Lyon's Gift (4 page)

A knowing grin unfurled across his face. “Um,
Meghan,” he said, as she dropped to the ground, “If I recall
correctly, you were supposed to make the bird fly out the same way
he flew in, not go out that way yourself.”

“
Ouch!” she exclaimed as her food
twisted in the drop to the ground. She bent to massage her ankle,
and peered up at her brother, nettled that he felt compelled to
point out that minor detail just now—or that he should even
remember, for that matter—and worse, that she should feel compelled
to heed such a silly ritual in the first place.

“
I tried,” Meghan explained quite
reasonably. “But he would not listen to me, so I did the next best
thing.” She slapped her hands together, ridding them of grime from
the windowsill, and straightened. “Anyhow,” she informed him
baldly, casting a wily smile up at him, “superstition is naught but
silly nonsense! And I dinna believe a word of Fia’s
ravings.”

“
Nay?” He chuckled. “Silly
wench.”

“
Nay,” she answered pertly, and
turned to go, limping.

“
Alright, Meggie! Go on with ye
then, before I change my mind and make you stay. Leith would peel
the skin from my arse if he knew I’d let you leave, with all the
trouble brewing with that idiot Sassenach.”

“
Tell him you tried to keep me,
but I escaped.”

“
I’ll tell him, instead, that I
never saw you,” he shouted after her. “If I wanted to stop you, he
knows verra well I can!”

“
Only if you sat on me,” she
called back. “But I would not suggest it,” she apprised him,
“unless you’re sure and certain you never want to conceive yourself
a bairn!”

“
Impertinent wench!” her brother
shouted after her. And then: “Be careful, Meghan! See Alison, then
hie thee back home at once!”

“
Dinna fret, Colin! I will be
fine.” She turned to wave him away from the chapel window. “Go on
now, and get that bird out for me!” she demanded.

“
Alison awaits you by the old
cairn in the meadow just beyond the forest,” Colin apprised
her.

“
I’ll hurry back!” she promised,
limping backward toward the woodlands, shading her eyes from the
brightness of the noonday sun. She grinned impishly. “And I’ll be
sure to gi’ Alison your love when I see her,” she
teased.

“
Do that, brat,” he warned,
crooking a finger at her, “and I’ll take a bluidy switch to your
arse when you return!”

Meghan laughed. “Dinna even try it, Colin Mac
Brodie. Dinna even try!”

And with that, she turned her back to him and
hobbled into the cool shade of the forest.

CHAPTER 3

God save her soul, she just didn’t think she
could do it.

Alison, youngest daughter of Dougal MacLean,
sat fretting upon a weather-beaten boulder, the noon sun glaring
down into her face. She sat unblinking as she contemplated the
dilemma at hand: how was she supposed to face her best friend and
explain that it was her own guile that had instigated the feud
between King David’s English Lyon and Meghan’s brothers?

Whatever could she say to make amends?

I’m sorry, Meghan, but I did not wish to wed
the awful brute, so I stole his goat and blamed it on your
kinsmen?

The very thought of such a confession made
her miserable.

The truth was that she had never meant to
blame it on Meghan’s kinsmen; it had merely worked out that way.
Her plan had simply gone awry. She nibbled anxiously at her
thumbnail.

Terribly, terribly awry.

Her shoulders slumped dejectedly.

Horridly awry.

She’d intended, in fact, to initiate the
feud between her own kinfolk and Montgomerie, not the Brodies and
Montgomerie, except that the blasted evidence had strayed upon
Brodie land and the Montgomerie brothers had discovered their
rotten little goat in the wrong hands!

She regretted her fouled plan
wholeheartedly, of course, though she knew it was entirely too late
for mere regrets. What was done was done, and it was up to her to
make amends now.

Somehow, she had to set things right.

The rope within her hand jerked, recalling
her attention to the gift she’d brought for Meghan and her
brothers—her own pet lamb, paltry compensation though it might be
for the loss of an entire flock. She tugged the wee lammie within
arm’s reach and patted its newly sheared coat as she considered her
options.

