by Quinn, Paula
“Who gives yer friend wings?” Cainnech leaned in to ask her.
“William,” she answered on a wilting whisper.
“And that troubles ye because he’s a Scot?”
She shook her head and eyed him, wondering if he truly thought her so double-minded that she would begrudge her friend the same thing she wanted. But, according to Father Timothy, Cainnech didn’t know she cared for him. Should she tell him? No, she thought, let him discover it on his own.
“It troubles me because his heart is lost to Julianna,” she corrected him on a hushed voice, and then watched the men stand when Mattie reached their table.
“I think,” he said, raising his cup to her and then to Mattie, “the two most bonny lasses in the three kingdoms reside at Lismoor.”
The men agreed, but William had already gone back to his cup.
“You see?” Aleysia asked, turning to Cainnech. “There is beauty in no one else when your heart loves another.”
“Pah! What drivel!” He laughed, bringing his cup to his lips. “Love doesna last. Sadly, he, too, was taught its cruel lesson.”
His battle was with love. He hated it, rejected it, and was afraid of it. How in blazes was she to fight this? She was confident in many things, but not this.
She crooked her finger at him and when he came close, she whispered, “The cruelty was not love, Cainnech. ’Twas a heart tainted by prejudice. True love lasts. You cannot hide from it forever. You know that.”
He put down his cup and stared at her. She had no idea what he was about to say but he didn’t look pleased.
“Commander.” Amish hurried into the hall with a folded parchment held high in his hand. “A messenger arrives from the king!”
Cainnech stood up and waited while a tall man dressed in dark clothes and mantle entered behind his second.
Aleysia thought she could hear his heart pounding, but realized soon that it was her own.
Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good news for her if it was from the Scottish king.
The messenger reached Cainnech and greeted him with a familiar smile. Cainnech did not smile back.
Unfazed by the commander’s aloof regard, the messenger reached under his cloak and produced a folded missive stamped with a royal seal. “From the hand of the king of the Scots, Robert the Bruce to ye, Commander MacPherson.”
Cainnech took the letter and offered the man a place at one of the other tables. The messenger declined with good reason. His wife was at home ready to have his second child.
After he left, Cainnech broke the seal and opened the parchment. He read silently for a moment, and then glanced at her with a scowl that made her want to demand to know what it said.
“Is it about Lismoor?” She couldn’t wait another moment.
“Let us go somewhere else to—”
“No.” She shook her head. “You will tell me now, please.”
He looked as if he might refuse or tear off someone’s head. Finally, he said in a lowered voice. “The king advises that ye are to be wed.”
“To whom?” she heard herself say, her blood beginning to sizzle in her veins.
“To one of the English noblemen who have already sworn loyalty to him. He has taken it upon himself to invite them here to…court ye. Once ye are wed, yer husband will be rewarded with Lismoor.”
Wed? Her home was to be a reward to an English traitor? “Do you think I will abide by your king’s rule?” she asked acidly.
Cainnech didn’t answer but crumpled the parchment into a ball and flung it into the hearth. He rose from his chair and stormed out of the great hall.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Where is he?” Aleysia hurried through the halls after not finding Cainnech in his room. She wasn’t about to let him run from this. He’d promised her she would stay and without marriage if she swore fealty to Robert. What was he going to do about it now? Was he going to abandon her to a stranger? An Englishman?
“Father!” she called out, stopping the priest on the way to his room. “Where is he?”
“I was asked to tell ye that Cainnech will speak with ye in the mornin’.”
She crunched her hands into fists at her sides. “Thank you for telling me. Now where is he?”
He turned his doe-eyed gaze upward.
Aleysia looked up and then shrugged her shoulders, frustrated by his silence. “What does that mean, Father? Are you trying to tell me you hope he goes to Heaven when I kill him?”
“Not that far up, my dear,” he said with a furtive smile and then left her alone in the hall.
She looked up again. The battlements.
She hiked her skirts over her knees and hurried for the stairs. He wouldn’t escape this time. She wanted answers. Not about standing by while she was wed. She’d kill any bastard put beside her in her bed. She wanted to know how long he was staying now that he’d heard from his king. She wanted to know if she meant anything to him.
What if she did? Would he run from it?
She stopped before the last few steps to the battlements and put her fingers to her lips. She couldn’t tell him how she felt, that she was falling in love with him. He would run. He’d leave Lismoor and her to whatever future she had left.
She almost turned back but a desire to be near him pulled her forward like an unseen tether.
She stepped through the doorway and into the night. This was one of her favorite places to come when she needed to think clearly. Was he here for the same reason? What did he need to think about? She walked to the edge and then around it until she found him looking out over the north, toward the distant mountains of Scotland.
She observed him in the moonlight, his hair dancing around his deeply pensive face and his shoulders from the roiling wind. He looked like a man with the weight of the three kingdoms on his shoulders.
He heard her approach and turned just for a moment to look at her.
“Do you want to go back?” she asked, coming to stand beside him.
