Page 15 of Bound to a Scot (Sins in a Kilt #2)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
M addox’s heart was troubled as he stalked the corridors of the castle. Macfie had ridden out earlier on some unannounced errand, leaving him alone in the castle. He’d sent Adair along behind him secretly to see what the laird was up to. He was worried both about what Macfie might be getting up to and that Emmeline was being reckless. She was provoking him for reasons he didn’t understand. The backlash both she and Cecilia would face would be severe. He’d seen it in Burchard’s eyes.
Why had she done that? Why had she provoked him, especially after what she’d told him last night? It made no sense. Was she trying to warn Maddox about something, to expose something dark her husband was up to? These meetings with strange men? Perhaps trying to make Maddox reconsider the proposed alliance? If that was the case, Emmeline was even more reckless than he’d imagined.
Over his time at Castle Macfie, Maddox had come to believe the laird was a dangerous man and that by antagonizing him, she was putting herself in mortal danger. Cecilia had said her father was not a murderer, but Maddox recognized a darkness in the man. As the days went by and he got to know him better, Maddox knew a monster lurked beneath the man’s surface. He seemed to be a man who had a thousand spinning plates and an agenda unknown to anybody but himself.
Maddox didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. The only reason he hadn’t packed up and gone back to his own lands was the uncertain fate of his people if he didn’t make the deal. They had continued to negotiate, and he thought the end was in sight. Because he hadn’t managed to persuade the man against the marriage pact, Maddox had managed to negotiate a higher bride price from Macfie. It would provide more than enough money to get his people back on their feet.
He hated that he had to weigh everything against the needs of his people, but that was the burden of leadership. That’s what it meant to be the laird of a clan. As the leader of a people, your every thought was consumed by what was best for them. It was a simple fact he had let himself forget for a time, and that was why he found himself in the position he was in, having to accept an alliance he did not want. But it was not lost on Maddox that not every laird thought that way, Macfie being one of those. The man only seemed to think what was in his own best interest.
Laughter echoed along the corridor, pulling Maddox out of his dark ruminations. At the crossing up ahead, he saw Emmeline walking with Lorn and felt a lance of jealousy pierce his heart. Gritting his teeth, he followed behind, doing his best to stay out of their sight. As they wound through the corridors, he knew they were heading out to the sparring yard. When they stepped into the sparring yard, which was merely an enclosed courtyard near the rear of the keep, Maddox stopped and leaned against the pillar, watching them.
He knew it was not his business. If Emmeline wanted to carry on with her husband’s war leader, it should not concern him. She was not his business. He reminded himself for the thousandth time that his only business at Castle Macfie was the business of his people. He care what Emmeline did or who she did it with. He tried to tell himself again that it didn’t matter.
Except that it did matter to him. He did care.
“Bleedin’ donkey,” he muttered to himself.
Out in the yard, he watched Lorn helping to put Emmeline through her forms with a wooden practice blade. She was lithe and athletic and carried herself better than he would have expected. Maddox found himself impressed. It was obvious Lorn had taught her well. As if she sensed him watching her, Emmeline turned and spotted him leaning against the pillar. Her cheeks immediately flushed. Lorn turned and saw him, and the large man frowned.
“Laird MacLachlan,” Lorn said in his deep baritone voice. “What brings ye out here?”
There was no sense in trying to be discreet any longer, so he pushed away from the pillar he’d been leaning against and stepped through the rounded archway into the yard.
“Curiosity, I suppose,” he replied. “I saw the two of ye carryin’ a pile of weapons and wanted tae see what ye were up tae.”
Lorn’s face was pinched and Emmeline was tense and seemed to be on the verge of bolting from the yard altogether. But she clenched her jaw and turned to him, her expression one of resolve.
“Me husband forbids me tae train with weapons,” she said with steel in her voice. “I force Lorn tae teach me anyway.”
“She doesnae force me tae dae anythin’,” he grumbled.
“If ye’re worried about me sayin’ somethin’ tae Burchard, ease yer minds. I’ll say naethin’.”
“Thank ye,” Emmeline said, her words filled with relief.
Maddox flashed her a cocky grin and chuckled. “I dae wonder though, are ye trainin’ tae take Lorn’s place as war leader? War is a man’s game, lass.”
“Perhaps it shouldnae be strictly a man’s game,” she replied.
“Aye. Perhaps nae. And ye’re good with a blade, I can see that. Ye’ve got skill. Lorn has taught ye well,” he said. “But watchin’ a woman with a blade in her hand is like watchin’ a dog walk on its hind legs. It just doesnae look right.”
