A Highlander’s Homecoming (22 page)

Agneys closed her eyes and tried to imagine a young Randulf MacGahan so smitten by a woman that he’d spend all that money. It would be her dream to find a man who felt that way about her.

Just not the one sleeping in the adjoining room. The very thought of allowing him into her bed made her physically ill.

And yet she truly didn’t dislike the old man. He’d always been kind enough to her. Kinder than her own father, in truth.

She certainly didn’t want him dead. Not yet. Only asleep so that he wouldn’t be pawing at her body.

Dead, and her lovely new existence would be complicated beyond reason. Dead, and her father would be in charge. And
that
was not an acceptable outcome by any means. She’d been under her father’s thumb for too long as it was.

Lost in her thoughts, she almost missed the knock at her door.

Who in the world would bother her at this hour of the night?

Agneys opened the door a crack, only to have it shoved full open, her father striding into her chamber without even the pretense of respect for his laird’s new lady—as if it were his right to enter.

“Well? I’ve had no word as to yer . . . condition.”

“No word?” She all but snarled her response, forgetting to temper her words. “Are you fool enough to think I’d have a answer when it’s been only two days since the last—”

The shock of his knuckles slammed into her jaw, his backhand sending her to the floor. The pain radiating through her face kept her there as her mouth filled with the metallic taste of her own blood.

Roland’s eyes shone with the unholy madness of his anger when he leaned down over her. “Dinna you ever take that tone with me, Daughter. You may think yer something special because yer laird moved you into his
wife’s quarters, but yer no. You’ll never be more than a worthless whore, no even capable of carrying an old man’s seed to fruit.”

Agneys threw her hands up in front of her face and he grabbed a handful of her hair, dragging her to her feet. Her muscles tightened involuntarily, preparing for the blow from his upraised fist.

“Christ’s blood, man, stop that! What do you think yer doing?”

Randulf leaned against the doorway in between his bedchamber and hers, his plaid hanging around his bony hips, partially unwrapped as it had been when he’d fallen asleep.

“Disciplining my daughter, my laird, as is my right as her father.”

Roland released his hold and Agneys stumbled backward, seeking to put distance between the two of them.

“It’s no yer right anymore, Lardiner.” Randulf took a step forward, his body unsteady. “You lost that right when you forced me to take the lass to wife.”

It was obvious to Agneys from the laird’s slurred speech and hesitant movements that the dwale still affected him.

Randulf licked his lips and reached out a hand to steady himself as he drew even with the big chair Agneys had sat in earlier. “I’ll no have you attacking yer laird’s wife. No you or anyone else. Yer banished, Roland. I want you out of my castle and off my lands this very night.”

For a moment, Agneys thought her father might have swallowed his tongue as fury turned his face a bright red.

“You canna mean that. Yer mind is clouded by the
whisky, old man. You dinna ken the words you speak,” Roland at last managed to respond.

“My mind may be clouded, but my decision’s made. I want you gone, now, you wicked bastard. You’ve tormented poor Agneys for the last—”

Agneys screamed as her father launched his body at the laird, knocking the old man over backward, smashing his head into the corner of the hearth.

“You canna do this to me,” Roland yelled, repeatedly slamming the back of the laird’s head against the stones. “No after all the years I’ve given you!”

“Father, you must stop!” Agneys pulled at her father’s shoulder, backing away as soon as he dropped his hold on the laird.

Roland slowly got to his feet before he turned to her. His earlier fury spent, his eyes lit in instant panic before he regained control.

Agneys hurried forward, dropping to her knees by the laird’s body. “No,” she moaned, the denial ripped from deep inside.
Not now. Not yet. Not like this
.

“It will look like an accident. Yer husband, well in his cups, attacked you, and then he staggered out for more drink, ordering you to wait in his bed for his return.”

She struggled through her shock, through the emotions threatening to overwhelm her, fear and anger chief among them.

How convenient her father had a story ready to feed to the people of the castle. A story that covered everything, right down to the painful swelling he himself had left on her face.

Roland hurried into the laird’s chamber, returning with the tankard that had sat on Randulf’s table.

“This little . . . incident will simply speed up our original plans. Now get out of that nightdress and into his bed. You’ll remain there until someone comes to tell you they’ve found yer husband. I’ll throw his body down the stairs. Once he’s found, I’ll ride out to meet the MacDowylt as if it was what the laird had instructed me to do. No one will question any of it.”

“Randulf MacGahan would never have struck me. No one will ever believe—”

Roland flew at her, his eyes glittering with his anger. Before she could run, he grabbed the neck of her nightdress, ripping in down the front with a force that caused the material to bite into the back of her neck, surely marking her tender skin.

“Now take off that rag and get into the old man’s bed.” He hissed the command through his teeth, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth, reminding Agneys of a mad dog she’d once seen.

As was necessary, the dog had quickly been put out of his misery.

She backed away from her father, turning once she was out of his reach to hurry into the laird’s chamber. She stepped out of the tatters that remained of her lovely, soft nightdress and climbed into the high bed, pulling the curtains shut around her.

Damn her father! He’d stolen from her the time she’d hoped to use to come up with a logical course of action. His temper had cost her the weeks she’d expected to have for planning. Just as his impatience had forced her to pretend a pregnancy he still hoped would be true. A pregnancy she knew was impossible since the old laird had never actually lain with her.

Agneys wiped at the tears streaming down her face and curled under the covers, trying to come to terms with what had just happened.

