The Highland Laird's Bride Page 9

‘You jest.’ Finlay shook his head. ‘It’s for my laird to keep secrets if he chooses.’

  ‘So well you know me. I would not tell this secret even if you threatened.’ Then another warning, so his friend would understand. ‘I could not tell even if you were threatened.’

  Finlay nodded slowly as if his questions were answered. ‘We ken it was to protect us.’

  Of course his clan talked. How much they must have wondered on their laird’s loyalty. How much they trusted him. He hoped it was not in vain. As long as he waited for Balliol’s messages, Bram hadn’t dared receive King Edward’s summons.

  ‘It did surprise me nae missives came to Colquhoun clan.’

  ‘The English king’s messengers may have had difficulties.’

  ‘And then you came here,’ Finlay stated.

  ‘Aye, I needed a place to be where nae one would expect, but that wouldn’t be suspicious. After all, I can’t have all the messengers going missing.’

  He’d bribed the first messenger he intercepted along the road and told him to return in the spring. When he discovered another was on his way, Bram knew the first messenger had betrayed their agreement. So the second messenger met with an accidental death.

  ‘You’re planning something here?’ Finlay asked.

  ‘I intend to mend relations and return home. I won’t avoid the English King for ever.’ Only until he knew what to do for his clan’s survival, and his brothers’ safety.

  ‘You worry about Caird and Malcolm.’

  Finlay needed to learn to close his eyes. ‘What do you know?’

  ‘Malcolm left here as if the devil was after him. He took two horses and a month of supplies. I think it’s best if I doona know what he was doing, aye?’

  Bram gave a curt nod. If Finlay didn’t know more, he might be able to keep his head in the next year.

  Finlay shrugged. ‘Caird seemed well, though.’

  Caird was a changed man. ‘He’s happy.’

  ‘Interesting that he found happiness with a Buchanan.’

  ‘Finlay, you need to look away and not notice so much,’ Bram warned.

  ‘Knowing she was Buchanan had less to do with my observing and all to do with Malcolm vehemently declaring it.’

  A childhood tragedy had deeply carved Malcolm’s hatred towards the Buchanan clan in stone. Over the years, the hatred spread around the entire Colquhoun clan, but Caird wanted Mairead. ‘And your thoughts on their marriage?’

  ‘I, too, am happy for him.’

  Caird was finally content. In the midst of all the war and bloodshed, in the midst of his worry over Malcolm and the burden he now carried, his brother was happy. As was his sister Gaira. Who was he, as laird and brother, to question how and with whom they found their happiness?

  It was a mystery how they found it, as he had never been able to find a happy marriage, or form an advantageous alliance.

  Unerringly, as he had throughout the day, he sought out and found Lioslath. She had not changed her position, which gave her the perfect advantage to avidly observe his archers.

  She didn’t look bewildered or trapped in the crowds surrounding her now. She looked pleasingly content.

  ‘Did you check the archery targets and equipment?’ he asked.

  Finlay nodded. ‘Aye, Callum and I, with two Fergusson men, inspected the bows and arrows. Everything is secure and of equal value.’

  ‘See if you can check them again,’ he ordered.

  He didn’t wait for Finlay to leave before he watched Lioslath again. Aye, she was planning something. The archery competition was the last contest. Did she intend to jeopardise or stop it in some way?

  Much to his own body’s regret, there had been progress today. The Fergusson men hit with their strength and his body had felt every blow. He was used to fighting his own men, who paced themselves and used skill.

  But it was rewarding to teach the men and see the beginnings of trust. If his plan was to work, he needed the clansmen’s cooperation. He wouldn’t let anything ruin his plan. Each bruise, each crushing blow was incurred towards that goal.

  It was rewarding to feel Lioslath’s eyes on him as well. More than once, he’d been injured in the ring because he hadn’t kept his eyes on his opponent. It was the way her blue eyes darkened as she viewed him fighting; the way they darkened when he was about to kiss her.

