To Wed A Highlander (7 page)

One time while sparring with Gorten, she had asked him how he had learned to be so quick on his feet. He had told her that it was hours of performing the sword dance. Colin made them all learn and practice the complex maneuvers. She had supposed Gorten to be teasing her, but now she realized he had been in earnest. The quick, intricate weaving in and out of the war dance would not only help develop a soldier’s stamina, but it could build and test one’s strength, accuracy, and agility.

The music continued to build and by now any man capable of performing the
Gillie Chalium
was on the floor. The room reverberated with stomping feet and shouts of triumph. Trista cried out to her husband, encouraging him in his desperate attempt to keep up with those around him. He was bested, and he knew it, but like many who had joined in, he did not care.

Makenna’s smile grew even wider. An odd sense of pride surged through her, knowing that the man with the most superior skill was grinning back at her. The musicians finally ended the tune and began another. It was slower but still had a lively beat and Colin deftly glided over to entice Makenna back onto the floor. Others followed Colin’s lead, and the crowded great hall became even more so as the room shook with laughter and the stamping of feet.

Alexander’s green eyes were filled with peace as he watched the couple from the now almost empty table. All would be well. Makenna and Colin were both stubborn and prideful, but their passion and honor would see them through. And if they continued to lower their defenses, they might even find the rarest thing this world had to offer—love. The special love one discovers only with one’s soul mate.

Colin had loved Deirdre and she him, but their love and marriage had been based on need and protection. Makenna would meet Colin as an equal. She would be able to share his burden, protect him in ways he never knew he needed, and he would do the same for her in return.

Alexander wished he could live long enough to witness this transformation, but it was not meant to be. The squeezing pains in his chest had been growing all afternoon. It was painful to breathe, and now the burning sensation in his upper abdomen was spreading to his arm, neck, and jaw.

His eyes roamed to his other daughters. Edna could not be here, but he knew that she had found happiness at the abbey. Ula and Rona would have to adjust somehow, for Colin would not be as susceptible to their ploys as he always had been.

Most everyone was on the floor. All except one. Alexander stole a glance to the man who had chosen to remain seated at the table.

Leon MacCuaig.

The young man had physically matured over the past few years. With light brown hair and deep-set black eyes in a rugged face, he was undeniably handsome. He was also pitiable.

Alexander had tried to guide the young laird after his father had died, but Leon enjoyed commanding others versus listening. He had grown to be a callous leader, ruling by fear rather than trust. Sitting quietly for most of the afternoon, he had not fooled Alexander or Colin for a moment. MacCuaig had remained at Lochlen to discover which and how many Lowland lairds would ally themselves with the Dunstans once a Highlander was in charge. Colin wanted to observe MacCuaig’s reactions and agreed to let him stay.

Alexander gripped the arm of the chair and stood. He fought the dizziness and ordered his body to comply with one last command. He would walk to his chambers without assistance. Scottish pride demanded no less.

Leon drummed his fingers idly against the wood table, oblivious of Alexander Dunstan’s look of pity or his disappearance. His attention was solely on the Highlander flaunting his obvious attraction for the woman that should have been his wife. Blatant hatred filled him as he stared at the merry couple, and he cared little who saw it.

Today, Makenna Dunstan had unmasked her beauty to all. And though many had been surprised by her physical transformation, Leon had not been one of them. He had known for years what a unique and striking woman she was. That alone should have entitled him to her hand and not the arrogant Highlander.

Leon clenched his jaw as another Dunstan soldier called out. With each story praising Colin’s leadership and skills, Leon loathed the Highlander a little more. For two years, he had been hearing about McTiernay and the fictitious tales that surrounded him. No one could be that good at discovering raw talent.

Twice, Leon tried to plant one of his own men within Colin’s ranks to uncover the truth behind the Highlander’s methods. Both times, the soldiers had disappeared, forcing Leon to rethink how he was going to outwit Colin McTiernay.

His next idea had been simple. Leon had never encountered anyone who could best him one-on-one with a sword. He would goad McTiernay until his pride demanded revenge, and then strip the Highlander of not only his arrogance, but also his life.

But before he could put his plan into effect, the news came.

The Highland creature was to marry Makenna Dunstan, the woman everyone knew Leon had claimed to be his. Leon had worked for too long toward a union between him and the red-haired beauty. So much had been overcome to be stripped away so easily by the hands of an outsider.

MacCuaig watched as the couple moved more slowly. The sexual tension between the two was palpable even halfway across the room. Leon clasped the quaich in front of him and tried to keep from shaking with rage.

That was supposed to be him.

He
was the young, good-looking, powerful, Lowland laird. All women wanted him, desired him. They begged for chances to be near him. “Soon Makenna will as well,” Leon promised himself.

McTiernay might think he had won, but he would soon learn differently. The clueless Highlander was ill prepared for his future. Leon MacCuaig settled back in the deep chair and forced himself to appear relaxed. Colin’s army might be loyal, but they were few in number. Not nearly enough to stop Leon from taking everything McTiernay possessed.

