A Laird for Christmas (13 page)

“Why this ridiculous competition?” he asked with a penetrating stare.

He let her step farther away. “I need a husband.”

“Then why not spare the others and accept me? That way we can keep Bellhaven between us. It can be as much yours as it is mine.”

The castle was never his, and if she had anything to say about it, it never would be. Her gaze connected with his. “I might have been presented with evidence earlier to prove my father is—” She broke off as her throat tightened.

“He is dead. You have had proof of that.”

“Perhaps, but not of Jacob.”

He sighed. “When are you going to see what is before you, you naive fool?”

“I remain hopeful. That is all.”

“Hope never did anything for anyone.” He shook his head.

Jane sighed as she studied him. He was handsome, intelligent, and from their youth together she knew him to be resourceful. She knew he had taken the death of his mother hard. But was that enough to fill a person with hate? “What happened to you, Bryce, to make you so angry?”

He startled. “Why do you care?”

“You are my cousin.”

He turned away, hiding his gaze from her. “Do not look at me like that.”

“How am I looking at you?”

“As though you care.”

“But I do.”

“Why waste your precious time on me?”

“I have done nothing over the years to make me the target of your hate. Who are you really angry with, Bryce?” Jane swore she could almost hear her cousin’s heart beating faster. His breath hitched.

Her body relaxed. She had touched on whatever it was that made him so uncontrolled and angry. Someone had hurt him, and deeply.

“If you ever need to talk, I will listen. Perhaps talking about it will help you find peace,” she said softly.

“And you think that will change me?” He spun to face her once more, his shield of anger firmly intact. “You seriously overestimate your abilities, cousin.”

Jane was no longer afraid. Something inside her said Bryce would not harm her. His bluff and bluster was merely an act to cover his wounds, whatever they might be. “When you are ready to talk, I will be here.”

For a heartbeat, his gaze softened, then the hardness returned. “I do not want your sympathy. I want this castle.” He pushed past her, heading for the door. “I will have it, too. One way or another, Bellhaven will be mine.”

“We shall see,” Jane whispered to the emptiness that remained. No one would take Bellhaven from her without a fight, especially her own cousin.

Nicholas climbed the stair, heading for Jane’s bedchamber in his search for Lady Margaret. He could not find her below stairs, and a maid in the hall said she had seen Lady Margaret carrying something up the stairs.

He paused at the open doorway and looked inside just as Lady Margaret placed Lord Lennox’s standard across the back of a chair, then leaned his sword against the seat back. Her fingers lingered on the flat of the blade for a moment before she pulled them back.

“If it is true that Lord Lennox is dead, there is no more honorable way to die,” Nicholas said softly, entering the chamber.

Lady Margaret spun around, startled. Hurriedly she brushed at the corners of her eyes with her fingers. “I am being a sentimental fool.”

“He was your brother. You have every right to be saddened by his loss.” Nicholas realized in that moment he had missed seeing Lady Margaret during his two-year absence from Bellhaven as well. Jane’s aunt had always been a calming influence in both Jane and Jacob’s lives.

Lady Margaret forced a wobbly smile. “I am trying to be strong for Jane’s sake.”

“You and Jane are so alike. You do not have to be so strong all the time. Let others help you.” Nicholas stepped fully into the room and held out his arms.

The older woman waited all of a heartbeat before she tucked herself into his embrace. He allowed his warmth and strength to flow into her. “It will be better soon. It has been… a difficult day.”

“For us all.” He tightened his arms around her.

Lady Margaret pulled back to stare into his face. “Do you truly believe someone in this very castle is trying to harm Jane?”

“Yes.” Nicholas offered the woman a smile as he set her from him. “Now then, are you better?”

She drew a deep breath, then nodded. “Much.”

“I came to find you to ask your help.”

“With what?” Lady Margaret asked.

“I need to find a particular servant girl who works somewhere here in the castle,” Nicholas said grimly. “She is young, perhaps around eighteen, blond hair. She said her name was Clara, or Clarisa.”

Lady Margaret frowned. “We have a Clara who is blond and about that age. She works in the kitchen. We also have a Clarisa. But she is a dark-haired maid. She is a score and five and the mother of twins.”

“This girl said she was the sister of the woodcutter.”

Lady Margaret’s face paled. “Peter was an orphan.”

“Was?”

She nodded. “He rode off with Lord Lennox and Master Jacob to battle and has not been seen since.”

A chill moved through Nicholas at her words. “Can you send both girls to me in the hall? I will speak to both.”

“The girl,” Lady Margaret asked, “why do you want her?”

“I believe she is either involved in Lady Jane’s accidents or knows who is.”

“Merciful heavens.” Lady Margaret straightened and a look of purpose came back into her eyes. Her brother’s death was not forgotten, but for now she had a way to move beyond it—with action.

“I will meet you in the hall shortly with both girls,” she said, and hastened from the chamber.

Alone, Nicholas looked back at the chair, bearing the Lennox standard and Lord Lennox’s sword, one last time.
God’s blood.
He had told Lady Margaret the truth. There was no more honorable way to die than in battle. He knew the truth of that. But why did Lord Lennox and Jacob both have to die in such a painful, violent way?

In the silence, bitter memories of another type of violence tugged at Nicholas. Even now he could smell the tallow candles of his father’s hall, feel the stone floor beneath his knees, sense the eyes watching from a distance and not a one of them moving forward to stop his father’s lash.

The lash came down hard, but with such talent as to neither break skin nor muscle. Only bruises would remain this time. Nicholas gritted his teeth, trying to summon the anger that had seen him through these endless nights of torment.