She could go to her father and reveal to him
what she’d done, but he would blister her rear and make her marry
the loathsome Englishman anyway.

Or...

She could confess to the loathsome
Englishman, wed him as she was supposed to do, and then die of a
broken heart—if he didn’t murder her first for her duplicity.

Or...

She could continue to wait for Meghan here
upon the meadow, tell her the truth, beg her forgiveness, and then
help her in rectifying the situation. Meghan always seemed to know
what to do.

Why, oh, why couldn’t she be more like
Meghan? Meghan was pretty and kind and brave and intelligent. She
was all the things Alison wished she could be, and more.

Beauty alone was not enough recommendation,
she knew. Her eldest sister, Mairi, had been beautiful beyond
words, but not so very intelligent, and certainly not so very kind.
Mairi’s beauty hadn’t gotten her anywhere but dead. And though her
father had blamed Iain MacKinnon for Mairi’s death, Alison knew
very well that her sister had always had a tendency toward
melancholia.

Her sister hadn’t loved her husband; and she
had chosen to kill herself rather than share her life with him. As
dour as Mairi had always been, the prospect of living with a man
she couldn’t possibly love must have proven such a terrible burden
for her to have committed such an atrocious sin. It made Alison
heartsick to think her sister had been so very unhappy.

The last thing she wished to do was to end
like Mairi.

Nay, she couldn’t wed Piers Montgomerie—she
just couldn’t! She didn’t love him. Alison had been so very
relieved when her father had refused Lagan MacKinnon’s offer of
marriage. As flattered as she had been that a man such as Lagan
would take interest in a girl as plain as herself, her heart was
pledged to another. And if she couldn’t bear the thought of wedding
Lagan, less could she bear the thought of wedding some English
vulture.

The faintest smile curved her lips at the
thought of Colin Mac Brodie.

His very name made her quiver.

His face made her sigh at the mere sight of
it—och, but it was the sort of face that tied a girl’s tongue into
knots and made her heart leap like an exultant dancer.

And his voice... it was the voice of an
angel... soothing like warm honeyed mead. It made her belly flutter
and her breast burn with longing. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to
hear him whisper in her ear.

Resting her chin upon her hand and her
elbows upon her knees, she thought about his eyes... clearest blue,
they were... like the reflection of a bright-blue summer sky upon a
glass pond.

Aye, Colin Mac Brodie was a beautiful,
beautiful man...

But he didn’t know she existed.

Her wistful smile faded.

She’d come upon him here this morn in the
arms of another woman, the two of them stealing kisses and laughing
together. And oh, how it had made Alison’s heart ache to watch
them! How she wished it could have been her!

But alas, it was not.

She sighed heavily, knowing very well that
Colin had a great fondness for women; it was obvious. He was with a
new one every time she saw him. Usually, it didn’t bother Alison so
much, because she hoped he would take his fill of them all, and
wished with all her might he would someday see her as someone more
than simply Meggie’s little friend. But this morn it had been
different. Alison hadn’t yet been able to dispel the heaviness from
her heart over seeing the two of them together. It had taken all
her resolve to approach him and ask after Meghan with the two of
them laughing and carrying on so.

Perhaps it had been harder than ever because
she knew Colin was like to loathe her once he discovered what she’d
done—och, but she couldn’t bear that!

She stared at the lamb, wishing there were
more she could give... more she could do... there must be
something...

The Brodies still had possession of the
original goat she’d stolen from Montgomerie, but she could scarcely
count that a boon... because that rotten little beast had prompted
Montgomerie to steal two of the Brodies’ sheep before the spring
shearing.

To which the Brodies had responded by
thieving his cow.

To which Montgomerie had responded by
thieving a horse.

To which the Brodies had responded by taking
four more goats.

And then Montgomerie had taken two more
cows.

