To Desire a Highlander (15 page)

“I don’t want another.” She didn’t need this one.

She did adjust its heavy folds, knowing the cloak’s voluminous length served her well, shielding her from the stranger before her. The mantle was Gowan’s, an ancient but well-loved garment he used on sea journeys. He claimed he’d inherited it from his great-grandfather, hence the mantle’s worn wool and frayed edges. Gillian meant to return it to Gowan’s travel pouch as soon as the man claiming to be Donell left her room.

But he was walking slowly around her now, appearing anything but ready to make an exit. “You shall receive a new cloak all the same,” he said, casually as if they were discussing the weather. “I’ve done much in my life. A few things I’m no’ proud of.” He threw her a look, his gaze sharp. “I’ll no’ have the freezing death of a chieftain’s daughter added to my sins.”

“I wouldn’t freeze if the seas rose around us and this very tower turned to ice.” Gillian stood straighter and put back her shoulders. “Gowan told you true. I do love raw weather, in all its bracing forms. I’ve no need of a two-finger-thick woolen mantle to warm me.” She glared at him, her pride stinging. “A long, noble lineage doesn’t mean one’s blood thins.

“We of the Hebrides are of good, sturdy stock. We have stout hearts and we thrive when cold winds blow, when the sea churns.” She wished she could draw herself up even taller, but Gowan’s cloak was too heavy.

“Such a spirited lass, and blessed by such hardihood.” He who wasn’t Donell strolled over to her, touching his fingers to the pulse at her throat. “Yet you drape yourself in—”

“Not lies.” Gillian stood her ground, ignoring how her heart thundered. The way his caress slid through her, sending tingly awareness across her skin. “You’re maneuvering away from all that matters.”

She met his gaze, knew her eyes were blazing. “I’d have your name. That’s the least you can give me, if you refuse to say why you’re here.”

Chapter Eleven

R
oag went to the little chamber’s window and braced a hand against the cold stone of its thick-walled edge. Lady Gillian truly had chosen the tower’s bleakest room. He stared out at the dark water, wishing she wasn’t here at all. But, she was. And he couldn’t ignore her. Or the complications caused by her presence.

They were many.

Worse, he didn’t know what to do with her.

“I’m waiting to hear your name,” she said behind him, her tone impatient. “Better yet, I’d appreciate your reason for this farce.”

Grinding his teeth, Roag left the window and went back to stand in front of her.

“I didnae come here for a handfast, that’s certain.” He scowled at her. He could feel his temper building, struggled against an eruption. He wasn’t a man to unleash his anger on women. But the minx had him in a corner. And he loathed feeling so trapped.

How could he tell her his name?

He couldn’t.

Indeed, he was oath-sworn to his King not to. He’d agreed to swear he was MacDonnell even if his sealed lips meant his death.

For sure, he daren’t reveal his reason for sailing to Laddie’s Isle. His life wasn’t his own when he embarked on a Fenris mission, King and Scotland always weighing heavier than any personal need or wish. Vows had been made, his honor at stake.

Still…

“Damnation.” He tipped back his head, stared up at the ancient, rough-stoned ceiling. He could almost feel it swooping down on him, joining forces with the room’s barren walls to press in upon him from all sides, squeezing his heart and soul. An inescapable vise that squashed all he believed, leaving him in a chill, dark void. The kind that would plague him for all time coming, always reminding him that he’d broken the one tenet he held above all others.

Honor women, always.

Never in his life had he distressed one.

It didn’t sit well with him to do so now.

Even so, he gripped the vixen’s chin. A muscle jumped in his jaw and he hoped to the gods she didn’t see. “Trust me, sweet. You dinnae want to hear my name or my business.”

“You err. I am most interested.”

Releasing her, he shook his head. “You’d regret the knowledge.”

“Then tell me of the man you’re claiming to be.” She held his gaze, her tone challenging. “If I’ve to expect the
real Donell MacDonnell to come seeking me, I’d rather know now.”

