The Chief Read online

  His skin was darkly tanned except for the tiny white lines etched around eyes and mouth. He was relatively clean-shaven, the dark shadow of a day-old beard emphasizing the hard, implacable jaw, and his hair, worn shorter than most of the men, fell in soft, uneven waves to his chin. It should be brown, but for the bleaching by the sun.

  He was gorgeous. The most physically striking man she’d ever seen. And she’d read too many books not to be affected by a handsome knight.

  Apparently, she wasn’t alone in her thoughts. His gaze dropped to her mouth.

  Her lips parted in a soft gasp. He was going to kiss her. She waited, her heart fluttering wildly, like the wings of a bird in a cage frantic to get out. She was scared, but not scared—her body warring with her mind. Could she actually want him to kiss her?

  She’d never been kissed before, but his mouth looked so soft compared to the rest of him. It was all that she could think about. Unconsciously, she leaned closer, anticipation shivering down her spine. Her nipples beaded against his chest.

  His gaze darkened with something she didn’t recognize. She thought his hold on her tightened for an instant before he stilled, and then released her so quickly that she wondered if she’d only imagined it.

  “Return to your room,” he said gruffly. “You’ve had enough trouble for the night.”

  All at once she realized what she’d done. Her face flooded with mortified heat. She’d embraced not only a stranger but a fierce warlord. How could she have so forgotten herself after what had just happened?

  By all rights she should be far more terrified of this man than of the one who’d attacked her. He was bigger, stronger, and after what she’d witnessed of the sword fight earlier, far more dangerous. One look at his face had sent her attacker running scared.

  Why wasn’t she scared? She had been at first when he’d been so angry, but the moment he sensed her fear, he’d controlled it so effortlessly that she knew she wasn’t in danger. It was so different from her father’s unpredictability.

  Despite the improbability of the situation, and with what she knew of these Island warriors, she felt safe with him. Not just because he’d saved her—though that was part of it. It was something in his voice and noble bearing. In the deep, masculine tones and calm authority that resonated with every word and in the regal pride with which he carried himself. Instinctively, at some base level, she trusted him. How else could she explain what she’d just done?

  And it seemed that trust was well placed. He’d wanted to kiss her but let her go. He was too honorable to take advantage of her.

  But what must he think of her? She was here to be presented to him as a possible bride. Would he want such a forward woman for a wife? And why did she care, when she had no intention of marrying him?

  “Forgive me,” she said horrified. “I don’t know what came over me. It’s just that I was so grateful for what you did earlier by saving—”

  “It was nothing,” he said curtly.

  Nothing? His ready dismissal took her aback. But he’d saved her. Just like the knights in her stories.

  Christina tilted her head to the side, confused. For a moment it sounded as though he was giving her a warning, until understanding dawned and she recognized the knightly gesture. Of course! He was simply being modest.

  “It was to me,” she said with a shy smile. If it hadn’t started out being so horrible, it might have been the most romantic thing that had ever happened to her. It wasn’t every day a handsome knight saved her from the clutches of evil.

  His face hardened. “Go,” he said stiffly.

  Not quite understanding his brusqueness, she gave him one more tentative smile before racing up the stairs. When she reached the top, she turned to thank him again. “I…”

  But her voice disappeared into the void of darkness. He was already gone.

  It wasn’t until later that she would understand why.

  Christina had noticed the MacLeod chief’s absence at the evening meal, but she didn’t attach any significance to it until her father stormed into their chamber as she and Beatrix were preparing for bed.

  They’d changed out of their gowns, and the maid had just finished brushing out Beatrix’s hair and was starting on hers. Her father wrenched the brush out of the poor girl’s hand before ordering her from the room. Christina wished she could flee with her.

  Christina’s father loomed over her chair, his face livid.

  Something had happened. Her heart dropped. Heaven help me, had he heard? Had the MacLeod chief betrayed his vow?

  “He’s leaving,” he seethed. “And we must do something to stop him.”

  Hiding her relief that he hadn’t learned of her attack, she tried to keep her voice even and not focus on the heavy silver brush in his hand. “Who’s leaving?”

  “The MacLeod chief, you fool.”

  She flinched when he slammed the brush down on the table in front of her, rattling the delicate glass vials that held her perfumes and the wooden boxes for her jewelry.

  When her heart had started beating again, she realized what he’d said. Her brows furrowed. Leaving? “For how long?”

  Her father looked at her as if she were a simpleton. “For good. He’s refused both of you,” he said disgustedly, as if it were obviously their fault.

  Refused? She caught her sister’s gaze and read the relief, but also the surprise. Earlier when Christina had returned to the room in her disheveled state, she’d had no choice but to confide in Beatrix most of what had happened, leaving out the more upsetting details. Beatrix had been horrified, blaming herself for not going with her, which was ridiculous because it was Christina who’d insisted on going alone. If there was anyone to blame for what had happened, it was she. But seeing her sister’s expression right now, Christina realized she might have overdone the noble and gallant attributes of her rescuer.

  Perhaps to herself as well.

  She should be relieved that he’d refused them, but instead the sudden tightness in her chest felt more like disappointment.

  Her initial fear and prejudice, she realized, had been unwarranted. She’d secretly wondered…if perhaps he was the knight errant of her dreams. He’d saved her, heeded her plea for mercy, held her in his arms, and almost kissed her.

  But he hadn’t. She’d thought it was honor that prevented him. Was she reading knightly attributes into his actions when he actually had no interest in her at all?

  Had her forwardness repelled him? Had she simply imagined the connection between them? Certainly, nothing in his expression gave her any indication that he thought her anything other than a foolish girl who’d very nearly managed to get herself ravished. Indeed, thinking back, she realized that he’d looked at her with the same emotionless gaze that he did everyone else. The fierce, implacable façade was impossible to read, but for one moment she’d thought…

  It didn’t matter. She told herself that this was the best news indeed. He didn’t want to marry her. She and Beatrix were safe—at least for the moment. They wouldn’t have to risk a last-minute escape to Iona. Her sister would be disappointed, but it would be better if they had more time. Their plan had been borne out of desperation, not rationality.

  It was for the best. But she couldn’t stop herself from asking “Why?”

  Her father’s face contorted into an angry grimace. “You must have angered him with your interference. What does it matter why? He’s refused, and we can’t allow that to happen. We need him. We need this alliance.”

  “But why is the MacLeod chief so important?” Finlaggan was practically bursting with Island chiefs—not that she was anxious for her father to consider any of them.

  His eyes narrowed. “He is; that’s all you need to know.”

  Her father might think her a fool, but she knew the reason they were there had to have something to do with a war with England. At the root of all her father’s actions was securing Scotland’s freedom from the “bloodthirsty English whoreson.” Her family’s patrioti