Lyon's Gift (18 page)

“
The ale is fine,” Lyon said.
“Just do not sit beneath the rotting ceiling or you’ll get
splinters in your cup—and then find yourself plucking slivers from
your tongue the rest of the eve.”

David’s brows lifted. “That bad?”

“
Aye,” Lyon replied with a nod.
“That bad.” And then he grinned. “But better than having rats crawl
up your arse while you sleep any day.”

David chuckled. “I’m certain,” he said, and shook
his head. “Damned Highlanders! I’d rather be mauled by a pack of
rats any bloody day than to deal with a single one!”

“
That bad?”

“
That bad,’ David assured him as
they entered the hall. He flung off his mantle and cast it over his
arm. “Whatever possessed me to want to be king?”

Lyon answered without pause. “Because you bloody
well love it, and you were always better at chess than anyone.”

David laughed. “Even you?”

“
Aye, you canny bastard, even
me.”

It was getting late.

Squinting as the letters blurred before her eyes,
Meghan set the manuscripts down. The texts, she’d discovered, were
both a personal memoir and a corresponding treatise, with
references to passages within the first volume.

It began with a rather poignant account of Lyon’s
youth, his days spent in study under the Archbishop of Canterbury.
And it seemed to Meghan that though these had been his most
uncertain years, years spent sequestered from his peers, they were
also his most contented years. Though he’d questioned his soul,
he’d seemed focused and certain of his life’s ambition. While he’d
studied beneath the tutelage of the clergy, his ambitions had been
of an academic sort; his enlightenment, while spiritual in nature,
hardly adhered to the teachings of the church.

In fact, Meghan thought some of his beliefs quite
heretical, even for her. Gavin would have apoplexy were he to read
them, she was certain. He was nigh ready to tie Meghan to the
pulpit for simply suggesting that her sanctuary was the woodlands,
and that God’s sermon came to her through the creatures of his
creation. But these essays questioned the very existence and nature
of God.

Within his first essays, he had explored in great
detail his quest for spiritual truths and had been quick to dismiss
the import of materialistic pursuits. It was very clear to Meghan,
here, that his ambitions had been of a noble sort.

His next essay had been a little less conclusive and
a little more discomposing.

Though he did not elucidate, something had happened
to change his life’s direction. He had by now abandoned his former
aspirations to an erudite life and had resigned himself to a
more... at first defensive... then offensive perspective. His
objective seemed to be the pursuit of justice.

She was almost finished now with that particular
essay though not completely, and though she wasn’t certain she
should continue—it felt a little as though she were peering through
a looking glass at his soul—she couldn’t seem to help herself.

The account drew her as much as did the man who’d
written it.

She had no notion how long she’d sat reading, but
knew that it had grown dark outside by the dimness of the room—not
that there had been much light to begin with, as the only window
that graced the chamber was nailed shut from within. The afternoon
light was beginning to fade, and last night’s torch had gutted
itself sometime during the night. The remains of the supper they’d
brought her were left almost untouched.

Now it was growing too dark to read.

Frustrated, for the treatise had grown ever more
fascinating, Meghan rose from the desk and went to the window to
examine the shutters, to see if there were some way she could
brighten the room.

She found the shutters nailed firmly so that they
could not be pried open, and no matter how hard Meghan tugged at
them, they would not budge. She wondered who would do such a thing.
Surely not Lyon Montgomerie? What manner of man could compose such
a brilliant memoir and then board a bloody window shut rather than
simply fix the shutters?

As she struggled with the shutters, she came aware
of voices outside and below the window, and ceased her struggles in
order to try to make them out. She thought she would recognize
Lyon’s voice most anywhere, but the other she could not make
out—not Baldwin’s, she was near certain.

Searching for a knothole or a crack to peer from,
she listened, but in vain, and then could suddenly hear the echo of
voices carry up from the hall below.

