Chapter 10 #2
But in doing his duty, he was manipulating her in a way that he knew would hurt her, yet he couldn’t risk telling her the truth. It wasn’t his life at stake, but his brother’s.
Two months ago, he’d gone to Argyll for help. Lachlan recalled standing inside the great hall of Inveraray Castle and staring with a mixture of admiration and loathing at one of the most powerful—and wily—men in Scotland, Archibald “the Grim” Campbell, Earl of Argyll.
Argyll sat on a raised dais near the fireplace in a gilded chair with a large scarlet velvet cushion. It looked remarkably like a throne, which probably wasn’t a coincidence.
Argyll peered down the length of his long nose with dark eyes, the sharp angles of his features lending credence to the clan’s claim of Norman ancestry. “So the king has seized your brother. What do you expect me to do about it?”
Lachlan fought to control his temper. “I thought our bond of manrent included protection in return for the calp duties I’ve paid to you.”
The earl’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I do not need to be reminded of our agreement, or my duty thereby. But what do you suggest I do? Storm the king’s castle to free your brother?”
“You have influence with the king and the Privy Council. The king’s actions were unjust. Hector has raided my lands and illegally stolen my castle, he has no legal claim to Coll.”
“Duart claims otherwise, since you refused your duty to him as chief.”
Lachlan held his anger in check. “He is not my chief. And Hector is hardly a friend to you,” he reminded him. Argyll and Hector had been feuding since Hector married without the earl’s consent.
Argyll gave him a hard stare, surprised no doubt by Lachlan’s refusal to play toady to his despot. Lachlan pandered to no man, powerful or not.
Argyll turned his attention to a man who entered the hall and handed him a missive.
Annoyed by the interruption, Lachlan attempted to wait patiently as Argyll scanned the letter.
The earl’s face darkened with fury. He let out a long string of expletives, displaying a temper completely incongruous with the stoic unflappability that had earned him his epithet—the Grim.
He stood up, crumpled the letter into his fist, and tossed it into the fire.
“That chit will be the death of me.”
“My lord?” Lachlan asked.
Argyll turned back to him as if he’d forgotten he was still there.
He studied him hard, giving him a long, calculating look.
Some of the anger left him, and he sat back down on the chair.
Lachlan thought he detected a hard glint in Argyll’s black eyes, so he was surprised when Argyll said, “I believe I might be able to help you.”
He nearly sighed with relief. He needed Argyll’s influence to get his brother freed, and he hadn’t allowed himself to think about the possibility of failure.
“But …”
Lachlan tensed, not liking the sound of that.
“In return, I need you to handle a little problem for me,” Argyll finished, reaching for a large crystal glass of claret. He took a long drink, sat back in his throne, and propped his fingers together in a triangle before him.
Lachlan’s instincts flared. “What kind of problem?”
“My young cousin Flora MacLeod. It seems she’s decided to run off with Lord Murray.”
Lachlan arched his brow. Lord Murray, though young, was a fierce political rival of Argyll’s. No wonder he’d been furious. Lachlan vaguely recalled Rory MacLeod’s youngest sister, Flora. She was a renowned heiress, he remembered that much.
“You want me to stop her?”
Argyll’s mouth curved in what was supposed to be a smile, but it actually looked more like a grimace. “In a matter of speaking.” He paused. “I want you to marry her.”
Lachlan froze. It was the last thing he’d expected to hear.
Having caught the gleam of calculation in Argyll’s eyes, he thought at first to refuse.
But though he had no intention of taking a wife for some time, an alliance with Flora MacLeod could not be summarily dismissed.
In marrying her, he’d ally himself not just with Argyll, but also with Rory MacLeod.
And with Hector, he supposed, though that weighed in the negative.
Lachlan’s expression gave no hint of his thoughts. “Why? What’s wrong with the lass? Is she addled?”
A bark escaped from Argyll, nearly causing him to spew his claret. The sound was so out of character, it took Lachlan a minute to realize it was laughter. “No. She’s quite beautiful. And very rich. Her tocher is two thousand merks—in addition to the lands she brings.”