The anger would not come, only exhaustion. If only his father would cease for a moment, let him catch his breath, explain what had happened.

Nicholas shuddered as the lash came down again, two, three, four times. He fell to his hands, but not to the ground. Never would he collapse fully. His own pride would never allow that. He hitched a breath. “Father,” he rasped, praying the word would jolt some rational part of the man’s mind. “Please listen… to me.”

The lash came down harder. Nicholas bit back a cry of pain, fighting the black terror that threatened to choke him. His father never listened to him. Why would he start now? All he cared about was his drink. And when he drank, he got angry. Nicholas was the target simply because he refused to allow anyone else to be. But tonight, his father was completely past reason.

Something had to change. Perhaps it was time to flee his home, seek refuge somewhere else, anywhere else. Protect himself for once from the cruelties of a madman. Even as the thought formed, Nicholas knew he could never leave. If he did, someone else would take his place and he could never live with that.

The lash came down, again and again, draining him of life, of hope. He would have wept, but his tears had left him years ago, only humiliation lingered, and that rocked him to the depths of his soul until it smothered everything there. Would there ever be an end to the nightly torture? He had done nothing wrong except be born a Kincaid.

The memory tore through him, streaked across his back, and lanced his heart so deep that for a moment he could not breathe. That was the past. Nicholas straightened. This was not the time for memories. It was a time to be on guard and alert. If he did not, someone might get hurt.

Jane.

It was Jane who had rescued him from that hell with her smile. Near her, a part of himself that had been dead for an eternity came back to life. She had given him something to live for, hope for, dream about.

No one would ever hurt her the way he had been hurt. He would protect her, and even if she chose another to be her husband, he would see she came to no harm, now or anytime in the future.

The thought of Jane with another man was like a hundred pricks of a sharp blade. He forced the sensation away. He would concentrate on Jane’s safety. Her future and his could wait another day.

Nicholas left the chamber, closed the door, and went up to the battlements for a breath of fresh air. When he felt more in control of himself and his emotions, he went down to the hall to await Lady Margaret and the girls.

When he reached the great hall, the three women were already there.

“This is Clara and Clarisa,” Lady Margaret said, introducing them both.

His gaze immediately moved to the flaxen-haired girl and disappointment filled him. She was not the same girl from the woods. He had been hopeful he had misheard her name.

Lady Margaret gazed at him expectantly.

He shook his head.

Her face fell.

“Do either of you know another young woman named Clara or Clarisa? She may or may not work in this castle,” Nicholas asked.

“Nay, milord,” Clarisa said with a quick curtsey. She stared at his shoes. “I know no one else by that name.”

Clara met his gaze, steady and strong. “No.”

She was not the girl, but he could sense she knew more than she was saying. “Does your mother work here in the castle?”

“Nay. I’m the only one from my family.”

“And your surname is?”

She paled slightly. “MacGuire.”

The MacGuires again? “How did you come to work here?” Nicholas asked, noting that the girl started rubbing her hands together as he continued his interrogation.

“My family sent me here two years ago when Lord Lennox inquired about a young kitchen maid who might someday take over for Miss Marthe.”

“Is this true?” he asked Lady Margaret.

“My brother did hire a few new servants about that time. Jane could tell you more about it as she has always been more involved in the day-to-day activities of the estate than I have been.”

“Is there some other post besides the kitchen you can shift Clara McGuire to until I can speak with Lady Jane?” Nicholas asked Lady Margaret.

“Don’t send me away,” the girl cried out.

“You are not being sent away, merely given different duties until Jane can be consulted.” It would not do to have the girl in the kitchens where she would have easy access to Jane’s food. Poison had yet to be used against Jane, but they had to consider everything from this moment on.

The first rule of war was a surprise attack. With the maid out of the kitchen, there would be one less potential for surprise.

W
ith only lanterns to guide them, Jane and David headed through the outer bailey toward the one hill inside the castle gates. They were alone, and yet they were not. The other men had insisted if Jane were going out of the keep that they follow as guards in case whoever was after her attacked once more.

Jane looked over her shoulder to see five dark shapes and five lanterns following behind her. They kept their distance, giving her and David privacy, but they were there. She was not certain if the fact thrilled or annoyed her.

With supreme effort, Jane shifted her attention to where it belonged—on David. He had won the last competition. Despite the danger she had faced that morning, and the news she had received about her father, she owed him the courtesy of her exclusive attention during this time. After all, it was why they were all here. No matter what else might happen to her or around her, she had to marry by Christmas Eve. “Where are you taking me?” she asked, forcing a levity she did not yet feel into her voice.

David offered her a rare smile that lit up his usually somber eyes. His mood was carefree and playful this evening. Not two words she usually equated with the serious boy from her youth. “We are almost there.” David
carried a long slim object wrapped in linen under one arm and a bulging basket in the other. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted from the basket, indicating he had brought dinner along with him. No doubt Marthe had supplied him with all Jane’s favorites. The entire staff had warmed to the idea of her finding a husband, and as quickly as possible.

Jane and David stopped at the crest of the hill. He set down his lantern, then spread a thick pelt over a patch of ground that had been cleared of the snow. No doubt David had come out here earlier, preparing for this event.

Once the large pelt was in place, he sat down, then stretched his tall, muscular frame out upon the fur. Moonlight glistened on his neatly trimmed brown hair. He worn a soft linen shirt and breeches covered by a thick fur cloak. “Come join me,” he said in an inviting tone. Lying there with his hand outstretched, he looked sinful, elegant, and far too good for her nerves. Raw sexual energy shimmered off him in thick waves.