Meghan rushed to the door and was surprised to find
it unlocked. She frowned at the discovery, though it should have
pleased her. He hadn’t locked her in, after all. What was wrong
with her that she should forget to try something so simple as the
lock upon a door? She’d wasted entirely too much time sitting
within his room, prying into his papers and his past, when she
should have been making some attempt to get home.

Aye, it was entirely possible that a union between
them would be advantageous to all, but Meghan didn’t appreciate
being coerced into anything. It would suit her much better were she
to go home to her brothers and discuss with them the possibility of
wedding Lyon Montgomerie. And if Lyon wished to wed with her, he
could ask for her hand in matrimony, rather than bloody well tell
her she was going to wed him will she nill she!

Pah! She hadn’t even drawn a comb through her hair,
she remembered suddenly, but didn’t care. And having slept in her
dress, it was rumpled and even slovenly—och, she must appear every
bit as insane as she would have him believe she was!

Making her way cautiously down the stairs, she
examined her surroundings, and determined that it had been far too
long a time since the manor had been in good repair. As the stairs
creaked noisily beneath her careful steps, she didn’t wonder any
longer why the shutters had been boarded shut. She could perfectly
understand why the very thought of repairing them might seem
overwhelming. And yet, someone had to begin the repairs somewhere
with something, or the entire place was going to crumble down upon
itself.

She spied them upon the dais as she descended the
final steps—Lyon and his guest. At least Meghan assumed it was a
guest, because he didn’t look like one of Lyon’s men-at-arms.

In fact, this man was dressed in finer garments than
Meghan had ever set eyes upon in her life, and his bearing was
anything but common. She knew at once that this was someone of
import—someone who had the power to help her if he chose. And
having determined that, she straightened her shoulders, and made
her way resolutely to the dais.

Like a wolf scenting his mate, the instant she’d
descended into the hall Lyon sensed her presence, and his gaze
lifted to find her watching discreetly from the foot of the stairs.
And suddenly, he could hear not a word David was speaking to him,
his attention wholly taken by the woman standing in the
shadows.

“
So it seems I misjudged
MacKinnon,” David disclosed, somehow oblivious of their audience.
He had erroneously chosen to kidnap the Laird of the MacKinnon’s
son, hoping to hold him as a ward of the court so that they could
better control the MacKinnon’s interests. It had been a mistake.
MacKinnon had not only retrieved his son, but he’d absconded with
the daughter of an English noble and had promptly made her his
wife.

But Lyon was no longer listening.

Something like birds took flight within his gut, and
his breath strangled within his throat as Meghan’s gaze settled
upon him, her beautiful eyes slitting. Her chin tilted defiantly
and she pushed away from the banister and marched toward them. His
heart jumped.

“
I can see now that it was a
mistake to involve his son,” David continued, “but what has been
done cannot be undone.”

Lyon nodded absently.

Meghan Brodie captured him as no woman ever had. She
roused his body... made his soul yearn for something... more.

He shook his head, trying to cast off the spell she
wove over him. “Misjudged who?”

“
Lyon?” David said, sounding
vexed. “Have you not listened to a bloody word I’ve said to
you?”

Lyon didn’t see the point in lying.

“
Nay,” he admitted, but his eyes
remained fixed upon Meghan’s lovely face as she marched toward
them, her expression foreboding. Even ungroomed as she was, looking
every bit the part of a madwoman, he thought her beauty
unparalleled. And God’s teeth, whatever else she was, whether mad
or simply shrewd as the devil, she was unshrinking as well, and
Lyon braced himself, expecting the worst. There was little worse to
bear than the lash of an angry woman’s tongue.

David’s gaze followed his.

“
You have a guest!” he said with
some surprise, and then as she approached, undaunted, with fire
flashing in her glorious green eyes, he turned to Lyon and asked,
“Lyon... who is she?”

Lyon cast his friend a sheepish glance. “She,” he
replied with some hesitation, “is the complication I was speaking
of.” And he shrugged.