“He poses you nae threat.” Roag spoke true. “Your betrothed drowned trying to escape the Isle of Man.”

She didn’t blink. “So you admit your deception?”

“I’ll own I am no’ Donell MacDonnell, aye.” Roag glanced at the window arch, the sharpening wind seeming to scold him. The half-moon followed suit, glaring at him through the clouds, accusing him of becoming all the cravens he’d ever reviled for their callous handling of women.

He despised liars.

Until this moment, his duties had never made him feel like one. Hadn’t he acted for Scotland’s greater good? The false names and cast-voices were necessary tools to see the King’s will done, his various roles chosen carefully by the King’s own brother, Alexander Stewart, the Wolf of Badenoch and leader of the Fenris.

No man could fault him, or would dare. Not if he loved his country.

But a woman?

Roag set his jaw, clenched his hands at his sides. His next words would change his world forever, dashing everything he’d worked so hard to build. The reputation he’d never dreamed to achieve, having been born a lowly court bastard, spending his boyhood nights on a pallet of straw in a corner of Stirling Castle’s kitchens. Yet he’d crawled and struggled and fought his way to the top, earning a place in the kingdom’s most elite secret order.

The Brotherhood of the Fenris was his life. He served well, was one of the few ever invited to the Wolf’s own lair, far away in the northern Highlands.

Such trust wasn’t given lightly.

And he appreciated every bleeding ounce of it, was sure he also held the earl’s friendship. More than once, the King had placed his life in Roag’s hands, knowing he was a man of his word, his loyalty unbending.

Never had Roag defied him.

Doing so was unthinkable.

When a man was stripped bare, his honor was all that remained.

Now he was about to soil his, irrevocably.

Yet when he looked at the lass before him, seeing the spirit, and hurt, in her lovely green eyes, he had no choice.

Not if he wished to sleep at night.

Lady Gillian, his handfasted bride, by rights or nae, was about to learn who he was and why he’d left Stirling to sail to this blighted spit of rock in the middle of these even more forsaken waters.

It was an admission that would be her damning.

“I am Roag, my lady.” He made her a slight bow, some of the weight sliding from his shoulders.

He’d abhorred deceiving her.

“Only Roag?” She tilted her head, looking at him suspiciously. “Have you nae clan name?”

“For sure I do.” He gave her what he knew was one of his most carefree smiles. “But unlike most men, I’m no’ aware of whose blood to claim. I am a bastard. The baseborn get of a nameless mother and father, born and raised at the fine court of Stirling Castle.

“So Roag it is, and ever shall be.” He shrugged, comfortable as aye in his name and station. “Some folk call me Roag the Bear.”

Her gaze flicked over him. “Because of your size?”

“So it is.” Roag inclined his head in acknowledgment, unable to keep the pride from his voice. “The by-name is also for my brawn.” He drew back his plaid, showing her his powerfully muscled arm. The silvered bands that graced them had each been a gift from the King for a particularly difficult feat, royal rewards for acts that could only have been accomplished by a highly skilled, well-trained warrior of immense strength.

“So you wear warrior rings. Your overlord values you.” She didn’t look as impressed as he’d have hoped.

Instead, she paced back and forth, tapping a finger to her chin as she rounded the little room. “Can it be, Roag the Bear, that you stole those armbands?”

“Can it be, lass, that your father wanted rid of you because of your peppered tongue?” Roag yanked his plaid into place, brushed at the folds.

Not even flinching, she held his gaze, her expression cool as spring. “Perhaps you heard of Donell MacDonell’s demise and came here hoping to profit from his uninhabited tower, his title as laird and keeper of this isle? Fierce warrior that you are, you didn’t expect anyone to oppose your claim.”

Roag almost snorted.

She’d nearly guessed his mission. She just didn’t realize that his guise wasn’t aimed at lining his own purse, but at serving Scotland. He was here to protect the weal of every man, woman, and child in the kingdom.

