Intimate Enemies Read online

  Lauren lifted one hand, a slow stroke across his cheek, an echo of his earlier caress, and he caught her fingers against his lips and kissed them.

  Please, Lord—don't let him die.

  HE DID NOT THINK THAT she had slept.

  It would have been a miracle to sleep with all that had happened, and was yet to happen still, although a new lassitude seemed to weigh down Lauren's limbs, and her body felt sore and warm in the bed, Arion curled beside her.

  But Lauren didn't think she had slept until she glanced over at the fire and found it out, cherry embers burning dimly, nothing more. The sky beyond the window, however, was still dark.

  When she shifted she found Arion watching her, nearly masked in the dusk surrounding them. Only the faint glimmer of his eyes revealed him to her.

  “It will happen soon,” Lauren said.

  “I know,” he replied, after a moment.

  “I'm coming with you.”

  “No.” His refusal was instant, absolute.

  “I have to,” she said. “I must.”

  “No,” he repeated, just as firm.

  “Arion, you don't understand—”

  “No, you don't understand, Lauren.” He leaned up on one elbow over her, still graceful, so masculine. “I will not have you in another battle. You will stay here at Elguire. You'll be safe here, as safe as I can make you.”

  “You need me out there. Perhaps I can talk to them, make them see—”

  “Stop.” His voice was rasped and low, scored with some deep emotion. Arion paused, then shook his head. “Do you think I could suffer it, to watch you harmed again? Do you think I could bear to watch you die, or be taken back to him? Don't do that to me, Lauren. Don't do it.”

  She turned her head away, fighting the betraying shiver in her that wanted to weep and plea and curse at this unhappy ending for them, when they had already managed to overcome so many unhappy things.

  The world around them was silent and empty; the blue and white cloth of the canopy above them rustled with some phantom draft, then fell still again.

  Lauren kept her voice as dim as the night around them.“Do you trust me, du Morgan?”

  It seemed he would not respond, but then he said, “Yes,”—almost angry.

  She rolled to her side, facing him. “Then you must let me do this. I have to come with you.”

  “This has nothing to do with trust.”

  “You must trust me. You must trust that I know what would be best for me—and, I hope, for us. I don't want to die, Arion. But if I do,” she placed her hand on his forearm,“then I want it to be beside you. Not here, locked away. Not trapped in marriage with Payton Mur-doch. With you, letting my clan see with their own eyes what their hatred has wrought.”

  He shifted and moved closer to her, his arms coming around her, their bodies held together again, her face turned to his chest.

  “I couldn't endure it,” he confessed to her, down to her temple.“To see you injured. To know I was responsible for it—”

  “No, not you.” She lifted her head.“Not you, Arion. The responsibility falls to them, to Quinn and the council, to Murdoch and his army. To their injustice and cowardice. But never you.”

  He sighed, still keeping her with him. One hand moved restlessly across her bare back, frustration in his touch.

  “Let me come with you,” Lauren urged.“We began our alliance weeks ago, Arion du Morgan. Let us end it together, if it must end at all.”

  She felt his concession in the way he lowered his forehead to hers, resting back onto the furs, his hand now settling into the curve of her neck.

  “And mayhap,” she continued, determined, “I can change them. Mayhap they'll listen to me, and realize what it is that they think to do.”

  “God help us all,” said Arion.

  T WAS THE EARLIEST PART of dawn, the time when the new light was not yet more than a sliver of pale green and rose on the eastern horizon, and if there were stars out, they would shine with hard brilliance above, fighting the new day.

  But there were few stars and more clouds, low and heavy, nature's ill omen for this morning. The wind blew in fits and starts, cold and mournful.

  Word had come that the united clans of MacRae and Murdoch were riding toward Elguire, a great army of them, horses and archers and foot soldiers, men whom Lauren would no doubt know—their names, their places in the clan, their children and their wives….

  It was to have been her wedding day. How curious that she sat on a steed at the opposite end of a long valley from her former fiancé instead, feeling nothing for him but bitter anger.

