The Chief (10 page)

Shame washed over her. And she'd been too much of a fool to realize what her father intended.

How could he do this to her? How could he deceive her like this?

Achieving his goal had blinded him to everything else.

“I do not pay for what is given for free,” the MacLeod chief replied.

Christina's eyes flew to his face. Surely, he didn't mean…? But he did. He didn't want to marry her—even after taking her innocence. Even after what they'd shared.

His expression was hard and unyielding. He wouldn't
even look at her.
He thinks I'm a part of this
. She was, but she'd never intended it to go this far.

“Just what are you saying?” her father demanded, his face red with rage.

“I'm saying your daughter got exactly what she deserved when you sent her to my room.”

Christina couldn't let him believe this of her. “But I never meant—”

“That's enough,” her father interrupted. He turned on her with an angry glare. “You've done quite enough.” He motion to the maid and guardsman. “Escort her back to her room.” He spoke again to Christina, “I will speak with you tomorrow when this is settled.”

She looked to the MacLeod chief, searching for reassurance, but his face was as cold as ice, without a shred of compassion, the tic in his hard-set jaw the only indication of his anger. But she could feel it radiating from him, in every powerful muscle of that incredible godlike body. His nakedness didn't seem to bother him at all. He stood as tall and proud as if he were a warrior in full armor. Invincible. With that build, it was easy to see why.

She climbed down off the bed, feeling as if she'd aged a hundred years in the last hour. She wobbled, catching sight of the telltale stain on the coverlet. She quickly shifted her gaze, her cheeks flooding with hot shame.

Ignoring her father, she turned to the MacLeod chief again. It somehow seemed vitally important that he know the truth. “Please,” she begged for understanding, “it's not what you think. I didn't know. This was a mistake.”

“Yes, it was,” he said curtly. Coldly. She knew he was angry—he had every right to be—but his remoteness stung. He'd touched her in the most intimate ways, possessed her with his body; she wanted to believe that it meant something.

Despite the ugliness of what her father had done, it had meant something to her. She stared at him, willing him to
look in her direction, to give her a little comfort—no matter how insignificant—but he kept his gaze on her father, having forgotten all about her.

Insignificant
. Her heart tugged hard in her chest. She was only a pawn in the games of men. One day she wanted to mean something to someone. But perhaps it was a foolish thing for a woman to want.

Christina bowed her head and followed the maidservant and guardsman out of the room, feeling her throat thicken with hot tears.

She didn't know which was worse: that she was no longer a maid—ruined in the eyes of many—or that he didn't care he was the one who made her so.

Tor watched her leave, refusing to allow himself to be swayed by her pitiful pleas. The treacherous chit had gotten exactly what she deserved.

He would not be forced into a marriage he didn't want by trickery. If he did marry again, it would be for the good of the clan. It wouldn't be to a woman who'd tricked him into taking her virginity.

Unbidden, the memories returned. Of holding her lush breasts in his hands, of her bottom pressed against his cock. Of dragging his mouth along the honey velvet of her skin as the veil of her silky hair fell over him, of her soft little breaths of pleasure, of the way she'd trembled when he'd touched her slick core, of the explosive passion that had gripped him as he'd plunged inside her.

Cursing his body's reaction, he grabbed his
leine
and tossed it over his head.

He'd never been like that before. Wild with desire. Damned near out of control with it. The drink must have addled his mind.

He forced the memories back. His unnaturally fierce reaction to her would not change his original decision. Allying himself with the great patriot family of Fraser
would immediately call into question his neutrality, putting him at odds with both Edward and MacDougall.

Lust was about as ridiculous a reason to wed as love.

Fraser waited until his daughter and the others had gone before rounding on him. “Do not think you can avoid this. The story of what has happened here will be all over the castle by morning.”

“I see you've made sure of that,” Tor said, referring to the maid and guardsman Fraser had brought along to witness this farce. “But you erred if you think it makes a damned bit of difference to me.”

“You've ruined her,” Fraser said incredulously. “Of course, you are honor bound to marry her.”
No matter what the circumstances
, he left unsaid.

“Am I?” Tor smiled. “You assume I play by the same rules. You came to me with an offer that I refused—for good reason. I'll not be forced into marriage by trickery. It's not my honor in jeopardy, but yours and your daughter's.”