His heart stopped. It was a bloody fortune. Money like that could restore his clan’s fortunes in one fell swoop. She was a prize indeed. His gaze sharpened. “Then why me?” Lachlan might be an unmarried Highland chief, but with a tocher like that, Argyll could have his pick of Lowland toadies.
Argyll tapped his fingers together in his lap. “Because you might have a chance. You seem to be the sort of man that would make an impression on a young girl.”
Lachlan frowned. “I don’t understand.” Why would her impression matter? It was her duty to marry where her guardian demanded. “Don’t you control her marriage?”
He shrugged. “Technically, the right belongs to her brother—though he would not marry her to anyone without my approval.” The MacLeod and Argyll also shared a bond of manrent.
“The MacLeod has refused to force the gel to marry, so he would not agree to a match if she is not willing. You and he are friends. He will not object to your suit. You must convince her to marry you. But be forewarned, it is not a simple matter. The lass is trouble. Her mother spoiled her and gave her some rather unusual notions of duty.”
Trouble. Vague recollections of conversations with Rory suddenly came back to him.
Of his headstrong young sister who was always getting into some sort of mischief or another.
The last thing Lachlan wanted was a spoiled brat for a wife.
But he also knew that this marriage was more than he could hope for.
Not only was there the money to consider, but it would also cement the ties with both Argyll and Rory with blood.
He’d made his decision, although with his brother and clan suffering, he’d never really had one.
“Convincing her won’t be a problem.”
“You haven’t met her yet. Contrary doesn’t begin to describe the gel.”
Lachlan wasn’t worried. He could handle one willful lass. But he also knew Argyll well enough to know that he would not be granted such largesse without something in return. “What else?” he asked, not bothering to hide his suspicion.
The earl smiled, not at all offended by Lachlan’s obvious distrust, especially since it was warranted. “Your cooperation.”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Argyll wanted to bring him in line with the king.
He asked much, after what the king had done by imprisoning his brother.
But Lachlan was pragmatic enough to realize that he was in better standing with Argyll than without.
He would never trust King James again, but perhaps he shouldn’t have in the first place.
“My dispute was never with the king, only with Hector. It is the king who has broken faith with me. I will need your support not only for my brother, but also in my dispute with Hector over the return of my castle. If the king intercedes on my behalf, I will have no cause to disagree with him.”
Argyll’s brows shot up. “You bargain with your brother’s life at stake?”
“As much as you do with your wee cousin racing to the altar with Lord Murray.” Lachlan knew how to bluff. He would have married anyone to release his brother. But he would not bargain from a position of weakness.
The earl studied him thoughtfully. Lachlan held himself perfectly still, to all appearances calm despite the unrest churning inside him.
Finally, Argyll nodded. “Done. But remember, don’t think about forcing the lass. As she angers me, Flora is a bewitching little minx, and I would not see her harmed. You’ll not get my support if you do.”
“And the release of my brother?”
“Once I am assured of Flora’s agreement, on your wedding day I will see to his release.”
And thus the devil’s bargain had been struck.
Marrying Argyll’s cousin had seemed a small price to pay for the release of his brother and the return of his castle. He hadn’t realized the heavy toll it would exact.
Unconsciously, he pulled her closer. A soft, contented sound escaped from between her lips.
She opened her eyes. He stilled, heart pounding in his chest, looking into those fathomless blue depths.
She was only half-conscious, but the look in her eyes was so soft and yielding—without pretense of wariness—that it cut him to the quick.
It gave him a glimpse of a future that he’d never dreamed of.
Of a connection so powerful and strong, it didn’t seem possible.
But it was nothing compared with the effect of the wide smile that turned her lips when she looked at him.
His chest squeezed painfully with longing.
Longing for something that wasn’t his. But what would it be like to hold her in his arms like this for real?
To make love to her and have her smile at him with such boundless happiness?
It would be perfect.
He watched confusion traverse her face.
“I must be dreaming,” she murmured, her voice cracking from the rawness of her throat. She closed her eyes, giving way to unconsciousness once again, and snuggled against him. Her fingers gripped him tightly, and her soft cheek rested over his aching heart.
He couldn’t move. Every inch of his body was taut with desire. Desire for something that he’d never wanted before, but that now hovered just out of his reach.