Highlander's Deception (Scottish Medieval Historical Romance) Read online

  The only other person who seemed to notice was her father. A strange glee glinted in his eyes, and she shyly smiled at him. For most of her life, she sought ways to gain her father’s approval. She didn’t know what she was doing now to make him happy, but it was a rare moment for her and she allowed herself to finally relax and try to enjoy the dinner despite the somber mood.

  After dinner, her father gave her no indication that she was allowed to join in the evening activities, so she made her way to her appointed chambers. To her surprise, she wasn’t alone in the hall.

  Lachlan stood outside the door of the chamber next to hers. Starkly, she wondered if it was his chambers that shared the adjoining door in her room. “Laird MacFarlane?” she asked softly.

  Turning his head, he studied her almost lazily. “Lady Sloane.”

  “Is that yer room?” His eyes widened, and she quickly backtracked. Emmeline, the head servant at the keep, once told her that her demanding questions might seem inappropriate. “Forgive me. I meant to ask ye more gently than that.”

  “Aye, ’tis my room,” he muttered. “Are ye always so forward?”

  “Sometimes.” Emmeline taught her to always go with the truth. “Forgive me if I have things confused, but shouldna yer wife be sharing this room?”

  “I am not married.”

  “Aye, but a woman who is not yer wife shouldna be in this room.” That should clarify things. She frowned. “I must move my things immediately. Is there another room available? I am comfortable sleeping elsewhere.”

  “We were not counting on yer company, Lady Sloane, and this was the only room available.” He smiled slowly and she felt her whole body warm. “Ye have nothing to worry about. I have no intentions of using the door between our chambers. I will keep it locked if ye wish.”

  “But it only locks on yer side,” she pointed out. “That doesna protect me. It only protects ye. That hardly seems fair.”

  “’Tis a wife’s duty to always be available for her husband.”

  Her temper spiked, but she struggled to tame it. It would not do to anger her host, especially after he’d just lost someone dear to him. “’Tis also a husband’s duty to protect his wife. How can a husband do that if a woman cannae lock her own doors?”

  “A woman shouldna need protection from her husband,” he pointed out.

  Immediately, her thoughts flew to the bruises that she’d seen on her friends. They were almost always formed at the hands of their husbands. “If ye believe that then perhaps ye doona understand much about the institute of marriage.”

  “Lady Sloane.” Slowly, he walked toward her. She had half a mind to flee into her chambers, but as she’d just pointed out, it would hardly protect her from him, so she lifted her chin and met his gaze. When he stopped just in front of her, his eyes blazed with anger.

  “Perhaps I should make myself verra clear here. I doona manhandle the women of my keep and I wouldna manhandle my wife. I doona know what ’tis like on Fenton lands, but I doona have the patience for men who beat those weaker than themselves.”

  Her heart pounded in her chest. “I doona mean to offend ye, Laird MacFarlane. I simply want to point out that when ye do marry, perhaps ye should try and see things from her point of view. A lock gives her power, even if she never uses it. Have a good evening.” Before she said anything else that might get her in trouble, Sloane opened her door and fled inside.

  It was a full minute before she heard Lachlan’s footsteps fading away.

  2

  Visions of the strange gray-eyed redhead followed Lachlan into his bed as he retired after the first night’s festivities. Outside his window, he could still hear the remnants of what was left of the drunks that stumbled around outside cheering and singing of Quinn’s conquests. Dinner had been tense for him after he’d deliberately peppered the end of the table with Errol’s and Gair’s warriors with his own. They’d all been warned to behave during their visit, but Lachlan was still on high alert.

  Sloane Fenton. Although he knew nothing of Errol’s long-dead wife, the daughter must have resembled her because she looked nothing like Errol. Her thick, fiery strands had been pulled back in a braid but curls still escaped and stuck out wildly. What was also strange was the dingy dress that she wore. The daughter of the Laird of a wealthy clan should be wearing the finest threads, and yet she looked as if she swept out the fireplaces. Freckles dotted along her surprisingly pale complexion, but it was those light eyes that were the most arresting. They were mostly trained to the plate, but when they did lift, they were filled with anxiety.

