Adrienne Basso (4 page)

All but two other men and Duncan drifted away. Nervously, Fiona followed the trio up the stone stairs into a large receiving hall. The room was massive in size, nearly as wide as it was long, with a high, soaring ceiling lined with thick, dark wooden beams.

A clan banner with the McLendon plaid woven around the edges hung from the center beam and finely embroidered tapestries depicting various battle scenes decorated the walls. Four large hearths were set in the stone walls, two on each side. On this summer day only one was lit, the fire barely blazing.

Slits in the stone at the very top of the walls let in light and fresh air, yet there was a heavy darkness that permeated the vast chamber.

At the far end was a raised dais where one man sat and several others stood.

“Wait until ye’re called,” Duncan commanded before he marched over to the dais, leaving her behind with the two other men.

Hunching over, Fiona craned her neck forward and squinted into the gloom, trying to distinguish the features of the men on the other side of the chamber. Was the earl among them? Or would she first have to speak to another of his retainers? That thought was most discouraging, so she pushed it aside.

“Come forward, Lady Fiona.”

A hush fell over the chamber at the sharply spoken command. Gingerly placing one foot in front of the other, Fiona began the long walk, biting her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. It felt as if every eye in the chamber was trained upon her. No matter. To save Spencer she’d walk through fire, if that’s what it took.

After what felt like an eternity of steps, Fiona finally reached the dais. Her relief at discovering that the man seated in the chair was indeed the earl was short-lived. He met her tentative smile with a fierce gaze that pierced her to the core.

Showing respect and deference, Fiona lowered her head and sank into a graceful curtsy. “I thank you most humbly, my lord, for receiving me.”

The earl snorted, then gave her a humorless smile. “Ye’ve given me little choice in the matter, Lady Fiona. Let me assure ye, the McLendons are not often this lenient with those who trespass upon our land.”

Disappointment rushed through her. She might be an uninvited guest, but there was no need to treat her like a common criminal. Why, he hadn’t even offered her a seat, or a glass of ale or wine to quench her thirst.

“Duncan warned me of the reception I was likely to receive. I see now that I should have trusted his word, but I believed a noble Scottish earl would show a chivalrous hand to a lady in distress. Especially since he had been treated as a friend when he dared to trespass upon
my
land.”

The earl raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Are ye scolding me, Lady Fiona?”

“I am relating the facts, my lord.”

His mouth tightened. “With a boldness that many would find insolent.”

His words gave Fiona a chill. For one horrible moment, she worried she had gone too far and he meant to dismiss her. But then the pride that had given her the courage to take this risk flared to life. Her chin lifted, her spine straightened.

“It would be tragic, indeed, for you to perceive an insult when none was given.”

“Aye, it would,” he mused.

Subtly wiping her damp palm on her skirt, Fiona forced herself to smile. “Friends are not easily acquired in these uncertain times. ’Twould be tragic to turn one unjustly into an enemy.”

“Aye.” His gaze slid from the rounded neckline of her gown to her leather-shod booted feet. “Is that what we are, Lady Fiona? Friends?”

Fiona’s breath shortened. She knew the scrutiny was meant to intimidate, but there was something intimate, almost sensual in the earl’s hooded gaze that caught her completely off guard. “My husband counted you a friend.”

Lord Kirkland’s gaze slipped downward. “I was saddened to hear of Henry’s death. He was a good man.”

“The finest.” Fiona blinked, refusing to get teary-eyed.

“Ye were attacked?”

“Ambushed in the middle of the night. My son and I barely escaped with our lives.” Fiona’s voice softened. “That is why I have come. I seek justice.”

“From me?”

Fiona’s cheeks reddened. “You are my last hope.”

The earl’s surprised expression did not alter. “These are dangerous times to be forging alliances, milady. Especially with a Scottish earl.”

“Spencer and I have been squarely placed in danger’s path ever since Henry’s death. Though he believes otherwise, King Edward cannot live forever. His son and heir is a very different sort of man. It will be difficult for him to rule England’s nobility with the same iron fist as his father. I need to be ready to reclaim my son’s birthright the moment an opportunity arises.”

“What do ye want from me?”

“Spencer is intelligent, passionate, and eager to learn. All he lacks is the proper training.”

