Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

B airre turned his back, snapping his fingers at Craig, who hastened over at once.

"Clear the floor and tell the musicians tae make ready for the dancing."

Craig rushed off to do Bairre's bidding and within a short time the rushes and debris from the meal had been swept away and the musicians – with their fiddles, bodhrans, and bagpipes – were striking up a tune.

Bairre seized Dahlia's hand, assisting her to her feet, and guided her onto the floor. They were joined there by a happy throng of Mackinnon clansmen and their wives. Within seconds, she was whirled away from Bairre, into a succession of wild reels, jigs, and strathspeys. Amid the cheering and laughter, she managed to avoid him, pleased to be removed from his presence, if only for a brief respite.

More and more folk joined the dancing, skirts, kilts and hair flying, the céilidh becoming even noisier and more boisterous as the night wore on. All at once Dahlia's attention was ensnared by a tall figure at the furthest end of a row. Her heart bounced. It was Arran. He did not approach directly, but after the next reel he came closer. They joined arms and circled each other but there was no opportunity to talk among the melee of dancers.

Conscious of Bairre's eyes on her, she barely glanced at Arran. But as he twirled her alongside him for the briefest moment, he whispered a few words that only she could hear.

"Tonight. I'll come tae yer chamber."

His words caused a rush of molten heat through her veins and set her pulse pounding. She turned away, her limbs reduced to liquid, so that to steady herself she had to clutch the hand of the new partner who stepped into Arran's place. Then she was whirled into a circle of smiling dancers and Arran moved on to take the hand of another lassie.

She risked a glance at Bairre but he was caught up in the melee of dancers and, for once, his watchful gaze was not on her.

When the dancing finally brought her face-to-face with Bairre, he smiled as he took her hand and joined the circle, no doubt pleased with his earlier display of blatant power.

At the end of the reel, the musicians took a break from playing and Bairre escorted her back to the high table, where they were served with platters of sweetmeats and a refreshing rosewater.

"The dancing was held in yer honour, Lady Dahlia. I trust ye enjoyed it."

She smiled, looking up at him demurely through her long dark lashes. "Indeed. It was a great pleasure. I thank ye fer creating such amusement on me behalf." She sipped at the fragrant drink, marveling at her own pretense at submissiveness. "But I trust ye'll excuse me. It has been a long day fer me and I confess I am exhausted. What I wish is tae return tae me chamber tae rest."

It seemed the dancing had mellowed him, for he acquiesced to her request without demurring. He signaled to Craig Donald who raced to his side.

"Find one of the chamber maids and have her accompany melady tae her chamber. She is tired from the day and wishes tae retire."

Dahlia was escorted back to her rooms by a rather stout maid who could well have been one of the two she'd encountered at the broom cupboard earlier. She glanced at the woman's ruddy face but she showed no sign of recognition. Dahlia could only pray that she and Arran had not been observed, whether by gossiping servants or by Craig Donald. Their safety and that of Arran's mother depended on it

Once inside her room, Dahlia kicked off her shoes, unlaced her dress and, in her petticoat and stays, lay back, luxuriating on the pile of fur and pillows on her bed.

Even though the risks were great, she longed to see Arran again.

Despite her fast-beating heart, she failed to keep her eyes from closing as the night wore on. A soft scratching at the door of her chamber jolted her back to wakefulness. She grabbed her robe and flung it on before scampering to the door, already smiling.

The door creaked as she opened it just enough to allow Arran into the room. To her searing disappointment, he held her at arm's length.

Her heart plummeted at the look of anguish on his face. Her first thought was that he no longer cared for her. But then her mind cleared and she realized he'd not be here if that was the case. Something must have happened since their fleeting moment together at the céilidh.

"What is it? I can see from the look in yer eyes there is something badly wrong?"

She took his hand and led him across to the fireplace. "Sit" she commanded, "And tell me what has brought this change of heart in ye."

He sat, a rueful smile quirking his lips.

Dahlia sucked in a breath at the sight of his face in the flickering firelight. He was so handsome in the golden glow, his frown giving him the appearance of a fierce lion even more than ever.