Only the knowledge that Tor could kill him with his bare hands held Fraser's anger in check. “No one forced you to do anything,” he said. “Are you claiming that my daughter seduced you? My
innocent
daughter?”

“She seemed eager enough to me.” Tor's face betrayed no emotion, but Fraser's words pricked him. He replayed the scene over in his mind, and as much as he wanted to, he knew he could make no such claim. The odd reactions he'd attributed to game-playing made horrible sense for an innocent maid—and he'd been too out of his mind with lust to notice. But she'd responded. He put up the wall in his mind before he could think about that. She'd made no effort to stop—not until it was too late. “I suspect you knew exactly what would happen when you sent her to my bed. That it did is your problem.”

It seemed to finally be dawning on Fraser that he'd overplayed his hand. “No one will have her when it is discovered what has happened here.”

The lass had known what she risked.

And if she hadn't?

Tor pushed aside the question. He would not feel guilty for having been tricked. He'd made his decision for the good of his clan and nothing had changed. “Then I suggest you stop your people from spreading word before any more damage is done.” He took a threatening step toward Fraser. “Now, it's time for you to leave before I decide to ignore the truce and give you exactly what you deserve for what you attempted this night.”

Fraser took one look at him and knew it was not an idle threat. His black gaze landed on Tor. “This isn't over,” he said, his voice teeming with resentment and anger.

But they both knew it was. Fraser had gambled with his daughter's virtue and lost.

The moment Christina saw her sister, the tears she'd been holding back exploded into a big rush of choking sobs that wracked her entire body. Beatrix didn't say a word but simply enfolded her in her arms, offering the comfort Christina so longed for after the emotional tumult of the night. She'd traveled from heaven to hell in the space of a few horrible minutes.

Slowly, through halting breaths, the story emerged. Perhaps not the most intimate details, but enough for even an innocent like Beatrix to understand. What had happened had been earth-shattering in a way that Christina could never explain to her sister. But it had left her irrevocably changed, for now she knew a man's touch. Knew how she could become weak with passion and desire. Knew exactly how intimately a man and woman could be joined.

Beatrix didn't say a word, just murmured soothing sounds, stroked her head, and allowed Christina to cry until she'd drenched the front of her chemise with tears.

When the tears at last subsided, Christina took a deep
breath and looked up at her older sister through swollen, watery eyes. “What am I going to do?”

Beatrix untangled a piece of hair that was stuck in Christina's lashes with a gentle sweep of her finger. “What happened tonight doesn't need to change anything,” she said softly. “It won't be the first time a girl trying to escape a marriage has sought out the sanctuary of a nunnery. Chastity is not required before you enter, only after.” She smiled. “If that is what you truly want.”

“Of course it's what I want.”

Beatrix gave her a thoughtful look. “Maybe what happened was for the best.”

Christina pulled back in shock. “How can you say that?”

“Because I don't think a lifetime devoted to God is what you would choose were other options available. Escape, peace, a lifetime of solitude—I understand your reasons for going—but how long before the walls of sanctuary would start to feel like a prison? You want to marry, Chrissi. Escape with him; he'll protect you.”

There was more truth in her sister's words than she wanted to admit. The veil would protect her, but once taken, her vows could not be undone. She would have peace and the ability to do something useful with her learning, but not freedom. Nor would she ever again know the closeness with a man that she'd experienced today.

He was wrong for her…wasn't he? Everything about the battle-hard warlord overwhelmed her. He was too intimidating. Too fierce. Too…
too
. But he was also honorable, controlled, and—as she couldn't help but be aware of—handsome enough to make her knees weak.

But none of this mattered. Beatrix was forgetting something very important. “I told you what he said. He doesn't want to marry me.”

Beatrix cupped the side of her face in her hand and gave her an indulgent smile, looking more like a mother than a
sister. “He's angry. Give him time to think. He'll see that you had nothing to do with our father's trickery and do what is right. From everything you've told me, everything you know of him, do you believe he could do anything less?”

Nay, not if her estimation of him was true. But Beatrix hadn't seen his face. Christina shuddered at the memory, having never faced such vitriol. “What if I'm wrong?” What if he wasn't the chivalrous knight that she'd made him out to be, but the brutal warlord she'd first imagined?

“Is that what you think?” her sister asked.

Did she? What did she know of him? A strange question to ask about a man who'd touched her so intimately, roused her passion, and taken her virginity in one wicked stroke.

