Highland Conquest Page 13

  He opened the door, reached outside, and carried in a bag about the same size as Niall’s. When he opened it, Amber saw numerous pots she could use for preserving fruit and vegetables. Probably more than she needed, but she could always return the unused ones later.

  ’Twas a sweet thing for Lachlan to do—bringing the pots and saving her reputation, even though it was at odds with their plan—and her throat tightened at the gesture.

  Well, no need to spoil the ruse now. Taking the bag, she laid out the pots. “Since you’re both here and intent on being so helpful, let’s get to work.”

  She smiled at the surprised looks on their faces. “Have either of you e’er peeled an onion? ’Tis an experience you’ll ne’er forget.”

  Nine

  Lachlan sat in his solar—aye, his solar, for it had come to feel like his the last few weeks, the MacPherson clan too—at the large desk covered in sheets of parchment, quills, ink, and scattered sand, and wrote a letter to his foster father, Gregor MacLeod. The floor was stone, and the hangings on the wall that depicted the castle’s busy life faded. An open window let in the day’s warmth and light as well as the cheerful sounds from the bailey below.

  He needed Gregor’s help, and not just on strategy. Nay, he needed something else, something harder to define, and it…unsettled him. He suspected it had to do with Amber.

  Worry for her well-being, perhaps. Certainly, that had taken precedence over the outrage and need for vengeance he’d felt the last five years since his brother’s death.

  He should be out there with his and Callum’s men beating the bushes to force Murray out of hiding, riding him down. Instead, he spent his days near Amber in the castle and rode to her cottage every evening, hoping this would finally be the night he could be alone with her. So far, he’d spent time with Niall, Finola, the children—Ian, Mary, and Breanna—Tavis, Osgar, and several other MacPhersons, which had been good to get to know key members of the clan but not so good to seduce Amber.

  Although she was not the kind of woman who could be tempted. She’d either want to be with him, or she wouldn’t.

  Lachlan was hoping she would choose him.

  After a few hours visiting at the cottage each night, he would return to the castle with his guards, filled with worry for her safety even though his men surrounded her home. He wanted to turn around, but he knew Murray might be watching, and Lachlan had to trust his men to keep her safe.

  All he could do was make himself a better target.

  As for the chaperones, he had no doubt Niall was the one responsible for that, although Lachlan couldn’t understand why. Not after the steward had tried to catch him and Amber in a compromising position the first day he was here. Maybe the old fox had had a change of heart?

  Or maybe he had bigger plans?

  Leaning back in his chair, Lachlan raked his fingers through his hair and considered not going that night. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy himself—he did—it was only that the frustration of being close to Amber and not being able to touch her was killing him. Even when they were arguing, which they often did, he wanted to be near her.

  He couldn’t ever remember being this drawn to a woman. This…enthralled, despite how much she annoyed him.

  He’d had lovers in other clans, of course, lots of them. They were almost all older women with grown children and husbands who had died years before. They enjoyed his company and the boon of being leman to a laird, but never once had they loved him. Or needed him.

  Or he, them.

  Yet weeks ago, the morning after he’d taken the castle, he’d sat at Amber’s feet in the great hall as she slept. When she’d woken that first time, stared at him sleepily, he’d felt like he was drowning. And it wasn’t the unusual color of her eyes or beauty of her face still flecked with dried blood that held him captive, it was the way she had looked at him—soft, vulnerable. At that moment, in that brief period of time between sleep and wakefulness, the woman who surrendered to no one, had surrendered to him.

  She’d needed him. And something in him had needed her back.

  A knock sounded at the door, and he sat forward again as Callum walked in.

  “I saw Niall talking to Isla,” his foster brother said. “It looks like she’ll be your chaperone tonight.”

  “Aye, I saw it too. From the window.” He picked up his quill and tapped it on the parchment, the ink having dried long ago. “I was thinking, maybe I wouldnae go tonight.”

