Excerpt:
Deep in
thought, Raeb wasn’t certain what Dougal had been saying, but the man didn’t
normally stop speaking in mid-sentence.
Evidently
Raeb’s failure to reply went unnoticed, for Dougal stood, took a step back from
the table, and stared—openmouthed—at something on the other side of the room.
Then the silence filling the now crowded main hall struck Raeb. Even the
deepest night was never this quiet.
“What is
it?” He shifted to peer around Dougal. Raeb’s jaw dropped.
How had she
escaped his room?
Dressed in
pale green samite, Jessamyn Du Grace glided into the hall. Her carriage was
proud and tall, and every stride bespoke confidence in her own worth. On both
right and left, she graced his clansmen and women with a sweet expression and a
few words, which he couldn’t hear. Though none he could see spoke in response,
men and women alike instinctively made way for her. She had no need to pick her
way between the crowded benches.
Raeb
understood. He’d seen her disembark and treat a horse with unusual concern and
kindness for an English noblewoman. He had witnessed her thoughtful
consideration for a servant. He’d seen the lady soaking wet and shivering, and
somehow no less attractive. He’d witnessed her screeching invectives and sworn
retribution. Now the irate passion of the early afternoon was gone and in its
place was a kindly interest so alluring it tempted him to drop his cold
reception.
She was either
a great actress or less than sane to be able to show two such different sides.
Clearly she was not to be trusted. Despite their obedience to his edict to shun
Lady Du Grace, he could see his clansmen’s fascination with her. They had yet
to learn how false the woman was.
All eyes on
her, she approached the high table. As she neared the dais, he stood, and the
entire hall of folk followed his example. He offered his hand and seated her in
the empty chair at his side. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. Silence and a
sense of wonder ruled the room where he should have led.
She looked
out at the tables below the salt then turned her head in a slow survey of the
hall until her gaze met his.
He fell,
drowning in green pools.
Her lips
moved.
The shape
fascinated him. Their deep rose color and plump texture made his fingers itch
to stroke them, to hold her downy cheeks, and plunder the sweetness he knew
could be his.
Her lips
moved again. “When will the meal be served?”
He stared
on.
“Uh, now. I
believe,” Dougal said from Raeb’s other side.
Jessamyn
bent a look of genuine pleasure on Dougal.
Raeb wanted
to push his captain from the dais. No man
should answer her questions and thus usurp my authority in front of the clan.
He raised
his arm, signaling to bring the trenchers. His gesture broke whatever
enchantment held his clan silent, and noise once more filled the room. Servants
were scarce in Dungarob keep and limited mostly to kitchen and stable hands.
Thus, all the men and women of the clan pitched in to get the meal served. His
betrothed’s face was serene, but her fingers tapped a rapid dance against the
tabletop. Relief spread through him like a slow breath. Those fingers put the
lie to her sweet serenity. There was the passionate woman he knew her to be,
not the smiling calm she showed to his people. What could he do to expose that
eager energy, and mayhap get his people to see her as a harpy instead of an
angel?
“Tell me
who released you from your prison, so I may punish them.”
“Since you
intend punishment, I’ll not betray a kindness.”
Who would
have expected her to show loyalty to any MacKai or recognize the kindness of a
Scot? He clenched his teeth. “Would you tell me if I swore no to do more than
scold?”
She shook
her head. “Scolding is not warranted. The wo ... person sought only to be
helpful.”
He narrowed
his gaze. “If ’twas a woman then ’twas one of my sisters. I’ll put them all on
bread and water until the guilty one confesses.” He’d never do so—he knew his
sisters would find a way around such a ridiculous threat.
To
emphasize his words and help Jessamyn believe he meant them, however, he placed
his hand heavily over hers. Beneath his touch her wrist jerked, and her fingers
stilled. As his rough palm rested atop her silken skin, sensation jolted up his
arm. If he didn’t do something quickly, he’d sink under her spell again.
She glared
at him and slipped her hand from beneath his. “You would never do that to your
sisters. You love them too much.”
She could
only know that if she’d spent time with his siblings. “Hah. So it was one of my
interfering sisters. Let’s see if I can deduce which one. Maeve was busy
tending to Rhuad MacFearann.”
“I saw the
fight from the chamber window,” Jessamyn remarked.
