Angus looked up. “Which part?”
“The part where a man must raise an army to invade his own home.”
Angus rose to his full height and regarded the cousin and friend who had spent the better part of two years searching for him, found him on the outer fringes of the Western Isles, and helped him to raise an army and fight for what was theirs.
“Perhaps it’s destiny,” he replied, “for surely I can have no greater purpose than this. I have drawn my sword on behalf of my home, my clan, and my beloved Kinloch. Perhaps this is to be my redemption, a chance to make up for past sins.”
He turned his eyes toward the shattered castle gate, then to all the casualties that littered the ground. There had been terrible losses on both sides.
“And what of the dead?” Lachlan asked, taking in the wretched sight of the fallen warriors.
“We will honor them. The MacEwens fought bravely.” He inclined his head at Lachlan. “A testament to their leader, perhaps?”
“Aye, she was something of a fireball—and a bonnie vision, besides.” Lachlan’s dark eyes narrowed questioningly. “Think you’ll be able to manage her?”
“Do you doubt me, Lachlan?”
“You just took her home and destroyed half her clan. I doubt she’ll be overjoyed to share a bed with you.”
Angus wrenched his sword out of the dirt and slid it into his scabbard. “I don’t care how she feels.” He had no patience for emotional women, and this was certainly no love story. She knew that as well as he did. “Her father stole Kinloch from us. She will settle that debt.” He started toward the Great Hall.
Lachlan pulled a flask out of his sporran and took a drink. “I shouldn’t have to tell you to watch your back,” he said. “Her saber may have been small, but it had a sharp point.”
Angus heard the warning, but gave no reply.
***
Gwendolen entered her bedchamber and found her mother waiting anxiously at the window.
“Oh, my darling,” Onora said, “thank heavens you’re alive. I expected the worst. What has happened?”
Gwendolen shut the door behind her and spoke plainly. “The MacDonalds have broken through the main gate. There was a battle, and they have taken the castle. Angus the Lion has declared himself chief, and he means to claim me as his wife in order to produce an heir, and unite our two clans.” She was surprised by how calmly she could explain everything, when her insides were careening with dread.
Her mother stared blankly at her for a moment, then laughed aloud. “He means toclaimyou? Good God, does he not realize what century this is?”
“Clearly not.” Gwendolen paused. “You should see him, Mother. All the stories about him are true. He is exactly what they say—mighty, violent, and fearsome. I was frozen with astonishment as I watched him exchange blows with our strongest, most skilled warriors, and I could not breathe when he spoke.”
Her mother strode forward, fascinated. “So it’s true then. He is fierce, and unconquerable?”
“Very much so.”
“And he intends to takeyouas his wife?”
“Aye. I am not sure what to do.”
Onora threw her hands up. “Are you daft, Gwendolen? You will accept him, of course. What other choice is there?” She turned toward the looking glass, pinched her cheeks for color, and ran her fingers through her long, curly locks of auburn hair. For a woman of her age, she was remarkably beautiful. Her lips were full, her cheekbones finely sculpted, her figure slender and trim. “This is very good news,” she said. “I must say, I am greatly relieved.”
“Relieved? How can you possibly be relieved?”
Onora turned. “Don’t be such an idealist. There is no way out of this. The Lion has taken the castle, and we are at his mercy. He could kill us both, but he is willing to spareyouat least, and not only that, he wants to wed you. What more could you ask? Your position here will not change. In fact, it will improve. Mine, however…” She paused and returned her attention to the looking glass. “That is yet to be determined.” She wet her lips and puckered them. “But do not worry for me. I will negotiate for my own life and position.”
Gwendolen laughed bitterly. “Negotiate. That is exactly what I must do a few short minutes from now. But with what, I ask you? As you said, we are at his mercy. We have no power. He has declared himself chief and has terrorized every warrior who still breathes. Those who would not surrender are dead.”
Onora faced Gwendolen with fire in her eyes. “Which is why you are going to submit to him. In every way.”
“Submit…”
“Aye.” Her mother took hold of her wrist. “You are going to do exactly what he tells you to do, Gwendolen, and if you have any sense in that pretty little head of yours, you’ll act like you enjoy it.”