  Callum raised his brows as he turned a worn, wooden chair toward the desk and sat down. “Why e’er not?”

  “’Tis just…what good is it doing? I’m not spending the night, so Murray hasn’t attacked.”

  “You doona know that’s true. Stay the course, Lachlan. ’Tis working. Possibly even better than we expected. Everyone thinks you’re courting Amber. Murray will have had wind of it. You courting her, winning her, will be worse to him than if you just bedded her.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it shows you care for her, and since she keeps inviting you in, she must care for you too. He’ll want to crush that. And if he thinks you love her, he’ll be more inclined to want to take her away from you.”

  A shiver ran up Lachlan’s spine. He wasn’t sure if it was because Callum had mentioned Murray taking Amber away from him or the notion that he might be falling in love with her. Nay, it couldn’t be that. He had no desire to marry. Ever.

  He frowned. “Sometimes, Callum, I think you’re talking out your arse.”

  “Well, you can kiss said arse later when Murray is in your hands. Come now. All you have to do is ask yourself—how would you feel?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Think about Amber taking a lover… Now think about her being in love with him.”

  Lachlan released a long, pent-up breath. His stomach had twisted in that way that left him feeling anxious and unsettled. Feelings he wasn’t used to. “You may be right.”

  Callum reached forward and picked up one of the sealed letters from the desk, this one addressed to their foster brother Darach MacKenzie. “So, you’ve asked him to come?”

  “Aye. Gregor and the rest of the lads too. And I asked Darach to bring the MacKenzie priest, Father Lundie. He’s a good man. He can advise us on what to do with Father Odhran.”

  Another knock sounded, and Lachlan called out, “Come in.”

  The door pushed open, and Hamish entered, his grizzled face smiling at them in greeting. “Is this a good time?” he asked.

  Lachlan nodded at his second-in-command. “What news?”

  Hamish shut the door and stepped forward. “Still no sign of Murray. The MacPhersons are working with us to make sure we doona miss any caves or other natural hiding places, but so far, we’ve seen naught of him. We need more men, maybe some dogs. We could have crossed his path several times already if he’s on the move.”

  “I’ve sent letters to Gregor and the lads, asking them to bring their men. I’ll ask Darach to bring his dogs too. I thought we may have had Murray by now. Callum’s plan with Amber was promising.”

  “It still is,” Callum objected. “He’ll move against her soon. I’d lay gold on it.”

  Lachlan fisted his hand on the table. “Then we’ll stay alert. He’s waiting for us to lose focus, most likely. We have to catch him before he hurts Amber more than he already has.”

  “Aye,” both men agreed.

  “What of Father Odhran?” Lachlan asked.

  “We’re watching him,” Hamish said. “He’s been shunned by the clan e’er since he tore up Amber’s garden. And there was some discussion amongst the warriors about what he’d intended to do to her goats, especially the wee female he’d tied so tight to the tree. The men became quite lewd. Word will get out what was said, and it will add to his humiliation, isolating him further. He’ll contact Murray in a few days if he hasn’t don
e so already.”

  Lachlan grunted. He had no sympathy for Father Odhran—the priest had brought all this trouble on himself. He could have helped Amber and the MacPhersons against Machar Murray. Instead, he’d destroyed the letters Niall had written to Gregor MacLeod asking for help, he’d persecuted Amber and any pregnant woman who’d come to her in need, and he’d let Murray dig an escape route from the chapel under the castle walls.

  Most importantly, he’d accused Amber of unnatural relations with the male goat. For that alone, as far as Lachlan was concerned, he deserved to go to hell.

  “What other information would you have us leak to him?” Hamish asked.

  “Let him know we’ve asked Gregor and our foster brothers to come,” Callum said, “and that we’re bringing in specially trained dogs to sniff out Murray. That’ll put a fire under the rat.”

  Lachlan nodded, “And also…” He stopped as his heart began to race. Both men looked at him when he didn’t continue. He had to slow his breath and clear his throat before he could speak normally. “Also…Callum thinks it will work to our benefit if Murray believes I intend to marry Amber. Arrange it so he hears those whispers as well as the others.”