The earl furrowed his brow. “Is there no one in England to foster the lad?”

“None will have him.”

“Why?”

Emotion rose inside Fiona, clutching at her throat. “He was wounded during the attack. His injuries have been slow to heal.”

“He’s a cripple?”

“No!” The tension in her stomach twisted. She couldn’t lie; the moment the earl saw Spencer he would know the truth. “His right leg is not as strong as the left. But it will improve.”

“There’s those that can be taught when they are lacking,” Duncan remarked. “Old Douglas wields a sword as good as any man, and he has but one hand.”

“Hmmm.” The earl settled back in his chair. He didn’t seem entirely convinced, but at least he was still listening. “What do ye offer in return for my aid?”

Fiona’s heart leapt. “A half yield of our grain crops for three years.”

“What else?”

“Hunting rights in our northernmost woods.”

“And?”

Fiona nervously licked her lips. “Twenty bolts of our finest wool. The weavers of Arundel are known throughout the kingdom for their skill. You’ll find no finer material in all the land.”

The earl studied her for a moment. “As far as I can see, ye have neither crops, nor land, nor cloth. I’ll grant ye ’tis rather clever offering things ye dinnae possess in exchange fer what you want, but only a fool would agree to such a bargain.”

Fiona could feel her heart beating harder than it ever had. “With your help, someday I will have it all again. And I shall keep my word and give you what we agreed upon.”

His expression grew quiet, contemplative. Fiona allowed herself to hope, making the earl’s next words all the more crushing.

“Someday is far away. Yet even if I were willing to wait, I must maintain that ye are offering nothing to make it worth my time and effort.”

Fiona stood stunned for a moment, struggling for words, her nails flexing deep into the cloth of her overskirt. “I appeal to your honor, my lord, to your sense of decency.”

“Sadly, ye are gravely misinformed as to my character.”

He is turning me away
. Disappointment slammed into Fiona’s chest like a fist. She had expected the negotiations would be challenging, but had been confident a satisfactory solution would be found. But what use was compromise when the earl showed no interest at all in anything she offered?

There had to be something he wanted, something he would prize enough to strike a bargain with her. More often than not she had heard Henry say that every man had his price. What was the earl’s?

“There must be something, my lord,” Fiona’s voice trailed off, her pride keeping her shoulders straight, her head high.

And that’s when she saw it. A flash of passion glowing from the depths of his eyes. A gleam of male interest, a spark of masculine admiration. Sexual desire.

It startled her. Henry liked to tell her she was pretty and would often compliment her golden hair or fair complexion or green eyes. And she enjoyed hearing it. But those words were never spoken with overt desire. At first, she had been too young to realize there was a lack of physical intimacy in her marriage. By the time she learned that her marriage was different from most, it was no longer important.

Henry treated her with respect, showered her with kindness, favored her with devotion. One night, after drinking too much ale, he had confessed that his lack of physical attention toward her stemmed from always thinking of her as he first knew her. She had come to his castle as a child, and though she had grown to womanhood beneath his roof, he forever saw her as a young girl.

Gradually, Henry’s lack of passion had woven itself into Fiona’s mind, but the spark of interest in the earl’s eyes reminded her that she still had one weapon at her disposal, one move left to make.

The earl was twice a widower. Did he feel the loss of a wife as keenly as she felt the loss of a husband?

Holding steady, Fiona forced herself to look at the earl’s handsome face. “You are very much mistaken when you say I have nothing to offer. There is one thing that is mine, wholly and completely—my person. And thus, in exchange for training my son, I offer myself to you.”

A deep, soulful hush fell over the hall, letting Fiona know that others had heard her remarks. But it was their lord’s reaction that mattered.

Slowly, the earl lifted his gaze to hers, his deep blue eyes burning into her own. Fiona swallowed hard. Embarrassment washed over her, along with a single ray of hope.

Clearly, he was not repulsed by the idea.

“’Tis a tempting offer, but I cannae marry ye, lass. I feel no great urgency to wed again, but when the time comes and I do take my next wife, she’ll be a Scottish lady, through and through.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” Fiona hardly knew how she was able to speak so calmly. She had known that a marriage between them was highly unlikely, yet her desperation had been so strong, she was willing to humble herself with the outrageous suggestion.

