Gwendolen ripped her arm away. “Why don’tyousubmit to him, Mother? If anyone knows how to please a man in bed, it’s you, not me.”
“I assure you, I would submit in an instant if I was the one he wanted. But he wantsyou,which is exactly what he shall have, or we’ll both be dead. Now listen to what I say. You must be docile and agreeable. And for heaven’s sake, make yourself more presentable. Put on a prettier gown.” She reached out to untie the laces of Gwendolen’s stays. “He has offered you a gift—a chance to preserve our status here. You must thank him, and lure him to your bed.”
“Lure him to my bed?” Gwendolen shoved her mother’s hands away. “He has laid siege to our home. I will not simply lie back and wait for him to lay siege to my body, as well. I will go to the hall and meet him there, with dignity, as Father would have done.”
“And say what?”
“I will negotiate the terms of our surrender.”
Onora scoffed. “You are forgetting that we have already been defeated. Surrender is no longer an option. He will laugh at you.”
Gwendolen backed away, then realized that she did, in fact, have some power. “That is where you are wrong, Mother. He wants something from me—a child—and I shall inform him thatIwill not be conquered quite so easily as this castle. More importantly, if I can buy us time, there is a chance that Murdoch will return and restore our freedom.”
“Gwendolen!”
Heart beating erratically in her chest, she walked out and shut the door behind her, then quickly made her way down the curved staircase, ignoring her mother’s outraged calls, which echoed through the vaulted stone passageways.
As she approached the hall, her stomach turned somersaults. She was about to confront and challenge a ruthless, battle-seasoned warrior, who thought nothing of ramming through castle gates and slaughtering entire armies before breakfast.
Physically, she was no match for him. That was certain. He was mighty and strapping, and he could slaughter her too in a single heartbeat, if he was so inclined. But no matter what happened, she would not show her fear. She was the daughter of a Highland chief, and she had the allegiance of her people. She would face him on equal ground.
Thankfully, the hall was empty when she arrived, which awarded her a few minutes to collect her thoughts and decide how, exactly, she was going to address Angus Bradach MacDonald. She paused just inside the arched entry, behind the dais, and turned her eyes to the impressive display of MacEwen heraldry. Heavy silk tapestries draped the walls, flags and banners hung from the rafters, and their family crest had recently been carved into the stonework.
She glanced toward the heavy chair that her father had occupied until recently. When he had presided over this hall, feasts and celebrations were the order of the day. Laughter, music, and poetry filled the nights with culture and amusement. There was no threat of war or tyranny. He was a good man, a strong and fair leader, but all of that would soon change if she did not stand up to this new conqueror. Tonight, there would be subjugation, forced oaths, and peril for those who refused to submit.
Unless, of course, she could exert some influence, however small…
She stepped up onto the dais and approached the empty chair.Help me to be brave, Father, for I wish to do my duty for the MacEwens.
Her prayer was interrupted, unfortunately, by the sound of footsteps entering from the bailey. Gwendolen glanced up. Her pulse quickened as she beheld her enemy, Angus the Lion, at the far end of the hall.
Not yet aware of her presence, he paused just inside. He looked up at the highest peaks of the ceiling, then his cool gaze moved along the string of MacEwen banners, hung from the wide wooden beams.
Gwendolen observed the finer details of his appearance—the dark kilt and tartan draped over his shoulder and pinned with a heavy silver brooch that had been polished to a brilliant sheen. He was an enormous man. That much she already knew. But up close, she could see that his hands were large, as well, which was especially distressing, to say nothing of the weapons he carried. In addition to the shield on his back and the heavy claymore belted at his waist, two pistols were tucked into the belt, and a powder horn was slung across his chest. A dirk was sheathed in his boot.
She looked more closely at his face, and felt rather anxious.
It was a face both rugged and beautiful—flawlessly proportioned, with a full sensuous mouth and a fine, patrician nose. His eyes were pale blue, as clear as ice on a winter lake, and yet they smoldered with fire. A curious commotion began inside her—an unusual trepidation, a shiver of heat that spread to her toes. She had to work hard to control it.
The great Lion studied the tapestries, the walls, and even the stones in the hearth, then his big hand went to the hilt of his broadsword, and his eyes narrowed in on her.
Before today, Gwendolen had not known what it felt like to be held in the gaze of a man so breathtaking. She had to focus on her sense of balance in order to remain upright on her feet.
Angus, on the other hand, appeared wholly relaxed, though there was something intense and frightening about the way he looked at her. A lingering bloodlust from battle still coursed through his body, no doubt.
If she was going to get through this, she would have to remember that he wanted something from her. She was not entirely without power.
His hand still resting on the hilt of his sword, he crossed the length of the hall with menacing determination. Her heart galloped inside her chest. By the time he reached the dais, she was feeling the same wild and reckless exhilaration she had felt on the rooftop when she challenged him with her small sword, and declared herself brave enough to fight him.
“Get down off there,” he said.
“Why? So you can look down on me?”
“Aye. Your family stole my home. You are thieves. The whole lot of you.”
Her body raged, and she worried suddenly that she might faint from all the mayhem.
“You look pale, lassie. Are you ill?”
