In the Laird's Bed. Joanne Rock
near the bed, Cristiana joined him at the window and peered out. Little land surrounded the keep at the southeastern side. A narrow strip of rocky ground ringed the tower before the land fell off sharply toward the sea.
Even from this height and under the light of a halfhearted moon, Cristiana recognized the broad shoulders of a man rumored to have fought at the English king’s side as a favor to Scots sovereign.
“It is Duncan the Brave. He has returned from Edward’s court to reap the benefit of his new standing with King Malcolm.” She didn’t know whether or not her father would understand the significance of her words, but he appeared more lucid than usual. And she did so sorely miss her strong, decisive father. “He is our guest for the next moon and has turned in his weapons. But I assure you, the walls are well armed, so you do not have to sit watch.”
“That is your young man,” her father observed, clearly remembering another time and confusing it with the present. “You see what a strong man I’ve chosen for you? You see how he would rather keep watch over you at night than sleep? A good man, that.”
Disappointment burned the back of her throat as she realized she would find little to comfort her here tonight, aside from her da’s good health. It had been this way for many moons with him—he would forget old friends and servants. He mixed up the past and present, occasionally demanding to know where Edwina was and why she hadn’t been to see him. For getting that he himself had arranged for her exile after she’d given birth to Donegal of Culcanon’s unclaimed babe.
“You have always tried to do what’s best for me,” she agreed, laying her head upon her father’s shoulder as she watched Duncan prowl around the grounds in the darkness. “I have never denied it.”
“But you did not come here to listen to an old man ramble.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “What can I do for you, daughter?”
“Our new guest is most anxious to meet with you.” She did not know how to put him off without stirring undue interest in her father’s absences. “I wondered if he could stop by your chamber sometime when Connor is with you and you can explain to him about—er—that you’re not feeling so well?”
Her father’s adviser would do most of the talking and guide the conversation. But Duncan would at least see the laird with his own eyes and know the old Scots lord was not on his deathbed.
She would have one less secret to hide.
“Aye. Well enough. Send the lad around anytime. We need a strong leader here. Your old man can’t protect the walls forever.” He patted her shoulder absently and rose.
Cristiana remembered the time when her father had called for Duncan’s head on a platter alongside his faithless half brother’s. He had been livid to learn his daughter had been touched against her will, and he would have mounted an army to decimate the whole clan had it not been for his wife’s sudden illness and a deathbed plea to let Edwina choose what form his vengeance should take. She had been the one who’d suffered, after all. And Edwina had chosen to have the matter handled quietly, using her bride price to pay for a place for her in the English court, where no one knew of her past.
Later, when Edwina had learned she was pregnant, their mother had already died and their father was so heart-stricken with grief he had hardly noticed Edwina’s retreat to her rooms for two moons’ time. It was in those weeks his daughters had made arrangements of their own to protect the child and ensure the eldest could escape the memories Domhnaill would always hold for her. If the laird suspected the truth, he’d said nothing, emerging from his mourning a changed man.
“I will send him later this week, Da,” Cristiana assured him, her gaze still fixed on Duncan as her enemy stared up at the keep and then back out at the water. “And you don’t have to protect the clan forever. You can name your successor now, and then you won’t have to concern yourself with such worries anymore.”
“And rob my daughter of her rightful place? ’Tis bloody well bad enough that Edwina has lost her Domhnaill home. I will not leave you with nothing after all I’ve done to make this fortress the strongest in the east. Your man shall be laird, girl. And every man who has ever served under me knows that is my wish.”
She nodded mutely, touched by his declaration even as she recognized it for the confused rambling that it was. Her visits here were frustrating, but she never left feeling unloved.
“Thank you, Da.” She hugged her father hard, grateful for every day she still had him.
“Go rest your head, lassie. You’ve had a long day.”
Nodding, she stoked the fire in the grate before slipping from the room. She would make sure Keane was beside her sire when Duncan met him so that the laird did not have to do more than greet him. She could not have her father give his confused blessing on a marriage that could never take place.
No matter how strong a guardian Duncan might be for Domhnaill, Cristiana did not trust him. He’d come back to this keep for secret reasons he had not shared. She knew it in her veins.
Nay, she would not trust Duncan. Not with her heart, not with her father’s legacy and most certainly not with the little girl who deserved the warmth of a family’s love. What might Duncan and his brother do if they learned Cristiana had been harboring their heir for more than four years? Would they declare war on Domhnaill to get her back?
Or worse, was there a chance they spread their seed so carelessly that one more child bearing their distinctive green eyes would not matter to them at all?
For her niece, Leah’s, sake, Cristiana refused to find out.
Duncan would turn this keep inside out to find what he sought.
He arose before the dawn the next morning, determined to make his time at Domhnaill as brief as possible. By the time he broke his fast and dressed warmly to fend off the frigid damp blowing in off the water, the sun’s first rays lit the token he wore about his neck. He held up the medallion to the study the map worked in metal. The cryptic figure he believed matched some landmark on Domhnaill property.
A chill lingered on the breeze that had naught to do with the sea as he stalked farther from the stark gray walls. Unease lurked behind the keep’s strong facade, a sense among the people that their leader had grown weak. Cristiana could make merry all the new year to hide her clan’s shortcomings. But it did not change the fact that Domhnaill was ripe for the taking.
Duncan’s eyes roamed over the stones of the keep in search of a pattern in the rock that might match the figure on his medallion. It was one of many possibilities for what the map might signify. And the task of studying stone walls did not require nearly enough of his attention to keep him from thinking about Cristiana.
About how she’d been ready to wed five years ago.
By the rood, he would never forget the heat of the kiss they’d shared even though she’d been naught but an innocent maid. They’d been left alone to walk in the gardens, their families preoccupied with details of Edwina’s marriage contract. Cristiana had not hesitated to take his arm when he led her through the fruit trees to a bench by an old wishing well.
Oddly, she had not recalled that it had been her to lead him there, since it had been that same day that Donegal had dishonored Edwina. Cristiana had accused Duncan of kissing her to distract her from keeping an eye on her sister. But it had not been so. Cristiana had been eager to be with him, her eyes bright with excitement as she drew him into the trees.
Not seeing any pattern in the stones now, Duncan found his feet picking out the path to that well. He needed to cover a lot of ground in the next moon if he hoped to find the treasure, so it made sense if he spent some of today taking in the lay of the land.
Breaking through the thicket of overgrown fruit trees, he spied a new building between the orchard and the well. A squat, round tower, the structure was too far from the keep to be a kitchen. Yet the smoke of a stoked fire puffed from a hole in the roof.
What construction had the old laird undertaken?