Highlanders. Michelle Willingham

Чтение книги онлайн.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      JULIANA WISHED SHE had a looking glass. She hesitated on the threshold of the chamber she now shared with her sister and her nephews. She felt disheveled and untidy, and she worried her appearance might give her transgressions away. Mary would disapprove if she ever found out what had just happened. Worse, she would be disappointed. Juliana dared not consider how her brother would react, if he ever learned of her disloyalty. But it had been a mistake. She would never be so foolish again.

      Juliana peered carefully inside.

      All three boys were asleep in the bed, covered by one large fur. Mary stood before the fire, warming her hands. She turned when Juliana entered. “Where have you been?”

      She could not claim she had spent the past hour or so begging Alasdair for their freedom. “I went to speak with Alasdair, and then I spoke with his mother,” she lied uneasily. She averted her eyes and was afraid she flushed. How she hated deceiving her sister.

      Mary was quiet.

      Juliana looked up. Now she saw the trencher on the chest, the plates there mostly empty. If Alasdair’s mother had brought their supper up by herself, she was caught in her lie.

      “What did he say? Or should I even ask?”

      “He said you and the boys will be freed when your ransom is paid,” Juliana said quickly.

      “But what about you?”

      Juliana started, recalling his exact words—he had not mentioned her ransom or her release. “Of course he will free me, too,” she said slowly. But as she spoke, she thought about the wild and shocking passion they had just shared—and suddenly, she was uncertain. Hadn’t she sensed that he had returned to attack Coeffin Castle because of her?

      “What is wrong?”

      She quickly smiled. “Nothing. I am simply...distraught...and I am tired, too.” She decided she was jumping to conclusions. He had not attacked Coeffin Castle in order to capture her. He had done so as an act of revenge against her brother.

      “Maybe you should rest.”

      “I intend to. Would you be disappointed with me if I went down to the hall to eat?”

      “No.” For one moment, the sisters stared at one another. Mary added, “Be careful, Juliana.”

      Juliana smiled and turned away. Her smile vanished as she went down the hallway. Her sister knew what she had done—she was certain.

      * * *

      JULIANA DID NOT go into the great room. She paused just beyond it, staring inside, instead.

      Alasdair was seated beside his father, and as she looked at him, her heart thundered. No wonder she had leapt into his bed—he was a powerful and attractive man. She could not deny it now.

      He was eating with a ravenous appetite while his father spoke to him. Angus Mor looked like an older version of his son, a big, muscular man, his cheekbones high and hard, although his long hair was mostly gray. He wore the same blue-and-red plaid about his shoulders, pinned there with a gold brooch. Lady MacDonald was also at the table, as were several Highlanders, all of whom she now recognized.

      Angus Mor was speaking, but then he saw her and became quiet. All conversation stopped instantly, every pair of eyes turning upon her.

      Alasdair leapt up, so quickly, it was almost comical. “Lady Juliana.”

      She knew she blushed, and heatedly; worse, his gaze was very warm upon hers. “I am interrupting,” she said.

      “Nonsense.” Lady MacDonald stood and came around the table, walking over to her. Alasdair remained standing—staring. She took her arm, guiding her back to the table. “I brought Lady Comyn and her boys their supper. I wasn’t certain if you would stay with them or join us.” She smiled.

      Was she also wondering where Juliana had been during the past hour? Juliana now avoided looking in Alasdair’s direction, aware of him sitting back down. But unfortunately, she kept thinking about the passion they had just shared.

      “You have not met my husband,” Lady MacDonald continued.

      Angus Mor did not stand up, but he smiled at her. “Welcome to Dunyveg, Lady Juliana.”

      Juliana met his blue eyes, which were cool and assessing. This man was the Lord of the Isles and her brother’s worst enemy. Unlike his son, he felt no admiration or affection for her. She knew from the course of her lifetime how dangerous he was. He and her brother had been at war almost incessantly since she was born, although she did recall a brief truce a few years ago, in which they had rebelled together against King Alexander, over some grievance they had briefly shared. “My lord,” she said uneasily. Suddenly she wished she had remained upstairs.

      “Alasdair tells me ye are fearless,” he said.

      “To the contrary, I am very frightened.”

      Her comment did not appear to affect him. “Do sit, Lady Juliana.”

      Juliana sat down at the table, Lady MacDonald between her and Angus Mor. She faced Alasdair, and she stole a quick glance at him. He was staring and not bothering to hide his interest.

      “How is the Lord of Lorn, Lady Juliana?” Angus Mor asked.

      She tensed. “I would not know, I have not seen him in a week.”

      “Of course not. He planned his attack on my son from Dunstaffnage, and now, he is on his way to Lochaber.”

      She flinched. How did Angus Mor know that? “Do you have spies amongst us?”

      “Did ye not have spies amongst us?” Angus Mor returned.

      She trembled, for Angus Mor was frightening, in a different way than his son.

      “Juliana would not ken if her brother has spies amongst us,” Alasdair said.

      She jerked at Alasdair’s hard tone, and her gaze flew to his. He would defend her to his father?

      “It canna hurt to ask. Ye should demand their names as part of the ransom,” Angus Mor said flatly.

      “I’ll think on it,” Alasdair returned.

      Juliana looked at him and then at his father. She hadn’t realized that Alasdair managed his affairs independently from his father. And there was some tension between them, some rivalry. But his father was an old man—he had to be well over fifty—and Alasdair was in his late twenties, or so she assumed. He was mature enough to lead Clan Donald now. He probably wished to do so.

      “Why СКАЧАТЬ