  “Three to one,” offered Fuller, on the other side of Arion, his voice empty.

  “Aye,” responded Arion.

  Lauren would have guessed something slightly worse than that. Perhaps it was that she had never witnessed her clan gathered before her as the enemy—had never even dreamed of it—but seeing them now set off a metallic fear in her bones. They looked so fierce, gathered in a rough line across the field, watching her with Arion's army. The dark mass of them stretched out as far as she could see. They looked … infinite.

  Beside her Arion watched them as well, chain mailed and armed, his eyes piercing and bright. He glanced down at her, at the tunic she wore, her tartan over it. A brooch of emeralds and gold—Arion's mother's, he had said, offering it to her—was pinned to her shoulder. She held the rowan branch and the ruby ring in her hands beneath the reins. She carried no weapon.

  Lauren knew she would not be able to lift a hand against her family. To kill one of her clan would be no different from killing herself, and today she hoped that neither of those things would happen. There was only one chance, and she had to take it.

  It had upset Arion, of course. He had argued with her and threatened her, then cajoled and pleaded, but she had held firm: No weapon, and aye, she was going to face them.

  With one last look at all the English warriors spread out behind her, Lauren touched her heels to her stallion and began a slow walk across the valley, Arion on one side, Fuller on the other. She had not been able to persuade him to let her go alone, and finally this was the compromise they had accepted.

  She realized Arion planned to be the sword that defended her, even against her clan, if need be. She understood that, and knew better than to argue against it. Should their circumstances have been reversed, she would have insisted on the same thing. So much depended upon her now.

  Three mounted men broke apart from the rest on the Scottish side—her cousin Quinn, Payton Murdoch, and James. They began a path that would bring them face to face with Lauren.

  Her thoughts became strangely detached, analytical, almost unreal.

  She noticed, for the first time, her family's banner snapping in the wind amid the horsemen, another beside it, unfamiliar, yet leaving no doubt as to whose it was.

  She had not seen an English banner behind her when they rode out this morning. Perhaps the English did not use such things. Perhaps Arion didn't have a banner.

  They had reached the middle of the field and waited there, watching Quinn and the rest continue on until they faced one another, horses snorting and pawing the frozen ground. The air between the two groups became misted with their breath.

  Lauren met the deceptive look of Murdoch easily; she had nothing to fear from him. It was her family who could hurt her most.

  “Come back to Keir, Lauren,” said Quinn evenly to her.

  “I won't,” she replied.

  “Betrayal!” exclaimed James, his voice thin with outrage.

  “Not from me!” Lauren cried.“I would never betray my clan—our honor! I would never skulk like a dog and attack an ally from behind! If there is betrayal here, look to your own hearts for it!”

  “He is not our ally!” spat James, a derisive look to Arion.

  “He has been more of a friend to you than that man over there.” Lauren pointed at Murdoch. “The Earl of Morgan has acted with integrity toward you, he has defended you and
fought for you and me and the entire clan. He has nearly given his life to save Shot, and you thank him for it by planning his death!”

  Before James could respond, Quinn held up a hand, silencing him.

  “What do you speak of, Lauren? What plan of death?”

  She hesitated, her look flying to Murdoch, to the flat calm of his face. “His plan,” she said, nodding toward him.“To attack Elguire. Don't think to fool me.”

  Quinn only stared at her, and she knew him so well that her stomach seemed to pitch and turn—she read it in his eyes: He hadn't known. He still didn't know. Murdoch had told him nothing of his treacherous plot.

  “She is distraught, no doubt,” said the Murdoch in his soothing voice. “It is a travesty, this weakness of her mind.”

  “I am telling the truth,” she said to Quinn, trying hard to keep her voice firm.“You know I wouldn't lie. You know.”

  “Poor child,” said Payton Murdoch. “What has he done to you?”

  “She is senseless,” muttered James.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Arion shift in his saddle, his hand clearly held on the hilt of his sword. Tension and danger radiated from him, a closely held restraint that might not last much longer. Lauren turned back to her cousin.

