Page 62 of The Highlander's Auctioned Bride
James glanced at her and sighed. “I could ne’er dae that to them. Ye have seen for yerself how good our people are. I love this clan down to me bones. It captured me soul and there it shall stay. Me faither was only ever interested in the women in his life in the end. He abandoned his duties, let villages burn, sent his accounts to rack and ruin, and for what? A pretty face.”
Is that how he sees me? Am I simply a distraction for him?
Maisie wanted to ask more, but the pain on James’s face gave her pause. She decided on a different approach.
“I would like to learn more of yer clan,” she said carefully. “We may nae be a conventional laird and lady, but I am here. Ye dinnae have to bear this all alone.”
He stared ahead of him for a long time, his thumb brushing across her palm over and over. Eventually, he leaned over her,his eyes closed, and kissed her on the forehead. As he moved back, she saw the hint of a tear at the corner of his eye and wondered whether, finally, she had reached the real part of him beneath the masks he wore.
“Sleep now, Maisie. Ye have had a long day. I want ye to heal and get rested.” His other hand was almost idly running up and down her good leg as he said it.
She chuckled. “And why is that?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood to break him from his spell.
“Ye once called me a monster,” he said, leaning over her, his hand brushing her waist. “Well, the beast is hungry and wishes to claim itsprizewhen ye are well, and I’ll finally have ye. And I promise I will give ye some more lessons in pleasure, just like a promised ye.”
“Maybe I’ll teach ye some of me own,” she breathed.
“Aye, I have nae doubt.”
“Nae more gossipin’ servants,” she said, stifling a yawn, and he brushed a strand of hair from her face.
“Nae, lass, just ye and me.”
She felt her eyes grow heavy as sleep pulled at her eyelids. She closed them and smiled as he squeezed her hand before releasing it.
Just as she fell asleep, she thought she heard him mutter something in a soft whisper.
“I’ll fight for ye until me last breath.”
She frowned as sleep took her—perhaps it had been part of her dream. The James MacLennan she knew would never say such a thing to Maisie Brown.
James watched Maisie sleep, too alert to lie down himself. He went to sit at the desk, staring at the chess pieces as he contemplated what had taken place that night. He began to play a game against himself again, trying to quiet his mind.
Maisie had mentioned that she enjoyed playing against herself and he had hated the idea that she had no companions to play a simple chess game with.
But as his fingers moved over the pieces, he discovered his own joy in it, and that the game was not an act of loneliness but an act of challenging oneself. Chess was a game of strategy—just like life, where one must move the right pieces to create the right outcome.
He found the process surprisingly focusing when he had a single thought in his head that he was trying to puzzle out.
Black was winning, and he smiled, glancing at Maisie’s soft expression as she lay there in sleep. Perhaps she was playing him in her dreams.
He continued to place the pieces on the board, one after the other. As he took the white rook, he began to put names on each piece on the white side.
That focused him even more as he began to take them one by one systematically. Nathaniel Skelling, the oldest member of the council, had been most opposed to the match with Maisie from the start. James took him with a pawn. He was too old to be involved with such things and did not have the wit.
I suppose I could kill them all, that would definitely weed him out.
Bram Wallace. Bram had been a loyal servant to his father, and to him. Encouraging him when he was younger and advising too. He had certainly been opposed to the match, but almost all of the council had had their doubts. Once Maisie was in place Bram had seemed cordial toward her.
He took the bishop that represented Bram and placed it beside the others.
His palms were clammy and cold as he looked at the two final pieces on the board. The king and the queen.
He leaned back in his chair as his suspicions solidified. It was a horrible moment of realization.
“Marcus and Lillian,” he muttered, devastated to find that there was nothing he could think of that would absolve Marcus in his mind. He had been openly against Maisie from the start and had been throwing Lillian into James’s path all his life.
He thought back to when he had announced Maisie’s name at the contest and the overwhelming rage that had flashed across Marcus’s face. He had quickly schooled his features and begun applauding with the rest, but James had not missed it.
