Kathryn gasped in indignation. Robert the Bruce was taking her birthright. Who would marry her without her title and lands? Her eyes widened in shock as the obvious answer to that question was confirmed.
“To seal Sir Bryan's claim to the title, His Majesty announces the betrothal of his ward, Kathryn Rose de Lindsay to the new Earl of Homelea. The marriage is to take place within the weekâ”
“Absolutely not.” Kathryn jumped up from her chair and shook her head in disbelief. The sudden rise to her feet caused a wave of dizziness and she all but fainted. “Out of the question. I do not accept this betrothal.”
He wasn't the one, the answer to her prayers. The king had made a mistake. Sir Bryan was her champion, not her husband. He was not God's choice . . . he couldn't be. Kathryn struggled to maintain her wits while she considered how to halt this nightmare. In the heat of her emotions, she didn't think before she said, “I'll not be forced to marry anyone, let alone some baseborn knight.”
Immediately she wished to retract the harsh words that condemned her own precious daughter. But 'twas too late.
At the murderous look on Black Bryan's face, she nearly panicked. That remark had certainly gone beyond the bounds of courtesy. How to diffuse the tangible tension in the room and give herself time to think? To pray. If ever she'd needed time alone to seek God's will, it was now.
A fainting spell. Yes, that would put an end to this ridiculous conversation. Not the most original idea, she knew, but it was the best solution she could manage at the moment. Without further thought, Kathryn let her body go limp in what she hoped was a graceful fall that wouldn't end with her head crashing into the furniture. Just before she closed her eyes she saw Sir Bryan reach for her, his scowl replaced by apparent concern for her welfare.
Mercifully, he caught her before she hit anything, although the pins holding her braided hair came loose. Relief that her hair was the only casualty of her folly was short-lived. Kathryn now found herself held securely in the brute's arms. She fought down her panic, but not before she stiffened for a telltale instant. He must be peering into her face because she could feel his warm breath on her cheek, smell the mint he chewed after meals. Barely refraining from an errant shudder, she focused on staying limp.
“Well, brother, it seems you have the lady swooning at your feet,” Adam chided.
Kathryn wished she could peek at the expression on Sir Bryan's face. “Fetch the matron to tend her,” he said.
Just put me down and go away. Please.
But all he did was sit down on a bench and set her weight on his thigh. She heard Anna bustle in and her indignant, “What have ye done to my lady?”
“She appears to have fainted, though Lady Kathryn doesn't strike me as the fainting sort,” he said. “What ails her?”
“I don't knowâdid ye have words with her?” Anna asked.
As he explained the king's message, Kathryn wondered how much longer she could feign her fainting spell.
She heard Anna's intake of breath at the announcement of the betrothal. “One too many shocks, I dare say. Come, let's take her to her chamber.”
Kathryn's head lolled against his chest as he climbed the stairs. He laid her gently on the bed in her chamber. Anna placed a cool cloth on her forehead.
“I assure you I am no more pleased than Lady Kathryn at marrying against my will. However, this fainting spell will not deter me from my duty.”
Knowing that if she didn't “revive” soon they would know she'd faked the spell, she moved her head and pushed at the cloth with her hand.
A silent moment passed and she peered through nearly closed eyelids. “Is he gone?”
“No, my lady, I'm still here.”
She could swear she heard something like amusement in his voice. Kathryn groaned. “Leave me, please.”
Silence. “We will speak when you have recovered.”
T
HE NEXT DAY KATHRYN WAS NO CLOSER to a solution to her dilemma. She decided to check on a mare due to foal soon, thinking the company of the horses would soothe her as it so often did. The stable door was slightly ajar and as she pushed it open she heard a voice crooning in a Gaelic lilt. She stepped quietly inside, unprepared for the sight of Bryan Mackintosh leading his stallion from its stall. Kathryn watched him tie the horse and then run his hands down a foreleg.