She knew that he spoke with authority and carried himself with the pride of a king, that he was a warrior of repute and incomparable skill, that he was capable of mercy, and that he would save a serving girl from rape where others turned a blind eye. Everything she knew of him spoke of honor.

She looked at Beatrix and shook her head. Deep in her gut, she knew she wasn't wrong about him.

“Then the question is what do you want?” Beatrix asked quietly. “But I think you already know the answer.”

Christina's chest squeezed, knowing that her sister spoke true. “What if I'm wrong?” she said hoarsely.

“The nunnery will always be there, but this might be your only chance to find happiness. What if this man is your Lancelot? What if he is the man you are destined to love?”

Christina managed a wry smile. “I thought I was the one who let my imagination run away with me.”

But Beatrix had only given voice to her deepest girlish dreams. The alternative, a lifetime of “what ifs,” spread out before her like a path without end. Like the endless
tolls of bells sounding the “Liturgy of the Hours” from Matins to Compline.

Her sister was right. It was worth the risk. She wouldn't be the first bride to seek refuge in a nunnery to escape a terrible marriage. The reverse, however, was not possible. If she took the veil, there would be no going back.

And truth be told, after what she'd experienced tonight, she didn't know if a life of chastity would be possible. Her desire had been awakened. No longer was she innocent. And though it was certainly wicked to think such things, she was glad of it. She'd liked how it felt when he touched her. She bit her lip. Well, except for when he'd entered her. But pain was to be expected the first time. At least that was what she'd heard.

Something about Tormod MacLeod called to her in a way that she could never have expected from such a fierce and terrifying warrior. The very first time their eyes met she'd felt it—that strange current of awareness running through her. And when he'd pulled that man off her like some dark avenging angel, it seemed like destiny—as if he'd been drawn from the pages of her stories.

She wanted him. But did he want her?

Tor waited until dawn before descending the stairs to ready his men for departure. He'd not had the benefit of sleep—it having eluded him completely—to take the edge off his anger and he was anxious to leave.

He didn't like the feeling pricking at him. About an hour before sunrise he'd identified it: guilt. But God's blood, they'd tricked him. He had nothing to feel guilty about.

Not unexpectedly, his host was waiting for him. “You're up early,” MacDonald said. “Though from what I hear, you had a long night.”

Apparently, Fraser hadn't lost any time in appealing to MacDonald. Not that it would make any difference. The “King” of the Isles held no authority over him. “I sail with the tide,” Tor replied, ignoring the reference to what had occurred.

“You still have a few hours, then. Join me in my solar. I think we can have this matter settled to everyone's satisfaction.”

“It's already settled.”

The old warrior quirked a bushy gray brow. “Is it?”

Tor held the other man's gaze, clenched his jaw, and followed him into the small room off the Great Hall. His host deserved an explanation.

He assumed the less formal setting of the solar, rather than the council chamber, was an attempt by MacDonald to avoid the appearance of judgment. Tor wasn't surprised to see the other men already seated around the small table. It was the same group who had tried to persuade him to join with Bruce: Lamberton, Campbell, MacSorley, and, of course, Fraser.

“In light of recent events,” MacDonald started once he'd sat down, “I hope you will consider our original offer.”

Tor turned a cool, challenging gaze on Fraser. “Nothing has happened to change my mind.”

Fraser struggled to control his temper. “Nothing except that you've ruined my daughter,” he sputtered.

Lamberton frowned. “Is this true?”

Though Tor knew that under the circumstances an explanation was in order, he wasn't used to being questioned—or being put on the defensive. It was a position he found he did not enjoy. “I took her maidenhead. It's her father, however, who did the ruining.”

Fraser flushed angrily.

Campbell gave Fraser a puzzled look. “What's he talking about?”

When the other man didn't say anything, Tor said, “Why don't you ask him how his daughter came to be in my room?” He was interested in hearing that himself.

Lamberton's eyes narrowed on Fraser. “What's he suggesting, Sir Andrew? Did you send your daughter to his room?”

All eyes were on Fraser now, and it was clear he didn't like it. “How my daughter came to be in his room is immaterial. Anyone could see that he wanted the lass. I merely gave him the opportunity; I did not force him to ravish her.”

The other men stared at Fraser with varying levels of disgust, but Lamberton was outraged. He was a churchman not just in office but also in conviction—which wasn't
always the case. “Your own daughter? How could you have used the lass like that? The poor girl must have been terrified.”

