by Paula Quinn
The captured Sutherland soldiers, eight in total, occupied the first two cells, while Keely had been put in the last one. Hugh and Bruce were still with her.
Hugh bowed. “She claims innocence, sir.”
“Of course she does,” Alex said. “Leave us.”
The guards departed.
“Alexander?” Keely appeared from the shadows, gripping the thick metal bars. “Why did ye have me thrown down here like a common criminal?”
The moment he’d dreamt of for five long years was happening. A second chance with the lass he’d always loved. But time changed everything. There would be no sweet words exchanged, no kisses, and surely no lovemaking. He met her gaze. “I will ask the questions, Keely Oliphant.”
“Where is John? I demand an audience with my husband.”
Alex laughed bitterly. “Husband? How can ye claim that right when ye only fulfilled half of yer matrimonial duties? Did ye not leave him in the middle of the night before he had a chance to sample what pleasures ye had to offer?” His gaze swept over her curvaceous body, taking in every inch of her creamy skin and beautiful face. Time had changed her, too, for the better.
“Tis nothing for ye to worry about.”
“Oh, but it is,” he disagreed. “Ye’ve spent these last five years ensconced in the kind of luxury only the Sutherlands can offer. And now the earl has murdered twenty of my clansmen, and eight are still missing.”
She sniffled, then reached through the bars. Alex stepped back. “Doona touch me,” he rebuked. “Those fingers weave nothing but misery. I’d sooner feel the icy grip of death.”
She gasped then, her tears visible in the flickering light. “No crueler words have ever been spoken.”
“Blame yerself.”
“I deserve yer mockery, Alexander. And I’m prepared to answer whatever questions ye have. Only…”
“Only, what, lass? Did ye think I’d open up my loving arms and take ye back?” His mirthless laughter echoed around them. “I despise everything ye represent. And my brother got little better. He’s blood, so I had no choice but to spend time with him.”
His heart squeezed a little as he observed her reaction to his scathing words. The tears in her eyes, her defeated posture. Everything about the way she looked and acted demonstrated true remorse. But Alex would leave forgiveness to God. He didn’t have time or the desire to exercise mercy. “Ye mean nothing to me or Clan MacKay.”
“I don’t believe ye, Alex.”
He edged closer to the bars. “What would it take to convince ye?”
“L-let me touch ye.” She reached between the bars again, her slim fingers inches from his face.
Long ago those fingertips worked magic on his body and soul. Enough to make him want her forever. Enough for him to bend his knee and beg for her hand in marriage. Shaking off what had become a dark memory that constantly plagued him, he pressed against the cold steel bars and encircled her wrist with his hand, tugging her as close as she could get. “Go ahead, lass, touch me where ye will. I am no longer the man ye knew. No longer affected by a pretty face or honeyed words spoken in the heat of passion. Women serve only one purpose for me, and tis not what’s between yer ears that interests me anymore.”
She struggled to free her hand from his grasp, but he only tightened his hold, giving her a shake.
“Ye’re hurting me, Alexander.”
He shot a knowing look at her. “Pain makes ye stronger, lass—best ye remember it.” He let go, remembering how he’d left the Highlands in the middle of the night after she broke his heart, too ashamed to even bid his father farewell. He’d sailed to the Orkney Islands first, then joined several men who were bound for Constantinople in search of fame and fortune.
In reality, he should thank the lass for sparing him a lifetime of wedded misery. Her betrayal provided him with the opportunity he needed to carve out his own existence—to earn his own money. By Highland standards, Alex MacKay was a wealthy man—he could afford to buy a title of his own, even start his own clan.
“Where is John?”
Alex gritted his teeth. Every time the lass spoke, it felt as if he’d been dragged through hot coals, his body on fire with a litany of dangerous emotions. Honestly, dreams couldna compare to seeing Keely in person again. Though he disliked her, she did appeal to his carnal side still—like smelling the soft fragrance in her hair or feeling the heat that radiated from her tiny body. He silently thanked the heavens for the steel barrier between them; otherwise, he’d show her how he truly felt.
