Authors: Laura Glenn
“You might have to find the Graham witch for that one.”
David smacked Rathe on the arm. “Save your ale and wine for after you have
claimed your bride. I want you at your best to defeat MacTavish.”
David’s voice boomed through the great hall below, bouncing
off the stone walls and traveling up to where Leah and Alpina stood. Laughter
followed and her shoulders tensed, forming a knot just below her neck.
“Oh, it is starting!” Alpina whispered, giving Leah’s arm a
gentle squeeze.
A flicker of dread settled into Leah’s stomach and she
leaned against the wall for support. Neither woman could see anything in the
great hall from their perch at the top of the staircase that curved around to
the second-floor landing, but David’s voice rang out loud and clear. Too bad
she couldn’t understand a damn word since it was all in Gaelic. She turned her
gaze to Alpina’s face, scrutinizing the lines of her expression for any
indication of what was being said.
Alpina nodded as David spoke. “He is telling the men of your
bravery in rescuing little Alexander. And of the land the king has granted to
you. Ah, and now the contest for your hand,” Alpina translated. Her face broke
into a wide grin. “Oh, my dear lass, this is so exciting! I nearly feel ten
years younger myself!”
“But what—”
“Oh, shh! Shh, my love! The mormaer just asked for men to
step forward for a chance to win your hand.”
Leah held her breath, each taunt and chuckle arising from
below settling into her chest and wrapping around her heart as though to
squeeze it into stillness. A voice she did not recognize announced his
presence, sending the room into a fit of cheers and pounding on the tables and
floor.
Alpina’s brows arched in surprise. “Oh, the MacTavish! He is
a fine-looking man. And such a gentleman. I had no idea he was even here!”
As the applause abated, Alpina pressed her lips together and
turned one ear toward the stairs. And then a deep, self-assured,
all-too-familiar voice rang through the hall, sending a thrilling but
frightening wave through Leah’s belly.
“Oh, my dear, dear girl!” Alpina cried, grasping Leah’s
hand. “I am so sorry!”
Alpina made the sign of the cross and then intoned as if in
prayer just as the men below broke into another, even louder roar of cheers and
pounding. Normally, Leah would not dare interrupt anyone intent on communing
with his or her maker, but the blood pounding in her temples was near to
bursting. This was too stressful.
She clenched Alpina’s hand, not daring to put a name to the
voice which caused her toes to curl. “Who is it?”
Alpina closed her eyes, her mouth twisting with anger.
“Oooh, that man!” she muttered with a shake of her head.
“Who? Who is it?”
Alpina’s lips thinned as she tilted her head in sympathy.
“It is the Sinclair. It appears he is quite taken with you, my dear.”
Leah’s knees buckled and she grabbed the wall next to her
for support. She closed her eyes, concentrating on her breathing. What the hell
did Rathe think he was doing?
“It is probably because you have not fallen for his charms
like so many other women. You have become a challenge for him.”
Flashes of Rathe’s warm lips pressed against her neck and
breasts and his roughened palms skimming over her thighs fell upon Leah all at
once. She bit her lower lip, unable to meet her companion’s gaze as her cheeks
heated with a mixture of guilt and pleasure.
“Come. It is time. There is naught we can do but pray now.”
Alpina disentangled her fingers from Leah’s hand and prodded her forward. “Deep
breath. Keep your head held high. I will be right behind you.”
Leah nodded and descended the stairs. As the great hall came
into view, dozens of men roared to life. Cheers and whistles echoed in the high
ceilings above. Her limbs buzzed with threatening numbness, her ears deafened
by the din of the crowd.
David strode forward with a gentle smile, his hand stretched
toward her. She locked on to his brown eyes, desperate for something familiar
and calming amidst the chaos. She slipped her hand into his and he drew her
toward him as she reached the last step.
He patted her hand. “Do not fret, lass. Rathe is one of the
best warriors I have.”
Leah cast skeptical eyes at him, unnerved by his cryptic
tone. But before she could ask him what he meant, he held up his hand and the
hall fell silent.
David guided her toward a dais upon which Mary sat alone
between two empty chairs. The weight of the stares of dozens on men fell upon her
shoulders and she stumbled as her feet entangled with one another.
“Easy, my dear. It will all be over soon,” David crooned
into her ear as he caught her weight to hold her steady.
