Black Raven's Lady: Highland Lairds Trilogy (19 page)

Keir bent toward her, an amused smile curving his lips. Then just as quickly he raised his head, listening. The sound of voices, male and female, carried up to the bell tower. He set Raine on her feet and rose to stand beside her. “We have company,” he said.

Raine watched Keir quickly and expertly refasten the gold cords on her bodice, drawing the stiffened material tight. Reaching down, he grabbed his claymore’s scabbard and strode to one of the tower windows.

“We need to go back down,” he said. “They’ve found our horses.” He slung the belt holding the great sword across his back.

“Who is it?” she asked, thinking they might be rebels using the ruin for shelter.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “ ’Tis only a hunting party from the castle. They probably noticed our horses and stopped.”

“Oh, thank God,” Raine said in relief, grateful they were in no danger.

As she started for the doorway, Keir pointed to the bench. “Don’t forget your hat, lass.”

Raine struggled to shove her disheveled hair up under the archer’s cap, but loose curls kept slipping out and falling down past her shoulders.

“Here,” he said, “let me help.” A smile skipped about the corners of his mouth. He scooped her long hair up and held the unruly mass on top of her head with one hand, while he placed the snug hat over her curls with the other.

“You’re rather adept with women’s clothing,” she observed with a frown. “Though why it should surprise me, I can’t tell. If you’re practiced in taking a lady’s garments off, it only stands to reason you must be skilled in putting them back on.”

He had the effrontery to laugh. His white teeth flashed and the sun-weathered corners of his eyes crinkled as if she’d said something uncommonly clever. Raine hadn’t meant her remark to be humorous, but evidently Laird MacNeil didn’t suffer from an overly sensitive conscience, for he offered no excuse for his expertise with female clothing—undergarments included.

Raine quickly pulled on her gloves, then placed her hands on her hips and leaned toward him. “Dressing and undressing ladies is something you’ll have to give up, now that we’re bound together by the faeries’ enchantment,” she declared.

Not waiting for his reply, she hurried down the stairs and out of the bell tower. She could hear his footsteps coming right behind her.

The hunting party remained on their mounts near Keir and Raine’s horses. The MacLeod kinsmen and their guests watched in quizzical silence as the two approached. Raine recognized several, including the laird’s godson—and Lady Flora Sutherland.

“I wanted to see the view of the castle from the top of the tower,” Raine explained as she hurried across the grass to untie her horse. “Laird MacNeil was kind enough to indulge my curiosity.” She realized belatedly that the pheasant’s plume on her hat had broken and now hung listlessly by the side of her face. She brushed it away, praying there wasn’t any other part of her clothing that revealed exactly where her curiosity had led her that day.

Keir attempted no explanation whatsoever as he pulled on his riding gloves. He tossed her up into the saddle, then mounted his chestnut hunter.

“Let’s go,” he said to no one in particular. He reached over and slapped the black cob’s rump, and the two horses took off together. The rest of the hunting party hurried to catch up.

Chapter 16

K
EIR HAD TO
admit that Macraith and Fearchar had been right.

Good manners demanded that the MacLeods be permitted to dance with their lovely, dark-eyed guest from Archnacarry Manor. It also meant the officers from the three warships anchored in the loch were expected to join the ladies of the castle in the evening’s festivities. All the men wore their clan tartans, the kilts showing off their muscular calves.

After the banquet, with its jongleurs and shanachies to entertain them, the servants pulled aside the long tables and benches. Alasdair Crotach’s bagpipers, admired throughout the Highlands and Isles—along with musicians skilled in lutes, drums, bells, and harps—played dances familiar to all.

Macraith, Walter, Tam, and Colin—whose shyness around the ladies impaired his speech, but not his feet—certainly did their part.

At first few females had the courage to dance with Fearchar MacLean, splendid in his Highland attire. His enormous frame and piratical looks, with a black patch over one eye, were admittedly daunting. But The MacLeod’s tall niece, Evelyn, bravely joined Fearchar in a rousing galliard.

