The Magic of Highland Dragons (15 page)

The boy all but ran out of the room, followed closely by the guard, and Bren swore again under his breath. MacDonalds in his hall tonight. He supposed it could have been worse. He excused Colm so the steward could see to the meal and rooms for their guests, as well as the evening entertainment that would be expected for such a high-ranking guest. Then he sat down at his desk and stared at the ledger, not really seeing it. The MacDonalds were upsetting the plans he had made for tonight, and it was making him quite ill-tempered. He had wanted to spend more time with Faith, maybe ask her to walk in the garden again with him, or if she refused to be alone with him, at least sit with her by the fire and talk. Sit by the fire and talk with a woman? Now that was something he’d never even considered before. What was happening to him? Was he going soft? No, he refused to believe that. But he wanted Faith near him, and the want was beginning to feel very much like a need, as much a need as his next breath. But his needs had to be pushed aside for tonight, because now he had to entertain guests instead.

***

“Come, Faith, we need to get ready!” Fiona rushed by in a swirl of fabric and the scent of rose water, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her towards the stairs.

“Get ready for what?” Faith laughed, wondering what on earth was happening now. Life in the castle was never dull, she’d give it that. Especially now that she was beginning to make friends. They climbed the narrow stairs to their tower room, where Mathilde and another of her roommates, Sorcha, were sifting through two trunks that sat against the wall. “What’s going on?”

Sorcha barely looked up from whatever she was doing. “The MacDonald of Sleat will be here tonight, with twenty men, and there will be dancing for certain!”

Faith didn’t understand the almost frantic level of excitement in the room at first, but then, she supposed, when you seldom had a chance to go more than a few miles from home as these women did, twenty new men to dance with
was
quite a prospect.

She smiled brightly. “Well now, that
is
exciting. Here, I’ll help you get ready.” She turned to help Mathilde lace her good dress. Then they discussed at length whether Fiona’s long brown curls should be worn up or down, and if Sorcha should line her eyes with kohl.

“Now ye, Faith”, said Sorcha, after the others were all dressed and ready.

“Me? No, I only have this one dress. I’ll just have to go down like this.” She shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, but in truth, she liked to play dress-up as much as any woman did. What girl didn’t like to feel pretty? Her mind immediately flashed to Bren, and how he might look at her if she were all dressed up, and how she might make him want her…

Fiona was wagging a finger at her. “Oh, nay ye willna get away so easily. I happen to have a lovely dress that was my sister’s before she got married and moved away to live with her husband’s clan. It’s too small for me about the bosom with nay room to let out the seam, but I have a feeling it would be perfect on ye.”

They got her into the dress, which was far more flattering than the one she had been wearing, she had to admit. Then Mathilde put her hair up so that only a few curls hung down to becomingly frame her face, and Fiona carefully stained her lips and cheeks with rose madder, adding just a touch of kohl to her eyes.

They stood back to admire their handiwork. “Ye look beautiful, Faith. The laird willna be able to take his eyes off of ye tonight!” said Mathilde.

Sorcha nodded. “And when he sees the MacDonald men looking at ye, ‘twill serve only to force him to action. It’s the way of men, ye see, once they have a bit of competition, they canna help but try to win the battle. I dinna ken why he’s taking so long, though, when the whole castle can see his intent as clear as day.”

“What? No! There isn’t anything like that between us…”

But they were already leaving to go down to the hall, their excited laughter echoing off the narrow stone corridors. She followed, actually feeling pretty and feminine for the first time in… well the first time in a long while. When she walked across the hall to where she usually sat next to Fiona, she noted the MacDonald men, who were of course looking at the unescorted women as they made their way to the tables, and checking out the prospects for the evening. The laird and his brothers were already seated at the high table, and next to them was a man she assumed must be the MacDonald of Sleat. He was a middle-aged man, perhaps in his mid-forties, with a thick auburn beard and thick barrel chest. Though he was purportedly a married man, the MacDonald watched the women with as much interest as any of the other men. She knew marriage in this time was often arranged for political or financial reasons and therefore might not carry the same incentive for monogamy as true love would, but she still didn’t like the thought of the man’s wife at home waiting for him while he ogled other women. It just didn’t seem right, and she knew she would never be content with such an arrangement. She would demand complete devotion in a marriage. She continued past the dais, head held high. Though she avoided looking directly at Bren, she could feel him watching her, his gaze as heavy as lead.

