Lyon's Gift (20 page)

She tested it, tugging it to make certain it was
secure, and then smiled and stepped up onto the rail, humming a
merry tune...

“
Lyon!” came a bark from beyond
his closed doors, and was followed at once by a sharp rap.
“Lyon!”

Lyon removed his booted feet from the table and
peered at David, knowing instinctively that the news would not be
good. The two of them had been discussing Iain MacKinnon, and the
best course of action to take with him. Lyon had suggested that
David consider returning to discuss the matter with Iain directly.
Iain, as Lyon understood it, was a fair man, and Lyon believed in
direct personal confrontation. At any rate, sequestered as he was
with Scotia’s king, none would be so bold as to interrupt him here,
lest the message be of grave import. Or…

“
Enter!” he said, and braced
himself as the door swung open to reveal a wan-looking
Baldwin.

“
Lyon?” Baldwin said
apprehensively. “If I may beg pardon, I think you should
come.”

Lyon cast a glance at David to find his old friend
eyeing him curiously, brows raised. Rising from his chair, Lyon
knew instinctively by the look upon Baldwin’s face that his
interruption was about none other than Meghan.

What the devil was she up to now?

“
I shall return,” he said to
David, and then asked as cordially as possible, “Have you perchance
had the opportunity to sample the wine I sent you from Auvergne? I
have some hoarded away for myself, I must confess. Perhaps you
should like to try it now?”

David’s brows lifted higher. “In other words, you
would like me to occupy myself here alone whilst you go and deal
with your
guest
?”

Lyon’s lips curved upward. “You were ever a shrewd
bastard.”

“
As were you, of course,” David
returned, flashing a cunning smile. He sighed. “Very well, Lyon, go
and deal with your wench. I will wait.”

Lyon laughed. “I shall be quick,” he promised, and
abandoned David to his own devices. Preceding Baldwin out the door,
he demanded of him, “What now?”

“
Uh... I think you need to see
this for yourself,” Baldwin answered, and said not a word
more.

Lyon grimaced. He suddenly wasn’t certain he wished
to know what she was up to, as he was certain Meghan was determined
to make him pay in blood.

As he entered the hall, he heard her singing in the
most god-awful voice, but didn’t see her straightaway for the
audience that had gathered at the sound. Christ, but the noise was
as hideous as that of some ghoul from the black woods! And her
lyrics were none the better!

“
I must go walk the wood so wild,”
she wailed,

‘‘
And wander here and there in
dread and deadly fear I Alas, where I trusted, I am beguiled. And
all for one! All for one!’’

He didn’t have to search long for her. He merely
followed the gazes of his men to find her perched, of all places,
upon a ceiling beam like some bird in a bloody tree. He halted
abruptly at the sight of her. She was crouched upon a high beam
with her hand braced upon the ceiling for support—singing at the
top of her lungs, totally unaware of her audience, or so it
seemed!

“
My bed shall be under the
grenwood tree,” she carried on. “A tuft of brakes under my
head!”

God’s truth, he didn’t for one instant believe her
mad, but he had to admit that she had to be just a little daft to
perch herself up so high.

Damned lunatic wench!

“
Meghan Brodie!” he shouted up at
her, his voice thundering through the hall. He didn’t wish to
startle her, lest she fall, but her very position was frightening
him. “Come down at once!” he hollered, but he worried for naught,
as she didn’t seem the least bit disconcerted by his
presence.

She stopped singing and cocked her head as she
peered down at him. “You cannot make me, Sassenach!” she shouted.
“And you cannot order me about! You are not my husband yet, nor are
you my da, and I dinna have to listen to a bluidy word you
say!”

“
If I were your da,” he assured
her, “I vow I would lay you over my knee and give you the strapping
you well deserve!”

“
Och,” she answered, unconcerned.
“My da didna ever do such a thing, and neither will you! Besides,
Sassenach, I like it up here,” she announced, and with that she
giggled, a sweet childlike titter that made him uncertain whether
to laugh or scold her.

