Highland Dragon (22 page)

The answer to a question, which had plagued him half his life, suddenly became poignantly clear. For eighteen years he wondered why his father hadn’t put forth a battle the night he died. Why he sacrificed the last moment of his existence for a woman who wasn’t even his wife. Now, he finally understood. His father loved Lena, just as he loved Akira.

He would die to keep her, regardless of what King James wanted.

Akira’s warm fingers touched his cheek. He pushed her hand the rest of the way to his earlobe. He wanted her to admit they were soul mates. He knew it. He felt it in his heart. He just didn’t know how to tell her. Or worse, feared she didn’t return those feelings.

Beautiful blue eyes peeked at him from beneath fluttering lashes and her voice caressed his ears. “
That
wasnae the way I know.”

His chest bounced with laughter. He’d never known
that way
either, but he’d been crazed to have her, and she had yet to protest any position his creative mind could devise. “We will do it your way soon.” He kissed the curved corner of her reddened lips. “I missed ye, my love,” he whispered into the whorl of her ear.

She giggled and toyed with his ear. “We already said that, but I fear we may want to start over.”

“Gladly.” Though exhausted, he slid his hand between her thighs. “Mayhap we will try your way now.”

“Nay, ye lusty barbarian!” She halted his wicked fingers, but instead of throwing his hand aside, she cupped his palm over her breast and gave him an encouraging squeeze. “We are supposed to be having a discussion.”

“Ye are too naked for me to discuss anything. I cannae concentrate with your bonnie fine tit in my palm,” he protested and bent to nip the pink crest.

“Then I’ll clothe myself, as will ye.” Akira crawled out of his embrace and slipped into an ivory silk robe. She sat atop the bench and waited for him to do the same.

He groaned, but forced himself to retrieve a rust-colored robe from the anteroom and tied the matching belt about his waist. When he started to sit beside her, she held up her hand, palm flat. “Nay. Ye will sit over there. I dinnae trust your hands.” She pointed at the three-legged cuttie stool across the solar.

Disgruntled, he followed her orders, and propped his elbows on his knees, all the while hoping the small stool wouldn’t topple beneath his weight.

“I started schooling the children.” Akira told him about Jaime and Isobel, the kinswomen, and then summarized her conversations with Elsbeth and how she petitioned the king four sennights ago for their annulment. Calin buried his face in his hands when she described Catriona’s conduct. How could he have been blindsided by such a treacherous woman? Catriona’s involvement in Akira’s abduction would complicate matters even more with King James. Nonetheless, he assured Akira that Ian and his brother’s punishment for their betrayal would be severe.

“Now. Tell me why Kendrick has need of securing my family.” Akira steepled her fingers beneath her chin.

“Laird Kinnon knows Kendrick leads the rebellion. Your chieftain intends to give the Ionas to Darach in an effort to join the alliance.”

“What?” Akira’s hand flew to her chest. “He is mad! And King James has agreed to support such a union?”

“Nay. King James has other plans for the Isles.”

Akira waited for further explanation, and Calin knew what her next question would be just as she asked it.

“Plans that involve an English union? How are ye to marry English when ye are already my husband, bound by God and the kirk?”

Calin had asked King James the same question. The king expressed his desire to maintain peace with King Henry for the good of Scotland. At which point, the archbishop unraveled a scroll. King James dissolved his marriage to Akira with the tip of a quill, but Calin ripped the parchment to shreds and threw the royal decree at His Majesty’s feet. This act of stupidity gained him three sennights of imprisonment.

The kings of Scotland had been trying to dissolve the Lords of the Isles for decades. King James refused to support any alliance unless the chieftains of the Isles declared fealty to the crown and married daughters of English nobility as a selfless act to prove their allegiance to Scotland.

“I would know how the king wishes ye to marry English,” Akira inquired again, when he gave no response.

Now parched, he cleared his throat. “I’ll answer that question in the Great Hall with the elders. Mayhap ye’ll not throw a tantrum in their presence.”

Two black brows rose. “Mayhap, I’ll bind your limbs and torture ye until ye answer accordingly.” Crossing her legs, knee over knee, Akira let the robe “V” over her sumptuous thigh. The tip of her middle finger circled the shadow of her peaked nipple pressing against the silk of her robe.

His delicate dragon was indeed a dangerous creature. He sensed her impatience, but her seductive tactics for obtaining the truth shocked him nonetheless.

