Chapter 5
Somehow, Sandra's journey back to MacLachlan Manor seemed to take twice as long as her merry trip home in the other direction. The rocky inclines were all the same and the weather was no better or worse, just cloudy and gray, announcing the coming of winter's harsh hand over the land. It was the announcement she carried with her that was so heavy and ominous, and like the clouds, she longed to be rid of her aching burden.
She could hardly believe it herself. For two days she had pleaded and begged for her father to understand, and for two days his answer remained the same. His frosty blue eyes had told her without words exactly how much of her tale he believed. None of it.
Crossing the break in the stone wall surrounding MacLachlan Manor was like stepping off one of her father's boats onto foreign soil and standing on the shore as he sailed away. She had hoped he would relent when he saw her leaving this afternoon, but here it was already near dark, and no MacEwen rider had come to retrieve her.
Her horse voluntarily stopped several paces from their destination. MacLachlan Manor was not the stronghold that MacEwen Castle was, but its defense was a power even stronger than the stone it was made from. Fear and imagination kept any sane man away from the dark dwelling after the sun had fallen for the night. Even though she proclaimed to be sane and knew she was expected to return, her hair again prickled on the back of her neck in warning. Something about the land itself was terribly wrong, inherently dark. So many had died violently on this soil.
After several moments of just sitting there staring at the rock fortress, she slid from her mount and reassuringly guided him the rest of the way, right up to the armorial doors with their unwelcoming harshness. Her body sagged with weariness, not from the ride, but from the heavy hurt she had carried in her heart over the long, lonely journey back.
The worst part of all was her father had not set aside her hand-fast with Lex. He would not even listen to her explanation of what had happened that night and how she had gotten that one particular bruise. It was the first time he had denied her anything, and worse than that, he had conceded to a stranger's wishes over hers.
Her father's message was not exactly the arrangement Lex MacLachlan had sent her back to obtain, but it would achieve the same purpose of getting him back to London quickly and settling the matter of their charters. She just hoped he saw it that way too, for it was the only option her father would agree to.
Slowly with dread, her hand came up to pound on the doors guarded by the red-eyed stags. They swung open before she ever struck wood, and she nearly lost her balance. Rory stood in the huge arched opening grinning at her in his openly charming way.
"Have you come to take us home with ya to MacEwen Castle?" He seemed so hopeful and glad to see her. It broke her heart to have to shake her head.
She saw the joy drain from his face as if she were watching her own emotions when her father had crushed her hope for a reversal to this whole mess. Her hand reached out and took his hand to comfort Rory as she had wished her father had done for her. The two of them stood there for a silent moment knowing exactly how the other was feeling without ever saying a word.
"And I had hoped to be the first to receive the lady's greeting." Lex's crisp English Gaelic broke the silent moment of grieving. His own triumphant smile faded to match their expressions when his eyes caught sight of their clasped hands.
Sandra did not miss the tense change in his whole body or the accusing glare he leveled on Rory. She knew this was not the way to start their required time together, so she dropped Rory's hand abruptly and rummaged up the semblance of a small smile for Lex. Thankfully, Rory took no offense, but instead read the situation as she had. He graciously gave her a nod of his head and backed away from the doors, giving Lex access to her full attention.
"I am touched that I am so eagerly awaited at MacLachlan Manor," she blurted out into the uncomfortable silence. "One summer ago I could have expected a claymore at my throat instead of the open arms of two handsome men."
Lex's stern expression did not change even though she had tried her best to sound pleased about returning. His squared features that made his face so MacLachlan and so breathtaking also had the ability to make him look ruthless and cold, a look that perfectly accentuated his words. "With Mangus as your husband, who would dare turn you away from this manor? These two clans deserve to be together."
His tone was so icy she knew his extolling the clans' good fortune was not heartfelt. He actually appeared to be jealous over something he swore he did not want. Her. The clan. Peace.
First Rory's innocent greeting piqued his ire, and then he made the remark about Mangus as if he were not a good choice for a husband. Hopefully her next bit of news would brighten his dark scowl.
"I will not be marrying Mangus. He cannot be found."
The satisfied twist of his grin made her heart do a little leap in her chest. He had been pleased by her news. She knew she should not care, but strangely she loved the idea that her availability brought even that small smile to his face.
Becoming as cordial as a prince, he opened the door wide and waved his arm for her to come in. "Married to a MacLachlan or not, you are welcome to come in out of the cold if you bear me even more good news."
She looked up and darted him a cheery smile as she passed. His immense stature was compounded by her close proximity to him. She was not sure her heart was up to the kinds of jumps and flips she experienced every time she came near him, not to mention the unspeakable things her failing judgment had already allowed her to do with him. The door closed behind her and she felt the slight pressure of his warm hand at the small of her back, pushing her toward the fire in the hall in such a protective way.