When she took her seat, Fiona squeezed her hand. “Look,” she said in a whisper near her ear, “over there, the MacDonald has his sons with him. Quite handsome lot, are they no’? We’ll have a chance to dance with them later. Which one would ye choose?”

“I’m not sure I’ll dance, but I know you’ll have a wonderful time, Fiona.”

“Oh, ye’ll dance right enough, Faith. If I have to, I’ll see to it myself. I’ll no’ have ye sitting here only watching the fun.”

“Well, I’ll see…”

Dinner was served before Faith could argue further about the dancing. There was roast venison, fresh baked bread, stewed cabbage, smoked eels, and plenty of ale. The food was all delicious and Faith ate and drank her fill, all the while talking and laughing with the other women and thoroughly enjoying herself. This was not a bad life, she mused. Had she ever laughed so much in the past few years? No, she hadn’t. Perhaps she hadn’t even known what she was missing. Now she was torn between an uncertain future and an uncertain past, and with an undeniable attraction for a man who could no doubt crush her heart in an instant, if she let him. It was absolutely crazy. The only consolation being that it couldn’t possibly get any crazier.

When the dinner was cleared away, most of the tables were pushed to the side and the music began, filling the hall with the lively wail of pipes and the pounding of drums. People got up to dance, many of them already having consumed their fair share of ale and in high spirits, and so the hall was quickly filled with raucous laughter and noise that nearly drowned out the music. Faith took a seat on a bench near the wall, trying to stay out of Fiona’s sight, but she could not keep her feet from tapping and her body from swaying as she watched. Fiona and Mathilde were already dancing, and Sorcha, she noticed, was in a secluded corner with one of the more handsome MacDonalds, leaning close to speak with him. His arm was around her, and his hands were slipping ever downward, until they rested firmly on her bottom. Sorcha did not seem to mind one bit. Faith smiled, feeling the beat of the drum and the music of the pipes carry her away to another world, one where she was as free as the wind and anything was possible.

It wasn’t another moment before one of the MacDonalds approached her to dance. Though she tried politely to refuse, she was quickly swept up into the crowd, a man’s strong hand at her back as he guided her expertly around the floor. It had been so long since she had danced, so long since she had had fun like this,
had she ever?
that she soon completely forgot herself, basking in the attention she was getting from the men who, as guests, apparently weren’t under orders not to touch her or speak to her. She knew she was flirting nearly as shamelessly as Sorcha as she was passed around the dance floor, but she didn’t care, it felt so good to let go for awhile. She quickly became one of the most sought-after dance partners among the guests, and there was undeniable friction between the men vying for her attention. She never imagined it could be so much fun to have men fighting over her! It had certainly never happened in her former life, but then, she hadn’t gone out anywhere very often, either. She threw back her head and laughed as she was spun wildly around and caught up in a pair of strong arms. But these arms didn’t make her melt back into them. They weren’t Bren’s arms.

The MacDonald was speaking to him, but Bren was only half listening. Most of his attention was focused on the floor before the dais, where the evening’s entertainment was in full swing. Faith had come down to the hall that evening looking like sin itself in a low-cut gown and swept-up hair. Every man in the room had turned to stare at her, even his own men. He begrudgingly admitted that despite his earlier threat, it would be folly to kill all of them, leaving himself with no warriors or guards to man the castle.

