Part 29 (1/2)
”Why should I agree to yer terms when I hold the power?” Calum argued. ”As long as the laird remains in my custody ye can demand nothing.”
”Ye might lose yer Mackenzie allies if ye dinna let the laird attend the gathering of clans. She is yer overlord.”
”She is my mistress,” Calum stated baldly.
”She is yer laird,” Rory persisted.
”Verra well,” Calum spat. ”Have it yer way. We'll meet right here, in the courtyard, at noon tomorrow.”
”So be it,” Rory said curtly.
”Dinna think to change my mind,” Calum warned as he turned his back on Rory.
Calum barged into Christy's chamber minutes after Rory left. She shot to her feet, her eyes wary as she watched him approach. ”I heard voices outside. What's going on?”
”Yer kinsmen are demanding a gathering of clans.”
”Did you agree?” She tried not to show her excitement lest Calum turn contrary and refuse the request.
”The Mackenzies agreed so I had no choice. But it willna change anything. Ye were promised to me by yer father at birth. Ye should have never wed that English b.a.s.t.a.r.d.”
”I was promised to you before Culloden. Both our fathers died that day, and with it the plans they made for us. The king seized Glenmoor and gave both me and my lands to Lord Derby. Accept it and let it go.”
”Never!” Calum vowed. ”If I canna wed ye, I'll have ye as my wh.o.r.e.”
”Sinjun will-”
Calum made a chopping motion with his hand. ”Think ye yer husband will bestir himself to come to yer defense? 'Tis likely he'll find himself another woman to bed and forget all about ye.”
Christy feared Calum was right but refused to give in to despair. ”When is this gathering to be held?”
”At noon tomorrow. They want ye to be present at the meeting, though I'm against it. 'Tis likely they want to see ye've not been harmed. If ye give them any other impression, woman, ye'll suffer for it.”
”You haven't harmed me, Calum, just deprived me of my freedom.”
”Once I have proof yer not carrying a bairn, I'll make ye my mistress.” He turned to leave. ”Sleep well, Christy Macdonald.”
I'll never be your mistress, Christy vowed as she made ready for bed. She'd been an optimistic fool to think she could talk sense into Calum. She knew now what she had to do and steeled herself for the coming confrontation. With all the clans gathered in one place, she would find no better time to give Calum what he wanted. She had no choice but to abdicate her position as laird in Calum's favor. Once she did that he'd have no reason to keep her.
Feeling better than she had in days, Christy climbed into bed and drifted off immediately. Sometime during the night she was awakened by a ravaging pain so deep that it felt as if she were being ripped apart She missed Niall. Missed him with every fiber of her being. Though her milk had long since dried up, she felt his loss in the aching emptiness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, in the hollow void of her barren arms. A sob caught in her throat as she pictured his wee face. Did he still remember her?
Christy's thoughts turned to Sinjun. She'd had long hours during her captivity to consider the things she would have done differently were she given a second chance, and she wondered if she could ever make tilings right between her husband and herself. She had erred in so many ways. When she'd first arrived in London she'd had no intention of falling in love with her immoral husband. Everything she'd heard about him had indicated that he was devoid of character, thoroughly decadent, a rake, a man who changed his mistresses with his linens. But at the time none of that mattered. All she'd wanted was an heir for Glenmoor.
It had never occurred to her that she'd fall in love with her husband. She'd hurt him, yet he was still gentle with her. His love for his son was unconditional and his family meant everything to him. And he had a good heart.
During the following weeks she thought he had begun to care for her, and then she had shattered what happiness might have been theirs by telling him their bairn had died. They still might have had a future together, however, had she not left him and Niall in London and rushed to the aid of her kinsmen.
Distraught and remorseful, Christy finally fell asleep. But her dreams were not placid ones. They invaded every part of her body. She dreamed of unspeakable pa.s.sion, of nostalgic l.u.s.t, of unrequited love. After a fitful night, she awakened pale and exhausted.
