Lyon's Gift (24 page)

She swallowed, and he licked at his suddenly dry
lips.

“
Nay,” she answered, and her gaze
moved once more to his desk.

Lyon couldn’t help but note the direction of her
eyes.

His manuscripts remained just as he’d left them, and
yet... why did he feel she knew their contents?

It was highly unlikely, as he didn’t know many men
or women who could read or write their own names, much less read a
manuscript of its nature. He was well aware that it was onerous
reading at best, interspersed as it was with both Latin and French.
One thing he could scarcely claim to be was an engaging scribe.
Much of the text, in fact, was incomprehensible as there were pages
and pages of fragmentary ruminations—left so on purpose, for much
of its content would gain him little more than
persecution—interspersed with unclear references to the second
manuscript.

His scribblings were naught more than the discourses
of a man attempting to comprehend his own life’s purpose.

What was it going to take to bring him peace?

He hadn’t ever truly experienced
contentment—satiation perhaps, but not contentment. And yet, though
he’d never experienced the one, he understood the difference
innately. It was a far, far different thing to satisfy the body
than to satisfy the soul.

His body had many times known gratification, but his
soul had always been left wanting.

He watched her as she stared at his manuscripts,
watched the expression upon her face .. . and knew.

She’d read them.

And yet... had she read them all... she couldn’t
possibly make such a claim as the one she’d only just made to
him—that he was not as wicked as he believed.

He
was
wicked

The evidence was manifested now within his braies.
Even wounded as she was, the sight of her lying within his bed
filled his loins with raw heat.

How far had she read into his manuscripts?

Did she know his darkest desires... his
pleasures?

The notion that she might... that she knew... and
yet would still claim such a thing made his heart pound
fiercely.

How far had she read?

“
I’m afraid I
am
as wicked
as I think,” he told her, feeling compelled to warn her. He smiled
softly then, feeling quite predatorial, despite that she lay
helpless within his bed—or perhaps because she lay so helpless
within his bed.

That was the nature of the beast... the darkest side
every good man fought to deny. But Lyon understood his beast all
too well; it was not defeated by turning his back upon it. Nay, but
you had to stare it in the eye, know it well in order to master
it.

“
You see,” he reasoned, “you
cannot possibly know how wicked I think I am, therefore you cannot
begin to suppose whether I am, or not, so wicked as I think. I
could think myself only slightly wicked,’ he told her. “In which
case you are safe enough lying there in my bed. Or... I could think
myself absolute evil... and you cannot possibly conceive which of
the two is true. Can you now?”

She sucked in a breath, instinctively understanding
his challenge, and the effort lifted her breasts, drawing his gaze
there. She swallowed.

His gaze lingered.

“
I—I think I can,” she answered a
little breathlessly.

“
Though you cannot be certain,
Meghan.” He cast a glance at his papers, wanting her to know that
he knew... needing to know how far she’d gone. “Do you read?” he
asked her casually, though his look was anything but
that.

She followed his gaze to the desk. “A-aye,” she
answered hesitantly. “I—I do.”

“
Do you?” His gaze returned to her
face.

Meghan’s breath snagged at the intensity within his
deep-blue eyes.

“
Aye.”

His eyes slitted, and her heart quickened its beat,
tripping painfully.

He knew.

He knew she’d been reading his essays. Was he
angry?

She thought not... and yet... the look in his eyes
was anything but harmless.

“
I think I need not ask how far
you’ve read,” he said low, his voice softening to a mesmerizing
note. “Because if you’d read far enough, Meghan Brodie, you would
scarce claim any such thing to me... that I am not so wicked as I
think. I am,” he advised her once more. “And you’d do well to
remember it.”

Meghan suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

Her heart pounded like thunder in her ears.

Though she knew instinctively he’d not harm her—he
hadn’t as yet, though she’d given him ample cause—she sensed the
truth in his threat. She would do well to remember. Somehow, she
had forgotten the tales told of this man. She’d forgotten how he’d
won this little piece of Scotia. She’d somehow, from the very
first, forgotten to fear him, when she’d had every reason to.