  “Last night Payton Murdoch told me over dinner that he planned to seize control of all of Shot, that he and you would battle the English, and kill them, a surprise attack that they would not be able to recover from. He vowed to destroy them, Quinn. He said he would do it with your aid, right after the wedding.”

  And Quinn looked, just once, back at Murdoch, at the slightly mocking look he now wore.

  “Addled,” pronounced Murdoch. “You didn't warn me, MacRae, that my bride was prone to such feverish imaginings.”

  “Lauren,” said Quinn, shaking his head. “What are you saying? It's nonsense.”

  “It's true! He said those things to me! He hates the English, he wants Shot! He said we would live in Elguire—that he would make me a present of it—this after I protested!” The words left her mouth in a biting rush, too fast, not convincing enough. “Why would I lie?” she asked, much more composed. “Why would I risk everything to leave Keir and go warn the English? Why would I turn my back on my father's honor, unless I thought that honor was about to be sullied by you—and by the Murdoch?”

  No one said anything, not even Murdoch. The horses moved again, and one of them let out a guttural cry of displeasure. Behind the three men in front of her she could still see the banners, catching the pale light of the sun as it rose.

  Lauren looked at Arion and found him watchful, eyes narrowed, his gaze unwavering on Murdoch. His hand was still gripped around his sword, a wedge of steel showing past the scabbard. She could almost feel the readiness of him, tightly coiled muscles, every word and sound a potential end to this moment, and a beginning to the war.

  “Despite this insanity I will have her,” announced the Murdoch, seemingly to them all. “We can forget this morning, MacRae. I will forgive her. But let us end this now. Come back to me, Lauren. None of us wants bloodshed.”

  He sounded so normal, almost loving. He looked at her as if she were a child who had merely fallen into some minor prank, and now needed to be lightly reprimanded.

  “We don't need a war,” lectured the Murdoch, nearly smiling at her. “So come away, Lauren. You will be happy again with me, I promise it.”

  He was persuading them. He was going to win, to have either her or his war, or both. How could it be that only she was not fooled by his practiced facade?

  “Look at what your fine Murdoch has done to me,” she said desperately, and tugged at the clasp of the cape she wore until it fell from her, slipping down her body to the horse, sliding to the ground. Lauren stood up in her saddle, pulling the collar of her tunic as far down as she could, lifting her chin.

  “Look!” She tilted back her head, exposing her throat.

  She knew what they would see, what she had been so careful to hide until now: the even circle of the bruises he had given her, deep and mottled now in the harsh light, doubly strong for the same pressure he had put on her almost every day, both hands around her neck, squeezing. It had been one of his games, a ploy to subdue her or enrage her, she didn't know which. But she knew now what effect it would have.

  Quinn looked appalled; even James was shocked. Arion brought his destrier a pace closer to Murdoch's, the fury in him clear.

  “You bastard,” he said.

  “It was the English,” stated Murdoch, quick and defensive, backing up his mount.

  “It was you!” She released her tunic but remained standing, pointing at him. “Yo u did this! Yo u and your wickedness! You've been deceiving us from the moment you arrived here—from before! Yo u fooled my father with your lies, you fooled the council and my clan. But I will not let you destroy my family with this battle—not without showing them who you really are!”

  Arion drew his sword. “I'm going to kill you,” he told Murdoch, a devil's smile and icy conviction.

  “It was him, I tell you,” said Murdoch to Quinn, and then James. His demeanor was at last beginning to crack.“Don't listen to her! She's naught but a woman— she's mad!”

  “Are my men ready?” Arion asked Fuller, not taking his eyes from Murdoch.

  “Aye, my lord,” responded the steward.

  “I am the daughter of Hebron MacRae,” said Lauren with dignity. “I am not mad, or distraught, or a liar. I speak only the truth. You, Quinn, should know this. I would never side with the enemy, and I will not side with Payton Murdoch now. So kill me if you must. But I will not join with you, or him. I have chosen the Earl of Morgan, who has dealt with us plainly and honestly. I have chosen honor.”

