Chapter 2
Boyd MacKinnon was bored.
Spectacularly, mind-numbingly bored.
He slouched in his chair in the king's council chamber, a cup of ale dangling from his fingers, and tried to care about whatever drivel was being discussed by the now seventeen-year-old king, his guardians and the community of the realm.
Something about land disputes. Or trade routes. Or some nobleman's wounded pride.
It all blurred together after a while.
Ten years as the king's right-hand known as 'The Monk', and Boyd had seen enough of royal court to last several lifetimes.
He'd fought in battles, ended feuds, politically strategized all in service to the King of the Scots.
He'd become exactly what he'd set out to be: powerful, feared, beholden to no one.
Well. Almost no one.
He took another drink and tried not to think about the haunting dreams.
They'd been getting worse lately. Every night, the same tormenting visions: dark hair spread across white pillows, brown eyes full of betrayal, a whispered name that made his chest ache even a decade later.
Bella.
Damn it, why couldn't he be free of her?
She'd been a liar, a manipulator, who'd played him false for her own amusement.
He'd been the one to walk away, to refuse her games.
So why did she still haunt him? Every morning he woke in a cold sweat and hard as a rock from erotic dreams and memories of the secret passion they'd shared under the cover of darkness.
Perhaps it was because he'd been thinking of settling down. Finding a wife. Having bairns. A home and hearth of his own, something he'd never allowed himself to want in all his years of service to the realm.
Maybe that's why she'd crept back into his thoughts. Bella was a ghost of what might have been if she'd been real, if her love hadn't been a lie.
"—the Sutherlands."
Boyd's head snapped up. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he'd missed the first part of the sentence, but that name, that cursed name, cut through his fog like a blade.
He sat up straighter, suddenly alert.
"—a petition against Bryce Sutherland for breaching the king's contract," the emissary was saying.
Bryce Sutherland.
Boyd's hands tightened on his cup. Why were they discussing Bella's brother? The pompous arse who'd always looked at Boyd like something he'd scraped off his boot.
"What think you of this, Your Majesty?" a councilor asked.
King David frowned, his fingers drumming against the table.
"'Tis a terrible day when a man cannot abide by a royal decree made by my father.
The agreement was clear. The MacKay lands were to remain untouched, the Ferguson alliance honored.
Yet Bryce Sutherland seems to think himself above the law. "
"Should he lose his holdings?" another suggested. "Banishment, perhaps?"
"I am yet to decide." The king waved a hand. "What of his dependents? Does the man have family who would suffer?"
Boyd leaned forward, every muscle in his body tense.
The councilor replied, "There is but one, sire. A sister. Isabella, I believe her name is."
The world stopped. Boyd's heart slammed against his ribs so hard he thought it might crack them. Bella. After ten years of wondering, of trying to forget, here was her name, spoken aloud in the king's council as if it were nothing.
Yet it was everything.
"What is her status?" the king asked.
"Unwed."
Boyd was astonished.
Unwed? Impossible. What happened to her lover? She would have married years ago, surely. She would have had the status she craved with half a dozen welps and a comfortable castle.
Unwed made no sense.
The king seemed equally surprised. "Widowed? Betrothed?"
"No, Your Majesty. Never wed. It appears she has been sequestered in an abbey for several years."
Boyd nearly dropped his cup. Never wed? Bella Sutherland, the most vibrant, alive woman he'd ever known, hidden away in an abbey for years?
"If she is of marriageable age, why is she in an abbey?" the king asked.
"'Tis unclear, sire. But according to records, no marriage contracts were ever drafted. The lady seems to have been cast out by her family." The emissary consulted his notes. "After some incident in her youth. The details are vague."
Some incident in her youth.
Boyd's blood roared in his ears.
"Has she taken her vows?" the king asked.
"No, she is listed as a lay-sister. They assist with day-to-day tasks and running of the abbey."
Boyd frowned, thinking of Bella in what sounded like domestic service. Something just did not make any sense.
"Well, the lass sounds like she has suffered enough. Perhaps financial reparations by Bryce to the MacKays and Fergusons are in order instead," the king mused. "And confiscation of part of the land. That seems fair."
The council murmured in agreement, already moving on to discuss details.
But someone, Boyd wasn't sure who, asked, "What of the sister's dowry?"