  “Aye.” Hamish returned to the door, then he hesitated, his fingers wrapped around the handle. He turned back, looking almost sheepish. “I’ve been asked by several of our men, Callum’s too—and some MacPhersons—what your intentions are toward the lass? They want to pursue her, many saying they’re in love with her, but they doona want to encroach if you’ve laid a claim.”

  Lachlan scowled. “First of all, I canna claim her like she’s a horse or a cow. Amber will decide what she wants and no one else. Second of all, they canna be in love with her if they doona know her, and believe me, she hasn’t let any of them close enough to know her.” Then it struck him, and he felt his stomach drop as he turned to Callum. “Has she?”

  “Nay, only you.”

  He nodded, suddenly pleased. Which really only proved he was an idiot, because he had no desire to claim anyone. Both he and Amber knew their “courtship” was a ruse.

  “So what shall I tell them, then?” Hamish asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. “They can still pursue her, even though we want everyone to think Laird MacKay is courting her?”

  Callum shook his head. “I think you should say anyone can pursue her, but they willna have any luck because she’s fallen in love with Lachlan, and the two of them intend to formalize it verra soon.”

  “Formalize?” Lachlan’s pleasure from before faded, and he found himself feeling yoked. “Doona you think that’s going too far?”

  “Aye, maybe. Hamish, instead, let it be known that when you asked Laird MacKay, he got verra testy at the idea of other men pursuing Amber, even though he said he had no claim on her.” He pointed to Lachlan’s face. “Try to mimic that expression when you tell them. And then say it’s a risky move on their part.”

  Lachlan could see the glint of laughter in Callum’s eyes and knew he was being deliberately provoked. ’Twas working.

  He’d just opened his mouth to deny his irritable mood when another knock sounded on the door. He gritted his teeth. “Come in.”

  Earc poked his head through the opening, an expectant look on his face. He nodded at them. “Lairds, Hamish.”

  Lachlan took a deep, calming breath. “Is something wrong, Earc?”

  “Nay, not wrong, exactly.”

  “What then?”

  Earc looked at Hamish. “Did you ask him yet? About Amber.”

  “What about Amber?” But that puppy dog look had entered Earc’s eyes, and Lachlan already knew. The heat in his body rose as his blood began to boil.

  Earc continued. “’Tis just that I’m in love with her, and I want to know if—”

  “Out! All of you, out!” Lachlan yelled. “Our meeting is over.”

  Earc jumped, and Hamish quickly pushed him through the door, shutting it tightly behind them. Callum fell forward in his chair, laughing. Lachlan watched him for a minute, knowing his other foster brothers would hear about this the moment they arrived. He picked up his quill, twirled it in annoyance, then tossed it at Callum. He caught it one-handed, still laughing.

  Lachlan picked up his bottle of ink to toss next, then thought better of it and set it back down. “Let me know when you’re done.”

  Callum wiped his hand across his eyes. “Done,” but then he laughed some more. Finally, he sighed and said, “I’m done…for now. I doona think I’ve e’er seen you so undone since we came here, and not because of Machar Murray. ’Tis our bright, redheaded witch who’s unsettled you.”

  Lachlan rubbed his palm over his stomach. There was that word again: unsettled. “I doona like you calling her that.”

  “A faery, then, for she’s certainly cast a spell o’er you. If it’s any consolation, I think she feels the same way. Which is a conundrum, because she’s perhaps even less likely to marry than you are.”

  His gaze jumped to Callum’s. “Why do you think she doesn’t want to marry?”

  “What are we now, a bunch of old women sitting around talking about other people’s feelings?”

  “Well, you certainly claim to know everything else.”

  “I can think like an obsessed man, but I canna know what is in a woman’s heart. I doona think even they know. Best you ask Amber yourself. Why doona you wait until Isla and her husband leave tonight, then go back and see her. Or show up a wee bit early.”