  Lachlan had the strangest desire to take her into his arms and tell her that she was safe in his keep. Of course, it also appeared that the woman was used to saying what she wanted when she wanted, so perhaps she didn’t need his protection after all. If she continued to freely spout her opinions, she was likely to keep all men at a safe distance.

  That did not stop the oddly erotic dreams from tormenting him as he tried to sleep.

  The next morning, he pushed her from his mind and summoned the four lairds to meet in the more intimate breakfast chamber. What he wanted to say to them was not for the ears of anyone else and while he wasn’t quite ready to speak with them in one of his more imposing rooms, he did want to gauge their reaction.

  He sat at the head of the table with Errol Fenton on his left and Gair Brisbane on his right. Next to them were their two other allies, Cunningham and Donahue. While they were smaller clans and uninvolved in the feud, their locations bordering the rest of the Highland clans made them key assets in the alliance. The king had demanded their pact generations ago during a period of unrest and they’d combined forces ever since. The rest of the clans looked to them and it wasn’t until the king decreed that a small piece of Fenton lands go to Brisbane that the alliance began to waver.

  Now, it was going to break unless Lachlan put an end to it.

  “If ye wanted us to meet so early in the morn, ye shouldna have offered us so much wine and ale,” Errol growled as he sat down, but he did not look surprised. “Is there a problem?”

  “My dead cousin is a problem,” Lachlan said evenly.

  The older man slanted his eyes. “Ye are not about to accuse me of murder again, are ye?”

  In the early hours of discovering his cousin’s death, Lachlan had fired off some poorly worded letters to both Errol and Gair. That same day, he sent another apologizing and offering an invitation to attend the celebration of his cousin’s life and by then, their replies were already on the way.

  Both of them staunchly denied the allegations.

  “Quinn is a victim of a bigger problem, a problem that we will be solving right here and now. Ye can continue to deny the feud and the infighting, but everyone here at the table knows differently. Errol, ye are lashing out at the king’s decision to award part of the loch shores to Gair Brisbane. I have held my tongue hoping that the two of ye will settle, but ye have not. Quinn stepped in to help and now, he is dead.”

  Errol opened his mouth to argue, but Lachlan held up his hand. “I will not tolerate any more bloodshed. Fenton. Brisbane. Ye have been warned. We will find a way to bury this discourse as we have buried my cousin and we will strengthen our alliance or I will tell the king that ye are pushing the boundaries of his decree.”

  Laird Brodie Donahue’s eyes widened and crinkled his handsome face. “If ye tell the king that, he may punish all of us.”

  “Aye,” Lachlan said as he met his gaze. “To assure yer support of peace.” He wanted to make it very clear that he had no qualms going to the king no matter the consequences. This had gone on long enough and he would not lose any more lives in their petty feud.

  For a moment, none of the men said anything. Brisbane, the only laird at the table as young as Lachlan, smirked and leaned forward. “All right, men. Let’s hear ideas.”

  What started out as a calm conversation quickly turned into a heated debate and then shouting indignation. The servant who bravely brought them
food to break their fast retreated with impressive speed. Fists struck against the table accompanied by more bellows, but Lachlan never rose from his seat or raised his voice until he heard the first offer that finally made sense.

  “Stop.” Lachlan raised his hand and stared at Cunningham. “Expand on yer thought.”

  “’Tis going to take more than an informal decree or even a formal decree to tie Fenton with Brisbane,” Cunningham said as he popped a piece of fruit into his mouth. “Ye are the biggest and strongest of us all. A common thread between ye and Fenton and Brisbane will be required to stop the bloodshed.”

  “Ye have something in mind.”

  Cunningham nodded. “Between the three of ye, ye have two unwed eligible women and two unwed eligible men.”

  Brisbane’s face darkened in anger. “Ye cannae mean to marry Lady Freya to Errol!”