“Or mayhap I’ll offer my body to ye in exchange for what I want to know.”

Minx!
Calin tore his eyes away, unable to watch her toy with herself. He enjoyed her games. The play thickened his blood and made him want her all the more. He stared at the adjoining doors. “Are ye done blathering, wife?”

“Have ye an answer for me, husband?”

Calin turned back, disappointed to find her arms crossed in defiance over the sweet swells of her breasts. His eyes narrowed on her. “Touch yourself again, and I’ll tell ye.”

Her head tilted as if she might be considering his request. Excitement twirled up his spine when the corner of her lips rose, then she touched one finger to her exposed knee. “There. Now tell me.”

“Nay. Ye know what I want.”

Akira suckled the tip of her middle finger between her full lips then reached inside her robe to caress her nipple. Her mouth lay open and her pink tongue darted out to lick her heart-shaped lips.

“King James wishes for peace between England and Scotland. He has issued an edict for the annulment of our marriage and has ordered me to marry English, but I refused him.” The words poured out of his mouth with astonishing ease, but the look of dejection on her face froze the fire in his loins.

Her eyes pinched together and the hand that had teased him in playful banter now clutched the edges of her robe together at her neck. She stood and then unbarred the door to her solar. He followed her into the darkest corner of the anteroom where she wept open-mouthed into her hands. He hated her tears and hated himself more for causing them.

He placed his hand on her shoulder and thanked the saints she didn’t pull away. “I’ll not give ye up, my love. I promise this to ye on my father’s grave and afore the saints I pray to daily.”

“What if ye’ve nay choice?” Her chin fell to her chest, but her tear-soaked hand rested over his, quivering.

“A mon always has a choice. Sometimes those choices require immense sacrifice, but ’tis a choice just the same.” Calin turned her into him and brushed his lips over her forehead then kissed her temple. He wished she believed in him, but that trust had not yet been built, and he hadn’t the time to erect such a fortress.

“Ye have pledged fealty to your king. To refuse him would be treasonous. What choice did he give ye?”

“If I choose to accept the annulment and marry English, Clan MacLeod will receive His Majesty’s full support in aligning the Isles.”

“And if ye refuse your king?”

“King James has threatened to confiscate the MacLeod title and land. My kin will be evicted from their homes, and I will hang for treason.”

Akira’s hand covered her mouth, but not in time to hide her gasp. “I am not willing to make such a sacrifice.” She slipped past him and dressed quickly. Her eyes avoided him and the words to console her never found their way off his tongue.

“I’ll meet ye in the hall, m’laird.” She quietly left her solar.

“God’s teeth, son! King James makes ye an offer ye cannae refuse. I fear the peasant has bewitched ye to the point ye cannae think rationally.” The insult freely tossed came from Calin’s uncle Kerk. Deft fingers combed through graying temples in an obvious attempt to ease the tension writhing his brain.

“Your tongue is disrespectful,
Uncle.
Dinnae forget I am laird now. I am nay longer requesting your approval, so much as soliciting your aid,” Calin responded, his tone obstinate.

Akira’s patience had swelled, peaked, and snapped hours prior. She’d pushed back every cuticle of every fingernail and now worried if she didn’t relieve herself soon, that part of her would burst as well. Fidgeting, she sat alone at the low table and continued to listen to the men quibble. Not a single subject had been rectified in over three hours of debate, and they sounded like a gaggle of cackling hens. Kendrick had ceased trying to make Calin’s council see reason and was now drowning himself in spirits.

Three of the five prune-faced elders sitting behind the high table on the raised dais had held council status within the clan for decades. Gordon, the youngest of these five, voiced his convictions often and without qualms. His opinion didn’t favor Akira’s marriage to Calin. The eldest dozed in and out of sleep. Drool seeped from the corner of his mouth into an unkempt white beard and from time to time, he sat upright and hollered, “Aye.”

Calin and his uncle Kerk squabbled mindlessly and the verbal battle had reached a blockade.

“Ye’ve a greater purpose now,” Kerk continued. “A union with Catriona would be advantageous to the greater good o’ Scotland. Your decision to defy King James will not go unpunished for any of us living on MacLeod soil. Have ye nay reverence for your kin? All will suffer from your selfish tirade.”

Calin slammed his fist onto the alabaster council table. The jarring noise reverberated off the stone walls and flipped Akira’s innards upside down. She peeked up at her husband and saw the anger in his stance—narrowed eyes, fisted hands, legs wide and locked. She’d never seen him so full of rage.