  That almost-kiss. Inconvenient desire. Unexpected woman. And he no longer wondered on kissing her. He craved it. Her hesitancy and innocent questions left him in no doubt that she was a maiden and one he couldn’t seduce. One he shouldn’t be tempted by. But his body cared naught for plans or shouldn’ts.

  In that moment he knew he would kiss her. In that crucial moment, there was only her, the touch and smell of her skin, the sounds she made. His only thought then was: here. Now. Then Gillean had come.

  Bram shook his head. He’d knelt before the boy because his tunic hadn’t been enough to hide his response to Lioslath. Even now, he forced himself to control his response to just that memory.

  Lioslath continued to observe his archers balance their bows in their hands and rotate their wrists for flexibility. Like them, she, too, flexed her wrists and shifted her stance. Was she mimicking his archers? No. She was copying them.

  She was planning something, but in his current state, he didn’t dare approach her.

  * * *

  This was it. Lioslath calmed her breathing. The Colquhoun shots were completed. Five targets. Her clan had gone first. The arrows had been marked and removed. Then Clan Colquhoun went and their arrows were still embedded in the tightly woven hay against the trees. She didn’t want them removed.

  Before any could move forward, before any could get in her way, Lioslath strode to the first target’s position. She ignored the gasp of sounds and Bram’s voice above the others.

  Any moment they would know their voices wouldn’t stop her. Already with her arrow notched, no one dared to physically remove her. Moving quickly and concentrating, it was only Lioslath, her weapons and a point to prove. Exhaling, she released the arrow. It hit dead centre.

  The sounds of protests quieted as she walked to the next. Released. A step, another release, and another. One more target left.

  The eyes of the crowd distracted her more than their protests. One pair of eyes in particular. Bram’s. She turned her gaze to him.

  He stood taller than his archers gathered around him. A safe enough distance from her shots, but near enough for her to see all of their expressions. Incredulousness, envy, a sort of helpless fury as a woman beat them at their own game.

  Like his archers, Bram’s gaze held surprise, but there was nothing helpless about it. There was only a warning. His lips pressed tight and a slight flush crossed his cheeks as if he exerted himself just by standing still.

  Oh, he didn’t like that he could do nothing to stop her. Not without announcing to the clans what an overbearing, arrogant laird he was. Not without ruining his plans to create friendship amongst their clans. As if she wanted friendship...or that kiss.

  She thought this through. It was the only thing that distracted her thoughts from Bram’s lips and his almost-kiss. She’d told him she didn’t want the competition, didn’t want an alliance with him, but he’d forced it anyway. She couldn’t want his kisses. Not after everything he did.

  Her arrow was poised to make the final shot; she saw Bram’s warning shake of his head.

  She merely raised her chin. It was her turn to find amusement in this. By now there were no sounds from the crowd.

  Turning to the target, she blocked Bram out.

  The final target. Trickier than the others. The archer had hit centre, but a bit to the right. She’d have to skim it without breaking her own, or else not prove her worth.

  Breathe in, exhale, release.r />
  She didn’t have to walk up to the target to know she’d hit it. She heard it from her own clansmen’s cheers. She saw it from the way Bram’s expression darkened, his eyes now rolling storm grey. His body, if possible, seemed larger, as if there was a force outside his very skin.

  She knew what it was: rage. It was all directed towards her and she had no arrows left.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Are you angry with her?’ Gillean’s voice rang out across the stunned silence after Lioslath’s last arrow pierced the target. ‘You look as though you’re angry with her.’

  Anger didn’t begin to describe the feelings roiling through Bram. Wrath came close. But even that wasn’t enough.

  All day, he built camaraderie as the clans built props for the competition. His training in the ring taught her men fighting skills, but also ways to ease differences. His plan had been working. He hadn’t failed his family or his clan. He was succeeding here.

  Her single-handedly besting each archer’s shots—with a fluid ease no one could mistake for luck—was the equivalent of the first cry for blood in battle.

  Everything inside him wanted to violently answer.