He was so intent on what he was doing he didn't notice her in the shadows. Feeling slightly guilty for spying, nevertheless she watched in fascination as he continued to run his hands over each of the horse's legs in turn, all the while speaking softly to the animal. Now and then his face came into her view and she marveled at the difference. Gone was the seemingly perpetual scowl, replaced by concern and then relief when his hands detected no heat or swelling. And more than that, his expression was that of a man who loved and admired horses as much as she did herself.
Encouraged by this glimpse of the man, she shuffled her feet to make it appear as if she'd just entered the door. He stopped mid-stride as their gazes met and almost immediately his face became a mask. How did he do that? And why? Intrigued, she stared at him before recovering her manners.
He recovered first. Laying a hand on the animal's croup, he said, “Good morrow, lady. You are feeling better today, I see.”
“Good morrow to you, my laird. I am quite recovered, thank you,” she said.
He walked to the animal's head and with practiced ease, untied him and circled him until horse and man faced her. Standing to the horse's left, he watched as she approached.
She walked to the horse's head, but mindful of the antics of feisty stallions, stayed out of reach of its teeth.
Sir Bryan stood at the quiet stallion's shoulder, the rope acting as a barrier between Kathryn and him. As if in answer to her unspoken question, he explained his presence in the stable. “My horse was lame. I thought I'd take a look to see if he's recovered.”
The stallion docilely accepted the man's hand as he ran it down its neck. The horse's rich, black coat glistened, nearly identical in color to its master's hair. She carefully extended her hand to stroke the white, star-shaped hair between the wide-set eyes. The horse accepted her touch just as quietly. “Such a beautiful animal. And with a nice disposition for a stallion.”
Sir Bryan straightened to his full height and looked at her, eyes cold and distant. “Aye, his manners are good.”
For a moment, Kathryn forgot if they were discussing the horse or the man. Her confusion must have been apparent on her face. Disconcerted she blurted, “Perhaps better than his master's.”
Hand over his heart he said, straight-faced, “You wound me, lady.”
She couldn't help but smile, even though his foolery made her feel off-balance. So, he
could
let down his guard around people after all. Pointing to the horse's leg, she asked, “Doesn't your squire take care of such things?”
“He does, but I prefer to care for Cerin myself.”
Her gaze shifted back to the man. He wore a saffron sark, loosely laced at the neck. The small plaid draped across his broad chest was belted at his waist and pinned in place at his left shoulder. His muscular legs were well defined by the woven trews . . . She hastened her gaze to his face to find him assessing her with similar interest, and she felt her cheeks flush under his appraising stare.
How ill-mannered of him.
She turned and walked toward the stall of the expectant mare.
She thought she heard a smile in his voice as he said, “And you, my lady, do you prefer to care for your own horse as well?”
She swiveled back to face him. “I find comfort in the company of these beasts.” As soon as she said the words, she was sorry she'd shared even that small bit of herself with this bewildering stranger.
“Aye, that I understand.” The horse tossed its head, jiggling the ropes, and Sir Bryan quieted it with a touch to its neck. “You miss your father, then?”
There was genuine sympathy in his tone, and she did not want sympathy or kindness or anything else from him. So she must fight the impulse to accept those very things from him. God had not sent himâhe was not the answer to her prayers. She used the only weapons she had at handâwords of anger. “Aye, well. Papa's death makes one less enemy for your king.”
His expression darkened, and for a moment she regretted the words. But he recovered quickly, though his voice was strained. “One less man whose loyalty could be bought.”
Why had she given in to anger? Lashing him verbally wouldn't resolve her issues with King Robert's plan for them to marry. Nor had Sir Bryan done or said anything to deserve it. Indeed the man had actually been kind, and tears threatened as she repented of her uncharitable behavior.
Her anguish must have shown, because his voice gentled once again. “We've gotten off to a rather poor start, haven't we?”
She nodded, all she felt capable of at the moment. His tenderness was totally out of character for the Bryan Dubh of legend. How dare he speak so kindly, this destroyer of villages and dreams? How dare he make her wish for what couldn't be?
He frowned.
Much better.
