Chapter Eight
The sight before his eyes shocked and horrified him.
He’d seen battles. He’d seen the dead. And he’d seen everything in between. But the sight of Lilidh, on his bedchamber floor, unmanned, undid him. Rob leaned down nearer to her and touched her face.
Thank the Almighty, she was still breathing.
She lay curled on her side, one arm tucked under her head and the other wrapped in her skirts.
Though breathing, her chest barely moved.
Her face, pale this morn, was ghostly now, washed of all colour.
He spoke her name and received no response at all.
Then, when he gently rubbed her shoulder, she moaned something he could not understand and rolled away from his touch.
Glancing around the chamber, he found a basin and some water heated by the hearth and brought it closer to her.
When she’d entered the hall, so proud and fearless, his lungs had stopped taking in air. He watched her progress through the others, ignoring the insults and whispers that even he could hear until she stood before them. Everyone else disappeared as he took her in, truly for the first time.
The first thing he noticed was the pallor of her skin and the bruises that marred it.
Her neck, chin, even her face, carried the evidence of harsh treatment—from Symon during her capture, no doubt.
From the whiteness of her skin, he knew that there would be other marks on her arms and legs from his manhandling.
The first warning that more trouble was brewing for him came when Symon demanded to see Lilidh this morn.
Tyra asked about her presence, which surprised him.
Surely Symon had spoken to his sister about his plans and that Rob had claimed Lilidh.
To speak plainly of her and to summon her publicly was out of character for his betrothed.
As he’d told Symon, his choice of women to take to his bed was his own business and Tyra could neither question nor oppose it.
So, he supposed that surprise made him allow the summons to bring Lilidh to happen. The demand that she work for her keep was another surprise. It was as though Symon was calling his bluff over her and over his disregard of the possible tender feelings of his sister.
A challenge, pure and simple, and one meant to call his decision into question.
But Rob had thought to work around that by agreeing—so that Lilidh was seen by all and that his order to have her work would show she was nothing more than a hostage of war and not to receive any special treatment.
What the hell had he been thinking?
He dipped a cloth in the water and touched it to her cheek, wiping away some remnant of dirt gained from her working in the kitchens.
He reached for a cup on the table and brought it to her lips.
Lifting her head, he tipped it, allowing the ale to flow against her mouth until she opened and took some.
Her eyelids fluttered and opened, her gaze confused and indistinct.
Then she realised where she was and who held the cup.
He got barely a second’s warning before she pulled away from him and scooted across the floor.
Not until she was pressed against the wall did she stop, her eyes now wild and her hands fending off anyone who approached.
Rob followed with the cup, letting her come to full consciousness before speaking.
When she took it from him and drank it down, he knew she was awake.
‘Have you eaten?’ he asked, taking the cup and filling it with half as much as before for her. Too much ale on an empty stomach would not be good for her.
Lilidh nodded, as she let her legs slide down in front of her. ‘Siusan saw me fed.’
‘Are you well?’ he asked, rising to stand and holding out his hand to her. She waved it off.
‘Well enough.’
He allowed her to remain there and tended to some letters that had arrived for him. Sitting at the table, he gave her time to gather herself before trying to speak more to her. Tossing the missives aside, he wondered if her father would send something in writing or in
armour to answer this action of Symon’s.
‘Why did you do this? Why did you bring me into the middle of this?’ she asked, unwilling to wait any longer for an explanation from him. ‘What do you expect to get in return for me?’
Rob did not know how to answer her because he had yet to figure it out for himself.
Some of it was obvious, but some was much more difficult to think about.
His long-dead dreams kept raising themselves, poking and prodding his heart and his honour.
For now, he would keep this situation between them as simple as possible.
Without facing her, he gave her the easiest answer.
‘Gold,’ he said.
‘Why do you lie to me over this? I deserve at least the truth of it from you.’ How could she tell he lied?
‘Leave it, Lilidh. You are here.’ Rob faced her now and recognised the mutinous gleam in her eyes. She would not let this or much go untouched.