CHAPTER 16

Meghan decided she would appeal to the man’s sense
of loyalty. If he were countryman, she had some chance, at least,
of gaining his support. If he were an English toad, then she was
simply out of luck. It was impossible to tell by his manner of
speech as he spoke like an Englishman, with only the merest trace
of a brogue.

“
Are you a Scotsman, sir?” she
asked, meeting his gaze as she approached the table. She
straightened her spine and lifted her chin.

He cocked his head at her in puzzlement. “Aye,” he
answered, casting Lyon a wary glance. “Why do you ask, lass?”

“
Verra good!” Meghan exclaimed.
“Because I wish to go home!”

The man turned to Lyon, looking all the more
confused by her vehement demand. “What is this?” he asked. “What
does she mean, Lyon?”

“
Uh,” was all Lyon Montgomerie
could think to say.

Meghan turned to glare at him, and was pleased to
see that he had the decency to flush at the prospect of an
explanation.

She wasn’t about to let him explain, however,
because he would no doubt find some way to justify his actions. “He
abducted me!” she charged, pointing an accusing finger at Lyon.

The man’s brows lifted higher. “Lyon?” he said. “Is
this true?”

Lyon had the good grace not to deny it. He nodded
with lifted brows and an abashed grimace. “Afraid so,” he
admitted.

“
Christ!” the man
exploded.

“
I was going to tell you as soon
as you were finished,” Lyon assured him.

“
What a bloody pair we are!” the
man declared. “Whyever would you do such a thing? Who the devil is
she anyway?”

“
I
am Meghan Brodie!” she
announced, wholly annoyed with their apparent comradeship. “And I
dinna know who you are, sir. You dinna sound like any bluidy Scot
to me, but my brothers will not be pleased to hear this, I assure
you!”

The man turned to Lyon once more. “Gaddamn, Lyon,
but I anticipate you had a better reason than to simply warm your
bed. Her very demeanor shrivels my willy!”

Meghan gasped in outrage at his crude remark, and
her face heated.

Lyon chuckled softly. “I cannot claim I did to begin
with,” he said, “but in my own defense, I must say she was somewhat
more appealing last night.”

The man chortled, and Meghan bristled. She gritted
her teeth and clenched her hands at her sides. “I dinna see what
precisely is so amusing!” she assured them both and narrowed her
eyes at the arrogant stranger. “Who are you, sir?” she demanded of
him.

He regarded her a moment, and then proclaimed
matter-of-factly with an arrogant lift of his chin, “I am David of
Scotia.”

Meghan blinked in surprise. “King David?”

“
Aye, lass.”

“
Son of Malcom Ceann
Mor?”

“
None other.”

Meghan tilted her head at him in disdain. “You dinna
look like a king to me, sir,” she accused him. “You look and sound
like a bluidy rotten Sassenach!”

He merely smiled at that.

“
Och!” Meghan exclaimed, and was
disheartened.

Or was she truly?

“
I dinna suppose I can persuade
you to send me home?” she asked the man without hesitation, but
also without expectation. There was little chance of it, she knew,
when he was the reason Lyon Montgomerie was in Scotia to begin
with. The two were in league together. Bedfellows!

“
Give me a single reason I should
question the judgment of one of my most valuable men,” he
answered.

“
Because I dinna wish to wed with
him is why!” Meghan said, lifting her chin.

His gaze flew to Lyon’s in surprise. His brow arched
imperiously. “Wed, Lyon?”

Lyon seemed to brace himself. He nodded. “Aye,” he
answered simply.

“
You cannot wed with her!” David
argued.

“
That’s precisely what I have been
trying to tell him!” Meghan interjected, pleased to see he was
finally seeing her point.

“
What of MacLean?” David asked,
ignoring her.

Meghan bristled at his apparent dismissal.

“
What of him?” Lyon replied
mildly. “I have already dispatched him a letter of explanation, as
I did with you. I assure you I’ll not be wedding Alison
MacLean.”

“
Lyon,” David urged him, “consider
what you are saying!”