“Excuse me!” Lyall realized he was daydreaming as Ailith waved at him. He laughed and went to fetch more wine, then wandered over to the window and groaned as he saw the rain pouring down in torrents outside, blown inland by a fierce gale from the sea.
“I am afraid you are not going home tonight, Ailie.” His tone was regretful but inside he was jubilant. She was staying till morning, not in his bed, granted, but he would see her before she left. The thought sent a thrill through him, and he smiled as he turned back to the window.
Ailith got up, went to the window, and sighed. “I thought the weather was going to be calm tonight." She smiled mischievously. “Do you have a spare room?”
He laughed. “You can have your choice of fifty," he replied. “I will have one made up for you." He smiled and went out, and Ailith sank down in a chair by the fire with Fenella, yawning.
“He likes you,” Fenella remarked.
“I like him too,” Ailith answered, rubbing her eyes.
“I mean, he likes you in the way a husband likes a wife,” Fenella insisted.
Ailith shook her head wearily and smiled at the young woman. “I am already betrothed," she pointed out, shrugging. “I could not marry Lyall even if I wanted to. Which I do not,” she added hastily.
For a moment they looked at each other, then Fenella stood up. “I am sorry, Ailith," she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to pry...it is only that I would love for you to be my sister.”
“Thank you, Fenella,” Ailith said. “Goodnight.” Fenella left, and she watched the dancing flames in the fireplace for a while before she drifted slowly off to sleep, and that was how Lyall found her five minutes later.
He squatted down in front of her and studied her face, relaxed and childlike in sleep, and when he reached out a finger to touch her cheek, she raised a hand to bat it away. He smiled, studying the long, reddish-blonde arcs of her eyelashes fanning over her cheekbones, her small nose and full lips. He would not allow himself to fall in love with her, but he dearly wished he could.
The bedroom he had chosen for her was not too far from the parlor, and he picked her slight body up without any effort at all and began to ascend the stairs. Her eyelids opened for a second or two, but she did not wake up.
Lyall laid Ailith down on the bed very tenderly, grasping her body like a delicate object that would crumble if he held it too tightly. He heard her give a tiny sigh as her body touched the cold sheets, then her eyes flickered open and looked straight into his. He could see their gleam clearly in the cold blue luster of the moonlight, and something inside him softened and melted.
Ailith had relaxed into his arms when he picked her up from the chair, and the gentle jogging motion of his steps as he carried her along passages and up stairs was so soothing that she sighed with contentment. She had no idea that Lyall was carrying her, but half-asleep as she was, it was bliss.
When he laid her on the bed the cold touch of the sheets woke her at once, and when she opened her eyes, it was to find him gazing down at her. There was a slightly surprised look on his face, as if it were he, not she, who was in a strange place.
For a moment she was confused, and struggled to sit up. “Where am I?" she asked, panicking.
“With me,” Lyall replied. “Do not be afraid. You fell asleep, and I am putting you to bed because you cannot go out in the rain.”
For a moment, Ailith lay tensely on top of the covers, then she let her body go slack as he released her and helped her underneath them. There was a hot stone wrapped in a woolen cloth at the end of the bed and Ailith felt warm and deliciously pampered.
“Do you need anything else?" he murmured.
Ailith shook her head, smiling slightly. She could not seem to look away from him, and a sudden shaft of longing pierced her. What would it feel like to lie with this beautiful man, even just to be wrapped in his warm embrace without any passion at all? She longed to find out.
Then, all of a sudden, she felt the soft warm touch of Lyall’s lips on hers. For a heartbeat, she froze with shock, then responded, tilting her face to his and winding her arms around his neck to pull him closer. His tongue was gentle and moist in her mouth, stroking her own tongue, arousing her body in a way she had never felt before. There was a pleasant fluttering and a moistness between her thighs, and a feeling of wantonness that she had never experienced with Jock.
Ailith was acutely aware of his body’s primitive natural musk, the touch of his fingers on her heated skin, and the sound of his rapid breathing as he became more and more passionate. His arousal was pressing against her stomach, making her acutely aware that he was very much a large powerful man who could overcome her without even trying, but she was too far gone to care.
Then Lyall gently drew away from her and put his head down on the pillow beside her. He said nothing for a moment, but ran his big, rough hand down her cheek.
“You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that," he said at last, his tone infinitely tender. “I am glad you woke, because otherwise I would have done nothing in case you thought I was taking liberties.”
“In that case," she replied softly, “I am glad I woke too, because I wanted to kiss you as well.”
He made no answer, but wrapped his arms more tightly around her. He was on top of the blankets and she was half-underneath, but they stayed together for a long while, saying nothing and lying in contented silence. Lyall, feeling the gentle strength of the woman in his arms, thought that heaven must feel something like this.
At last, with great reluctance, he stood up. “We should not be doing this," he said, his voice grim. “No matter how much I hate the idea, you are betrothed, and therefore not free. This will not happen again.” Then he turned swiftly and was gone.