Damn!

With the deftness of one who might have been
climbing trees for all of her life, she surged forward to straddle
the beam with her hand still balanced upon the ceiling.

Lyon’s heart jumped, and like an aftershock.
Startled murmurs filtered through the room.

“
Meghan!” he shouted, blood
rushing to his head. “Get yourself down here now!”

“
No!” she replied flippantly. “I
will not!” And she surged forward to hug the brace, and continued
to sing. “The running streams shall be my drink, Acorns be my food!
Nothing may do me good, but when of your beauty I do think!” She
paused. “Isn’t that silly!” she declared suddenly. “To think a body
would pine so for beauty alone!” She cast Lyon a pointed
glance.

No one spoke a word, merely stared up at their
demented guest. Lyon understood her barb was meant for him.

“
My grandmother used to sing it to
me,” she revealed to one and all.

“
Meghan—” He asked her nicely this
time. “—please come down.”

“
Why should I?”

“
Because...” He glanced at his
men, annoyed by their presence now. “Because I do not wish you to
fall!”

“
Why?” she persisted, staring down
at him, and he had the distinct impression she was trying to
embarrass him.

Bloody rotten wench.

Lyon had to crane his head to see her.
“Because...”

“
Never mind! I know why!” she
announced suddenly.

He knew better than to ask what conclusion she had
come to.

Damn, but she was showing much too much of those
gorgeous legs of hers.

“
Want to know why?” she asked when
he would not respond.

“
No,” he answered resolutely. “I
want you to come down from there, Meghan. Now!”

She adjusted her skirts, revealing far more of her
luscious limbs than pleased Lyon. “Because you dinna wish for
everyone to see my bum!” she answered despite his refusal.

Snickers echoed through the hall, but were quashed
at once by the glare Lyon cast them.

“
Meghan!” he thundered.

She merely giggled.

His patience ended, he started up the stairs after
her. “You will come down if I have to drag you down!”

“
Oh!” she replied flippantly.
“That will be fun!”

The hall erupted again with giggles.

Impudent wench.

“
No, it will not be,” he apprised
her, “and neither will you think so when we have both cracked our
skulls upon the ground!”

Meghan watched him climb the stairs and then come to
the rail’s edge, scowling at her all the while. She lifted herself
up, and the room below seemed to sway below her. She frowned back
at him.

Och, but she did wish to come down now.

Despite her outward calm, she was quite uneasy at
this great height. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea after
all. She was sorely disappointed that King David had not been
present to witness her stunt. It seemed she had bestirred herself
for naught.

“
Where is David?” she asked Lyon
when he thrust out his arms for her, demanding once more without
words that she get down.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Busy,” he assured her.
“I’m afraid he will not be attending your performance.”

Meghan scowled at him, vexed that he should guess at
her reason for asking. She knew by the expression upon his face
that he had. She peered down at the hall below, at the faces that
stared up at her. Och, but sitting up here so high above them all
was the epitome of how she felt—alone and under everyone’s
scrutiny.

“
Come down, Meghan!” Lyon demanded
of her.

Meghan leaned to hug the beam suddenly, pouting, and
said honestly, “No! I miss my Minnie!”

He seemed uncertain how to respond to that, and
Meghan’s eyes watered. She missed Fia terribly, and feared that
never again would she feel the closeness she had shared with her
grandmother—that unconditional acceptance that came with pure
love.

“
Damn,” he said, and frowned.
“Don’t you go and weep, Meghan.”

His arms were reaching out for her, beckoning,
promising warmth, and Meghan’s resolve wilted.

“
I promise to get her for you, if
you’ll only come down,” he coaxed her, his expression full of
concern.

He didn’t understand, Meghan knew, and yet she
recognized the small victory in his concession.

Maybe she would, in fact, convince him that she was
mad after all.

Blinking tears away, she forced a smile, and allowed
him to help her down from the beam, uncertain what, if anything,
she had accomplished with her silly stunt—except to make herself
feel lonely.