Everyone stopped to watch the couple. Fearchar, despite his size, proved amazingly light on his feet, and Evelyn, with her long legs and lithe grace, made an excellent partner. After that, females of all ages lined up to dance with the flaxen-haired giant, who—they were disappointed to learn—was a happily married man.

To his credit, Keir led the castle’s pretty chatelaine, Lady Jeanne MacLeod, around the large hall in a stately pavane. And danced with her two married good-sisters, who were staying at Dùn Bheagain until the rebellion was crushed. He managed to avoid Lady Flora Sutherland for the better part of the evening.

His luck finally ran out.

“Oh, there you are, Laird MacNeil,” Flora exclaimed, hurrying up to him. “I swear, I haven’t had a chance to talk with you since we saw you at the abbey ruins with your little charge.”

Gritting his teeth, Keir tipped his head politely. “Lady Sutherland,” he replied and pointedly looked in another direction.

She wasn’t about to be fended off quite so easily. Slipping her dimpled hand under his elbow, she clutched his sleeve and smiled ingratiatingly. “Do come dance with me,” she chirped. “I’ve some juicy gossip to share.”

Keir debated prying her plump fingers loose and striding away. But he knew from bitter experience the scope of her histrionics. She and another lady had attempted to pull each other’s hair out by the roots in front of the entire Scottish court. At the time he’d assumed that no one else knew they were fighting over his attentions. Or rather, lack of them. But he hadn’t been so fortunate. At the first opportunity his two brothers had roasted him on the spits of their sharp, wicked tongues. If Rory and Lachlan could see him now—with Lady Sutherland clutching his arm and dragging him toward the dance floor—they’d be shaking with laughter in their shiny black brogues.

Reluctantly he allowed Flora to pull him toward the spacious stone floor. Her purple gown had been tightened until her ample breasts nearly spilled over the stiffened bodice. Her large bosom rose and fell as she panted in agitation. “I must tell you the latest rumors,” she insisted.

Keir partnered the blonde around the hall in a sprightly farandole, trying to pay as little attention to her prattle as possible. As they circled the room in the round dance, he caught Raine watching him with huge, worried eyes from across the hall.

Her sable locks fell over her slender shoulders in a riot of loose curls. She wore her red velvet gown, and a gold girdle encircled her narrow hips. She’d pinned the red-and-black plaid of Clan Cameron to her shoulder with a pearl brooch, and the shawl swirled around her graceful figure as she moved.

At that moment an unhappy thought struck him.

Raine must have been in the titillated crowd at Holyroodhouse last summer, when the two screaming females indulged in their catfight.

Damn.

“ . . . so kind of Lady Jeanne to provide the pathetic lassie a suitable dress for riding,” Flora was saying. “But when I learned the child asked her hostess for a loan, I couldn’t help wondering why the poor thing didn’t simply get the coins she needed from you. After all, I’ve been told she’s your responsibility, whether wanted or not.”

Flora now had Keir’s complete and undivided attention.

He spoke through clenched teeth. “
Who
was asking Lady MacLeod for money?”

Flora’s blue eyes lit up, obviously happy the news had not only surprised but upset him as well. “Oh dear, oh dear, I thought you already knew,” she declared, batting her lashes and simpering. “I wouldn’t want to get your unfortunate charge into trouble.”

“And did Lady Jeanne offer her the money?”

“Only a few farthings, I believe.” Flora raised her pale brows and lifted one shoulder dismissively. “I don’t usually poke my nose into other people’s affairs,” she added with a sly smile. “La, I was half certain you already knew.”

With the refrains of the lively dance still soaring though the room, Keir turned abruptly and hurried the exasperating tattle off the floor. He deposited her beside a group of chattering women and bent his head in brief dismissal. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Sutherland, there’s someone I need to speak with. I’m sure you’ll quickly have another invitation to finish the dance.”