Boyd's entire body went still.
"Seeing as she seems to be innocent of any charges, her dowry is irrelevant," the king replied.
"What if she had something to do with the scheming against the MacKays?" Boyd heard himself say, his voice rougher than usual. "Should there not be an inquiry into her dealings?"
Every head in the room turned to look at him. The king raised an eyebrow.
"Ye speak as if ye ken the type of woman she is," Robert said slowly.
Boyd met the king's gaze steadily. "Many years ago, I learned she is not as innocent as she may seem.
" The words tasted like ash on his tongue.
But what else could he say? That he'd loved her once?
That she'd nearly destroyed him? That even now, a decade later, he couldn't hear her name without feeling like someone had reached into his chest and squeezed?
The king nodded thoughtfully, then began pacing. "What does this council suggest?"
"Perhaps she should be brought before you to answer some questions," one advisor offered.
"Why waste the time?" another councilor interjected. "Just make a decision about the woman. She should be wed, not rotting away in an abbey. If there's a dowry then make her dowry in addition to the financial reparation owed."
"To whom?" the king asked.
"Why, to ye, of course, Your Majesty. After all, the breach was of a royal decree. Surely you should receive compensation in return," the councilor replied.
The king laughed. "I cannot marry the lass! I already have a wife, and I have enough trouble with her, thank ye."
"Not you, per se. Perhaps someone within your court. Someone in your service who deserves reward."
Boyd felt as if his heart had stopped beating entirely.
"Aye," the king replied, warming to the idea. "Aye, indeed. That is a sound solution. I'll need to think on who might be suitable for her to wed."
The discussion moved on to other matters, but Boyd heard none of it.
His mind was racing, his pulse thundering in his ears.
Bella, unwed and in an abbey. Bella, whose brother had fallen from grace.
Bella, whose treachery almost destroyed him.
Bella, who might be given in marriage to some other man. Like hell!
The idea that formed in his mind was dark. Vengeful. Completely unlike the man he thought he'd become. But heaven help him, he couldn't let it go.
Moments later, the king's attention returned to Boyd. "Ye've been remarkably quiet, Monk. That's unlike ye."
Boyd shrugged. "Just thinking, sire."
"About what?"
"About the fact that I've served ye faithfully for ten years and perhaps 'tis time I considered settling down."
The king's face lit up. "Ye wish to wed?"
"Perhaps."
The king paced a little and pondered the idea. "Aye, I think this is good. 'Tis not normal this monk-like existence of yours. I think ye should marry and birth loyal subjects for the realm."
The other councilors nodded, adding their agreement.
"In fact," the king continued, "I've been thinking about how to reward ye for yer loyal service. Ye've asked for so little, Monk. Name it. Anything ye want, and 'tis yers."
The room went quiet.
Boyd could feel them all watching him, waiting. This was the moment. The moment he could ask for anything. More power, land, wealth.
Instead, he heard himself say in a voice that was barely more than a growl: "I want Bella Sutherland."
The silence that followed was deafening.
The king blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
Boyd stood slowly, his chair scraping against the stone floor. He met the king's gaze without flinching. "Ye asked what I wanted as reward for my service. I want Bella Sutherland. As my wife."
"The sister of the man we're punishing?"
"Aye."
The king studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "May I ask why her?"
A thousand reasons flashed through Boyd's mind. Because she haunts my dreams daily. Because I want her to suffer as I suffered. Because ten years ago she made a fool of me, and now I'll make her pay.
But what he said was: "She has a dowry. She's from a good clan, despite her brother's failures. And it seems fitting that I should have a wife who understands what it means to lose everything."
The king leaned back in his chair, studying Boyd with those sharp, calculating eyes unusual for one so young. "Have ye seen this woman recently?"
"No, sire."
"No?" The king's eyebrows rose. "What if she's a shrew? Or a hideous wildebeest?"
"It matters not," Boyd replied.
The room fell silent again. Every councilor was staring at him now with curiosity.
The king's expression shifted, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Ye plan to punish her?"
Boyd's jaw tightened. "Something like that."
"If this is truly what ye want, I will not deny you. But I hope ye ken what ye're doing, Monk. Marriage is not something to be entered into lightly."
Boyd merely nodded. All he could think about was seeing her again. This time on equal terms.