Kathleen Harrington (47 page)

Father Thomas left at once and quickly returned with the finger bone of St. Duthan enclosed in a small gold case. It was the chapel’s most sacred relic, having been safeguarded by the Glencoe Macdonalds since the battle of Bannockburn.

“Open the box,” MacLean commanded. When Father Thomas had done so, the tall warrior nodded to Idoine. “Now place your hand on the relic and swear by its saint that you are not Lady Joanna.”

Choking back her sobs, Idoine gulped, then swallowed noisily. She looked at her mother with pleading eyes and her chin trembled.

A hush came over the chamber.

Even the angels painted on the ceiling seemed to hold their breath.

Beatrix narrowed her eyes and glowered at her daughter in wordless warning. A shudder shook Idoine and her gaze flicked to Joanna, then darted back to the powerful man in front of her.

What Joanna saw in her cousin’s eyes in that brief second told her all she needed to know, and she offered a silent prayer of thanksgiving. Idoine had no intention of throwing herself on the sword for the sake of her brother’s marriage to an heiress.

“Do it,” MacLean ordered grimly. “Swear on this holy relic that you are not the Maid of Glencoe.”

Her hand shaking, Idoine placed two fingertips on the bone. “I swear,” she whispered, “I swear I am not the Maid of Glencoe. By the sacred finger of St. Duthan, I swear that I am not Lady Joanna Macdonald.”

The merest hint of a smile flickered across the Sea Dragon’s lips. “I don’t believe you,” he said softly. “Only a Macdonald would swear to a falsehood on the bone of a saint.”

In the upper hall’s candlelight, the earring in his ear glittered the same emerald green as his eyes, gleaming now in satisfaction. Joanna peeped at him from lowered lashes, unable to understand the strange feelings that swam through her insides, like trout darting about in a stream.

Godsakes, he had the most arresting mouth.

And his intelligent eyes, crinkled at the corners from the sun and wind, promised a quick and lively wit.

But then, she reminded herself sternly for the second time, even Lucifer had been beautiful before his fall.

She would have to continue to deceive The MacLean for as long as it took for Ewen to come and rescue both her and Idoine.

R
ory sheathed his dirk and turned to survey the Macdonalds, fully aware of the trick they’d attempted to play on him. Lady Idoine had spoken the truth; the honest terror in her eyes was unmistakable. And he’d seen the frantic glance she’d cast the serving lad—who was no lad, at all, but a lassie. He’d wager his life on that. Christ, did they think he wouldn’t notice the long curving lashes or the clear, creamy skin beneath the dirt stains on her cheeks? The lass was a peach, whoever she was.

As the supposed lad stared at the toes of his scuffed brogues, Rory noted the delicate features beneath the striped stocking cap that hid every strand of hair, the long, curving russet lashes—lowered now to hide the startling blue eyes—the arched brows, the graceful hands. Could this be the missing heiress?

The idea that this slim lass, barely over five feet, resembled the mighty Somerled Macdonald seemed preposterous. Then Rory remembered the gray-haired man’s indigo eyes—eyes the deepest blue he’d ever seen.

Eyes exactly like this dirty-faced urchin’s.

And the fierce chieftain had been named the Red Wolf in his youth because of his head of coppery hair.

The astonishing—nigh unbelievable—possibility that Lady Joanna might be attempting to hide right under his nose stunned Rory. If it were true, everyone in the whole damned castle had taken part in the deception. Once again, he looked around the Great Hall.

Could it be possible?

Had all these people connived to fool their new laird?

At that moment, the lass looked up to meet Rory’s gaze. The brilliant blue eyes danced with mirth. He found it incredible that a Sassenach noblewoman—an heiress worth a damn fortune—would play the role of a servant. What would she do if he set her to mucking the stables?

Well, he’d go along with the ruse for now, pretending to believe Idoine was his future bride, while he sent messengers to Mingarry Castle to notify Ewen Macdonald of the marriage alliance and to make certain that Lady Joanna wasn’t there. Meanwhile, ’twould prove an interesting diversion to learn the true identity of the little vixen dressed in a boy’s shirt and plaid.

“Rather than return with my future bride to Stalcaire immediately, as first planned,” he told the Macdonalds coldly, “we’ll await the arrival of your war commander.” He favored Idoine with a brief glance. “He can accompany Lady Joanna and me to my uncle’s castle, where we will be wed. From this moment on, I’ll assume the responsibilities and privileges of your new laird.”

Idoine started to protest, but Lady Beatrix clapped one hand over her daughter’s mouth before she could utter a word. Grumbles of dissatisfaction swept through the hall. The Macdonalds’ furious expressions told him they’d expected the chief of Clan MacLean to dash off to Mingarry Castle, thinking to find Lady Joanna with their clan commander, Laird Ewen.

“Place a guard at the gate and posterns,” Rory told Fearchar. “No one is to leave without our consent, not even the lowliest serving boy. And send four men to Mingarry to invite Ewen Macdonald to his cousin’s wedding.”

With a nod, Fearchar left the chamber with several broad-shouldered MacLeans.