And yet...

“
You dinna frighten me,” she told
him, though the hammering of her heart within her ears belied her
bold claim.

“
I know,” he said, and smiled. He
winked at her. “But let us see if you can say that still... after
you have finished the manuscripts.”

Meghan lifted her chin. “Do you give me permission
to read them?”

“
Nay,” he answered, his eyes
glittering with challenge.

Meghan’s brows knit. “Nay?”

“
Nay, Meghan,” he countered,
rising from the bed and making his way toward the desk.

He lifted up the manuscripts and suspended them
before her. “Rather I am daring you to read it.” And he tossed them
upon the bed. “See if you can still look me in the eye afterward
and say I am not so bloody wicked as I think.”

A knock sounded upon the door.

Lyon abandoned the manuscripts to her to answer the
door.

Cameron stood there. “Baldwin says for you to come
quick.”

“
What is it?”

Cameron peered within the room, casting a pointed
glance at Meghan, then nodded and said, “He says for you to come,
is all.”

“
Damn,” Lyon said, understanding
the unspoken message. He turned to Meghan. “Are you comfortable,
Meghan?”

She lifted a brow. “As comfortable as a wounded
prisoner can be!”

He grinned at her, seeming satisfied enough with her
reply. “I shall be back directly then,” he said with a wink. “In
the meantime, enjoy the read... if you dare.”

And with that challenge, he left her to her
curiosity and his manuscripts.

CHAPTER 19

“
Tell him Leith Mac Brodie says
we’re not leavin’ till we see our sister!”

“
Tell him yourself!” Lyon charged
as he approached the armed gathering within his
courtyard.

His men parted, giving him room to enter the circle
they’d formed about his mounted guests. He had to admire these
bloody Scots, riding in as they had, just the three of them against
his greater numbers. Christ, but these Highlanders were nothing if
not fearless.

“
Damn you all to hell, Lyon
Montgomerie!” the stockiest of them proclaimed. He charged his
horse at Lyon, but his men moved forward at once, blocking him, and
he jerked the reins back, bringing the horse to a protesting halt.
“You have no right to take what does not belong to you!”

“
So says the man who now owns five
of my goats and a bloody cow, as well!”

“
You started it, mon! You cannot
thieve from us and not expect us to retaliate! And you cannot take
our only sister in turn for a handful of bluidy goats and a milk
cow!”

“
Who started this?” Lyon
countered, unable to believe the gall of that single remark. It was
his goat that had been discovered in their hands, not the other way
around, as he recalled.

“
You did, Sassenach!” said the
third Brodie.

Lyon didn’t even feel the need to reply, ludicrous
as it was. Damned Scots. “You’ve bloody short memories,” he said to
no one in particular. “And who makes these rules?” he asked of
Leith Mac Brodie. “Who dictates what eye is to be plucked for
another?”

“
Honor makes them!” Leith Mac
Brodie returned.

“
Whose honor?” Lyon
contended.

The two of them faced each other, neither
relenting.

“
The fact is I caught your sister
in the act of stealing from me,” Lyon told him. “I did no more than
to arrest her.”

“
Liar!” shouted the bigger
Brodie.

Lyon turned to face him directly, his jaw taut with
restrained anger. “No man has ever called me that and walked away
with his bloody balls still attached to his body.”

The impudent Brodie returned his glare, undaunted,
his hand going to his sword. Lyon watched his every move but didn’t
respond save to raise his hand when his own men drew their own
weapons.

“
Aye?” the other man replied.
“Well, Colin Mac Brodie has now! My sister steals from no one—no
one, do you hear me!—not to save her own bluidy life! Speak that
lie again, Sassenach, and you’ll rue every syllable to come from
your mouth!”

Lyon’s hand went reflexively to the sword at his
belt. He flexed his hand upon the hilt, reminding himself that he
was speaking to Meghan’s brother—reminding himself, too, that Colin
Mac Brodie stood now for his sister’s honor. He’d like to think
he’d do the same were the situation reversed.