Tor didn't like hearing that any more than Fraser did.

“None of this matters,” Fraser said angrily. “If he had any honor he would offer for her, accept the alliance, and join forces with us. A knight would—”

Tor leaned forward and grabbed the man by the throat. He'd had about enough of Sir Andrew Fraser. “I'm not a damned knight,” he said in a deadly voice. “That's the very reason you want me to lead your team. I don't play by your rules or codes. I do what needs to be done to win. Kill or be killed—that's my code.”

He held Fraser like that for a long moment, then tossed him away with a grunt of disgust.

Only the sound of Fraser's sputtering broke the silence. It was the truth, and they all knew it. After a moment, MacDonald turned to the other men and said, “Leave us.”

Fraser looked as if he wanted to argue, but Lamberton stopped him. “I think you've said enough.”

When the room had emptied of all but the two of them, MacDonald studied Tor appraisingly, and then gave him a wry smile. “You're right, of course. Though Lowlanders aren't used to such blunt speaking. The reason they've come to us is not just because there are no better fighting men in Christendom, but also for our less than ‘knightly' style of warfare. But just because they think we fight like savage pirates doesn't mean we are. We might not live by the knightly code, but honor isn't reserved for knights.” He chuckled. “Even Highlanders have a line, and though I think you don't like it, you know you've come up against yours.”

Tor met the other man's gaze but didn't say anything, his expression giving no hint of his thoughts. MacDonald was right, damn him. As much as Tor hated it, he couldn't escape the sensation of a noose tightening around his throat.

In theory he knew he was right to reject the alliance, but it did not ease the weight on his conscience. He'd taken her, damnation—rather crudely, too. It was no more than she deserved. But did she have to look so ridiculously vulnerable?

His jaw locked as images of her face assaulted him. Pleading. Scared. Horrified when she realized he had no intention of offering for her.

Anger and outrage surged inside him. Damn her for putting him in this position. Damn the whisky. Damn his own mindless reaction to her.

“I may not condone Fraser's methods,” MacDonald said, “but he's right; no one compelled you to accept his wee gift.”

“I didn't know who it was. I thought you sent a woman to me.” He didn't offer it as an excuse, but as an explanation.

MacDonald nodded. “Ah. I wondered. And the lass said nothing?”

Tor shook his head. Not until it was too late, at least. He stood up and paced across the room, knowing that if he had to sit there another moment he'd break something. The loss of composure only added to his anger. Finally, he turned back around to meet the older man's gaze. “I'll be damned if I'll be forced into a marriage that is of no benefit to my clan by trickery and deceit.”

“If you refuse to marry the lass, you'll make an enemy of Fraser and his family.”

“And Bruce as well, you mean.”
Choosing sides
, exactly what he'd sought to avoid.

MacDonald shrugged. “You know Lowlanders. They have codes. Rules. You took the lass's virginity; you are honor bound to marry her. End of discussion.” MacDonald leaned forward. “But, I think I have a solution that may solve all our needs.”

Tor crossed his arms. “I'm listening.” Reluctantly.

“Fraser may have been overzealous, but we all want the same thing: for you to train and lead this team of elite warriors. What I'm suggesting is a compromise. Train the men for a few months—someone else can lead them. You can do so in secret, and no one need be aware of your involvement. You will stay outwardly neutral and not draw the ire or scrutiny of King Edward and MacDougall.”

“Unless someone discovers what I'm doing. Why would I want to risk it?”

MacDonald smiled. “Because it will benefit your clan to do so. If you agree to train the guard, I will appease Nicolson.”

Tor stilled. MacDonald had caught his attention. “How?”

“My youngest son needs a bride. I will see to it that he's betrothed to Nicolson's second daughter.”

Tor raised his brow. MacDonald must want him more than he realized for him to give Nicolson such a prized alliance.

It would work. Nicolson would have to accept. Staving off war with Nicolson was the reason he came, and MacDonald was handing it to him. But it wasn't enough—it would only exchange one problem for another. “What you are suggesting solves only half the problem. If I marry Fraser's daughter, I will have appeared to ally myself with the family—and with Bruce.”

MacDonald smiled. “Actually, thanks to Fraser's treachery, it will be just the opposite.”

“How is that?”

