Seducing a Scottish Bride Read online

  “MacKenzie?” Ronan stared at him, his own heart stopping. “Are you mad? The Black Stag has left us in peace all these years. He’d not leave one stone or blade of grass unblackened if you even thought to bring a MacKenzie woman to Dare.”

  “Not just any MacKenzie woman. Your new bride is the Black Stag’s own daughter.”

  Pressing fingers to his temples, Ronan shook his head. “You ken, I’d gladly cross swords with Duncan MacKenzie. Any man. But the Black Stag can raise an army a hundredfold greater than ours. Inciting his wrath would mean Dare’s end. I’ll not —” he broke off, only now grasping his grandfather’s words.

  Staring at him now, at his self-satisfied grin, he was certain his aching head would explode. “The Black Stag’s daughter?”

  Valdar nodded. “None other, aye. Lady Gelis is his youngest.”

  Ronan felt the walls close in on him, the floor whip and buckle beneath his feet. “You are mad. I’ve ne’er heard a more fool scheme. Or a more trouble-fraught one.”

  “No trouble at all.” Valdar made a dismissive gesture. “Duncan MacKenzie agreed to the match the very day my courier went to him.”

  “I find that hard to believe.” Ronan spoke the words through tight lips.

  “Only because there are things, circumstances, you’re unaware of.” His grandfather lifted a hand, pretending to study his knuckles. “The Black Stag owes me a long-standing debt. His youngest daughter shall repay it.”

  “By marrying me?”

  Valdar looked up sharply, his expression triumphant. “So you will have her?”

  “I will not.” Ronan folded his arms. The Black Stag’s daughter was the last female he’d even lay a finger on. “Never in a thousand years.”

  The triumph faded from Valdar’s eyes. “You’ll shame our house if you refuse.”

  “The shame will be yours, no one else’s.”

  “I am Dare. As you will be when my chieftainship passes to you.”

  Ronan sighed. The thought of his fierce and proud grandsire losing face pricked him more than any of the old man’s blustering arguments. Crossing to the table, he poured himself more wine, this time tossing down the cup’s contents in one quick swig.

  Turning back to his grandfather, he quelled the urge to grab his travel gear and be gone. Duty and his genuine love for Valdar held him in place.

  Not that he intended to wed Duncan MacKenzie’s daughter.

  He did, however, wish to decline as tactfully as possible.

  Frowning, he reached to set down the wine cup when, for one startling moment, the image of a striking, well-made young woman flashed across his mind. High-colored, with a wild tumble of curling, red-gold hair spilling around her shoulders and great, sparkling eyes, she stared right at him from a narrow, shingled strand. Comely despite her disarray, or perhaps even more so because of it, she stood with one hand pressed to her breast as the tide swirled around her ankles, dampening her skirts and molding them to her legs.

  Shapely legs, he noted, before his angle of the unexpected image changed and he saw her from a great distance, almost as if he were looking down on her from the clouds.

  Ronan blinked and the startling image was gone.

  Shaken, he cleared his throat. “I think you’d best tell me what kind of long-standing debt the Black Stag owes you,” he said, forcing his attention back to his grandfather before he noticed anything amiss. “Why would Duncan MacKenzie entrust his daughter’s life to a MacRuari?”

  “Because,” Valdar returned, looking triumphant again, “he has me to thank for his own.”

  “You?” Ronan’s jaw slipped.

  “Aye, that’s the way of it.” Valdar tugged on his beard, his eyes going wistful until he caught himself and brushed a tad too energetically at his plaid. “You willna ken, but your father and the Black Stag were braw friends as laddies. Back then, I almost believed in Maldred’s most curious legacy, the immortality said to haunt some members of our clan.” He stopped fussing at his plaid and looked at Ronan, the over-brightness of his eyes the only sign the story agitated him. “I even thought I might be such a one. Blessed or cursed, it didn’t matter. I saw myself as invincible.”

  “Go on.” Ronan leaned a hip against the table edge, folded his arms.

  “Young Duncan was a frequent visitor at Dare. His father was a wise man and felt the lad should know all of Kintail, even its darkest corners. That the lad bravely set foot in Glen Dare endeared him to us all and your da and the Black Stag were soon inseparable, almost like brothers.”