Except to make her yearn.

Bloody hell.

She would be stronger next time, she vowed.

She’d had them all thinking she was raving mad—she
could tell by the looks upon their faces as they’d stared up at
her—and then she’d had to go and spoil it all by listening to
reason!

This time she was determined to carry her scheme
through. Deciding that Fia didn’t look enough the part of an old
woman, Meghan tore herself a piece of Lyon’s sheets and formed it
into a scarf to tie about the lamb’s head. That done, she surveyed
her handiwork. She hoped her grandmother would forgive her for it,
but it couldn’t be helped. Now she looked more like Fia.

And this, after all, was war between her and
Lyon!

“
You look verra lovely,” she told
the lamb, quite pleased with her handiwork. She gave the beast a
quick pat to its head and smiled down upon it.

Strange, but she was growing quite fond of the wee
animal. In a peculiar way it was almost as though she had acquired
a new friend. She was only sorry she was forced to handle it so
rudely. Her grandmother would have given her a tongue-lashing for
it, she knew, as Fia had fancied herself a guardian to all
creatures great and small.

She apologized to the wee lammie, for her
grandmother’s sake, and when she was satisfied that both she and
Fia were prepared to face their prospective audience, she urged the
lamb out of the chamber door. Once out, she lifted it up to bear it
down the narrow stairwell and hoped with all her might that they
were all at the noonday meal because she wanted to make the
greatest impact with her entrance.

She wanted to shame Lyon Montgomerie into doing the
honorable thing—or at the very least embarrass him until even his
bloody toes turned red!

If truly he yearned for peace he could ask her
brothers for her hand in matrimony, and let her decide yea or nay
for herself—instead of abducting her like some barbarian and then
resorting to wile to lure her into this devil’s bargain!

She frowned behind the little lamb as she made her
way down the stairs. God’s truth, she might have bargained with the
devil, in truth, but she was determined to save her soul!

Trying not to trip as she bore the lamb down the
final steps, she entered the hall and was well satisfied to find
that conversation came to an abrupt halt as she entered. Peering
over the fidgeting lamb, she spied the confederates together at
table and made her way purposefully toward them.

Lyon had spotted her already, she was pleased to
see, though David was in the middle of his discourse and didn’t
appear to notice. Until she placed the lamb before them upon the
table.

“
Good evening,” she bade them.
“We’ve come to join you at table.”

She smiled at David as he turned to peer at her with
a bemused expression that nearly made her laugh aloud.

“
We?”

Meghan smiled sweetly and nodded. “Of course.”

David eyed the lamb warily. “I usually prefer my
mutton well done,” he told her with lifted brows.

“
Och! Mutton!” Meghan exclaimed,
sounding perfectly affronted at his declaration. “This is not
mutton!” she informed him brashly. “This is Fia!”

She saw that Lyon rolled his eyes, and tried not to
appear pleased by his reaction.

David turned a questioning glance to Lyon.

“
Humor her,” Lyon urged his
liege.

David turned once more to face her. “Fia?” he dared
to ask. “What is a fia, might I ask?”

Meghan sighed in exasperation. “Why, yes, Fia is my
grandmother, of course! Have you no eyes with which to see,
sir?”

The lamb began to bleat as it trampled a dish near
David’s trencher. David slid his chair backward across the dais in
alarm. He stared at the creature, aghast. “This lamb is your
grandmother?” he said, repeating her outrageous claim as though he
could not believe his ears.

“
Och! Not you too!” she complained
and rolled her eyes. Her hands flew to her hips. “What did he tell
ye?” she demanded, casting Lyon a vexed glance. “I don’t know why
he should think her a bluidy lamb!”

“
Perhaps,” Lyon interjected, his
tone mordant, “because she is a bloody lamb.” He was frowning at
her now.

So let him frown! Meghan resolved. She hoped he was
humiliated.

She glared at him in turn. “I told you, Sassenach!
This is no lamb! This is my dear sweet grandmother! And you have
insulted her quite enough!”