The next morning, as the caravan formed in the bailey, Niall received a summons into the castle, to speak with the MacClaren. He could only assume he would be charged with protecting the borders in the chief’s absence—which he would do unless his company of men arrived early, which he prayed they would. Was not the laird’s absence a perfect time to seize control of the castle and its surrounding lands? The MacClaren clan defenses would be divided, and easier to disarm—and defeat.
He overheard voices coming from within the laird’s council room.
“I will hear no more of this,” exclaimed Bridget’s voice, high and tremulous. “You are too ill to travel.”
Damn. He closed his eyes, and paused outside the door.
The MacClaren would not be departing after all. His first thought was not of new strategy, but of Elspeth … would she remain as well?
He did not want her here. He needed her to go.
Entering, he found the room crowded with warriors and council members. The MacClaren reclined on a raised pallet near the fire, his countenance pale and taut and drawn in pain. He wore a loose shift, and blankets covered him. Bridget sat on the floor beside him, her hand on his arm. His physician looked on, his expression grave.
Elspeth stood there too, wearing a simple wheat-colored lèine, facing her father, her hands curled at her sides. She wore a single thick braid, over her shoulder, revealing the delicate nape of her neck. His gaze traveled down the proud line of her back, and his chest constricted tight with longing.
Conall shifted stance and lifted a pensive hand to his face, where he rubbed his jaw. “What do you wish to do?”
The MacClaren spoke wearily, but with authority. “You will go without me.”
Yes, Elspeth must go.
The MacClaren exhaled heavily. “Conall, you and Ennis will also go to the Cearcal, to support Elspeth in making her decision. We have discussed at length what this man must be, and I know any approval you make would be as astute and discerning as mine. Bridget, I know you were eager to attend as well, to reunite with loved ones from your own clan. You go also.”
“I will not,” she shook her head, scowling. “I will remain here with you.”
Her hands seized his, curling tight around them.
Niall had not seen such dedication from her before. But he supposed feelings could change. Feelings. Pah. What did he care for their feelings? That he even spent one second of thought on them annoyed him. He did his best to keep a look of irritation from his face.
Conall nodded. “Then all proceeds as planned. However, my laird, if your side warriors remain here with you, someone else must provide the necessary escort.”
“Take Niall, then…” replied the MacClaren, before coughing heavily into a cloth. “Along with twenty or so others that he chooses.” More quietly he said. “I have come to trust him, and I trust him in this.” He chuckled. “What man in his right mind would challenge a protector such as that?”
The bottom fell out of Niall’s heart.
No. He had already said his good-bye to Elspeth, quick and painful, at least in his mind. He had no wish to do it again. He had no wish to see her courted and wed and sent off to start a life with another man.
“Anyone but Niall,” Elspeth answered darkly.
Her rejection blasted through him, searing and painful. And yet her words gave him at least a glimmer of hope that he would be left behind. Would her father respect her wishes?
“Why, daughter?” The chief’s gaze flickered to the back of the room where Niall stood, and a smile turned the corner of his lips. “Why would you say that about him?”
“He is arrogant.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I do not like him.”
Conall chuckled, as did others.
The MacClaren nodded, his eyebrows going up. “Aye, I had noticed more than once before. His arrogance, which is well earned, I think, and your dislike. So … Niall it shall be.”
Conall laughed and nodded. “A fine choice.”
Niall exhaled through his teeth. Damn.
“Father!” Elspeth cried, her arms going straight at her side, fingers spread wide.
He lifted a hand. “What safer escort for my lovely daughter than a man she cannot abide? I will know your virtue is protected. Is that not true, Niall?”
Elspeth’s shoulders went rigid as she realized he had been standing behind her all along.
The laird peered at him … as did everyone else, turning. Smiling.
Everyone but Elspeth, who stood, holding herself rigidly forward.
What was he to say? He could think of no reasonable excuse to decline this duty.
“Aye,” he gritted out. “That is true.”
An hour later, he waited at the front of the line of horses and wagons, dressed for travel, holding Fitheach’s reins, his muscles drawn with anticipation as he waited with everyone else for Elspeth to emerge.
The doors of the castle opened, and men spilled out. The air changed then. Became charged with energy, and Niall knew a half-second before she appeared, that she would.
She did so, accompanied by the MacClaren, who walked slowly, dressed in long robes, and Bridget. Several women followed, dressed for travel, who would no doubt serve as her attendants in the following days.
But when she walked past him, the air left Niall’s lungs. Every time he saw her, he was certain she had never looked lovelier. But truly … she had never been more beautiful than this. Aye, she was a warrior’s fantasy, laced into a fitted leather jerkin that left no doubt as to the perfection of her waist, hips and breasts. Necklaces formed of leather cording and bronze beads circled her slender neck. She wore her hair in an intricate crown of braids, and the rest loose and falling down her back. She glanced at him as she strode past, from behind kohl-rimmed eyes, her gaze smoky—and dismissive.
