by Emma Prince
And he’d done so in front of everyone. In front of Fillan.
She dared a glance at the MacVale Laird from beneath her lashes. His dark brows were drawn together, as if he were concentrating on the conversation flowing around the high table. Yet his eyes, which appeared nearly black in the warm light filling the hall, drifted absently over the spread of goose, bannocks, meat pies, roasted vegetables, and puddings covering the table.
His lips naturally curved upward at the edges, as if his mouth were made to lift in mirth, yet in the last three days of feasting and celebrations, Adelaide had not once seen him smile.
Nor had he so much as grinned when he’d visited the MacDonnell keep three years past to formally sign a treaty with her father, plus a few times each year since then to discuss the MacVales’ progress of making amends to the MacDonnells. Nay, from the moment she’d laid eyes on him, he’d borne a furrowed brow and a frown.
It was plain to see that he was a serious man, despite only being a small handful of years older than Adelaide. She supposed that at only twenty herself, she ought to find him rather stodgy and grim, but instead she found herself curious about his solemn nature and drawn to the quiet dignity in the set of his mouth and the serious cast of his gaze.
Just then, those lustrously dark eyes lifted to her. Barely managing to suppress a gasp of surprise, Adelaide jerked her gaze back to her lap. Heat crept up her neck and into her face. She prayed that he wouldn’t notice her blush, but his keen eyes never seemed to miss aught.
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Corinne said, catching a lull the discussion of politics and war. “But we needn’t spend the entire evening speaking on such grave topics. This is Yule, after all.”
“Ye’re right, of course,” Reid said, brushing a tender kiss on Corinne’s cheek. “Ye ought to eat yer fill in peace, Little Bird, Niall. And mayhap ye’ll wish to rest after yer travels.”
“Nay!” Mairin replied. “We only just got here, and this is Yule, as Corinne says. Might we dance to a carol?”
Corinne clapped her hands. “Oh, that would be wonderful!”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Niall asked Mairin, frowning.
Mairin rolled her eyes, but she gave Niall a half-grin. “It’s only a wee bit of dancing.”
“If I can do it, Mairin certainly can,” Corinne proclaimed, rising from her chair.
“Easy, lass,” Reid said. He took her elbow, helping her to her feet.
When he laid his other hand on her rounded belly, Adelaide’s heart gave a pang of longing. Not for Reid, but for what he had. A family of his own. A beloved partner. A second bairn on the way to join their first, who had long since been taken to bed by a maid.
Once Corinne was on her feet, she called for the musicians in the opposite corner of the hall to strike up a carol. Clanspeople, who were finishing their meal at the trestle tables below the dais, shouted and clapped with excitement. They leapt into action, clearing the benches and tables to the sides to make room for dancing.
As was traditional, they began to form a circle, waiting for the minstrel singer and the pipes and drums that accompanied him to begin the song. Someone even threw open the hall’s double doors, letting in a whoosh of bracing air to cut the roaring heat of the blazing Yule log in the hearth.
Niall and Reid both lifted their wives, round bellies and all, down from the dais, but Mairin hesitated as they turned to gather with the others.
“Would ye like to join us, Adelaide?”
Warm gratitude filled her at Mairin’s kindness, yet it was surpassed by a wave of embarrassment at being the center of attention for a moment.
“I-I have no partner,” she murmured.
“Cannae ye solve that, Fillan?” Mairin asked, casting a questioning look at the MacVale Laird.
For one breathless moment, the thought of dancing with Fillan made Adelaide’s heart go still in her chest. But when her gaze snapped to him, his eyes were pinched with pain and a muscle in his jaw ticked.
“I cannae,” he replied lowly. “My foot doesnae allow for dancing.”
Now it was Mairin’s turn to flush. “Och, aye. Apologies.”
Fillan waved her off, but Adelaide didn’t miss the way his throat bobbed with a tight swallow.
“Ye can still join us, Adelaide,” Corinne said, giving her a smile. “It is a circle dance, not a paired one.”
