“So you’re marrying that old blackguard because you want to? I thought you were trying to run away because you didn’t. I’m disappointed to learn otherwise.”
She didn’t answer as she entered her chamber and put her sewing box on the bed. The Scot put the frame in the nearest corner and threw back his hood, revealing a mottled bruise on his cheek.
Subduing any curiosity about his bruise, she stepped toward the window, yet not so close that she could be seen from the courtyard. Clasping her hands together so that they were covered by the long cuffs of her gown, she mustered her dignity, and her skepticism. “I think you’ve come back to see the plans and you think they might be in my brother’s solar. In that case, you’d best leave, because he keeps that room locked.”
“If you had the plans handy, I wouldn’t mind a look, but I’ve told you why I’ve come—and I still think I’m right to believe your brother’s forcing you to marry Hamish Mac Glogan. That’s why you’ve got that delicate new lady’s maid waiting below, the one who looks like he can crush a man’s skull with his bare hands.”
“Herman’s supposed to protect me.”
The Scot’s eyes narrowed. “From what?”
“Scots, I suppose.”
He crossed his arms. “You don’t believe that any more than I do. Even if your brother doesn’t know you’ve tried to run away once or that we met, he suspects you’re going to try to flee, doesn’t he?”
“I told you, he thinks I need protection. And clearly, given your boldness in coming into his hall, he’s right to be cautious.”
“Especially when the prize is a lovely and spirited and very clever woman he can use to further his own ambitions.”
Marianne struggled not to be affected by anything this man said, whether good or bad. “You make me sound like something to be won in a contest. I’m not.”
“I’d wager your brother treats you as if you are. He seems the ruthless, ambitious sort who’d sell his own mother to get what he wants—just like Hamish Mac Glogan.”
“Our mother is dead.”
“Sister, then.”
She tried not to let the Scot upset her, or think that he was right. “Perhaps you wanted to make certain you hadn’t been seen skulking about the castle. If you had, my brother would never have let you leave. He would have thrown you into the dungeon.”
The Scot came closer. “Or else he suspected we’d been together and thought it better to say nothing. Hamish Mac Glogan would want a virgin bride, and if your brother confronted me or threw me in his dungeon, he’d have to explain why. He wouldn’t want that.”
She backed away. “No, he wouldn’t, any more than I want my reputation to be damaged by being associated with you—which it will be if we’re found here.” She pointed to the door. “If you don’t leave, I’ll call for Herman and tell my brother you were trying to steal the plans for Beauxville.”
“Dunkeathe,” the Scot muttered as his intense gaze searched her face. “Would you really call the guard?”
“Yes!”
“Even though I’m willing to help you get away from here, my lady?”
She mustn’t believe that. This had to be a trick, and he was using his seductive voice and eyes as he probably had a hundred times with a hundred different women, for all sorts of reasons.
“I don’t even know your name,” she said, refusing to accept that this offer of assistance could be in earnest, or chivalrously intended.
He looked surprised, then bowed with surprising grace. “I forgot we’ve not been properly introduced. I’m Adair Mac Taran, the eldest son of Seamus Mac Taran, chieftain of our clan and a thane of Scotland. Now will you let me help you?”
He was the chieftain’s son?
For a moment, she was tempted—very tempted—to accept his offer. But what then? Where would she go? And, chieftain’s son or not, what might he want in return?
Something you might be willing to give.
As she forced away that lustful little thought, his gaze held her motionless and it was as if he was trying to pierce the defenses she was desperately erecting against the feelings he aroused in her.
“One word from you, my lady,” he said softly. “Just one word, and I’ll do everything I can to stop your marriage to Hamish Mac Glogan and free you from your brother’s tyranny.”
Oh, God help her, why did he have to sound so sincere, and look at her that way? She wanted so much to trust him, to put her life in his hands, to believe that he would and could help her, expecting nothing in return.
But in the end, she dare not. No matter who he was, or what he said, she dare not trust any man. “I’m quite sure that any offer you make to me is in service of your own cause. Now get out, or I’ll call Herman.”
The Scot backed toward the door. “I’m willing to help you, my lady.”
“Go!”
At last, and with one final, questioning look, he did.
She stood still for a moment, telling herself there was nothing else she could have done. She couldn’t trust him, or any other man. She could only trust herself.
Yet in spite of her doubts about his motives, she ran to the window and looked out into the courtyard. Her heart racing, she watched as Adair Mac Taran, warrior and heir to a chieftain, joined a gang of laborers and safely sauntered out the gates.
Whatever his reasons for coming there, she was glad he hadn’t been caught. And relieved, too, of course.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, you’re not going back to Lochbarr?” Lachlann demanded as he faced his brother in the clearing by the river where they’d left their horses. The sun was low in the horizon, and Adair had just arrived.
“I have to stop that marriage,” Adair said as he reached down for his dirk, taking it from his boot and shoving it into his belt.
“By yourself? That’s a good way to get yourself killed—or start a war. Leave this to Father, Adair. He’s the chieftain.”
“It’s only two days till the wedding and that bastard’s got a guard on her. If he realizes how desperate she is to get away—”
“How do you know she’s desperate?”
There was no time for long explanations. “I know, that’s all,” he said as he went to Neas. “And once Father understands I had no choice, he’ll—”
“No choice?” Lachlann cried, following him. “By the saints, there’s a choice, a choice between what you think is best, and what’s best for the clan. I know she’s a bonnie woman, but—”
“It’s naught to do with her beauty. She’s a woman and I can’t stand by and do nothing while a woman suffers. Your heart must be a cold one if you can.”
“It’s not that I don’t pity her if her brother’s making her marry,” Lachlann protested. “But you can’t rescue her all by yourself. Come back with me and we’ll tell Father.”
“Who may or may not do anything.” Adair looped Neas’s reins over the horse’s neck. “It won’t be as risky as you fear,” he said, leading Neas away from the trees, and trying to sound reasonable, as Lachlann always was, instead of revealing the tumult of emotions surging through him that had been roused by the sight of Lady Marianne’s hulking guard. “I