Susan King - [Celtic Nights 03] (27 page)

"Simon, I do not begrudge your anger," Lachlann said.

"It is righteous anger," Simon said adamantly.

"It is. But I warn you to act with caution."

"Campbells sit on our lands, feeding on cattle that were once ours, riding horses that once belonged to us. Their coffers grow fat while we suffer. We take only what we need."

Lachlann shook his head. "Raiding or fighting now, after you have received the king's orders, is plain treason. Add fuel to this fire, and the blaze will only grow hotter."

"Then use that blaze to forge our weapons."

In that moment, Lachlann saw the flash of inner fire in the young man, a mark of the strength of a true leader. Sighing, he rubbed his fingers over his face. Suddenly he felt old—soured, weary, far wiser than he should be. "Simon, I have seen war. I have seen its devastation, its darkness and lack of soul. You do not want to continue this. Believe me."

"We will ask you again to help us," Simon countered. "And again, until we hear the answer we want. Is that not so, Eva?"

She did not answer. Gripping the page in both hands, her knuckles turning white, she turned a pale face to them.
"Ach Dhia!"
she said. "What has he done! The fool!"

"Who? What is it?" Lachlann asked sharply.

"Colin—oh, God—it says here that he has... married me by proxy, while he was in France!" She raised huge, shocked eyes to look at Lachlann, then at her brother.

. "What?" Simon asked. "Where does it say that?"

"Let me see," Lachlann said, taking the page from her to scan it quickly himself.

"Colin could not do such a thing," Simon said. "He would need your consent, Eva. You must have read it wrong. It is in English, after all," he added.

"She did not misinterpret," Lachlann said grimly. "It is here. Colin Campbell now has the rights to the property held by his wife, through a marriage sanctioned by proxy while Colin was attending to his duties in France—and here, the clerk writes that Campbell's request for a pardon for the MacArthurs is under consideration. Until the matter is decided, the MacArthur rebels are to obey the king's orders."

He looked up. His fingers shook as he handed the page to Simon. "It is true." He looked at Eva. "Colin has married you in the eyes of the Church."

She stared at him and did not speak. Though only an arm's length separated them, he felt as if the world had shifted, and she had slid far away, hopelessly out of his reach. He could hardly speak himself, and returned her shocked gaze in silence.

"It cannot be legal," Simon said, reading the letter again, tracing a finger over the cramped words in black ink. "Eva did not give her consent to a proxy marriage. It is not binding."

"It may be, if Colin had the king's consent," Lachlann said. "Or perhaps he sent a letter requesting her consent, but she never got the letter. That is very possible with such turmoil in France. Some of my messages never reached their destinations. If Colin sent word and did not receive a reply, Eva's silence could be interpreted as consent."

"We will find a way to dissolve the marriage," Simon said.

"You knew," Eva said, still watching Lachlann. "The king knew about it. Surely it was mentioned to you!"

"Eva, I swear I never heard about this," he said quietly.

"But you carried the message," she said. "You must have known. Did it suit your purposes to keep it to yourself?" He saw the heartbreak in her eyes and felt the hurtful stab of her distrust. His own anger and hurt welled up in him.

"This is what you wanted all along," he said curtly. "You insisted on marrying him. Now it is done."

She glared at him, but he saw the sheen of tears with her anger. Regretting his outburst, he murmured her name and stretched out his hand. Eva whirled and fled, slamming the smithy door behind her.

"No matter what it takes," Lachlann said in a low rumble, "we will find some way to dissolve that marriage."

"Think fast, smith," Simon said. "My new brother-in-law will be back soon. And I very much doubt he will tolerate a few rebels for kinsmen—or a handsome smith on his wife's property. There will be no pardons or mercy for any of us." He walked to the door, yanked it open, and slammed out after his sister.

Chapter 19

"You must go back, Eva, dear," Margaret said gently. "It is not like you to hide from your troubles." She shifted the babe upon her shoulder, patting his little back in gentle circles. "Maeve," she added sternly, when her daughter began to clamber up onto an empty stool, rocking it precariously.

Eva picked up the little girl and sat with her, combing her fingers through the tousled blond curls. "I will go back soon," she said. "I just needed to get away and think." Nor could she stay in close proximity to Lachlann, knowing that she had been wed by Colin's betrayal. The irresistible attraction between them must end if she was wife to another. She closed her eyes in anguish.

Until she had left Balnagovan, she had not completely realized how desperately she needed to be with the blacksmith, and how essential it was to end her forced arrangement with Colin. Yet somehow her kinsmen's welfare must be protected.

"Margaret, I thank you for your hospitality," she continued. "Talking with you and Angus and walking the hills to think and be by myself have truly helped me these last few days. But I still do not know what to do." She sighed, looking down, aware of the heavy burden that sat upon her shoulders.

"You should have refused Colin from the beginning," Margaret said. "All of us would have understood if you had. I know he promised what you wanted most to hear—that your kinsmen would be safe. But he has not obtained a pardon yet, and if he does not hold up his part of the bargain—why should you honor yours?"

"He married me, and that is much harder to break than a betrothal, even in proxy, without my consent," Eva said. "There is no pardon yet that we know about, but his petition may yet be approved. The king's letter mentioned that it is still under review, so I still have some hope." She sighed.

"You do not sound hopeful," Margaret observed. "I have never seen you so unhappy." She studied her with concern.

