The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(22)

Her father might think her a fool, but she knew the reason they were there had to have something to do with a war with England. At the root of all her father’s actions was securing Scotland’s freedom from the “bloodthirsty English whoreson.” Her family’s patriotism was well known, but her father’s was tinged with rabid fanaticism. At times she wondered whether there was anything he wouldn’t do to see Edward of England purged from Scotland.

Unlike most of the nobility who changed sides for political expediency—like the Bruces and Comyns, who seemed to fight on whatever side the other was not—the Frasers were always on the side of Scotland. They’d fought alongside Wallace, Balliol, Comyn, and now, if her cousin Simon’s fealty was any indication, with Robert Bruce. She guessed that the Bishop of St. Andrew’s presence here meant that he’d aligned himself with Bruce as well.

Clearly, her father and Lamberton were planning something and had decided they needed the Island chiefs’ support, and Tormod MacLeod’s in particular. The best swordsman in the Isles.

Was that it? Would they be rash enough to be considering another rebellion? She hoped not. It was a dangerous proposition. Word of William Wallace’s fate had spread through Scotland like wildfire. As much as she feared her father, she did not wish to see his head stuck on a pike over some English castle.

Her father was watching her as if he expected her to say something. But the MacLeod chief had refused the alliance. What else could they do? “Perhaps you can find another way to win him to your side,” she offered.

His gaze slid over to Beatrix, who was doing her best to disappear into the billowy bed hangings and nearly succeeding. With her long, golden hair tumbling around her shoulders and gowned only in a linen chemise, she looked as ethereal as an angel.

“Oh, I haven’t given up,” her father said with a sly smile. “We will just have to leave him no choice in the matter.”

Something in his voice made the fine hairs on Christina’s arms stand up. “What do you mean?” The MacLeod chief seemed like a man who always made his own decisions; she couldn’t imagine trying to force him to do anything.

“If Beatrix is discovered in his bed, he’ll be honor bound to marry her.”

It took her a moment to realize what he was suggesting.

Beatrix turned as white as the chemise she was wearing. Her big blue eyes rounded like two big coins, dominating her stricken face. “In his bed?” she echoed in a strained whisper.

“You can’t be serious,” Christina said in a state of stunned disbelief, completely forgetting herself. He would ruin his daughter to force a man to marry her?

Her father turned on her, his eyes as hard as two black rocks. “I assure you I’m very serious.” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Nothing will happen. It will be for only a few minutes. All Beatrix need do is slide into bed beside him while he’s sleeping. I will come ‘find’ her a few minutes later. Her virtue will be safe enough.”

Christina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Had her father lost all honor?

“But it’s trickery,” she said aghast. “It’s dishonorable.”

His hand clenched and for a moment she feared she had gone too far. She flinched, waiting for the blow, but the ball of his fist stayed at his side. “You stupid girl, how dare you talk to me of honor! What are a few minutes, when I spent three years in Edward’s dungeons for Scotland and honor? What do you know of war and sacrifice?” His face was florid, his rage nearly out of control. He grabbed her arm and jerked her to look at his face. “I will hear no more of your foolish objections. This will achieve our ends and that is all that matters.” He released her, pushing her away from him as if he didn’t trust himself not to hurt her. “Beatrix will make him a fine wife. He will recognize it soon enough and thank me for it.”

It seemed she had her answer: Her father would stop at nothing to achieve his purpose.

Beatrix huddled in a ball, shaking. “I can’t,” she said, tears choking her voice. “I won’t do it.”

Christina felt a swell of pride at her sister’s defiance—until she saw her father stride over to the bed. “You will,” he threatened, lifting his hand. “Or it will not be just my hand you feel. I will take the lash to you this time.”

Before he could strike her sister, Christina grabbed his arm. “I’ll do it,” she said. “Please, don’t hurt her. I’ll do it.”

He turned to her, and she let go her hold, relieved when he lowered his hand. “Nay, your sister is the better choice. Beatrix did not make a fool of herself and interfere with his fight.”

“But he stopped,” Christina blurted. She had to think of a way to persuade him. “And he was watching me during the feast. You must have seen him.”

Her father studied her for a moment longer. “You’re sure of this?”

She felt her cheeks warm at the exaggeration. He had watched her, though there had been no hint of interest in his hard gaze—in fact, when MacRuairi had been standing there he’d looked angry. “A girl knows when a man admires her.” She turned beet red at the lie, hoping her father attributed it to modesty. She thought she’d felt a connection, though with his refusal she couldn’t be sure about anything.

But Beatrix could never do what he asked, and Christina couldn’t bear the consequences if she didn’t. The thought of a whip across her sister’s frail back filled her with icy fear. Besides, she consoled herself, she would never have to actually go through with sneaking into his room. It seemed they would have to move forward with their desperate plan. They’d be on that boat to Iona after all, gone before she had to do her father’s foul bidding.