X Marks the Scot (8 page)

Releasing his breath, Declan chuckled. “’Tis safe to breathe now, lass. I cannae even smell the dreaded plants.”

“Praise the saints for small favors. What did ye bribe the maids with to have it cleaned so quickly?” She shook her head. “Ne’er mind. I donna want to know. I think I am able to manage now on my own. Ye can wait outside.”

Closing the distance between them, he peered down at her intently. “’Tisnae as much fun if I wait outside,” he murmured with a wanton purpose. His hot gaze slid over her body.

Her breath quickened and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “MacGregor, I donna understand ye.”

“’Tis naught to understand, healer.”

“Why do ye behave this way?”

He was about to answer when she held up her hand to stay him.

“’Tis as if ye are two completely different men. One man is an arrogant arse who is always chasing lasses, and the other man is kind and filled with compassion. I believe I am much fonder of the latter,” she said dryly.

“Ah, lass, but I am one and the same. I will always chase the lasses with kindness and compassion.” He winked at her.

“Ye insult me.” She smacked him in the chest. “Ye treat me the same as the women ye bed, and unlike them, I donna welcome your advances. When will ye get it in your head that I will ne’er be one of the many women that have shared your be—”

Before he realized what he was about, his lips crashed down upon hers and Declan silenced her with a brutal, punishing kiss. How dare a Campbell invade his mind and render him witless? He would make sure she knew he was no gentleman and never would be. He knew she would be cross with him, but honestly, that would make it so much simpler to push her away. No woman ever consumed his thoughts, nor should any be allotted that privilege.

His mouth did not become softer as he kissed her and his tongue explored the recesses of her mouth. He pulled her roughly to him in a firm embrace. He wanted her to know what she did to him. No female had ever made him lose such control. Lady Liadain Campbell drove him completely mad.

At first, she tried to twist out of his hold. He held her firmly in place, waiting for her to further fight his advances. But then the very air itself changed. The healer gave in freely to the passion of his kiss.

***

Liquid fire fueled Liadain’s veins. Initially, she wriggled in MacGregor’s arms, arching her body, fighting to become free. But he only gathered her closer, his firm hands locked against her spine. Instinctively, she placed her fingers against the corded muscles of his chest, and that was her undoing.

His grip tightened around her and the warmth of his arms was so male, so bracing. She buried her hands in his thick hair and returned his kiss with reckless desire. Her thoughts spun. It had been far too long. She missed the warmth and touch of a man. Blood pounded in her brain, leapt from her heart, and made her knees tremble.

She drew herself closer to him. God help her. Her desire overrode all sense of reason. She could feel the thrill of his arousal against her, and the knowledge made her feel even more wanton.

MacGregor’s touch was purely divine. Her whole being flooded with pleasure.

Without warning, he pulled back. The smoldering flame she saw in his eyes startled her. “I will wait outside your door and donna say ‘ne’er,’ healer.” He smiled provocatively and simply turned and strutted out with pure male satisfaction.

Liadain stared tongue-tied at the closed door. Her embarrassment quickly turned to raw fury. He was MacGregor…a rogue. What was she thinking? He was a master at getting whatever he wanted from women. She knew that and yet did not have enough strength within her to stop. Her emotions whirled and skidded as his words haunted her.

Donna
say
“ne’er.”

She was an idiot.

As Declan waited with the men while the targets were prepared, the women gathered to watch the tournament. King James had already taken his seat under his brocade-adorned tent, patiently waiting for the game to begin. His brown hair was combed back and his beard was nearly as long as his chest. There was no question the man was the king, the way he portrayed such a regal air of command.

While the target was being placed in position, Percy slapped Declan on the back. “I hope your nerves don’t get the best of you, MacGregor. His Majesty watches,” Percy said, nodding toward the royal tent.

“I didnae think upon it, but thank ye for reminding me, Percy,” Declan answered dryly.