The earl stood, his posture dismissive.
Oh, no.
Crestfallen, Fiona’s heart sank and her breath quickened as her mind worked frantically, desperately searching for the words that would miraculously change his mind.

He would not marry her. It had been a rash, desperate suggestion. But there was no time to feel the sting of rejection. She must act.

Ignoring the voice that told her she was about to make an even bigger fool of herself, Fiona took a bold step forward. If the price she needed to pay to secure Spencer’s future was her own humiliation, then so be it.

“Clearly, you misheard, my lord. When I offered myself, I said naught about marriage, did I?”

Every person in the great hall seemed to be holding their breath, Gavin among them. Surely he had misheard Lady Fiona’s remark? Misheard or misunderstood.

But Lady Fiona had lost her shy smile, had abandoned her quiet demeanor. Her expression now was quite bold, though beneath the bravado Gavin could swear her hands were trembling.

As well they should be. Why, the daft woman had just proposed becoming his mistress!

“Do ye know what ye are saying?”

“I know precisely what I propose, my lord. And I’d thank you to have the good manners to acknowledge it.”

Good manners? Aye, the woman had lost her wits, there was no doubt. He uncoiled his long limbs, stood, then took a step closer, looming over her. “I heard ye well enough, Lady Fiona. I can assure ye, ’tis not every day an English lady enters my hall and asks to be my leman.”

“These are desperate times. I must take desperate measures,” she replied steadily.

“Och, so now it’s my fault yer turning yerself into a whore?”

She cringed at the remark, yet recovered quickly, an expression of calm on her face. Still, he was close enough to see her reaction, to feel the bolt of pain his words had inflicted.

Aye, now that will be the end of it.
She’d just acknowledged that the offer was made in desperation and she now needed a graceful way to withdraw it and still keep some pride. Gavin stole a quick glance at her winsome mouth and for a single moment regretted his decision to give her one.

Lady Fiona was a rare beauty, with a face and figure that could easily haunt a man’s dreams. Looking at her, he felt a familiar eagerness in his breath. Mud was splashed on the hem of her cloak and gown, wisps of blond hair had escaped from her silken veil, and a weariness hung about her person. Yet none of that dimmed her appeal or lessened the fierce, fiery attraction he felt for her.

He would have enjoyed having her in his bed, would have relished the chance to explore the sensual curves of her body, to taste the delights of her flesh. He had been too long without a woman and there was something unique, different about this one that captured his attention like none other.

She tilted her chin and cast him an unrepentant glare. “I am a free woman. I shall willingly barter whatever I can, including my person, for I answer to no one but myself and the good Lord.”

“I doubt the Lord would approve of yer choice,” he muttered.

“Neither of us can know that,” she answered. “God is merciful and forgiving. He understands human weakness and frailty. Besides, what harm do we do? Neither of us is married. We are breaking no vows, forsaking no others.”

Oh, she was too clever by half. Gavin could see that her pride had taken a beating, but she was not about to give up. So why was he resisting her? Well, for one thing, her proposition was ridiculous.

Or was it? His cock certainly didn’t think it was a bad idea at all. Quite the contrary—that part of his anatomy had stood at attention the moment she had risen from her graceful curtsy, her sweet beauty nearly bewitching him.

Even now, his pulse was pounding hard and fast and a rising heat had captured his loins. Thankfully, the hem of his embroidered tunic concealed most of his ardor and his stoic expression hid the restlessness teaming inside him.

Disconcerted that his rampant desire would cloud his common sense, Gavin searched for a different topic of conversation. But there were none to be found. Not while Lady Fiona watched him with such a pensive look on her face and the rest of the hall’s occupants openly stared.

Accept.
The word echoed in his brain, and Gavin was surprised by how strongly he was tempted. Yet still he held back. Always aware of his position, Gavin was cautious and very particular when choosing his bed partners. It was something his men liked to joke about, though seldom directly to his face.

Twice married, Gavin had been a faithful husband—out of respect and empathy. Respect for the woman who bore his name and presided over his castle, and empathy for the suffering endured by an innocent bairn born out of wedlock. It was a fate no child deserved.