  Ronan couldn’t believe it. “My father and Duncan MacKenzie?”

  His grandfather nodded. “So I said and so it was. At the time, I kept a galley at Eilean Creag. A gift of the MacDonalds, it was one of the finest galleys in all the Hebrides. So fine, your father and young Duncan pestered me always to take them a-journeying in it.” He blinked, swiped a hand across his whiskery cheek. “ ’Twas a glorious summer day when we set sail. All blue skies and strong winds, nary a cloud on the horizon. Until we neared the Isle of Scarba, near Jura —”

  “Jura?” Ronan’s brows arched. “You sailed that far south?”

  “I told you, the lads wanted to go journeying.” His grandfather looked peeved suddenly, older than his years. “I was taking them to Doon, to visit the MacLeans.”

  “But you never made it, did you?” A strange prickling started at the back of Ronan’s neck, warning him. “Something happened and you saved the Black Stag’s life.”

  His grandfather moved to the windows and stood staring out at the mist and rain, his hands clasped tightly behind him. “A storm blacker than I’d e’er seen blew in off the sea, turning day to night faster than you can blink. Huge, standing waves carried us off course, hurtling us way too close to the great Corryvreckan whirlpool.”

  He turned then, his eyes haunted. “The galley didna founder, but in the wild tossing, young Duncan was swept over the side. Close as we were to the Corryvreckan, he would’ve been sucked down into the sea had I not sailed to the edge of the whirlpool and plucked him from the water.”

  Ronan stared at him, finally understanding his grandfather’s hold over Duncan MacKenzie. “Now I see. The Black Stag is indeed indebted to you. For your bravery and valor when other men might have —”

  “That had naught to do with it.” Valdar brushed at his plaid again, looking embarrassed. “I was a young fool, trusting in the dark luck of Maldred’s legacy and certain no ill would touch me.”

  “Yet now, in claiming the debt, you’d risk ill befalling an innocent maiden?” Ronan regretted the words as soon as they left his tongue. He lifted a hand, took a step forward. “Grandfather, forgive me. I know you mean well —”

  “Nae, I know well.” His eyes blazing, Valdar came forward, grasping Ronan’s hands with his own. “I am no longer young and foolish. I’m well aware of Maldred’s shadows. The dangers. You must believe, I would ne’er have offered for Gelis MacKenzie did I not believe she’d be safe here.”

  Ronan pulled free and began pacing. “I’ll still not have her. ’Tis impossible.”

  Valdar hurried after him, grabbing his arm. “You must. She is your salvation. She’s Dare’s salvation, as you are hers.”

  Ronan’s stomach clenched. “I am no woman’s salvation,” he said, and the girl on the strand flashed once more across his mind. “Only her doom.”

  “You must at least think about it.” His grandfather squeezed his arm. “You have till the morrow.”

  The words spoken, Valdar strode from the room, leaving Ronan to stare after him, his gaze boring into the murk beyond his opened bedchamber door until his eyes burned and his throat tightened with silent rage.

  He couldn’t, wouldn’t marry Gelis MacKenzie.

  Slamming down the lid of his coffer, he sank onto his bed and drew a long, frustrated breath. His grandfather’s tidings had been anything but joyous.

  The imminent arrival of the Black Stag’s daughter wasn’t a reason for celebration.

 
; It was a disaster.

  Perhaps the worst to befall Dare in centuries.

  Chapter Three

  Not long after noontide the next day, Ronan descended the tightly winding stair to Castle Dare’s great hall, only to stop halfway down, blessed inspiration hitting him like a fist in the gut. Overwhelmed by the simplicity of the solution, he leaned back against the stair tower’s cold stone wall and released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

  The infernal aching in his head left him as well. Praise be the saints. Swiftly and nigh completely, the fierce pounding receded, almost as if he hadn’t spent the entire night tossing and turning.

  Seeking answers that seemed impossible.

  A way to appease his grandfather, keep peace with the all-powerful Duncan MacKenzie, not shame the man’s daughter, and, above all, not endanger her.

  “Your bride approaches, sir. The MacKenzies have been sighted!” Hector, one of the kitchen laddies, burst around the curve of the stair, his freckled face flushed with excitement. “A great party of them. Word is, they’re just now riding through the glen.”