He seated himself on the armchair and pulled her onto his knee, holding her tight. For a brief, joyous moment Dahlia fancied he would kiss her, but then he turned his head away, leaving her bereft. Distracted he stared into the flames.

"I shouldnae be here with ye now, lass."

She curled her arms about his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. "Aye. I ken it is dangerous. Should we be found out, Bairre will deal with us without mercy."

"He is suspicious. I ken he doesnae believe there was naught between us during the time we spent on our way here."

Dahlia gave a bitter chuckle. "He is right tae be suspicious, but he can never know whatever there is between ye and me. Mayhap he was watching us during the céilidh and saw ye bend yer head tae mine tae whisper in me ear."

"What we did together in the darkness earlier was wrong. A mistake we should never have made. It is nae only our own lives at risk, but that of me maither as long as she remains a prisoner of the laird."

"A mistake?" Her voice shook. "How can ye say that what we shared was a mistake? It was nae wrong."

"Nay. It was nae wrong; it made me heart sing with joy and me body burn with wanting ye. But it mustnae happen again."

Dahlia listened in silence, a cold stone forming in her belly at his words. She released her arms from his neck and reluctantly regained her feet. He was right. There could be no possibility of their being together as long as Emilia's life and theirs was in danger.

He stood and reached a hand to reassure her. He stroked her hair back from her face and looked deep into her eyes. The light in his green-gold gaze shone brightly in the firelight's glow and her heart melted.

How could this be? The one man who fired her senses, whose presence set her heart racing, her head swimming with dizziness and her limbs to turn to liquid, could never be hers. Instead, she was meant to be the bride of a man she detested.

He turned and walked slowly across to the door. "I shouldnae be here now but I wanted ye tae try and understand why we must be apart."

She huffed. "I understand that Laird Mackinnon is a brute who keeps us all prisoners with his cruelty and his evil power."

He paused, his hand on the latch.

"There is something more," he stated flatly, not meeting her eyes.

She tilted her head in a question, his icy tone preparing her for something she didn't wish to hear.

"After the festivities were over and the guests had retreated tae their beds, I left me chamber and made me way along the passageway near me room. It was there I encountered Bairre."

Her hand flew to her throat. "Did he see ye coming here?"

"Nay. I was near enough tae me own chamber and he couldnae tell where I was heading. I told him some fanciful story about wishing tae raid the kitchen fer a morsel, as I was still hungry."

"And he believed ye?"

"Aye." He laughed grimly. "He trailed me down the stairs tae the scullery. I was forced tae eat a duck leg tae convince him."

"And then?"

"After that, I walked back tae me chamber and he went tae his. But before we parted ways, he handed me this."

He reached inside his shirt and brought out a tiny leather purse. Opening it, he withdrew a lock of grey hair tied with a black ribbon."

She looked up and met his eyes. "A lock of yer maither's hair?"

He nodded, scrabbling his long fingers through the hair falling over his forehead. "It was his reminder that he could harm her at any time and there's naught I can dae tae stop him. A warning that he was watching me."

The breath hitched in her throat. "D'ye think he saw ye coming here?"

"Nay. If I'd thought he was following I'd never have come. I waited until I was certain I was alone before I ventured along the passage tae yer rooms."

Her stomach churned and her hands trembled. "He's watching us?"

He nodded, giving her a rueful smile. "I think ‘tis best if we stay apart. I am sorry that I have put ye in danger."

The door creaked open and he took a step, scanning the corridor for a brief moment. And then he was gone

She closed the door behind him as the tears began to flow.

The miserable days turned into two miserable weeks. With every passing day Dahlia became more aware her time was running out. The four weeks the king had decreed should be given to her and Bairre to become acquainted with each other were fast disappearing.

Her days were spent in the women's solar, embroidering endless tapestries, sketching in charcoal and, occasionally, strolling up to the battlements, turning her gaze across the green fields and the distant hills. She strained her eyes in search of the longed-for messenger from her brother Haldor, or the king, bringing word that the decree ordering her marriage to the Laird Mackinnon had been declared null and void and she was to return at once to Castle MacLeod.

