Kate Wingo - Highland Mist 01 (32 page)

“So, the devil’s own is nearby, is he?”

“Which is why you must ride as hard and fast as you can. Return to your isle and –” Yvette took a deep fortifying breath to shore her courage –“and put our brief interlude behind you.”

“An interlude!
” Iain bellowed. “Christ’s blood! Is that all it was to ye, naught but a lark? Next ye’ll be telling me that ye only wanted to see what a Scotsman hides beneath his plaids.”

Iain’s
bawdy remark incited a round of guffaws from his kinsmen.

“I’ll wager the lady had more than a wee
glance,” someone in the crowd jested.

“Aye, she did at that,” Iain verified, his bluntness causing an unwelcome blush to creep onto Yvette’s cheeks.

“Your ribaldry aside, my lord, you are quite correct in assuming that our brief relationship was naught but a lark.” The words, cold-hearted and false, left a bitter aftertaste in Yvette’s mouth. So bitter, she had a sudden treacherous desire to throw herself into Iain’s arms and beg his forgiveness. Instead, she said, “If you will excuse me, I must now bid you good-day.”

Anxious to depart, Yvette
turned toward her mount.

O
nly to have Iain possessively wrap a hand around her upper arm. With a quick jerk, he spun her toward him. Long moments passed as he intently peered into her eyes.

“Ye were wrong, Diarmid,” he
said at last, inclining his head toward his cousin who stood a few feet away from them. “About there no’ being a deceptive bone in Yvette’s body. For as near as I can tell, the lady lies quite well.”

“It
was
a lark! Nothing more!” Yvette exclaimed, trying, unsuccessfully, to yank free of his grasp.

“Leave us!” Iain suddenly commanded his kinsmen
.

As the crowd of
men dispersed, he released his hold on Yvette’s arm. He then stepped to within a hand’s breadth of her, standing so close she could feel the animal heat radiate off of him.

“Swear by all that is holy
that it was only a lark and I shall release ye from yer vow to me,” Iain said in a low voice, the words meant for her ears only.

Yvette swallowed the sob in her t
hroat, her anguish like a deep well; from which she could do naught but draw from its dark, fathomless depths.

Seemingly u
naware of her inner torment, Iain stared at her in waiting silence.

“Why can you not leave be?” she husked,
unable to give Iain the requested oath. “Why must you persist in this dangerous folly?”

“Because I cam
e to claim that which is mine,” he avowed in a firm tone of voice. “And I willna return to Castle Maoil until it is once again mine.”

“Is that all that I
am to you, a mere possession? Chattel to be bartered, and bargained, and fought over?”

“Damn ye, woman!
I have never thought of ye as such, as well ye know,” Iain was quick to affirm. “Ye are my love, my heart . . . and a man canna live without his heart.”

Hearing that, a shudder passed over her.
To countermand it, Yvette wrapped her arms around her waist and tightly gripped her elbows. It was a cruel irony indeed to learn that Iain loved her.

For l
ong years I shall rue this day.

“
Come, wife,” Iain said as he placed a hand upon her shoulder. “Let us begin again.”

Yvette
dolefully shook her head. “We had a stormy beginning. And this is proving to be an even stormier finish. I do not see how we could weather another tempest.”

“Storms come and go . . .
’tisn’t the end of the world.”

“
There was a time when I thought of you as the one true man in all of Christendom,” Yvette told him in a voice laden with sadness. “But you proved yourself no different than any other man, full of deceit and cunning. I would have the truth from you. Yet when it passes through your lips, truth has a way of waxing and waning like the rising moontide.”

Despair glistened in Iain’s eyes, darkening
the orbs to a deep shade of blue. “That bastard de Ogilvy told ye that I refused the gold, didn’t he?”

“Yea, he d
id,” she verified with a terse nod. “And he showed me the missive, writ in your own hand, demanding an additional thousand pounds from my father.”

“The devil take de Ogilvy! I did no such thing!
” Iain exclaimed. Where, only moments before, there had been anguish in his gaze, there was now an enraged fury. “I sent him a note, aye, but informing him that I refused the ransom because I intended to take ye for my wife. I made no additional demands.”

Flabbergasted, Yvette’s jaw slackened.
“Are you saying that you forfeited the ransom so you could keep me with you at Castle Maoil?”

“Aye
. Why else would I turn my back on a bloody fortune?” Iain muttered, his jaw tightly clenched.

H
orrified at the damage she’d wrought, tears pricked Yvette’s eyes, her agony so acute, it caused a physical pain in her belly. Somehow, Iain had been able to put aside his hatred of all things English and open his heart to her. What’s more, he’d given her a chance to prove that she wasn’t her father’s child. Yet she’d not given him the same consideration. She’d not given Iain an opportunity to prove himself innocent of the crime that Sir Galen had laid at his door. Instead, she’d assumed him capable of a grievous betrayal.

