13. Truce
Truce
Niall bit back a curse and made to sprint after Catriona. She was fast, but not fast enough. If he ran now, he could overtake her before she got too far. The roads around the Keep were not particularly safe, and with Farrish and Fraser soldiers on the move, then—
“Just a moment, son.”
Niall froze at his father’s voice. Turning, he watched in amazement as Laird MacLeod inched towards him, moving heavy old feet slowly over the uneven cobbles.
Flanked by uneasy-looking servants, the old Laird’s progress was slow but determined.
He leaned heavily on a cane, and when an enterprising servant tried to drape a blanket over his shoulder, he shrugged it angrily away.
“Father,” Niall managed. “Ye should not be out. The cold…”
“Do not lecture me about cold, lad. I’ve endured winters the likes of which we don’t see in this day and age. I’ll survive a chill.”
Niall tightened his jaw, glancing uneasily out of the gates. He could see Catriona, a small figure in the distance, still running.
“Ye always struggled to think ahead,” Laird MacLeod sighed, reaching his son. He shook his head thoughtfully. “Ye live in the here and now. That can be a good thing, of course, but a laird must learn to look beyond what is and glimpse the future.”
“Where is Kenneth?”
“Seething in his room, no doubt. He spent a lot of time setting up this meeting, and now his two great catches, have stormed away in a fury, and nothing has been decided. He’s angry at ye, son.”
“Nothing new there.”
A silence opened between them. Laird MacLeod stared thoughtfully at his son, rheumy blue eyes cool and unreadable. Niall shifted from foot to foot, uneasiness growing inside him.
When did this gulf open up between my father and me? When did we run out of things to say?
A pang followed this thought. Memories crowded together in their wake. Behind his eyes, Niall saw his father throwing him up into the air, laughing.
My wee little lad. Look at how tall ye are getting!
In his memory, Laird MacLeod taught his son how to swing a sword, a little wooden false blade first, and then a short sword, and lastly a great, heavy broadsword. He taught him how to aim an arrow, how to read a map, how to find food and water where there seemed to be none.
How to live.
He remembered Kenneth coming to the Keep for the first time, a skinny, sniveling dark-haired boy with wet eyes and a wobbling lower lip.
“This is yer cousin, Niall. This is Kenneth. He lost his parents in the war, the same one that killed yer Ma. Isn’t that sad? He’s going to live with us now. Ye two will be like brothers, won’t that be fine? Ye will share everything.”
Even in his memory, Niall remembered how his own heart had leaped at the prospect of a brother. They had both lost loved ones. They must both surely hate war. They’d be best friends! Looking back, he could see clearly how Kenneth had scowled at the idea of sharing.
Swallowing thickly, Niall dragged himself back to the present, meeting his father’s eyes. He wondered if similar memories flashed through his mind, too.
“This lass,” Laird MacLeod said softly. “The MacAlpin girl. Explain it to me.”
Niall let out a slow breath. “I think we should ally with the MacAlpins. I think we should do the right thing and help to reunite the family. I don’t believe that war and hardship will fix the Highlands.
Only peace will unite the clans. If she is betrothed to me, that gives her safety.
It gives her status. And if she weds me and becomes a MacLeod, it will solidify our clan.
We’ll have a laird with a lady and heirs to follow.
We’ll have a built-in alliance with the MacAlpins.
We’ll have the chance to stand against Farrish and Fraser.
I can explain more later, when we have more privacy. ”
Laird MacLeod nodded thoughtfully, lifting a thin hand to his chin, stroking absentmindedly. A cold blast of air shivered around them, ruffling the hems of their kilts.
“Ye really have thought this through,” Laird MacLeod murmured, almost to himself. “But it’s more than that, I think. This betrothal… is it simply a political alliance ye have in mind?”
Niall opened his mouth, tempted to lie. He could say yes. He could say that it would simply be in the clan’s best interests. His father was old; maybe he wasn’t so good at sniffing out lies as he’d once been.
But I was never good at lying.
“I care about her, Father,” Niall said at last. The words seemed to echo.
Was the entire Keep holding its breath and listening?
“I don’t know how it came upon me. I never meant to fall in love.
I know how dangerous it can be. But from the moment I saw her, I was drawn to her, and no matter how hard I tried to pull back, I couldn’t. ”
Laird MacLeod gave a tiny, tentative smile.
“It was like that with ye and my mother. She wasn’t my parents’ choice for me.
Not a political match. But it was as if we were bound together with a thick rope that could not be severed, and pulling away and marrying another was simply incomprehensible.
Even now…” He paused, voice quavering. “Even in death, I still feel that rope tugging at me. It will never loosen. I don’t want it to. ”
Niall found that a lump had formed in his throat.
When was the last time Father spoke to me so openly?
“I plan to wed her, if she’ll agree,” he heard himself say. “And I’ll do it with or without yer permission.”
One of the servants sucked in a shocked breath. Laird MacLeod, however, only gave a slow, pleased smile.
“I should expect no less from the future Laird of Clan MacLeod,” he answered. “But I will give my permission anyway. Now, go on after that lass and bring her back. And for God’s sake, son, use yer head and take a bloody horse.”
Some dim instinct warned Catriona that running on the road was not a good idea. She might encounter Farrish or Fraser men, and then what would become of her?
Despite that, she found herself straining to look ahead, hoping for a glimpse of Isobel’s litter.
I never even got to say goodbye.
It was plain that Isobel’s confident plan wasn’t worth the breath she’d used to speak it. There was never a hope of Catriona coming with the Frasers, not unless she left in chains.
Isobel might as well be in chains herself, she thought grimly. She’s as much a prisoner as if she were in a dungeon. No, more so because she doesn’t understand that she’s a prisoner.