Mary’s pretty, upturned face greeted her, her brown eyes
sparkling as she patted the chair next to her and murmured something in Gaelic.
Leah sank into the rich gold-velvet cushion sitting atop the dark-brown chair
with intricate carvings. Mary slipped her hand over Leah’s.
A comment laced with sarcasm was shouted from the back of
the hall, sending the room into a fit of laughter. Mary laughed and squeezed
Leah’s hand.
Leah met Mary’s gaze and then followed it as she tilted her
head toward the crowd. Leah caught Rathe’s eyes and the corner of his mouth
turned up into a brief smile as he gave her a reassuring wink. He stood just in
front of the crowd, arms crossed and feet shoulder-width apart. A warm sense of
ease filled her and she exhaled a long sigh of relief at the sight of a
familiar face in the loud, rowdy crowd of men.
David hushed the crowd and spoke again, motioning Rathe
forward with a crook of his finger. As Rathe moved, another man approached the
dais from the other side of the hall. Tall, lean, and graceful, the man
sauntered toward her. Thick, dark-blond hair tucked behind one ear and falling
forward in a deliberate sweep on the other side, framed the sharp and confident
features of his face. He offered her a magnetic smile, giving her a glimpse of
his perfectly aligned, pearly white teeth.
Neither he nor Rathe acknowledged the other as they stopped
in front of Leah. David appeared at her side and offered her his hand in
assisting her to stand.
“Leah, I would like for you to meet Andrew MacTavish of
Nevis.”
Clear, nutmeg-colored eyes met hers with cool self-assurance
bordering on arrogance. Leah had seen this before—namely in the eyes of the
young, hotshot lawyers with whom Simon hung around.
“It is an honor, my lady, to fight for the hand of a woman
of such beauty and accomplishment,” Andrew intoned in a melodious voice as he
reached for her hand. Her gaze was drawn to the deep cleft in his chin. “I do
hope I will make you proud to call me your husband.”
Leah’s lips parted in surprise as he bent his head over her
hand and pressed his mouth to it.
She darted a glance at Rathe, almost missing the flash of
blinding fury leaping from his green eyes. His jaw tensed and then gave way to
a stony, unreadable expression.
“And this is Rathe Sinclair of Duncraig,” David stated,
turning toward Rathe.
Her brow wrinkled as she regarded the mormaer with
confusion. It was no secret now she and Rathe knew one another. David had been
the one to send him after her earlier that day.
David’s stare at her intensified. It was almost as though he
was encouraging her to keep their acquaintance to herself. She forced her
tensed shoulders to relax and turned toward Rathe.
“My lady.” Rathe’s voice moved over her like liquid silk as
he took her hand in his.
His touch in this very public place sent a shock through her
skin. Standing on the dais, she was almost eye to eye with him, much as she had
been when they met on the stairs the previous night. Her pulse raced, sending a
rush of heady sensations through her body as his flesh pressed into hers.
Lord, was she ever in trouble.
He lifted her hand as though to bring it to his lips and she
held her breath, desperate to remain unfazed for once. But then he yanked her
forward and she fell against him. His lips smashed into hers.
The thunderous uproar of cheers rang in her ears as his
mouth slanted over hers hard. Startled by the vehemence of his possessive kiss,
she pushed against his chest with her palms, but her hips moved forward,
pressing against his in complete surrender.
As quickly as he had drawn her toward him, he released her.
Enraged shouts burst forth as several men rushed forward from the crowd to
prevent Andrew from attacking Rathe.
Andrew’s cheeks turned crimson as he shoved against the men
holding him back. He pointed at Rathe, shouting something in Gaelic as spittle
flew from his mouth.
Rathe’s eyes narrowed as he shook off the man pushing
against his chest. As a hush fell over the crowd, Rathe spoke in a low, icy
voice as he glared at Andrew.
A chill rushed through her as she caught the bestial,
murderous glint in Rathe’s eyes. Alpina’s accusations of Rathe’s violent
tendencies haunted her. He had denied killing either of his wives and he had
seemed sincere. But now…how could she be certain? As his muscles tensed, his
stare at his prey intensified. He appeared to shape-shift from a confident and
gentle lover into a barely human, bloodthirsty warrior from the netherworld.