Next, Rory addressed the twenty weaponless Macdonald men-at-arms. “By order of His Majesty, King James, you are to travel to Stalcaire, where you will swear your fealty to him. Any man who does not appear there within the next two days will be charged with treason and dealt with accordingly. You have my permission to leave at once.”

As the dispirited Macdonald soldiers filed out of the upper hall, Rory motioned to David Ogilvy, and the bailiff hurried as fast as his dragging gait would allow. “Have the chamberlain take my things to the castle’s finest bedchamber.” He glanced at Beatrix and Idoine, whose bottom lip was thrust out in a sulky pout. “I trust that won’t inconvenience either of you ladies.”

“Certainly not, laird,” Beatrix answered sharply.

With a jerk of his head, Rory brought the brown-robed cleric a step nearer. “You may take the relic back to the chapel, Father.”

“Father Thomas Graham,” the priest replied, belatedly introducing himself.

“And have a candle lit before the Virgin’s altar,” Rory added as he turned to leave. “My gillie will bring you a crown for the offering as soon as my saddlebags are unpacked.”

“For what intention, laird?” the priest asked in surprise.

“For the wedding couple,” Rory told him with a frown. He’d thought the reason obvious. “That the bride and groom, soon to be joined in holy wedlock, will be blessed with a long and fruitful union.”

Father Graham hunched his narrow shoulders as though caught in an embarrassing mistake. “Of course, milord. Of course.”

A
BOUT
THE
A
UTHOR

Kathleen Harrington, winner of the Colorado Romance Writers’ Award of Excellence, has touched the hearts of readers across the country with her sparkling tales of high adventure and unending love. Her historical romances have been finalists for the Romance Writers of America’s RITA, The Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Awards, the Virginia Romance Writers’ HOLT Medallion, and the Phoenix Desert Rose Golden Quill. Her fabulous heroes have garnered the KISS (Knight in Shining Silver) Award. She lives in Southern California.

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By Kathleen Harrington

THE HIGHLAND LAIRDS TRILOGY

The MacLean Groom

Lachlan’s Bride

An Excerpt from

A
T
RUST
N
O
O
NE
N
OVEL

by Dixie Lee Brown

Debut author Dixie Lee Brown launches her
Trust No One
series with this tale of a hunted woman and the one man who can save her life . . . if she’ll let him.

“T
rust me. This is the safest way.”

Everything required trust with Joe. So, did she trust him? If she ever got back on the ground, she might be able to answer that question. Cara looked over the edge of the platform.
There’s no way!

“Take your time. Go when you’re ready . . . unless you want me to give you a little push.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” She wrapped her arms around the pole.

“You really don’t trust me, do you?” He laughed.

“I was starting to, before you said the word ‘push.’ ”

“There’s hope then? If I choose my words more carefully?”

“Maybe . . . if I ever get down from here.”

“Let’s sit for a minute. Things will look different from that perspective.” He sat, dangling his long legs over the side. Cara positioned herself beside him, her hands nervously flexing on the rope that joined her to the zip line.

“Jumping doesn’t seem any more reasonable from here.” Too bad, since sitting close enough to rub shoulders with him made her nearly as uncomfortable as the stupid zip line.

“We’ll just hang out and talk for a while then. That okay?” He gripped the edge of the platform and leaned forward, turning to look at her.

“The last time we talked, it ended badly.”

“Now we know which subjects to stay away from.”

“Yeah, anything to do with either of our private lives.”

“I think it was your ex-husband and my desire to protect you from him that got us crossways with each other.”

Cara glanced sideways at him. He was looking at her. Their eyes met. The strangest emotions coursed through her. Somehow, it didn’t sound so bad when he said it like that. Who didn’t want a knight in shining armor? She was afraid for Joe, but he sounded so confident that he could protect her, and himself, she almost believed it. Recognizing the danger in that, she tore her eyes away from his.

“We’re making progress. You didn’t rip into me that time.” A grin came through in his voice.

“It doesn’t do any good to try talking sense into you.” She wanted to sound serious, but her heart was no longer in it. She forced her mind back to the task at hand, considering the likelihood that she’d ever be able to
zip
off this ledge. What was the worst that could happen? The cable could break, and she’d plummet thirty feet to the ground. End all of her problems. More likely, it would be a gradual descent, with the jump from the platform the only really exciting part. She could do this.

“We’ve got unfinished business, you know. We might as well take care of it while we’re sitting here.”

“What’s that?”

“I almost had you talked into dinner that night we met.”

“You weren’t even close.”

“I think you were as intrigued with the idea as I was.” He grinned. “I also think we stood a good chance of ending the evening with a kiss.”

“That’s a stretch. You’re making the same mistake you made that night. Going from confident to arrogant in about two seconds flat. There was no chance in hell you were going to get a kiss.” Cara smiled at his wounded look.

“Will my chances ever improve?” His eyes met hers again.

She’d forgotten what a good-looking guy he was. The same mesmerizing pull she’d experienced the night she met him overcame her better judgment now. For a moment she wondered what it would feel like, his lips on hers, his arms holding her close, while they lost themselves in each other.

Cara drew herself up short. Was she completely crazy? She was barely free from one dangerous man. Why would she get involved with another? There was an attraction between them she couldn’t deny, but nothing could ever come of it.

“Maybe.” The word slipped out, almost on its own.