“Selfish tirade? I’ve lived my entire life with a single goal driving me through my mundane existence. To protect the livelihood of this clan.”

“Ye dinnae crave the alliance for the protection of your people,” Kerk retorted. One bushy brow rose over his accusing dark eyes. “Ye seek the alliance to avenge your father’s death. Our feud with our neighbor is not over land, and ye weel know it. ’Tis blood. The blood o’ my brother. Have ye so quickly forgotten Laird Kinnon murdered your father?”

Akira’s breath caught in her throat. The Beast killed Calin’s father? She shot Kendrick a questioning scowl.

He looked away.

“I’ve not forgotten and dinnae accuse me of doing so.” Calin peered at her from the corner of his eye. She sensed he hadn’t wanted the secrets of his father’s death divulged in such a manner, but her gut told her to trust her husband.

“Then appease your king and marry Catriona. Keep Akira as your leman, if ye so desire.”

Akira choked on the acidic repulsion filling her throat. Kerk’s suggestion was utter madness. Just as she thought the words, Calin acted on them. He lunged across the table, knocking pewter goblets to the floor. Both hands clutched Kerk’s throat while he asked his saints for stoicism.

Unable to watch the men behave like their barbarian ancestors, Akira bolted upright from her chair. “Cease!”

The five elders sitting at the high table studied her as if she’d fallen from the sky. Even Dougall snapped awake and wiped the slobber from his chin. Had they even known she was still there? Calin’s cheeks were red with fury and his uncle Kerk’s face had gone pallid beneath the clutches of her husband’s rigid fingers.

“I’ve a proposition for ye. Unhand your uncle, m’laird, and hear me.” Trying to control the uneven cadence of her pounding heart, Akira smoothed her kirtle and clasped her hands to keep them from trembling. Calin was wrong. His refusal to annul their marriage put too many lives in jeopardy, including his own. She couldn’t bear the penalty. Akira swallowed hard. “Your arrogance has hindered your memories, m’lords. Might I remind ye King James brought down the Lord o’ the Isles less than a decade ago. Ye would be acting self-righteous to believe ye can ignore his requisition. I dinnae wish to defy him, causing the ruination of life as we know it. King James seeks peace, as do I. If ye will agree to send your warriors to my brother’s aid and rid Clan Kinnon of their laird, I’ll agree to the annulment and return to Kinnon soil.”

“Aye.” Six voices voted.

“Nay,” Calin declined in unison.

Akira bowed her head and accepted the vote while her heart cleaved in two. “Your council has spoken, m’laird. Ye must respect their decision.”

Akira held herself tall and departed the hall, but the moment she passed beneath the archway, she ran for the solitude of her solar as quickly as her brogues would carry her. Tears soaked the blue and green sash she wore so proudly.

“Ye should be ashamed o’ yourselves.” Calin’s aunt Wanda rounded the entranceway and seated every man with a piercing gaze. Dark-red fiery tresses framed the ire burning in her cheeks. Calin sensed the wrath she was about to unleash would topple the devil’s battalion. Though unaware of how long she’d listened to their deliberations, he could only hope she sided with him. He needed an ally.

“That woman”—she pointed at the empty archway—“is the Lady o’ Cànwyck Castle and ye treat her with no more reverence than a pocked beggar. She has displayed more courage and nobility in two months’ time than any one o’ ye has delivered in a decade.” Wanda filled her lungs with air, glared at Uncle Kerk, and redirected her long finger at him. “And ye. It galls me to call ye husband. Ye may as weel have branded her a whore. I’ve the mind to take a blade to your bollocks and have Mattie cook them slowly over the spit. Ye’ve nay use for them. Ye have displayed nay courage in the titles ye bear. Nay loyalty to your kinswomen.”

Wanda crossed her arms over her breast and paced in front of the high table of gawping men. “Did any of ye know our Elsbeth had a husband when she came here?” Wanda didn’t give them time to answer. “Nay. Ye cared not a wit to inquire. Ye married her off to a mon who lays with her sister. The same whore ye’ve all probably bedded down with. Including ye.”

