The Beast of Clan Kincaid (27 page)

“I'm taking you away from here.”

“I don't want anyone to see me,” she murmured against his neck. “Not like this. Please.”

“Whatever you wish,” he murmured against her temple, inhaling the sweet, familiar fragrance of her hair.

He peered outward, and finding the pathway clear, carried Elspeth the short distance to his tent, where she might be afforded a few more moments of privacy in which to recover. Outside his tent a small lantern hung on an iron hook driven down into earth, left there by the servants who traveled with them. He took his lantern, and carried her inside, behind the inner curtain screen with the intention of lowering her to his pallet. Yet when he set the lantern aside, and knelt, attempting to gently set her down, she refused to release him, her arms clenched around him.

“No,” she said thickly, shaking her head.

She was terrified and he hoped he'd killed Hugh for doing this to her.

“I must know if you are hurt,” he said softly.

Still holding her, he eased them both down so that they reclined against the cushions, their bodies touching and her still in his arms.

“Let me see you,” he urged, coaxing her head back to rest on his shoulder.

In the lamplight he saw a bruise forming on her jaw, and another, high on the opposite cheek. Her gown, and the chemise beneath, gaped, jaggedly torn at the neck. She clasped the destroyed garment against herself, so that her breasts would not be exposed. In her doing so, he saw red marks on her wrist, and dirt on her knuckles. All his senses went numb.

“Elspeth, you must tell me, did Hugh…” His throat closed on words so vile he could not even speak them. “Did he—”

“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “He would have but you came.”

“Thank God,” he uttered gutturally, seizing her close, his heart aching with relief.

She quaked in his arms and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

“Don't cry,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Don't leave me,” she whispered, her hands fisting in his tunic.

“I won't,” he murmured, and before he knew it he had pressed his lips to her cheek, wanting to comfort her, to make her pain disappear.

She became still in his arms.

“Kiss me again,” she said softly. “Please.”

His heart beating faster, he grazed his lips against her bruised jaw.

“Again,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Niall, make me forget.”

He kissed the place just under her ear, and then her mouth, gently … and just as always occurred when he kissed Elspeth, he was lost. She was his in that moment. Forever.

“I want to be with you, Niall,” she murmured in a thick voice. “Now. Tonight. I want you to make love to me.”

 

Chapter 19

Niall closed his eyes, and summoned every fragment of his self-control. As gently as possible, he gripped her arms and separated himself from her person. Standing, he stepped away, putting as much distance between them as possible, because he could not think clearly as long as he held her, as long as her fragrance clouded his mind.

“If only you knew how badly I want to,” he said.

“Then why are you over there?” she asked, coming up onto her elbow.

He exhaled through his nose. “Because I care about you, Elspeth. I care about you so much.”

She pushed up to sit. “Then why Isla?”

“Isla.” He rubbed a hand through his hair, and paced the length of the tent. “She was there, and willing, and I wanted you to see. I wanted you to hate me. To leave me behind, and go on to your new life. I wanted you to forget what happened between us so that you could go away and be happy.”

“I care about you too, Niall,” she said. “I care about you … too much.”

Every instinct within him commanded that he go to her. That he take her in his arms and never let go.

Yet he shook his head—and turning from her, gripped the wooden frame of the tent. “How I wish you did not.”

He heard her gown rustle in the darkness, and her footsteps approach him. He braced himself for her touch, but still, he flinched when her arms came around his waist and exhaled raggedly as she rested her head against his back.

She spoke in a voice husky with tears. “All I could think while Hugh was … was on top of me, was that I wish I had been with you. That I had given myself to you first … in love.”

His heart staggered heavily in his chest, hearing her speak of love.

She continued, “I feared so desperately in the moment before you arrived that he would be my first, in violence and hate, without my consent. Please, Niall, give me this night. Let me decide for myself. I want it to be you.”

Her words—and the soft, womanly press of her body against his, tempted him almost beyond bearing. Not simply because he craved her body, but because he craved
her
.

He turned to her, and cupped her face in his hands.

Bending low, so that his nose almost touched hers, he hissed, “
No
.”

He wanted to kiss her. To soothe away the unhappiness he saw on her face. To gather her up in his arms and carry her beyond the curtain and the shadows to his simple bed. But he could not. This was his last chance to force her away, so that she would not witness the beast he would become when he destroyed her father and her clan.

“Niall—” she whispered, pleading, looking into his eyes.

He shook his head, desperate to make her understand.

“Things between us have gone too far. My heart has grown too selfish for that,” he said. “Don't you see, Elspeth, I could
never
make love to you and then let you go. I could not step back and watch as you married another man. If I found out later that you carried my child? I would go mad knowing he or she would never be mine. Don't ask it of me, Elspeth. Let me be an honorable man.”

*   *   *

Elspeth could not imagine a more powerful declaration of love than the words Niall had just spoken to her.

“I swear to protect you, Elspeth, and honor you,” he said fervently, his gaze intense. His hands moved down to her arms, which he held tightly. “That means defending you, even from myself. Do not let this thing with Hugh, and the Alwyns make you lose hope for happiness. Your heart is good, and you deserve everything I cannot give you. You must be prepared to give your heart—your loyalty—to someone who can.”

His words were a balm, soothing her fears and making her whole. The sincerity of his words and his fierce display of honor meant more to her than any touch or kiss ever could.

“You are an honorable man,” she said. “The most honorable I have ever known.”

He pulled her into his arms, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Would that I were a
different
honorable man. Elspeth, if I could, I would make you mine.”

She pressed her face into his tunic, and inhaled his scent, wishing she could stay in his arms forever.

Voices sounded outside the tent. He dropped his hands from her arms and turned, shielding her from any who might burst inside.