  “Are they now?” Ronan’s mouth twitched in what he’d meant to be a frown before he caught himself. Nary a single visitor had entered Glen Dare in all of Hector’s years. The boy deserved his pink-cheeked enthusiasm.

  Not wanting to spoil it for him, Ronan forced a smile. “Why don’t you take yourself off to the kitchens and tell Cook I said to give you sugared almonds for Lady Gelis. When she arrives, you may present them to her.”

  “Aye, sir.” Hector bobbed his head, his grin spreading ear to ear.

  “And, Hector” — Ronan reached to tousle the boy’s head — “be sure to have Cook give you a portion as well. And a custard pastie.”

  Hector’s eyes widened, his face glowing brighter than a candle flame. “I will do, sir, and . . . thank you!”

  Then he was gone, hurrying away on his skinny, nimble legs. Ronan stared after him, more aware than was good for him that the lad’s smile was the first real one he’d seen at Dare in longer than he could remember. That Gelis MacKenzie’s arrival should be the cause of such an event, inadvertently or not, pinched a place too close to his heart for comfort.

  Not that it mattered.

  Now that he knew what he had to do, it made no difference how many MacRuaris might fall under her spell.

  Frowning all the same, he took the remaining stairs two at a time, not surprised to find the hall filled to its smoke-blackened rafters. His grandfather’s men crowded everywhere, talking among themselves, quaffing ale, and, he was sure, speculating. As were a few men he’d swear he’d ne’er seen before. Herders from the looks of them, quiet-living souls who preferred the boulder-strewn slopes on the edges of MacRuari lands to the cloying mists of its verdant glen.

  Almost envying them, Ronan glanced deeper into the hall, letting his ears adjust to the din. A great babble that shook the walls, with all trestle benches occupied and those celebrants who hadn’t found a seat cramming the aisles or jostling for space in the corners. Chaos reigned, but as soon as he stepped through the door arch, silence fell and all eyes turned his way.

  Their stares stabbed him, the curiosity on their faces reminding him of how recently he’d sworn ne’er to take a third wife.

  “The Black Stag’s own daughter?” A man standing in the light cast by a wall torch thrust out a hand, touching his sleeve. “Is it true?”

  Acknowledging the speaker with a nod, Ronan strode past him, making straight for his tall-backed oaken chair on the dais. His grandfather was already there, enthroned in a similar chair, waiting.

  Ronan bit back a curse.

  He, too, waited.

  His heart pounded in slow, rhythmic beat. And with each step he took toward the high table, the heavy, rune-carved torque about his neck grew tighter. Its gold seemed to heat until it was all he could do not to glance down just to be certain some dark magic hadn’t transformed the bit of ancient Norse frippery into a flaming, viselike ring.

  Reaching the dais, he willed away the sensation, schooling his features into a mask of indifference as he clapped a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder in greeting before claiming his own seat.

  For the moment, all was well.

  And if none of the craning-necked long- noses gawping at him from the trestle tables called for a bedding ceremony, all would remain so.

  He hoped.

  An innocent woman’s life depended on it.

  A goodly distance away, but closer to Dare than most wise folk would wish to tread, Sir Marmaduke Strongbow reined in his steed. His face grim-set, he raised a hand. As he was staunch friend to Clan MacKenzie and respected by all, the men riding behind him followed suit, halting their mounts until nothing moved in the deeply forested glen except the thick swaths of mist curling about the trees.

  Mostly great Caledonian pines and firs, save the fringe of birches along the nearby burnside, they were scarce visible, their glistening trunks little more than dark smudges hidden by fog.

  The kind of fog that curled a man’s toes and lifted hairs he didn’t know he had.

  Sir Marmaduke shuddered, then drew his sword and laid it across his knees.

  “We’re being watched.” He slid a look at Duncan, his voice low. “I’ve felt it since —”

  “Mayhap since those two riders galloped away from yon heather ridge?” Duncan glanced over his shoulder, his gaze snapping to a steep, boulder-studded rise. “They were MacRuari scouts, belike. Valdar wouldn’t be the man he is if he hadn’t posted men to watch for us. He’ll want his hall readied for our arrival.”

