Page 14 of Kidnapped By a Highland Shadow

“How dare you,” she hissed.

“How dare I what? Tell the truth?” James inquired. “I’m not a fool, my dear, even if Arran is.”

He hadn’t expected her to slap him. Sierra’s palm came out of nowhere, the blow ringing out in the quiet room. She glowered up at him for another second, then turned and marched out of the room, slamming the door with a bang that must have echoed throughout the castle.

James rubbed his reddened cheek thoughtfully. He’d really thought that Sierra’s famously feisty spirit would fade after they were married like such arts often did. Well, apparently he’d underestimated her.

On that thought, James locked the door and pulled the bolt across in case Sierra decided to come back and stab him in his sleep. She was a spiteful and vindictive woman, which was partly why he had thought they would suit each other so well. She would have been his Lady Macbeth, his scheming sorceress, whatever he needed to achieve his ends.

It was disappointing to find that Sierra was more interested in jewels and handsome young warriors than anything of substance. Still, James had encountered more than his fair share of disappointments in his life, and he had overcome them all in turn. Frankly, it was more irritating that Arran, one of the most reliable and effective warriors in the clan, had fallen victim to Sierra’s calculated charms. That was the chink in Arran’s delightfully solid armor, and it was always disappointing to find flaws in useful tools.

James set aside his whiskey to carefully replace the furs and quilts on his bed. He plumped up the mattress, removing the dent left by Sierra’s body, and smoothing out the layers of covering. It was as if his wife had never been there. James made a mental note to investigate how Sierra could have gotten her hands on the key to his bedroom door. He may have to take serious steps toward some of the more…careless servants.

With that done, James began to sip his whiskey again, taking his seat beside the fire and staring into the flames. He found himself idly wondering how far along Arran had got with his latest task. The man was reliable, and James trusted him as much as he could trust anyone.

Well. He had trusted Arran.

James sighed and shook his head. Poor, stupid Arran. He’d been compromised now, and so had Sierra. Arran could be replaced easily enough once he’d completed this last task, and James would be more watchful in the future.

Sierra, however, would be more difficult to replace. Still, one thing was clear: she had to go. Poor, obstinate Sierra had failed on all counts. She was no grand hostess, showing no signs of creating the almost-royal court at the castle, full of invaluable gossip and powerful nobles that could serve James’s cause. She was no great manipulator, being too spoiled and impatient to work hard at getting what she wanted. She was no schemer and had no ambitions beyond the next handsome man she saw.

And, of course, she had failed on the two most basic things expected from a wife—fidelity and fertility.

James did not consider himself an unreasonable man. Loyalty was not too much to expect, and he understood the singularly difficult restrictions placed on the women of the world. A woman could only have power through her husband, and James prided himself on offering a great deal of power.

Still, Sierra had been an abysmal failure.

They had been married for almost seven years now, and there was no sign of a baby. James was no fool; he knew that men could be barren as well as women. However, James knew he had sired at least one illegitimate child (both mother and child had died during the birth, which had smoothed the path for his marriage to Sierra), whereas none of Sierra’s lovers had produced a child.

It was possible that Sierra could have found some tincture or potion to prevent a baby.

If she did, James thought, with a flash of anger, I’ll burn her for being a witch.

No, his mind was made up. Sierra was no good. No doubt he was wasting his time looking for a fiery Lady Macbeth. He’d have to settle for a dutiful wife who could produce a few children. It wasn’t as if James was particularly concerned with his legacy. After all, he wouldn’t be around to enjoy it. Neither was he fond of children. However, there was no denying that the people were reassured by a strong future.

It wasn’t enough to have a good, strong leader. They needed reassurance that there would be another strong leader after that, and another, and another. For that, a clan chief needed sons. James sighed. He’d hoped to have a parcel of witless male brats to present to his clan as an investment in a solid future. No doubt the boys would fight to the death over the title of laird, just as James and his brothers had fought over their title. But the people would have been reassured.

They’ll never be happy, he thought in resignation.

James swirled the last of his whiskey around his glass, debating whether a possible hangover in the morning would be worth another glass. Probably not. He had work to do, and the temporary enjoyment of another glass of whiskey simply wasn’t worth it. James was used to making sacrifices.

Where on earth was he going to find a suitable woman? Sierra, thankfully, had no real friends or a powerful family to contest her ultimate fate, but James couldn’t expect to be so lucky with all of his future wives. Marrying for statesmanship reasons was fraught with danger, and no woman from another clan would come without strings attached. If he married a noblewoman from another clan, he couldn’t simply get rid of her if things didn’t work out. Still, he didn’t particularly want to choose from among his people, either.

A solution was rapidly presenting itself. As James drained the last of his whiskey and heaved a complacent sigh, he’d decided what to do.

Why not marry that lass Arran was bringing back, the McTavie lass? Hopefully his rival would be dead soon enough, but it would be the perfect revenge to wed and bed McTavie’s only child and get sons from her to further the Stewart clan. Irony, that was the word. Perfect irony.

He would wait until Arran returned and make his final decision then. Still, it was a reasonably good idea. There’d be no one to protect the girl, and if she were sensible, she’d do what she was told and go along with it.

Arran could be irritatingly chivalrous at times, and if he objected, that would give James the perfect excuse to get rid of him.

Sierra should be simple enough to get rid of. She was too high-and-mighty for her own good. She had no friends, no contacts, and nobody likely to act or speak on her behalf. That meant that when James organized some accident or sudden illness, nobody would think twice. Nobody would think about her at all, except being grateful that their waspish, complaining mistress was finally gone.

James allowed himself to luxuriate in front of the fire a moment longer, pleased with his own machinations. It was a good plan. Now, all he had to do was wait. He couldn’t deal with Arran until the man returned, and he wouldn’t risk getting rid of Sierra until he’d met the new lass and made his decision then.