X Marks the Scot (2 page)

Liadain had not intended to wander so far from court unaccompanied—well, she had, but
he
did not have to know that. He did not understand. The courtly games alone were enough to drive a sane person mad. She had happened to stumble upon the willow bark, and once she found it, she could not turn away. This would make a great addition to her collection of healing herbs.

Declan MacGregor had been watching over her since they had arrived at court, but what she could not discern was why. At every meal, every dance, every turn, he was there, peering at her intently. The man obviously did not think her capable of caring for herself. And she did not need any man to protect her. After all, she had gone behind her brother’s back—
half
brother
—and brought the MacGregor women to safety. What woman would attempt such a feat? Yet, her newfound champion continued to survey her every move.

Foolish
man.

Liadain stole a quick glance at him and shook her head. MacGregor might be foolish, but he was definitely a man. It was hard not to notice such pure masculinity.

Clad in a red-and-green-patterned kilt with a flowing gray tunic, he wore his golden-chestnut hair plaited into two braids that hung past his broad shoulders. His powerful body moved with an easy grace. He had a strong chiseled jaw and piercing blue eyes. Her attention was drawn again to his powerful set of shoulders and she stifled a sigh. He was truly a beautiful man. And that was exactly the problem.

He
knew
it
.

MacGregor carried himself with an arrogant grace, as if the very air itself was charged with energy, his energy. When he ambled into a room, he could command attention without speaking a single word. His mere presence was captivating.

Liadain cleared her throat. “How much longer do ye think I will be a ward of the court?”

“Anxious to take your leave, healer? ’Tisnae as if ye have somewhere else to go.”

“I thank ye for reminding me of that fact,” she replied sharply. She stopped, extending her arms. “I am able to manage from here. Thank ye for carrying the willow bark.”

Hesitating too long for her tastes, he eventually handed her the bundle. “I trust ye to have an escort or at least your maid the next time we meet.” He gave her a pointed look, waiting for her to respond.

“Rest assured, MacGregor, if I need an escort, ye will be the first to know.” She turned on her heel and left him standing there.

She remembered the day she had met him. How could she forget? He had held a dagger to her throat and would have spilled her blood where she stood. What was she supposed to have done—inform him that the Campbell was her brother? MacGregor had some bollocks. He had not exactly been forthright with the truth, having led her to believe he was his brother, Aiden. Ever since, the man had insisted on calling her “healer” and refused to address her by her given name.

Men.

Liadain proceeded to her chamber to escape his disturbing presence. She placed the willow bark on the table and removed her cloak, tossing it onto the bed. She pulled her dagger from beneath her dress and started to chop the bark into manageable pieces, not realizing she had gathered as much as she had. When memories of MacGregor popped into her mind like a pecking bird that refused to cease, she sighed. Why did she let him get under her skin?

She was not completely daft. She never left her chamber without her dagger and would be able to defend herself if the need arose. What did the man take her for? She did not ask him to be her champion and could take care of herself. What she needed was to safeguard herself from him. She wished he would just stay away.

***

Liadain reluctantly sat and embroidered in the ladies’ solar, praying for patience as they spoke of the latest fashions and discussed who was sharing a bed with whom. These women had no inkling of life outside the walls of the court. If she had a single ounce of power, she would willingly denounce the title of “lady” that had been bestowed upon her and adhere to her true calling, healing.

But because of her brother, she was stuck at court with other women of quality, forced to behave as a lady, pretending she had no brain whatsoever. It was completely maddening. Gone were the days of roaming freely and applying her healing talents to the sick. She was no more than the latest pawn in the game of men.

She rubbed her brow and sighed. More than likely, the king would marry her off to some English lord, and her beloved Highlands would be lost to her forever—only a distant memory to offer her comfort and warm her heart on the coldest of nights. She stared into the distance and did not realize her maid was speaking to her until she felt a steady tapping upon her arm.

“Are ye well? Ye appear flushed, my lady,” Mary asked with concern.