“Rumors are already flying around that you ravished the lass. When you marry, it will only validate the rumors. Fraser will understandably be furious and you will appear to be enemies. Not such a stretch, I would imagine.” He chuckled. “It won't look like an alliance, and no one will suspect you are working for Bruce.”

Outwardly maintaining his neutrality.

“I'm not usually known as a despoiler of innocent maids,” Tor said wryly.

MacDonald snorted a laugh. “We'll let it be known that you were besotted. That you fell in love and when the lass's father refused you, you took matters into your own hands.” MacDonald's eyes twinkled with mirth, guessing how much the idea of sounding like a lovesick fool appealed to him. “Didn't your brother recently do the same?”

Tor grimaced. “No one who knows me will believe it.”

“The lass is exquisite, and every man can be made a fool for love.”

Not me
. But if he could weather the humiliation, it was just ludicrous enough to work.

“I never thought to hear such banalities from you.”

A flash of pain flickered in the old warrior's gaze. “As I said, every man.” He shrugged off the strange sadness that had crept into his voice. “So what say you to our agreement? I will take care of Nicolson and give you the peace you wanted, if you agree to train the men. After three months, you can walk away if you wish. Everybody will be happy.”

Especially Fraser. Despite the obvious benefits of the offer, it went against every bone in Tor's body to give Fraser what he wanted. Tor sat back in his chair, eyeing the other man carefully. “The alliance isn't necessary. Marrying the girl doesn't have to be part of the bargain. You will get what you want—my agreement to train the men—simply by staving off the war with Nicolson.”

“That might have been true before last night,” the older man said. Tor waited for him to continue, but he knew what he was going to say. “You've taken the lass's virginity—no matter the circumstances. Fraser will find many who agree that you are honor bound to marry her. Bruce needs Fraser's support, and for that he will need to keep him happy. The alliance must be part of the bargain.”

He should refuse. The alliance would only cause him problems.
Walk away
.

But damnation, he couldn't.

MacDonald had made him an offer he couldn't refuse, but that didn't mean he couldn't turn it to his advantage. “Call off your dogs.”

MacDonald's brows gathered in genuine confusion. “Dogs?”

“Your cateran kin, the MacRuairis.”

“Ah…” A long, slow smile spread across MacDonald's face.

“You find something amusing?” Tor asked.

“You never asked about the warriors who will make up the secret guard.”

MacDonald recited a list of ten names. Tor frowned at a few of them, but when MacDonald reached the last name, Tor returned his smile with one that was much more devious.
Lachlan MacRuairi
. “Why didn't you say that in the first place?” Having MacRuairi under his heel alone would almost be worth it. “What's his special skill, cutting throats?”

MacDonald laughed. “Something to that effect.”

“And you trust him with this?” MacRuairi's loyalty was suspect at best, nonexistent at worst. “How can you be sure he won't go running to Edward or MacDougall the first chance he gets?”

MacDonald nodded. “He won't. You'll have to trust me.”

It was a lot to ask. He knew the blackguard. After a long pause he nodded.

“Then you agree?”

Tor thought for a moment. Though everything MacDonald said made sense, something about marrying the lass still bothered him. But so did the idea of leaving her to an uncertain fate. “I do, for what it's worth. But what you ask may be impossible. These men are more enemies than a fighting force.”

Hell, there was even a bloody Englishman among the names.

“They will follow you,” MacDonald said confidently. “Your reputation is well known, even in the borders. Men line up for the opportunity to fight with you despite the knowledge that only a very few of the toughest will survive what is it called…perdition?” Tor nodded, amused by the name given the two-week period of grueling training all his men endured—or, more often, didn't. “What is it they say? You're a man who could turn a group of ten-year-old lasses into toughened warriors.” He grinned at the jest. “Why do you think we wanted you so badly?”

One side of Tor's mouth lifted. Ten-year-old lasses would be easier than this bunch. “I know how to train soldiers, not make miracles.”

MacDonald guffawed and slapped him on the back. “There's always a first.” He stood and went to the sideboard, pouring a cup of
uisge-beatha
for each of them. Handing one to Tor, he lifted his glass. “To new alliances.”

Tor returned the gesture and drank. But it did nothing to warm the chill that swept behind his neck. Getting the Nicolsons and MacRuairis off his back was worth the risk for now, but he hoped he didn't come to regret his decision. He knew well what was at stake if his involvement with Bruce was discovered.