"I assume my news to be good," she said as she lowered her tartan from her head and let the loose fabric drape over her shoulders. "My father has agreed to acknowledge the claim to the MacEwen land from the king."
She did not think his smile could get larger. His eyes were smiling along with his lips and her body flushed with heat before she even reached the fire. He was a magnificent man when he cared to show it, inside and out.
He graciously offered her a seat next to his own throne-like chair that was already situated near the crackling hearth. The rest of his clan was spread around the room at the farthest corners, acting not like a clan at all, but a gathering of strangers seeking shelter from the storm brewing under their very own roof.
"If he can be ready to leave within the week when I return to London, we can ride together," Lex offered.
She sat on the small wooden stool that was no more than a footrest he graciously gave up for her comfort and held her hands out to the fire. Staring into the dancing flames she thought on how to tell him about the rest of her visit and still keep that brilliant smile on his face.
"That will actually be a perfect plan..." she started quickly, not daring to meet his eyes yet, "...except it will not be my father who travels with you."
His abrupt lurch toward her made her jerk back instinctively from the danger he posed. "What do you mean he will not be coming with me?" His tone was like frozen shards of ice piercing into her ears, deep and deafening. He had not taken her news well at all, and it did not look like he was going to give her much time to explain.
From the way his fingers latched tightly over the end of the arm of his chair, she knew she had to talk quickly before they were around her throat. "It is not by choice that he does not make the trip himself. He was struck with a mighty sickness after he hand-fasted us together. Half his face is frozen still, and he has no use of his leg or arm on that same side. Auntie Bess says he has been like that with no improvement for days now. Another had to be chosen by the elders to make the trip." She had rambled off her information like a confessing poacher on royal lands. At least her words seemed to have calmed him down a little. He was back in his own chair and she allowed herself to relax back to a comfortable position on her tiny stool as well.
"This man they have chosen, is he worthy to represent your clan? Does he hold the authority to decide their fate before the king?"
"Aye, he does. The elders would not let such an important matter rest with one they did not feel held the qualities of a chief. The options were a young boy of the family blood or the husband of the MacEwen heir. They have put all their faith in the man over the boy."
"As long as he has been given full authority over your clan, I will allow him to speak for the MacEwen portion of my land before King Edward. What is his name and how soon can he travel?"
Sandra pulled back to the far side of her seat again and swallowed the lump in her throat that felt like a huge chunk of dry biscuit. "I am the heir, and you are the one chosen as my clan's representative."
His silence was frightening, but his harsh roar of laughter sent pure terror through her blood. "You expect me to represent Clan MacEwen in a bid for my own land? Do your elders have nothing better to do than to think up entertaining jests against us MacLachlans?"
He was fiercely angry behind that laughing facade, but she was not so frightened to let him insult her clan. "The elders chose you because they trusted in your good character on the word of the High Sennachie. He recommended your honor above all others, but obviously he has not clearly judged you with his failing eyes." She stood from her uncomfortable stool and headed for the door. "They have picked you as their representative, as did your own clan, an honor only the very brave and the very strong dare to accept. Making peace between these clans has been put at your feet, and I see now that you have chosen to smash it without a care." She felt tears spill from her eyes in two hot streams, but that was the last MacEwen weakness he would ever see.
"I did not ask for any of this," he yelled back to her in a low growl without rising from his throne or even looking her way. His voice was like a tremor before an avalanche and sent the members of his clan further into the dark corners. Sandra stood her ground before the savage boar, unwilling to give him any fuel for his fiery insults against her family.
The burden of dishonor that she had been bearing alone all day suddenly rolled from her back and right out her mouth. Her words were just as harsh and piercing as her feminine voice could make them. "I believe it was you who asked for my hand in marriage, as well as the honor of being chieftain to your clan," she refreshed his sagging memory.
"I told you I made a mistake. Somehow I was not entirely myself that day, and I believe you might have had a hand in that. Drugged with poison or herbs maybe, to make me say exactly what you wanted." He slowly pushed himself out of his chair, revealing the raw strength of his muscles that flexed under the thick quilting of his fine cream tunic. He took slow, menacing steps toward the door without ever taking his eyes off her face. With only a tilt of her head to hold his glare, she remained as stiff as an oak against the onslaught of winter's snow.
“You cannot be serious!” she retorted with utter disbelief. “You are going to try to blame even your own words on me? I did not poison you with anything or even have a chance to tell you what to say. I left this place as agreed and never expected to see you again. Or was that whole mishap my fault as well…while you were supposedly drugged and forced to lie on top of me?”
“From that first night until now, you have no one to blame but yourself if you do not like the outcome of your ruse, for I had nothing to do with any of it.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest and made his proclamation as if it were the irrefutable truth.