A scream fought its way up Catriona’s throat, and she clenched her jaw to keep it from spilling out. Were those hoofbeats she could hear?
Skidding to a halt, Catriona glanced around, heart hammering.
Where am I?
She’d run wildly, choosing paths at random. Now, she was standing on a path not wide enough for a cart—so not the path the Frasers would have taken—and thickly surrounded by forest.
And those were hoofbeats she could hear in the distance, rapidly approaching.
Her head swung around, desperately looking for a hiding place.
There were no shrubs thick enough to shelter her.
She could always dive into the forest and run through the trees, but what if she got lost in the woods?
She’d already lost her bearings. The rain was growing heavier, a gray haze that blurred the landscape around her, making it hard to tell just where, exactly, she was.
And who was coming after her? A Farrish man? Laird Fraser, or his wretched son? A bandit? Or…
A horse clopped into view, a familiar, broad-shouldered man standing up in the saddle.
Tension fell off Catriona’s shoulder like a weight, the knot of panic loosening in her chest.
“Niall,” she gasped as he approached. “It’s ye.”
He was alone, as far as she could tell.
“Aye,” he responded easily. “It’s me.”
He dismounted, slipping down from the saddle and stepping close to her. A little too close, perhaps, close enough for her to smell his scent. Crushed grass, the clean smell of rain, and a tinge of horse sweat.
“Perhaps I should have mentioned my plan about the betrothal,” he mused, breaking the silence.
She stiffened again. “I’ll not marry ye. I cannot. Ye are my enemy. Clan MacLeod was one of the first to turn on MacAlpin.”
“Aye, we started it, fair enough. But we didn’t finish it, did we? It was Fraser and Farrish who brought the killing blow.”
She shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. Ye think ye can arrange my future with a snap of yer fingers? On a whim? I won’t allow it.”
Even if I do feel drawn to ye. Such feelings are dangerous. They cloud a person’s judgement.
I won’t make that mistake.
He eyed her thoughtfully. The rain darkened his fair hair, sticking it to his forehead in damp chunks.
His thin blouse clung to his skin, turning almost translucent.
She could see the curves and planes of his strong chest. Swallowing, she dragged her gaze up to his eyes, praying that he hadn’t noticed her gaze wander.
I don’t want to marry him.
I want to marry him.
No.
“They were bargaining over of ye both in the council room,” Niall stated calmly.
“Kenneth was offering ye as a bargaining chip. Whatever deal ye thought ye had with him, he never intended to hold up his end of it. Laird Fraser is growing tired of Isobel. She doesn’t carry the power he thought she would with yer father.
But ye, on the other hand, the one who desperately wants to go home…
well. He’d do a great deal to get ye back.
So, they were going to sell ye to the highest bidder, Farrish or Fraser.
I told them that we were betrothed, and they left in a fury. ”
“But they took Isobel with them,” she whispered. “I never had a chance to save her.”
“Do ye think that ye could have?”
Fury crawled up inside her. “Ye could have saved her!”
He shook his head sadly. “I could not, Catriona. Ye know it. Isobel cannot be saved until she decides to save herself. Ye know this is the truth. As for us, binding our fates together was a mercy. Do ye want a life like Isobel’s or to be sent to a dungeon like yer poor sister, Fiona? I am trying to help ye.”
“By marrying me against my will?” she retorted, with a sharp laugh. “Ye have a funny way of showing it.”
“I’ll not be dragging ye up the aisle. Ye are no prisoner, although I doubt that even my father would let ye leave freely, if only for yer own safety. I can offer ye freedom and the chance to help yer clan, which is more than ye would get elsewhere. But the choice is yers, Catriona.”
She passed a shaking hand over her face. The rain soaked them both now, sticking fabric to clammy flesh, dampening their hair. She was vaguely aware that she was shivering, the cold rainwater gradually chilling her.
“And what if ye are no different from the others?” she whispered, catching his eye and holding it.
“What if ye decide that ye love power, and ye must find more? Will I have to watch my home burn again? Will I watch my people die, bodies piled in a MacAlpin courtyard? Eh? Ye will be Laird MacLeod one day. Ye can do whatever ye wanted.”
“I despise power, ye know this,” Niall breathed, taking a step towards her.
“I take this position because I must. And ye… ye will be my anchor. Together, we will walk the right way through the world. I don’t want war, and neither do ye.
I don’t want my people to suffer and die any more than ye do.
I will never hurt ye, Catriona, and I’ll tear the throat out of anyone who does. ”
Her breath caught in her throat. She could not look away from him. He reached out, cautiously placing his hands on her upper arms. He moved slowly, as if she were a skittish deer that needed soothing.
“I know that yer feelings towards me are complicated,” he whispered, leaning so close that their foreheads almost touched. “But please, Catriona, share this burden with me. Help me do the right thing.”
“I…” she stammered, transfixed.
Were the colors in his eyes shifting? She could stare at them forever, counting the colors, watching the expressions shift. The cold rain and the dingy forest fell away. It was only her and Niall.
He pulled her against him, his body warm through the dampness of his clothes. One hand wrapped around her waist, firm and comforting, and the other cupped her cheek, turning her face up towards him.
He kissed her, lips warm and soft, not demanding or insistent. She let out a ragged gasp, the sound lost against his mouth. The tip of his tongue darted out, just stroking the curve of her lower lip.
She gasped once more, jaw slackening, but then he moved away, leaving her blinking and disoriented.
“Let me prove myself to ye,” Niall breathed, resting his forehead against hers. His eyes flickered shut, sandy eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks. “Let me earn yer trust.”
Catriona found that all the moisture had drained out of her mouth. She had to swallow several times before she could speak.
“Aye,” she whispered. “I agree. I’ll marry ye, Niall.” \