When Adelaide hesitated, Corinne went on. “Come. It’s Yuletide, and as your hostess, I insist that you enjoy yourself.”
There was no arguing with that, so Adelaide rose and stepped from the dais to follow the others. It might have been her imagination, but the tingle between her shoulder blades told her that Fillan watched her go.
When she reached the circle of eager clanspeople, she wedged her way in, linking elbows with Mairin and a tall, barrel-chested Mackenzie man who only had eyes for the woman on his other side.
The minstrel sang out the first note, then the pipers and drummers joined him. With a cheer, the circle of dancers began to revolve, their steps matching the drummers’ rhythm.
From the weave of the others’ feet, Adelaide recognized the dance. She followed the patterns adeptly, stepping into the circle with the other women, then moving back out as the men did the same, then clapping twice with everyone before joining elbows once again.
At last, she let herself be at ease, losing her nerves and embarrassment in the flow of the cheery dance.
But just as they began their final rotation, the minstrel broke off the song long enough to call out, “Watch where yer menfolk are leading ye, lassies!” He pointed to the great hall’s rafters, where a bundle of mistletoe had been hung amongst the evergreen boughs in honor of Yule—right over the dancers.
That was met with a roar of laughter and a few shouted jests about more bairns being added to the clan soon.
As a man and a woman rotated under the mistletoe, they broke from the others, turned to each other, and the woman planted a hearty kiss on the man’s grinning mouth. They moved into the middle of the circle, clapping and cheering as the next couple shifted into the gap they’d left beneath the mistletoe.
Pair by pair, each couple kissed and moved into the middle, making room for more lovebirds to meet under the mistletoe. Belatedly, Adelaide realized that only Reid and Corinne and Niall and Mairin stood between her and dreaded public humiliation. She tried to unhook her elbows, but the man beside her had his arm locked and his head turned toward the lass on his other side.
Reid and Corinne shared a swift but sweet kiss, much to the approval of their clanspeople. Niall and Mairin lingered a moment longer, drawing a few good-natured ribs. Then suddenly, Adelaide stood beneath the mistletoe.
Alone.
One of the pipers missed a note. An older clansman, clearly into his cups, asked loudly where the MacDonnell lass’s partner was. Luckily, Adelaide didn’t hear the response, for her pulse pounded deafeningly in her ears. She went hot all over, and her throat closed so tightly that it felt as though she couldn’t breathe.
Someone nearby said something to her, but instead of turning to see who spoke, she ducked her head and darted from beneath the clump of mistletoe. With her eyes on the floor and her heart racing with humiliation, she didn’t know which way to go. Her feet carried her toward the open hall doors, seeking the relief of the frosty, dark night.
Once she was outside, she broke into a run, the hot tears slipping from the corners of her eyes turning to cold daggers against her cheeks.
Chapter Three
For a terrible heartbeat, Fillan forgot about his damned foot. He forgot that he was a MacVale and Adelaide a MacDonnell, and that he wasn’t supposed to want her.
All he knew was that she had been caught alone below the mistletoe in front of at least a hundred people, most of them strangers.
He jerked to his feet, his chair scraping over the dais. As if he could save her, like some gallant hero from a storybook. Half a breath later, reality came crashing back. His weight lan
ded on his bad foot and he grunted in discomfort. He would have wobbled and mayhap even bumped into the table if his cane hadn’t been close at hand.
Laird MacDonnell rose too, a frown on his face.
“Oh dear,” Corinne said, waddling to the dais. “I should have anticipated that for Adelaide’s sake.”
“She’s always been a lass of feeling,” MacDonnell said gruffly. “I’ll see to her and make sure she doesnae work herself up and make matters awkward.”
Fillan barely managed to bite his tongue to keep from pointing out that it was MacDonnell who was far more likely to cause a scene when it came to his daughter.
Corinne’s thoughts seemed to run in the same direction. “Mayhap you ought to give her a few moments alone instead,” she suggested gently. “This entire visit must be a bit uncomfortable for her, what with…” She waved broadly to take in the whole situation.
