Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) (31 page)

"I've no idea what ye are hinting at."

"The beast was placed there apurpose," he said. "Awaiting your arrival. Who knew you would be riding?"

She stepped back a pace. "Placed there? You're insane. Wolves do not stay put, like puppies on —"

"Nay, not unless they are wounded and baited and ready to kill anything that crosses their path.

Not unless they are placed just so, at your favorite place beside the water."

She could not speak, could barely think. "And ye think William did this?"

He was silent a moment. "I said
someone
did it," he said softly. "Tis you who accuses William."

She drew a deep breath. "Get out."

"Shona." He took a step toward her, but she shook her head.

"I knew ye were a scoundrel," she said. "But I did not think ye would stoop to accusing an innocent man just because ye want me for yourself."

"Innocent? Go to the water and look at the—"

"Get out!" she said, her voice rising. "Get out, or so help me God, I will tell my father ye were here."

She watched him tense. Watched him take a step back.

"As ye wish," he said and turning toward the window, slipped outside like a shadow that never was.

"Dugald of Kinnaird."

The great hall echoed with Stanford's words. He stood not four feet away, so there seemed little reason for shouting.

"Stanford," Dugald said softly, nodding slightly from his seat at the trestle table and ignoring the many faces that turned from their meals to stare at them.

"You are a coward and a bastard," Stanford said, his tone strained and his reed thin body stiff.

Dugald remained very still. He was not a man easily riled, but the past days had been trying at best, and his nerves were already stretched taut. Still, he had learned early the importance of holding his temper, so he nodded with as much equanimity as he could muster. "I shall keep that in mind for future reference," he said, and turned back to his meal.

Stanford spun him back around with a hand on his shoulder.

"You shall apologize!" he growled.

Anger bubbled slowly upward in Dugald's gut, but he carefully tamped it back down. He nodded again. "My apologies, then."

"Not to me, you craven bastard!" Grabbing the front of Dugald's tunic, Stanford dragged him to his feet. "To Lady Shona."

"To the lady?" Dugald asked. He had found long ago that if he gave himself a few moments before responding, people were less likely to die. And such would definitely be a good idea now, for the hall was filled with more than a hundred men, all of whom would probably be happy to see him drawn and quartered for his part in Shona's injury. Dugald could handle twenty or so of them, but the last eighty were likely to give him some trouble. "For what would I apologize, Lord Stanford?"

"Twas you who insisted she ride," snarled the other. "Twas you who caused her ruin." He sounded almost as if he might cry.

"Her ruin?"

"Scarred!" Stanford choked. "And all because of you. Scarred. Her vibrant beauty dulled forever."

Dear Mother of God! This poor chap was seriously melodramatic, and possibly a mite deranged. Definitely someone to watch. After all, there was no reason to think he wasn't the one to place the wolf in the woods by the burn.

"True beauty cannot be dulled," Dugald said. "It can only be cherished." Long ago, in another world, his grandfather had oft quoted such words of wisdom. It had been just this kind of gibberish that used to drive Dugald to distraction.

"Cherished?" Stanford scowled as if trying to work out the meaning. The problem was, there was no meaning. Still, Dugald thought, it gave the scrawny lord something to think about other than Shona's injuries. But apparently, he didn't feel like pondering such a deep topic. "What do you know of beauty?" he finally asked, his tone weepy.

Dugald shrugged, still trying to defuse the situation with his philosophical manner. "What do any of us know, Lord Stanford? Mayhap we could sit and discuss the phenomena of beauty."

Stanford's face turned from red to purple, and then, in a fit of rage, he spat.

"Tis your fault she is ruined, and tis you who shall pay," Stanford sobbed.

Dugald wiped his face with his sleeve and counted backward from fifteen. "What exactly are ye saying, Stanford?" Dugald asked. "Are ye accusing me of cutting my own girth?" There was a kind of sick irony here, he knew. Someday he might be able to appreciate it. But not just now. Just now he had to concentrate on keeping everyone alive—himself first, Stanford second.

"I am saying you are a coward and a bastard," Stanford repeated. It was beginning to get monotonous. "And if you have a grain of honor, you will meet me on the green with your sword." He motioned to his own weapon that hung at his side.