"If the king pardons your clansmen, and releases your brother, then have the marriage annulled," Angus suggested. He looked up from his seat by the hearth, where he finished, in the firelight, a small wooden pull-cart for his daughter. He spun the sturdy wheels and began to adjust the axle. "That will not be so difficult, as long as you stay away from the man when he comes back here." He grinned. "Let that brawny blacksmith protect you and keep Colin away until the marriage is ended. Annulling will take a few months. Lachlann can fend him off."

"Angus, that is a poor solution," Margaret said.

"I wish it were so simple," Eva added.

Angus glanced up, cocking a sandy brow. "What other hold does Green Colin have over you? This pardon never seemed enough to me—you are too bold a girl to agree to such a thing. I think the man has threatened you somehow. Is it true?"

Eva glanced away, then nodded. "He threatened that Donal would be executed and Simon hunted down unless I married him," she admitted. "I knew he would see it done. I had no choice."

"Aha," Angus said, while Margaret gasped. "I thought there was more to it. Well, go to the king yourself and report Colin's wicked threat. Make your own appeal, and expose the cur to all."

Margaret shook her head. "Not with her kinsmen forfeited and outlawed, and the king responsible for her own father's death. Eva is safer to stay here and fight her own battles!"

"A pity she did not pledge with someone else, years ago," Angus said, musing as he sanded the side of the little cart.

"Then the betrothal and the marriage would be invalid."

Eva looked up. "What did you say?"

He shrugged. "I was thinking about that Beltane night that Margaret and I met, and made our pledges to each other. You were with Lachlann that night, I remember. A pity you two are just friends. My family wanted me to betroth with another girl, and I was glad for a reason not to do so. And glad Margaret came into my life when she did," he said, smiling at his wife. "If that had happened for you, Eva, you would surely have a reason to set Colin on his ear when he returns."

Eva blinked at him, her thoughts sparking. "If we had—Oh!" she said, sitting straighter. "I must go home!"

"It is dark and windy," Margaret said. "Wait until morn. Whatever it is, it will keep." She tipped her head and peered at Eva. "I suspect it has kept for a long while, has it not?" she murmured. "You never said a word, not even to me."

Eva felt a hot blush creep into her cheeks. "I... I thought it was... only a wonderful memory to hold in my heart."

"But the last few weeks have shown you that it is much more," Margaret observed. Eva nodded, aware that her cheeks must look filled with flame. "I thought it might be so, when I saw you with him that night at the smith's house."

"What?" Angus asked, looking up, curious but distracted.

"Oh," Margaret said, smiling a little. "Our Eva is even more like her dear blacksmith than I thought—she keeps a secret well." She leaned forward to touch Eva's shoulder.

"Go back to Balnagovan in the morning. You can set this right somehow."

"Perhaps I can," Eva said. She drew a deep breath, and felt the reawakening of true hope. She laughed a little, and sobbed out with it, nodding. "And so I will!"

* * *

The midmorning sun was a bright coin in the sky as Eva crossed the wide meadow toward the smithy property. She heard the dull ring of the smith's hammer. Thinking of her conversation with Margaret and Angus, she smiled a little, filled with a faint sense of hope.

But she knew that her troubles were far from over. Even if her early, impulsive pledge with Lachlann was enough to invalidate her forced marriage with Colin, she still worried about her kinsmen's safety. The extent of Colin's greed and vindictiveness might be very great indeed.

If need be, she decided, she could face him herself to save Innisfama, as Alpin wanted her to do. But to help her kinsmen, she might well have to appeal to the king himself, although she had no desire to face the monarch who had dealt so cruelly with her innocent father and the other Highland chiefs.

As she neared the smithy, she realized that the steady clang of metal on metal came from outside the building. Lachlann stood with his back wedged against the rump of a huge white destrier, his legs apart as he bent over to pull the great hoof between his knees. A small anvil and a portable forge—hot coals glowing in an iron bucket—sat near him on the ground. Ninian held the horse's reins, murmuring to the animal, stroking the long, wide nose gently.

Watching them, her heart infused with love, pride, and a sense of sadness. Ninian looked small and earnest beside the great horse, while Lachlann looked powerful and capable. The camaraderie between the boy and the man was evident even from a distance, as they worked together to soothe the horse, nodding to one another.

Though she wanted to be free of Colin in order to be with Lachlann, she regretted any hurt to Ninian. She did not want to desert the boy to his father's care—which seemed to be little care at all. Others had responded to Ninian's genial but shy nature, and he now had firm friends in Robson, Alpin, Lachlann, and Eva. She did not doubt that all of them, together and independently, would watch over the boy, with or without her marriage to his father.

In the past weeks, as Ninian helped more often in the smithy and stable, Eva had seen him gain confidence around Lachlann, who showed him quiet respect and patience, and expected and got good work from him. She smiled fondly as she approached and saw the boy watching Lachlann carefully, listening to his advice.

"Hold her, now," Lachlann said. "Show her how calm you are, and she will be calm, too. That is the way. Good lad." He turned, and with a set of tongs, plucked a hot horseshoe from the bucket of coals. Judging the shoe against the horse's hoof, he set the iron on the anvil and tapped it to correct the shape.

Heating it and dousing it to cool, he lifted the hoof again. Smoke wafted outward as the still-hot shoe met the tough, insensitive part of the hoof. Lachlann hammered it into place, bent the iron nails over the edge of the hoof, set the animal's foot down, and began to work on the other hind foot.