“Well, well,” she huffed, lifting her chin. Spreading her fingers wide, she placed her hands over the top of her large breasts. “I’ve certainly never wanted for male attention,” she said proudly, “if that’s what you mean.”

Refraining from the pithy remark on the tip of his tongue, Keir turned and stalked away.

His gaze flew over the large room crowded with people.

Where the
hell
was his poor, pathetic, unfortunate charge, anyway?

R
AINE STOOD IN
the farthest corner of Dùn Bheagain’s great hall, surrounded by six brawny MacLeods. Attired in their colorful tartans, the clansmen were cheerfully vying with one another for the next dance, when Keir suddenly appeared.

Not saying a word, he shoved his way into their midst. With his square jaw clenched, he looked ready to fight anyone who crossed his path. Raine felt the sharp ping of warning zigzag up and down her spine. Thankfully, Keir had left his enormous claymore on the ship. But his lethal broadsword hung at his side. From the look on his scowling face, he longed for any excuse to draw the weapon from its scabbard.

The chief of Clan MacNeil stood a good head and shoulders above the others—and none were small men. His prodigious frame bespoke solid muscle. An engraved black bodkin in the shape of a raven fastened the edge of his green-and-black plaid to the shoulder of his jacket. The raptor’s emerald eyes glittered malevolently. Keir’s own green eyes fairly crackled with anger, leaving Raine in no doubt—someone had told him about the money.

He reached out to take her hand.

She snatched it away before he could touch her.

“Laird MacNeil,” she said with an air of disbelief, “have you finished the round dance with Lady Sutherland already?” She cupped her hand to her ear, inviting everyone around her to listen. “Why, I believe the music for the farandole is still playing.” She glanced from one MacLeod to another and smiled encouragingly. “Still I must hurry and choose a partner before the next dance begins.” With a flutter of her fingers, she gestured toward their eager faces. “Which you can see won’t be an easy choice to make.”

Keir clasped Raine by both elbows and pulled her to him with ease, despite the fact that she tried to dig in her heels. Red-hot sparks seemed to radiate from his tense body, right down to the steely fingers grasping her arms.

“Sorry, lads,” he grated, his gaze locked with hers. “ ’Tis my turn now.”

Before Raine or her suitors could utter a single word of protest, Keir half dragged, half carried her along beside him to the first available spot on the crowded floor. A few moments later, the musicians began the lively introduction to the lavolta.

Cocking her head to one side, Raine listened to the refrain played in triple time. She feigned surprise and disappointment. “Oh dear, is that the new dance from Milan? I’m afraid I haven’t yet learned it.”

His straight black brows met in a murderous scowl. “You danced the lavolta at the king’s wedding,” he said tersely. “I watched you. You were quite adept.”

She glared right back at him, refusing to cower. “Sorry to say, I’ve since forgotten the steps.”

“I’ll remind you,” he said, showing a glimpse of his even white teeth. The smile never quite reached his flashing eyes. As the music swirled around them, Keir made the required
révérance
and took her hand firmly in his.

Raine dipped in the briefest of curtsies. “I’m a very poor learner, MacNeil,” she warned.

“I’m an excellent teacher, Lady Raine,” he replied. “You’ll do fine.”

Not waiting for her consent, he slid one muscular arm around her waist. Placing his other hand just below the stiffened bodice of her scarlet gown, he lifted her off her feet and spun her in a three-quarter turn.

Raine braced her arm along his powerful shoulders to keep her balance. “Did you enjoy the farandole with Lady Sutherland?” she asked sweetly, her mouth close to his ear. The barbaric gold hoop brushed across her cheek. She pushed the earring aside with her nose, only to feel his side-braid with its soft leather thong tickling her chin. Other than the two narrow braids, he’d left the rest of his straight blue-black hair to fall loose down his back.

He ignored her question and went straight for the throat. “I understand you’ve been begging for money.”

Not to be waylaid by his accusation, Raine continued steadily on her own course
. He wasn’t the only one angry, for God’s sake
.