“Alexander…” she said. “I want to see John. Now.”
His mouth fell in a tight line. Who was she to make demands of any kind? A spoiled Sutherland wench? Rage took over, and he ripped the skeleton key from his belt and unlocked the cell door.
“Ye want to see yer husband?”
“Aye.”
“I willna keep ye from him any longer, then.” He pulled her out of the cell and gripped her arm. “Say nothing to me, Keely, or I’ll shove ye back in that cell so quickly, yer teeth will rattle.”
Alex kept a firm grip on her arm as he directed her up the stairs, down a long corridor, then outside. They crossed the inner courtyard to the kirk.
“Ye requested an audience with John, milady?”
She nodded.
Her audacity was admirable. Keely never shrank from speaking her mind or letting her feelings be known. In another lifetime, she would have made a formidable wife for a laird.
Letting go of her arm to open the heavy wooden door of the kirk, he stepped aside to grant her access. The sanctuary was bathed in candlelight. A table stood at the center of the nave, surrounded by silver candle stands and decorated with heather wreaths.
Keely gaped at Alex. “Why are we here?”
“Go.” He gave her a shove. “Look for yerself.”
He watched with fascination as her curious gaze swept the open space. Twas time someone taught the infuriating lass a hard lesson—be careful what ye ask for.
Keely inched closer to the table. Lying in repose and draped in MacKay plaid with his sword gripped in both hands, was Laird John MacKay.
He’d fallen in battle yesterday. The memory was so real—Alex had fought back-to-back with his brother; they were outnumbered by the Sutherland soldiers. It dinna matter, for together, Alex and John were invincible—united by their love for Clan MacKay.
Alex fought lightning-quick and without mercy, while John could deflect any blow. Once they’d cleared the area around them, John pointed to three of his men who seemed to be struggling to defend their ground.
Alex scanned the field. “There’s another skirmish over there.”
“Aye,” John said. “But Mathe is with them. The others need our guidance more.”
Alex nodded and raised his sword. “Go!”
Within moments, an arrow shot by a coward hidden within the trees struck John in the back. By grace alone, Alex caught his brother before he fell.
“God damn all Sutherlands,” Alex said, positioning John’s head on his lap.
John struggled to take a full breath but managed a weak smile. “The Sutherlands breed like rabbits—twould take a lot of damning to get them all.” He coughed up blood.
Death eventually claimed every man, and Alex could sense it in John already. Like a flickering flame, the faraway look in his brother’s eyes meant one thing. “Let me get the bastard that shot ye in the back.”
“Nay.” John gripped Alex’s hand, holding firmly. “Stay with me, Brother. I doona want to die alone.”
“Ye’re no dying,” Alex lied.
John snorted. “Ye canna always be right.”
“I can.” Alex looked over his shoulder, then left and right to make sure there were no Sutherlands left unchecked.
“Promise me…” John squeezed his fingers. “Doona leave again. Stay. Claim the lairdship.”
“Ye’re Laird MacKay, not me.”
“Alex!” John closed his eyes.
“I’m her
e.”
“I’ll have another oath from ye.” John gazed up at him.
“Anything.” Another lie.
“Doona let them burn my body as Da did. Bury me in the kirk as is fitting for a laird. With my sword and shield—wearing my plaid and boots. I’m a bloody Highlander, not a fooking Viking.”
For the first time Alex could remember, the sting of remorse hit him—tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, but he swallowed that pain. He’d not let his brother see him cry like a woman or bairn. Never. “Aye,” he said, admiring John in that moment—not only for his bravery but for his words. “Whatever ye wish.’
“Alex!” John called again. “I see Ma. Da.”
No. Alex wouldna let him go. “Stay with me,” Alex whispered.
But it was too late. John took a rattling, shallow breath and dinna move again.
Alex closed his brother’s eyes and gently lifted his head off his lap. That regret instantly turned into something the devil would claim—an insatiable need to slaughter Sutherlands. And when he killed the two in sight, he’d seek more out.
