Highlanders (6 page)

She trembled, alone now with the two brothers. Angus Og was studying her, but not with hostility—he seemed curious. He nodded once, then followed his father into the great room.

Juliana was awaiting Alasdair’s rage—his attack. His face was cold now, as cold as his father’s had been. “We will speak of this later,” he finally said. “Go into the hall.”

Juliana nodded and rushed to obey.

Angus Mor was already at the table, and fiercely eating. Angus Og was embracing Lady MacDonald before sitting down between her and his father. Mary was seated on the other side of the table with her children. Juliana avoided Mary’s questioning look as she squeezed onto the bench beside her nephews, as far away from Angus Mor as possible. She wished she were not at the table at all.

She quickly began filling her own trencher with fish and game. Tears felt as if they were imminent.

What had she inadvertently done? It was one thing to be Alasdair’s prisoner, another his father’s. Alasdair remained the enemy, but he was rational and just compared to his father. And he had an interest in her, one beyond that of a captor toward his captive.

She worried that Angus Mor would interfere and assert his authority over her. She must not forget that there would never be mercy from the older man. In his eyes, she was his worst enemy’s sister and nothing more, a pawn to be ruthlessly used.

Alasdair strode into the room. Juliana avoided looking at him. He did not sit down with his parents and his brother. He went to her side of the table, and sat down on the end of the bench next to her, not giving her a single glance, either. He began piling food upon his plate. He looked up at no one and he did not speak.

No action could be clearer. She was his prisoner, and he meant to make certain that there was no doubt. But it also felt as if he had staked a claim, as if he meant to indicate that she was also under his protection.

Oddly, she felt reassured by his gesture.

But his father was angered, she could see that, as he ate in dark silence.

She meant to force herself to eat, but it was impossible. It was Angus Og who broke the tension, as he began telling his father about a feud involving land in Jute. Angus Mor turned his full attention upon his second son, asking him questions about the dispute, and Juliana felt some small relief. She hoped to never attract the chief’s attention again.

When the meal was finally over and they had politely bid everyone good-night, the sisters hurried upstairs, shooing the boys up ahead of them. As Donald and Roger ran inside the bedchamber, Mary took Juliana’s hand, halting her on its threshold. “What is going on?” she asked quietly, but with strain. “Did you argue with Angus Mor?”

Juliana shook her head. But as she did so, she saw Alasdair approaching. Mary turned and saw him, too.

“No, she did not argue with my father,” he said. “She spied on him, instead.”

Mary gasped.

“Juliana, I wish a word with ye.”

Juliana stiffened. “I think we should speak on the morrow,” she began.

He took her arm, his hold uncompromising. “No. We will speak now.” He looked coolly at Mary. “Good night.”

Mary did not move, her eyes wide, and Juliana was certain she thought that she was in trouble, and more, that she might even be worried about Alasdair’s ultimate intentions.

“Good night, Lady Comyn,” Alasdair said firmly.

Mary suddenly hugged her. “Please, do not be reckless!” and then she hurried into their chamber.

Alasdair did not hesitate. Still gripping Juliana by the arm, he closed the door after Mary. He gave Juliana a sidelong look and pulled her down the corridor with him. She had to run to keep up with him.

The moment they were within his chamber, he shut the door. He released her, went to the fire and stoked it. It blazed.

Juliana bit her lip hard. He was angry with her, and she expected his wrath, but she also knew exactly how he meant to end the night. And that knowledge made her blood hum hungrily within her veins, even though she knew she must resist him.

He straightened and faced her, slowly removing his plaid. “Do not ever spy upon me or mine again.”

She stiffened as he threw the plaid onto the room’s single chair. “Alasdair. I did not intend to spy.”

“Ye realize,” he said, “that I cannot allow ye to communicate with yer brother now.” He unbuckled the belt and tossed that aside, as well.

She was dry of mouth. “I did not understand what you were speaking of,” she said, though she had understood everything.

He laughed, sitting on the bed. He pulled off one boot. “Ye ken. Ye ken we need our allies to take the throne fer Bruce.”

She trembled. “I cannot stay here tonight.”

He pulled off his other boot and stood up. “Ye can—and ye will.” And he walked to her and seized her shoulders, hard. “Ye ran away last night. Ye will not run away now.”