She rounded on him, beside her sleeping dog. “It must’ve been a great shock to find a bride and her family waiting to greet you.”

It was a disaster.
“That is true.”

“How terrible for you to have your plans snarled before you even set foot in the tower you came to steal.”

Roag stiffened. “Have care, lass. I am nae thief.”

“Then what are you?” She folded her arms, watching him with her bold, green gaze.

“No’ what you think.” Roag kept his face expressionless.

“I didn’t tell you what I think. You heard what I believe.”

“What one believes isn’t always true.”

“Nor are denials.”

“Would you trust anything I said?”

“Nae.”

“So I thought.” Roag rolled his shoulders, aware of a dull throbbing pain between them. “See here, lass. Whatever his reasons, your father bound us this night. He’ll sail away at first light, leaving you behind without a care or thought. The truth is that suits me fine.”

It did.

Now that he’d given more thought to the matter.

Having MacDonnell’s promised bride at his side supported his mission.

The botheration she presented was secondary.

He glanced at the window arch, the thick fog coming in from the sea. “To everyone outside this wee, drafty chamber, you are now my bride.” He looked back at her, hoping his tone made her position clear. “You daren’t forget that, ever.”

“I see.” She drew her cloak more tightly about her, clutching its edges in a white-knuckled grip. “You think to claim me, as part of poor Donell’s legacy. You intend to go on as if—”

“Poor Donell? I thought you couldn’t abide him.”

Her chin came up, her eyes sparking. “He has left this world, and so must be pitied.”

“Dead or no, so long as your family is here, he lives and breathes. Indeed”—he went to the window, placed his hands on the ledge—“I’d warn that if you give even the slightest indication that I am no’ who I say I am, I’ll have nae choice but to ensure that your father and his men cannae sail away in the morn. If you dare reveal my true name, they’ll no’ leave at all.” He turned back to her, his expression suitably fierce. “Ever.”

Her eyes flew wide. “You would threaten my family?”

Lass, I wouldn’t harm them if they all dropped to their knees and tipped their heads to the sides, waiting for the sword blow. I’ve ne’er raised a blade against innocents and willnae start now. Say her that, you arse. Tell her.

Instead, he gave her a curt nod. “If need be.”

She glared at him. “You’re heartless.”

“That may be.” Roag hooked his thumbs in his sword belt, leaned back against the edge of the window arch. “Disregard my warning and you’ll find out. I’d advise you no’ to chance it.”

“If I do?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Then you will be as without family as I am.”

“So you truly are a bastard.” She was still standing near the brazier and its glow flickered around her, edging her with a bright golden sheen.

She looked like an angel.

He felt like the devil.

“A true bastard,” she said again, her disdain piercing his heart.

“I have ne’er denied it.” He wished he could tell her that all the stars would fall from the sky before he’d harm her or her family, even her rascally sire.

Had Conn’s suspicions about her two chests proved true, the man would now be in the tower’s dungeon. But for once, the big Irishman had erred.

And so…

Roag only flicked a speck of nothingness from his plaid. “You should ne’er have come here.”

“I had no choice.” She clasped her hands before her. Then she gave him a look that made something funny happen inside his chest.

He hoped to the gods he only imagined the glitter of tears in her eyes.

If she cried…

He drew a deep breath, steeling himself to remain unmoved if she did.

The truth was, he’d never seen such a courageous woman. Much as he’d rather their paths hadn’t crossed, he was drawn to her, powerfully. She could so easily make him forget everything outside these stone-cold walls, narrowing his world so that it held only her.

There was something about her, something that attracted him so strongly, he’d swear he wasn’t here to do a King’s bidding, but at her behest.

Perhaps the witch-woman she’d mentioned had charmed her as well?

As if she’d somehow called to him, and he needed her, nothing else mattering. And that was the most foolhardy notion he’d ever had.

It was crazed.