Fawkes shook Declan’s arm. “Good luck to you.” He nodded to Percy. “And thank you for the entertainment.”

Catesby laughed. “Percy, try not to make a fool out of yourself in front of His Majesty, my dear boy. Although, if our king requires a new court jester, you may yet be in luck.”

Percy’s face reddened slightly. “Very humorous.” His pride bruised, Percy lowered his head and walked off with Fawkes to lick his wounds.

Catesby nodded. “MacGregor, might I have a word?”

“Aye?”

The man looked uneasy. “There is no easy way to speak this, but I fear I must.”

“What is it?” asked Declan, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

“There have been rumbles throughout court regarding Argyll’s sister. Since you have an association, I thought you should know.”

“And what exactly are these rumbles?”

“Some men say she is…” Pausing, Catesby looked around to make sure no one was within hearing distance. “Some men say she is a witch.”

Declan smirked. “’Tis absurd. She isnae a witch.” He waved Catesby off.

Reaching out, Catesby grabbed Declan’s arm. “MacGregor, I speak the truth. Word spreads that she is a witch, and some are taking the matter quite seriously, I assure you.”

Declan looked upon him with a critical expression. “Who speaks this? Tell me.”

“I have heard it from many. They say Lady Cranborne was gravely ill and that once she drank the potion given to her from the hand of Argyll’s sister, she greatly improved. Others have said Lady Cranborne lost her child, and when she was touched by Argyll’s sister, her babe was brought back from the grave.”

Declan folded his arms over his chest. “I told ye. She is a healer. Aye, she saw to Lady Cranborne and her health improved, but nae because she was given a potion by a witch or her bairn was brought back from the grave.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “’Tis truly ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous as it may be, you know how King James feels about such matters. If it would ever get back to him—”

“Men and women alike shouldnae speak of what they donna understand. Some plants and herbs have healing properties. Because she knows how to use them, that doesnae mean she is a witch.”

“I know that and you know that, my dear boy, but others do not. They fear what they do not understand. I only tell you this so that you keep a watchful eye on her. If the king should ever catch wind of this…” Lowering his voice, Catesby added, “You know he travels to Norway and leads the witch hunts. What do you think he would do if he found one was under his own roof?”

Declan knew this unjustified labeling was truly absurd. The lass might certainly be an enchantress, but she was no witch. “Thank ye for the warning. And Catesby, I would expect ye to halt such rumblings if they are ever upon your ears. Donna encourage this madness.”

Catesby looked offended and placed his hand over his heart. “Of course, my dear boy.”

Deep in thought, Declan ambled back across the field. The tournament was about to begin and he wanted to make sure the healer was well. If these words were spreading through court, he knew someone would be daft enough to believe such untruths and the matter could quickly transform into a more serious issue. He wouldn’t give any more fuel to the accusations, but he would make certain that the lass temporarily ceased her healing.

He searched for the healer in the crowd, finally spotting his wee bonny witch speaking with Rosalia’s mother.

***

Liadain fretted. Where was MacGregor when she needed him? She’d avoided him after their unsettling encounter outside her bedchamber, but now she desperately wanted him by her side. Lady Armstrong had spotted her and headed straight for her.

It was too late to make her escape.

She pasted on a bright smile. “Lady Armstrong. A pleasure to see ye again.”

Rosalia’s mother returned a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “A pleasure to see you as well, my lady. It is a great day for a tournament. Is it not?”

Liadain nodded and looked away uncomfortably. “Aye.”

“I must apologize that we did not get to speak more last eve. How much longer will you be staying at court? Will you be traveling home soon?”

As Liadain turned, Lady Armstrong’s probing gaze sent a chill down her spine. “I am nae sure.”

Lady Armstrong’s features were deceptively composed. “Tell me. Was my daughter well when you saw her last?”

