Lyon's Gift (13 page)

He withdrew a little, giving her space to breathe,
to think.

“
I think you will.” He offered her
an incorrigible grin.

“
I’ll not!” Meghan assured him,
with more certainty than she suddenly felt.

“
Then prove me wrong,” he
challenged her, rising from the bed abruptly. Meghan blinked in
confusion at his unanticipated answer, at her own keen sense of
disappointment. He abandoned her there, leaving her to stare after
him, dumbfounded, as he walked away.

“
You
will
wed with me,” he
said, “because you know I speak the truth. It is the most obvious
solution to our little dilemma.” And then he closed the door behind
him.

What in God’s name had just happened?

Had she wanted him to kiss her?

Surely not!

Then why was she so disappointed that he had
not?

And why should she feel rejected, when he’d made his
intentions and desires clear from the first?

Because for once, she hadn’t been the one in
control, Meghan realized.

And truth to tell, it galled her that he had
been.

The knave! How dare he simply walk away and leave
her like this!

CHAPTER 11

It had taken every ounce of Lyon’s will to
leave her there lying upon his bed.

He’d wanted so badly to kiss those lovely
lips, to worship them with his own, but he wanted something else so
much more. Aye, she might have kissed him back in the heat of the
moment, but he understood that it was too soon. She would have
regretted it after, because he wouldn’t have stopped with merely a
taste of her mouth.

Then, too, it had provoked the bloody hell
out of him that she would compare him to all the rest of her
swains.

Had she carnal knowledge of them? Is that
what he saw in her expression when she looked at him? The thought
both disturbed and intrigued him. He didn’t like to think of her
with another man, but the possibility that she would know a man’s
body and how to please him appealed as well.

He was a man with dark passions, he
knew.

And he wanted a woman who was bold enough to
share them.

He wanted it to be the woman now lying upon
his bed.

No other would do.

And that brought him to another matter
entirely...

He had no notion how he was going to deal
with Dougal MacLean over the matter of his daughter.

Lyon had met her only once, but she hadn’t
appealed to him in the least, and he scarcely even recalled what
she looked like now. And yet part of the understanding in his
accepting this land from Dougal MacLean was that he would agree to
give it back by virtue of an alliance. He’d put off the betrothal
so long because after meeting MacLean’s daughter, he hadn’t been in
any rush to fill his bed. And now that he was, it wasn’t Alison
MacLean he wished to fill it with.

It was... whatever her bloody name was up
there. He frowned at that. Christ, but she was as stubborn as they
came. He wasn’t going to glean her name easily from her, only
because he desired it, and she knew.

Well, he was simply going to have to write
the missive to David without it. He would just name her as Brodie’s
sister.

He barreled down the stairs, into the hall,
and headed directly toward his table at the dais, ordering his pen
and parchment from a lad who sat cross-legged upon the floor,
petting a mangy cat. In his haste, he had forgotten to bring his
writing implements with him.

The lad bounded up and ran to do his
bidding, and Lyon stepped up on the dais and rounded the table. He
drew out a weary breath along with his chair and sat to wait,
trying to determine the best course of action to be taken. He raked
his fingers through his hair.

Damned Scots.

He was going to have to word this precisely
right, he knew, else he was going to end with yet another feud upon
his hands.

Alison MacLean wasn’t precisely ill-favored,
it was merely that she lacked spirit. She’d sat there before him,
her expression ranging from disinterest to horror at the prospect
of wedding with him. At least that he didn’t feel badly about. He
had no doubt that she did not share her father’s enthusiasm for the
alliance. So he hadn’t to worry about disappointing her. And yet he
certainly didn’t wish to wound her tender feelings.

He tried to conjure her face to his
thoughts, but all that came to him were those crossed eyes... that
nose... the miserable expression she’d worn. She sat there beside
her father, looking entirely wretched, while her father had babbled
on about the rewards of their proposed alliance, completely
oblivious to his daughter’s distress. Lyon had been aware of
nothing but. How could he wed her anyway when it had been perfectly
clear to him that MacLean’s daughter came into the bargain wholly
unwilling?