“Tis general knowledge that I do not have a grain of honor. Therefore, it seems I'm exempt," he said, and forced himself to turn away.

"Damn you!" Stanford swore.

Dugald knew the moment the knife was drawn, sensed the attack even before it came. Sheer instinct made him turn. Twas training that made him react. His hand flashed out and chopped hard and fast against Stanford's throat.

The tall man staggered back, his eyes popping. His blade skittered noisily across the floor while his bony fingers gripped his throat.

The hall went absolutely quiet.

Stanford stared straight ahead, his face pasty and his lips turning blue. Dugald swore in silence and damned himself for using too much force; if the man died, Dugald's reputation as a coward was likely to be ruined for life.

But in a moment Stanford dragged in a harsh croaking breath, and then another.

Dugald watched him with some relief, but not for long, for it seemed Stanford was a bit more rabid than Dugald had anticipated. Barely able to breathe, the gawky lord snatched his sword from his scabbard and faced Dugald with a snarl of rage.

Dugald scowled back. "I do not mean to find fault, Lord Stanford. But I doubt this is a good idea. What will your Shona think if you spill blood in her father's hall?" He was trying to be reasonable, but his words only seemed to enrage the man further. With a strangled shriek, he lunged.

As for Dugald, he had seen better attacks from callow youths and stepped easily aside. Stanford tromped past like a bull in full charge then turned to attack again.

"Truly, I am a known coward and a weakling," Dugald said. "If you kill me, twill do naught but wound your reputation."

"I do not care for my reputation. But only for the lady's vengeance for her hideous disfigurement," he snarled, and lunged again.

Dugald leapt aside, but this time the tip of Stanford's blade caught his sleeve, ripping it lengthwise down his arm.

Enough was enough. Twisting quickly, Dugald shot an arm about Stanford's neck and snatched him back against his chest.

"You care only for the lady's vengeance?" Dugald gritted in the other's ear. He tightened his grip while easily forcing Stanford's left arm between their bodies. "Or could it be you have a care for your own life?" Dugald twisted the arm higher. "If so, my lord, I would suggest you do cease baiting me."

Stanford snarled and tried to jerk away, but in that instant Shona entered the hall.

"Halt!" Her voice echoed in the stillness.

Stanford twisted to stare at her. Dugald turned with him.

She looked like a bright avenging angel with her hair billowed behind her like a scarlet typhoon, her eyes sparking emerald flame. There was little wonder the very thought of bruising such vibrant life made men insane.

"Stop it, both of ye!" she rasped, then realized the way of things and frowned. "Let him go, Dugald."

He did as he was told, then gave his tormenter a slight shove to gain him some distance.

Stanford tottered forward then stumbled to a halt, the sword going limp in his hand. "Look what you've done to her," he gasped.

"Twill not help to blame the foreigner," William said, his expression benign as he stepped forward.

"Someone must take the blame. Someone must pay. And if you are too much the coward to exact revenge, I shall do so for you!" Stanford vowed, but Shona stepped forward.

"Tis not his fault!" she said.

"Twas Kinnaird who caused your fall. I have proof."

"Proof?" she asked, glaring at Stanford.

"The girth was cut. No one else knew you would ride."

She waited, apparently for something more conclusive.

"And umm..." Stanford paused. "Kinnaird has a knife."

"Heaven's wrath!" Shona swore then turned angrily to Dugald. "And ye? Do ye have proof that someone else is trying to kill me?"

Her right eye was blackened and her left cheek was stitched with something that looked like white horsehair. Dugald found he wanted nothing more than to kiss her purple eyelid, to smooth his fingers over her wounded cheek.

"Dugald?" she said. His name was soft on her lips. Like a caress.

But he brought himself back to reality with a jolt. The last thing he needed was for the culprit to know Dugald was investigating the accident.

"The only thing I know for certain is that this Stanford is an ass," he said.

"And I know you shall die before nightfall!" Stanford growled.

"Stop it!" Shona said, leaping between them. "Stop it now, or I swear the winner will fight me next."