“I know for a fact,” Raine said amiably, “Flora’s a very
dear
friend of yours. She quite went out of her way to tell me so. Several times.”

Keir lifted Raine up and twirled her again as easily as a newborn kitten. She held her petticoat and dress in place with one hand, lest the entire ballroom be treated to a view of her garters.

He pretended not to have heard. “Who else handed you money, Raine?” he demanded. “Besides Lady MacLeod?”

How could he flirt with Flora Sutherland after what had happened in the bell tower only that afternoon?

Raine refused to be bullied.

“In fact,” she added with a toss of her head as she regained her feet, “I think she’s quite fond of you.”

He paused for the space of a beat, then whirled her again. “Lady MacLeod is fond of me?”

Knowing he’d phrased the remark in a question, Raine purposely chose to misunderstand. “You and Lady Jeanne!” she cried in a shocked half whisper. “Why, she’s expecting a child. Don’t you have any principles whatsoever, Laird MacNeil?”

Raine’s partner stopped in the middle of the floor. Clearly irate, he clasped her upper arms in his strong hands, holding her in place in front of him. “Dammit! Tell me the truth, Raine. How much money do you have now?”

Determined to give as good as she got, Raine glared back at him. “Since you already stole all the money I brought from home,” she stated, her voice shaking with anger, “I’d hardly tell you the truth, would I?”

“I swear to God, if you try to run away again, Raine Cameron,” he bellowed, “I’ll hunt you down and place you in shackles—providing I don’t wring your obstinate wee neck first!”

Well, Dear Lord! He wasn’t the only one who could raise his voice.

Raine propped her hands on her hips and leaned forward, squawking like a village scold. “I thought I’d made it clear to you, Laird MacNeil, that you’re not to bed any other woman but me!”

At that exact moment they both realized the music had stopped. Everyone in the room stood perfectly still, listening—some in shock, some in outright glee—to their loud disagreement. Without another word, Keir grabbed Raine’s hand and hurried her off the dance floor.

Macraith stood waiting for them near the wide entrance to the inner bailey. “Have a lover’s quarrel, did we, now?” he asked his nephew, sporting a delighted grin. “Sorry to be the one to tell you, lad, but we’re all on her side. We think you should lie with none but our own bonny lassie.”

Keir glared at his garrulous uncle. “See that Lady Raine is taken to the ship at once,” he ordered, the command low and curt. “Then ready the
Black Raven
to set sail in the morning. The
Hawk
and the
Dragon
can catch up with us as soon as they’re repaired and provisioned.”

He turned to Raine, standing beside him with her arms crossed and scowling like a stubborn donkey. “You may have a few minutes to say a quick good-bye to Lady MacLeod. Then Macraith will see you safely to the
Raven
. I need to speak with Colin and Fearchar before I leave the castle. But I’ll be right behind you. We can finish this conversation on board. In private.”

“I have nothing more to say to you,” Raine replied with a rebellious lift of her chin. She scarcely deigned to look at him. “But I do want to thank Lady Jeanne for her kindness.”

The moment she hurried away in search of their hostess, Macraith turned to Keir, the wide smile still planted on his weather-seamed face. “Well, now, laddie,” he said, stroking his braided beard with an air of satisfaction. “ ’Tis fortunate your future bride will nay argue with her laird and master the way that cheeky lass just did. Rest assured, man, you’ll never be subjected to such insolent behavior once you’re properly married.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Keir demanded, baffled by his uncle’s convoluted observation.

Macraith’s brown eyes twinkled. “Why your future bride, Laird MacNeil,” he said, his gravelly voice fairly bubbling with amusement. “I’m talking about your soon-to-be wife. The one Duncan Stewart is busily contracting for you to wed, no doubt as we speak. You ken, Lady Mariota would never be so bold as to lift her eyes to meet yours, let alone raise her voice to you in the middle of some other laird’s crowded hall.”