The Highlander’s Dilemma Page 8

  Leona swallowed hard. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Leona gaped at him. He was really offering that she could live here forever? Make Annecy her home? It was a lot to think about.

  “Well,” her uncle smiled, seeming to understand how overwhelmed she felt, “no need to make a difficult decision now. We have plenty of diversions planned today.”

  “Diversions?” she raised a brow. As if on cue, she heard hoof beats proceeding up the hill toward them.

  “My lord! Lady Leona!”

  Leona felt her heart jump in alarm as the Comte of Cleremont rode up the hill.

  “Ah, Guy! Good morning! I wasn't expecting you so soon,” her uncle demurred. “You see, we are not dressed to ride yet.”

  “Well, the Lady Leona looks too elegant to warrant a change of clothes,” he said smoothly. Leona smiled at him. The look in his eyes when he looked at her made her skin crawl.

  “Come, niece,” the count said. “We should return and dress! I had planned a long ride through the woods...you can see where the hunt usually takes place – wrong season now, of course...” he muttered as he turned, his hand on her shoulder to draw her, resisting, along with him.

  “I brought nothing for riding...” she protested weakly.

  “We thought of that, my dear,” her uncle smiled. “I had something made up before you reached us. I think it should be adequately sized.”

  Leona gaped at him. He laughed.

  In her chamber, Allie helped her into a deep ocher yellow riding dress. Leona studied her reflection, cheeks burning as she noted the tight waist and low bodice. The gown showed off her figure rather more than she would have liked. It was beautiful, though, and she ran her hand wonderingly over the velvet skirt.

  “Oh, miss! You look lovely!”

  Leona smiled at her maid and went downstairs. There was a horse fetched for her at the stables, a chestnut mare, well-trained and friendly. She was helped into the finest Spanish saddle she had ever used and her spirits were considerably lifted as her uncle looked approvingly at her.

  “My niece! You are ravishing.”

  Leona flushed. “Thank you.”

  “Yes. You are a sight for sore eyes, my lady.” The voice was the Comte's.

  Leona cringed as his eyes traveled from her head to her toes, waiting an uncomfortably long time at her bodice. She flushed and looked away.

  “Well, then,” her uncle said, clearly feeling awkward. “Let's go, then.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The Comte fell back, riding beside Leona. They followed the path through the gates of the manor and into the woods.

  “It is a fine estate, is it not?” the Comte said to Leona. He rode close to her; close enough for her leg to stroke his as the path narrowed. She flinched and he smiled.

  “It is a fine estate,” Leona nodded.

  “A pity the Comte has no heirs, is it not?”

  “It must be a source of sadness for him,” Leona replied carefully. Inside, her mind was racing. This man owned land adjacent to her uncle's. It likely suited him well that he had no heirs. Why did he pretend to commiserate with him?

  “This land is similar to my own,” he explained. “Since I own territory in the valley there. I have a home there, Monte Bois. I hope to show it to you one day.”

  “Oh?” Leona swallowed hard.

  “Yes,” he insisted. “I think it would be a delightful venue for summer evenings. Wine on the terrace and...dalliance indoors.”

  Leona felt his eyes stray to her neckline again as he said the word “dalliance”. She shut her eyes, wishing he would go away and leave her alone.

  “I can imagine,” she said politely. She watched her uncle and wished he would have the sense to slow down and come back to where they rode together.

  “I think that you...”

  “Niece!” her uncle interrupted, riding back. “Comte, forgive me. I have...forgive me, but my leg is giving me agonies – that old injury of mine,” he waved a hand to the Comte, as if discussing a secret between them. “I must needs return to the house. But please, do not stop on my account.”

  “Uncle...” Leona began, feeling instantly concerned.

  “We will take a ride to the boundary, I think, my lord,” the Comte said at once.

  Leona looked round desperately. “Are you sure you can ride back alone?”

  “Niece, this is my land. I can assuredly do so,” he said with a smile.