  Sir Marmaduke shook his head. “We aren’t being observed by men. ’Tis something else. A sense of —”

  “ O-ho! Something else, you say.” Duncan glowered at him. “Now you see why I’m not pleased about my daughter coming here. Why I’ve brought along half my garrison as her escort and refused to let Linnet and Arabella accompany us.”

  Shoving a hand through his hair, he glanced at the scudding clouds. Low and steely-gray, they sped past, almost as if they couldn’t wait to reach the next glen. “For once you have the right of it, English. Glen Dare is filled with things-that-aren’ t-men. Peer hard at any clump of heather or outcrop and you’ll see them.”

  Sir Marmaduke adjusted his grip on his sword. “I vow I can do without the pleasure.”

  Listening to them, Gelis allowed herself a none- too-discreet roll of her eyes. “If anything otherworldly dwells here, then they are moor fairies and rock sprites. I would like to see them.”

  “So speaks a maid whose life was spent within the shelter of Eilean Creag’s walls.” Her father narrowed his eyes on the enclosing mist, his scowl deepening. “Would that you were still there. Fairies and sprites are the last creatures you’ll find on this tainted ground.”

  “Have a care, my friend.” Sir Marmaduke pinned him with a warning stare. “You’ll frighten her.”

  “I will, eh?” Duncan spluttered. “A naked army of your hump-backed, cloven-hoofed landsmen wouldn’t scare her.”

  “And you should be glad of it!” Gelis flicked the end of her braid at him. “You love me best because I am fearless.”

  “Humph.” Duncan shifted in his saddle. “You would be well served to have a bit of your sister’s prudence.”

  Gelis laughed. “Arabella has enough prudence for us both. A lifetime’s worth and then some!”

  “Even so,” Sir Marmaduke put in, “a touch of caution wouldn’t hurt you. I wouldn’t have believed it, but this glen truly is darker than it should be. Do not forget what we’ve told you; one word and we’ll come for you. Faster than you can blink.”

  “Such a help-cry won’t be necessary.” Gelis smiled, excitement already beating through her. “I like it here. No harm will come to me, as I’ve explained.”

  Duncan mumbled beneath his breath.

  Gelis straightened her back and looked about, seeing not the gloom, but the fine red glow of the autumnal bracken and the
sparkle of pink-and-white quartz in the scattered, mist-dampened boulders. The swift, clear-watered burn flowing beside the deer track they followed.

  Heartened by the beauty around her, the peace, she lifted her chin.

  “Wild places have always called to me.” She locked stares with her father, knowing he couldn’t deny it. “You and Uncle Marmaduke don’t understand power of place. Were Glen Dare as blighted as you claim, the burn would be fouled and sluggish, those deep, rocky pools dark and stagnant.”

  Beaming confidence, she waved a hand in the burn’s direction. As if smiling back at her, its bright waters tinkled and splashed, the sound delighting her ears. Just as the large raven spiraling above quickened her pulse and made her heart skitter.

  Several times now, she’d seen him, catching glimpses each time the clouds and mist parted. Once, he was off to their right, gliding silently past the higher rock-faces. Now, he merely circled, watching her.

  Waiting.

  Eager to welcome her to his strange and wonderful home and letting her know he wanted her here.

  It was him Sir Marmaduke was sensing.

  Sure of it, Gelis flashed her most dazzling smile, hoping the raven would see. “I do not believe there is danger here. Though there is an ancient aura about the place. A magical air I’ve never felt anywhere else.”

  Her father snorted. “An ancient aura styled by Maldred the Dire.” He grabbed her pony’s reins, drawing her close. “The magic he practiced was dark, lass. Blacker than the bottom of the coldest, deepest Highland loch. Dinna be fooled by girlish fancies.”

  “I am not a girl.” Gelis raised a challenging brow. “I’m a woman full grown.”

  Though she did have fancies.

  Bold and exciting expectations she wasn’t about to share with her father.

  Dreams and desires so deliciously wicked, they’d scandalize her sister but caused her own belly to flutter and her secret place to burn and tingle in anticipation.

  Any man who called this wild and dark glen his home would be wild and dark in other ways, too. And she couldn’t wait to discover every one of them.