Alison sighed wearily at the thought of so
much stubborn male pride.

The Brodies had then stolen seven of
Montgomerie’s sheep—and Montgomerie had responded by thieving them
all back, and then some! In fact, he’d left them with none at all!
And this one poor lambkins wasn’t nearly enough to compensate for
the loss of so many.

Good lord! What did she think she could
possibly say to the Brodies to set things right?

God’s truth, there was nothing at all!

She could confess to Meghan, aye! But what
could Meghan do? Nothing, and then her dear friend would surely
feel compelled to tell her brothers—Colin included. After all, how
could they possibly think to put an end to a feud without having
someone else to blame for it?

That someone would be Alison, of course.

And then her father would discover her
perfidy and take a strap to her bottom.

And the English Lyon would feast upon
whatever remained of her thereafter!

And worst of all, Colin would know. And he’d
cast her hateful glances instead of looking right through her as he
did now. While she could scarcely bear his present disinterest, the
thought of his enmity was tragic!

She nibbled contemplatively at her thumbnail
as she deliberated the possible consequences of coming forward.

What should she do?

Stay and confess to Meghan?

Or go?

Her sense of obligation vied with fear.

What to do... what to do...

Och, but she should simply let these silly
men carry on their feud. To fight amongst themselves was what they
loved to do, after all. Although what would be its conclusion?
She’d heard of these things outlasting even the memory of their
origin.

Foolish men!

Would the Lyon feud with honor? she
worried.

Or would he resort to
bloodshed? Sweet lord, but she hoped not! She had to believe not!
But he
was
an
Englishman after all.

She should speak up and put an end to the
escalations once and for all, she knew. All she had to do was step
forward and take responsibility.

Right?

She tapped a nail against her teeth,
considering... What precisely would confessing accomplish? As she’d
very likely still have to wed the Englishman, after all—and truth
to tell, the Montgomerie-Brodie feud had reached a level to which
her simple confession of stealing a single Montgomerie goat was
like to make no difference at all.

Too much had passed between them already,
she reasoned.

So, then... all Alison could truly hope to
accomplish with her confession was to make everyone angry with
her—and nay, that simply wouldn’t do at all!

Springing up from her think-place upon the
boulder, she hurriedly tethered the lamb to a nearby bush.

Of a sudden, she didn’t wish to wait for
Meghan, because Meghan would know intuitively that something was
wrong. And if she asked, if she merely glanced at Alison with that
canny way she possessed, Alison would be forced to confess
everything. She would never be able to keep anything from Meghan,
she knew—and truth be told, she didn’t wish to confess anything at
all!

The only thing worse than having Colin
Brodie angry with her, she determined, was to have everyone angry
with her.

Abandoning her gift for Meghan to find, she
hurried away from the meadow as fast as she could go.

There was no sign of Alison when Meghan
entered the clearing—only a tiny lamb tied to a bush near the old
cairn, where Colin had said Alison would be waiting for her.

Meghan’s brows drew together into a frown as
she contemplated the bleating little creature. Either her dear
friend had left in a terrible rush, abandoning her charge, or this
was some cruel joke of Colin’s in order to make clear his feelings
toward Alison MacLean.

She didn’t think Colin could be so cruel. It
had to be that Alison had hied away for some reason. But... unless
Alison were in danger... why would she leave without taking her
sweet little lamb?

Meghan’s gaze scanned the meadow for some
clue as to her friend’s sudden disappearance, but there was no sign
of disturbance at all: the hillside meadow seemed as serene as
ever. The posies swayed with the breeze, like little dancing people
with painted faces.

In the distance the birds chirped merrily
from the lush green treetops of the forest.

All was as it should be.

Shrugging, Meghan made her way to the little
lamb, intending to set it free. She stroked it gently while she
untethered it and then wrapped the lead rope about her wrist. “Poor
wee lammie,” she commiserated with it. “How could anyone abandon
such a sweet little thing as yourself?’’