  ‘I think he’s angry with her,’ Gillean shouted to Fyfa, who ran over to quiet her brother.

  Moments away from making peace here and ending the animosity. Moments away from gaining acceptance so he and a few men could stay the winter. So he could commit, but not get caught committing, treason. And she destroyed it all.

  Fighting for control, for patience, he looked wildly around him. The only expression that stood out of the now deathly quiet crowd: Lioslath’s victorious smirk.

  He watched as Donaldo swept to her side, as Aindreas gave him a look of triumph. He watched as his own men gaped at her skill, but also at the sheer, scheming underhandedness of it.

  There was no mistaking she’d done it deliberately and calculatingly. She’d never intended on mending relations. Had, in fact, set them up to fail.

  Never mind he thought she felt desire, as he had when they’d almost kissed. It was the sheer shame of the matter overriding everything. His years of diplomacy had not prepared him for this. Because he forgot his one rule: listen for weaknesses and never underestimate his opponent.

  With Lioslath of Clan Fergusson, he most definitely underestimated her.

  Lioslath watched as Bram’s incredulousness turned to fury. In that moment she knew why he was both feared and respected.

  She wouldn’t break her gaze, because she neither feared nor respected him. He had almost kissed her; she had almost accepted. But she couldn’t accept him ever. She just wanted him gone.

  ‘He’s definitely angry with her.’ Gillean’s voice was the only one heard above the crowd.

  Lioslath didn’t even hear Donaldo’s low, urgent mutterings. She kept her eyes on Bram, who was advancing towards her.

  ‘Does she fit you now?’ Gillean cried out. Lioslath heard Fyfa shushing him.

  ‘I warned you.’ Donaldo’s whispers grew louder. ‘I warned you not to press matters too far.’

  ‘You knew I would do this.’

  ‘But to win every shot and to beat his best archer? What were you thinking? He gave you a feast, which you refused. You argued in the village and then he did this competition. He could take the supplies he brought or destroy them in front of us. He could take more than the English did. You’ve left him nae choice.’

  ‘I was saving our pride.’

  ‘A poor warmth pride will be this winter. Can’t you see he’s mending relations?’

  ‘For what purpose!’

  ‘Laird Colquhoun gazes intently at you, Lioslath, and he gives us all this. Not only the supplies, but also skills. You saw what he did for Colin.’

  ‘I think she fits him now!’ Gillean dodged his siblings.

  ‘What is that boy talking about?’ Now Donaldo’s eyes tracked the running children.

  Lioslath froze. Gillean was too excited and knew too much.

  She needed to get to him, but Bram was approaching. His men, as if by silent command, were separating from hers. There would soon be a fight.

  How to stop this?

  If she rushed to quiet Gillean, she’d look guilty. If she didn’t quiet her brother—

  Lioslath broke Bram’s gaze and hurried over to her brother. ‘You have to be quiet.’

  ‘But he’s angry with you!’ Gillean darted around Donaldo. ‘You have to fit now!’

  Fyfa was running after him. Something she did only in dire circumstances. ‘She said quiet!’

  Gillean giggled. Where was Eoin? He could usually catch his brother.

  But Donaldo suddenly grabbed the boy’s arms, hauled him up and narrowed her eyes. Lioslath knew that look. ‘What do you mean, child?’

  ‘She’s always angry with us, now he’s angry with her. We’re Bram’s family. That’s why he was kissing her and in her bedroom! We’re to be family!’

  Gillean’s excited voice carried over the stunned crowd. He declared it all. Everything. In front of everyone. Including Bram.

  Donaldo set Gillean down slowly. ‘Is this true?’

  Lioslath could feel the stares of everyone around them, but she didn’t dare look. She kept her eyes on Donaldo. She didn’t need to look at Bram. She could sense his anger and something else making her fear him for the first time. There was a predatory stillness. That calculating moment when an animal tensed before its lethal bite.

  And she felt as if she was the prey.