“I shall pluck them from your fingertips, one by one. First the clan, then the castle, and finally…Makenna,” he swore quietly to himself before downing the rest of his mead.

Colin whipped Makenna around in his arms, once again mesmerized by her beauty. Two years he had lived at Lochlen and never once had he heard Makenna laugh as she was doing tonight. Only once had Deirdre acquiesced to a big festival in the castle the winter before she died. They had celebrated Twelfth Night, the last day of the Epiphany. It had been a joyous evening for the clansmen, but Makenna and Colin had elected to watch rather than participate.

Deirdre was recovering from a bad cold she had been fighting for several months and didn’t want any type of activity. She had only agreed to the festival because of Makenna, who knew how much the clan needed the release a celebratory gathering would bring. Makenna, in turn, had stayed by Deirdre’s side tending to her needs so the lady’s maids could participate in the festivities.

Looking at Makenna now, twirling with an easiness that made her eyes sparkle and dance in delight, Colin realized that he had not been Deirdre’s only willing captive—Makenna had been ensnared as well. She had placed her life on hold and had put Deirdre’s happiness ahead of her own. Not until tonight did Colin grasp how unfair it had been to the lively beauty.

Colin felt Makenna sashay by him to the beat of the pipes and then back again. He inhaled deeply. Instantly he was reminded of the previous night and the last time he had enjoyed the fresh clean scent of her skin and hair. Makenna moved toward him and out again, making innocent contact. The brief touches were driving him mad. Each time her small, firm breasts grazed his lower chest, Colin fought his need to gather her in his arms and march out of the hall uncaring of what the guests and his men would say.

Makenna drank in the feeling of being with Colin. She loved to dance, and Colin was an artist on the floor. Like everything else he did, Colin moved effortlessly to the rhythm regardless of its speed. He would bring her in and spin her with an intoxicating level of control.

When the men had thrown down their swords, Colin’s face had alit with a delight she had not known him capable to possess. At first, she had watched the intricate quick movements of his feet with awe and admiration. Then he had laughed aloud, revealing two dimples as his face split into an infectious grin.

Makenna had seen him smile many times in the past, but until tonight, she could not recall it reaching his eyes.

Colin swung her about, pulling her closer each time. Her pulse raced and she knew Colin’s did as well. No one would discern it by looking at him. Outwardly, he appeared happy and relaxed, but Makenna felt the growing tautness of his frame.

And she knew why.

Last night had not been a random incident of bizarre need erupting out of charged emotions. The desire to touch him and be touched by him was drowning out all other thoughts. She looked up into his bold blue eyes. They held a clear and unmistakable message.
I want you. I will have you. I will know you as no one ever has.
It was both intoxicating and terrifying at the same time. Makenna broke away from the dance.

Colin watched Makenna practically run to the table under the pretense of needing a drink. Only for a moment did he consider joining her. The instant deep attraction between them was inexplicably strong. Colin had struggled most of the night searching in vain for any reason that would rationalize his deep ache to carry her to his bed and make her his.

Colin’s eyes roamed the hall and saw the empty chair Alexander had been sitting in. He also noticed the looks of heavy admiration several of his men were giving his new wife.

His nails bit into flesh as his fingers clenched into a fist. Something primitive and all-consuming roared through his veins. He was
jealous.
Never did he dream he could be jealous of anyone, especially over the wildest of the Dunstan daughters. But, seeing the open looks of desire for Makenna, thoughts about the circumstances causing their marriage vanished. She was his—or would be soon. And with every passing hour, it was getting harder to quash the rush of sexual anticipation stirring within him.

Father Lanaghly saw Colin’s narrowing eyes and walked over to prevent the impending eruption. Unlike his excitable brother, Conor, Colin usually was in full control of his emotions. Tonight, however, if someone did not divert his attention and quickly, it would be Colin initiating the mayhem. “Ahem, I believe Laird Dunstan has retired for the evening. I saw him rise, nod approvingly at you, and your lovely new wife, and then leave.”

Colin blinked at the interruption before comprehending what Father Lanaghly was talking about. “Did Alexander have assistance?” Colin inquired quietly.

Although Alexander had hidden it well, the old laird had been in severe pain for most of the night. More than once Colin had wanted to suggest that he retire, but each time he resisted the temptation. Laird Dunstan had earned the right to keep his pride, especially among his allies.

Father Lanaghly pointed to two empty chairs in front of the smaller hearth nestled near the less crowded end of the great hall. “As he left, no. However, Alexander was moving somewhat slow so I followed him to the inner yard in which I saw two men go to his aide when he thought no one was looking.”

Colin visibly relaxed. “Alexander should have retired long before he did. Events such as these are hard on him these days. He should have rested more.”

“Laird Dunstan is a wise man. His hours are numbered, and he wanted to spend them assuring himself of his daughter’s well-being, his clan’s future, and even
your
happiness.”

Makenna observed through lowered lashes Father Lanaghly directing Colin to a chair. That was the closest she had ever seen Colin appear to be subservient to
anyone.
She placed her cup back on the table and casually sauntered over to the stone wall. Curiosity ate at her and she slowly edged her way toward the small hearth, stopping only when she came into earshot.

