Highland Seer (8 page)

Jamie inclined his head. Not a bow, but an acknowledgement. “I canna disagree.”

Heartened, Ellie forged ahead. “Ye have such a master in Donal MacNabb. I have seen the result of his tutelage in yer men. I ask the use of his skills for long enough to ensure my lads have a decent chance to prevail against any who would be our enemy.”

Ellie kept her gaze firmly on Jamie, refusing to give Donal the chance to thrust himself into the negotiation. His objection now would distract Jamie from agreeing to the terms she set.

“I understand why ye ask this.” Jamie spoke softly, still thoughtful. He gazed off into the heights of the hall for a moment and Ellie held her breath. Then he returned his attention to her. “I regret I am no’ at liberty to assign the Lathan arms master, certainly not for such a lengthy period, without advising the Lathan laird. If ye would allow me to send a runner, perhaps we could resolve this in due time.”

Ellie’s jaw clenched. What was this? “I apologize. I understood ye to be the Lathan laird’s ambassador, with full authority to speak for him. How inconvenient it must be to have to consult from such a distance.”

Her barb hit home, no doubt about it. Jamie flared red across his nose and cheeks, then drew himself up even further, took a deep breath and spoke. “Lady, I do no’ consult. I wish to apprise my laird of the potential loss of the services of a key member of the clan. I understand yer position and am sympathetic. But yers are not the only equities at stake here. The Lathan sets a high store by Donal MacNabb’s skill, service, and friendship.”

Ellie risked a glance at Donal. He appeared to be biting his tongue. His jaw clenched so tightly, she wondered why she could not hear his teeth cracking as they talked.

Micheil stood, head down, smarting, she sensed, from this discussion of his inadequacies, though they were no fault of his. A wave of pity tightened her throat.

“I see this discussion was ill-timed, coming so soon on the heels of violence in this very hall. We will adjourn for now.” Ellie stood. “Thank ye, gentlemen, for yer attention. I will see ye at the evening meal. I hope there willna be any further misunderstandings in the meantime.” With a nod she hoped appeared as lairdly as her stiff back would allow, she crossed the hall and ascended the stairs. Let them chew on that for a while.

****

Donal paced—something he never did. If ever there’d been an occasion for it, this was it. But damn it, Jamie’s public room was too small to work up a proper stride. He could only take three or four steps before he had to turn, losing all the momentum he’d built to burn off some of the anger consuming him. The fact that as he paced, he had to avoid tripping over Jamie’s long legs, stretched out in front of the hearth, added fuel to the fire of his irritation.

Damn her. He’d already refused her. Hadn’t he been clear enough? Yet she’d brought up keeping him here—formally, as laird—to Jamie, as Lathan ambassador. While he stood by, unable to interrupt or object. Seething. Damn her.

She was daft. Surely the strain of being laird had to be too much for any woman. Add to that a clan decimated by the King’s folly...or had she been into the MacKyrie whisky? Nay, not this early in the day. On second thought, perhaps that was not a bad idea. He could use a wee dram or three right now.

“Stop yer pacing, Donal. Ye’re making me dizzy.”

Jamie’s tone sounded as mild as ever, but Donal could see in the set of his shoulders the discussion with the MacKyrie still aggravated him. Donal muttered an oath.

“Ye ken I willna leave without the laird’s signature on the treaty. Toran sent us to do a job. I’m determined to do it. The lady will bend, given time and no other incidents like the one in the hall this morning. What were ye thinking?”

“What was I thinking? Better ye ken what I’m thinking now. This is a lost cause. We’ve got five clans agreed on the treaty. Toran willna miss a sixth. This one is farthest away—too far and too damaged to be of much use, if ye ask me.”

“This clan controls a key pass through the mountains.”

He gestured toward the windows on the outer wall. “There are other ways through these peaks. Other clans that make whisky. This one is no’ unique.”

“What’s stuck in yer craw?”

Donal stopped his pacing and turned to face Jamie. His friend watched him with a quizzical lift to one eyebrow and a hint of his habitual grin.

“The MacKyrie is determined to see me stay. I’ve no interest in doing that.”