  Donaldo had a calculating look in her eyes, too. With suddenly gripping certainty, she knew Donaldo would think it an advantage to marry the Colquhoun and pretend she had a reputation. Lioslath needed to stop it.

  ‘It wasn’t as it seemed,’ she said.

  She heard a protesting shout from Aindreas before a roaring in her blood drowned out all sound.

  What had she done?

  In the gaping silence she made with her final shot, she ensured everyone heard Gillean’s excited announcement and her admitting Bram kissed her.

  ‘Is it true?’ Donaldo repeated to Bram.

  A heavy silence fell. One in which Bram could have offered a myriad of diplomatic explanations. Instead, he gave a wide smile as if he was overjoyed. Before she could step away, he gripped her hand and pulled her close.

  Acutely aware that Bram’s smile didn’t reach his eyes and that his grip was too tight to disengage her hand, Lioslath stood beside him.

  Without waiting for her compliance, Bram faced the clans. ‘Lioslath has won the archery competition.’

  His voice boomed over the stunned crowd as if he was laird of the land making a formal announcement. Some clapping ensued, which was polite, scattered and quickly silenced. The spectators knew there was more to come. Laird Colquhoun was holding the hand of Lioslath of Clan Fergusson.

  Bram looked down at her and dared her to look anywhere else. A dark emotion barely contained seethed behind cold grey eyes, but he addressed the crowd before she could understand it.

  ‘It seems,’ he announced, ‘the lady is in need of a prize for her excellent and remarkable marksmanship.’

  A roaring began in her ears then, a prickling awareness caused by Bram using a different voice from the one she heard before. The tone now was cajoling, beguiling, humour thickly lacing around each syllable despite the coldness in his eyes.

  ‘This is more than a competition,’ Bram stated, his voice grand again. ‘This is a celebration!’

  A deliberate pause in which the roaring in Lioslath’s ears popped and an avalanche of sound entered her tangled thoughts.

  No, not an avalanche. Only one sound was hurtling towards her. Bram’s voice, as he completed his announcement to the clans.

  ‘By vanquishing our best archers, Lioslath ha
s indeed gained a prize. And so have I. For with the strike of a well-aimed arrow, she has wholeheartedly agreed to my proposal,’ he said. ‘We are betrothed!’

  Bram’s laugh joined the merriment. But she stood the closest to him. He was laughing, but there was no humour in the sound. Instead, his laughter barrelled shards of malice towards her.

  ‘You’re my prize?’ she whispered just as the frozen tumultuous truth of his announcement hit her. Her words must have kept above Bram’s icy laughter already burying her because he replied.

  ‘Aye.’ His answer resounded over the festivities, over her, with the finality of a cold tomb.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rage seethed and scraped at Bram until he felt raw from it. It was this extreme emotion that made him rough with his orders to his clan after the congratulations were over.

  Luckily Finlay and Callum took their cue from his temper and did not ask questions.

  Yet even after his men followed the nightly routine, Bram felt exposed. As if everything he was striving to make of himself and his clan was a sham.

  Lioslath had done it. With her dagger and arrows Lioslath had wounded him. Opening up old injuries until she exposed what he was underneath. Her stunt revealed that same young cockerel from his past who tried to prove himself and failed in the most altering way.

  Since that fateful winter, he had faced far more terrible foes, had overcome unlikely odds and had enjoyed and revelled in his successes. Never again had his family suffered and gone hungry. That bitter winter was why he played, why he laughed, why he began each day as if he would conquer it. Because since then, he always conquered.

  There was nothing now to laugh about. His family and clan were in danger and he was failing in the simplest of plans to keep them safe. A plan where all he had to do was wait.

  He wished he could simply leave and wait for news of the jewel and from John Balliol somewhere else. He wished he’d never listened to his sister Gaira about the orphans here, or felt that strange something tugging inside him at her story.

  That same something compelling him to make amends to this clan as he had to his family all those years ago. The worst of jokes on him. This clan didn’t want him making amends.