How
could he ever find it in his heart to forgive me?

Afraid that the deed had taken the dye, Yvette’s heart constricted with the painful knowledge that because of her actions, she’d jeopardized the life of the man she loved.

“Hurry and leave! I beg you!” she entreated. “Sir Galen has many well-armed men with him and he intends you grave harm. I can not bear the thought of your death at that knave’s hand.”

“D’ye think I didna suffer the pang of death when I returned to
Castle Maoil and discovered ye had departed?” Iain retorted, making no move to leave. “Ye might as well have taken a dirk and plunged it into my heart. For the pain couldna have been much worse.”

“I, too, walked
with the dead,” Yvette murmured, heartsick that she’d put Iain through a similar torment. “I do not know if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, but—” She broke off suddenly at hearing the ominous sound of pounding hooves.

Gasping aloud, her
head swung toward the wooded glen.

God’s mercy
! ’Tis the Dark Knight!

“To a
rms! To arms!” the outlook guard hoarsely bellowed, running toward them with a raised falchion.

No sooner had the alarm been
sounded than every man present, save for Iain, unsheathed his sword. Weapons in hand, the men of Skye then formed a stalwart line behind their laird.

Yvett
e grabbed Iain by the forearm. “I beg you! Leave this place while there is still time!” she frantically implored.

Stepping away from her, Iain drew
his sword with his right hand. “I am no’ afraid of the Dark Knight.” Then, the stubborn lines in his face softening, he said, “If it means I can look upon yer face one minute more, I will gladly fight de Ogilvy to the death.”

“No!
I would not have you die for so paltry a reason.” Raising her arm, Yvette extended a hand toward him. Beseeching.
Begging
.

Iain brusquely shook his head.
“Ye canna change my mind, Yvette. My course is set.”

Just then,
Sir Galen and his men-at-arms galloped into the clearing, their arrival heralded by a thick plume of dusty turf.

Before the debris had even settled, Sir Galen nimbly
leapt from his destrier, his face a mask of intemperate rage. Unsheathing his sword from the elaborate scabbard that dangled from the belt at his waist, he charged toward them, the copper gilded cross-guard of his weapon brightly gleaming in the late day sun.

“You sniveling whoreson!” Galen
hissed between clenched teeth. “You dare to abduct,
yet again
, the Earl of Angus’ betrothed bride!”

“Iain did not abduct me,” Yvette hurriedly informed the irate knight
, hoping to stave off a conflict between the two men. “I came of my own free will to warn the laird of your nefarious plot against him.”

“One of many nefarious plots,” Iain
snarled, his expression as hate-filled as Sir Galen’s. “For it has come to my attention that ye resorted to base forgery to lure the lady from Castle Maoil.”

Galen shrugged, his gray eyes gleaming with
an insolent challenge. “Since I would vouch for the document’s validity, ’twould appear that a difference of opinion has arisen between us.”

“’Tis more
than a difference of opinion. My honor and the love I bear for my wife are both at stake. And I’ll see ye dead for attempting to take either from me.” That said, Iain wrapped his left hand around Yvette’s upper arm, drawing her behind him.

“
Remove your filthy hands from my uncle’s betrothed!”

Ignoring the knight’s demand, Iain ha
nded Yvette over to his cousin; who, in turn, pulled her away from the two contentious warriors.

A terse interlude
passed as Iain and Galen silently glared at one another, the tension between them palpable.

“The lady is my wife and I willna let
any
man, noble-born or no’, have her,” Iain said at last, his voice a menacing rasp.

“Your wife!
Don’t you mean your leman?”

“I mean my
wife.
And for uttering such slander, ye’ll die a slow, painful death,” Iain avowed . . . just before he lunged at Sir Galen, the tip of his sword raking a bloody traverse from the knight’s left temple all the way down to his jawbone.

Grimacing,
Sir Galen jerked his head, drops of crimson blood arcing from his incised cheek.

In the next instant, with a deft twist of his wrist,
the knight rotated his sword, the blade slashing through the air in a graceful swirl of honed steel.

“Say good-bye to your
leman whilst you still have the chance, Highlander. For you will not live to see this day end.”

Terrified that Sir Galen would carry out
the deadly threat, Yvette broke free of Diarmid’s grasp and ran toward the two adversaries, heedless of the danger.

“This is lunacy!” she screamed, c
harging directly between them. Raising her arms, she knew each man would have to trespass the barricade of her two outstretched limbs to get to the other.

“Christ
above!” Iain roared at her. “What are ye doing?”

Yvette whirled on him, as enraged with I
ain as she was with Sir Galen. “Enough blood has been shed! And though you are behaving with rash foolishness, I intend to do all in my power to prevent your needless death.”

“I am the MacKinnon!
I willna stand behind a woman’s skirts! Now, move aside!”

