Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Anna squeezed her eyes shut and waited.
But there was no crash, no disaster. She opened her eyes, only to see Lachann MacMillan stepping away with the tray in his hands. He carried it to the table with ease, then set it down with barely a glance back.
The room grew silent, and Anna felt her face heat with embarrassment and worry. Catrìona would not take kindly to Anna being rescued by their guest, a man her stepsister might well choose to marry if Macauley had not yet fully won her. Catrìona sidled up beside Anna and gave her another painful pinch on the back of her arm to demonstrate her ire.
Anna held back a squeal of pain, jerking away from Catrìona to follow MacMillan to the table, where he left her to her work. She kept her head down, making an effort to draw no further attention to herself as she took the platters and bowls from the tray and arranged them on the laird’s banquet table.
She dearly hoped her stepsister would not hear about Lachann’s rescue of Kyla on the pier, but she feared ’twas impossible to keep such gossip from her. Catrìona would hear what he had done to Birk—and why.
But mayhap Anna’s name would not be mentioned. She could only pray that would be so.
She finished her task as quickly as possible, then hurried back to the stairs. She would have flown down to the kitchen had it not been for her braw rescuer standing in her path. She looked up at him, unsure what to do, what to say, if anything. She knew that if the man seemed to take any notice of her, Catrìona would be livid.
“Th-thank you for your assistance, sir,” Anna said, meaning more than his help with the tray. She hoped he understood she could say no more, for she needed to make her speech quick and seemingly inconsequential. Which it was. She could have no further business with the man.
She made a slight bow, wishing she could tell herself she wanted naught more than to escape the room and his scrutiny.
But she would have been lying.
His eyes were so very intense, and when they rested upon her throat and he gave a questioning glance—
Anna wasted not another second but skirted ’round the highlander and went down the stairs to the scullery as quickly as her legs would carry her.
The maid, Anna, served as a momentary and welcome distraction against Lachann’s nerves, which buzzed like a hive about to explode.
He had never expected to encounter Cullen Macauley again, much less here on Laird MacDuffie’s isle. He was still reeling with the news Macauley had given him of Fiona MacDonald’s death, and when the fair lass from the pier had come into the hall struggling under the weight of a ridiculously overladen tray, Lachann had nearly snapped at Laird MacDuffie for misusing his servants.
What a mistake that would have been. Lachann had come to court the man and his daughter. Not to alienate him.
And ’twould not go over well if he were to cleave Macauley in two right there in MacDuffie’s hall.
Gesu. Fiona was dead? She’d once been everything to him—until Cullen Macauley had come along.
The pain of losing her had faded some, but not the hatred he felt for the man who’d taken her away from him. The man who’d gone to Skye knowing full well that Lachann was to marry Fiona.
“So, ye know each other, then?”
“Aye,” Macauley replied with a cockiness that made Lachann want to shove his fist down the bastard’s throat. “Though ’tis been some years.”
Lachann could barely stand to lay eyes upon Macauley. If Fiona was dead, the damned blighter could not have protected her well enough. Could not have cared for her as Lachann had done. As he would have done.
Now the bastard was here. And to what purpose? Macauley had a proprietary air about him, touching Catrìona’s elbow and her lower back as a husband would do. He spoke to Laird MacDuffie as would a favored nephew. Or son.
Damn all. ’Twas clear Macauley had come for the exact same purpose as Lachann. To make Catrìona his wife and eventually become laird in her father’s place. Why else would he have come to Kilgorra?
Had he learned of Lachann’s intention to marry Catrìona MacDuffie and come to thwart him once again? Gesu. It could so easily be true.
MacDuffie had written naught of Macauley during negotiations with Lachann and his brothers. The MacMillans understood that a betrothal between Lachann and Kilgorra’s daughter was a mere formality to be ratified on Lachann’s arrival. And that once they wed and Lachann developed a defensive force for Kilgorra, he would become laird of the isle.
Lachann gathered his composure about him like a cloak. He had not planned on having any competition here. So far, Catrìona MacDuffie had naught to recommend her beyond being the daughter of the laird. She was as plain as reputed, and seemed equally drab in personality.
Which was just as Lachann would have it. He needed no wife to drive him to distraction, as his bonny Fiona had done. This MacDuffie woman would suit him well.
As Macauley’s presence did not.
Lachann tamped down his temper and considered what mischief was afoot. Had Macauley begun to train an army of his own? Had he made an offer to MacDuffie already?
Aye, of course he had.He’d had no lands of his own at the time of his marriage to Fiona. ’Twas no secret he’d intended to become laird of all the MacDonald territory, and he’d used Fiona to advance his goal. It seemed clear her death had thwarted his designs.
Lachann would have to get rid of him, though he did not know how he would accomplish it, for old MacDuffie was quite clearly pleased with Macauley and acted on the most familiar terms with him. ’Twas almost as though Macauley had lived all his life at Kilgorra Castle.
This was a complication Lachann did not need. He wondered if the bastard had already seduced Catrìona.
“The news of your wife’s passing grieves me sorely, Macauley,” he growled, having some difficulty getting the words out.
“Aye,” Macauley replied as though he knew naught of what Fiona and Lachann had meant to each other, “ ’twas a sad day for all on Skye.”
Lachann wanted to know how Fiona had died; he wanted the details. And yet he did not. He could not bear to think of Fiona dying horribly in a raid. Or worse, from bearing Macauley’s child. The mere thought of it turned his stomach.
He looked to Laird MacDuffie, unable and unwilling to continue speaking to Macauley a moment longer than necessary. He needed a moment to regroup. “Laird, we were told that rooms would be prepared—”
“Aye, uh ...” MacDuffie looked to his daughter as though he could not quite recall the arrangements. “Call for Anna to come up and take the MacMillans’ bags up to their rooms.”
Anna? The serving maid who’d already been taxed beyond reason today? Just as Catrìona started for the stairs where the maid had descended, Lachann objected. “Laird, there are too many, and they are too heavy for a lass. Have you no menservants?”
“Certainly we do,” the laird replied in a wee huff, and Lachann realized Duncan was going to blister his ears later for his injudicious remark.
Good God, what a mess. Could MacDuffie truly be such a dolt that he knew naught of the Macauleys? That he would actually consider tying himself to this infamous clan?
What was wrong with him?
MacDuffie assumed the air of command and spoke again to his daughter. “Catrìona, send someone for Graeme and Alex. They can do the carrying. After all,” he said with a sly look, “the MacMillans have come to stay.”
Lachann caught Duncan’s sidelong glance, a subtle chiding for being too blunt. Lachann knew he should have suggested that a manservant would be better suited to carrying the luggage, rather than accuse the laird of misjudging the task. Or of misusing the serving lass.
Well, he’d never been the most diplomatic of men, although he pledged to do better, at least with MacDuffie and his daughter. He did want the woman to accept him as her husband.
He needed to keep his goal in mind. He and his brother Dugan had engaged in numerous heated discussions about this plan during the weeks leading up to Lachann’s departure. The argument had not been about the wisdom of allying with Kilgorra, for no one had disputed the desirability—no, the necessity—of such a pact. It had been about Lachann’s intention to wed MacDuffie’s daughter.
Dugan had become a firm believer in love after meeting Maura, the woman who’d become his wife. And now he did not want Lachann to fall into a marriage for strategic purposes, no matter how important they were. He wanted Lachann to experience the same kind of madness Dugan felt for his own wife.
Lachann had come to believe ’twas far better to wed for a logical and advantageous purpose than because of some useless emotion that would only tear his heart to shreds.
Ach, aye—he believed in love. In its vast destructive powers.