Her hands found his hard chest. “Mary will know.”

“Yer sister will never betray ye.” And then he kissed her, hard and open-mouthed.

Juliana closed her eyes, her senses rioting, pressing every inch of her body against his, as closely as she could, her arms around him now. She kissed him wildly back. Alasdair made a hard sound, and he carried her to the bed.

CHAPTER SIX

“I
HOPE
I
pleased ye enough last night that ye will not think to spy on me today.”

Juliana clutched the fur covers to her chest. It was not yet dawn, and she had spent the entire night in Alasdair’s bed—making love with him. She had thought the first few hours they had shared wildly passionate, but that had been a mere prelude to the frightening levels they had later reached.

She gazed at him, reeling. How could she find such enjoyment in her enemy’s arms? And how was she to define their relationship now?

They were lovers, but that did not change the fact that she was his hostage. Did he care for her at all? Wouldn’t he release her if he did?

“Yer staring.”

If she were not his prisoner, she would flirt with him now, as he was so gloriously naked. “What does last night have to do with today?”

He shrugged his leine on, covering his magnificent body, and gave her a hard look. “Everything.”

She wet her lips. “So last night had some significance?”

He now became wary. “Are we in a negotiation, Juliana?”

She inhaled. “If last night had anything to do with today, you would release me and Mary—or at least, you’d free my sister.”

He finally smiled. “Most men find stubborn women annoying. I happen to like yer obstinate nature.”

“Are you insulting me?”

“I am flattering ye.”

She was not to be deterred. “If my kisses mean anything to you, if last night affects us today, then you would release me, Mary and the boys.”

He had thrown his plaid about his shoulders. Irritation covered his face. “Enough. Yer kisses mean a great deal to me, otherwise, I’d have spent a brief hour with ye and sent ye from this chamber. But I cannot release ye and yer sister, not yet, and I am not going to be weakened by a woman, Juliana—not even a woman like ye.”

“So we remain enemies by day, and lovers by night?” She trembled with anger and disappointment. But had she truly expected more?

“Are ye not well fed? Protected? Clothed? Are yer sister and her children lacking?”

“They lack William—her husband—the boys’ father!”

He was in disbelief. “We spent most of the night together—and ye fight with me now?”

She flung the fur off and stood up, entirely naked—and aware that she had never before flaunted herself this way. “Last night meant nothing, and we remain enemies.” She walked past him to retrieve her clothes. She looked over her shoulder at him. “And that, of course, is your decision.”

He seized her and pulled her into his embrace. “Witch,” he said, kissing her. “I have many enemies, Juliana, and yer not one of them.”

She looked into his blue eyes and whispered, “Prove it.”

He darkened and released her. “Ye had better leave or I will take ye again.”

Juliana seized her clothes, shrugged on her leine, and girdle and boots in hand, she ran from the room. In the hall outside, she faltered, feeling as if she wished to cry. But had she truly expected him to free them, in return for sex?

She was reminded of the huge ransom Mary would eventually bring, a far greater one than her own. She was the Earl of Buchan’s daughter by marriage, as well as MacDougall’s sister. Of course he wished to keep Mary as a hostage until her ransom was paid.

And now, she wondered why his feelings for her seemed to matter so much.

“I thought I heard you,” Mary said quietly.

Juliana started and flushed. She had been caught outside Alasdair’s chamber, her hair down, her girdle, mantel and boots in hand.

“Come inside, Juliana, before the fire, or you will catch cold,” Mary said softly.

Juliana followed her sister into the chamber, taking a seat before the fire and putting on her boots. A pale gray light was finally easing into the chamber, a harbinger of the sunrise.

Mary moved the room’s other chair close to hers and took it. The boys remained asleep in the bed. “Do you love him?”

Juliana gasped.

Mary took her hand. “You have always been my wild little sister, but you have never been a flirt. You have kept the men away. Yet you spent the night with him.”

Juliana trembled. “He is a difficult man to resist,” she managed to answer. “Oh, Mary, are you terribly angry with me?”

“I am frightened for you,” she said. “And you did not answer me.”

Juliana began shaking her head. “How can I love him? He is the eldest son of our worst enemy. We have been at war for years and years. Hundreds of good MacDougall boys and men have died at their hands!” Falling in love with Alasdair was unthinkable.