6
Breaking the Betrothal
In the morning she saw neither Lyall or Fenella, but Lyall had written a note for her which a maidservant gave her at the breakfast table. Her hands shook as she unfolded the paper and read in Lyall’s big, scrawling script:
* * *
Mistress Galloway,
* * *
My apologies for not being able to greet you this morning, but I have been called away on an urgent matter which cannot wait. Fenella wanted to ride her new horse and begs your pardon too. She is young and sometimes very impatient.
What happened between us last night was unfortunate and should never be repeated, and I think we should avoid each other till you are safely married. I will not deny that I find you very attractive, but I am an honorable man and I believe you are an honorable woman. However, I hope that we can still be friends.
* * *
Sincerely,
* * *
Laird Lyall Stevenson
* * *
Ailith sat looking at the letter numbly for a little while, then pushed her uneaten breakfast away. She realized that she had been looking forward to seeing him very much, but he was right. She was betrothed to someone else and that was the end of it.
I have nothing to reproach myself for, she told herself. We had no knowledge of each others’ bodies. However, she knew that was a falsehood; they had not made love with their bodies except for a few beautiful kisses, but they had with their feelings. She now knew that she loved Lyall and thought that her feelings were reciprocated, but there was nothing either of them could do about it without breaking a few hearts along the way.
She thought for a moment about Jock; he was a good man and he was fond of her. She owed it to him to marry him for her father’s sake, since he had pleaded with her to do so.
When she had asked for a reason her father was evasive, and at last he had told her in no uncertain terms that she was going to wed him. Nonetheless, she had always felt that there was something else behind the pressure to marry, and it was not something good.
She took a bath, after which she rode back to her house in the village and began her work for the day. In the previous few days she had allowed her correspondence to accumulate, and now she had a pile of unread le
tters to answer. The first one on top of the pile was from Jock. She sighed and opened it.
* * *
My Darling Ailie,
* * *
I hope you are well since I have not seen you since the ceilidh. I am sure we have both been very busy, though, so I think it is time we caught up with each others’ news over dinner tonight. My gamekeeper has been busy with his bow, so we have fat pheasants to eat. I will see you later in the evening.
* * *
Your loving Jock
* * *
Ailith penned a quick reply and sent it with her messenger. She knew that she had to go, since she was officially betrothed to Jock, but she could not stand the thought of it.
She buried herself in work the whole day, attending to her letters and ordering the buying of new goods to trade. It took her mind off the evening ahead, but when she had finished all she had to do she sat back in her chair and wondered—if this was how she was feeling about dinner with Jock, how was she going to feel having dinner and going to bed with him every day for the rest of her life?
“So tell me,” Jock asked Fergus grimly. “What has my darling betrothed been up to since I last saw her?”
Fergus cast his eyes down to avoid Jock’s. He did not like him in this seemingly calm mood which was hiding a volatile anger underneath. He braced himself for a bellow of rage.
“She has been to see the Laird Stevenson," he reported. “She went to his castle in the afternoon but she did not come home last night. I sent one of my best men to follow her and paid him well. He spent a freezing night in the open but he said that she did not come out until well after dawn. The Laird had gone out two hours before.”
“So she slept there?” Jock’s voice was dangerously calm.
“It seems so, but the weather was too bad for her to ride home,” Fergus replied. He stopped his ears and screwed his face up as the blast of fury hit his ears. When he opened his eyes, Jock was pacing the room, his face crimson with rage.
“So she spent the night with Lyall Stevenson," he growled. “I wonder what happened in that castle?”
“It could have been nothing...” Fergus began, but Jock’s glare was enough to silence him.
“Please do not insult my intelligence, Fergus," he warned. “Ailith is a beautiful woman, and Lyall, though I hate to admit it, is a very handsome man. Yes, there might have been nothing, but look at them. They look as if they were made for each other, but I am about to show them both they are not.”
“How, M'Laird?” Fergus looked puzzled.
“By telling Mistress Ailith something she has needed to know for a long, long time," he replied grimly. He turned his head as the door opened and in came Findlay, grinning foolishly as usual.
“M'Laird, this lady wis askin’ for ye at the gate," he said, looking for acceptance like a dog begging for treats. He opened the door a little wider to admit a dark, attractive woman in her twenties. She had a gorgeously curved figure which she was showing off to good advantage in a low-cut scarlet dress, which revealed a great deal of her generous white breasts.
She was wearing crimson lip rouge and carried herself with a coquettishness that showed exactly what her profession was. Jock had used her services many times and was about to do so again. He still had an hour or so before Ailith arrived.
“Finn! How often have I told you to knock before you come in?” Jock asked thunderously. He was more angry than usual because he knew that Findlay had probably heard something which he should not have, and so had Molly, the whore who had followed him in. Finn would not betray him on purpose, but he could blab something in his clumsy way. He would have to bribe the whore too, and that would cost him a pretty penny.
Finn slunk out of the room.
The woman sidled up to him, her deep blue eyes twinkling darkly. “Well, Jock, is yer betrothed givin’ ye trouble?" her voice was innocent but the look in her eyes was not.
