In the Laird's Bed (10 page)

C
ristiana debated the wisdom of riding astride on her own mount the next day. In the end, it had proven safer and faster allowing Duncan to carry Leah. Any soreness Cristiana felt from her night with the new laird was eased by the knowledge that her daughter was in the hands of the most skilled warrior in their traveling party.

Besides, Cristiana was a competent horsewoman. As children, she and her sister had loved the hunt, racing each other over hills and streams to follow their hounds or hawks. Back then, Domhnaill lands had been impenetrable, and they had been safe wherever they went.

Today, her heart seemed full of sweet recollections and memories. The whole world appeared crisper and brighter around her after the night with Duncan. The
snow tasted sweeter on her tongue. The rich color of the horses’ flanks shone deeper against the white of the season.

“Cristiana?”

Duncan’s voice called her from her thoughts and she tugged lightly on the reins when she realized he’d slowed his pace to speak to her.

They’d left at dawn, carrying a sleeping Leah from her bed to join them. Their trunks were packed for a brief stay and would follow them later. Duncan had bid her father farewell, and the old laird had spoken kindly enough to him. But there had been no gentle words for her, only a stiff nod. She had hoped his wandering mind might have forgotten the source of his anger with her, but it seemed he remembered all too well.

Her heart ached at the notion of leaving things that way between them. These heightened feelings were a double-edged sword today.

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head impatiently, as if she could ward off her worries. “My thoughts were far away.”

Her gaze dropped to Leah’s sleeping form. The child had woken a few hours ago to break her fast, but she’d fallen back asleep shortly before the noon sun rose to its height.

“You are not still angry that I forced you to attend me on a journey when we are not yet wed?” Cold air condensed in clouds as he spoke. She found herself
distracted by the movement of lips that had brought her such pleasure.

She shook her head. “I am not pleased about it, either, but I can see the wisdom of keeping Leah in your care if Donegal is resorting to the life of a brigand.”

As they passed through an abandoned orchard of half-dead fruit trees, Duncan frowned, his brow heavy with concerns she understood well. Now that their futures would soon be forever linked, she had to trust he could defeat Donegal and unite their kingdoms. But would his cagey brother fall for the same kinds of deception she had when Duncan took over Domhnaill? Or would Donegal anticipate that sort of shrewdness?

Duncan ducked beneath a low limb as their mounts walked side by side. They were alone for the moment. Aside from the sleeping child in his arms, ten men rode in front of them and ten behind them. Five rode to either side of them. But the other riders were spread out over about a league, ensuring they were not set upon. Right now, Cristiana could only see the rear guard a stone’s throw from them.

“So if you were not cursing your fate in making this journey, where were those faraway thoughts?” His green eyes cut to hers and he appeared genuinely interested.

“I thought of Edwina.” She would not hide her affection for her sister, especially not when she had
every intention of welcoming her back home, since Leah had secure protection from Donegal. “We used to ride in the hunt every fall. Father let us go all the way to this orchard. It occurred to me I’d never been so far from home. And never this far without her.”

They’d been close once. Though three years apart, the two of them had thought alike. Felt alike. Neither of them had been raised with any penchant for womanly arts, eschewing embroidery for horses and hawking, mead-making and—truth be told—merry-making.

“It has always been apparent that your father is very proud of his daughters.”

The notion of how betrayed her father felt tweaked her heart all over again, but she set aside that hurt to think about Edwina. Somehow, Cristiana knew her sister would return and soon. She understood it the way two close people can read each other’s thoughts many leagues distant.

“From the time we were quite small, he allowed Edwina and me to remain with him at the hunters’ revels afterward, leaving us alone with too much wine and mead after all the men had fallen drunk.” They’d taken childish delight in pointing out which men snored the loudest or stunk the most, occasionally rearranging the mean ones in their rest in the hope they’d awaken with their fingers in their noses. “It was during those hours that we tasted and compared the unfinished brews the men left, identifying
what made some palatable and others foul. I owe my success with the mead to those trips. And to Edwina, who was never afraid to grow a bit drunk herself in the pursuit of fine brew.”