Alas, she looked in vain, there was no word from her brother or King Robert. And to her great sadness she had not laid eyes on Arran since the night he'd come to her chamber to confess their kiss had been a grave error, not to be repeated.

As the days wore on, her attitude toward Bairre became even colder and more distant. He irritated her with his ingratiating behavior that was so openly insincere. She sensed his impatience when his feigned courtly behavior failed to capture her interest.

Every morning, he insisted on joining her to break their fast and each morning her disgust for him grew.

She spooned in a few mouthfuls of porridge and honey and took a single bite out of a buttery bannock.

"Ye're fading away, melady." Bairre offered one of his wolfish smiles, giving her a measuring look. "Ye need tae eat more. I liked ye better when ye had some meat on yer bones. A skinny lass is nay tae me liking at all. I like a good handful of breasts and a well-rounded derrière and ye're in danger of losing yers." He focused his attention on his coddled eggs and oat bread while she made a show of ignoring him, her stomach churning at the idea of his cold hands seizing her.

He glanced up, vexation written on his down-turned mouth and in the coldness of his small, dark eyes.

"Me patience is wearing thin, Lady Dahlia. I believe the king's expectation was that we should become close during these weeks. But I've come tae believe ye've nae intention of making yerself pleasant tae me."

She sighed loudly and turned to face him. "I dinnae care tae get close tae ye Bairre. Could ye ever imagine that I would be pleasant tae a man who had a hand in me braither's death?"

He gave her a thin smile. "We will wed melady, and I wish fer a pleasant, faced wife."

Rising to her feet she gave him a contemptuous look. "If it's a pleasant face ye wish fer, then ye should find another lass tae marry. ‘Tis too bad that ye returned from the place ye were holed up in when ye ran away from the MacLeods. The clan was happier when Arran took yer place as laird."

She turned her back and was stalking out of the solar when she heard the bowls and cups crashing to the floor and the small table on which they'd been served being upended.

"Why, ye hedge-born wench, I'll teach ye tae ken yer place," he shouted. "I've a mind tae take ye across me knee and whack some good manners intae ye."

It was too much. All the reserve she'd been holding on to for the past weeks, came loose in a rush of fury. "A curse on ye Bairre Mackinnon. What I've a mind tae, is tae run ye through with a sword and let the devil take ye, while I ride like the wind back tae me home."

"Ah," he said, grabbing her arm and pushing his face close enough to hers so that she could smell his foul breath and see the pock-marks on his cheeks.

"I see ye fer the harridan that ye truly are. From now on I'll make sure there's always someone close by tae keep watch on ye."

Hauling in a deep breath she wrenched her arm out of his grip and marched out of the solar and back to her bedchamber, cursing herself for being a damned fool. Showing her temper as she'd done, he would now drop all pretense of courtliness and allow his cruel nature full rein. What little freedom she'd had would now be lost to her.

Once she'd regained the privacy of her bedchamber, she found her leather satchel and, with still shaking hands, took out several pieces of parchment. Then she searched through the drawers in her cabinet for ink and a quill and set about writing a note addressed to her brother.

I am in danger. Hurry tae set me free. I am fearful of Bairre Mackinnon. He is a truly wicked man.

After folding her letter in half, she wrote Tae the Laird Haldor, Castle MacLeod, on the outside, then she heated sealing wax at the fireplace and dripped it onto the folded parchment, sealing it, making sure that her desperate note could not be read without the seals being broken.

Once that was done, she waited until Beattie came to help do her hair and tidy her room and handed the note to her.

"This is a secret Beattie. The laird mustnae ken I've written tae me braither. I need ye tae find a messenger who carries letters to and fro across the country who will carry this tae Castle MacLeod."

She handed Beattie a gold coin to ensure her silence in the matter and another coin for the messenger.

After Beattie had departed bearing the precious parchment, Dahlia lay on her bed sending up a silent prayer that her missive would find its way to Haldor.