Thanks to his philandering father, he was forced to contend with the antics of a bastard brother whose actions were rooted in resentment and misery. Many would find it difficult to believe, but every now and again Gavin felt a pang of sympathy for Ewan Gilroy and the place he occupied in the world.

Gavin refused to place a child of his own in such a tenuous position, refused to have his heir contend with the same difficulties; praise God he would one day be so blessed as to have a son. This attitude made for many a cold night swim in the loch to relieve his ongoing sexual frustration, but for him, it was the right choice.

Gavin kept away from female servants and peasant girls, seeing how it could lead to talk of favoritism and breed jealousy among his people. Straying wives and curious virgins were also avoided at all costs. That left clean, experienced whores to dally with and the most desirable bedmate of all—a barren widow.

Pity, really, that Lady Fiona could only fulfill half that requirement.

“Do ye have other children in addition to Spencer?”

“No.” She hung her head.

“Have ye buried many bairns over the years?” he asked gently, recalling with pain the three small grave markers in the valley.

Gavin’s son had lived the longest—five days, dying hours after his mother. The two infant daughters his second wife had borne him had each lived only a few hours.

“Alas, I’ve not ever experienced the joy of carrying a babe.” Lady Fiona’s mouth turned white with regret. “Sadly, Henry and I were never blessed with children of our own.”

“Spencer?”

“Is the prodigy of my husband’s first marriage to Lady Catherine.”

“The boy is yer stepson?”

It didn’t seem possible. Why would she fight so hard and sacrifice so much for a lad who wasn’t even her own blood?

Lady Fiona gave him a stifling glare. “Spencer is my son in every way that matters,” she declared hotly. “He is the child of my heart and will forever remain there.”

Her loyalty surprised him. ’Twas a quality Gavin greatly admired and Lady Fiona obviously possessed it in abundance. Yet another mark in her favor.

“How many years were ye Henry’s wife?”

“Ten.”

And no pregnancies? Clearly she was barren. His interest piqued, as this fulfilled his first requirement in a lover. And she was a widow, accomplishing the second.
An English widow.

That was a complication that might cause some difficulties in time. But standing at this juncture, the promise of a sweet, lovely, willing bedmate pushed those repercussions to the very back of Gavin’s mind.

“Leave us!”

Gavin’s booming order rang out through the hall. Soldiers, guardsmen, and servants alike scrambled to obey, the more bold among them risking a curious glance in his direction before departing.

Duncan was the last to leave and he dared to push himself forward to mutter in Gavin’s ear. “I’ll grant ye she’s a bonnie piece, and there might be a good reason or two to offer her aid, but dinnae be letting yer cock make that decision.”

“When I’m in need of yer counsel, I shall ask fer it,” Gavin declared hotly.
Bloody hell.
Allow a man the chance to freely speak his mind and he’ll seize every opportunity to tell you precisely what you don’t want to hear.

At last alone, Gavin advanced upon her. Her eyes widened with something he could not define. Fear? Nay. ’Twas more like resolve. His admiration grew yet again.

“Ye ask much of me, Lady Fiona.”

“But I am prepared to give much in exchange.” She lowered her lashes coyly. “Whatever you require, whatever you want.”

Gavin nearly stopped breathing. Anticipation surged hard inside him. The idea of her giving herself to him so openly ignited his baser desires, sending sensual images through his mind. Hell, he could almost feel the fiery stroke of her tongue against his own, see her lying naked on his bed, her golden, unbound hair flowing around her, framing her creamy flesh.

But there was another feeling gnawing at him, this one not nearly as pleasant. ’Twas guilt. How could he allow the widow of a man he once called a friend to debase herself in such a manner? Even worse, how could he convince several key Scottish nobles to shift their loyalty and support the Bruce’s cause if he had Lady Fiona and Spencer, the rightful heir to an English barony, living within his castle walls?

Why, the Bruce himself might question Gavin’s loyalties!

For appearance sake, he had to ensure there was a plausible reason, with no political implications, for the lovely widow to be under his protection. Surely, there was no true-blooded Scotsman alive who didn’t understand the allure of the fairer sex.

Some of the more conservative lairds might question his self-control, but not his politics. Then again, once they met the fair Lady Fiona, there was no one who would gainsay his choice.

