Page 85 of Sins of the Highlander

“Agreed.” Rob’s chest burned with triumph. Elspeth would be his. He was certain of it.

Lachlan Drummond’s face was turning an unhealthy shade of scarlet.

“And as for the second of your demands, I’ll make it part of my own,” Rob said, turning to Drummond. “Ye may have my head, Lachlan, if ye’re man enough to take it. Before I release the Lady Elspeth to her father’s keeping, ye and I will meet in single combat.”

“Why should I agree to that when we have your castle surrounded?” Lachlan said. “Your people willna be satisfied to stay inside the walls come spring when there’s planting to be done.”

“Spring’s a long ways off,” Rob said. “D’ye really intend to pass Christmastide in a cold siege instead of warm by your own hearth? I’d warrant a coward such as yourself would prefer that.”

Drummond drew his sword in one smooth motion.

“Peace!” Stewart thundered, drawing his own and crossing it over Lachlan’s. “We are under a flag of truce, and the man is unarmed.”

“He insulted me!”

“Then accept his challenge,” Stewart said.

“Can ye no’ see what he’s doing?” Lachlan returned his sword to its sheath sullenly. “He only made this offer to divide us.”

“If so, he’s done a good job of it,” Hamish muttered under his breath.

“Ye’ll have your answer on the morrow, MacLaren,” Lord Stewart said as he returned Rob’s glass device. “I thank ye for your care of my daughter. I trust it will continue, whatever our decision.”

Rob nodded solemnly.

The Stewart reined his horse around and rode off the field. Lachlan glared at Rob.

“If we meet in battle, ye should know I give no quarter,” Drummond said.

“And I was set to show ye mercy,” Rob answered pleasantly; then his face went hard as winter oak. “The same mercy ye showed my wife.”

Chapter 29

“Ye canna mean to consider this lunatic’s proposal!” Lachlan slammed his fist on the ornate travel table positioned in the center of Stewart’s pavilion. The large tent was furnished as comfortably as if it were a room in his keep, complete with a camp bed, a wash stand, and a wolf-pelt rug. Drummond’s camp was far more spartan than his wealthier ally’s. “We had an agreement!”

Stewart’s eyes glittered dangerously at him. “And I’m of a mind to alter that agreement.” He returned his attention to the stack of missives that had come by courier earlier that day, as if he were totally unconcerned by Lachlan’s outburst. At least one of the messages bore the royal seal. “So far, there’s no evidence MacLaren has harmed my daughter. She looked healthy, clean, and well fed. She even smiled a time or two while I looked at her. Why should I not consider what he had to say?”

“He admits she was injured. The bastard shot her with a crossbow bolt.” Lachlan paced the perimeter of the tent. “I saw him do it with my own eyes.”

“Aye, so ye say.” Stewart looked up from his missives only briefly. “He denies it.”

“Are ye calling me a liar?”

“I’m saying it was dark, and the eye can play tricks.”

Lachlan dragged a hand over his face. “Ye’re distraught, so I’ll let that go for the sake of our bonds.”

“What puzzles me is why ye dinna wish to fight the MacLaren,” Stewart said, laying aside the stack of correspondence. “I’ve a feeling if the tables were turned and ye had stolen his bride at the altar, heaven and earth couldna turn him from taking up his sword against ye.”

“I dinna know why ye hold the MacLaren’s actions up to be admired and repeated. He broke the sanctity of a kirk, for Christ’s sake! He stole your daughter. Probably stole her maidenhead as well. The man’s no’ exactly sane.”

“He seemed perfectly sane to me, and you will keep your scurrilous assumptions to yourself. There’s no evidence he’s harmed Elspeth in any way. It appears she’s been accorded every respect.” Stewart rose to his feet and stared at Lachlan until he was forced to look away. Then Stewart took his seat once more and picked up another oilskin packet, breaking the seal with his dirk.

“But he demanded we sever our alliance.”

“And if ye kill the MacLaren in single combat, perhaps we’d renew it. Ye can take him surely,” Stewart said. “All in all, his demands dinna seem unreasonable.”

Stewart would think that. He wasn’t risking his neck in single combat with the bloody MacLaren. Lachlan had the reputation of being a wicked swordsman, and it was well deserved in his younger days. But drink and soft living had caused him to lose a step or two, more than might be expected of a man who should be in his prime. Sometimes, his hand shook uncontrollably when he took up a blade, one of the reasons he’d shifted to the crossbow as his weapon of choice. Now he fought only men he was certain he could kill. Whether by superior swordsmanship or by cunning.