‘Have you sent your demands to my father or the MacGregors yet?’ she asked quietly, as though she could read his thoughts. ‘Or heard from them yet?’
‘Yes. Word of your presence here was sent yesterday to both, though I suspect your father knows already.’
She shifted against the wall, drawing in a quick gasp as she moved. Her leg. She’d limped into the hall and out of it this morn. Now, after a day in the kitchens...
‘Lilidh—’ he began.
‘Rob,’ she interrupted. He paused and nodded to her to continue. His coming to his senses about her treatment and decision not to let his cousin, or his betrothed, give the orders could wait.
‘Though I suspect the outcome might be no different, there is something you should know,’ she said. The frown on her brow bespoke of news he would not like. ‘I am not certain if your aim is war with both the
MacLeries and the MacGregors or not.’ She shifted again, pulling her legs up towards her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She was waiting for him to respond.
‘Taking you prisoner involves both, I think. Neither your father nor your husband will suffer the insult to their honour lightly.’
‘He is dead,’ she said, almost on a whisper.
‘Connor is dead?’ he asked, going to her before he even knew he’d stood or taken a step. ‘Your father...’ Somehow he could never picture the ruthless, unbeatable Highland warrior dead. Regret rather than satisfaction pierced him. So many regrets.
‘Not my father. Iain MacGregor. My husband died recently.’ She shrugged. ‘Though as his widow, I am sure his family will take insult since that’s how you meant this to be.’
Dear God! Knowing the MacGregors, they would declare war against his clan just for the fun of fighting!
This changed many things, especially since it made Connor the only one with whom they would be dealing.
No one to argue or to mitigate with him on their behalf.
Though Rob knew Connor paid heed to his wife and, now that Rob held Lilidh prisoner, Jocelyn would press for war against him.
No mother was more dangerous when defending her young than the wife of the Beast.
Rob rubbed his face and turned away from Lilidh. Could this get any more tangled? Had Symon had any inkling of what they would face when he launched into this folly? And now, as chieftain, it was Rob’s duty to get them out of it and save the clan, as well.
Then the truth of the matter struck him—Lilidh’s husband was dead.
‘When did he pass?’ Rob asked as he faced her. He searched her expression for some sign of grief over the loss.
‘Nigh to a month ago now,’ she said in a calm voice. A tone far too calm for a wife missing her beloved husband, he thought.
If she was returning to Lairig Dubh when taken by Symon, then surely she could not be carrying an heir? Was she returning to tell her parents of the news?
‘And his heir?’ he asked, unexpectedly nervous over the answer.
Somehow the thought of her carrying the child of Iain MacGregor turned his stomach.
A political marriage, he had no doubt, but the image of her in that old man’s bed forced Rob to confront many of his old feelings and desires and dreams.
‘His brother has taken his seat as chief,’ she explained without having to say more.
She carried no child of Iain MacGregor in her womb.
The implications ran furiously through his mind now.
The problems. The possibilities. So much to consider and so much to make sense of before taking the next step.
It was obvious that the MacGregors were concerned over the shift of loyalties in the area or the news of a new laird would have been announced. The
MacKenzies could not have known of it or they would have shifted their attentions and attempts for new allies to the larger, more powerful, wealthier MacGregors over his clan. Would they now leave the Mathesons to face the rage of the MacLerie on their own?
He turned his attention back to the woman in the centre of all of this. He’d still not commented on the death of her husband and she did not look as most women who were recently bereaved appeared.
‘My condolences on your loss, Lady MacGregor,’ he said, offering his words to her official title. He’d met and known Iain through his time as foster son to Connor and he seemed a fair man. The only thing he could hold against him was... No, he could not think that. ‘His death was unexpected?’
At her curt nod, Rob understood that Lilidh would not respond well to pity or too much soft sympathy, so he did not offer that.
Since she knew that her marriage had made the two clans allies, Rob did not ask more about it or examine his own feelings when they tried to push their way to the front of his thoughts.
Instead, he walked to where she sat and held out his hands again, this time not allowing her to refuse.