He laughed, meaning it to be a lighthearted jest, but he could see by the looks on their faces, the joke did not land as intended. The large man scowled at him.
“Hold yer tongue, Laird MacLachlan,” Lorn said. “Or I’ll happily remove it.”
One of Maddox’s eyebrows arched as a vicious smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Think ye can best me, dae ye?”
“I’m nae the war leader fer nothin’,” he said, his tone harder than iron.
“Maddox, I’d appreciate if ye’d leave me tae me lessons,” Emmeline said. “I’d like tae finish them before Burchard returns.”
He didn’t hear her though. All he could hear was the ring of her laughter as she walked down the corridor with Lorn. All he could see was the way she looked at him—with an affection Maddox found himself craving. And as he looked at them standing together now, the needle of jealousy piercing his heart seemed to jam in even deeper. He turned a baleful gaze on the man.
“If ye think ye can remove me tongue, ye’re welcome tae come try,” Maddox said.
Lorn grinned fiendishly, clearly spoiling for a fight every bit as much as Maddox was. The man stepped forward, never taking his gaze off him.
“Wood or steel?” he asked.
“Steel,” he replied. “Wood is fer bairns.”
“Good answer.”
Emmeline threw her hands up and let out a frustrated growl followed by a string of curses so blue, Maddox laughed. He was surprised she knew such filth. But he quickly turned back to Lorn who tossed him a steel practice blade. The edges had been blunted to prevent anybody from being killed, but a man who knew what they were doing could still do some damage.
Blades up and at the ready, the two men circled each other, taking one another’s measure. It was Lorn who waded in first with a dizzying series of hacks and slashes. Maddox parried them all with ease as he spun to the right, casually swinging the flat of his blade behind him, catching Lorn with a hard thump across his backside. The man turned, his face red, a sneer on his lips.
“That’s a point fer me, I believe,” Maddox said, rubbing it in deeper.
With a guttural growl, Lorn waded back in, hacking and slashing, his movements fluid and precise. Such was the fury of the war leader’s onslaught, that if Maddox hadn’t been well trained himself, the bigger man very well could have cut straight through him, blunted blades or not. Seeing the rage in Lorn triggered a similar response in Maddox. The fury in his breast blossomed brightly and he counterattacked with absolute rage fueling his movements.
The ring of steel on steel echoed around the courtyard as the two men hacked and slashed at each other with the fury of a heated battle. Lorn was exceptional with a blade, Maddox had to grudgingly admit, and he’d very nearly taken his head off a couple of times already. But he had been giving as well as he’d gotten and the man’s face was red, strained, and sheathed in sweat. Maddox was sure he looked the same and his lungs burned with the strain of the fight.
He was giving thought to calling the duel a draw when Lorn made a mistake. He lunged with what could have been a killing blow had Maddox not parried it aside. Lorn was left reaching, leaving himself exposed, and Maddox wasted no time seizing the advantage, driving his elbow into the man’s face. The sound of the bigger man’s nose crunching beneath the force of the blow brought a wicked smirk to his face.
Grunting in pain, Lorn staggered backward, clapping his hand to his nose as thick crimson rivulets streamed down his face. His eyes narrowed and his face red, the war leader threw his blade to the dirt and grabbed a cloth from a nearby rack, pressing it to his face. A triumphant smile on his face, Maddox stepped forward to magnanimously shake his fallen foe’s hand. But Emmeline got to the injured man first, dipping a rag into a bucket of water and tenderly washing away the streams of blood that coated the lower half of the man’s face.
Emmeline rounded on Maddox, her face dark and twisted with anger. “What in the bleedin’ hell is wrong with ye actin’ like a bairn out here.”
“We were sparrin’. I didnae mean tae hurt him. But these things happen?—”
“Shut it. Just shut yer bleedin’ mouth,” she shouted. “I dinnae want tae hear ye. In fact, I dinnae want tae see ye anymore. Get out of me sight!”
A lump rose in his throat. “Emmeline?—”
“I told ye tae leave, Maddox,” she growled. “Get out of here. Now!”
Maddox opened his mouth to say something more but the withering glare on Emmeline’s face stayed his tongue. Frowning, he threw the blade onto the ground and turned to go. As he walked away, he couldn’t help but notice the gleam of triumph in Lorn’s eye. Maddox had to bite back the growl of rage that bubbled up in his throat as he realized he may have won the battle, but he’d lost the entire war.