Roderic stepped up, his expression solemn, his tone low. "Were I ye, I would not doubt her words, lads. If she says she will fight the winner, she will fight the winner. And though she may be a fair archer, she is no master of the sword; and so help me, God, whoever harms a hair on her head will face me."

"And me!" His brother, Leith, stepped up beside Roderic.

"And me!" Boden Blackblade stood beside him.

"And me," said Graham.

"And me." Kelvin's voice was high-pitched when he spoke, but it was the one that did the most to clear Dugald's head.

"I've no intention of fighting," Dugald said, then turned toward Shona to speak softly, for her ears only. "Tis sorry I am to see you hurt." He was a fool and he knew it, but there was nothing he could do to stop himself from touching her cheek, nothing he could do to stop the spark that began at his fingertips and sizzled through every nerve ending at the touch of her flesh against his.

Her lips parted. The world fell away, but she drew herself back to reality in an instant.

"Tis naught," she said, and rapidly stepped back to turn her attention to the sea of faces around them. "Tis naught for anyone to concern themselves with."

But that evening, in the solitude of the solar, Shona paced.

She had lied. There was a great deal to be concerned about, a very great deal. Even if Dugald's overt allure did not concern her, there were other things.

She was certain Kinnaird had only been trying to make her suspicious of William, but the point was, it had worked. For a time she had doubted her fiance, had thought that perhaps he had somehow intentionally caused her accident.

There was no place for that kind of doubt in a marriage. No place at all, especially when Kelvin's life too would be affected by her choice of a spouse. William deserved more than that.

"Shona?"

She started at the sound of her name and turned to find the duke of Atberry in the doorway.

"I was told you wished to speak to me."

"Aye." She wasn't the kind to wring her hands, but if a situation ever warranted hand wringing, this was surely it. Fatigue, uncertainty, and frustration over her damned attraction to Dugald had driven her to accept William's proposal. She acted impetuously—again. And now she would have to undue the damage she had done. "Please come in and shut the door."

He did so, then faced her, his expression solemn. "What is it, my dear?"

She reviewed her words for the hundredth time, but they sounded no better than before, so she paced the length of the room before turning to watch him again. "This is most difficult, William. In truth, I dunna know where to begin." She paced again, but finally he strode across the room to take her hands between his own.

"I believe I know what this is about, lass," he said softly.

She felt herself tense, for surely no man would appreciate being told his wife-to-be was in love —not love—
lust,
with another man, and therefore felt a need to call off the marriage. “Ye do?''

He nodded. "I do. But ye needn't worry. I've no plans of setting ye aside."

Her jaw dropped as she absorbed his meaning. If he'd told her he was the king of Kalmar, she wouldn't have been more surprised. "Setting me aside?"

"Nay." He stared boldly at her face—-the stitches that were beginning to itch, the purpled eye.

For some indefinable reason, she felt like squirming beneath his gaze. "I am a man of honor, Shona,"

he said gallantly. "I will do as I promised."

She supposed it was odd and very vain, but not for a moment had she considered that William would not want to marry
her.

She had called him here to tell him the truth. That she did not wish to wed
him.
She had fought the decision for a while, had almost convinced herself that she could go through with it even after Dugald had appeared in her bedchamber. But that one final touch, that simple, innocent moment in the hall, had convinced her differently. All he had done was touch her cheek and she had been a fraction of a moment from shamelessly throwing herself at him in front of God and everybody. Surely twould be a horrible sin to marry when she could not quench this undeniable fire for another. Still, she knew telling William would not be easy.

His attitude, however, simplified the matter considerably.

"So ye are saying ye would marry me out of a sense of duty?" she asked.

"I will treasure ye regardless."

"Even though I am hideously disfigured?" She had meant it as a jest to lighten the mood, but he answered with sincerity and gave her a brave smile. Had he always been so patronizing?

"Mayhap this is not all bad," he said. "Remember, my dear, hardships bring humility."

"Are ye saying that I am not humble?"

He laughed, actually laughed, as he patted her hand. "Ye are young and ye were so bonny. How could ye help but be vain. But now..." Putting his hand on her chin, he moved her head to the side so as to examine her wounds more carefully, and then she saw a strange, indefinable light in his eyes.