He watched, his fury only growing by the minute, as Faith danced with the MacDonald’s eldest son. She smiled up at him, and there was unmistakable lust in the other man’s eyes. And how could he blame him? She was damned beautiful. He whirled her around and caught her up in his arms, and Bren’s gut twisted into a sickeningly tight knot of rage and jealousy. His heart pounded in a slow and deadly rhythm, and his fist clenched around his drinking cup until his fingers were bloodless and white. But there was nothing he could do. To forbid such a high-ranking guest from dancing with an unattached, unclaimed lass of Creagmor would be an affront not soon forgotten by a prideful highlander. He couldn’t afford to make enemies over so small a matter. But right now it didn’t feel like such a small matter. Seeing another man touching Faith, looking at her with desire in his eyes, was doing things to him that he didn’t understand, and could barely control. All he knew was that he wanted to run the other man through with his sword, or perhaps just kill him with his bare hands, it didn’t matter which. She was smiling, damn it, and that smile felt for all the world like a betrayal. Had she ever smiled at him like that? No. She looked at him, more often than not, with caution and mild distrust. He wanted to go over there and force her to smile like that for
him
. Fucking hell, how much longer did he have to sit and watch this? His blood was nearly boiling in his veins as it was.

Drust had been watching his brother all evening with a wary eye. Right now Bren looked like he always did just before he charged an enemy, and he also looked as if his control wouldn’t hold out much longer, if the impossibly rigid set of his jaw was any indication, and it usually was. If he didn’t do something soon, this situation was likely to go to hell in a very big way. Drust sighed and scanned the room impatiently, but Eian was nowhere to be seen. He had most likely already slipped away with some lass or other, doubtless two or three, knowing Eian. He heaved another irritated sigh. It was up to him then, to diffuse this situation before it got any worse. He stood and reluctantly made his way to the dance floor, slipping in and out between the revelers until he was close enough to grab Faith’s arm as she went by. He spun her around, skillfully leading her to the edge of the crowd, where he pulled her closer and leaned in to speak in her ear.

“Sorry lass, it had to be done. Ye have to come with me.”

She looked up at him, puzzled, her cheeks flushed with exertion. “What are you talking about?” She tried to tug her arm away, gazing over her shoulder at where the dancing now went on without her, but he held tight. “Let go, Drust, I was only dancing.”

“Whisht, lass, I’m trying to prevent a war.” And what to do now? Would he have to dance with her the rest of the evening? Bren would likely kill
him
instead, if one of the MacDonalds didn’t beat him to it. But if he left her alone again, she would be swept up within moments by one of the other men. She was just that bonny; they would never let her be. The door to the gardens was just ahead and to the left, and he went for it, dragging her behind by the wrist.

Bren watched Drust neatly separate Faith from her group of suitors and draw her away, and he relaxed his iron grip a little. He had never been so grateful to his brother. But then Drust drew her towards the garden door, and they disappeared together out into the night. Bren trusted his brother with his life, but God, he wanted to kill him too, right now. Drust was alone in the garden with Faith, while he was stuck sitting here listening to the MacDonald prattle endlessly on about politics and possible alliances. This was quickly becoming the longest evening of his life, and for the first time ever he wished he wasn’t laird. Because then he would be free to go after Faith and someone else would have to sit here and feign interest.

Drust, now alone with Faith in the garden, was at a loss for what to tell her . Unlike his brothers he didn’t even pretend to understand women, and didn’t know what to say to this one. What he did know was that Bren had never acted like this: violently jealous of a woman that he hadn’t even claimed as his own. It was obvious even to him that there was something different between Bren and Faith, and he could only hope that that something different was the answer to all of their prayers. And the future of the Mac Coinnach Clan.

Faith struggled to keep up with Drust’s rapid pace. She caught at his sleeve with her free hand. “Slow down! For god’s sake Drust, what the hell is going on here? Where are you taking me?”

He reluctantly slowed, then stopped and looked down at her as if wishing he were anywhere else but here with her right now. For the first time, Faith really looked at him. He was undeniably handsome. Very handsome, in fact. He could have passed for Bren’s twin, except that his nose was just a little longer, his forehead perhaps a little higher, and his hair a lighter shade of brown, highlighted with gold from being out in the sun. He was every bit as beautiful as Bren, but when she looked at him, there was nothing. No butterflies, no heart beating too fast in her chest, and none of that strange indecision of whether to run towards or away from him. Only Bren did that to her. Only Bren had
ever
done that to her. And something about Drust was… stoic… tightly leashed. Too controlled. He seemed… lonely, or sad, or resigned, she wasn’t sure which.