  “We wish you a good recovery,” the Comte said.

  As her uncle rode off, Leona's heart thudded in her chest. Here she was, in a revealing dress in a strange country with a man who made her skin creep. What could she do?

  “Ah,” the Comte said, turning to her with a smile. “Fortuitous, eh?”

  Leona squinted at him. “Sorry, my lord?”

  “Well, it is fortunate, is it not, that your uncle must needs return? It makes it more...piquant.”

  Leona tensed. “I don't understand, sir.”

  He smiled at her. “As you wish, lady. Come! We will take the leftmost path.”

  Leona tensed and turned to where he indicated. Together they rode through the wood. At length, they came out from below the trees, and found themselves on a hillside, overlooking a valley far below.

  “My lady, shall we dismount?”

  “I prefer to stay seated.”

  “I prefer that you dismount,” the Comte said.

  Was it her imagination, Leona wondered, or was that a threat? “Very well, sir.”

  She slid out of the saddle and felt a sense of misgiving as he dismounted too and came to stand beside her.

  “My lady,” he said at length, “I brought you here intentionally.”

  “You did?” Leona stared at him.

  “Yes. That, over there, is where my land begins,” he said, pointing at a distant hill. “One day, someone will be mistress of all of that.”

  “I see,” Leona nodded. She licked dry lips.

  “My lady,” the Comte said softly. “You are wise. You understand my meaning. You know what I wish.”

  “My lord...” Leona said, feeling desperate. “I am...I cannot...”

  “Oh, hush.” He leaned in and kissed her. His mouth was hard on her lips, his tongue forcing its way between them. His hands moved down her back, stroking greedily, taking possession of her body as he crushed her to his chest.

  Leona struggled, wriggling in his grasp, but he laughed against her mouth and pulled her closer. When he let her go, she stepped back, staring at him.

  His eyes were blank with desire, his lips still moist from where they had plundered her. She slapped him.

  His eyes narrowed and he grabbed her wrist. “That is the last time you will do that, my lady,” he said gravely.

  “I will do that when I have cause to,” Leona said, her shock giving way to anger as she wrenched at her arm, trying to prize it from his grasp.

  “You do that and I will break your wrist,” he said.

  Leona stared at him. “You would not dare. My uncle...”

  He laughed. He let her wrist go. “Your uncle likes me. He would not intervene for you.”

  “You lie,” Leona protested. “My uncle is a kind man. He would not let you treat me like...”

  “Your uncle will never know,” the Comte said softly.

  Leona blinked. There it was again, that threatening undercurrent. “I will tell him if I wish to.”

  He laughed unpleasantly. “You value your uncle's opinion, do you not?”

  “Yes,” Leona said flatly. The instant she confessed to that, she wished that she had not. He smiled.

  “Well, then. It would be so easy to tell him you are deceitful. That you are a little, shall we say, not quite right..?” he touched his forehead, a gesture to indicate madness.

  Leona hissed out an outraged breath. “You wouldn't dare!”

  “Wouldn't I?” He smiled.

  “You are despicable!”

  He chuckled. He sounded
quite pleased at the comment. “If you see it that way, my lady, I cannot argue with you. I would call it sensible.”

  When he came to stand before her again, Leona tensed just as he drew her into his arms again.

  This time, when his lips stroked hers, his tongue slowly forcing its way in through the gap between them, she did not try and resist. She leaned against him, yielding and lifeless, as he pushed his tongue into her mouth, her body crushed to his.

  What choice do I have? He'll tell Uncle I'm touched in the mind.

  She waited until he finally let her go again and then walked stiffly to her horse, following his example.

  “Let me help you,” he said, seeing her struggling to mount.

  She felt her heart sink, feeling shamed and despairing. She could not refuse his help, though, and when he offered her his hands, looped as a stirrup to give her something to stand on, she thanked him. “My lord, you are kind.”

  He looked up at her with those hard, black eyes. “You see? I did say so.”

