Teresa Medeiros (10 page)

Morgan pivoted on the stairs to the dais. His green eyes blazed, warning her that he cared for nothing she had to say, be it condemnation or defense. Surely he would scorn her pity even more than her rancor. Could she blame him? How could he ever hope to lead a group of rogues such as these if they realized he had surrendered himself to an unarmed woman? He would become a laughingstock, all of his hard-earned respect lost.

She cleared her throat, feeling as if she’d swallowed a mouse. “Pardon me. I sat on a splinter.”

“I’ve got somethin’ the lass can sit on!” came a cry from the back of the hall.

“Aye, Fergus, but ’tis smaller than any splinter!” yelled another, eliciting a burst of ugly sniggers from the MacDonnells.

Sabrina sank down on the bench, wishing she could crawl beneath it. Her cheeks burned beneath the heat of her mother’s disapproving gaze.

As Morgan sat in the chair on the dais, Dougal swept out a hand toward an empty bench near the front of the hall. “I’ve cleared a bench for the MacDonnell elders. Their wisdom and opinions are welcome in my court.”

There was a flurry of pushing and scrabbling of feet along the back wall. A thin, graying man stumbled from the MacDonnell ranks, propelled forward by his clansmen. He shuffled to the front of the court and took a seat, only to be dwarfed by the long, empty
bench. Morgan ignored the embarrassing display. The MacDonnell way of life must not be conducive to longevity, Sabrina deduced. Had Angus been their only elder?

Dougal locked his hands at the small of his back, commanding the court’s attention. “As laird of Clan Cameron, I have convened this court today to see that justice is served.”

An approving murmur rose from Sabrina’s clansmen. Justice, they believed, would surely mean the downfall of the heathen MacDonnells.

Dougal continued. “We are here today to arbitrate a fine to compensate the chieftain of the MacDonnells for the shameful and untimely slaying of his father.”

A shocked buzz rippled through the room. Sabrina’s mouth fell open. It was not Morgan, but her father who had come to be sentenced by his own court. His request for arbitration was tantamount to a confession of guilt. Her mother looked as stunned as she; Brian and Alex both paled until their freckles stood out in sharp relief.

The Cameron lifted his hand. The resulting silence was immediate and fraught with tension. “I maintain my innocence in the murder of Angus MacDonnell. ’Twas not my doing nor that of any of my kin. But since the MacDonnell was under the sacred protection of Cameron hospitality when his death occurred, I will pay the fine required by our ancient and revered laws.”

Sabrina could almost read her mother’s mind. Gaelic laws. Not English laws.

An anonymous cry came from the benches. “Aye, and if the ol’ villain had stayed home, where he belonged, he might yet be alive!”

A MacDonnell sword flashed, but Morgan’s warning glance stayed it.

“ ’Twas by my invitation that Angus MacDonnell came to Cameron,” Dougal replied. He turned to Morgan. “Morgan Thayer MacDonnell, are you prepared to accept the judgment of this court for the slaying of your father?”

Morgan leaned back in the chair, resting his ankle
on his opposite knee with arrogant grace. “What choice do I have?”

I would have crawled for them. They’re all I have. All I am
.

As Morgan’s words rushed back through her mind, Sabrina twisted to see the men scattered along the back wall. What did Morgan see when he looked into their jaded eyes? A shadow of remembered pride? A shred of former glory?

Dougal faced the lone old man trembling on the bench. “And the MacDonnell elders?” he said with respect as if the man’s opinion bore the weight of emperors’ and kings’.

“Aye,” he whispered timidly, then broke into a toothless grin as a cheer went up from his clansmen.

An irreverent smile played around Morgan’s lips. “Go on, Cameron. Do your worst. I’ll get two goats, you’ll get a slap on the hand, and we can all go home.”

Sabrina’s great-uncle Robert climbed the steps to join them. Sabrina was surprised that her father did not intend to pronounce the judgment himself. Robert stood before his nephew. “Do you in turn agree to abide by the judgment of this court, Dougal Cameron?”

“I do.”

Her father left the dais and went to sit beside his wife. As he gripped her hand, his knuckles went white with tension.

Robert unrolled a sheet of vellum even longer than his snowy beard and adjusted his gold spectacles. “Very well. All listen carefully to this judgment. It will stand with the authority granted it by these two chieftains. The following is paid by the Cameron and awarded to the MacDonnell—two hundred sheep, a hundred head of cattle …”

As her uncle’s quavering voice droned on, Sabrina studied Morgan. He yawned, then drew out a menacing dirk and began to pare his fingernails. His affectation of boredom did not fool her. His eyes glittered behind his curtain of hair.