Sinjun was dressed in a crisp white s.h.i.+rt, Macdonald plaid, and Highland bonnet, sporting a c.o.c.ky feather, pulled low over his brow. He joined the Highlanders gathered in the hall to break their fast. If he felt uncomfortable baring his knees and lower legs, he gave no indication. He was dressed like a Highlander and was surprised at the pride he took in that fact.
”No one is to make a move without orders from me,” Sinjun reminded them as he rose from the table and tossed down his napkin. ”I don't want Christy hurt. Calum is a loose cannon, no telling what he'll do if cornered. Are we all agreed?”
A chorus of ayes followed his short speech. ”Arm yourselves. We won't go like lambs to a slaughter.”
Sinjun strapped on a sword of fine Toledo steel. Unlike the unwieldy basket-handled claymore preferred by the Highlanders, Sinjun's sword was a finely honed rapier, lighter and more deadly when wielded with precision. It was a weapon in which Sinjun was skilled, having taken lessons for many years from the masters.
At Sinjun's silent nod, the Highlanders filed out the door, their faces grim, each man ready to fight should it come to that. They were as loyal to Christy as she was to them.
Christy stood in the Cameron courtyard awaiting the arrival of her kinsmen. The Mackenzies had arrived earlier and were conferring with Calum. They appeared uneasy, and Christy didn't blame them. Calum was so determined to seize power for himself that some of his own kinsmen feared he had gone too far.
Christy gazed out over the moors as the sound of music floated to her on an errant breeze. They came. Almost two hundred strong, Macdonalds and Ra.n.a.lds, all dressed in their distinctive plaids and bonnets, marching across the heath to the mournful wail of bagpipes. Her heart swelled with pride. These were her clansmen, each and every one prepared to die for her should she request it of them. Teeth clenched, jaw firm, she silently vowed that not one drop of blood would flow on her account.
Calum's allies lined up in the courtyard, plaids swinging in the breeze, weapons clenched in sweaty fists. Calum stepped forward. Murdoch, an elder of Clan Macdonald, strode forth to meet him.
”State yer business, Murdoch Macdonald,” Calum said.
”Release The Macdonald.”
”She is my mistress. Christy has already shared my bed.”
A wounded sound escaped from Christy's bloodless lips.
”b.a.s.t.a.r.d!” Rory cried. If Murdoch hadn't held him back, he would have launched himself at Calum.
”Release our laird or prepare for battle,” Murdoch repeated.
”Why? Her husband willna have her now so I will keep her.”
Christy saw the danger. One move toward weapons and a battle would ensue. She couldn't allow that to happen. Shoving aside Camerons and Mackenzies, she positioned herself between them and her defenders. ”No bloodshed,” she pleaded. ”I have a solution.” She whirled to face Calum. ”I have a proposition for you, one you won't be able to refuse.”
”Verra well, la.s.s, state yer proposition,” Calum said dismissively, ”but dinna think ye can gull us with words.”
”All the clansmen who call me laird are gathered in one place.”
”What are ye getting at, woman?”
”Only this. I no longer wish to be laird.” Though she said it with conviction, her heart was sadly burdened. Breaking her grandfather's trust was painful, but she could think of no other way to prevent bloodshed. Christy turned to address the a.s.sembled crowd.
”'Tis my wish that you accept Calum Cameron as the new laird of the clan. In return, he must agree to release me without a fight.”
The Macdonalds and Ra.n.a.lds brandished their weapons amid shouts of protests. Christy had no idea her words would cause such an uproar and feared a battle was inevitable as both sides moved toward one another with grim purpose.
Suddenly a man pushed and shoved his way through the angry crowd. He wore the Macdonald plaid and distinctive bonnet. His white s.h.i.+rt was stretched tautly across his broad shoulders, and his plaid barely covered his knees, revealing muscular legs firmly planted against the earth. The dirk stuck in his belt looked lethal, but not nearly as deadly as the rapier belted at his waist.
Christy's startled gaze flew to his face. The breath caught painfully in her breast when she looked into Sinjun's dark, menacing eyes. She heard Calum spit out a curse and realized she wasn't the only one who recognized the Marquis of Derby. She made a move toward Sinjun, but Calum reached out and brought her roughly against him.