  Leona shivered. “Come. We must go back.”

  “Indeed, my lady.”

  He mounted up and they rode back to the manor in silence.

  Leona fled to her room.

  I hate that man! I cannot believe he did that to me!

  She washed her face, shivering with revulsion, letting the water wipe her disgust away. She sat down on her bed, wrapped her arms around herself and tried to still the shaking.

  “My lady?”

  “Yes?”

  “Your uncle craves your presence in the dining hall. He says it's past time for luncheon.”

  Leona sighed. “Yes, Allie. I'll come down in a moment. Help me change from this dress?”

  Once she was out of the riding clothes and back in her day gown again, Leona felt more confident. A long green dress with a high neck and a silver kirtle, she felt safer in it than in the revealing gown she had worn earlier.

  In the dining hall, she took a seat beside her uncle, glad that the Comte would not be able to sit beside her. She tried to ignore him during lunch and did not take part in the conversation overmuch. She listened to her uncle and the Comte, who were soon discussing matters of business together as if she was not listening to them.

  These two are old friends.

  The more she came to understand how close they were, and how much their adjacent estates supported each other, the more she realized that the Comte was right. Her uncle would never support her against him. He had too much to lose.

  And, I suspect, he would gain from my marrying the man.

  The idea made things seem suddenly clear to her. Her uncle had always intended her to marry the Comte! That was why he had left them together, insisted on their getting to know each other, made opportunities for them to be alone.

  He has his own schemes.

  Leona swallowed hard. She liked Uncle Marc. Respected him. Enjoyed his company. She was touched by his offer for her to become his daughter. Yet, he was a scheming man.

  She shook her head, pushing cabbage around her plate as she listened to the talk of estates and farms and crops. She would have to be careful here. She could not afford to anger the count.

  Yet, she thought, I cannot do as he wishes. I cannot marry him.

  She was already promised. To Conn.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AT THE COURT

  AT THE COURT

  Conn tapped his foot on the carpet below him, pretending not to notice that it was woven of Oriental silk and would cost as much as a guardsman might earn in five years, maybe longer.

  They can keep their fancy rugs. It's my time I'm wasting here. And that's more precious to me.

  He sighed, knowing he was being tiresome, but not being able to stop it. He chafed at being made to wait.

  “And Lord Gowan is here, with a petition to the king...”

  Conn rolled his eyes, feeling himself start to run out of patience. Barons, earls, and knights all passed in ahead of him and he chafed at being so blatantly ignored.

  I might be from the fells of the North, but I'm a thane's son.

  It ought to count for something. Sickened as he was by the fact that titled men rode horses past beggars in the streets, he was still glad of the minor advantage his gave him. Or should have, were these folk not blatantly ignoring him.

  “...and Sir Bosworth, here to present a claim in a dispute...”

  “Excuse me,” Conn said urgently to the official who stood at the door, presiding over the anteroom. “I have a claim of dispute too! And I've waited ages!”

  The man gave him a withering look. “Order of precedence, young sir,” he said firmly.

  “Precedence be hanged!” Conn whispered hotly.

  The man glared at him. “I'll have you know, young man, that I am an officer of the law! A...”

  He trailed off as a trumpet blast cut across the chamber, stilling them all instantly.

  “Make way for the king! His royal highness, the king of Scotland.”

  “Kneel!” the official whispered to Conn. Conn, glancing around briskly, noted that he and the official were the only people not getting to their knees. He hastened to comply and they both fell, suddenly, as if pole-axed.

  “Make way for His Royal Highness!”

  As the procession neared him, Conn looked up in awe. The king walked at the head, resplendent in a fur-lined cloak, the body of it deep red velvet. He wore a fine wool tunic, a doublet of cloth-of-gold. Behind him followed a long train of nobles, bright in velvets of green, ocher, and blue. He shook his head, astonished.

  That's the king of Scotland! I just saw him. What would Leona think?