Keely’s guttural cry brought Alex back to the present and pierced his heart. But he’d not give her the satisfaction of seeing the pain and regret on his face.
“How?” she sobbed, kneeling beside the husband she’d never claimed. “When did he die, Alex?”
“Yesterday.”
“If I’d only known Earl Sutherland was…”
“What?” Alex spat. “What would ye have done?” He moved closer.
“Saved him.”
He laughed. “Tis partly yer fault he’s dead.”
Keely wobbled to her feet and faced him. Her eyes were swollen, her cheeks stained with fresh tears. “How dare ye blame me for his death. I havena seen nor spoken with this man since the night I left. Call me anything ye wish, curse me, hate me … but don’t ye ever say something so evil again. Tis true I never loved him, Alexander, but I respected him enough to leave before I broke his heart.”
So beautiful … so unbelievably self-righteous in her darkest hour. “Mourn the husband ye so conveniently claim when it benefits ye greatly.”
He headed for the door, not wanting to spend another moment alone with her.
“Alex…”
He stopped, but dinna turn around. “Aye?”
“When are ye going to mourn the brother ye forgot?”
“When Hades freezes, woman.”
Chapter Four
Dear God, Alexander… Her heart clenched. What had started as a journey of absolution had turned tragic. She’d never considered seeing Alex again. He’d abandoned his home on the morning of her wedding. Sinking to her knees, Keely tried to forget the past, but couldn’t. On the eve before her wedding, Alex had sought her out in her bedchamber. Knowing the danger if they were caught together, she’d begged Alex to leave. Of course, he refused, barring the door and demanding answers.
“Do ye know what ye’re doing to me, lass?” he’d asked.
What about her own heart? Had he ever considered what she was feeling? Keely searched his face for the answer, but only found resentment in his eyes.
“Tis the only time I ever remember ye not being able to speak.”
“P-please go, Alex.”
“Are ye in such a hurry to be rid of me?” He scrubbed his stubbled chin. Usually clean shaven and dressed with care, the man standing before her resembled an outlaw, unkempt, his plaid a wrinkled mess. “A few nights ago, ye were in my arms, promising ye’d be mine—kissing me wildly, begging me to claim ye.” He advanced, backing her into the stone wall. “Give me hope, Keely—just a scrap of it and I’ll wait a lifetime for ye…”
Oh, that she could… But silence was the price of her future happiness, that and giving up the only man she’d ever love. “What lass wouldna beg for ye to claim her?” Keely asked. “The devil has blessed ye with charms hard to resist.”
He chuckled mercilessly, fingering a strand of her dark hair. “Then surrender to those charms, lassie—yer heart will follow after I’ve loved ye.”
Unable to escape, Keely hugged her middle protectively, a meager attempt to keep his roving gaze from noticing how hard her nipples were, wishing her nearly transparent chemise was a cloak of thick wool and fur. “I must go to yer brother’s bed a maiden.”
Alex seethed, pointing his finger at her. “Aye,” he confirmed, “Ye’ll go to his bed a virgin, but get a cold reception, for I’ll run my sword through his worthless heart.” Alex thumped his chest. “Ye betrayed me, lass. Sold yer soul to a man with a title, nothing more.”
Keely closed her eyes, grieving her loss, unable to tell him what she really wished to say. Suddenly she was being tugged away from the wall. Opening her eyes, she met Alex’s dark stare as his mouth slanted over hers, his strong hand cupped at her nape, forcing her to accept his kiss. A cruel kiss, meant to dominate and remind her of who she really belonged to.
Keely didn’t need reminding as their tongues swirled together in anger and desperation, his scent overwhelming her senses, his taste as pleasant as ever.
“That’s right, lass,” he whispered against her parted lips. “See how easily ye open up to me.” He pumped his hips, pressing his hard length against her belly. “Feel what ye do to me.”
She planted her palm on his chest, intending to push him away. Instead, she savored the hard muscles she felt through his shirt, unable to ignore the feel of his thundering heartbeat against her fingertips. This was what true love and passion was supposed to feel like. Tears stung her eyes then, but she swallowed her cry. Sacrifices must be made, sometimes, even if what she was expected to give up meant everything in the world to her.