Uncle Kerk’s adam’s apple slid up and down while his eyes rounded. “Darling, ye—”

“Dinnae darling me, ye addleheaded arse. Think ye King James is a force to be reckoned with. Wait till your women hear o’ your decision. Ye will all wish ye had unsheathed your swords for m’lady’s place here with us. The children adore her, and she has bonded our kinswomen over the making of a quilt. A quilt I wager none of ye has laid eyes on. Weel, I for one think it is beautiful, and it represents the one thing ye auld fools have neglected—devotion.” Her eyes narrowed yet further. “Ye are worthless men. Ye think with your cocks and not with your minds. Weel, I hope your cocks keep ye warm at night, for your kinswomen will not.” Aunt Wanda ended her tirade with one final comment. “I trust by morn the brilliant leaders of Clan MacLeod will see the error in choosing the path your King James has conveniently laid for ye. Otherwise, I’ll gather the women. Fare ye weel…
darling.
” The word oozed off her tongue, just before she twirled out of the hall with dignified grace.

Calin was aghast. Women held more power in the tips of their wee fingers than any warlord he’d ever known. A tinge of hope rekindled behind his breastbone.

Kerk appeared ill, his face ashen, his hands cupped over his groin.

Kendrick grinned, and Calin was thankful for his presence.

“Weel. What say ye to that, Uncle?” Calin crossed his arms and gloated as if he’d just defeated England single-handedly. He always did like Aunt Wanda.

“’Tis horseshite,” Uncle Kerk grumbled. “Women. They’ll be the death o’ Scotland.”

“Aye. Horseshite indeed,” Calin agreed. “But your lady wife has ye by the—”

“Dinnae say it,” Uncle Kerk bit off his words. “I suspect we must find a way to keep your lassie part of our kin. Else, we find our bollocks skewered over the spit, as my
darling
wife so delicately explained. What do ye propose, son?” Kerk passed a flagon of whisky to one of the elders.

“We issue a plea for military aid to every MacLeod warrior in Scotland—from the Outer Hebrides to the few scattered over the Lowlands. Laird Kinnon’s militia is not a force to be taken lightly, but some of the men who walk among him are rebellious. We can have five warriors to his every one within a fortnight, and Logan Donald’s kinsmen are eager to lend aid now. We’ve only to light the torch and The Beast will have his war.”

“And the king? How do ye intend to appease him?”

“I am nay concerned with King James’ threat. The Highland Lords will rally against the crown on a dare, and this time I will take up my sword without guilt to fight with the royalists.”

Uncle Kerk nodded once, the look of determination in his eyes reflected the warrior Calin knew still lived inside him.

Their deliberations continued until the pink light of dawn peeked through the stained-glass window of Saint Aidan. Too many warriors sacrificed their lives over the years to the ongoing feud between their clans. The council didn’t intend to lunge into a war with The Beast’s army haphazardly. Though Kendrick spent years building the rebellion, the majority of Laird Kinnon’s warriors still pledged fealty to The Beast and an even bigger disadvantage would be Laird Kinnon’s Lowland kin. Because Laird Kinnon had not fought alongside the royalist against the crown, he would have the king’s support if he sought it.

Uncle Kerk rubbed both eyes with one hand. “We will summon military tacticians on the morrow and begin warfare strategies upon their arrival. Grant the blacksmith a staff for artillery preparation. The hunters will need to prepare for a militia of nigh five hundred men. A warrior cannae fight on an empty stomach.”

“Unless ye’ve the mind to fill their bellies with raw meat, our wives will need to employ the aid of our kinswomen to offer suitable hospitality,” Calin offered, anxious to conclude their session.

His uncle blew a snort of air, half chuckle, half dread. “Our women will need to be placated. This battle I fear may be the most difficult of all.” Kerk stood and stretched his back. “We rest now. Go to your wife, son. We will reconvene midday.”

Calin didn’t argue. His lids were heavy and his body frail with exhaustion. He hadn’t slept in three days. Crawling the stairwell of the west wing, he heard the cock crow.

The door to his solar squeaked open.

The curtains had not been drawn around the bed. Akira lay in the middle of the mattress, her raven hair spread atop the bolster, and the fan of her black lashes splayed over her cheek. He took a step closer and looked past her bare shoulder peeking out from beneath the coverlet. Clutched tightly in both hands beneath her chin was the blue and green sash Akira had worn since the day of their wedding.

He freed himself of his garments and slipped beneath the covers. Her smooth, milky skin felt like silk against his worn hands.

She turned into him, her eyes awake, alert, and filled with worry.

He kissed her and tasted her tears. He wanted to tell her she had nothing to fear, but mostly he wanted her to understand how much she meant to him.

“I’m not giving ye up, my love. We are going to war.”