Belatedly, she thought of the unflattering light this might cast her sister in. But thankfully, Duncan seemed to find the story as amusing as she did, for he threw his head back and laughed. The joyful sound bounced around the limbs overhead, their world reduced to white branches and each other in a stunning expanse of trees that loomed overhead like an outdoor cathedral.

“It was said there were no maids more fearless from Angus to Buchan. And it is no wonder the daughters of Domhnaill were so well known. Your father probably played host to lords and knights up the whole coast.”

“You never came,” she observed lightly, drawing her cloak more tightly about her shoulders as the wind picked up and a small shower of snow fell off a tree branch.

A fleeting frown darkened his expression.

“I was fostered out to an Argyll noble.” He bent over Leah’s wrappings, ensuring the child was adequately covered from the elements. “I was fortunate to fight on the right side at Hastings, thanks to my overlord’s kinship with a Norman. I would have left straight from there to travel the continent had my father not insisted I return home to consider marriage.”

She knew how the story proceeded well enough. Despite all that had gone wrong in the latter part of their betrothal, she still had fond memories of meeting him and getting to know him. Her hand swept a spot just above her ear where he’d placed a flower once upon a time. She’d kept the dried bloom long after the man had departed.

“Your da was on my father’s hunts often enough. He must not have been dissuaded by my insistence on riding with the men.” She grinned over at him. “Or tasting all the leftover mead.”

“Nay. Besides being complementary of your beauty, he insisted you were a maid worthy of a long journey and that I would not have his blessing for my trip abroad without seeing you first.”

Her cheeks warmed to think of the Culcanon laird’s kind words. There must have been a time he’d thought well of her. Too bad he hadn’t had enough faith in her to believe her claims about his half brother.

“He needed you to have ties to Culcanon to ensure your return.” Cristiana did not flatter herself that the old man had been particularly enamored of her. He merely knew she would make a strong political alliance for his clan.

“Whatever his reason, he made an astute choice.” Duncan kept his eyes on the horizon, perhaps not intending his words to flatter her. “I had met many women in my years in Argyll and serving
with the Norman, yet I could see you as my wife immediately.”

This surprised her. For, although Duncan had flirted with her and given her a taste of passion with his kisses, he had never once suggested he thought they were particularly well suited.

“Yet
I
was the one who pledged my heart to you in those stolen moments when we were alone.” A pledge she’d deeply regretted later when he did not care for her enough to believe her.

“Marriage is happiest when based on common interest and goals. To indulge tender feelings for one’s bride is a disadvantage.”

She said nothing and knew she should not be surprised. Many people thought as much. But her parents had loved each other deeply. And she’d always assumed she would wed a man who could capture her heart, as well. Even if she hadn’t loved Duncan years ago, she had assumed that loving him would be inevitable. What a hollow feeling to learn he had no such aspiration. Then or now.

“But even so, I saw that you were possessed of a good heart and would make an admirable mother. You shared my dream of uniting Culcanon and Domhnaill. And you championed your sister with the same vigor that I championed the half brother I’d recently discovered.”

And thus, they were back to Donegal again. At least now Duncan had seen his half sibling for the
churl that he was. But that didn’t mean her future husband would ever develop feelings for her that would put him at “a disadvantage.”

“Forgive me if I seem impertinent, but why would you embrace him so readily?” She understood that it might be more difficult to discern shortcomings in a loved one, but she’d never comprehended Duncan’s ready defense of Donegal from the first.

Besides, the horses had been ridden hard for many leagues and required the rest until—most likely— Duncan ordered another burst of speed to cover ground before the sun set.

Her only response was the crunch of the horses’ hooves through packed snow for some moments. Finally, he spoke.

“Guilt, I suppose. I was provided every advantage and a thorough education as a legitimate son. Whereas Donegal received little more than rudimentary training as a warrior. I did not think it fair.”

