Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

A rran said very little as they made their way back up to the burn and along to the place where the horses were tethered. He seemed thoughtful and Dahlia was in no mind to disrupt whatever was on his mind. She was caught-up in her own struggle. Now that they were close to Castle Mackinnon her heart was in her mouth at the thought of what was to come.

"'Tis nay far from here tae the end of our journey. We'll nay stop again so if ye need tae relieve yerself before we're on our way best take yer time tae dae so now."

Grateful for the opportunity she walked a small distance to be by herself and breathe deeply of the forest scents, knowing that this was her last taste of freedom. When she returned, Arran was already mounted and waiting for her.

They rode on in grim silence. Once or twice, she caught sight of Arran wincing as if he was in pain, but he said nothing and she made no comment.

They' been riding for some time when they spied two horsemen ahead, approaching at a gallop.

The men drew alongside and identified themselves as scouts from Clan Mackinnon.

"We've been sent by the laird tae seek ye out. Laird Mackinnon has been concerned that his War Leader Craig Donald and the other men with him arrived at the castle last night. Ye were expected tae follow them. When ye did nae, the laird worried."

Arran thanked the men for the message, adding. "I'll explain all when we arrive. Tell yer laird that we'll be there before the sun reaches the middle of the sky."

The men saluted, turned their horses and galloped back the way they'd come.

Dahlia's stomach was churning as if it was filled with curdled milk, and breathing was becoming difficult as she looked up. The sun was not far from the high point of the sky. They'd soon be arriving at Castle Mackinnon.

No further words passed between them and, when the castle finally came into view, Dahlia felt as if her heart would stop beating. All the bitter memories of four years ago, when James Mackinnon had held her prisoner there, culminating in the murder of her brother, washed over her like a tidal wave, leaving her gasping, her heart pounding so hard she was certain it would leap from her chest.

Arran turned to her. "Are ye all right melady? Yer face is drained of color and ye look terribly pale."

She shook her head, unable to speak, leaving it up to him to guess at the distress the view of the castle had brought her. She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, hauling in a deep breath, attempting to steady herself, and calm her ragged breathing.

Nay way will Laird Bairre Mackinnon see me afeared.

Arran spoke softly. "Never fash, melady. I'll watch over ye and make sure that nay harm comes tae ye."

There it was again, the rich timbre of his voice playing with her senses, bringing up a memory of a dark night years ago, a desperate bid to climb the castle wall, and a young man who tried to save her.

Dinna be foolish. ‘Tis merely the sight of the castle that robs yer breath.

His reassuring words went some way to settling her and she rode on, keeping her breathing steady, doing her best to appear serene and unconcerned, determined to greet Bairre Mackinnon with all the dignity she could muster. After all, she reminded herself, she was the sister of Haldor MacLeod, the Viking Laird, the fiercest warrior of them all, and she was every bit as brave as her brother.

The portcullis had been raised and the heavy oaken gates swung open as they approached. Dahlia felt a shiver of revulsion ripple through her as she caught sight of the laird riding out to greet them. Coming abreast of them he dismounted, bowing from the waist before her, a smile of triumph on his face.

"Welcome tae Castle Mackinnon, dearest ," he whispered. Taking the reins of her horse from Arran he stood close as she dismounted.

He scowled at Arran as he returned the reins of the little mare. "Take the horses tae the stables. After I've seen tae me lady I'll meet with ye in the solar to hear yer explanation fer yer tardiness. It will bode well if ye have good reason fer keeping the Lady Dahlia in yer company overnight."

Bairre raised Dahlia's hand to his lips. She shuddered slightly, trying hard to hide her distaste at the touch of his cold lips on her hand. Then, to her horror and amazement, he bent and hoisted her into his arms, striding ahead, through the gate and into the cobbled courtyard.

As Bairre lowered her to stand by his side a cheer went up from the assembled rows of servants lined up outside the keep. She bit her lip. The man was clearly smart enough to know she'd be loath to display her resistance to him in front of this gathering of the castle servants.

"Every one of these attendants is here tae dae yer bidding melady and make yer life at the castle supremely comfortable." Bairre was smiling at her, but his dark – almost blackcurrant – eyes held no warmth, and behind his smile his unevenly spaced teeth were sharp as a wolf's.

Searching among the group there were no faces she recognized from her previous incarceration at Castle Mackinnon. She couldn't help wondering if her jailers from the dungeon were lined up with the other servants for her inspection. It seemed there were few among the servants here now who'd been witness to the privations she'd suffered.