“Have you made a decision, my lord?”

He groped for a final grain of sense, an answer that was not purely rooted in blind lust, and was pleased he could justify this decision with at least some rational thoughts.

“Aye. I shall do as ye ask.” Gavin circled slowly around her, stopping at her back. He could see the nape of her neck through the silky gauze of her veil—’twas slender, delicate, and alluring. He leaned close, his lips almost touching the creamy flesh, and whispered, “In exchange fer my help, I’ll take a half yield of yer grain crops fer three years.”

She shivered. “Agreed.”

He blew softly beneath the fabric, causing the wisps of golden hair to flutter. Her entire body appeared to jump. “The hunting rights in yer northernmost woods.”

“Fine.”

Smiling at her reaction, he repositioned himself so they were toe to toe. “Twenty bolts of yer finest wool.”

She averted her gaze. “Yes.”

He curved his hand beneath her chin and ran his thumb slowly across her lips. She sighed and looked up into his face. Her gaze fixed on his mouth, lingering until Gavin’s loins tightened. She looked like a girl, innocent, vulnerable, but there was a poise and grace about her that was all woman. “And finally, my good lady, I’ll take ye.”

Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment, but she held his gaze and nodded.

“So, we have struck our bargain, Lady Fiona?”

“We have, my lord.”

Her voice was a startled whisper and for a moment she looked flummoxed. The expression bothered him, niggling at his conscience, forcing him to ask a question he did not want to broach.

“Are ye certain? Ye agree to
all
the terms?”

“Yes.” The word was barely audible, but she squared her shoulders and repeated it, this time forcefully. “Yes.”

A feeling of bliss raced through Gavin’s veins. Not knowing what else to do, he bowed to her. She dipped her knee and curtsied with queenly dignity. When she rose, she met his gaze full on, her eyes wide with a myriad of unsettled thoughts.

His heart lurched. She had agreed to the terms with conviction, but her lingering doubts were impossible to ignore. It left him with the strangest yearning to pull her into the circle of his arms and soothe away all her misgivings.

And that’s when Gavin knew he was in trouble.

 

 

For several long seconds Fiona was unable to breathe. Had she really just agreed to become the earl’s mistress? By all that was holy, the world had gone mad.

A soft sigh passed her lips. She has just willingly abandoned every lesson on propriety and morality that had ever been preached to her. She blinked and stared at the earl, wondering if he was also feeling a sense of shock.

“Ye’ll move into the chamber next to mine,” he said.

Fiona nodded, though in truth she barely comprehended his words, listening with a curious detachment, as if she were watching everything from a great distance. Her mind and emotions were reeling with the enormity of what had just transpired and it was difficult to find a place in reality.

She had gotten what she had come for, had achieved her goal, had secured the one thing most important to her—a future for Spencer. Yet at what cost?

Unexpectedly, a strong instinct to turn and walk away rose up within her. To flee to a place of refuge and safety and never look back. But where would she go?

Nowhere. There was nowhere to go. She had chosen this path and sealed her fate when she proposed the arrangement to the earl. It was now her duty to accept this role, to embrace her future.

Their eyes met and the fog around Fiona abruptly vanished. Something in his expression made the hair on the nape of her neck stand up. He was gazing at her as though she were a tray of sweetmeats and he a hungry, greedy boy just waiting to reach in and stuff his mouth full.

He drew closer, his gaze intent on her lips.
Oh, no.
She cast a helpless look about, seeking a way to distract him. A swatch of color fluttering above caught her eye.

“Are those your clan colors?” Fiona inquired loudly, pointing to the banner that hung above their heads.

“What?”

“The tartan. Many clans have a distinctive tartan, do they not? And a motto. Tell me, my lord, what is your clan motto?”

“My motto?”

“Ah, I see it now, stitched in the banner.
Invictus Maneo. I remain unvanquished.
Is that correct? My Latin is far from perfect as I have only recently begun to learn to read and cypher.”

The earl regarded her with a look of perplexed annoyance, stretching thin the faint scar that slashed across his left temple. Oddly, it gave his handsome face a more approachable appearance. Fiona’s nerves began to settle. Her chattering had succeeded in breaking the intimate mood, had lessened the hungry look in his eye. For now.