Mary sighed. “I never expected to fall in love with William—Buchan’s third son who was intended for the church!”

“I am not in love,” Juliana said tersely.

“Did he seduce you?” Mary was incredulous.

Juliana knew how dangerous such an accusation was—especially if her brother ever heard it. “No! I wanted to be with him. Mary, I am eighteen years old. I should have been married last year, and most women would have been married years ago! I simply don’t know why I desire Alasdair, but I do.”

Mary studied her. “And what happens when we are freed? When you go home? When our brother arranges the right marriage for you?”

Juliana stiffened. She had not considered any of Mary’s questions. “I will be pleased when we are freed, and I cannot wait to have a husband,” she said, but as she spoke, she felt as if she were responding with rehearsed answers, ones her sister wished to hear. “You know I want children of my own!”

“If Alexander ever learns of your affair, he will be furious. But he will forgive you, I am certain, and I am as certain that he will kill Alasdair Og.”

Juliana shook her head as she imagined her brother and Alasdair in the worst blood feud imaginable—one fought over her innocence—or lack thereof. “I know you will never tell him.”

“Of course not! But will you be able to deceive your husband when the time comes? How can you hope to have a good marriage, when it starts with a lie?”

Juliana leapt to her feet. “I don’t know! I haven’t thought about any of this!”

Mary also stood. “I know you haven’t. I love you so, Juliana, but you are impulsive and reckless, and I am afraid for you.”

“He won’t hurt me.” She felt certain of that.

“I think you are right. He is our enemy, but he is an honorable man. Still, I am worried. You must be careful with him.”

Juliana did not understand. “What are you saying?”

“Alasdair does not strike me as a casual man.”

Mary smiled grimly, as Juliana realized that she was right. There was nothing casual about Alasdair. He was a man of careful ambition and keen intellect. He would not behave recklessly, or undertake any path lightly. His choices would be deliberate ones.

Even the choice of having an affair with the sister of his enemy.

* * *

T
HE
NEXT
FEW
days passed without any major incident, as both sisters awaited word from their brother and William, to learn their response to Alasdair’s ransom demands—to learn of their fates. Of course there was little doubt that the ransoms would be paid, sooner or later. However, Alasdair had not revealed his exact demands, and neither Juliana nor Mary had dared to directly ask him.

The women were allowed to move freely about the castle, the children to play upon the beach. Lady MacDonald was an amiable hostess, sharing tales with the women and the boys about life in the isles, and including Mary and Juliana in many household tasks. Because it snowed heavily for several days, an unusual occurrence for March, everyone was kept indoors most of the time. And with such weather, it was unlikely any messenger would be able to arrive.

Alasdair gave the boys small carved horses and men, toys that kept them occupied for hours. And at night, when everyone was abed, Juliana stole into Alasdair’s room, where he was waiting impatiently for her.

It finally stopped snowing one late afternoon. Juliana stared outside her chamber window, pleased to see the gray clouds dispersing, revealing patches of blue sky. Tomorrow might be sunny.

Mary came to stand beside her. “Maybe now we will receive word from Alexander and William.”

Juliana put her arm around her. “Of course we will. I am going down to help Lady MacDonald and the maids in the kitchens. Will you come?”

Mary hesitated. “I think I am going to lie down.”

Juliana hugged her. “Rest.” In the ten days they had been held captive, Mary’s girth had obviously increased. No one could mistake that she was pregnant now.

She went downstairs. Realizing her mood was as bright as the next day promised to be, she sobered. She was beginning to feel like a guest, not a hostage, and maybe she had better remind herself that was not the case.

Then she heard Alasdair shouting.

She stiffened, as he so rarely raised his voice. But now his brother, Angus Og, was shouting back at him. What could they be arguing about? Shocked, she hurried forward, intending to end the dispute.

“Are ye a madman now?” Angus Og cried. “Or perhaps, ye think yerself immortal, like an old Celt god!” His blue eyes flashed and he stood as if braced for battle.

“I think ye speak too freely, or, mayhap, yer filled with envy!” Alasdair snapped. “Achanduin Castle is a fine stronghold!”

Juliana had been about to go inside and step between them, for she feared they might come to blows, but she paused, stunned. What did Achanduin Castle have to do with them?

