Page 11 of Tempting the Highland Captive

CHAPTERFIVE

Six Months Later

MacAilpein Lands, Argyll, Scotland

Amelia stood over her father’s grave and dashed the silent tears from her cheeks. He had not been the best man or father, but he loved her in his own way, and she, him. Father Jacob had done his best to lay the laird to rest with dignity and honor next to Amelia’s mother. The emaciated body had been cleaned and wrapped, then placed in a deep grave to keep it safe from the animals. It had been a slow death of pain and wasting, but Amelia’s marriage and the promise of a future heir when her captain would return had brought her father some joy in his last months.

Amelia had returned from Edinburgh and told her father a false tale of romantic love and her devotion to a fierce highland warrior who served the crown. She had even managed to dredge up an imaginary blood connection to the clan, so that he would feel like it was one of his own people. Father Jacob, Lucas, and Maggie had all sworn that she had indeed been wed to a highland warrior within the care of the crown, confirming that at least that part of her story was true. Confident that his daughter’s husband would return upon his death to take the lairdship, Ralf had slipped away into the eternal abyss finally contented, speaking of the grandson that would someday take his place as head of the clan.

Footsteps from behind her signaled that she was not alone. “’Tis time, lass. The elders await ye in the hall,” Lucas’ voice broke the silence. “I have done my best to placate them, but time is nae our ally in this.”

“I ken that, Lucas, but what I dinnae ken is what tae do about it. I had hoped that they would take me at my word and allow me tae lead in my husband’s stead without interference.”

Lucas snorted. “That was nae likely tae happen e’en with a husband present.”

“Aye, I suppose nae.” Amelia sighed wearily. She spared a thought to her now most certainly dead husband. A pang of sadness washed over her for the moment that they had shared together. She thought of their wedding day often and their brief romantic interlude that had been over before it had truly begun. Ron had been so angry with her, and she did not blame him, but there was nothing that she could do about it now. A breeze blew past alleviating the summer’s heat, and she lifted her face to the sky. He had promised to haunt her, and she could not help but wonder if the breeze was his way of saying he forgave her, that he had found peace. Shaking her head of such ridiculous notions, she sent a prayer for his immortal soul, crossed herself, and turned to face the clan’s elders.

When she entered the hall, Amelia found a line of dour faces sitting in judgement. “Have ye had any word as tae when yer husband will return, lass?” one of the old men began the conversation without bothering with the usual social niceties.

“I have nae,” Amelia answered, not bothering to lie. She knew that they were having her watched to see if, or when, she would receive any missives. Such events caused a stir in the castle, let alone a letter from the Americas. Since her father’s death, they had watched every move that she made, voicing their own opinions readily and not always with courtesy. Amelia met their furrowed brows with a determined look of her own. “As my faither instructed, I will lead the clan until my husband’s return from his service.” Those had not been his exact words, but they did not know that. Only she and Lucas had been present when Ralf had passed away in the night.

“Our enemies and allies alike are growing restless. There needs tae be a firm directing masculine hand at the helm,” one of the younger men of the elders spoke. He was a former mariner and did not believe that women belonged on ships or at the heads of clans.

“Our allies understand that such things take time,” Amelia chastised, “and our enemies ken that should they attack us with a member o’ the king’s men as our laird, they will face the wrath o’ His Majesties’ arms. Whether the man be present or nae,” she reminded firmly. She reminded herself not to look away but to hold their gazes individually as she had seen her father do on so many occasions before when dealing with the elders. Only she, Lucas, Father Jacob, and Maggie knew it to be a lie, and it would remain that way for as long as she could make it. “My husband’s rank and occupation alone can protect us, but we do not depend on that alone, we depend on our warriors as well.”

“Aye, and who is there tae lead them,” another elder took up the cause against her.

“I do,” Lucas barked menacingly, taking a step forward from where he normally stood behind her. He was getting irritated with them. Amelia could hear it in his voice. “As I have always done.”

“Aye, but it was the laird’s fearsome reputation that kept our enemies at bay, nae just yers.”

“And I am the laird’s daughter. Does nae the same fierce blood flow through my veins?” Amelia shoved her arm out to expose the delicate blue veins running through the pale underside of her wrist. “Does nae the same passion and love for this clan beat within my breast?” She pounded on her chest over her heart for emphasis. “Does nae the same cunning mind concoct strategies worthy o’ any warrior?” Before they could argue, she rushed on, “Ye have seen with yer own eyes that I am just as capable as he in planning and providing for this clan.”

“Ye are a woman. Ye will ne’er be enough.” The mariner snorted in disgust. “I will nae follow a mere slip o’ a lass.”

“Then ye are welcome tae leave,” Lucas growled. “I would be tae happy tae show ye the way.” The man opened his mouth, then seeing Lucas’ hand on the hilt of his dirk, thought better of it, and sat back down in silence.

“These things take time,” Amelia reminded them. “Please be patient a while longer.”

A noise at the door caused them all to turn. To Amelia’s shock, there stood Michael Rossell with one of her warrior’s swords to his throat. “I am here tae offer my condolences tae Lady Amelia,” he grumbled with a threatening glare to the man who was prepared to slit his throat.

“Rossell!” Lucas bellowed angrily. He drew his own sword and moved to stand between Amelia and their enemy.

“I will nae harm the lass,” Rossell swore. “Is this the McAlpine idea o’ hospitality?”

Sighing, Amelia arose and motioned for the warrior to let him go. “Why have ye come, Rossell?” She, like her father before her, refused to call him a laird.

“I received news o’ yer faither’s death and came tae deliver my condolences,” he answered, moving to take her hand, but stopped when Lucas growled.

“It has been some time since Faither’s passing,” Amelia noted, pointing out that he could have come sooner if that were his true objective.

“Aye, but I have been away tae Edinburgh.” He gave her a meaningful look and Amelia felt her heart and stomach switch places.

Does he ken the truth? She hid her shaking hands in her skirts. Steadying her breath, she met his eyes.

“So ye see that my lateness in coming must be forgiven.” This time he ignored Lucas’ growl and took one of Amelia’s hands in his. “I do hope that I am forgiven, lass, as I have a verra important question tae ask ye.”

“Oh?” Amelia inquired with a raised brow as she attempted to extricate her hand from his. “And what might that be?”