Page 7 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

But Donaldina’s wrist remained within Roy’s grasp, cold and trembling despite the proud stillness she attempted to impose upon herself. The cliff was no more than two paces behind them. The wind came hard around the rocks, catching her skirts and pulling them toward the sea. Roy would not risk her life for the satisfaction of ending Cormac’s.

Cormac’s gaze moved from Roy’s sword to the hand holding Donaldina behind him. Something twisted in his expression. It was not merely anger at defeat. It was the fury of a man who lost possession of something he already counted as his own.

Roy knew that look. It had been seen worn by men over land, over titles, and over armies sent to die because of another man's inability to tolerate denial. He never admired it. He disliked it even more when it was aimed at the woman behind him.

Cormac straightened slowly, his hand moving toward the sword at his hip. The MacNicol guards shifted upon the path, their blades whispering partway out of their scabbards. They found courage at last, now that courage required only following the man already standing between them and danger.

Roy did not spare them a glance.

“Dinnae,” he warned.

Cormac drew the sword. Donaldina’s fingers closed involuntarily around the leather at Roy’s wrist before she seemed to realize what she had done. She released him at once, and Roy felt the loss of that touch with an irritation he had no leisure to examine.

Cormac lifted his blade, though he did not advance. “This is far from finished.”

“Then ye should conserve yer breath.”

Cormac’s mouth curled. “Ye think because ye carry the King’s paper, the MacNicols will kneel and call ye chief?”

“I require nae kneeling.”

“Nae?” Cormac shouted, turning his voice toward the men gathered below. “He comes tae take Lachlan’s place, Dun Ard and the woman who bears its blood, and ye stand idle while he does it!”

A murmur moved among the guards. Not agreement, perhaps, but Roy had spent too long among soldiers not to know how swiftly uncertainty could become mutiny when a man gave it the right words.

Cormac knew it, too. That made him dangerous.

“The King may command a marriage,” he continued, his voice carrying above the sea, “but he cannae force Clan MacNicol tae accept a stranger as its chief.”

“Lady Donaldina is standing here. Ye might attempt addressing her before ye appoint yerself the voice of her clan,” Roy exclaimed.

Cormac’s eyes snapped toward the narrow space beyond Roy’s shoulder.

“She doesnae understand what is required.”

Roy’s eyes flared up. “She understood well enough when she refused ye.”

The blow landed. Roy saw it in the tightening of Cormac’s jaw. Obvious truths were often the ones men found most insulting.

Cormac stepped back again, toward the bend in the path. Shapes moved within the thickening mist beyond him. Three men emerged near the waiting horses, armed and watchful. They wore MacNicol colors, but their attention remained fixed upon Cormac. That meant the betrayal went beyond one councilman with an ambition too large for his station.

Cormac saw Roy count them. A grim satisfaction entered his face.

“Ye havenae won, MacIver.”

Roy adjusted his grip on the sword. “I wasnae aware we were playing.”

For a moment, he thought Cormac might rush him. The man’s weight shifted forward and his sword rose. Roy was ready. He could easily turn the first stroke, drive the point beneath the ribs and finish the matter before Cormac’s men crossed half the distance between them. He knew precisely how much force it would require. He knew where the blade would enter and how long the man would remain standing after it did.

Then Donaldina swayed. It was hardly a movement. Had Roy not been holding her wrist, he might have missed it. Her knees softened before she forced them straight again, as though even her own body must not be permitted to witness weakness.

Roy’s attention altered. Cormac saw it.

Cowardice was often mistaken for cleverness by the man practicing it. He gave a sharp whistle and retreated toward his men.

“Fall back!” he ordered them. “Tae the horses.”

Roy advanced one pace. Donaldina’s wrist moved with him; that slight resistance was enough. He stopped. Cormac smiled with all the pleasure of a man who believed restraint proved fear.