  “No,” Lachlan said as he stared at Errol’s face. “’Tis not what Cunningham is suggesting. He wants ye to marry Freya.”

  Errol’s eyes narrowed. “And ye are to marry my Sloane?”

  “Aye,” Cunningham cheered. “Three clans tied together through marriage. Fenton and Brisbane cannae make a move on each other without angering ye as their in-law.”

  Lachlan felt his whole body tighten. Although Sloane had invaded his thoughts in the most carnal of ways, he hadn’t even considered the thought of marrying her. She clearly had no training in being the mistress of a keep and her tongue was far too loose. Furthermore, in marrying her, he’d hurt the woman he knew was expecting a proposal. His own clan would find it difficult to accept the daughter of the man they believed may have murdered Quinn, especially when they were so eager that he marry one of their own.

  On the other hand, Lachlan could not afford for the feud to continue and it was the only idea that felt like a solution.

  “Freya willna agree to marry before a three-month mourning period has passed,” Gair said tightly. “Nor will I ask that of her.”

  “I am under the same mourning period,” Lachlan pointed out.

  Errol immediately growled. “I willna agree to this knowing that anything can happen in that three-month period. I doona trust Brisbane. If I am to agree to this, ye will wed Sloane immediately—before we depart.”

  Hissing, Gair stood, but Lachlan put his hand up. The truth was that he wouldn’t agree to a three-month truce with Errol either, but he trusted Gair more. He hoped that Gair shared his sister’s affections and he wouldn’t be sending his sister to a lifetime of torment. “Gair, if ye are amenable, I will allow Freya to stay here and wait out the three-month mourning period. Errol, I am willing to wed yer daughter after the celebration has ended but before the other clans depart. They will all bear witness to the union.”

  “If Brisbane makes a move in that three-month period, I willna be responsible for my actions,” Errol sneered. “Otherwise, I agree.’

  Lachlan didn’t believe that would be a problem. Gair gripped the table tightly but he nodded as well.

  Peace had been brokered and just like that, Lachlan found himself betrothed to the strange woman who heated his blood and prattled on about locks on doors.

  * * *

  When her father didn’t summon her down for breakfast, Sloane sat by the window and gazed out below. The morning meal was over and the village below was full of life. More than a few men stumbled along and Sloane even saw one heaving up his guts. The guards had divided themselves by clan but were roughhousing and challenging each other. When they raced off, Sloane could only assume they were going to put those challenges to the test.

  Her chambers had been far more luxurious than anything that she’d ever slept in before. A gorgeous tapestry of a stag drinking by the water hung on the stone wall above a large fireplace and a brown bear-skin rug was spread out between the door and the bed. She’d always run along the stone floor either barefoot or in slippers and she spent a long time rubbing her feet on the rug. The bed was dressed in a ridiculous number of pillows and blankets and the chestnut armoire, painted in blues and golds, was far too large for her meager belongings.

  It was a room fit for the mistress of the keep and she felt like a charlatan sleeping there.

  A knock at the door drew her attention away, but when she answered it, there was no servant on the other side. Instead, Maggie MacFarlane, in her quiet and elegant way, greeted her warmly. Sloane recognized her instantly from the night before. “My dear, we were concerned when ye didna come down to join us. Are ye feeling all right?”

  Surprised, Sloane cocked her head. Her stomach had turned a bit after such a large meal combined with the wine she wasn’t used to, but that’s not why she missed breakfast. “I apologize. I was waiting for my father to send for me.”

  “Send for ye? Yer father has been sequestered in a meeting with the other lairds. Come. I will see that ye have eaten. I have been eager to have a moment with ye as I have not seen ye since ye were a wee baby.”

  That piqued Sloane’s interest and she picked up her skirts and followed the older woman. “Does that mean that ye knew my mother?”

  “We will get to all of that,” Maggie said airily. Her silver hair was pulled back in a tight bun, but it only looked sophisticated on the woman. Other than her nanny, Sloane didn’t have much experience with older women, but Maggie looked much like Sloane thought her mother might if she had survived: beautiful and poised. If Sloane hadn’t seen the way the woman’s hands shook during dinner the night before, she would have thought the woman to be in perfect health.