The man next to him spoke but Rathe ignored him, focusing
upon Andrew. She followed his lethal gaze to Andrew’s equally deadly glare. But
as soon as her eyes met Andrew’s, his face relaxed and he fell back into a
charming, calm expression.
“Let the lady decide then,” Andrew remarked in English.
“Methinks such a delicate jewel would prefer a man of honor to one with
Lucifer’s black soul.”
Rathe rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. “By all
means, let the lady decide. After all, is it not more important to protect your
undeserved reputation as a warrior than to lose to me?”
Andrew snorted. “You think she would choose a bastard
barbarian who would use her like a common whore in front of these men?”
A cold, malicious smile tugged at one corner of Rathe’s
mouth. “The lass needs a man with a strong, practiced hand, not a sniveling
fool who has to manipulate his way between her legs.”
Snickers rose from a few men in the crowd. Andrew’s face
reddened again as he pushed himself away from the men holding him back.
Returning to Gaelic, he muttered and pulled his sword from its scabbard.
Rathe drew his sword in return and the crowd of men
thundered their approval. Andrew dashed forward and their swords clashed, the
din of metal on metal slicing through the roar of the men around them.
Leah shook her head, her heart leaping into her throat. This
whole twisted situation was beyond insane. She couldn’t let this happen—no one
should ever risk their life over her. “No!”
Large hands grabbed her by the elbows from behind and
dragged her back. “Let them be, lass,” David instructed into her ear.
“No, I can’t let them do this!”
“You must.” David pulled her backward toward Mary and Alpina
who ushered her into her chair.
She caught Rathe’s glance toward her and gasped as he barely
dodged Andrew’s sword. Her stomach lurched and she squeezed her eyes shut,
covering her face with her hands as the swords struck one another again.
Mary’s arm slipped around her waist and she gave Leah’s knee
a reassuring pat as she murmured something in Gaelic into her ear. Leah
struggled for breath. Her stomach twisted into knots as she shook her head in a
frenzy of denial. This wasn’t her life. It was just a horrible nightmare and
she needed to wake up now before she lost her sanity.
A cry of dismay escaped Alpina’s lips just before the crowd
erupted into a cacophony of exuberant cheers. Mary squeezed Leah’s shoulders
and through the bedlam Alpina launched into prayer mode once again. Mary
silenced her with a sharp word.
And then Alpina was in front of Leah, pulling her hands away
from her face. “My dear, look at me. It is over.”
Leah lifted her head and met Alpina’s wide eyes and paled
face. “It is?”
Leah leaped to her feet, sending Alpina scrambling to the
side. Leah scanned the crowd, her gaze landing upon Andrew. He held his sleeve
to his right cheek and shook off the attentions of a servant woman who was
attempting to press a cloth to his face. As he pulled his arm away, a fresh,
bleeding gash was revealed on his cheek.
“I am so sorry, my dear,” Alpina stated as she grabbed
Leah’s hand. “I am so very sorry.”
Shaking her head, Leah blinked back tears and pulled her
hand away in impatience. Where was Rathe? Biting her lower lip, she walked to
the other end of the dais, searching the crowd for any sign of him. Men were
milling and cheering now in the area where the fight had taken place, but she
still could not find him.
And then the hall fell silent as the crowd parted. Rathe’s
eyes captured hers as he wiped the edge of his sword on his leine and shoved it
back into its scabbard. Her breath caught in her throat as she scanned him for
any injuries.
He was unharmed. She breathed a sigh of relief.
All eyes turned to Leah as Rathe advanced toward her. His
predatory gaze locked on to her this time, rendering her immobile. Why did this
man always appear as though he was hunting her? Every movement of his body was
forceful and controlled as he approached, strong but still somehow elegant. She
jumped backward as he leaped upon the dais and seized her by the waist.
Rathe yanked her forward and slammed his lips against her
mouth. Slanting them over hers, branding her. His desire swept over her,
sending a thrilling swirl of surprise through her belly. This man—this
powerful, alluring, dangerously hot man—wanted her. Her. Plain, shy,
scared-of-everything Leah Gunn.
But for how long?
Simon had never kissed her like this. Ever. And he decided
he didn’t want to be with her after six years together. Wouldn’t someone ten
times as charismatic and sexy than Simon leave her just that much sooner?