Don't confuse me with kindness.
“My lady, there are things that must be said between us, and we cannot wait on a more convenient time. The king's plans obviously don't suit either of us, so I will ride to Bruce's camp and ask him to rescind the betrothal.”
Hope arose. “Do you have some influence with him? I mean, because you are . . . he is. . . .” Flustered, she gave up.
He shrugged. Apparently satisfied his horse was sound, he returned the animal to its stall, then faced her. “I cannot make any promises, Lady Kathryn. My relationship with King Robert is that of a knight to his liege laird. Nothing more. I'm not privy to his reasons for suggesting the marriage in the first place.”
She drew in a deep breath. “But he is your father, isn't he?”
He looped the leading rope in his hand, studying it. In the quiet she could hear horses munching hay and the occasional stomp of an equine foot. “Would it change your mind about marrying me if I told you the king was indeed my sire?”
“Not at all.”
“Then there is no need to discuss this further. I will do my best to convey your wishes to His Majesty. But I warn you, we may have no choice. I obey my liege, in this and all other matters.” He hung the leading rope on a peg. “Tell me, what is your objection to marriage?”
Anna had asked the same thing and the answer remained the same. “Marriage to a man who doesn't love me, who doesn't love God above all else, would be no marriage at all but prison.” She would need to marry for love, because only a man who truly loved her and God might be able to forgive her lack of virginity.
And above all other considerations, she couldn't marry anyone who wouldn't protect Isobel. She'd had no time to learn anything about this man other than his love for animals and his belief that duty came before love. She must protect the child, even if it meant lying to the knight.
“I would prefer to have Fergus manage my affairs rather than acquire a husband.” And now for the blow she hated to give, but must if she had any hope of persuading him against the union. “And if I must marry, I would prefer it be with someone more in keeping with my station.”
God forgive me for saying such a thing.
LADY KATHRYN HAD A rather exalted opinion of herself. There were many women who would gladly marry a royal by-blow such as him. Bryan struggled to control his emotions. He wasn't sure of anything at the moment, especially how he felt about the aggravating woman standing before him. One minute he wanted only to shelter her in his arms and stave off all who would bring her harm, and the next she made him so angry he wanted to throttle her.
Fighting the impulse to do just that, he let his gaze rove over her. “Be careful, my lady. A man such as I, of such distasteful birth, could be very tempted by the title of earl. I could decide this marriage suits me after all.”
He grasped her arm and pulled her close. Her frightened eyes told him she feared him, and he regretted it. But if she would not respect him, then she could very well fear him instead. “You see, I have earned this reward from my king, with my loyalty and my blood. And you may yet provoke me to take what my king offers.”
She shook loose of his grip but did not back away. “'Tis all that's important to one such as you, isn't it? A legitimate title and fortune?”
Losing all patience with her, he replied, “You may believe what you wish, Lady Kathryn. It changes naught. I will do my best to persuade King Robert to free you from sullying your precious bloodline with the likes of me. But make no mistake: If he insists, then we will marry.”
“Whether I wish to or not.”
“Aye. And whether I wish to or not.”
She stared in disbelief. “You would force me?”
He didn't answer.
“You are a cruel, unfeeling brute.”
“And you, Countess, would do well to remember your manners.”
They stood toe to toe, glaring at each other, neither giving an inch. Because of her unusual height, her head reached his chin; she barely had to look up to meet his gaze. Her eyes blazed with indignation.
Her willingness to confront himâBlack Bryan, warrior knightâ kindled his admiration. Admiration soon turned to longing, for what he did not know. He fought the urge to seize her shoulders and kiss her, to mark her as his. To prove she desired him as much as he desired her.
Insanity.
Then he strode past her and out of the stable, shaken, confused, and badly in need of his father's advice.
BRYAN RETREATED TO THE SOLAR where he paced the room from end to end, seeking to escape his tangled emotions. Her rejection had stung, especially since she'd found his most vulnerable point and, like a skilled warrior, had stabbed hard at the weak link in his armor.