“Of all the cock-eyed crazy things I have ever heard--”
She was cut off by his raised voice and towering form that leaned in over her and froze her silent. “I will say it once more for you to repeat back to your father. I do not want to be chief of your clan, I do not even want to be chieftain of my clan, and...I most certainly do not want a MacEwen in my bed for a wife. Most especially NOT you."
As strong as she thought she could be, his last words had sliced away the last of her thinning fortitude. Her father's rejection had taken the biggest chunk, but this man's rejection had been even more painful. He left her with nothing. No hope, no family, no honor.
She wanted to turn and run, but her feet would not move. Her eyes could not stop searching his face for some sign of hope. Just one glimmer of some feeling was all she needed to see, but anger was not the one she wanted it to be. Her chin trembled no matter how high she held it, and her eyes were brimming with burning tears. She could barely make out his face any longer through the liquid blur, but she would not blink away the tears. She would rather be blinded by them than have to see his disapproving scowl rake over her again.
For ever so brief of a moment she thought she saw a flash of sympathy soften the deep furrow of his dark brows over those piercing eyes, but with a firm shake of his head like an angry wolf freeing itself of entanglement, his hardened glare was back in a flash.
"You will take my message to your father in the morning and I will go with you. I will not have this misunderstood a second time. I have no more leisure time to waste in this forsaken land," he snapped at her when she just stood there crying.
"Do what you want, but I will not stay in this manor with you one more night, hand-fasted or not," she said, spinning toward the door with her hanging tartan swirling in her wake. "I can venture where I want, any time I want. I am Sandra Mac..." Her proud declaration halted abruptly as her mind realized for the first time the dire position she was in because of two prideful men. She had no name, she had no clan, and in the Highlands, there was nothing more pathetic than that.
Sandra struggled through the haze of her tears to open the door. Waiting to greet her on the other side was a freezing wind that splattered cold rain against her face to mingle with her hot tears. Her only protection was the length of plaid that was wildly whipping around behind her in the same fierce current. Grasping the end of it with a desperate hand, she managed to rein it in around her head and secure it under her chin. With the howling wind and rain opposing her no matter which way she turned, she ran out into the falling night with only one destination...to get as far away from him as possible.
She had nowhere to go. Behind her was the MacLachlan fortress and the dishonorable man who ruined her wedding to Mangus but wanted nothing to do with her now. To her left was MacEwen Castle, her home, and she had been forced from that warm shelter by her own father, the one man she thought would never desert her. The only direction she could head was straight out in front of her, straight out into the open country of MacLachlan territory.
As fast as she could, she ran headlong into the storm until she reached the edge of the stone wall, the edge of Lex MacLachlan's retched domain. Once over the wall she would be free of him and his laughing voice, free of his hurtful rejection and selfish arrogance.
The old bruises on her knees were refreshed as she crawled over the sharp stones of the wall. Her thin leather boots dug into the crevasses between the rocks and propelled her the rest of the way over the barricade. Winded from her run and emotionally empty except for her pain, Sandra fell to the ground on the other side of the wall and slumped into a heap of red and blue plaid. She pulled her flapping shawl piece down tightly around her so the wind would not pull it free from her freezing body, and there she stayed, curled up like a child, waiting for her father to come for her like he always did. He would never leave her out in the cold overnight. He would never chance her catching the slightest ill from the weather.
Soon. Soon he would come for her.
"Papa, where are you? Where are you?" Only the wind answered her hopeful prayers. She knew her father would not hear her cries tonight; she was too far from home this time. She sobbed into her hands against the cold hard dirt, feeling a deep fear that grew out of something she had never experienced before. Loneliness.
The smell of wet wool surrounded her as she curled closer into the hard stones for protection. The storm's powerful fury whirled over the slight protection of the wall, drowning out her cries from any caring ears. Her papa was not coming this time; he could not even if he wanted to. Her shameful act had crippled his powerful body, and now it looked like it would destroy the very union she had prepared for her whole life. What good was it being the MacEwen Charm if she had no home, no clan, and no MacLachlan man who wanted to marry her?
"Please, papa, please," she cried. "I am so sorry."
***
Lex took two paces away from the window, determined to stay away from it for good this time. His fist struck his thigh and he turned on his heels. Reluctantly his hands once again gripped the wooden trim that framed the pane of glass in the center of the stone wall.
"Damn her!" he swore in a menacingly low voice. The heat of his words fogged the cold glass, making it even harder to see out.
Lex had seen the look of defeat on Sandra's proud face, followed by despair. Her tear-filled eyes frantically searched his face for something, something she did not find because he could not give it…would not give it…to her.
From his second-floor chamber he had watched her small form diminish as she fled across the open meadow, headed in a direction that would take her nowhere but to the base of the mountains. He vaguely remembered running for that same refuge himself as a boy, and it had always been when he was trying to get away from something horrible, something he knew he would never really get away from.