“Yea, step aside, Lady Yvette,” Sir Galen seconded, tightening
the grip on his sword hilt. “I
will
exact my revenge and there is naught you can do to save the MacKinnon.” The knight’s eyes, the same pewter color as his blade, savagely glittered in the sunlight.

Knowing a bloodbath would ensue if she lowered her arms, Yvette remained steadfast.
“If Iain is a fool, then you are surely the most black-hearted man in all Scotland,” she countered, craning her head in Sir Galen’s direction. “Nevertheless, I would not have either of you die on my account. Now sheath your weapons, both of you!”

To Yvette’s escalating
terror, neither man complied.

Given that
they were of an equal height and size, she feared Iain and Sir Galen would die side-by-side, each man’s sword plunged into the other’s heart.

“I will sheathe my weapon on one condition,” Sir Galen said in a low, guttural
rasp. “And that is if you agree to return with me to Glencova. I can do battle with the laird of Clan MacKinnon another day.” As he spoke, the knight lightly ran his thumb over his well-honed sword.

Baring his teeth, Iain
retorted, “She is my handfasted wife and she is returning with me to Castle Maoil!”

“A handfast is naught but a mumbled pag
an oath with no true validity,” Sir Galen stubbornly argued. “Only a priest has the authority to legally sanction a marriage.”

At hearing that, a tall bearded man suddenly
broke away from the clustered group of Highlanders.

“And what of a king?” Robert the Bruce pointedly
inquired, directing his question to the black-clad knight. “For I am the one who performed Lord Iain and Lady Yvette’s handfast ceremony.”

“Holy Mother!
’Tis the king of Scotland!” Yvette unthinkingly blurted, stunned at seeing the monarch.

The king chortled, clearly amused by her
uncouth breach of etiquette.

Embarrassed, Yvette quickly collected herself and said, “Forgive me, sire. But I am curious to know what you are doing here.”

“The MacKinnon has taken my cause of Scottish independence and made it his own. I would return the favor,” the king informed her. Then, one side of his mouth curling upward, King Robert said, “And what man among us can resist rescuing a damsel in distress?”

“Sire, I did not know that you were acquainted with this thieving cur MacKin
non,” Sir Galen remarked with a veiled expression.

Robert the Bruce took a moment to carefully scrutinize the black-clad knight before
he said, “The MacKinnon has been my gracious host these three weeks past.”

The knight’s surprised gaze s
liced between Yvette and Iain. “Again, sire . . . I did not know. The lady made no mention of it.”

“Ah! I
t would appear that you have made a proper Scotswoman of your lady love; for she did not betray me,” the king said approvingly, clapping a hand on Iain’s shoulder. “As a reward for her show of loyalty, I shall let Lady Yvette decide her own fate. All this business with swordplay obviously upsets her.”

“She is a naught but a woman
. And as such she is incapable of making so weighty a decision,” Sir Galen protested. “I have yet to meet the female possessed of the wits that God gave my destrier.”

“I am unfamilia
r with your warhorse, Sir Galen. But I know the lady and I can attest to her keen mind. She is fully capable of making the decision without a man’s counsel.” Smiling, the king then turned toward Yvette. “What say you, Lady Yvette, Angus or the MacKinnon?”

Yvette took a de
ep breath. While her wits may have been vouched superior to Sir Galen’s steed, at that moment they were scattered.

T
he king is actually granting me the freedom to choose my own husband!
she marveled, awestruck.

Just then, a
gusty breeze blew across the clearing, lifting the ends of Iain’s black locks and unfurling the bottom of his kilt. Standing motionless, he stared at Yvette, his gaze so intense, she could feel it in the very depths of her soul.

In
that potent instant, she made her choice. Freely. And with a glad heart.

Her spiri
ts greatly lifted, Yvette smiled. As did Iain, the canny laird having correctly ascertained her decision.

“I choose the MacKinnon,”
Yvette announced in a loud voice for all to hear. Then, as an afterthought, she said, “But I would not have a blood feud between the House de Ogilvy and the Clan MacKinnon.”

“Lady Yvette, you are as wise as you are beautiful.”

At hearing the king’s gracious compliment to her, Sir Galen visibly stiffened, his eyes having narrowed to gray slits.

“Need I remind you, sire, that my unc
le has long awaited his bride. Moreover, this thieving knave –” the knight pointed an accusing finger at Iain –“trespassed onto de Ogilvy land and forcibly abducted the Earl of Angus’ betrothed bride. ’Tis an insult to our noble family that must be avenged.”

King Robert cocked his head to one side and con
templatively stroked his beard. “I do not wish to have two of my subjects engaged in a blood feud as a result of a contested betrothal. Just as I do not wish to see any of my subjects allied to Longshanks and his English earls,” the king slyly added, intimating he knew full well that Angus was in league with the English monarch. “’Twould be treasonous for a Scottish earl, as well as his
chevalier
,
to make such an injudicious alignment.”