Baldwin entered the hall. “Where’s the
wench?” he asked, looking bedraggled and seeming surprised to find
Lyon alone. Lyon didn’t think his old friend was ever going to
forgive him for having to mount the bloody lamb upon his horse. As
long as Lyon lived he didn’t think he would ever forget the sight
of Baldwin trying to mount with the rotten little beast in his
arms. He’d finally managed only by straddling the animal over his
saddle and then mounting behind it.

“
I stink to high heaven!”
he complained, casting his arms out in disgust.

Lyon chuckled. “I’m sure you do.”

“
I hope you’re happy,”
Baldwin said sourly. “Where’s the mad wench?”

“
In my
chamber.”

Baldwin nodded. “Of course.”

“
And where is
Fia?”

“
Where do you think? I
gave her to Cameron to place with the others.”

“
Well, you’ll have to get
her back,” Lyon charged him, and couldn’t help but laugh at
Baldwin’s harassed expression. “She wants to see her
grandmother
.”

“
You can’t be
serious!”

“
Deadly in earnest,” Lyon
said. “She’s something, is she not?”

Baldwin muttered something unintelligible
under his breath as he approached the table. “She’s something else
all right!” he agreed. “Are you bloody insane, Lyon? Whatever do
you want with a lunatic wench?”

Lyon raised his brows. He could think of a
few things—one in particular in direct relation to the throbbing
condition he had concealed beneath the table. “What do you think I
want with her, Baldwin?”

“
Randy bastard!” Baldwin
accused him.

Lyon merely laughed.

“
I’m telling you, she’s
more trouble than it’s worth,” Baldwin warned.

Lyon arched a brow. “I shall be the judge of
that.”

Baldwin sat upon the table. “She’s insane,”
he said with conviction.

Lyon was tired of hearing it. “Nay,” he
disagreed, “I assure you she is not.”

“
What if she is?” Baldwin
persisted.

“
She’s not. She’s simply a
cunning little wench, is all.”

“
And you seriously mean to
do this?”

Lyon ran his hand over his jaw. “As serious
as I can be.”

“
Christ, but you are!”
Baldwin gave a low whistle, and shook his head.

The two remained silent an instant,
considering the gravity of Lyon’s decision.

“
And what of MacLean? What
will you say to him? He’ll not be pleased, Lyon.”

Lyon leaned back in his chair. “I know.”

“
He is counting upon this
alliance, I do not have to tell you.”

Lyon’s lips twisted. “Well, we’ll simply
have to find the proper compensation for him, will we not? Every
man has a price, as they say. As for David,” he continued, “I am
not so dim-witted that I do not understand why he gave me this land
to begin with.”

Baldwin nodded.

“
He needs me here, else
he’d never have risked the displeasure of these Highlanders to
begin with—not when he is trying so desperately to win them over.
Nay, he did not barter land from MacLean simply to reward an old
friend. He’s too shrewd for that. He placed me here because I’m
damned good at what I do.”

“
This is true,” Baldwin
affirmed. “No one is better at commanding wayward men.”

Lyon leaned forward in his chair and over
the table, peering up at Baldwin. “He also realizes that while I
want this—and I do—I’d as soon leave it all as to sell myself any
longer. I’m through with all that, Baldwin. I’ve gold enough to do
as I will. Life is too short,” he concluded.

“
That it is. What can I
do? How can I help?”

Lyon smirked up at him. “You can get your
stinking arse off the table I eat on, to begin with.”

Baldwin laughed.

“
And then you can take Fia
up to see her granddaughter,” Lyon added with a note of wry
humor.

Baldwin shook his head and hopped off the
table, but, to his credit, said nothing.