“I wish I was there now,” he answered in a voice as cold as the gale blowing in from his land.
Her heart sank. “Then you will be returning soon?”
He inhaled a deep breath and took his time releasing it. “I dinna know when I will see my home again.”
“Why?” she asked so softly that she was sure her question was lost on the wind. But he turned his head to look at her.
“I must stay and hand ye—” He caught himself and grinded his jaw. “—Lismoor over to—”
“Commander,” she cut him off. Her heart broke. He was going to hand her over. She meant nothing to him. “As I have told you from the beginning, I have no intention of taking a husband. I will lie to your king to keep my home, but I will not take a husband.”
“Ye will lose Lismoor.”
She hated him for speaking those words. He’d lied to her, given her false hope. She would not weep over it now. She squared her shoulders and tilted her chin. “I will prepare myself for that.”
And perhaps he could visit the villagers and tell them one of the Bruce’s dogs would soon be ruling here without her.
“If I must leave, I will forever hold you responsible for this,” she told him and left the battlements.
She was a fool! A fool to fall for the man who raided her land and took her home! He’d kissed her and made her feel things…things he knew he would not feel in return.
It no longer mattered. He wasn’t going to help.
It was up to her to make certain none of her suitors wanted her.
She smiled as she tore her golden circlet from her head and tossed it aside, and then she wiped her eyes and headed for her room.
Cain had never been so miserable in his life. The last two days had been hell. Aleysia avoided him at every turn and when he had seen her, he couldn’t help but notice her unhappiness. All the men had remarked to him on it. They’d also shared their confusion as to why the king would trouble himself in the affairs of a steward’s granddaughter.
He went to the tower to speak to them alone, without Richard or the castle staff hovering about.
He sat with them in the gathering hall, watching their familiar faces in the light of the large hearth fire. He knew what to expect from them on the battlefield, and which of his men fought best. And during the many nights when they all slept beneath the stars, he knew which of them cried out in their sleep.
“At first,” he concluded, “I protected her fer the sake of peace, and because I understood that she had been tryin’ to keep her home, as any of us would have done, and then finally…” He paused. What he was about to say was even more difficult than the previous truths to which he’d admitted to them. “…because, as ye likely already suspect, I have come to care fer her.”
Father Timothy, William, and Rauf grinned at him, tempting him to smile back. But he continued soberly, “I understand that I broke yer trust, but I couldna turn her over to ye. If any of ye wishes to fight under a different commander, I shall make the request on yer behalf to the king.”
The men were quiet. Most appeared stunned. A few were angry.
“She waged war on us,” someone muttered.
“She fought alone from the trees,” Amish pointed out, shaking his head in astonishment. His eyes opened wider and he stared at Cain when he remembered. “She almost killed ye.”
“Aye,” Cain agreed with a slow smile aimed at the man who’d fought by his side since the Battle of Loudoun Hill. “Who else can say such a thing, eh, Amish?”
“No one, Commander,” his second replied. “I admire her fer her bravery.”
“As do I,” William said boldly, “She shouldna be scorned because we lost men in the fight or because we were bested by a lass.”
The men all finally agreed. She had won them over with her many rare, if not odd, qualities, her loyalty now that she knew them, and her radiant smile.
What was Cain to do? Was he willing to defy the king and send her suitors away? Was it too late to stop this madness in his head? He didn’t want to love her. If he did and she was taken from him, he would lose his soul this time.
“Stay and have a drink with us, Commander,” Amish said and offered him a cup. “’Tis whisky Rauf and Duncan brewed in the kitchen.”
Cain accepted. He didn’t do too much talking, but he laughed with the men, and he listened and learned more intimate things about them.
For instance, William found no interest in the bonny Matilda when her name was brought up. The lad was miserable. His heart was lost to Julianna Feathers.
Love made men weak and Cain had made certain his whole life that he would never be weak again.
“What will ye do aboot her, Son?” Father Timothy asked quietly, sitting beside him. “The suitors will be arrivin’ soon.”
What could he do? Prepare for the day when she would be out of his life for good? Or prepare for war? One scared the hell out of him. One did not.
The suitors began arriving early on the third day. Dressed in their fine wool tunics, fur-lined mantles, and brightly colored hose, they paraded through the front doors like a plague set loose on Lismoor. Bearing gifts of silks and spices and other nonsense, they waited patiently with Richard and Father Timothy in the great hall while Aleysia prepared herself to meet them. Cain’s men guarded the entrances.
Two cushioned chairs, one a bit larger than the other, had been dragged from the other rooms and placed at the head table in the center of the hall. Cain sat in the larger chair.
He didn’t know what to expect when she arrived. Hell, she could have done anything if she had put her mind to it. He looked into the cup he was holding and put it down without taking a drink. She could have one or more of her handy little daggers hidden wherever the hell she’d hidden them. He would stop her if he had to. If anyone was going to kill any of her suitors, it was going to be him.
Cain eyed them, hating them all, hating being this close to them. The more they looked at him, sniveling little peacocks that they were, the more he thought about killing them.