Was she
trying to distract him?
“Your
sister Neilina fares well,” the lady continued. “How is the poor man she
defended?”
“He’s well
enough.” Raeb studied her. “How did you know his defender was my sister
Neilina?”
“I ... I
must have heard her name as I entered the hall just now. Though most of your
people were silent and stared. Really, I do not understand the manners here.
Are all Scots so rude or just the MacKai clan?”
“You make a
good attempt to divert my attention, but I know better. ’Twas Artis who
released you.”
“You cannot
possibly know that.”
“Aye, I
can. When I came to the table, Dougal related that Artis wanted him to tell me
Neilina was resting and well. Since Maeve, who is our healer, had no time to
see to Neilina, ’twould be like Artis to seek help from another quarter.
Especially if she thought she could get away with releasing you for that
reason.”
Jessamyn
straightened and her gaze hardened. “Why would your sister need a reason other
than common courtesy to release me from an unwarranted imprisonment?”
He returned
her gaze in equal measure. “Because I locked you in there and gave no
permission for your release.”
“’Tis a
blessing then that your sister considers her other sibling’s care more
important than the need for permission.”
“No when
Artis could have tended Neilina herself. She cares for all the injured
creatures at Dungarob and is near as good a healer as Maeve.”
Jessamyn
blinked.
“Aye, that
gives you pause, does it no? My youngest sister is up to something. When she
gets a notion into her head, she doesna give it up and rarely shares her
thoughts until ’tis too late to stop her.”
“So you
will not punish her?”
“’Twould be
no point. She’d think naught of any punishment I would be willing to impose.
You, however, will return to my chamber immediately after supper.”
Jessamyn
stiffened. “I’ll not surrender my virtue without marriage.”
He captured
her gaze. “None would object; we are betrothed. What matter if we anticipate
the vows by a month or two?” He’d no intention of taking her virtue now or at
any other time. Oh, the idea was appealing, but the consequences were not
desirable. However, he wanted to see her reaction.
“It matters a great deal to me, and I object
most strongly.”
She was
blushing. Was it anger, embarrassment, or desire that caused the delicate pink
in her cheeks?
He
shrugged. “’Tis of no import to me. I’ll send that screeching maid of yours to
you tonight, and you may bar the door from inside, if you fear for your honor.”
“I would
defend my virtue to the death.”
“’Tis sure
I am you would, but ’twill no be necessary. If we are to wed, I want you to
know me well enough to come willing to my bed.”
She opened
her mouth then closed it, clearly nonplused.
“To that
end,” he continued. “I’ve been thinking we should put off our vows until
midsummer.” If his intent was to cause her to break the betrothal, he’d best
start as he meant to go on. Life with seven sisters had taught him that nothing
upset a woman as much as having her plans rearranged.
Jessamyn’s
head jerked round, her mouth open on a silent “o.”
So I’ve surprised her. Good, but why is she
no angry?
Then the
blush fading from her cheeks and a beatific smile were all that remained of the
emotions she’d revealed. Even that disappeared as he watched.
She
shrugged and faced forward. “If it pleases you.”
“’Twill
give us time to get to know each other better, and for you to become familiar
with the customs of Clan MacKai.”
“I am happy
to know the MacKai clan and learn its customs better. However, since ours is an
arranged match, I doubt that knowing you better at this point will be
important.” She spoke with an indifferent monotone then bit her lip in an
unconscious gesture of nerves.
Raeb
frowned inwardly. This was not proceeding as he wished. He wanted her irate and
storming for all to see. He must keep the upper hand and not forget the true
purpose of this sham betrothal.
“Surely you
wish to get along with your husband? Knowing and honoring me can only increase
my clan’s respect and affection for you.”
The
trenchers finally arrived.
As if his
words meant nothing deserving response, she bent her head and opened the velvet
pouch tied to her belt.
Idly, Raeb
pulled off a piece of bread, chewing slowly as he watched her.
She
withdrew a palm-length decorated box and set it on the table beside her plate.
Releasing the delicately wrought latch, she revealed a silver stick with one
end split into two long, sharp points.
“What is
that?”
She lifted
her head and stared at him, her mouth curving into a deeper smile. “’Tis a
fork.” She lifted the shining metal into her hand and offered it to him.