  With that she flung the rowan brooch and the ring to the feet of Murdoch's horse, watching them tumble through the air, flashes of dull silver and ruby, landing with a thud that seemed to echo around them, creating a bubble of silence after it.

  Everything stopped, all the noises encased in this moment, the six of them with their armies surrounding them, death hanging above them in the sky, watching, waiting.

  It was Quinn who broke the silence. He turned to Murdoch.

  “It appears the betrothal is broken,” he said, and Lauren felt exhilaration cascade through her, delight and triumph mingled with relief.

  Murdoch looked stunned, then infuriated.“You cannot break it! Yo u cannot believe her over me! Where is your sense, man? Take the woman from them and let this battle begin!”

  “Do it,” invited Arion coolly, his sword leveled in front of him, the tip to Murdoch.“Please. Let me show you how plainly and honestly I will kill you.”

  “This is your chance!” shouted Murdoch to Quinn, to the men behind them. “This is the place and the moment! We outnumber them! We will win, and then all of Shot will be ours!”

  “ ‘Ours'?” inquired Quinn, an edge of steel to him now.

  “Think on it, MacRae! The Isle of Shot belonging fully to Scotland, to our glory! Yo u hate the English as much as I! Yo u know their duplicity, their cunning ways! We unite our clans in marriage and in war! We win this battle and it's over—forever! Wipe them out! Show them that we will no longer tolerate them. Kill them all, and let their blood tell their king that we are the masters here!”

  “Kill them all,” echoed James, but it sounded strange, guarded.

  “Aye!” Murdoch looked at him. “You agree with me. I knew you would. You see what I do, that Shot and all her wealth can be ours, that we are destined to rule her!”

  James looked at Quinn, and then Lauren. His eyes were troubled, doubtful.

  “Is it true what you said, lass?” he asked her.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “No!” countered the Murdoch.“She's a lying whore!”

  Arion pushed forward again but Quinn beat him to it, drawing his own sword and holding it against Murdoch, showing Lauren that glimpse of her father in him.

  “Enough, I think,”
stated Quinn.“Gather your men and get off the island. The betrothal is broken. Our alliance has ended.”

  “You cannot do this,” grated Murdoch. “Idiot! Yo u cannot give up what I have fought so hard to gain!”

  “Shot is not yours,” said Quinn. “And it never will be. That was never what this alliance was meant to be about.”

  “What do you know of it?” sneered Murdoch, moving his mount enough so that the swords aimed at him were out of range.“I have waited too long for this day— by God, that I should have to betroth myself to that witch just to gain a foothold here! I don't even need you, MacRae. I can do this without you! My men are well trained, they obey me instantly. If you are too weak and blind to rule this land properly, then I gladly take your place. Shot should have been mine years ago. Clan Murdoch should own this island—all of it! It falls into our territory, and it always has!”

  “Blasphemy!” roared James, and now his broadsword was out as well.

  In the far, far distance, Lauren heard the sound of a thousand men begin to talk, begin to turn and break the stillness that had held them motionless, watching the drama on the field.

  “You will not win,” Quinn observed. “But I prefer not to prove it. Save yourself now, Murdoch. I offer you this last chance freely, for the sake of the unity we have shared between our clans until today. Get off of Shot now. Never return.”

  Murdoch did nothing, and Lauren could almost see him assess his odds, his eyes darting to all the English troops behind her, to his own men mingled with her clan on the other side of the field. His steed backed up another nervous step, shaking its head.

  “It appears,” said Arion with soft menace, “that we now outnumber you.”

  Payton Murdoch turned his horse and began a gallop back up to the line of Scots.

  “Attack!” he shouted, his sword raised high.“Attack!”

  And his men began the run down the slight slope of the valley, a rumbling shout rising from them. Lauren saw Quinn wheel his steed around on the heels of Murdoch's, shouting something as well, but by now it was drowned beneath the cry of the armies, the men swarming toward them. The Scots became splintered, disorganized, her own clan looking to Quinn, following his call. The Murdochs ran past them.