“You should not have journeyed so far, Father, but I will admit it is good to see someone from home.” Colin sighed.

“Aye, I’m sure it is. I was privileged to marry your brother….”

“What a surprise that was,” Colin retorted as he stretched back in the chair, recalling his eldest brother’s earnest declaration to never marry. When news arrived that Conor had taken a wife, Colin had not believed the herald. He could not imagine his brother married, and most especially to someone half English. The summer following the news he had traveled to see them expecting anything but what he had found.

Love. True love. The kind he had so desperately wanted with Deirdre, but never had.

Father Lanaghly lightly elbowed the large man he had known since he was a small boy. “Indeed, but what a good match Conor has made. I’m just as honored to have married you this time. And if the good Lord agrees, I shall be the one to see all you McTiernays joined with fine women.”

“Keep praying, Father. You may eventually have a chance with Craig and Clyde, but Cole, Crevan, and especially Conan are unlikely to pin themselves down.”

“Nay, I do not think so. Cole reminds me of you. He needs a woman of fire and substance, and needs to stop looking at the meek ones.”

“What—” Colin tried to interrupt and get clarification, but Father Lanaghly just continued.

“Now, I know why you added Crevan to your list of permanent bachelors. At times, his speech can be slow, but he is a fine man and someday a smart woman will see what lies beyond his inability to speak quickly. And what a lucky woman she will be.”

Father Lanaghly paused and linked his fingers together. Colin waited for him to explain how the contrary Conan was marriage material. Becoming impatient, Colin pressed, “And Conan?”

Father Lanaghly wrinkled his nose and then let out a sigh. “Conan will get married.”

“You don’t sound as convinced as you do with the others.”

“In truth, I’m not. The man is far too intelligent, and he is most intolerant of anyone, especially women, who cannot match wits with him. The only one he dares not tangle with is Laurel. But that is not his biggest impediment to his finding a wife,” Father Lanaghly revealed.

“And that is?” Colin prodded.

The priest shrugged his shoulders and let go a long sigh. “Your brother has no interest in one. And unlike yourself and Conor, his declaration seems quite heartfelt.”

“Conan always was the smartest of us.”

“There is still time. He is fifteen years of age now. It took Conor until he was thirty to find Laurel. I’m sure someone will capture Conan’s attention. Just as Laurel did Conor’s, and Makenna did with you.”

Makenna stretched herself to hear Colin’s response. She dared not lean any farther lest she lose her balance and fall.

Colin chuckled. “Ah, Father. I will spare you the details, but this marriage is not one of love.”

“But your wife is lovely, and she has such life. Rarely does one see such sparkling energy from a young woman who has endured such sorrows.”

“Makenna is all that.”

“But she does not have your heart.”

Colin shook his head. “I gave my heart to my first wife. I fear God did not make a woman who could claim my soul. At least not how my mother claimed my father’s.”

“That is not so, son. You just need time to learn that for yourself.”

Colin was saved from responding. Dunlop and Drake were motioning for him to join a table of neighboring lairds that had convened near the main hearth. Now that Alexander had retired, alliance discussions were commencing. Colin knew that no declarations would be made tonight. These conversations were only to discern how Colin intended to lead the Dunstan clan after Alexander passed away.

Watching Colin retreat to the other side of the room, Makenna moved to a nearby wooden screen, trying to mask the emotional warfare waging inside her. She did not love Colin, nor he her. But what about her sister?

Makenna glanced behind the partition for any servants preparing food on the hidden table. There were none. She stepped behind the vertical planks, glad to be hidden from the crowd. Leaning against the small table, Makenna considered her sister’s marriage.

Makenna could not remember seeing Colin and Deirdre engaged in one affectionate embrace. She had supposed it was because Colin was so reserved. Tonight he had proven otherwise. His normally stoic expression had been replaced with one much more relaxed, even happy when he was dancing. And then, to Father Lanaghly, he admitted that while he loved her sister, Deirdre had not claimed his soul.

Makenna rubbed her temples. Why did she care if Colin and Deirdre had not been
deeply
in love? “Because, Makenna, this is your greatest fear,” she answered aloud. “Not only are you afraid that God did not make a man who could claim your heart, but that if he did, your chance of finding him is forever lost since you married Colin.”

But she knew, even as she whispered the words, that her deepest fear was something far more terrifying. Colin would be the one to claim her soul…but she would never be able to claim his.

Makenna closed her eyes and gathered the strength to reenter the great hall. Just before she exited, two female voices came through the slats, stopping her cold.

“I cannot believe she did it,” commented a higher-pitched voice full of astonishment.

“Aye, neither can I,” replied a voice Makenna instantly recognized. The woman had married into the Dunstan clan and had been a troublemaker even before her husband had passed away. Lela constantly sought ways to rouse ire and angst in her fellow clansmen. Find a conflict and Lela Fraser was the probable instigator of it. Why people tolerated—and worse, listened to—her evil spirit, Makenna never could understand.