“It isnae as though she can truly leave, nor will she be in any danger,” Reid added, coming to Corinne’s side. “One of many benefits of having an island keep—no one comes and goes on a whim.”
MacDonnell grunted and lowered himself into his chair once more. “Aye, I suppose ye’re right. Besides, I wanted to talk to ye about the forested land along our border, Mackenzie. The deer herd there seems to be thinning, and—”
“I think I’ll take some air as well,” Fillan blurted.
He should have kept his mouth shut and sat with Reid and MacDonnell to discuss deer—or aught else that would help improve the bonds between their three clans. But an image of Adelaide, red-cheeked and head lowered, fleeing the keep, was burned onto his mind. MacDonnell may think his daughter was just being silly, but Fillan had seen true pain on her face before she’d slipped out.
Reid raised a dark eyebrow at him and Corinne’s eyes widened at his proclamation. MacDonnell didn’t acknowledge that Fillan had spoken at all, so he limped from behind the table and off the dais, heading for the open doors.
He instantly wished he’d brought his cloak, for the air was sharply frigid outside. At least he had an extra length of green and brown MacVale plaid slung over his shoulder.
He quickly scanned the courtyard, but all was still. His gaze rose to the battlements on top of the curtain wall surrounding the keep. On the side closest to the shore, he made out a few shadowy figures in the guardhouse, but elsewhere the battlements were empty. It seemed that Reid had given most of the guards permission to join the festivities inside, leaving the battlements quiet besides the few left keeping watch on the shore.
Just then, his gaze snagged on a slash of light blue against the inky black night.
Adelaide. She stood on the battlements opposite the guardhouse, overlooking the spreading sea-loch on the other side of the island castle. Her pale gown rippled softly in the slight breeze coming off the water.
As if he were being pulled by an invisible string, he found himself walking toward her. He had to lean heavily on his cane as he made his way up the battlement stairs, but he hardly noticed the usual discomfort in his foot, for his attention was fastened on her.
Her back was turned, her slim shoulders caving in and her arms clutched around her middle. So as not to startle her, he cleared his throat when he reached the top of the stairs.
At the noise, her head snapped around. Her soft chestnut eyes were wide with surprise—and bright with tears.
Fillan swallowed, his tongue suddenly turning to a wooden block. “Forgive the intrusion,” he said at last. “It was warm in the hall and I…I thought to get some air.”
“A-aye,” she replied, turning back to the dark water to hide her face. “So did I.”
“Ye’ve picked a fine place to do it,” he said, taking a step toward the edge of the battlements.
He leaned one shoulder against the top of the wall, propping his cane against the stones. The land to the north and east, and in the distance to the south, was dusted with snow that appeared blueish white in the dark. But both the water and the sky were an inky black, pinpricked with silvery stars and their reflection. It was impossible to tell where the sky ended and the water began.
It was beautiful, but Fillan found his gaze sliding to her. Only then did he realize that she was shivered.
“Ye’re cold,” he said, silently berating himself for not noticing immediately.
She began a weak denial, but he yanked the plaid from his shoulder and had it draped around her in a heartbeat.
Belatedly, he realized that they now stood so close that their frosted breaths mingled between them. He fiddled with the edges of the plaid, trying to tuck them in without touching her. Yet it was as if his hands had a mind of their own, for they would not cease their task for another long moment.
At last, he managed to jerk his hands to his sides. He clenched them into fists against the desire to reach for her.
“I’m sure ye noticed what happened in there,” Adelaide said with a forced huff of air that sounded like an attempt at a chuckle. “I am fine, I assure ye. Ye neednae stand out here in the cold just because—”
“Would ye prefer to be alone?”
Her eyes jolted to his. Her lips opened and closed before she could form a reply. “Nay,” she murmured at last.
“Then I dinnae mind being out here. In fact, I prefer it to sitting in the hall.”
She swallowed. “It was silly of me to leave, I ken. But…” Her voice tightened until it approached the breaking point. She seemed to decide something then, for she turned to him, staring up with soft, vulnerable eyes. “But have ye ever felt as though ye were all wrong? No’ the situation, no’ everyone else, but ye?”