“Dinna lie to me,” he scoffed. “I’ve been too long acquainted with ye for that to work. I’ve seen the way ye look at her, and she at ye. When ye’re in the room, I can scarce get her to focus on the pearls of wisdom I’m droppin’ at her feet.”

Donal waved away Jamie’s nonsense. “Ye’re seeing things, Jamie. Perhaps Aileana didn’t do as good a job patching ye up as we thought after that Lowlander skewered ye with his arrow. Or ye had a head wound she missed.”

“Why can’t ye bend a little and agree to stay for a while? She’s only asked for a year.”

“Or more.”

“That’s no’ yer entire life. She’s bargaining for ye, can ye no’ see it? I’m sure we can get her to agree to six months or less. It’s no’ like she’s askin’ for ye to stay forever.”

If only Jamie knew what he risked. Six months could easily become forever if Donal failed to keep himself under control. And dammit, Ellie had shown herself determined to get under his skin. As had Jamie, though in a very different way.

His hands clenched into fists as he glared at his friend. “I’m to be a pawn moved about the board for the sake of a signature on a piece of paper?”

Jamie’s eyes widened. “Nay, of course no’.”

“Ye say that now, but I saw ye considering her request. Ye’re still considering it or we wouldna be having this discussion.”

Jamie sat up straighter.

Donal knew his barb had hit home.

“It’s my job to consider everything the laird asks for, especially as it could benefit Clan Lathan.”

Donal crossed his arms over his chest. “And how does my absence benefit clan Lathan, do ye think?”

Jamie shook his head. “I havena said it does. But yer presence here could.”

Or it could result in a war between their clans, not that Donal could admit to Jamie how Ellie had tried to entice him to stay. “Ach, I’ve had enough of this foolishness for today.” Donal headed for the door. “Make as many deals as ye like, Jamie. Just as long as ye leave me out of them.”

He stormed out the door, headed for his room. As he passed a window, the thought of fresh air changed his mind. He headed downstairs out into the bailey, intending to saddle a horse and ride. Aye, perhaps all the way back to the Aerie.

Damn, snow had started falling. The afternoon was too far gone for him to make it through the mountain pass before dark, and it would be too dangerous after dark, especially if snow drifted up in the pass. Besides, he would not abandon Jamie and the others. He had no business even thinking about leaving the glen. Leaving them. Leaving Ellie.

Stymied, he headed for the stairs to the battlements. A surprise inspection of the guard would be just the thing to distract him. Then he’d sleep on it. Maybe a solution would come to him in a dream. That seemed to work around here—at least for the MacKyrie Seer. If not, he’d have to see what the situation was in the morning.

Chapter 5

The saints be praised, dinner was over. Ellie stalked the halls of her keep, walking off her frustration. Micheil had spent the entire dinner glaring at the Lathans. Bram had reciprocated, glaring back. Neither had dared to make a move in the laird’s presence, but the tension between them had unsettled her nonetheless. She’d barely tasted her food.

Even Jamie, normally easy going and even jovial, had been uncharacteristically quiet. Reacting to the tension as she had, or did he have something else on his mind? And Donal had been conspicuous by his absence. Where was the arms master?

She found the answer to her question in the hallway leading past her solar to the guest quarters. He strode toward her, fists clenched at his sides, a fierce scowl on his face. Snow still dusted his shoulders. So he’d been out in the weather for quite a while or all of it would have melted by the time he made it upstairs. He hadn’t seen her. For a moment, Ellie considered ducking into a side corridor out of his view.

But then she reconsidered. She’d wanted an opportunity to beard the lion. He gave her the perfect one, only she’d do it in her den, not his.

She pitched her voice low and spoke softly so as not to startle him. “Donal MacNabb, well met.”

His reaction would have been amusing if not for the seriousness of what she was about to attempt. He halted in mid-stride, right foot levitated above the floor as muscle tension in his strong thighs held it frozen in place. His expression didn’t change, but his hands clenched even tighter before he made the effort to open them and finish taking the step toward her.

The fact that he hadn’t fallen at her feet impressed her. But nay, this man had too much control to do that—literally or figuratively.

“Laird MacKyrie.” His greeting was delivered in a gruff tone, as if he had not used his voice for hours yet forbore to clear his throat before speaking.