  Sun streamed through the large east-facing windows of the small room and there was an impressive spread of bread, fruit, and cheese on the round wooden table. “I get a little nervous around big crowds, so I picked at my own plate this morning,” Maggie explained as she sat down. “I hope you doonae mind if I join ye. My appetite has returned.”

  “Of course.” Maggie was in her own home. She had no reason to explain or beg forgiveness for eating a second breakfast. Although her own stomach was still twisted, she didn’t want to offend the woman, so she dutifully added food to her plate. “I didna get a moment to speak to ye yesterday. I should have extended my condolences for yer nephew, but there was so much going on. Please allow me to do so now.”

  “Thank ye.” Maggie smiled faintly, but there was sorrow on her face. “I am afraid that I always knew Quinn would meet his end at a young age. He often threw himself into dangerous situations. I think he knew it too and ’tis why he never settled down. He believed that he could help bring an end to the fighting and maybe with his death, he has made that happen.”

  “Fighting?” Sloane murmured politely.

  Maggie blinked at her. “Aye. The feud between the Fentons and the Brisbanes. Did ye not know, child?”

  Embarrassed, Sloane shifted around in her seat. “My father doesna share with me the details of clan politics,” she tried to explain, but even she knew how that sounded. It was humiliating that she was the daughter of the Laird and didn’t know that there was a feud involving her clan.

  “Yer father protects ye?” Maggie said softly. “’Tis sweet. Ye didna overhear anything though?”

  “Oh, I doona share my meals with my father or his men. I stay to my own wing within the keep. I doona believe I heard the servants mention fighting. Ye believe that my father is responsible for yer nephew’s death?”

  “I believe the feud is responsible.” Maggie straightened. “I doona point the finger at a single individual.”

  There was an awkward silence as Sloane bit into the bread and tried not to stare at the older woman. When her curiosity overwhelmed her, she broached the subject again. “Ye knew my mother?”

  “Aye.” Maggie’s eyes lit up. “Ava was a beautiful woman. I see her in ye. She came from the lowlands and her marriage celebration was an event that I will never forget. I struck up a friendship with her then and we continued that friendship until her illness took her. I bounced ye on my knee when ye were a child and I have thought of ye often.” r />
  But she didn’t visit. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why, but Sloane knew how much it angered people when she asked too many questions. Instead, she stuck to the conversation that she knew was safe. “I doona know much about my mother. The servants who worked for my mother while she was still alive are gone. The new ones didna know her. I know that ye are busy hosting the celebration, but if ye find the time, I would love to hear stories about her.”

  “My dear,” Maggie sighed. “I do none of the hosting now. I have passed those duties to Freya more than a year ago. I am afraid that I doona move as quickly or as easily as I used to. Until Lachlan marries, Freya has taken over the duties of mistress of the keep. I would be happy to share stories of yer mother. She was quite a character.”

  Before Maggie could launch into those stories, the door flew open and Lachlan and Calder strode in. Sloane’s fingers trembled when Lachlan’s eyes settled on her. “Mother,” he said quietly. “I have been looking for ye, although I suppose Lady Sloane has already shared the news.”

  “News?” Sloane asked without thinking as she picked up her water glass.

  “Aye. Our impending marriage.”

  In shock, Sloane gasped and let the glass slip through her fingers. It shattered as it hit the stone floor. With a cry, she immediately pushed back her chair and kneeled to pick up the shards. An apology bubbled up her throat, but she couldn’t get it out.

  Instantly, large fingers wrapped around her wrist and tugged her away. “Doona do that. Ye will cut yerself,” Lachlan said softly.

  “I have made a mess,” she said dumbly.

  “Aye. It happens. Doona concern yerself over it.” He searched her face. “Yer father is out watching some challenge brought forth by our guards. I assumed that he had spoken to ye before he left. I have assumed wrong. Ye didna know and I have dropped it on ye like a stone.”