Jock said nothing, but he gave her a strange, lascivious smile as they left the room. “We will discuss it upstairs," he replied. “Do you have your costume?”
“Aye,” she replied with a wink.
Ailith had worn a modest brown woolen dress and shawl for dinner that night, without any jewelry or ornament. She should have looked dowdy, but her flowing hair and striking eyes meant she would look lovely even if she had been wearing a sack.
“Ailith!” Jock came up to her and wrapped his arms around her then gave her a soft affectionate kiss. She had always liked his kisses, and still did, but since Lyall had come into her life, she knew that something was missing.
He put her away a little to look at her, shaking his head. “How can a lady who is dressed so simply look so gorgeous?”
“Jock," she laughed, flapping her hand at him. “I did not have time to curl my hair and lace myself into an elegant gown tonight. Anyway, it is just you and I who are here.”
“And why dress up for the man you are going to marry?” Jock laughed, but there was an edge to his voice. Ailith pretended she had not noticed.
They sat down and began to eat their cullen skink, a delicious fish soup, then pheasant pie with all the vegetables from the castle kitchen gardens with sweet fruit and cream to follow. They chatted about the village people, the church, the exploits of the King and other inconsequential matters, and Ailith felt reassured. Jock had his faults but so did everyone else, herself included. She began to relax.
“How is M'Laird Stevenson?” Jock asked suddenly.
Ailith startled, and her heart stopped beating for a moment before she recovered her composure. “I believe he is well," she replied, then tried rather clumsily to change the subject. “Jock, that was a wonderful meal. The cullen skink was a masterpiece." She smiled at him a little too brightly.
“A friend of a friend told me you saw him last night.” Jock’s voice was even, but dangerous, and his face was as hard as flint.
“Yes, Jock, I went to his castle to discuss something with him and his sister." Her voice was indignant. “It was too wet and cold to ride home so I stayed. Do I need your permission for that?”
“Alone?" he asked silkily. There was an unpleasantly suspicious look on his face.
Ailith’s mouth fell open in astonishment and disgust before she lashed out at him with an open palm across the cheek. Instinctively, he covered the spot where she had slapped him with his hand. He felt like putting both his hands around her neck and squeezing, but he restrained himself with great effort.
“Did you lie with him, Ailie?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
She stood up, knocking her chair over. “Of course not!” she roared. “How dare you? What kind of woman do you think I am?”
“I thought that you were a decent, intelligent woman with whom I could bring up a family,” he answered. “But it seems I was wrong. Are you still a virgin, Ailith?”
She stared at him for a while, refusing to believe what she had just heard. At last she answered, but she needed all her willpower to keep herself from screaming at him again. “Yes Jock, I am,” she replied through gritted teeth. “But I am not giving my maidenhead to you. Our wedding is off.”
“I see,” Jock said, pouring a glass of wine for himself. “You may want to reconsider that, sweetheart.”
She frowned at him. “Why?”
“I will cut a long story short,” he said, his eyes gleaming at her maliciously. “Why do you think your father was so insistent on you marrying me?”
She shrugged. “He would never tell me,” she replied. “Why?”
“Because there is a curse on you,” he answered. “That curse will fall should we not be married. Your company will fail, you will lose your parents, and all you hold dear will be utterly destroyed.”
“And why would you want to marry a woman with a curse on her?” Ailith asked, her voice dripping with sarcastic amusement. She did not believe in curses, reasoning that people made their own destiny.
“It is not really on you,” he replied. “Your father was
meant to marry my father’s sister, my Aunt Agnes, a very beautiful young woman, but also a witch. When your father saw her friend, your mother Maria, however, he was immediately smitten and married her instead. Agnes died of a broken heart, but before she died, she put a curse on your father and mother. She cursed them with no sons, and only one daughter, and she cursed that daughter to a loveless marriage—with me—and if you do not marry me your life will be ruined. The reason she chose me was because your father and my father disliked each other intensely. I was only two years old then, but the story has been passed down to me, and it is true.”
She did not think Jock was the most intelligent man she ever knew, but hearing those words from his mouth was a surprise.
“You actually believe in curses?” she asked in disbelief. “An educated man like you?”
“Yes, I do,” he answered, “because I have seen evidence of them.”
“I pity you,” Ailith answered scathingly. “But why would she want a member of my family to join with yours when they did you so much harm?”
“Because once we are married you will be my property,” he replied. “Mine to do as I like with. Whatever and whenever I like.”
7
Another Night
Ailith felt a tremor of fear trickle down her spine. He was staring at her with an expression she had never seen before, an evil leer that terrified her to the depths of her soul. She turned to rush to the door and Jock followed her, but in his eagerness to catch her, he tripped over the chair she had knocked over and fell headlong. She heard his cry of pain as he bumped his elbow on the floor, then she ran out. She knew that a sore arm would not keep him down for long, so she was relieved when she found a key in the lock and turned it so that he was locked in. She put the key in her pocket.
Highlander’s Devious Ally (Scottish Medieval Historical Romance) Page 4