“I’d be pleased if ye’d join me in the solar.” She kept her tone neutral, but knew he could tell she hadn’t offered an invitation, rather issued an order.

He hesitated. She had no doubt he considered the consequences of refusing her. After the brawl this morning, she also knew Jamie had demanded his men be on their best behavior. Refusing their host would not fall into that category.

Finally, Donal nodded. “Aye, I will.” His shoulders dropped slightly as he joined her.

Ah, a man of few words. Yet he managed to signal that he was resigned to spending time with her. Not the best start for the conversation she hoped to have. Or a long-term relationship on any footing.

In the solar, she gestured him to a seat, then poured two generous cups of the twenty-five-year-old vintage of MacKyrie whisky. She wanted to lull him into acceptance. The younger, rawer vintage would not do.

She offered him his drink, careful not to let her fingers touch his, then chose a chair for herself. She deliberately avoided the laird’s seat she’d occupied when last they’d been together in this room. Instead, she sat next to him, within reach, but far enough apart to converse comfortably.

Not that Donal looked comfortable. Far from it. He had the look of a man who’d rather be somewhere else, anywhere else, even if it involved swords and bloodshed. Or perhaps especially if it involved swords and bloodshed.

It occurred to her he was waiting for the laird to initiate the niceties rather than trampling over protocol yet again. Finally she took pity on him and began the conversation.

“I regret the way we left things last night and this morning,” she began.

Donal tensed.

But she’d started down this path and would walk where it took her. “I also regret ignoring yer wishes and bringing my need for ye...for yer skills, to the Lathan ambassador.” She hesitated, then went on. “I would like this chance to tell ye more about my clan so ye can understand my urgency to train up my lads to protect my people.”

“That isna necessary, Laird MacKyrie. Ye’ve made yer wishes clear.”

Her stomach sank at his curt response, but she lifted a hand. “Please call me Ellie. There’s no one here but ye and me. I’d like us to be friends, at least.”

He took a measured sip. She watched him roll it around in his mouth before swallowing, pleased to see before her a man who appreciated good whisky. He relaxed a bit and relented, though his tone remained brusque. “Verra well, Ellie. What would ye like to discuss?”

“No’ discuss, please. Just talk. I’ve been so long without someone who can listen and understand what has happened to my people since the battle at Flodden four years ago.”

“Perhaps ’twould be better to have Jamie here, then.” He took another sip and settled a bit more deeply into his chair rather than heading for the door. Ellie hid a sigh of relief.

“Nay, I’ve talked to him enough these past few days. I’d rather talk with ye.”

Donal did not answer.

Ellie got up to fetch the bottle. She added two fingers more to Donal’s cup and set the bottle near his hand. The message was clear. Relax. Enjoy. One eyebrow lifted and lowered as he regarded her. So, Donal understood and seemed willing, for now, to go along.

She smoothed her skirts as he watched her take her seat, then she looked aside, suddenly unwilling to meet his gaze while she spoke of private things. “We lost my father and brothers that day. Most of our fighting men had gone with him and died as well, including my new husband. We shared only weeks together before he left.” An echo of her misery on that day filled her mind. She’d feared never seeing him again. She hadn’t. Ellie shrugged off the memory and continued. “My father...the old laird, left only a small garrison behind to maintain the security of the keep. In the years since, the lads too young to go with him have grown, the babes that were started before the battle have been born and now cling to their mothers’ skirts, never having met their fathers.”

“A sad day.” Donal’s face gave away little, but she could sense that he was revisiting some of his own sad memories as she described those days.

“Aye. Since then, our neighbors have had their eyes on us. They’ve tried our gates. Most of our remaining fighting force have been lost defending our walls or our whisky wagons. Since they’ve not been able to break us, lately they try another tactic. If they canna defeat us in war, they think to win our lands through my defeat, so they sue for my hand in marriage.”

“It is ever so, is it not?”

Ellie’s pulse spiked along with her temper. She doubted that he sympathized with her. Many men would not, since the value to their clan of highly placed women lay in the alliance that could be made with their marriage. Or alliances. Ellie set her drink aside and leaned forward. “I refuse to bow to such pressure. I will choose the husband I want when I wish to. I willna have one chosen for me by land-grabbing neighbors or even by the people of my clan.”