His insides burned to cinders.
Deargh looked at him, eyes twinkling.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered under his breath.
“Like what?” the warrior answered, his bushy brows raised.
“You know like what.”
“Aye, lad.” He leaned close. “It’s called sympathy. You are certain of your decision? It’s not too late to keep her for yourself.”
“I want her to go.”
A litter had been prepared for her travel, painted a dark indigo blue with silver and gold flourishes, with curtains all around for privacy. And yet she shunned that form of lady’s travel, and proceeded toward a horse. With some ceremony, she kissed her father good-bye, and even Bridget, before mounting. With Conall and Ennis at either side of her, she proceeded down the road, where well-wishers from the village had gathered, including Fiona who smiling stepped out to offer Elspeth a garland of greenery and colorful streamers, which Elspeth accepted and lay across the shoulders of her horse.
He and Deargh climbed into their saddles, and followed along with the warriors he had selected to accompany them.
They traveled all day at a steady pace until the sky darkened, at which time, the procession halted in a field. Amidst a growing wind, three tents were unpacked. A fire was lit, and a supper of brined herring had by all. Niall did not cross paths with Elspeth. She remained ensconced among her women on the opposite side of the flames, she a tantalizing mystery in the firelight, until she disappeared into her tent, not to be seen again. Soon enough, the council members also retired, leaving only the warriors, who would sleep out of doors.
After seeing to the placement of men for the night watch, Niall wrapped himself in his plaid and reclined against a rounded stone, doing his best to sleep. But as had occurred these past several nights when he found himself alone, memories tormented him, visions of her smile and laugh. Of her skin, slippery and wet underneath the waterfall. Of her in his bed.
He had brought this torment on himself and certainly fate punished him by forcing him to watch as she was given in marriage to another man.
He turned, aching to his bones and buried his face into the wool.
* * *
When Elspeth left her tent the next morning, the first person she saw was Niall, standing beside the fire, his legs braced and his arms crossed over his chest, looking distinctly ill-tempered. Wind ruffled his hair, and his cheeks were ruddy with the cold. She knew that if she were to touch him now … to embrace him, he would radiate a comforting heat and would smell like wood smoke and earth.
At seeing her—which she assumed he did, although he did not actually look at her from what she observed—he set off in the direction of the men, who saddled their horses. No one needed to tell her that he was unhappy at having been pressed into the duty of escorting her. No doubt he wished he was at Inverhaven with Isla, sharing all the same intimacies he had shared with her—and more.
The resulting image that flashed into her mind stole her breath. Why did she torture herself with such thoughts? He was not the man she’d believed him to be. She should not grieve the loss of him, but welcome the opportunity to marry someone more honorable.
And yet a short time later it was he who brought her palfrey forward, looking like a prince and inspiring sighs from her maidservants. A young warrior appeared with a stool for her use, and once she was seated in her saddle, Niall handed her the reins. For a time, he rode behind her, speaking in low tones to Conall, before breaking out of the line to ride some distance ahead with Deargh as they approached their destination.
By early afternoon, they arrived under a clouded sky at Wyfernloch, a dramatic valley shielded on three sides by steep mountains. She remembered the place from those years ago when she had come with her mother and father, and it made her chest tightened with sudden sadness that the MacClaren could not be here now. Other clans had already arrived and claimed their territory. Dark clouds gathered overhead, and the wind rose. The men went immediately to constructing the dozen or so tents that would house those of the MacClaren clan who had come, centered around a larger rectangular tent where they would feast each night and entertain guests, and she would welcome suitors.
“The Alwyns are here,” said Conall, staring across the clearing to another cluster of tents above which a red and white pennant flew. “I will be interested to see if they approach.”
She had not seen Magnus since the night he abducted her, but certainly their paths would cross again. When they did, she did not know whether to act angry or conciliatory, but she supposed her heart would tell her what to do if and when she saw him.
The first tent was not yet complete when rain began to pour from the sky. Elspeth raised the hood of her cloak—
Suddenly Niall was there, one hand on her back, another holding the dark canopy of his plaid above her to shield her from the rain. Her heart pounded as he hurried her toward the litter. Pushing aside the curtain, he urged her inside, then turned on his heel, leaving her alone and looking after him.
Only to pause and return, his boots crunching heavily on the earth as he came nearer. Her heart beat faster, knowing he would speak.
With one hand he pushed his hair back from his forehead so that it lay dark and slick against his head, and leaned inward, his other hand gripping the doorframe. Water ran in rivulets over the strong planes of his cheeks, and spiked the dark lashes that rimmed his eyes. Though the air was cold, she felt the heat of his gaze strike through her.
