Iain had thought the same thing, andif it was true, Gowan was partially right. Once he was married to theMacDonald’s niece, Iain would join forces with the laird to defend the MacDonaldsifthe need arose, but the old laird was a clot-heid if he thought thatwould make Iain any less wary of the cunning laird trying to steal MacLeodlands.
“What do ye ken of the lass?”
“Nae verra much. Her name isMarion.” He turned the name of the faceless woman over in his mind. He feltnothing, except the inevitableness of the marriage. Perhaps David had done hima favor. Iain had no wish to marry, but he did have a duty as laird of the MacLeodclan to produce an heir. He’d tried to forget the duty, but David had pointedlyreminded him. So now he’d marry some pale, pampered Sassenach who he’d notreally like. At least he’d not make the same error again and fall in love withhis wife. Loving and losing Catriona had nearly destroyed him. He had no wishto love like that again.
A Sassenach would never take theplace of the beautiful, delicate wife, whom he’d vowed to keep from harm and hadfailed. He was safe from being bewitched by de Lacy’s daughter, but he’d treatthe woman well, which was a great deal more than she could have expected fromFroste. The thought made Iain grin.
“I may take no pleasure inremarrying,” he said, “but I take a sinful amount of pleasure in the fact thatI’ll be relieving Froste of the woman he wants—or rather, the land and title hewants. The man deserves more for what he did to Neil, but this is a good start.Come, let’s pick up the pace. The quicker we collect my soon-to-be bride fromher home, the faster we can be on our way to Scotland.”
As they rode through the day and into the night,Iain steeled himself for the likely tears from the Sassenach when she learnedshe was to marry a stranger, and a Scot at that, as well as the anger from deLacy when he either realized or suspected that his king had checkmated him. Itwould be a boon if Froste was at de Lacy’s home when they arrived, and Iaincould tell the knight to his face that he wouldn’t be getting his coveted landor a title.
By the time the castle came intoview, Iain felt prepared for anything. Yet his lips parted in surprise at thethick,smoke-filledair that swirled around the castle, which stood high on a hill. The smell ofburning wood drifted in the air from the bailey, from whence large flames flickered.The drawbridge from the bailey to the land beyond was down, and knights andservants swarmed across the length of the bridge and in front of the bailey.Torches of orange light peppered the darkness surrounding the source of thefire.
Iain stared at Rory Mac, who hadalready unhooked his sword from where it had been strapped on his mount. “Beready,” Iain commanded, “but hold for my word. I’d rather nae fight my futurewife’s father just yet, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“As ye wish,” Rory Mac said, inspite of his scowl. He was clearly itching for a fight, as he often was. He didnot have a temper, but he certainly wasn’t afraid to yield when challenged, andthat was one of the reasons he was so useful to Iain. The man would listen whentold to hold, but he’d also fight to the death when ordered.
Rory Mac muttered under his breath,indicating he had more to say on the subject. “I say it’s best to have ourweapons drawn. If King Edward is right in his suspicions, de Lacy and Frostemay decide to kill us both to prevent their king from outmaneuvering them.”
Iain nodded, reaching for his ownsword to make sure it was where it should be. It was, of course. “I dunnaethink we need be worried at the moment. Openly defying King Edward’s orderswould be akin to declaring war, and since they’ve no notice of this and,therefore, have been unable to make any preparations, I dunnae think they are foolishenough to do that. They’ll want, at the very least, to appear as if they aregoing to obey until they can gather their knights. Besides”—Iain flashed RoryMac a grin—“the king gave us leave to kill either man if they try to kill us.”
Rory Mac scowled at Iain. “Ye mighthave said so.”
Iain chuckled. “I just did.”
“What other details should I ken?”Rory Mac asked, his tone impatient but amused.
“Well,” Iain said, drawing the wordout just to annoy his friend, “we’re to make it seem as if King Edward did naeken anything about the future marriage of de Lacy’s daughter and Froste, andthat the king simply offered the woman to me as a sign of trust that he meansto continue talks of David’s release.”
Rory Mac snorted. “We’re to lie?”
“Aye,” Iain scoffed. “Just likeEnglishmen.”
Both men laughed at that and spittoward the ground at the same time.
As they neared the first group ofwhat appeared to be servants and a young page, a warning horn blasted from highabove the hill where the lookout tower stood. Iain assumed the horn had soundedto signal their approach, and his hand automatically returned to the hilt ofhis sword. As the men drew closer, Iain quickly assessed them and concludedthey were indeed likely servants. For one, they were weaponless, and for another,their dress was simple, as a servant’s would be. They wore woolen hose, hats,and thick, unadorned woolen coats. There was a woman, dressed in a plain skirtand cloak of the same material as the men. She was also weaponless. The woman’swide eyes locked on him. Beside her stood a boy—no, a page—likely no more thana young lad by his slight build and hairless face. The cloth of his clothes wasfiner than the others’, and he had a dagger sheathed at his side, which hewithdrew as he lifted his chin and squared his shoulders.
The woman grabbed for the boy’sarm, making his graceless attempt to quickly withdraw his weapon even moregraceless. He shrugged off the woman’s hand. “Halt, Scot!” he demanded as twoolder men flanked his sides.
Iain bit back the laughter in histhroat. “Sheathe yer weapon, ye young fool, before ye get yerself killed. I’msteady as a slow-trickling stream, but my companion is a nervous sort.” Hetilted his head toward Rory Mac, who was clutching the hilt of his sword.
The boy’s eyes, brightened by thetorches, moved from Rory Mac to Iain and finally settled there. “You really area Scot!” the boy exclaimed, as if he thought his eyes might have deceived him.Hearing Iain’s thick brogue must have confirmed the poor lad’s fears.
It was an accusation, to be sure.Iain released the chuckle he’d been holding back. His merriment pierced themomentary silence around them. “Aye. I’m Iain MacLeod, laird of the MacLeodclan, and I’m here on business from yer king. Are the Baron de Lacy and hisdaughter in residence tonight?”
The boy’s face fell, and the olderwoman, who stood a few feet behind him now, burst into tears. The boy reachedfor the woman’s hand and clung to it as he glanced over his shoulder. When heturned back, worry pinched his young face. “The baron is approaching.”
Iain stared in the direction thelad had looked and heard the thundering of horses’ hooves as a line of knightscame galloping across the bridge. Iain tensed, and he and Rory Mac exchanged alook of shared understanding—be prepared.
Twelve knights formed a V shapeheaded by a man of about fifty, Iain judged from his graying hair and weatheredface. He rode a white mount, and his surcoat was adorned with a gold,fire-breathing dragon. The man Iain assumed to be the baron appeared to beexpecting a battle by his dress. Either the king was correct in his suspicionsor de Lacy was a man who liked to be ready for the unexpected at all times.
He pulled his destrier to a halt ahandbreadth from Iain. The men behind him did the same. He swept his narrowedeyes over Iain, lingering on his sword. “I’m Baron de Lacy. What business haveyou here?”
“I’m here by the order of your kingand mine to marry your daughter, Marion de Lacy. It’s a marriage of good faithbetween the kings to begin the process of negotiations for David’s release. I’mIain MacLeod, chief of the MacLeod clan.”
“If you are the chief, where areyour clansmen to defend you?” the baron demanded, his face showing no hint ofhow he felt about what Iain had just told him.
“I dunnae need defending when Itravel, Baron. That is the sign of a weak man,” he added, disliking the baronmore with each of the man’s words.