Liadain smiled and handed the maid her embroidery. “I find the conversation ’tisnae verra stimulating. In fact, I think it makes me darn near daft,” she whispered. “I need some air.”

Mary dropped the stitching upon the chair and jumped up from her seat. “Then I will accompany ye, my lady.”

For the time being, Mary was assigned as her lady’s maid. The petite, eager young girl tried to accommodate her in every way, but the girl’s actions were becoming smothering. Accustomed to being on her own, Liadain was not content with having no time for herself. She could barely breathe with the girl constantly underfoot.

Escorting Mary out into the hall, Liadain spoke softly. “I donna need ye to accompany me.” Seeing the rush of disappointment upon the young girl’s face, she quickly added, “Mayhap ye could press my gown for this eve,” she said, hoping the task would keep the girl occupied.

Mary’s eyes lit up. “It would be my pleasure, my lady.”

Liadain watched Mary dash off, her tawny curls bouncing. Turning, Liadain made her way hastily out the door. If she could escape the exasperating crowd for only a moment and steal some time for herself, the reward would be well worth the risk. She found such an area opposite the fountains that led along the outer border of the gardens.

Lifting her face to the sun, she let the warmth bathe her skin. Everything seemed brighter and she suddenly found the corners of her mouth turning upward. She lifted her hand and pulled the ribbon from her wealth of dark hair, releasing the heavy tresses that tumbled over her shoulders. She could immediately sense the tension starting to dissipate.

Ambling along the outer path to the gardens, Liadain inhaled deeply, the smell of roses overwhelming her senses. She truly loved the open air.

***

Declan sought the solace of the gardens. He needed a reprieve. He never thought he would admit as much, but women were actually starting to make his head ache.

“MacGregor!” shouted Percy.

Speaking
of
women
…

He turned around as Percy punched him gingerly on the shoulder. “You are not going to back out on me again, are you? I still hold you to the challenge.”

Declan’s mouth curved into a smile. “Nay. If ye are free on the morrow…”

Percy clapped once. “Splendid. Catesby and I travel into the village this eve with Fawkes for a much needed eve of ale and women. Would you like to come?”

A chance to escape these walls for an eve? His mind drifted briefly to the healer, but how much trouble could one lass possibly get into in just one eve? It was a tempting offer and he did not take long to decide. “Aye. I would.”

“Glad to hear it. We will meet you at the stables.”

Percy turned away and Declan continued his walk to the gardens. He often found tranquillity at Glenorchy as he sat on a wooden bench in the flowery sanctuary. He ambled along the outskirts of the garden and found an unoccupied bench conveniently hidden behind a tree. He sat down and sighed. Closing his eyes, he willed away any thoughts that came to mind.

“There ye are. I have been searching for ye all day.”

For the second time today, he reluctantly opened his eyes. His latest bed partner stood before him with her hands placed on her hips. He stretched out his legs, crossed his ankles, and folded his arms over his chest. “Och, ye found me.” His morning conquest looked like a wolf ready to devour a lamb.

Moving toward him with a wanton purpose, the woman raised her fingers and brushed his jaw. “Aye,” she said with brazen sensuality and sat down beside him.

“What did ye want?” he asked, already afraid he knew the answer.

“Ye,” she said in a childlike voice, slapping him in a playful manner. “We can meet again this eve in your chamber. Papa willnae bother us again. I assure ye.”

There were a couple of things undeniably wrong with the words she said. First, he never brought a lass into his chamber. He had no qualms about bedding women wherever, but not there, his refuge.

Second, he never coupled with lasses who were wed, which praise the saints was not the case here. Being chased or hunted down by enraged husbands because he’d sated their lonely wives’ desires was not on his list of accomplishments. He was not that daft. Besides, he liked his head just where it was.

Third, he never bedded a woman whose livid father threatened to cut off his manhood—well, at least not a second time, which brought him back to the task at hand. “I have something to which I must attend this eve. I donna think it wise that we meet again,” he said dryly.

