DARE THE WILD WIND (10 page)

"How generous of you to finally grace us with your presence," he said with heavy irony. 

Brenna wouldn't quail before him.  "I was
en dishabille
."     

She had refused to answer Drake Seton's summons in her night
clothes.  With no time to call for hot water and a proper bath, she had managed a hurried soaping in the washbasin.  Morag had helped Brenna dress in a day gown of pink and green striped satin, brushing her cascade of titian hair to a rich luster and binding it unadorned in loose curls at the nape of her neck. 

"At six in the evening?" he asked sharply, with a quick glance at the hands of the ormolu clock on the mantle.

"I slept very little last night," she said without dissembling. 

She saw a gratified flicker in his eyes.  "The effects of a tardy conscience?" he inquired, then dismissed any reply with a curt wave of his hand.  "I've called you here for an accounting of your part in yesterday's raid."

Brenna stood taller.  "I had no part in any raid."

"Don't trouble to lie.  You knew what your lover planned."

Brenna hesitated.  Nothing could be gained by withholding the truth now.  "I knew
Cam planned to ride to Lochmarnoch Castle under the flag of truce.  And that he'd never turn coat from the Prince."

"Then what did he intend?" the Earl prodded.

"To see his old friends again," she said hotly.  "To remind them that they're Scots."    

"As you are?" he countered in a dangerous voice.

"Yes," Brenna spat out.  "Loyal to my own people and to
Cam."     

Out of the corner of her eye, Brenna saw Thomas Wolcott shift uncomfortably where he stood by the secretaire.  Despite last night's accusation, he was you
ng and gallant enough to be ill at ease when his commander marched a woman before him under guard. 

"Your brother is sworn to support the Crown.  By what right do you stay silent when a Rebel plots to invade your house and capture the chiefs of loyal clans?"

"
Cam had no plans for ransom," she flared. "He only came in peace, to plead the Prince's cause with the chiefs of the clans."

She saw an incredulous look in his gold
flecked eyes.

"I doubt your lover is as slow
witted as you pretend," he said caustically.  "He made a mockery of his plea for truce.  Do you expect me to believe he ordered an attack on my men simply to speak with boyhood friends?"

Brenna was amazed and repelled by the devious twists of Drake Seton's mind.  "An Englishman might plot to hold his neighbors hostage," she said in a contemptuous voice.  "Cameron MacCavan has too much honor for that."

"A pox on the MacCavan and his honor," Malcolm snarled out.  "He gained entry to my hall by trickery and sham."

"And the point of a sword," the Earl put in sardonically.

"There wouldn't have been any fighting if your aides hadn't broken the dragoons out of their cells," Brenna lashed back. 

"Where they never would have been if your lover hadn't had help in the kitchens," the Earl said flatly.  

Brenna's stiff posture wilted a little.  "Then you know all of it.  Why did you bother to call me here?"

"I want to hear what Lord MacCavan plans next."

Her head lifted in surprise.  "He had no time to tell me.  Why not ask him?"  Her smile taunted him.  "If you can catch him."

They both knew
Cam was beyond his reach.  She saw the Earl's jaw tighten, but Malcolm broke in before he spoke.

"You dice with the devil if you think my sister is privy to all of the MacCavan's secrets."

Brenna turned to her brother, astonished to hear him come to her defense.  But there was no sympathy in Malcolm's look.

"No need to pull such a grateful face.  When the Earl is done dealing with you, I promise you'll answer to me."

Brenna recoiled a little at the malice she heard in his voice. 

"My sister is ignorant of more than one of the MacCavan's exploits," he told the Earl, his tone biting.  "The wonder is he hasn't managed to get her with child."

Brenna flinched in shock.  Even the Earl's expression was stunned.  So angry she shook, she struggled to find her voice.

"Don't mistake
Cam's character for yours," she flung back.  "You hate him because he's everything you'll never be."

"I bow to his prowess in one regard."  Malcolm sent her a thin parody of a smile.  "Your dashing swain has scattered his seed over three counties.  I marvel he found the leisure to court you."

Rage misted Brenna's vision.  She flew at him, fingers curled to slash at his face. 

Then a strong arm shot out to stop her.  Catching her just above the waist, it all but knocked her breath out of her lungs.  Dimly, as she gasped for air, she heard the Earl's voice, harsh and clipped in her ears.

"Leave us, Lord Dalmoral.  And curb your tongue.  You muddy your name with your sister's."

        
                           *****

With a jerk of his head, Drake sent Thomas Wolcott from the room after Dalmoral.  The girl he held still trembled with fury, though she had ceased struggling to break free.

He had stumbled into a den of serpents at
Lochmarnoch Castle.  Bad enough the daughter of the late baron trafficked with the Rebels.  Far worse that the Crown's most outspoken ally was a fool.  It was beyond Drake's belief that the girl's brother would smear her virtue before strangers.

There might be very little love lost between them, but Malcolm despised his half sister beyond reason.  It profited him nothing to suggest Cameron MacCavan already had bedded her.  If he was eager to pack her from his sight, an expeditiously arranged marriage was the obvious answer.  Branding her as soiled goods could make it all but impossible to contract any match. 

Lord Dalmoral had succeeded in disrupting Drake's entire line of questioning.  And forced him, briefly and unwillingly, to pity her.

"Yesterday's raid humiliated your brother," he said in a grudging voice meant to calm her.  "He turned on the closest target."

"Make no excuses for him," she responded, her tone choked but waspish.  "Malcolm is no different on any other day."

He took her retort as a sign of recovery.  The soft curve of her body against his, pliant and yielding for once, made Drake reluctant to loose his hold, but the heat stirring in his loins was a clear warning to step away.

"Is it safe to release you?"