Almost immediately,
Sir Galen went down on bent knee in front of King Robert, all traces of his perpetual sneer having vanished. Grasping his sword hilt with his right hand, he said, “I can not speak for my uncle. However, I, Sir Galen de Ogilvy, pledge to you, Robert, king of Scotland, my sword, my troth, and my undying loyalty.”

“You have made a prudent decision, Sir Galen,” the king replied, mot
ioning the knight to his feet. “And as a reward to the noble House de Ogilvy, I decree that the laird’s sister shall marry the Earl of Angus in Lady Yvette’s stead.”

“Laoghaire!”
Iain exclaimed.

“The red-headed wench!” Sir Galen bellowed.

Clearly shocked, both men looked as though they’d each been gutted with a battle ax.

King Robert’s eyes twinkled
, the monarch obviously amused by the two men’s similar reaction. “She is long of limb, I admit, but strong of body. She will give Angus many sons.”

“She’ll give him apoplexy on his wedding night, mark my words,” the knight said with a deprecating snort as he shoved his sword into its scabbard.

“If our country is to be truly free of English domination, the nobility of Scotland and the Highland clans
must
unite against our common enemy. As with the match between Lady Yvette and the MacKinnon, a marriage between the Earl of Angus and the laird’s sister will be a symbol of our new Scotland,” the king avowed, proving himself, if not a wise, then certainly a shrewd monarch. “Sir Galen, inform your uncle that in addition to whatever dower Lord Iain’s sister brings to the marriage, I shall grant him land and a hereditary estate in Grampian as a wedding gift.”

“That is most generous, sire.
I am sure my uncle will be pleased,” Sir Galen murmured, his expression carefully schooled, his voice emotionless. As he spoke, the knight absently swiped at the rivulet of blood that ran down the side of his face.

Glancing at the crimson gash,
Yvette feared the heretofore handsome
chevalier
would be hideously disfigured by the jagged scar that would forever mar the left side of his face.

“While Angus may be pleased, Laoghaire will go on the rampage
,” Iain muttered.

“Perhaps you should consider confiscating your sister’s sword before you brea
k the news to her,” Yvette quietly suggested.

“Aye.
And mayhap lash her to a chair, as well.”

His steps slow and measured, Iain walked
beside the loch that was located near their encampment.

In awed fascination he stared at the glassy surface of the water
that mirrored in its depths the splendor of the evening sky. Like a slow, unfolding fan, the setting sun angled forth in bold shades of Valencia orange and crimson madder.

As with every sunset, all of the hopes for the day were contained
in that fiery sunburst. And though it was a beautiful scene, he eagerly looked forward to commencing the return journey to his beloved misty isle.

Smiling, Iain glanced at the w
oman who strolled at his side. Having insisted on bathing in the loch, Yvette was now garbed in a plaid that was wrapped around her Roman style, her soaking wet
léine
draped over the limb of a nearby tree. Despite the damp tresses that curled over her bosom and her unorthodox raiment, she somehow managed to look gracefully regal. His stone Madonna come to life.

“’Twas wily of the knight to swear allegiance to the king,”
Iain remarked conversationally, glad to have seen the last of the black-clad knave when he earlier rode off with his men-at-arms.

A
n irritated frown furrowed Yvette’s brow. “By his own admission, Sir Galen is one of those men quick to seize the advantage. Much to Laoghaire’s detriment, I fear. Had it not been for the knight’s aggrieved sense of honor, King Robert would never have suggested that she wed Angus in my stead.”

“I couldna
ha’ made a better match for her than a Scottish earl,” Iain said quietly, pointing out the obvious.

“But to be trapped in a loveless marriage . . . I would no
t wish that fate upon anyone.”

“Angus is aged.
He can not live forever,” Iain said with a shrug, viewing the situation through more pragmatic eyes. “Laoghaire is but two score. She could yet find love.” Taking hold of Yvette’s hand, he came to a full stop. “After Fiona died, I didna think I would ever love again. But then ye walked out of the mist and into my life. So ye needn’t worry about Laoghaire. Love has a way of finding us when we least expect it. For it has its own season and clime, and is beholden to none.”

“Do you mean to say that one can find true love twice in a lifetime?”

Hearing the hesitancy in Yvette’s voice, Iain vigorously nodded his head. “Aye, ’tis possible,” he affirmed, hoping to alleviate any lingering doubts she might harbor. “The first time is so ye’ll know the meaning of it. And the second time is so ye can keep it in yer heart and cherish it.” Smiling at his lady love, Iain released Yvette’s hand and slung a proprietary arm around her shoulders. “That’s why ’tis sweeter the second time.”

“Is it truly?”