“I am not jealous, Alasdair,” Angus Og warned. “I think to protect ye, ye fool, from yer own grand and blind ambition!”

“And ye have no ambition? We both ken ye’d be King of the Isles if I let ye take Islay!”

She had seen nothing but camaraderie and affection between the brothers. Her resolve became unshakable. Juliana stepped into the great room.

Both men whirled to face her. Each was flushed with anger and now, they were incredulous that she dared interrupt.

“Ye wish to speak with me now?” Alasdair demanded.

“Let her stay,” Angus Og smirked.

Juliana trembled. “I heard you speaking—shouting. How can two brothers fight so?”

“‘tis not yer affair, Juliana,” Alasdair warned.

Juliana glanced at Angus Og, blushing. Alasdair was so angry that he had failed to address her as Lady Juliana—he had sounded as if they were intimate, which, of course, they were.

“Perhaps Lady Juliana wishes to ken why we argue over Achanduin Castle,” Angus Og said, eyeing her.

Juliana stared back at him. She had hardly spoken to him in the past few days since he had arrived at Dunyveg. But she had observed him from afar, and in many ways, he reminded her of Alasdair. He was shrewd, arrogant, powerful and aware of it. He was also good-looking, and he knew that, too. She had caught him flirting with her maid and she was fairly certain he had seduced her.

He would inherit most of Kintyre from his father, making him a powerful Highland lord. He was a few years younger than Alasdair, whom she had learned was twenty-seven, and he had yet to marry.

“Of course I wish to know why you argue over Achanduin—which is on my land.”

Alasdair smiled tightly at her. “Ye never cease to amaze me with yer boldness.”

Angus Og laughed without mirth. “My brother flirts with ex-communication.”

Juliana went still. Had she misheard?

Alasdair cursed, the very first time he had ever done so in front of her.

“The Pope thinks to excommunicate Alasdair?” she cried.

“Bishop Wishart has written us, demanding Alasdair return Achanduin Castle to the church, as the next Bishop of Argyll has been elected. Wishart was very direct—he will next write the Pope, describing Bishop Alan’s murder on holy ground, the attack upon the cathedral, and the theft of Achanduin Castle.”

Juliana began to shake. “Men have been excommunicated for fewer crimes against God.”

“I did not murder the bishop on holy ground, he was hanged outside the cathedral,” Alasdair said tightly.

Juliana was incredulous. “No one will care about such a minor detail! You must return Achanduin Castle immediately!”

He stared coldly at her. Then he turned to his brother. “She did not need to know any of this!”

“Why not? Perhaps she has some affection for ye, enough to persuade ye to a sane course.” Angus Og nodded at her and strode from the room.

Alasdair turned his back upon her and paced to the hearth, where he stared darkly at the fire. Juliana walked hesitantly over to him. She laid her hand on his back.

He started.

“You do not want to go to hell.”

“I am not excommunicated yet.”

“Alasdair! You cannot play such a dangerous game—return Achanduin Castle!”

He eyed her. “And should I return it to save my soul, or to enrich yer lands?”

She felt hurt. “I am not thinking about myself. Fool that I am.” She turned away.

He seized her arm, whirling her back to face him. His blue gaze was searing. “So ye do hold me in some affection?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know.” She was frightened for him, and did that mean she truly cared? Did she wish to save him, and his soul?

He made a harsh sound, then released her.

“But I do know this: keeping Achanduin Castle is not worth an eternity in hell.” Juliana turned abruptly, shaken. And she saw Angus Mor, standing on the threshold of the hall, watching them like a hawk. He still suspected her of treachery.

She hurried past him as she left the room.

* * *

J
ULIANA
HAPPENED
TO
be in Alasdair’s room, where she was replacing the wool blankets on his bed with fresh ones. He hadn’t asked her to do so, and as she folded up the fur at the foot of the bed, she was aware that it pleased her to take some small care for him.

She turned and walked to each window in turn, opening the shutters wide. It was now mid-March, and it was a cold but brilliantly sunny day. There was no snow left about the castle or on the beaches below it; she could just see some snowy ridges in the north.

She paused, inhaling the fresh air, as birds chirped from the treetops outside the stronghold. Why hadn’t a messenger come yet? Why wasn’t there some word from either Alexander or William?