“I wish you well, Elspeth,” he said in a low, controlled voice. “I wish you … every happiness. I truly do.”
Inside she went numb, realizing this was the closest thing to good-bye they would have—only now spoken with ill feelings between them, at least on her part.
“I wish you happiness as well,” she answered. “You and Isla.”
The words tumbled from her lips, she unable to stop them.
His jaw twitched and his nostrils flared.
Instantly, she knew the taunt had been a weak and childish mistake. They would not wound Niall. They would only reveal the depth of her pain.
“It was but a kiss,” he answered in a passionless voice. “Nothing more.”
Indeed, he spoke the words as if they meant nothing. As if the pain he had inflicted on her meant nothing. How had she once believed he had a heart, and true feelings for her?
“Only a kiss.” She shrugged indifferently, hardening her heart against him, vowing he would not hurt her again. “Just as yours and mine were only kisses. Is that right, Niall?”
He stared at her, his expression a stone wall that concealed any emotion.
She would not play the wounded lover. The one left behind. She had too much pride for that. Nor would she embark upon her new life with only half a heart.
“Go on then,” she said, her voice intentionally cool, sinking back against the cushions.
His brows came together, dark and questioning. As if he had never been dismissed.
She pushed the opposite curtain open, and looked out at nothing in particular.
“You are dripping on my skirts.”
* * *
Three nights later, a large bonfire burned. Niall stood beneath a tree with Deargh, having already watched the revelry unfold for hours. It was the third night—the night before they would travel back to Inverhaven, and all presumed, the night Elspeth would announce her choice of husband, at least to her counselors, so that final negotiations could be entered into.
The previous days had been filled with games for the children as well as the adults, where men and women alike displayed their skills in horsemanship, swords, and fighting. Niall had participated in the war games ferociously, for the sole purpose of expending his growing agitation at being forced to stand by and watch Elspeth compete—and win—in archery … ride with heart-stopping skill at the forefront of the hunt … and each night laugh and dance in the company of other men. Men who were not the repulsive creatures Keppoch Macpherson and Alan FitzDuff had been, although those two were present as well, campaigning to be recognized as serious choices. But Elspeth had entertained visits from a number of handsome and powerfully connected chiefs and nobles who would honor an alliance with the MacClaren clan and see her ensconced in her new life like a queen, and each night Niall overheard wagers being made on who she would select. If there was a clear favorite, Elspeth gave no sign.
Tonight, each of the clans had prepared separate feasts, putting their hospitality on display, attempting to outdo all the rest, for each feast was open for the enjoyment of all. The gathered folk walked from one encampment to the next, entering the largest of the tents, drinking mead and ale, dancing and listening to musicians, and hearing stories told—all save for the MacClarens and the Alwyns, who had staked territory on opposite sides of the glen, and made it a point not to intermingle.
A young, dark-haired man in rich robes emerged from the MacClaren tent, accompanied by several companions. He stopped just beyond the threshold and turned to peer back inside, marveling.
“Lord, what a fierce beauty, bright-eyed and fine. I’m in love.” He clasped his hands over his heart. “Can you imagine the sons we would have together?” He grinned.
His companion chuckled. “A pity she did not so much as look at you twice.”
“True, that,” the man agreed, with a slow shake of his head. “But I did not see her look at anyone twice, which means I have as good a chance as any.” His voice rang with hope. “But I refuse to sit among the others, begging for a glance. It is more important that her counselors fall in love with my father’s army and coffers, I think, and that should put me in good stead.”
“Come on now,” Deargh said in a quiet voice. “Let’s go inside. Perhaps it won’t be long now, and we can be done with this task and on to more important things.”
What else could he do? To stay away while Elspeth made her choice felt too much like cowardice. Niall entered with him, delving into a crush of people, color, and sound. The song of the minstrels lilted bright and cheerful in his ears.
It made good sense to stay close. There had been such heated competition for the Mistress MacClaren’s attentions—and her valuable tocher lands—he would not be surprised if one or more of her admirers responded to the rejection of their suit with violence. He and Deargh found Conall and Ennis, who sat on stools, taking positions standing behind them.
On the opposite side of the shadowed tent, Elspeth sat on a pallet, resplendent in a scarlet gown, her long skirts spread out around her. She wore her hair parted at the center, in shining thick coils on either side, caught up in fine gold netting that gleamed in the firelight. Three men … no, four … sat near her, the closest leaning in to whisper in her ear. Elspeth smiled and laughed, her cheeks vivid with color. The other three looked on, scowling and disgruntled.
Niall understood how they felt. The moment he saw her, his stomach muscles had clenched with too many nights of unsatisfied desire, and refused to release.