“…  two hundred chickens, three cases of fine Scotch whisky …” This drew a cheer from the flagging
MacDonnells. “…  his ceremonial claymore, the Cameron betrothal ring …”

Sabrina flinched in sympathy. She’d never in her memory seen that ring leave her mother’s hand.

“…  and his daughter, Sabrina, in holy matrimony.”

Morgan’s dirk clattered to the dais. A deathly pall of silence fell over the hall. The sole MacDonnell elder went blue around the lips. Sabrina lifted her head, not even daring to breathe as Morgan came out of the chair, his hands still braced on the carved arms as if for support. Their gazes met across the sea of people between them.

A staccato burst of laughter escaped him. His words were for Dougal, but his eyes were all for Sabrina.

“For God’s sake, man, show me a wee bit of mercy! Can’t you give me four hundred chickens and spare me the bloody daughter?”

The court erupted in chaos. Elizabeth gave an agonized cry and burst into tears. Brian unsheathed his sword and dove for Morgan. Alex caught his brother around the waist before he could reach the stairs. Swords and dirks cleared sheaths with a steady hiss. The MacDonnell elder took advantage of the confusion to creep back into his clan’s fold. Dougal stroked his beard, his eyes impassive as the hall teetered on the brink of war.

For the first time, Sabrina understood the wrenching betrayal Morgan must have felt when he believed her father had deceived him. Her papa could have cut her no deeper had he plunged a dirk into her heart. At least Angus’s wound was fatal. She had been given a life sentence.

Morgan sank back in the chair, his hearty laughter dying to a chuckle. He grinned stupidly at Sabrina, making her wonder for an instant what it might feel like to fight
for this
man instead of against him. For years she’d tried in vain to wring a smile from his surly countenance.
But only the prospect of being bound to her in unholy wedlock was enough to awaken his latent good humor. A devilish twinkle lit his eyes, forcing a shiver of reaction through her. Her worst nightmare was coming true. If her father had his way, she would be completely at Morgan’s mercy.

And she knew from past experience that he had none.

Sunlight flashed on an ax hefted by a MacDonnell with even fewer teeth than Pugsley. Dougal leapt to the dais and roared, “Enough! Restrain your men, Morgan. They can ill afford a battle pitched in the midst of Cameron lands.”

Morgan subdued his clansmen with a choked command.

Dougal turned to him. “I believe we’d both prefer to continue this discussion in private.”

“Don’t do it, Morgan! ’Tis a trap!” one of his men cried out.

“Aye, and a canny one at that,” Morgan said, his gaze almost admiring as he assessed Dougal. “Ranald, take the men and await me on the hill. I’ll send word.”

His clansmen hovered on the brink of rebellion, but when they saw the Cameron’s own men rising to leave, they obeyed. Sabrina saw a slender figure shrouded in a tattered plaid hang back for a moment before limping after the others. Enid rose and tried to tiptoe away, her terror of conflict even stronger than her devotion to her cousin.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Sabrina said, jerking her back by the box pleats of her skirt. “You’ll not abandon me too.”

After a hissed exchange with Dougal, Elizabeth joined them, wrapping a protective arm around her daughter. Brian and Alex stood near the dais, Alex simmering and Brian shooting looks of open fury at Morgan.

Sabrina was not immune to the frank glances of sympathy her kin gave her as they filed past. She was the one condemned by this court to life with a man who despised her.

Pride infused her spine. She lifted her head to find her father standing in front of her. She fixed her gaze on the sapphire brooch pinning his jabot at his throat, unable to look at the face she had loved so well and so long.

“ ’Twould be best if you left us alone, daughter,” he said gently. “Morgan and I have affairs to discuss.”

She locked her chin to keep it from quivering. “Since I am part and parcel of those affairs, I choose to remain.”

“Does that suit you, Morgan?” Dougal asked.

Morgan lifted his shoulders in an expansive shrug. “As long as she is prepared to hear what I have to say.”

He jumped down from the dais and paced before the benches, his long, restless strides betraying the fury rumbling beneath his humor. “What makes you think I’d care to be saddled with your brat, Cameron?”