She didn't respond to the touch of irony in his voice.  Only nodding, she slipped from the restraint of his arm, half absently, like a child from the grasp of an elder uncle.  But when he glimpsed her face, his dented vanity faded. 

Tears stood unshed in her eyes.  She blinked quickly to hide them, her full ripe mouth setting in a stubborn line.

"If what Malcolm said was true,
Cam could never keep it from me," she said in a voice she couldn't quite steady.  "I ride this countryside over.  I'd recognize any child of Cam's, even if no one told me."

Her faith in the swaggering coxcomb staggered Drake.  Courage he had, but the vainglorious kind that spent the lives of his men far too cheaply.  And if Cameron MacCavan hadn't bedded her, how could she imagine he lived the life of a monk?  Drake realized he wanted to believe he hadn't.  And that he was sinking into the bog of seductive witchery she could practice on any man.        

"Your lover's by blows interest me less than his plans," he said curtly.  "You knew enough to wait for him on the watchtower.  Do you deny you meant to go with him?"

Brenna lifted her mesmerizing, wet
  lashed eyes.  "No."

"Then don't deny you know more than you've confessed."

He saw resentment kindle in her face.  "Where would he go but back to the Prince's camp?  If you hadn't interfered, I'd be there with him."

Abruptly, looking into her face, Drake believed her.  She was blind with love for the Scot.  She would follow wherever he led.  And they couldn't have had more than a minute or two together atop the tower before Drake confronted them. 

"You could find an army camp less to your taste than you think," he said shortly. 

Her gaze turned inward, and her face went bleak.  "Thanks to you, it hardly matters.  You forced
Cam and Iain to leave me behind."

"Iain?" Drake asked, alert.

He saw from her expression the last had slipped out by mistake. 

"He's safely out of your reach now."  Some of her defiance had returned.  "I only wish I could say the same for all of
Cam's men."

He picked up the riding crop he had hastily tossed on the mantle and then put it down again.  "Do you share the same sympathy for the Englishmen they left bleeding and dead?  Was it this Iain who gave me the knot on the back of my head?"

He detected a glint of satisfaction in her eyes.  "He did you a kindness. 
Cam would have made short work of you if Iain hadn't come to your aid."

Drake bristled.  She knew how to prick his pride.  "More likely I'd have run him through."

Something shadowed her smoky eyes for a second, and Drake knew she had feared exactly that.  He had fought and won his share of duels.  For all the Scot's strength and cunning, his unwieldy, old
  fashioned weapon had put him at a disadvantage.  Drake had seen MacCavan start to tire.  If Drake hadn't lost his footing at the wrong moment, he would have had him. 

But his foot had slipped.  And the girl's unexpected cry had warned him in time to throw himself aside from the slicing arc of the Scot's descending blade.  If some female instinct hadn't forced a sound from her, MacCavan's broadsword would have carved him in half.  The blow from behind hadn't saved him, but Brenna Dalmoral had.  And Drake knew that stayed his hand with her despite her part in the Rebel plan.

She turned away from him, her fingers brushing unconsciously at her temple as if she felt a sudden throb of pain.  She let out a small weary breath. 

"Perhaps, my lord," she said, "we should agree that Iain saved both of you from harm."

Her admission surprised him.  "You can claim credit for my skin." 

As soon as he said it, he wished he could call the words back.  But she didn't seize on the advantage he had given her.

She whirled back toward him, incensed.  "I did nothing," she sputtered.  "Do you think I'd betray
Cam?"

Relieved, he managed a tight smile at her expression.  "You called out to warn me.  What did your lover say to that?"

"
Cam had no cause to accuse me," she flared.  "Can you imagine I want to see any man butchered in front of me?"

"Have you deceived me?" he mocked lightly.  "Is your nature more delicate than I guessed?"

"What sort of monsters do you think we breed in the
Highlands?"  The ivory smoothness of her shoulders rounded, and she looked past him, exhausted.  "I should have closed my eyes and let Cam put an end to all your questions."

The despair and desolation he saw in her face sent an irrational pang through Drake.  The girl almost made him feel guilty at thwarting her plans.

"In gratitude that you didn't, I'll only ask one more question."  He paused.  "You were quick to defend Cameron MacCavan's honor," he said in a level voice.  "What of your own?"

Her cool blue stare met his.  "I have no need to defend my honor."

Her expression said he would get no other answer.  Whatever the truth, her conscience didn't sting her.  But did she scorn a denial out of innocence, or because the Scot was already her lover?  Abruptly, Drake derided his curiosity.  What did it matter to him if the Rebel had bedded her? 

"I disagree," he told her bluntly.  "You tempt the wrath of your brother.  Lord Dalmoral needs very little encouragement to punish you after yesterday's adventure." 

"I've never been afraid of Malcolm."  

"Then time you were.  Your behavior yesterday has given him the excuse to lock you away until your teeth fall out of your head."

She paled a little, but her look challenged his.  "It was your guard posted at my door."

Drake responded with a short, all
but silent laugh.  "Only to give you time to think on your sins."

"Then you don't mean to keep me confined?" she asked, cautious and surprised.

"What purpose would it serve?" he said wryly.  "The game my men hunted has escaped.  A lovesick girl won't win any battles for the Pretender."

He saw the offense she took at his casual dismissal, and smiled at scoring her pride.  "Play the repentant maiden.
  Your brother may not be so ill disposed toward you."

"No matter what I say, Malcolm will never believe me."

"The kitchen maids swear you had
no hand in the plot to sicken my men.  They blame the assistant to the cook."

"Mairi?"  She visibly conjured a picture of the woman, described to Drake as lumpish and ungainly, with a mustache that sprouted above her upper lip.  "What will happen to her?"