After the song came to an end, the minstrels paused, before starting up again with a lighthearted trill. Elspeth’s handmaidens appeared, all wearing bright ribbons in their hair. They took her up by the hand, bringing her to her feet, and then coaxed the men up as well. At their urging, others from the crowd joined them, making two circles, the ladies within and the men without. In time with the music, they moved in different directions, spinning and laughing and reaching to touch hands as they passed.
Until one of the young men who had been seated beside Elspeth reached out as he passed, and pulled her close—
Swooping down, he kissed her on the mouth. Only Elspeth turned her face, and the kiss met her cheek instead.
Even so, Niall had already taken one step forward—only to be seized and held back by Deargh’s fierce grip.
The circles stopped moving. The music fell off … and the room grew silent.
Elspeth looked up at the young man, her eyes wide and startled. Looking out at all the onlookers, she laughed.
“What a very nice kiss!” she proclaimed, laughing. “But how unfair. Should I not now offer a kiss to the others as well?”
The room burst out in laughter—and a pall fell over Niall.
“Someone once told me a kiss is just a kiss.” she said, approaching a grinning young man. “Can that be true? Are they all the same?”
Deargh’s face turned then, and he looked at Niall hard and steady. Yet Niall looked straight ahead, the words striking a dagger through his heart for it was he that she taunted.
“Nay!” voices shouted, from all around.
“Nay, lady, my kiss is more pleasing.” The fellow eagerly welcomed her into his arms—putting a frown on the other man’s face. Dramatically dipping her backward, he pressed his lips to hers.
A chaste kiss, all in all, but one that set Niall’s blood simmering. He barely heard the cheering of the crowd.
“What in the hell is she doing?” Niall growled to Deargh.
Conall shrugged. “Playing the game.”
Elspeth spun free again, smiling, into the arms of another.
“Perhaps you will know your husband by his kiss,” called one of her ladies.
“Kiss them all!” another cried, lifting a goblet high.
The musicians resumed their raucous melody, and the room churned with movement, as the dancers resumed their places, more joining in this time. Niall saw Elspeth dancing around the circle of men, quickly kissing one, before moving to the next.
Every muscle in Niall’s body seized tight, and he struggled to contain his reaction—an overwhelming impulse to push forward and jerk her away.
Deargh stared at him, hard. “If you can’t get that look off your face, then you need to go outside and wait there.”
“What look?” he growled, his blood simmering in his veins.
Deargh moved closer, and gripped his upper arm. “The one that says you’ll flay any man alive who dares touch your woman again.”
Niall glared back at him, angry because he knew his companion spoke the truth.
Suddenly, two men broke free from the circle, shoving at one another, their faces contorted with anger.
“This will quickly grow out of hand,” Niall muttered, with a jerk of his chin. “I will see to those two. Deargh, secure Elspeth—take her to her tent. Put a stop to this foolishness now.”
Ennis stood and joined them. “Yes, that. The time has come that she must choose.”
Striding toward the two men, Niall seized them by their tunics and hauled them tripping, dragging, and flailing outside, where they resumed their fight.
He left them, but did not return inside. Instead, he delved into the frigid darkness, allowing it to numb his skin. He wandered, and wandered further, venturing in and out of tents, seeing, but not seeing the faces before again returning to the shadows.
A man crossed his path just then, each of his arms around a laughing woman, making his way toward the bonfire, a wineskin dangling from both hands.
It was Magnus.
“Your heart is inconstant, I see,” Niall called out after him.
This snared Magnus’s attention. Straightening, he turned, bringing himself—and the two women around. Leaving them behind, he walked toward Niall.
“Is Elspeth, your true love, so quickly forgotten?” Niall sardonically pressed a hand over his heart.
“Nay, my heart is true,” Magnus answered, stopping two paces away.
“Then why are you here, with those two, instead of in the MacClaren tent, making an offer to beat out all the others?”
He spoke the words to wound, knowing from all he had heard that Magnus could not compete with the other men who had presented suits.
“Alas, I think you know the answer to that. Not only do our clans hate one another, but I have no lands of my own, no armies to command, making me invisible in the eyes of her father, and sadly love alone will not win in this competition.”
“Love…” The word struck Niall like a kick to his gut. “You love her, then.”
“I do. Very much so.” Magnus raised one of the wineskins, and drank deeply. Lowering it, he wiped his mouth and peered at Niall. “But not in the way you might suppose.”
“She said as much. That you were a friend.”
Magnus nodded, closing his eyes, looking deeply morose. “And for that reason, I tried to save her.”
Niall’s ears perked up at that.
“Save her?” Niall’s tilted his head and stepped closer. “Save her from what?”
Magnus laughed bitterly.
“What does it matter now?” he said, looking toward the MacClaren tent. “It is already too late.”