His brows
drew together, and he gently pushed her hand away. “A fork. I heard of such
from crusaders I met while fostering. Most said it was a Saracen device meant
for weaklings and ladies.”
“Hmm, you
imply that ladies are weak, Baron.” She gripped the fork, turning the points
downward, then speared a piece of meat.
He bent to
his meal, speaking in between bites. “Verily, no all women are weak. Eleanor of
Aquitaine, Boudicca, and Queen Scathach come to mind, but they were
exceptional.”
“I’ve never
heard of Queen Scathach. However, I’ll concede that she, like the others, was
exceptional in many ways. Because they are, they also show what every woman is
capable of given need or opportunity.”
“Yet none
of those legendary women was especially interested in her husband. I gather you
intend to emulate their disinterest?” His voice went soft.
Around them
his men and sisters stilled in anticipation of an explosion. Would she notice?
Lady Du
Grace shrugged and sipped her mead.
“Answer my
question, please.”
“I’ve not yet decided.”
When she
moved to spear another bite, he took her hand, halting her movement and forcing
her to look at him. “Decide now.”
Surely that
demand would fire her temper, burn her calm to ash, and break the spell she’d
cast over his clan.
She turned
to face him and raised an imperious brow, reminding him forcibly of her royal
godparent.
“In my
experience, excessive familiarity with one’s spouse is not necessary to command
respect from others. I will be your wife. I have no special need to understand
you in order to support your leadership of your clan or your position as
baron.” She retrieved her hand, giving a dismissive wave then addressing her
meal.
Raeb ground
his teeth. Her casual indifference bordered on rudeness—though he admitted he
had given her reason. But she behaved so only to him. Thus far none in his clan
had spoken to her, but their obvious interest did not argue well for their
continued cooperation. She was trying to win them over, and doing a fair job.
He kenned not what game she played, but he would find out. Meanwhile he would
bedevil her with good manners—he could do that and still be cold. ’Twould keep
her off balance, mayhap enough to lose her temper. He wanted his people to see
her serene demeanor for the lie it was.
Like a good
host he held forth with a stream of information about Dungarob, its
surroundings, and its people. She listened in silence until the meal ended.
When she pushed back from the table to rise, he once more placed a hand over
hers. This time her outward reaction was more placid, but her fingers trembled
beneath his.
“’Tis time
you met my family. You must forgive me for not introducing my sisters earlier.”
She cast
her gaze upward and heaved a great sigh as if mightily put upon. “If it pleases
you.”
He smiled. Let her think she has me fooled. However, to
please myself, I’ll strip her bare of all pretense before I’m done with her. No
Englishwoman will get the better of Raeb MacKai.
He gestured
for the several females seated farther down the table to attend him. One by one
they came forward to assemble before him in a line from tallest to smallest.
“My lady,
you’ve already met Lady Neilina, who is still resting, so allow me to introduce
my other sisters, ladies Maeve, Bridghe, Keeva, and Seona. Lady Artis should be
here but has chosen no to join us, probably because she knows I am no pleased
with her. I also regret I canna introduce you to Sorcha, who is nearest to me
in age. She recently married and now lives as countess at Strathnaver Stronghold
many leagues inland.”
He smiled.
Knowing how his sisters bedeviled him, he doubted anyone could match them, and
certainly not an English lady, even if Jessamyn Du Grace was not quite what he
expected.
Back Cover Copy:
Sent alone to
Scotland to wed a wild Scot and serve the needs of her father and her king,
Lady Jessamyn intends to escape the marriage and train horses for the good
sisters at a nearby nunnery. But her intended is not the wild, boorish monster
she imagined - just Baron Raeb MacKai, a man struggling to provide the best for
his clan. It could be surprisingly easy to surrender her heart to him, until
she learns his plans involve deceiving her family and attacking the king's ship
that bears her brother.
Raeb is done watching everyone he loves
live in poverty and despair. His betrothal to a wealthy English heiress will
solve a decade of problems, and the Scots' secret plot to keep King Edward I
from getting a foothold on their rugged coastline will secure his family's
future. If he must deny himself the spirited woman who would warm his bed and
his heart, so be it.
Neither is willing to give an inch in
this clash of loyalties, but can either defend their hearts?
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