She turned her head, hoping for a glimpse of Arran. Catching sight of him heading into the stables with the horses left her feeling strangely bereft. Without realizing it, she'd grown accustomed to the protective mantle his presence had thrown over her.

A tall, angular woman with grey hair tied in a neat bun at her nape, emerged from the group of servants and approached. She curtseyed, giving Bairre a fleeting glance, before introducing herself to Dahlia.

"I am Beattie Murison, melady. I will be yer lady's maid. If there is aught ye wish fer, please let me hear it and I will ensure yer wishes are met. I will tend tae yer dressing and yer hair and whatever ye need." A nervous smile followed these words.

Bairre smiled graciously at the woman. "Thank ye, Beattie. Can ye please escort the Lady Dahlia tae her chambers?"

He turned to Dahlia. "There's tae be a betrothal feast this night in the great hall. Many guests have been arriving throughout the day and there'll be a great crowd here. The staff are all in readiness and the bedchambers are prepared. Unfortunately, as ye didnae arrive sooner, ye'll have nae time tae rest before ye make ready tae receive our esteemed visitors." He gestured to the lady's maid who was standing patiently beside Dahlia.

"This maid will help ye make ready in yer finery fer this night. I wish tae introduce ye as me chosen bride tae all the clansmen and their ladies."

Dahlia's heart sank. How on earth could she carry off such a farce in front of the entire clan? It was difficult enough to hide her revulsion from Bairre, but to be on show in front of his guests, pretending to be his proud fiancée would sorely test her, while she was waiting every minute to hear that her brother had been successful in his petition to King Robert, and the wedding would never go ahead.

To her surprise, as Beattie guided her into the castle and up the stairs to her bedchamber, she saw that the grey forbidding stone walls she recalled had been plastered in many places and painted in bright colors. Giant colorful tapestries hung from the ceiling depicting battle scenes, flowers, or courtly suitors playing musical instruments to their attentive lovers.

It was a far cry from the grim halls and passageways that had been the rule when Bairre's brother James was the Laird. Perhaps this meant there was a softening in the austere and cruel ways of the Mackinnons.

When Beattie flung open the large oak doors of the chamber designated as hers, Dahlia, could scarcely believe that such pretty rooms existed within the confines of Castle Mackinnon.

The walls were fully plastered and painted deep red and blue, hung with tapestries depicting more flowery, romantic scenes of lassies being serenaded by troubadours. The rug-covered floor was spread with brightly patterned, woven rugs strewn with lavender and herbs. A warm fire blazed merrily in the hearth and the fragrance of lavender filled the air.

Beattie ushered her into a second room containing an enormous, timber, four-poster bed hung with red velvet drapes and piled high with fur-lined coverlets and enormous feather-filled pillows.

The maid bobbed her head in a brief curtsey. "I trust it is all tae yer liking, melady. Yer clothes arrived with the other riders last night and I have unpacked them. They have all been steamed and hung to relieve creases and wrinkles."

"Beattie, it is all quite lovely. I thank ye fer preparing me gowns and hanging them."

Dahlia studied the woman's face in an effort to discern if she had the potential to be someone she could trust. As she could read nothing in Beattie's bland expression, for now she schooled herself to appear thrilled with the decorations and her maid's ministrations, taking care not to allow her sensation of dread and despair to be reflected on her face.

"Would ye care tae bathe, Lady Dahlia?" Beattie gestured toward a large tub behind a screen in the corner of the bedchamber.

"Aye," Dahlia sighed. "That would be good. Me bones are fair aching after three days in the saddle. I look forward tae resting them in a tubful of warm, scented water."

"Very well. I'll see to the hot water in the kitchen and ask the scullery lads to bring sufficient fer ye tae bathe." With that she hastened out of the room leaving Dahlia to subside into one of the large cushioned chairs in front of the fireplace.

It seemed that Bairre was intent on convincing her that life here as his wife would be warm, sweet-scented and pleasant. A complete contrast to the conditions she'd suffered on her previous visit here.

She didn't believe that for an instant. What she knew of Laird Mackinnon was that he was every bit as cruel and ruthless as his late brother James. She had no intention of allowing him to lull her into believing otherwise.

Arran was in the stables circling his horse's shoulder with a curry comb when one of the younger squires approached. The lad hesitated dancing from foot to foot, clearing his throat.

"What is it, lad?"

"A message, melord."

