Chieftain Read Free Page A

accusations, Johanna shooed the bird away. Casually, she said, “I asked your name, sir.”
    One side of his mouth curled up in a smile. “I haven’t changed that much. You know precisely who I am. Why pretend otherwise?”
    Resisting the urge to call him a knave, Johanna summoned patience. “Because Drummond Macqueen is dead. The old king hanged him.”
    “Not so. Edward the First, rest his soul, chose to be merciful. His son proved benevolent and upon taking the crown, set me free.” Anger glittered in his eyes and tightened his jaw. “But then, as I recall, you have intimate knowledge of our new king, do you not? Have you presented him with more bastards?”
    He was referring to Clare’s affair with the Plantagenet prince who was now the king. With dread Johanna remembered that all the Macqueens knew. Thank God their lands were far away in the Highlands, for her heart wrenched, thinking Alasdair might be scorned for another’s sin. Yet how dare this brute be so rude as to bring up Clare’s mistake? Johanna had no intention of addressing her sister’s indiscretion. She sighed and lifted her chin. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
    With no more vigor than a carpenter choosing wood, he said, “You have a brand here—a wee blunted sword.” He pulled his shirt aside and touched the thick muscles above his right collarbone. “’Tis why you wear modest gowns.”
    Seeing his strong hand and remembering the passion Clare had attributed to her marriage bed, Johanna fought back a surge of longing. She would not risk losing her independence or revealing her true identity, not for the sake of passion. “Your knowledge of the mark proves nothing.”
    “You cannot possibly have forgotten me.” A trace of vulnerability laced his words and his massive shoulders slumped.
    Sensing a weakness in him, she took advantage; Clare had risked her immortal soul for her husband, and Johanna had too much to lose. “Forgotten you, an imposter?” she scoffed. “You may be memorable in some circles, but here …” She let the insult trail off.
    The troll laughed, a hearty sound that seemed natural. “Very well. I offer you more intimate proof.” He plopped down on a bench. Resting his arms on his knees, he stared into the mug. “You suffer dreadful cramps during your menses, which are as regular as Sunday Mass. You used to cuddle beside me in bed or lie awake until I joined you. Who else but a husband could know that?”
    Appalled, Johanna felt herself blush. Unlike Clare, she didn’t suffer for being a woman. That he knew the particulars of Clare’s cycle created the first doubt in Johanna’s surety. But she hadn’t built a successful life by withering before every man who challenged her. “You are not my husband.”
    Surprise lent elegance to his rugged good looks. He took a long pull on the ale. “Have you annulled our marriage?”
    She wanted to rail at him; instead she began to pace the rush-strewn floor. “How long, sir, will you continue this farce? I am not your wife.”
    He chuckled, but the sound held no humor. “You’re not a very good wife.”
    “Enough of your rough talk!” She whirled and marched over to him. “I can see you are a Macqueen. I give you that much.”
    “Then I’ve made progress. Hurrah for me.”
    “Which Macqueen are you?”
    He stared at her breasts. “The only one you know in the carnal sense—at least I believe that is so.”
    The insult deserved a like reply. “Have you come here for money?”
    He almost choked, and his gaze leaped to her face. “Money?”
    She’d made him uncomfortable. Hurrah for her. “If so, you’ve made a useless journey, for I haven’t a mark to squander on a man who cannot earn an honest wage.”
    He craned his neck in an exaggerated examination of the tapestries on the walls, the brass brazier, and the diamond shaped panes in the windows. “You expect me to think you are poor, amid all of this prosperity? The largesse of the Plantagenets, I