suppose sharing a bed now might make any difference."

"Except to him," Ian said.

At which point I began to cry.

And Ian Macrae, the most unfriendly, disapproving man I'd ever met, fell to pieces. "Oh, no, la.s.s. No, don't do that! For the love of G.o.d-" He rummaged about and found for me a little cloth for me to blubber into as I sank down onto the foot of the bed. He put a hand to my shoulder, patting it awkwardly as he said, "Please stop that, I beg of ye."

"Why should I?" I sniffled. "It's not the first time you've seen me cry."