“Sir,” called a servant softly. “I see that you have taken your lantern. Are you there, inside? We are searching for the Mistress MacClaren.”

In the silent shadows, Niall lifted a hand and touched her cheek. She turned her face, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand. Covering his hand with her own, she squeezed, then gently lowered it away, knowing from this moment she must go on alone.

“I am here,” she called, going to the tent opening, and pushing it aside. “Please summon Conall and Ennis, and tell them I must speak with them posthaste.”

*   *   *

Firstly, Elspeth saw that the still insensible Hugh was returned to his clan with a formally worded message that the Alwyn heir's unwise attack on the MacClaren's daughter had made any acceptance of his suit impossible.

She then spent the next hour in private counsel with Conall and Ennis, eliminating suitors, narrowing down the list to those who could bolster the MacClaren forces with diplomatic connections and commandable armies of their own. Considering that any candidate would have to be made aware of the rising conflict with the Alwyn clan—and the potential of challenging the king's justiciar, and thereby, the king—the list became even shorter.

Before dawn, before the other clan camps began to stir, before the first tent had been brought down, Elspeth rode out of Wyfernloch in advance of the rest of the MacClaren traveling party, accompanied only by Conall, Ennis, Deargh—and Niall—her intent that no one realize until hours later that she had gone. This would at least delay the inevitable confrontation with the Alwyn, over his rejected suit—and his beaten and humiliated son.

Unencumbered by a caravan of wagons, they covered ground quickly and arrived at Inverhaven just after nightfall.

They rode into the gates of the castle, and were welcomed at the threshold by her father, with Bridget by his side—supporting him, as he leaned against the stones. In the few days they had been gone, the MacClaren appeared to have grown weaker and frailer.

“Daughter,” his eyes widened. He touched her bruised cheek, his expression stricken. “What happened to you?”

“Your face,” exclaimed Bridget, appearing genuinely horrified.

“It is not as terrible as that,” Elspeth assured.

“Much has happened,” said Conall, solemnly.

“None of it good,” added Elspeth. “You received our missive?”

“I did,” he answered. “I am tormented that I was not there to speak on your behalf.”

“Your daughter represented our clan well,” said Ennis, looking at her in admiration. “She did not wither or retreat in the face of the Alwyn's threats, but challenged him word for word. You would have been proud.”

Elspeth kissed her father's hand, and together she and Bridget helped him to his council room. Just before going inside, her eyes met Niall's above her father's head. He nodded, almost imperceptibly, providing silent encouragement, before he accompanied Deargh to the great hall.

Turning to Conall, Elspeth said, “Summon the rest of the council.”

He nodded, and quit the room to arrange for summons through servants. In his absence, Elspeth recounted to her father and Bridget all that had occurred, naming the suitors who had offered for her hand, and which might be the most powerful allies among them, in light of the new threat that had been issued from the Alwyn. It was then that Conall returned, and took his place among them.

“Niall's hundred have not yet arrived. Without them, are we strong enough to repel an outright attack?” demanded the MacClaren.

Ennis's gaze narrowed. “If there is an outright war between our clans? If there is no support given to the Alwyn by the justiciar or the king, I think we are closely matched. Once Niall's force of one hundred arrives, I will feel more secure, but even that may be only a provisional solution. Can we afford to pay that many mercenaries and provision them for more than a few months? I do not know. Whatever occurs, any marriage must take place quickly, and our new power must be asserted to the utmost to show that we will not be threatened.”

“Whom have you chosen, daughter?” the MacClaren asked, his eyes intent upon her. “Do not say Hugh. It will
never
be Hugh.”

She walked several paces. “I will present my choice when all are gathered to hear and respond, and not before.”

“Well done, Elspeth,” said Bridget admiringly.

Elspeth could not help but notice that a certain peace seemed to have arisen between her father and stepmother. They even looked at each other with what she believed to be guarded affection … with Bridget doting on his every need, in a sincerer manner than before.

Within the hour, the council was assembled. Some stood and some sat as Elspeth took the floor at their center, with Conall and Ennis flanking her on either side. Elpeth again repeated all that had occurred at the Cearcal, and shared not only the threat made against their clan by the Alwyn, but Hugh's grievous assault on her person.

When she was done, all faces reflected outrage.

“This must not stand.”

“This attack cannot go unanswered.”

“We will not bow to their threats—”

“What alternative is there?”

Elspeth nodded, and spoke purposefully, in a voice of authority to men who had watched her grow up from a child.

“The three of us, last night—Conall, Ennis, and I—devised a strategy that we believe will give us the strongest foothold should this conflict indeed become reality.”

“Tell us of this strategy,” said her father from his chair, his eyes furious.

At a nod from Elspeth, Conall stepped forward. “We propose something very similar to what the Alwyn demanded, that this council will name Elspeth, as the chief's eldest daughter, to be his heir, his
ceann-cinnidh
—”

“We have never had a woman chief—” interrupted one council member.

“Yet it has been done,” retorted another, standing from his chair. “And done well.”

Ennis interjected, “Elspeth proved herself a worthy match against the Alwyn. Conall and I witnessed it. Though we were both there, prepared to intercede, there was never a need. She handled herself well and good, and put him in his rightful place, which is why Hugh felt the need to force his suit by way of rape. Thank God he was not successful.”

“Think hard on this,” urged Conall. “This plan keeps the interests of the MacClarens, in the heart and soul of a MacClaren. Married to the right man, she becomes as formidable as any chief.”

“So you
will
marry,” her father asked.

“I must,” answered Elspeth. “For the purpose of elevating our clan's power and status.”

Her father leveled his gaze upon her. “Of the candidates described, which have you chosen?” At his side, Bridget watched, riveted.