what? What am I to be to you?’ She might have pretended on the stairs, but she had no experience in these matters.
She felt the satisfaction rolling off him as he answered, ‘As my whore.’
She tried to turn around. ‘You...’
‘What else did you think? My intended? My dear?’ He lowered his voice, contempt thickening his words. ‘My betrothed?’
What had she thought? She had spent the night in his room and his cousins knew it; there was no other explanation. Yet it was unjust he expected her to play such a role. Regardless of her starting the ruse, this was going too far.
‘I won’t do it. We doona need to continue the farce.’
‘You are a farce, Buchanan. Do you not like the bed you made? Do you think I like it? I can barely touch you without feeling the need to clean. But there is nae other explanation for your travelling. ’Tis safer.’
Despite her anger, his words stung. ‘Since when does your clan care for the safety of mine?’
‘Never,’ he said. ‘I’m not talking about your safety.’
Of course he wasn’t. Why would he? A Colquhoun would never tolerate a Buchanan. Just as every right-minded Buchanan would never tolerate a restrictive and oppressive Colquhoun. Their families had always fought. She’d been raised with this knowledge, but Caird’s hatred towards her seemed...excessive. His reaction, after their kiss, hurt.
Was he embarrassed about their kissing now he knew she was a Buchanan? Or was it only the dagger and the gem making him angry? Pulling the reins to the left, his arm brushed her chest and instantly heat coiled inside her. Her breath changed. His stopped.
He said he couldn’t stand touching her, yet he left her body wanting his touch. She didn’t understand her reactions since he hated her.
She didn’t deserve his hatred and she couldn’t be expected to endure his company for days. She refused to continue this farce for that long. She wasn’t that accomplished a liar. Despite her freedom, she’d never been with a man; she didn’t know how to act as a whore. Surely his cousins would realise she lied. Then what would happen?
More questions in need of answers, and she’d be even further away from returning home.
She couldn’t have that. This had to be finished and soon. At least there was still a chance to escape. It wasn’t nighttime. They could yet spy the thief, or at least find his trail. If so, they’d get the answers they sought and end this charade.
Then she wouldn’t have to think of Ailbert or her grieving mother and sisters. She wouldn’t have to think about the gambling debt still owed and the catastrophe that would occur if she couldn’t obtain the money to pay it.
They’d find the thief, and this would end. Then she could do her own grieving, in her own time and away from hate-filled Colquhouns.
In the meantime, all she had to do was not think of Ailbert’s death. His blood spreading across his stomach.
How it was all her fault...
To contain her helpless guilt and to still her thoughts, she smiled at Hamilton. He’d been friendly to her since they’d left the inn and she welcomed the distraction. When Hamilton slowed his horse, her smile became genuine.
* * *
Caird needed quiet. Fortunately, Hamilton kept Mairead entertained with conversation and Malcolm, used to his silences, left him alone.
It allowed him to think and to plan.
The dagger and jewel buried in a pouch around his waist burned into his side. It was like holding a flame that could instantly torch a village, destroy lives and entire clans.
But just like that flame, as with any fire, it could do miraculous things as well. The Jewel of Kings.
He held the Jewel of Kings. He was certain of it.
Shock and doubt had washed over him when he first held it at the inn.
Recognition dawned on him at the same time as he tried to rationalise that it couldn’t possibly be true. It was a legend and not supposed to be real.
But it was too exact. There could be no other jewel shaped like it, no other jewel coloured like it and it had been purposely hidden inside a dagger’s hilt.
A Buchanan said it was her brother’s? Impossible. He would rather believe he held the legend long before he’d ever believe that clan owned it.
But what was he to do with it? It belonged to Scotland, but Scotland barely existed now. In April, King John Balliol was defeated. Now he was held prisoner at the Tower of London. The English King continued to set up English sheriffs and English governors.
The jewel belonged to the Scotland of old, a united Scotland under one ruler. That Scotland had been lost with a child at sea...and at Dunbar.
So what to do with the jewel?
There were few choices. He had to solve the mystery of why it surfaced now and why it was wanted by a Buchanan and a thief.
Caird had no doubt the thief knew the jewel was inside the dagger, which meant he would be desperate to reclaim it. It also meant he could be nearby and danger—
Mairead laughing again.
He tensed his muscles, refusing to be as affected by the sound as he had been before.
A mistake.
It tightened her against him and the sound reverberated through him.
Was that how Mairead truly laughed or was she torturing him?
He rode closer to Hamilton to keep Mairead occupied, but now Caird wondered at his choice.
At first, he’d tried to listen to their conversation, which provided Mairead opportunity for treachery.
All he needed was for her to lie and cause the Graham clan to rise up against him, but they had only talked of trivialities, the games and village stories. Still, he had to be ready for anything. He’d never met a more impulsive female.
That first time when she laughed, he hadn’t been prepared, and her laugh had struck him—like lightning.
It wasn’t like him to be fanciful. But it was Mairead and her laugh. It was making him mad with need.
He held her and it didn’t matter that he couldn’t see all of her. The smell of heather in her hair, the angle of her shoulders and the touch of her hands on the reins teased him. The softness of her breasts and narrowness of her waist brushing his arms taunted him. Far worse, the lushness of her hips and bottom pressed against him and the horse’s rolling gait was a pale mimic of what he craved from her.
Lust. Unchecked. He felt thwarted by how he held her. It was enough for him to catch glimpses of her, but not enough to ease his desire. Holding her like this only tantalised and teased his hunger for her. He wondered if she did it on purpose. Even her gown spilling over his legs mocked his need to see more of her.
So