  He grunted, then stretched out his hand toward Callum. “Give me my quill back. I have to add to my letter to Darach, ask him to bring the dogs.”

  Callum rose and handed it over. “Aye, you do that. I’m going to check on the men hidden around Amber’s place. I have a feeling Murray will strike tonight.”

  His words left Lachlan cold. Once he’d finished his letter, he walked to the window and looked out over the bailey toward the loch and the sprawling village beside it. The air was warm from the summer sun, and it slowly leeched the chill from his bones as he watched the clouds drift across the sky.

  Some might say he was brooding, but Lachlan preferred to think of it as solving a problem. Even though he wasn’t sure what the problem was, precisely, or how to fix it.

  When he heard Amber’s name called from below, he looked down and saw her crossing the grass toward the keep, her healing bag in her hands, her orange-gold hair shining brightly in the sunshine.

  He still had guards on her to keep her safe, but he’d ordered them to stay back when she was in the castle. When she left, she’d allowed them to ride with her, but only after much persuasion on his part. It would force Murray to attack at their one weak spot—her cottage—where ideally, Lachlan and his men would be waiting.

  Two warriors who were not part of her guard dogged her heels, and Earc hurried from the keep to meet her. She kept going. Lachlan couldn’t see her face, but he imagined she must find it annoying.

  He certainly did. And more.

  That familiar pressure grew in his chest, and he whistled sharply. The men looked up. A second whistle accompanied by a hand gesture indicated that they should scatter. All three of them stopped, then went in different directions while Amber continued up the steps and into the keep.

  He listened for her steps, hoping she would come see him, but after a while he blew out a breath and returned to his desk. Maybe he would go see her early tonight, as Callum had suggested. A wee bit of alone time might do them some good. Or they’d end up fighting like they often did.

  Either way, it would finally be just them.

  Ten

  Amber crossed the great hall, the rushes soft beneath her shoes and the air still crisp due to the stone walls that kept in the cold. All signs of her makeshift hospital had been cleared away, and bright sunlight streamed through the high windows. Warriors had gathered in small groups for the noon meal, the tables
and benches beginning to fill the space. The fire burned low in the hearth with cooking pots and kettles hanging over it—used to warm food and water from the separate kitchen.

  She approached the stairs to the keep’s second level, absently lifting a hand in greeting to those who called out to her. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth in an attempt to calm her racing heart. A moment ago, all she’d felt was annoyance as the men tagged along at her heels, trying to talk to her. She hadn’t wanted to be rude to them; she never wanted that, but God’s blood, the constant clamoring for her attention was enough to rile a saint. Especially as the men seemed to consider it a badge of honor when she rejected them—usually with a flat out “nay.”

  Then the whistle had come from above and the men had scattered. She hadn’t looked up; she’d known who it was. Now her blood whooshed through her veins like she’d imbibed too much ale.

  A part of her wanted to go see Lachlan—whether to thank him for his help or tell him to refrain from meddling in her affairs, she hadn’t decided yet. But just the thought of being alone with him had filled her body with the urge to rub against his.

  So she tiptoed up the stairs and down the hall toward Adaira’s room, as quiet as a mouse, not trusting herself.

  What would it be like to be completely alone with him after all those nights of being in his company, surrounded by her friends and neighbors? Especially in a room as small as his solar.

  They’d spent half their time together in the evenings arguing and baiting each other, even if their chaperones were unaware of it. It might be as subtle as a raised brow or tiny smirk or a more obvious eye roll. They shared a silent language that could say more between them than a whole night with someone else.

  When she reached Adaira’s door, she breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t succumbed to her urges and gone to Lachlan’s solar. After a brief knock, she pushed inside the chamber that was across from Callum’s. The lassie lay on her back, the forest-green quilts pulled up beneath her arms. Ian sat in a worn, matching chair beside the bed with a book in his lap.