Liadain clenched her fists tight at her side. “Rosalia was well.” She frantically glanced through the crowd, searching for MacGregor. Clearly Rosalia’s mother was prodding for information about her daughter, and Liadain did not want to make matters worse by saying something she should not. When a familiar voice spoke from behind, she immediately stiffened.

“I see you have met the Earl of Argyll’s sister, Lady Armstrong.”

Liadain said a silent prayer. Could this be any worse? She needed rescuing—fast.

“Lord Dunnehl. How fortunate that we bumped into each other. Lady Campbell and I were just speaking of my daughter,” said Lady Armstrong, placing her arm on Lord Dunnehl’s.

Liadain did not fail to notice the silent message that passed between the two of them at the mention of Rosalia. The strong feeling in the pit of her stomach led her to believe this was not going to end well. Lady Armstrong’s eyes lit up in surprise as Liadain felt a warm, strong hand at her back. She would recognize the warmth of that touch anywhere.

MacGregor.

“The tournament is about to begin. Viscount Cranborne has arrived,” MacGregor said in an unreadable tone.

She glanced up at him and cast him a thankful look. Turning, she said in a soft tone to Lady Armstrong, “Pray excuse me.” She had taken a step away when a hand reached out to stay her.

Rosalia’s mother smiled in amusement. “But you have not yet introduced us.”

MacGregor paused, glaring at Lady Armstrong’s restraining grip upon Liadain. Without warning, he reached out and positioned the woman’s hand back on Lord Dunnehl’s arm.

“Nay, she hasnae.” He placed his arm protectively around Liadain’s back, urging her to step away. “Come.
Tha
mi
duilich.
”
I
am
sorry.

Lord Dunnehl smirked. “Highland
barbarian.
”

Liadain held her breath, praying MacGregor did not hear Lord Dunnehl’s words. The beastly lord was obviously trying to provoke him. All she needed was to have MacGregor raise his sword against Dunnehl and slay a peer of the realm in front of the king. She couldn’t help but cringe when MacGregor stiffened and slowly turned around, his face a glowering mask of rage.

Hastily, she pulled his rock-hard arm close to her side. “Donna. Ye will only make matters worse.
Cha
leig
thu
leas.” Do not bother.

A muscle ticked angrily in his jaw. “That English arse—”

“Is clearly an English arse. There is nay changing him and ye will only make matters worse. Leave off, I beg ye.” He weighed her words carefully. When he finally nodded his head in consent, Liadain breathed.

“The men line up for the tournament. Please remain where I can see ye,” he ordered.

MacGregor did not need to tell her twice.

***

Entering the royal tent, Viscount Cranborne greeted the king with a warm smile. “Majesty,” he said, giving his king a low bow.

“Ah, if it isn’t Viscount Cranborne. Come. Have a seat,” King James said, gesturing to the chair beside him.

He nodded. “Thank you, Your Majesty. My apologies for the delay. I thought my wife was to give birth to our child, but it turned out to be false.”

“No need for apologies. And your wife is well?”

“She is.”

The king slapped Robert upon the shoulder. “I am glad to hear it. The games are about to begin. And you are certain you do not wish to partake in the tournament yourself, Cranborne?” he asked, leaning in closer.

“I am sure. I enjoy watching just the same. The fact that you even hold such games in my honor is reward enough.”

Robert’s palms were sweaty and his heart started beating rapidly. He needed to broach the topic delicately. He had proven adept at handling himself in Spain. He could do this. It was time to step up and play the game of men.

“I understand the champion will receive a sufficient amount of coin.”

The king smirked. “Are you changing your mind, Viscount Cranborne?” he asked, eyeing him quizzically.

“I do not change my mind. I only suggest that perhaps if the stakes were raised, they may further advance Your Majesty’s objectives as well.”

Robert became increasingly uneasy under the king’s scrutiny, and a warning voice whispered in his head to tread carefully. When something flickered deep in the king’s eyes, Robert feigned sudden interest in the tournament.