“
Thank you,” Lyon added as
his friend turned to go. “I realize this has the potential to make
life difficult for the lot of us. Not only me.”

Baldwin smiled. “You have done far more for
me. Supporting you is the least I can do. Anything else you need
just now?”

“
Just one more thing,”
Lyon said. “Get her name for me, if you will, that I might have it
before the evening meal.”

“
Very well,” Baldwin said,
and started away just as the lad returned, bringing Lyon his quill,
inkwell, and parchment.

Lyon took the items from his hands and then
sent him on his way with a ruffle of his dark hair and a word of
thanks. And then he set about writing the necessary letters: one to
Dou-gal MacLean, one to David of Scotia, and one to her damned
brothers as Lyon was certain they’d be wondering over her
whereabouts just about now. It served little purpose to keep them
in suspense. They were going to be brothers by marriage, after
all.

In fact, while he was at it, he thought he
might simply make it a wedding invitation and remind them to bring
their own ale.

The little lamb was growing weary.

Meghan could tell by the way it seemed to
wobble on its wee legs. And yet she knew the poor creature couldn’t
possibly make itself at ease enough in this strange place long
enough to fall asleep on its own.

“
Poor
wee thing,” she cooed, and lifted the creature upon the bed,
commiserating with it.

Weary as it was, it dropped down beside her,
and she sat stroking its head while it grew still, listening to the
sound of her voice. She’d always had a great love for
animals—something she’d indubitably inherited from Fia. And having
spent the entire day with this one, she was beginning to grow quite
fond of the little beast. They seemed to have a natural affinity
between them. In truth, strange as it seemed, she was even
beginning to think of it as her Minnie Fia!

She lay upon the bed, contemplating her
prison as she stroked the animal’s newly sheared coat. It wasn’t a
large room, nor was it precisely small. It was really quite
unremarkable in every aspect, save for the gaping hole in the
ceiling on the far side of the roof. It was growing dark; Meghan
watched the gloaming sky fade to night before her eyes.

She knew her brothers had begun to search
for her by now. She also knew they would worry, and felt a stab of
guilt for putting herself at risk to begin with. She should never
have taken the shortcut through the woods.

And Colin, she knew, would blame himself
most because he’d been the one to let her go.

Although Colin was the most indulgent of her
brothers, he was quite protective of her still. He merely allowed
her a little more freedom because he valued his own so much.

And yet, if it weren’t for the fact that she
knew they were home fretting... or out searching and thinking the
worst... in truth she might not be wholly regretful of her
circumstances.

No matter that she told herself she was
content to be alone, she was fiercely lonesome, and this union
could at least give her children some day.

“
You know what?” she asked
the wee lamb, now resting peacefully beside her. Seeing it so at
ease in her presence made her feel a sense of achievement. “The
Sassenach is right,” she continued, speaking low lest someone
overhear her. “This truly might be the perfect solution, were I to
wed the brute,” she reasoned. “What do you think?”

She stared at the animal’s serene face and
thought of Fia when she’d slept. It brought a smile to her lips.
How many mornings had she gone tiptoeing into her Minnie’s room,
only to find her stretched out upon her bed, lying so still,
looking as though she had passed in her sleep during the night.
Meghan would approach Fia’s bed with wide-eyed apprehension and a
valor that she’d hardly felt. She’d stand there, watching her
Minnie’s breast for some sign of life. But Fia always slept much
too peacefully, and Meghan would wave a hand before her nostrils to
feel the warm breath leave them in order to reassure herself. And
then Fia would startle the life from her, coming awake
abruptly.

“
Och!” she would complain.
“Cannot an auld woman rest in peace?”

Meghan would gasp in fright and then sigh in
relief, and then feel wracked with guilt over waking her
Minnie.

The memory filled her with sorrow. Fia had
been her sole companion, and Meghan had lived in fear of losing the
one person who had truly understood her. Her mother had been too
brokenhearted to think of anyone ever.