What was so horrible that she was running from? She had a family who loved her, Mangus, a man willing to give up his clan name for her, and she was the heir-tanist to the chief. Why had she thrown herself over that wall so brutally? And why had he not seen her head come back up?
His eyes tried to focus in on the spot he was sure he had last seen her. It was much too dark now to see anything more than large movements, but he was sure he would have seen her in that red plaid if she had come back up. The only other possible explanation was that she was lying out there hurt, unable to make it home or even back to the manor.
A vivid picture of her perfect slender form pressed against him that first night brought a protective surge up through him that he had not felt for anyone since his exile from the clan. Then his fear conjured up an image of that tender body, cold and lifeless in the freezing mud at the base of the wall.
He wasted not another moment straining his eyes for a better look. There was only one way to get a better look, and his feet were already descending the wooden stairs before he finished the thought.
With a shake of his head he laughed at himself for being such a fool and having no power to stop himself. He was going out into a storm to check the wall for a fallen MacEwen, all so she could be well enough for him to destroy. It was the right thing to do. Somewhere deep inside himself he knew right from wrong, good from bad. And Sandra was good.
His mixed thoughts battled each other a moment longer before his deeply buried compassion surfaced with a fatal blow. No matter her name, he would let no woman lie out in this storm too hurt to help herself. If she was hurt, he had to help, and if she was already home, nobody would be the wiser of his foolish jaunt out into the storm.
Once outside, his long strides took him quickly across the slippery rocks and shrubs where he had seen her stumble more than once on her way to the west wall. The distance seemed so short now as he traveled it as a man for the very first time in his life. The west wall used to seem like the edge of the world, an edge that MacLachlans could not cross over without finding a pike in their gut. Now it was only a heap of rocks on a worthless strip of land he would be glad to see the last of when this was finally over.
With one high step, the power of his leg brought him to a standing position on top of the stone wall that was no higher than mid-thigh. The darkness of night and the pelting rain made it nearly impossible to see farther than a few feet in either direction. Rivers of water were running over his face and had already soaked his thick black cloak. The rumble of thunder followed by the crack of lightning almost drowned out every other sound. Almost.
In the wake of the storm's fierce revolt of thunder, he heard a small shriek that definitely was not the powerful crack of lightning. He turned his head toward the faint sound and fixed it with a location. It was the spot in the wall where she had climbed over, a spot that was marked by a huge missing stone, seemingly easy enough for a small woman to transverse, but obviously more obstructive than it appeared.
A sickening fear rose in his throat as he raced down the wall toward the simpering noise. How could he have waited so long? What had kept him from coming out earlier before the rain had become so fierce? She could be bleeding to death for all he knew and he had waited and watched from his warm dry chamber, hoping the MacEwen problem would just go away.
He knew now it was not going to be as easy as he had thought when he first arrived. Looking down at the hunched-over form balled up under a MacEwen tartan, he knew it was worse than he had thought. A broken leg or arm would have been much easier to deal with than the barely audible cries coming from under her plaid.
"Papa, forgive me," came her heart-wrenching plea again, followed by the anguishing wail of a deep loss he remembered too well.
His throat tightened with an ache. He could feel her pain on the wind as it whipped his face. He could hear it in the thunder that echoed her cry. Jumping down from the wall, he bent over and scooped her up into his arms. In one more step they were over the wall and headed back to the manor.
"Papa?" she asked, peeking her rain-drenched head out from under her sagging wrap, but still looking as precious as she felt in his arms.
"I am not your papa and I am not your husband, but I will not leave you to die in this storm like a nestling." He had not meant to say anything that would cause her more pain, but obviously his words had. Even though her face was completely covered by her woolen wrap again, he could feel the sobs she was trying to hold back. Each cry shook the delicate ribcage his fingers were cradling, making it impossible for him not to respond. He tightened his hold and pulled her in closer to his body, but it only seemed to increase the intensity of her sadness.
Her sobs were more painful to hear than any battle wounds to his flesh. They came from somewhere so deep inside her it made his own heart ache. He curled her up and protectively brought her close to his body, leaning over her as much as possible to shelter her from the rage of the storm.
His tense muscles suddenly went limp with a warm shock when he felt her small form, without warning, become pliant in his enveloping embrace. Her face nuzzled in closer to his chest, and her knees pulled up to join in the cuddle.
He was out in a Highland winter storm protecting a Highland enchantress who he had come to destroy, and all he could do was shake his head and smile. The rain was no longer cold. His heart was pounding with a warmth he had never realized he missed until right then, when he felt it again for the first time in years. He could not exactly put a name on what it was he had been missing or what he had just found, but he was sure it had to do with the wee lassie in his arms, and the cold little hand that had found its way through his tunic onto the warmth of his chest. He was needed, he was wanted…he was trusted.