Dougal steepled his fingers under his chin. “You find her beautiful, don’t you? I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

For the second time that day, Sabrina wanted to dive beneath the bench. Morgan turned on his heel. He had obviously expected fluent political arguments. Dougal’s candor disarmed him.

He cast Sabrina a look as provocative as it was insulting. Her skin heated beneath a lazy assessment that swept from the tiny silver buckles that adorned her slippers to the crown of her head. “The lass might be a pleasant enough diversion for an afternoon. But not for a lifetime.”

Brian growled. “Why you son of a—” Alex caught his brother’s hand before it could reach his sword hilt.

Dougal refused to rise to Morgan’s baiting. “Your clan will not survive a war.”

“And war is what they’ll get if I don’t wed your daughter? Are you so eager to be shed of the lass? Can’t you foist her off on one of her more desperate Cameron cousins?”

Sabrina shook off her mother’s embrace and
jumped to her feet, trembling with rage. “I’ll have you know, Morgan MacDonnell, I’ve been fending off proposals since I was thirteen. But unlike the MacDonnells, we Camerons frown on wedding our cousins.” She sat, then popped back up. “Or our sisters!”

Her mother drew her down. Morgan and her father returned to their discussion as if she had not spoken, infuriating her further.

“The Grants and the Chisholms have been breathing down your neck for months, lad,” Dougal said. “If you’re to preserve what your ancestors built, you need an ally. A powerful ally. With Sabrina as your wife, you’ll have one. Me.”

Morgan turned his back on them all, his fists clenched as if he were waging some private war that had little to do with clans or allies. He finally swung around, giving Sabrina a dark look. “Verra well.” Sarcasm laced his words. “My
bride
and I will leave Cameron tonight.”

“That you will not,” Dougal said. “You will spend your first night as man and wife beneath my roof.”

Morgan arched a mocking eyebrow. “Why? The better to hear her screams?”

Brian’s sword cleared its sheath, but Sabrina pushed past him before he could wield it. “Pardon me. May I interrupt you gentlemen for a word with my betrothed?”

Dougal and Morgan exchanged a look, unexpected allies at that moment. They had expected female hysteria. Sabrina’s icy dignity plainly unnerved them both.

Her father nodded and stepped back, leaving her to face Morgan alone. He stared down his nose at her, legs akimbo, hands locked at the small of his back.

Sabrina tipped her head back to look him in the eye, giving him the full effect of her regal sniff. “Make your decision with care, Morgan MacDonnell.” She mimicked her mother’s flawless British diction without realizing it. “For I swear I will not give you an afternoon’s pleasure. I’ll not give you even a moment’s pleasure.”

He rocked back on his heels. “I expected no more from a spoiled shrew. Why do you think I asked for the chickens?”

“If you marry me, you’ll wish you’d got them.”

Morgan could not resist baiting her just as he’d done as a boy. He leaned down until his nose almost touched hers and gave her an infuriating grin. “I already do.”

Sabrina resisted the urge to plant her fist square in the middle of his smug face. The fragile truce they had forged in the solar lay scattered at her feet like the shards of her pride. She snapped her skirts around and marched from the hall, knowing in her heart that she had already made one fatal mistake.

She should never have stopped hating Morgan MacDonnell.

Dougal longed to press his palms over his ears.

Between Enid’s blubbering and the rhythmic sniffling of the maids laboring over Sabrina’s wedding gown, he wished himself anywhere else in the world. He would have gladly faced a legion of MacDonnells, all armed and roaring for his blood, before spending another moment in this solar of hysterical women.

But worse than the keening of the servants, most of whom had adored his daughter from birth, was his wife’s accusing, dry-eyed stare. It impaled him to his place by the window, challenging him to stay and witness the havoc he had wreaked. Elizabeth’s graceful hands flew, jabbing a needle through a thick slab of leather as if she wished it were his heart.

With her usual aplomb she had thrown the entire household into the frantic preparations for the wedding to be held that night, as if hoping mindless bustle might stave off panic. Even Enid had been swaddled in an apron and handed a bowl of vegetables to chop. Dougal doubted they would require salting. Enid’s tears were running in a steady stream down her quivering chin and into the bowl.

Elizabeth rose from the settee to snap off a fresh
volley of commands. “Aggie, run and fetch a sharp pair of shears.” She peered into the bowl braced between Enid’s ample knees. “Good heavens, child, those aren’t mushrooms. They’re toadstools. Fish them out or we’ll have another dead MacDonnell on our hands tonight.”