“What did you have in mind, Cranborne?”

***

Highland
barbarian.

Declan would show Dunnehl a Highland barbarian when he shoved his broadsword up the lord’s English arse…

He watched Percy step up to shoot his first round in the archery contest and wipe the sweat from his forehead. Lifting his bow, he visibly trembled, studying the target. In fact, he examined it so long that Declan could have made another target before Percy even took the shot. Finally, the man released the arrow. With a critical eye, Declan watched it whiz through the air, missing the goal entirely by several feet.

Percy shook his head. “The competition is not too great, MacGregor. I don’t think you’ll have a problem.”

Declan gave him a manly slap to the shoulder. “Head high, Percy.” Declan moved into position and adjusted the arrow. Lifting the bow, he aimed and released his shot.

Dead
center.

The crowd cheered and the king yelled, “Well done, MacGregor!”

Declan nodded his thanks and then stole a glance at the healer. When their eyes met, her expression brightened and they shared a smile. He knew that she was proud of him, and it warmed his heart that she would be.

The crowd was silent as the next man raised his bow and released his arrow, making the mark. Praise the saints for some competition. Declan was tired of shooting with Percy and Catesby. No one had challenged him for a long time, and it would be good to engage in some healthy sport—especially one he excelled at.

Three men, including Declan, had made it to the final round. They waited patiently while the targets were moved back several additional yards.

Feeling a soft tap on the shoulder, Declan turned around as the healer graced him with a smile. “I just want to wish ye luck. Although I donna think ye need it. Ye are doing verra well, MacGregor. I am truly impressed.”

He peered down at her intently. “’Tisnae the only thing I do verra well, healer.”

Folding her arms over her chest, she twisted her head and pursed her lips. “Ye know, I find when most men flaunt their abilities ’tis only because they are sorely lacking…” She nodded to his manhood and then looked up at him with a raised brow.

He stilled his expression. Leaning in a hairbreadth away from her ear, he spoke in a low, silky voice. “When ye kissed me, ye didnae think I was sorely lacking.” His tone made her flush, as he knew it would.

“When I kissed ye? Ye kissed
me,
” she murmured haughtily before she turned and bolted away like a scared rabbit. With a springy bounce, she disappeared into the crowd. Just as well. He needed to return his attention to the tournament.

The first man was ready to shoot for the second round. The crowd gasped in excitement as the arrow landed several inches above the mark. Now this was definitely turning into a competition, and Declan could not stay the smile that played his lips.

The next contender stepped forward and raised the bow, then studied the target and released the arrow. Again, admirable aim, hitting the center mark with astounding accuracy.

The man turned toward Declan and gave a brief nod. “Good luck to you.”

“Thank ye. Great shot.” Stepping forward, Declan adjusted his stance and raised his bow. Calculating the target, he released the arrow, watching it sail through the air and hit the mark.

Dead
center
.

The king clapped in excitement and approached the men with Cranborne in tow. “Very well done. It has come down to the two of you—MacGregor and Graham. You both have very fine skill. I would wish to reward you both, but only one can be the victor. Let’s put your skill to the test, shall we? Move the targets back an additional twenty yards,” he ordered.

Everything fell silent.

The king’s voice carried a unique force. “I am a man of my word. The victor will be rewarded, and I assure you the prize makes for a more enticing competition. You will both shoot only once. The closest to the center mark will be deemed the winner. I will bequeath the champion…Castle Campbell and the lands to the east.”

The crowd roared with delight and Declan could barely think above the noise.

The king held up his hands for silence and a hushed stillness enveloped the crowd. “What say you?”

Declan froze into blankness. Castle Campbell? He did not believe in coincidences. Why would King James offer the neighboring Campbell lands as a prize? Ciaran would be most pleased and the MacGregors would gain a piece of their enemy’s lands. The bloody Campbell was probably rolling over in his grave right now. A thought suddenly popped into Declan’s mind.