“
You can call me a bastard,” Lyon
told him as calmly as he was able, “because ‘tis the bloody truth.
And you can call me a thief if it please you, as I’ll not mince
words, but do not ever again call me a liar, Colin, or I’ll slice
your goddamned tongue from your mouth and feed it to you with my
fist. Do you understand?”

Colin’s eyes burned with fury. “If that was said to
strike terror into my bones, Montgomerie, then you failed! Give us
Meghan, or we’ll bluidy well show you the meaning of terror!”

“
I’d have you remember where you
are, Colin Mac Brodie,” Lyon apprised him. “Do not try my
hospitality.”

Colin spat viciously upon the ground. “Standin’
before a lyin’, thievin’, bastard Sassenach!” he answered. “That’s
where I am!”

“
Colin!” Leith Mac Brodie barked
at his brother. “Cease!”

Lyon nodded at Leith. “Wise man.” He turned to
Colin. “You should heed your brother, whelp.”

Colin launched into an explosion of expletives.

“
Aye, he should,” Leith Mac Brodie
interjected. “But dinna mistake me. I will be leaving here with my
sister, Montgomerie. You have no bluidy right to keep
her.”

Lyon said naught; he merely removed his hand from
his sword and crossed his arms.

“
I will not go without her,” Leith
asserted.

“
Aye,” Lyon countered, “you will,
as your sister is in my custody by David of Scotia’s
command.”

“
To hell with David!” Colin
hissed. “That Sassenach-lovin’ bastard holds no sway in these
parts!”

“
Aye,” Lyon said, “he does, as he
does with me.

“
Return Meghan to us,” Leith Mac
Brodie persisted. “And we shall go and the bad blood be ended
between us.”

“
Nay,” Lyon said, and uncrossed
his arms. “I’ve decided that Meghan is the solution to our little
dispute.”

Leith MacBrodie urged his mount forward suddenly and
approached him. Their gazes locked, held. “Solution?” he asked,
coming to a halt before Lyon, looking down upon him with narrowed
eyes. “What is it you are proposing Sassenach?”

“
I’ve decided to make Meghan my
bride.”

“
The bluidy hell you have!” Colin
Mac Brodie erupted.

Lyon ignored him. “That should put an end to our
disputes once and for all,” he pointed out, “as what is mine shall
in essence be yours and what is yours shall in essence be mine. No
more quarreling.”

Leith Mac Brodie remained silent, scrutinizing
him.

“
Meghan wants no husband!” Colin
proclaimed, spurring his mount forward as well. “So you can bluidy
well forget that, Montgomerie!”

“
I’ll not agree to such a thing,”
Leith announced, after a moment’s contemplation. “Not unless I see
my sister and she agrees to the same with her own lips. No other
way, Montgomerie.”

“
Well,” Lyon said, “then you have
wasted your time in coming here today, because Meghan is not seeing
guests. She is indisposed, as well you know.”

“
Montgomerie,” Leith warned him,
his lips thin with anger now, “I cannot force my way past your
guards today, but hear me well... I’ll not rest until I see my
sister where she belongs. And if you will not let me see her now as
a show of faith, I will not promise to fight fairly. I will leave
here, as you leave me little choice, but Meghan is my flesh and my
blood and I’llna abandon her to you so easily.”

Lyon ignored the prick of his own conscience.

He wanted this too badly, he knew.

“
I am asking for a fortnight,” he
said stubbornly. “Give me that time with Meghan, and thereafter I
will allow her to decide freely. If she chooses to leave, she may
go of her own accord. That is the best I can do.”

Leith seemed once more to contemplate his
request.

“
You expect us to simply abandon
her here, Montgomerie?” Colin countered. “Knowing she is wounded
and in need of us? I dinna think so, you rotten
bastard!”

“
Return her to us, woo her
properly,” Leith said.