The breath left Fillan’s lungs on a hard exhale. “Aye.”
Her brows notched together in cautious surprise. “Ye have?”
“I ken that feeling verra well.” Absently, he squeezed his right thigh, which had drawn tight with exertion in compensation for his foot. “Ye ken something of my family? Of my father?”
“Aye,” she replied hesitantly. “He was a warmonger.”
“And a cruel bastard. He thought beating me would toughen me up, though no matter how many times he kicked or hit, it never straightened out my foot.”
A sharp breath of air puffed in front of her lips. “I am sorry.”
“He is gone now.” Fillan didn’t say that Serlon still cast a long, dark shadow over his life. No need to saddle her with his sad history. But he needed her to know he understood. “It is remarkable how much a father can make ye feel unwanted, though.”
He cast her a searching glance. Her own father’s tactlessness in speaking of the broken marriage alliance between her and Reid seemed to play a large part in her embarrassment, along with the reminder she’d received under the mistletoe that she was unwed. But Fillan wasn’t sure if there was more to it—including possible unreturned feelings for Reid, her former intended.
“My father isnae a tyrant,” she replied, then quickly added, “No’ to say that—”
“Nay, no need. My father was a tyrant,” Fillan said. “I am glad yers isnae.”
With a swallow, she tried again. “He isnae cruel, only unthinking at times. And no’ of the clan. It is his duty to put the wellbeing of the entire clan first. Sometimes that means putting his daughter last.”
“Ye mean the fact that ye were supposed to marry Laird Mackenzie?”
She nodded wordlessly.
“And ye…ye were disappointed that ye didnae?” he asked cautiously.
“Nay!” she blurted, turning round eyes on him. “I was disappointed that they planned such a thing in the first place. Reid was my sister’s husband, and the thought of marrying him after her death…”
She shook her head and hunched into Fillan’s plaid. “I am happy for Reid and Corinne,” she continued. “But to be here is a reminder that I havenae found my own place yet. My father still hopes to marry me in a good match—good for the clan, of course. Until he finds someone suitable, I am to remain the second daughter, the passed-over bride.”
Fillan’s heart squeezed at that. It was a relief to hear from her own lips that she harbored no lingering feelings for Reid. But the idea that this beautiful, sweet-natured woman felt out of place and unwanted was unacceptable. Especially when he wanted her so damn bad.
She looked out at the black water once more, sighing ruefully. “I tried to avoid coming here altogether, for I didnae want to be a reminder—to Reid, to Corinne, or my father—of the past arrangement. But my father thinks I need to toughen a bit, especially if I am to become the lady of another clan’s keep soon.”
“Take it from me,” Fillan murmured. “The world toughens us enough. We dinnae need our family taking the task on for themselves.”
“Aye,” she said quietly, then huffed another sad chuckle. “At least that scene under the mistletoe wasnae his doing. Nay, that was all me, making a fool of myself. Now I am no’ only the discarded bride, but also the daft MacDonnell lass who’s never even been kiss—”
She cut herself off with a breath, her eyes flying to Fillan for an instant before jerking away. Even in the low light, he could see her cheeks flush.
Heaven help him. She had likely only meant to say that she hadn’t been kissed that night, in front of everyone. Yet it seemed she’d accidentally confessed to never having been kissed at all.
“Would ye…” Damn it all, now his tongue had its own mind along with his hands. He couldn’t seem to stop the words from slipping out. “Would ye like to be kissed?”
A voice screamed at him from the back of his head. He was mad. He was daft. He was approaching something dangerously enticing, like a moth to a flame. Yet he couldn’t take back the words now. The breath froze in his lungs as he waited for her reply.
She darted another wide-eyed look at him, but this time her gaze lingered. It traced over his face and across his chest and shoulders before settling on his mouth.
“Now? Here?” she breathed.
“Would ye rather go back to the hall? The mistletoe will still be—”
