The Devil in Plaid(15)

He stormed toward the high dais, his muscles flexed with tension, his head tilted down but his eyes lifted and glaring at her.

Her heart quaked. From the corner of her eye, she saw Alasdair motion to several warriors to move in. They raised their swords, forming a line to block the MacLeod’s way. With a growl he reached behind his back and withdrew his sword. “Ye send a messenger to my keep, asking for my help, and this is how ye welcome me,” he snarled. His nostrils flared. Up close, she could see that his hair was matted and dirty.

Despite her fear, Fiona could not believe his audacity. He was still one man surrounded by half a dozen MacDonnell warriors.

“What kind of welcome should ye receive when ye arrive in the state ye’re in?” she admonished.

His eyes shone bright amber against the streaks of soot sullying his face. “If my appearance offends ye, my lady, then mayhap I will leave, and ye can face the might of Ranulf MacKenzie alone.”

“That will not be necessary,” her father called out. “Stand down,” he ordered his men before casting Fiona a look of warning.

When the warriors stepped back and parted their swords, Jamie MacLeod stood for a moment with his blade still raised high. He turned in a circle, his scowl plain for all to see. Then he slowly lowered his weapon, although he did not return it to the sheath strapped to his back.

Pushing past one of the guards, he crossed the room and stood in front of the high table. He did not bow, nor did he dip his head in greeting. His eyes locked with Fiona’s and did not waver. Hatred pulsed from his gaze, stealing her breath. Even when he had found her trespassing on MacLeod land, he did not look at her with such naked aggression. It was all she could do to maintain her seat and not race from the hall. She now wished more than anything that she had held her tongue about his appearance. As much as she wanted to be brave and meet his gaze without fear, her heart pounded wildly in her chest.

“Ye’re welcome in my home, Laird MacLeod,” her father said. “I am glad and grateful that ye’ve come. I bid ye invite yer men inside. They are welcome at my table.”

Although it was her father who spoke, the wild Highlander’s gaze remained fixed on her. “I have come alone,” he said. “My men wait for me beyond yer outer wall.”

“Then ye have come to make peace?” her father asked, his tone hopeful.

Fiona shifted in her seat as Laird MacLeod’s eyes grew increasingly hostile. If looks could kill, she did not doubt her heart would have stopped beating the very moment he entered the hall.

Jamie put away his sword and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have come to make an alliance between our clans, but ye see, the problem is that I do not trust a MacDonnell.”

Grumbles of protest rose up from the tables.

“Silence,” her father shouted. He stood and addressed his people. “Do ye forget yer fellow clansmen and women who even now lay cold in our chapel? Have ye forgotten what the MacKenzie has done to our stores, our crops?”

Fiona glanced at her father who looked once more upon the MacLeod. Shifting her gaze forward, she realized Jamie still stared only at her.

“How do ye propose we heal the rift between our clans?” her father asked

The intense hostility emanating from the MacLeod’s gaze was too much to bear. She could take it no longer. She lunged to her feet. “If ye will excuse me, father.”

“Sit,” the MacLeod shouted at her. His voice echoed off the high ceiling and blasted through her, making her legs weak.

Her father slammed his fist on the table, causing her to jump. “Ye will not address my daughter in such a way!”

The MacLeod at last shifted his gaze away from her to her father. “I do not trust ye, old man,” he began. “If ye want to make an alliance, then I need to be certain ye won’t turn on me in the end.”

Her father took a deep breath, clearly trying to regain his calm. At length, he asked, “What do ye propose?”

A look of disgust flashed across Laird MacLeod’s countenance. His lip curled when he spoke. “If ye wish our clans to ally against the threat of the MacKenzie, ye must give me yer daughter.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Nay, father!”

“Ye have heard my request,” the MacLeod said and started to turn on his heels.

Gordon’s face reddened. His fists clenched, betraying his anger. Fiona knew he was going to tell the MacLeod exactly where he could stick his demand, but then his shoulders sagged. Slowly, he turned to face her. “Forgive me, my child,” he whispered.

Her eyes widened. She frantically shook her head, but her father released a heavy sigh. She knew then that he had come to the same conclusion as she—the MacLeod was their only hope. Without an alliance, the MacDonnell clan would fall. Tears flooded his faded blue eyes before he turned away from her. “MacLeod,” he barked.

Jamie turned back around, an expectant look on his face.

Her father frowned. “So be it.”

Terror shot through her. “Nay,” she cried.

*

Jamie could not believe he was standing in the great hall of the MacDonnell proposing marriage with the laird’s daughter. It was all too clear what she thought of the match. She had nearly fainted at the idea. He resisted the urge to shrug. Let her writhe with displeasure. She would find no quarter in his keep. He would offer her his protection but never his heart.