She gazed up at Alex, wanting to commit his face to memory—from his brilliant green eyes, to his narrow, straight nose, to his full lips. No man had ever caught her attention the way Alex had. Nor had she ever desired another man. “Leave me.” It wasna a request.
As if something had suddenly come over him, Alex shoved her away, growling with anger. “Ye’re not worth the trouble,” he spat. “Ye reek of betrayal, the vile taste upon yer once sweet lips and tongue.”
She said nothing as Alex stormed toward the door and punched the wall.
“Curse ye, woman, and all who serve ye.”
Crushed by the five year-old-remembrance that felt as if it had only happened yesterday, Keely returned her attention to the present, to John. Using the edge of the table as leverage, she raised herself up, her legs still wobbly.
“I came here to beg forgiveness, John.” She stared down at his face, reaching for his cheek. Cold to the touch—her husband-in-name-only appeared to be sleeping, even though she well understood the finality of death. “I wish ye peace. Love. Happiness in the heavenly realm—for I know no other man who deserves it more than ye.”
Laird John MacKay had always been kind to her. Willing to let her wait to consummate their marriage. She bowed her head, remembering his words—the ones he’d spoken after he’d carried her to their bedchamber on their wedding night.
“Ye canna force love, lass. And I willna do so with ye, though every part of my being craves ye like a madman.”
She’d thanked him for his generous consideration and crawled into bed still wearing her gown and slippers, too afraid to undress in front of her new husband. Instead of joining her, John poured himself a cup of wine and sat in a chair in front of the hearth, drinking himself to sleep on what should have been one of the happiest nights of his young life.
Once his light snore was heard, Keely crept from their bedchamber. It had taken every bit of courage she could muster to leave what promised to be a union filled with mutual respect and admiration. For no other man in the Highlands would have given her the gift of time like John. Not even Alex—who she loved with all her heart. Nay, Alex would have claimed her, and she would have offered herself like a sacrificial lamb, married to him or not.
Easier than she thought it would be, she crept past the revelers in the great hall
and ran to the stables. Not a squire or stable lad was in sight. Everyone had been invited to her wedding celebration, high and lowborn. She found her mare in a stall in the back of the stable, and with the skill of a seasoned soldier, saddled her mount, then secured her only bag before she climbed up.
Once she was outside, Keely pulled her hood up and looked about. Soldiers were always on patrol. She leaned forward and patted her mare’s neck. “If we doona leave now…” She heeled the beautiful horse her sire had bought her a year ago in the ribs. “Go.”
Once she finished with John, Keely approached the chancel, the sacred area of the kirk reserved for the priest. Sitting atop the wood altar was a gold cross. How she wanted to take it in her hands and weep. Considering herself unworthy of touching the holy relic, she simply admired it.
“Tell me what to do, Lord. Direct my hands. Speak to my heart. Please…”
When no answer came, she returned to the table where her husband rested. She covered John’s big hands with hers, wishing she could breathe life back into his body.
“I am sorry, milord,” she sobbed. “Sorry I never gave ye the chance to love me. Sorry I dinna explain myself before I ran away. Sorry I ever met yer brother that day near the loch. I wonder where we’d be now if fate hadn’t brought us together.”
She leaned over the table and placed a tender kiss on John’s lips.
“Judas kissed the Lord before the Sanhedrin guards arrested him in Gethsemane.”
She closed her eyes and tried to place the man’s voice.
“Lady Keely,” the priest said as he came to stand on the other side of the table. “Some of the women told me I would find ye here.”
“Father Michael,” she said, feeling uncomfortable in his presence. The priest had presided over her wedding. “If ye doona want me here…”
“Tis not my choice to make,” he said. “God calls his children home at the most inconvenient times. But his wisdom is greater than my own. So, I accept ye, child.”
“Ye’ve shown me more mercy than any of the MacKays.”
