A Warrior's Passion. Margaret Moore
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the sudden change in his manner.
“For a woman who claims she does not agree with her father’s strategy, you seemed very eager to give yourself to me,” he continued, wrapping the cloak about himself again. “Or perhaps that kiss was only to whet my appetite?
“Unfortunately for you, his plan will not succeed. Although sleeping with you would be a serious breach of courtesy, to the Welsh making love before marriage is not enough to extort a betrothal.”
“No! No—you kissed me!” she protested, dismayed by his suspicion.
“Why did you linger here at this hour of the night? And such enthusiasm to voice your honorable honesty!” he replied sarcastically. “Very clever and very crafty, Seona. Perhaps you think I am feebleminded not to see exactly what kind of trap this is? My father warned me about Diarmad MacMurdoch. It is to be regretted that he didn’t give me similar warnings about you.”
“Because there were no warnings to be given!” she retorted, angered by his implications. “I meant what I said. I wanted you to know that I have no hand in any of my father’s scheming.”
“No?” Griffydd demanded, his cold, skeptical gaze wounding her more than a dagger might have done. “Then what plan of your own were you hatching?”
“None!” she cried, glaring at him and hating him for not believing her. “This is to be the thanks I get for trying to be honest with you?”
She thought of the look in his eyes when he called her beautiful and marveled at her gullibility. “I should have realized you were not to be trusted—”
“I am not to be trusted? If there is duplicity here, look to yourself!”
“I am not the one spouting lies!” she replied, turning on her heel to leave.
He grabbed her arm to halt her progress and came to stand before her.
“I am an honest man, but that does not mean I am a fool. Now tell me what lies I have told,” Griffydd commanded with more angry animosity than even his own parents would have suspected he possessed.
But angry he was, and hurt and upset. He had been tricked by a lovely woman, a woman he still desired so much that, despite her deceit, it was all he could do not to carry her to his bed.
He must be going mad, driven slowly insane by Diarmad MacMurdoch and his desirable daughter, who stood defiantly before him, proud as a queen, bold as an Amazon.
“Take your hands from me!” she ordered scornfully.
He obeyed at once. “What lies have I told?” he demanded again.
Her lip curled and passionate anger burned in her large eyes, although her tone was coolly sarcastic. “Since I am so tempting, sir, I had best leave you to your rest. Sleep well.”
With that, she marched haughtily out the door.
After she had gone, Griffydd stood motionless for a long time before he raked his trembling hand through his hair.
Even now, he half expected a gang of Gall-Gaidheal led by a belligerent Diarmad to charge into his quarters and demand that he wed Seona or die.
He had been trapped like the most naive dupe in Britain.
Then he stared at his quivering fingers as if they belonged to somebody else. Indeed, he almost felt they must.
His was the steady hand. He never trembled, not with fear or longing or excitement.
Dylan did. And Dylan was the lover, never without a woman. Not him.
Yet Griffydd knew he had acted as impulsively as Dylan ever had. At the time, he had given no thought to the ramifications of kissing Seona MacMurdoch.
He had acted with his heart, not his head.
Which was wrong. And weak. And foolish. Most of all, foolish.
Her presence in his quarters had to be part of a strategy, and her apparent sincerity only a trick.
Despite Seona’s denials, she must have been a willing participant in the plan. After all, no one had shoved her through the door or asked her to stay.
Griffydd slowly drew his sword from its scabbard. With deliberate movements he twisted it to and fro until his hand grew steady again.
Until he was master of himself again.
Disgusted with his own gullibility, Griffydd told himself he would think only of the trade pact. He would ignore Seona MacMurdoch, with her fascinating face, spirited manner and huge brown eyes.
She had deceived him once, and he would not let that happen again.
Seona came to a halt on top of the rise overlooking the harbor of Dunloch near the ruined broch. The cold air blew through her loose dress and whipped her hair about her face. It howled through the gaps in the stones of the ancient tower like the keening of mourning women before heading toward the fortress and village below. In the village, a few flickering lights occasionally shone out into the darkness of the night. The sound of drunken singing rose from her father’s hall, telling her that her father was in a jovial mood, obviously anticipating a considerable profit from his pact with the Welshman’s family.
Wrapping her arms about herself for warmth, her gaze moved to the boundless ocean, its shimmering water lit by the pale moon.
If only she could sail away from here, or run away to some place where she could be free—of her duties, of her father, of his constant disapproval, of his plans and schemes.
But where could she go, a lone woman with no friends and no money? Her brothers would send her home, too afraid of losing command of their villages if they offended their father to shelter her. No other chieftain would want to risk his wrath, either, because Diarmad MacMurdoch commanded a large fleet. He had the ships, the men and the arms, as well as the money for more, if he chose to punish them.
Nor could she count on sanctuary in a holy place. The priests had endured many attacks over the years from the Norsemen and were all too grateful for Diarmad MacMurdoch’s protection. They would certainly tell him where she was, if nothing else, and then her father would come for her. She could envision him dragging her out of a chapel, the priests helpless to stop him.
Now she had made things even worse.
She had been a fool, a simpleton so moved by her attraction to a handsome stranger that she had been totally humiliated while trying to do good.
Yet whose fault was that, really? If she were in his place, what would she make of such a visit and her willing kiss?
She should be glad he had been angry, otherwise who could say what more she might have done?
At least all that had resulted was anger on both sides, and grave suspicion on his.
She smiled sardonically. Considering her father’s ability to get the best of men with whom he bargained, Griffydd DeLanyea should be thankful that she had roused his distrust. Surely now he would be twice as wary…
She gasped and her hand flew to her lips. What if he told her father what had happened in his quarters to rouse that mistrust?
Her father didn’t like her as it was. Surely he would consider anything that interfered with his trade negotiations unforgivable.
This time, she might finally incur such wrath that the consequences would be more than having to listen to him berate her.
Maybe he would take away her little house. It had been very difficult to persuade him to let her live in solitude so that she did not have to endure gossip and speculation.
Perhaps he would send her to a convent. He had threatened to do so countless times; this might finally drive him to do it.
Seona shivered as she made her decision.
Somehow, she would have to insure that