The woman pursed her lips and pouted.

He was sorely in need of a reprieve from the lasses. What had ever happened to a pleasant evening of satisfying each other’s lust and just saying fare-thee-well in the morn? Her whining voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Donna let Papa frighten ye off. He is all bark and no bite,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.

“Lass, he doesnae frighten me and I thank ye, truly, but ’tisnae wise for us to be together again.” Declan rose. “Pray excuse me.” His brisk steps could not carry him away fast enough. He had ignored the voice of his brother inside his head that nagged him to straighten his path. Perhaps if he listened even half the time, he would not find himself in these predicaments. In any event, he would just need to be more cautious.

After lecturing the healer and barely escaping from his latest disaster, Declan sought the solitude of his chamber, probably the safest place. Sprawling out on the bed, he sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. If he was to convene with the men this eve, he needed to rest. His body could not survive another brutal night of ale and women without it.

***

Liadain donned her gown for the evening meal and pinned up her unruly tresses. Another eve filled with insincere laughter and dancing—just what she needed. She hoped she would be able to keep MacGregor, the scoundrel, at bay.

She’d been thankful he hadn’t seen her in the garden because she had no desire for another reprimand for being on her own. As a safer alternative, she’d surreptitiously watched from behind a tree as he left the garden, retreating from his latest tryst. What a rogue. Did he have no respect? She shook off the memory. The man was not her concern. She had more important matters to attend to.

Reluctantly, Liadain stood tall and straightened her spine. How many more days would she be made to suffer? As she walked through the hall, a couple of men cast her leering glances. Looking past them, she entered the great hall.

“Healer,” murmured MacGregor from behind her.

Startled, she turned to face him and her heart hammered in her ears. “MacGregor,” she said simply, raising her brow.

“May I have a word with ye?” he asked, gently taking her arm and pulling her away from the crowd.

The mere touch of his hand sent a warming shiver through her. “Aye. What do ye want to scold me for now?”

Ignoring her words, he glanced around to make certain no one overheard their conversation. For a moment, he merely studied her intently. “I will be taking my leave—”

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “Thank ye for staying as long as ye did. I am joyful that your brother is cleared of any wrongdoing and that your clan is now safe.”

A devilish look came into his eyes and he raised his hand. A finger tenderly traced the line of her cheekbone and jaw. He lowered his head and his voice, deep and sensual, sent a ripple of awareness through her. “And to think…I thought ye didnae care for me.”

Liadain grabbed his hand, intent on stopping his light caresses. Instead, she found herself extremely aware of his masculinity. She did not have the strength to pull away, and frankly, she had no desire to move. His touch sent a bolt of sensual awareness through her that only increased under his heated gaze. There was a tingling in the pit of her stomach and her heart jolted. What the hell was wrong with her? With a steely resolve, she dropped his hand, reminding herself of what he was.

MacGregor was momentarily speechless and then his eyes grew openly amused. “If ye would have let me finish my words, I was to say that I merely take my leave to the village and wanted to make sure ye were all right. I will return in the morn.”

She was helpless to halt her embarrassment and she flushed miserably, casting her eyes downward. She was aware of his scrutiny, her discomfiture quickly turning into anger. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

He moved closer until he left her no room at all. Lifting her chin with his finger, he smiled tenderly. “If ye donna want me to take my leave, ye only have to speak the words,” he said quietly.

She stood frozen and needed a moment to gather her wits as his azure eyes studied her. “I am fine. I will see ye in the morn.” Was that a flash of disappointment she saw in his eyes before he took a step away?

“Be safe, healer,” he ordered, pointing his finger at her.

Nodding again, Liadain watched his broad back walk out of the hall. For some reason, she sensed an odd twinge of disappointment herself.

***

“So I hear MacGregor is truly the best shot you have ever seen,” said Guy Fawkes, addressing Percy and Catesby as they sat around the table.

Declan waved the man off and took another drink of ale from his tankard.