When the guests stood, Cain knew she had finally entered. He didn’t have to turn around. He knew she was breathtaking.
When those closest to the entrance stepped back and whispered, Cain finally turned to see what they were seeing.
She wore a plain brown tunic, belted at the waist, and black breeches. Her beautiful raven hair was pulled back in an unkempt tail trailing down her back. Her face, including her lips, was pale, ashen white, and around her eyes were dark circles.
She looked deathly ill. She even coughed into her hand.
Cain hurried toward her. “What ails ye, lass?”
She stepped around him without acknowledging him and sat in his slightly larger chair. “Let us get this over with,” she barked out and then yawned.
“Lady,” one of the peacocks addressed her, looking a bit confused. Cain kept his eye on him while he sat in her chair. “Are you ill? Is it something that should concern us?”
She opened her eyes and glared at him. “What kind of men does the King of Scots send to court me that they fear a harmless…” She paused and looked off to the left. “…at least I think ’tis harmless, condition?”
Cain realized what she was doing and couldn’t help but smile. She wasn’t ill, or even pale. She was wearing some kind of powder on her face and her lips. ’Twas clever.
“Ye didna cough up blood again this morn, did ye?” he asked, wanting to help her.
She swung her head around to squint her eyes at him and held her thumb and index finger a bit apart.
She severed their gaze, though he sought to hold it. What did he want to tell her? Something! He liked being around her more than anyone else he had been near in a very long time. He thought she was the bonniest lass he’d ever come across, even looking like death was at her door. Would this work? What would Robert do if no one wanted to wed her? What if he wed her?
The thought rushed through his mind before he could stop it. He looked away and scowled at the men looking at her.
She didn’t want to marry, and she sure as hell wouldn’t want the Highland commander who took her home from her.
“I do not care if you are ill!” Some about-to-be dead peacock called out.
“Oh?” Aleysia said and coughed into a small cloth she pulled from her belt.
“I am Sir James Woods, Governor of Bamburgh.” He stepped forward in his wrapped hood and presented thin, outstretched arms. He looked to be at least twenty years older than her. “I have brought you some perfume from France and fine silk from the Far East. I have much more to offer once we are wed.”
Cain wanted to spring from his chair and tear out Sir James Woods’ heart from his chest.
“I do not fear if you are ill, my dear lady,” Woods continued, oblivious to the rumbling mountain beside her. “I see the strength in your eyes to recover. I would be a fool to leave once I laid eyes on you.”
She smiled behind her cloth and coughed again, then leaned forward for Cain’s cup. After a long sip, she leaned back and swiped her knuckles across her mouth, smearing off some of the powder from her lips. “Thank you, Sir James, you may—”
“Look at that!” he smiled, showing a row of yellowing teeth. “You are looking better already! Why, your lips are like ripe—”
“Governor Woods,” Cain cut him off with a warning glare. “Take yer bow and move on. The lady has more suitors to greet.”
He didn’t want to go. Cain could see it in his eyes. He wanted to stand up to the primitive-looking Highlander who’d taken this castle and a dozen before it, but he didn’t.
The next worm to step forward was Sir Andrew something-or-other from Doddington. He was tall and thin with timid eyes and a sharp nose. “Commander MacPherson, thank you for inviting us into Lismoor to—”
“Why
are you thanking him when ’tis my castle?” Aleysia asked with icy contempt. “You are not off to a grand start, Sir Andrew.” She waved him away. “Who is next?”
Confident that none of these peacocks could win Aleysia’s heart, Cain smiled as more English noblemen from everywhere in Northumberland came forward. He even recognized some of the faces from various castles he’d stormed.
He listened while she methodically discouraged every suitor, either with her fits of coughing or her sharp tongue. So many times, he wanted to smile at her, proud of her courage and determination to avoid what she didn’t want. But she barely spared him a look the entire morning.
When the last courter of the morning left, Cain finally turned to her. “Ye were a nightmare.”
She finally smiled at him and it felt as if he could breathe again. He hated that she held such command over his moods, but he didn’t know how to stop it.
“Do you think I frightened any of them away?”
“All of them, no doubt.”
“Good,” she said and stood from his chair. “Well, ’twas nice seeing you—everyone today.”
Hell, what was this warmth seeping into his muscles, his bones, his gaze? It made him ache to hold her, kiss her, tell her…what? What could he offer her? There were days he felt like a tortured soul in a living grave. Days he prayed to Father Timothy’s God to let him die on the battlefield so that he could have this peace he’d heard so much about. But he lived. Every time.
He watched her turn to leave. He reached out. “Aleysia.” His voice stopped her. She turned her pale face to him.
I must help ye find her first. Father Timothy’s words at Bannockburn came rushing back at him. Something to do with love.
He swallowed and his heartbeat accelerated. He looked toward Heaven. He didn’t want love in his life. He couldn’t love her and watch her marry someone else, or watch her give away her home because of him. He couldn’t stop any of it without betraying the king. “There is nothin’ I can do, lass.”
