The Maid of Lorne. Terri Brisbin
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the corridor, whispering harshly as they moved.
“I want no other MacDougalls in this tower, François. Not without my orders.”
His men bowed and retraced their path away from him. Alone once more, he turned back to his chamber and entered it. It took no more than a few minutes for him to ready himself for the meal—his only clean surcoat and mail replaced the robe, which had been a gift from the Bruce. A warrior did not have many wardrobe choices and his trunks had not yet caught up to him. His squire, Philippe, fretted over him and then followed him down the corridor and stairs, into the hall and up to the chair set in the middle of the table on the dais.
Sebastien noticed the silence in the room. Then he observed the divide among those present—the few remaining MacDougalls off to one side, restricted to sharing one long table, and his men spread out through the rest of the hall. The MacDougalls watched him with open suspicion, while his men toasted him and his accomplishments openly.
He did not expect it to be a comfortable first night in his newly conquered keep, but he had not anticipated the overt and palpable mood of anger and uncertainty. When a few of his soldiers called out bawdy comments about his bedding of the Maid of Lorne, and the rumbling began to bubble up among the crowd, he knew he had underestimated the situation, after all. From the belligerent expressions on the faces of the MacDougalls he knew that war would break out anew if he brought Lara here now.
Motioning to one of the guards, he gave new orders about visitations to his wife and sent the man off. Then, with a word to Philippe, he climbed the dais and sat at the table that had so recently hosted his enemy.
Security was his first concern, and seeing the keep and those in it under his firm control his first priority. It mattered not to him if some here thought he saved their lady some embarrassment. If it helped gain their compliance, all the better.
Guile over bloodshed.
Without the distraction of his wife in the hall, Sebastien finished his meal quickly and then called his commanders to make plans for holding Dunstaffnage and moving forward with the Bruce’s battle plans to take the west of Scotland.
Her nose itched.
Lara ignored it for as long as she could before opening her eyes to face this new day. Untangling the layers of her cloak from over her arms, she could finally reach up and rub the irritation away. It would not be so easy to rid herself and her clan of the invaders who now held her home and her siblings in their grasp.
Light poured in through the opening in the wall, and she tried to loosen muscles that were stiff from sitting rigidly through the night. After Margaret and Gara’s short but welcomed visit, she’d dragged her father’s chair to the farthest corner of the chamber and fallen asleep there.
She would not lie waiting for him in the bed where he had…they had…And she would not face him in any manner but fully dressed and ready to defend herself from anything else he’d planned. The necessary requirements for him to prove his claim had been made, and she did not intend to share his bed again.
From Margaret, Lara had discovered that her sister and brother were being held, apparently safely for the moment, in a chamber with several of the younger women who had remained in the keep. On Lord Sebastien’s orders, no one had been accosted or harmed.
Pushing off her cloak, Lara stretched out her arms and tried to release the tightness between her shoulders. Looking around the room, she saw so many reminders of her father.
No word of his end had reached her. Neither of the other women had news of it, nor had they heard Sebastien’s soldiers talk of it. Had he died in battle? Had it been at the Bruce’s hands, or at those of the man who had gone on to spill her blood, as well? A shudder racked her at the thought of her actions in the arms of this enemy. Pray God, her father had not learned of how she’d lost the castle and her honor to this man.
The growing noises in the corridor drew her from her thoughts, and she took up a position against the wall where the shadows hid her from anyone entering the room. The door opened with a bang as two men and then another two carried in large wooden chests and placed them along one wall.
The procession continued, with furniture and trunks being brought in and others being taken out, all without even a single man glancing in her direction. In a short time, the room had been transformed from her father’s into someone else’s. After the servants left, she peeked inside the storage boxes to see what kind of possessions Sebastien carried with him, and was surprised to find some of her own belongings in the unfamiliar chests.
Searching through to discover what was there, she never heard him enter.
“Fear not. Your belongings are all present.”
Lara stood and backed away from the trunks. The nobleman was gone; the warrior stood before her now in his battle armor, with his sword at his side and his helm under his arm.
“I did not accuse you of stealing my gowns,” she began. The thought had crossed her mind, but common sense held back any words of blame.
“This is our chamber now and your things have been brought here. I ordered your belongings searched for any weapons first, so that is the cause for the disarray.”
He pointed at the one nearest her, the one she’d been searching, and she realized that Margaret’s neat work was completely undone. Anger grew within Lara, but the cold look on his face and the set of his chin stopped her from protesting.
“Did he die at your hands?”
She blurted out the words before she had even thought of asking him. Lara clasped her hands together and prepared for the news.
“I would not kill a child,” he whispered through clenched teeth. His own hand moved to the hilt of his sword and grasped it. Now, both horror and anger shone from his eyes at the misunderstood accusation. “Your brother is safe, as is your sister. They will be brought to you soon.”
“No, no,” she stuttered, shaking her head. “I did not mean Malcolm. I was speaking of…I would know my father’s fate.” Lara held her breath, wondering if his words would give her any measure of comfort at all.
“Your father lives, Lara. Although he dishonored himself and all of you by breaking his truce, his life has been spared.”
She let out a shaky breath and shook her head. “I did not think the Bruce would let him live. I did not think any of us would survive if the Bruce took the Pass.”
“Ah, so you know of the battle then?” Sebastien took a few steps toward her and she realized she had erred in bringing up yesterday’s battle. “Did you know of your father’s plans to ambush our forces while still under the flag of truce?” Another step and she was forced to tilt her head back. “Did you know of his negotiations with Edward of England to hold this place in that king’s name?”
Lara swallowed and then swallowed again, the lump in her throat tightening and preventing her from speaking, which may have been a good thing since she did know all of those things. She knew almost everything about her father’s battle plans and his intention to rule in this area on behalf of the English king. Her father had no faith that the Bruce was rightful king of Scotland, or of his abilities to gather all of the clans under one banner.
This man would use that information against her and her family. She knew that from nothing more than the hardened gaze of his eyes.
“I am but a mere woman, sir,” she said, tilting her head in what she hoped was an appropriate manner when acquiescing.
Silence filled the space between them for a moment that stretched on and on, finally broken by his sarcastic laugh. Startled, she met his gaze now and found no humor there.
“Others may believe that tale, but they did not face you on the battlements. Believe this, lady—I will keep my back protected when it comes to dealing with you.”
Though secretly pleased at his words, she reacted to the insult within them. “As will I when dealing with you.”
He