Poor Randulf. He’d been nothing but nice to her over the years, and though she could never have loved him as his wife, she had cared for him in her own way.

With a deep shuddering breath, she fought to clear her mind. Everything had changed with her father’s actions this night. She had to decide, and quickly, what to do next.

Within hours, the whole of the castle would know their laird was dead. Shortly after, the MacDowylt would arrive. Her father might have managed to trick the poor old laird, but she suspected he’d find less success in using his wiles on the warrior. Unless she missed her guess, MacDowylt wouldn’t be satisfied with waiting outside the castle walls as her father planned. She had no doubt he’d be riding through those gates within a day or two, more anxious than ever to get his hands on that half-wit, Isabella, in order to secure a hold on the MacGahan lands.

None of these things worked to her advantage.

Or did they?

She rolled onto her back, concentrating on the thin edge of an idea. Perhaps, with some clever planning and a little luck, she could use her father’s blunders to her advantage.

Thanks to his ill-conceived announcement at the wedding feast, everyone assumed she carried the laird’s child. Her father told her he’d already sent for the MacDowylt to return and would be riding out to meet him tomorrow. Surely the warrior would want to come to the castle.

If she arranged to find herself in the MacDowylt’s bed soon enough, a pregnancy might still be possible. It could be his child she carried. And with the old laird out of the way, MacDowylt could claim her in marriage.

Now that sounded like a scheme that would surely appeal to the handsome warrior. After all, he wanted the MacGahan lands and she wanted to be taken care of. It was an arrangement that would suit them both.

Her father’s plans to deal with Isabella still bothered her, but she could only deal with what was before her right now.

That still left her father as a major loose end. He’d reached a point where his temper made him more liability than asset. And after what he’d done to Randulf? He needed to be dealt with. Perhaps a grateful MacDowylt could be persuaded to dispatch of him. Especially once he learned of her father’s plans to have him killed along with Isabella.

In the dark, Agneys smiled to herself as she considered her new course of action. Her father’s impatient bumbling could well have provided her all the cards she needed to play out this hand to her own advantage.

Foolishly Roland had always underestimated her. Because she had her mother’s beauty, he saw her only as her mother’s daughter. Too bad for him, he didn’t seem to understand that she was her father’s daughter as well.

Only smarter.

Chapter 20
 

Robert stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle as he stared into the flowing stream that ran past Isabella’s cottage. The dark ripples seemed to take on a mesmerizing life of their own as they reflected the light of the full moon.

After what felt like the longest two days of his life, he was not at all anxious to begin another night in the cottage. He needed time alone to unravel his tangled thoughts.

Time alone to face his demons.

He and Isa had made the trek back from Castle MacGahan in silence, his guilt and worry building a wall he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to scale—guilt over the secrets he kept from Isa, worry about his inability to ensure the obstinate woman’s safety.

From the moment he’d seen the burn mark on the bedchamber floor, he’d begun to suspect that his relationship with Isa was far more than either of them had bargained for. That suspicion made his not having any control over what would happen to Isa when the Faerie Magic overtook him all the more painful.

And the Magic would overtake him. Of that he had absolutely no doubt. The daily changes in his old wound assured him of that fact.

He felt powerless for perhaps the first time in his adult life, and he hated it.

When had he so completely lost control over the direction of his life? That was easy. The moment he’d come in contact with his first Faerie.

The mark on his arm prickled, and he squeezed his eyes shut in a useless attempt to quiet his equally prickly conscience. Apparently the Fae Magic that infused his body wouldn’t allow him to wallow in self-deception.

Fine. He’d admit that the Fae weren’t entirely to blame for his current dilemma. Though he did fully expect the Faerie Magic would be the death of him, in fairness, it had also saved him. It had swept him into the future and allowed him the most amazing decade of experiences any man could imagine.

No, the problems troubling him tonight were of his own making.
He
had kept information from Isa.
He
had failed to convince her to leave this place for her own safety.
He
had slept with her. Willingly. Eagerly.

Then he had gone and made everything worse for the past two days by shutting her out, denying them both what little time they might actually have together.

“Great dunderheaded fool,” he muttered into the night.

“Pardon?”

Robert’s eyes flew open at the sweet sound of her voice so close. Her hair was loose, the long curls flowing around her.

“I dinna mean to interrupt yer . . . yer thinking time, but I worried when you remained out in the dark for so long.”

She held her fingers laced together at her waist, so tightly, from the looks of it, that Robert doubted she could have any circulation left in her hands.

He’d managed this night to confront some of his demons. Perhaps it was time to confront one more.

“It’s no so dark, really.” He stretched up his arm, pulling her down to sit next to him when she took his hand. “The moon lights the land like a lantern tonight.”

“I suppose.” She nodded before laying her head against his chest.

“Isa, did you ever . . .” He swallowed his nervousness and draped his arm around her, pulling her close before he tried again. “When you were a small lass, did anyone ever tell you stories? Faerie stories, perhaps?”

Her body tensed against him, but he held her tight, waiting for her response.

“Mayhap,” she said stiffly. “One or two.”

“Sitting here this night brings a story to my mind. Would you like to hear it?”

“Aye,” she whispered, seeming to relax a little. “It would please me to listen to yer telling.”

“Long, long ago, long before man ever began to record his history, Fae and Mortal lived together in a harmonious world. For every man there was a mate. Two perfect halves, their souls destined to be together through
eternity. As one life ended, the displaced spirit would take up residence in the Fountain of Souls, waiting until its mate arrived, and then they would both return to bodies to live together again. All was as it should be.