From his manner Arran quickly deduced that the message would not be in his favor.

"And? Let's hear it." He kept his head down, tending the horse.

"'Tis from the laird. He wishes ye tae meet with him at once in his solar." The lad's voice quavered and he gave a little cough over the last words.

"Was the laird angry when he tasked ye with delivering his command tae me."

"Och, aye." The lad shivered and Arran detected the beginnings of a bruise on his cheek. He recalled that when Bairre's mood darkened, he lashed out at anyone before him. Mayhap this lad had displeased him in some small way.

He ruffled the boy's hair and took a coin from his purse. "Here, lad. A coin fer yer trouble."

After the squire had scurried off Arran leaned against his horse's shoulder and gave a heartfelt sigh.

"Now tae explain tae his high-and-mighty-lordship why I kept him waiting fer his bride."

The horse snorted in reply.

When he entered the solar, he was taken aback to see his friend Craig Donald standing alongside Bairre, their backs to the blazing fire in the hearth.

The two men moved to the table at the center of the solar and took their seats. Arran moved to follow them but Bairre, scowling, his face dark as thunder, raised his hand.

"I didnae invite ye tae be seated. I wish ye tae remain standing while ye answer me questions."

Arran glanced at Craig, wondering why the man had been included in his interrogation. He soon found out the reason.

"I hear from Craig Donald that ye sent him and his men ahead of ye so that ye could ride alone with the Lady Dahlia."

Craig nodded, saying nothing.

"That is only partly correct, me laird."

"Are ye telling me that me war leader isnae speaking the truth?"

Arran puzzled on this for a moment, he'd thought he'd made it clear to Craig that he'd wished for the men to ride ahead to ensure their safety. He glanced at Craig who gave him an almost imperceptible nod. This was clearly one of Bairre's jealous attempts to trick him. The man was overly suspicious, yet arguing with him was perilous.

"Nay, me laird. What I am saying is that the reason fer me request that he and his men ride ahead was nae so I could be alone in her company, but tae protect her." His glance swept over Craig one more time. A few words from him could set Bairre's mind at rest.

Craig spoke up. "Aye. Arran made it clear that his concern was that there could be trouble and danger ahead. We were expecting an ambush in store from the MacLeods or from bandits on the road. His wish tae ride with the lady was to shield her from any potential skirmish that could occur."

Arran threw Craig a relieved grin as Bairre turned to his war leader. "Well," he huffed. "Ye could have made it clearer to me when ye made yer report."

Craig looked up stroking his beard as if he was considering Bairre's words carefully. He shrugged. "I regret I didnae make it clear enough when I reported tae ye, me laird. I thought I did." He gave a slight bow to Bairre, dipping his head. "Me apologies tae both ye and tae Arran."

Bairre looked somewhat mollified at Craig's words. "So ye rode ahead. But somewhere along the way ye realized they were nae longer on the road behind ye?"

"Aye. We stopped to water our horses. When Arran and the lady didnae appear after some time, one of me men rode back tae seek fer them. When he found nae sign of them, he concluded that they had taken rest at one of the taverns along the way."

Bairre's face turned bright red on hearing this. He looked ready to explode with fury.

"Is this true? Did ye aim tae cuckold me with the lass the king has commanded should be me wife?"

Arran straightened his shoulders and sucked in a deep breath before he spoke again. "I had nay such intention, Bairre." It was only because of his concern for the safety of his mother and for Dahlia that he was able to keep his voice steady, biting down the murderous rage welling inside him at the hateful man's insults. "When we stopped tae rest our horses, I went tae the aid of a peasant who had met with an accident. In doing so, I was injured. As a consequence, I was unable tae ride for the next several hours."

Bairre huffed disbelievingly. "And if I question the lady, will she tell me the same tale?"

"I am certain she will. And if ye wish for evidence, I've a stitched-up gash and a smattering of bruises on me back that will attest tae me truth-telling."

With Bairre's wicked black eyes boring into him, Arran schooled his features to appear unconcerned, thankful that, for all his probing, the laird could not penetrate his heart. If Bairre had an inkling of the night he'd spent, injured or not, with Dahlia's warm body pressed beside him, or if he knew how close they'd come to kissing beside the waterfall, both their lives and that of Emilia, would be in the gravest danger. For all their sakes he made a silent vow to banish his longing and lust for Dahlia from his thoughts.

Bairre grunted. It was clear he was not satisfied with Arran's answers, yet he had no option but to accept them as the truth.