  He bit back a smile. Where Leona was now, she was probably meeting all sorts of the nobility: knights, earls, barons. She would probably be scantily impressed by his sighting of the King of Scotland!

  As it was, it only lasted about five seconds.

  He grinned ruefully to himself, shaking his head. The procession had passed already, the last train of officials walking briskly past. The man who knelt beside him shot him a look.

  “What're you smiling for?” he asked crossly.

  “Nothing, sir,” Conn assured him, biting back the grin which crossed his face. “Nothing at all.”

  His wry humor in the situation slowly dissipated. In truth, there was little to smile about – he was here, stuck in cold, wet Edinburgh, with a claim his father needed signed, conferring the ownership of a tract of land on their Northern border to him over their neighbor, Thane of Gorline. He sighed. He had seen a king, though.

  I wish Leona was here.

  It would make even this tiresome duty to his father worthwhile. If, at the end of his journey, he could return and see Leona at the castle, waiting for him.

  I'd give anything for that.

  He waited until the official procession had passed, and then stood, dusting the knees of his trews where he had knelt on the dusty flagging of the room.

  “Well, then,” the official said. “Lord Dennehue will go in first, and then you,” he said, fixing Conn with a baneful glance.

  Conn grinned, shrugging easily. That suits me.

  He waited while the lord who went in ahead of him had some vigorous dispute, and then he himself was going in. He drew in a deep breath as the official let him past at last.

  Hurray! I'll never have to see him again, nor stand here to wait.

  The feeling of relief and elation followed him into the small, cramped office.

  “Name?” an arid voice hailed him.

  “Conn McNeil,” Conn said hastily.

  “Business?” the tired voice asked.

  Conn, adjusting his eyes to the comparative gloom of the office, saw a priest behind the oak-wood desk, his face wearing a tired, perpetually-bored expression. “I'm here for a dispute, Father,” he said quickly. “A land claim.”

  “A wondrous change,” the priest said sarcastically, glancing skyward a moment as if to pray for strength. “Well, let's see it then.”

&n
bsp; Conn, surprised at the offhandedness of the command, reached into the oilskin satchel in which he had carefully transported the document from Dunkeld to the capital, and withdrew it. It was marked with his father's seal, and that of their neighbor. All it needed was to be authenticated.

  “Well, then,” the man said tiredly. “I can verify that it's genuine and official. I suppose that's what you want from me.”

  “Yes, sir,” Conn said hastily. “If you could sign it and seal it for me? It would be appreciated.”

  “That's what I was about to do, son,” the priest grumbled. “Well, where are the old things, eh?” He rummaged on the desk, finding a vast bronze-cast seal, which he proceeded to hold in one hand while his right reached for a bar of wax and the lamp.

  “There...we...are,” he said slowly, as he waited for the wax to drip and settle, then pressed the seal. “All done.”

  He signed it with a flourish, strewed sand on the ink to let it dry faster, then blew off the sand and lifted it, handing it to Conn with a lofty gesture of his hand. He wore the ring of a bishop, Conn noticed numbly.

  “That's that?” he asked, hearing his voice come out squeakier than intended. He couldn't believe the waiting was done. And such a speedy process! It was amazing.

  “Well, that's all I have to do, son,” the priest said patiently. “Getting the fellows named on that charter to agree to my ratification is your mission. Not mine, for which I thank Heaven. Farewell, son.”

  Conn inclined his head, a halting bow. “Farewell, Father.”

  He backed out of the door hastily, almost flattening the official who stood before it, staff in hand.

  “That's the way out,” the man said frostily.

  “Thank you, sir.” Conn thanked the man and walked briskly to the door, rushing to it as if pursued by rioters.

  Out in the street, he drew in a long, shuddering breath.

  “It's over,” he said, feeling suddenly lighter. The long arduous journey, with the pressing worry that perhaps something would go wrong, and the charter be disputed, was finished. He had done it.

  Well, that's a relief.

  He grinned and walked off quickly, leaving the bulk of the palace behind him.