“No wonder you were so quick to give Leah a name.” She remembered how resolute he’d been in that. “But not many would agree with you and defend the rights of a bastard, especially when recognizing additional children is costly.”

“My father was fortunate to arrange the marriage with Edwina since our families were already in negotiations for our nuptials.” Duncan turned away as his horse shook out its snow-filled mane, sending frosty bits of ice in every direction. Then, straightening,
Duncan fixed his eyes upon her. “I never understood why your father insisted that you be my bride as opposed to your sister when it is usually the eldest who makes the more substantial match. My father was unsure, as well, saying that your da was insistent on this point.”

“You would have preferred Edwina.” She did not have to ask. Any suitor would have favored the vibrant, older Domhnaill daughter, whose beauty was underscored by the proud tilt of her nose and the challenging light in her forward glances. “My father had grown careful with her as even his old friends noticed her, giving her unseemly looks and whispering about her bold manner. Edwina did not have the temperament to run a large household or play hostess to throngs of visitors. She did not know how to tame her wilder impulses. My father thought I would be better suited to a loftier match, though he would hardly approve Edwina going to a man without much coin. Donegal seemed like a perfect solution.”

It was with a mix of pleasure and pain that Cristiana remembered her sister in those days. Edwina had been happy then, a blazing spirit that captured attention wherever she went.

“I never suggested I preferred her, only that it seemed peculiar to offer the younger daughter to the rightful laird of Culcanon. Even though Donegal was poised to receive half the lands, the laird’s seat has always been destined for me.” He frowned as the
whirlwind of snow kicked up at the horses’ hooves. “My father feared there was some sort of trickery afoot that your da was insistent upon my taking you and not Edwina, but we both agreed your disposition would serve you well as a laird’s lady.”

She told herself not to be incensed, but she could not help a twinge of hurt at his simple discussion of her character as if he weighed the merits of one hunting hound over another.

“Edwina never openly defied my father, but I believe he feared she could make a troublesome bride.” Cristiana’s heart hurt to think on it. If only their da had let her marry the man she’d once loved. “He had received another offer for her before Donegal—an offer he considered beneath her. But she cared for the suitor and complained about being denied a chance at love. On the other hand, our father relied upon me to fulfill my duty.”

“Love.” Duncan shook his head as if the notion were as fanciful as a child’s ghost tale. “What earthly reason would she have for thinking love could be her lot?”

Cristiana bristled, her hands tightening on the reins until her horse shook his head in protest.

“We were raised by warmhearted parents who cared deeply for one another.” Edwina had not been any more romantic than Cristiana. Cristiana had simply hidden her hopeful heart better.

“Tender regard can surely grow when a match is
wisely made,” he assured her. He turned to the west with sudden stillness and a watchfulness came over him that she had not seen before. “Take Leah.”

His words did not make sense. But the deadly seriousness of his tone and the predatory expression upon his face told her enough.

She reached for the girl as Duncan lifted her. Leah wriggled at being dislodged.

“What’s amiss?” She risked a glance over her shoulder as Leah stirred and awoke.

A white cloud swirled low on the horizon, like a swirling mist in the trees.

“Enemy riders. Take cover. Fast.” He kicked his horse into action, lowering his shoulders as if bracing for great speed.

Fear froze her. Where were his men to protect them?

She peered about wildly, seeing no one. Then her racing mind caught up to the direction he’d given.

“Mother, I’m thirsty,” Leah complained, brushing her matted hair from her eyes as Cristiana eased her off her lap and onto the saddle.

Cristiana slid down and off the horse.

“Come. We must hide.” She held her hands out to her daughter, whose eyes widened with alarm. “Bad men approach. Hurry.”

The thunder of approaching hooves pounding the earth and rumbling the ground beneath their feet attested to her words. Snow fell harder from the
overhead branches, the trees quaking with the deep reverberation of the oncoming riders.

Leah followed her down from the horse and then reached back for the saddlebag before Cristiana could run for a hiding place.