by Nicole Locke
‘There are men who follow me here, Lochmore,’ Frederick said. ‘Strong, good men and their families. Many of them—enough I hope, to support my decisions.’
‘You hope.’ Rory dug his shoulders into the wall behind him, felt and welcomed the bite of rough timber. It was enough to keep his temper. ‘Yet you took the risk of inviting me here and offering marriage, knowing those who follow Hamish would not accept it.’
At Frederick’s brief nod, Rory shoved away from the wall. ‘You fool, you’ve divided loyalties and then brought in an enemy clan. You expect me to repair this?’
‘By marrying my daughter, you already have. Maybe not in my lifetime, but I hope in hers. I would do anything for her. There are possibilities for you as well.’
Ludicrous. Fanciful dreams. ‘The possibilities are there only if we live through this. And know this, if my friend dies, your possibilities are meaningless. I am Lochmore’s son.’
Frederick shook his head once, twice, as if answering his inner questions, but confusion laced his expression. ‘You married her.’
Rory was tired of being held at the whims of others, of trying to get approval. He might not have control of his past, but he would take control of his future.
‘I said my vows, but that is all that occurred last night,’ Rory said, his stare unbending until Frederick’s eyes widened in recognition. Until the father knew the marriage was unconsummated and could be annulled.
‘Know this as well, Tanist.’ Rory stepped to the door, his hand on the latch. ‘I will never meet privately with you in the mews again. When we meet, it will be in front of all so that every McCrieff will know our collaboration. As for you, there will be no more secret meetings, no behind-my-back negotiations. You invited and proposed a Lochmore to marry your daughter. We’re family now.’
Chapter Twelve
She shouldn’t be here, not at this time of day. Now was the time she should have stayed by Hamish’s side, but Hamish slept as if dead. When she checked on Paiden, saw that he remained the same and that Beth was taking care of him, Ailsa knew she couldn’t just hide inside the room. Something had to be done.
That something led her to these rooms down below the keep. Mostly they were open spaces: coffers made empty by Hamish’s poor choices, a few stocked with wine for celebrations only and then this room...the one worth any value at all. Shelves upon shelves of scrolls and journals. Costly items and for years it had been suggested they be moved to the chapel. Hamish, greedy man that he was, insisted they be kept under his domain. They were worthless in trade, but a source of vain pride.
For her, they were priceless. In here were kept all the healers’ journals; Rhona’s was the thickest and most worn. The journal should be in her rooms, but even knowing it could mean life or death if a cure was not found quick enough, Hamish had declined her possession.
He’d announced it was done to protect the knowledge, but she knew he did it to retain power over her as he did to everyone, but for her, she believed it was personal.
Hamish had never married, never conceived or at least none outside of Rhona’s story. Because of that and her father’s ancestry, it had been expected for her father to become Tanist, even as it was expected that his issue would rule. Though she was a woman, she was the healer and had retained her own influence with the clan. Though her purpose was pure, Hamish never saw good in anything or anyone.
Therefore, to show she was lesser than him, he had decreed that she request his permission to enter this room. Permission that couldn’t be granted now. So she had taken his keys and left him in the care of another.
She had the Chief’s keys. Just that alone could earn her punishment. That she left him not in her care as he ordered could earn her death.
But she’d had to come here; there were too many truths needing discovery. She needed to investigate Hamish’s and Paiden’s symptoms, find what could have caused their illness. If it was poison, they should both have died or recovered by now.
Nothing she knew of caused this constant continual sleep. Nothing she knew of caused any sleep like this unless it was taken in massive doses. If that occurred, Paiden or Hamish would have noticed the taste.
Unless...unless they continued to ingest the poison, but how? And if that was the case, wouldn’t she have noticed it by now? So either the means of poison was just under her nose and she’d forgotten or it was something she’d never come across before. Whatever the poisoner gave, if there was a cure to be found, it would be here.
Which led to the next troubling thought. Who would attempt to murder her husband’s friend and the Chief? There was no connection between a Lochmore and a McCrieff who did not know each other.
Having nodded to the guards in the courtyard, Ailsa quietly closed the door. The first obstacle had been met because they assumed she had the right to be here. The second obstacle for today was privacy. An open door would make the room more comfortable with light and fresh warm air, but she couldn’t risk it.
She needed to be left alone for there was more than herbal remedies and tinctures in this room. Here was the reason the chapel wanted possession of the documents: here were official clan announcements, including important births.
She shouldn’t look, didn’t have the right. If what she guessed was correct, what would it prove?
If such a thing had occurred, she couldn’t imagine it being written down. Though if Hamish had had a child, it would be claimed because Hamish never wanted her father to rule. If the child was born secretly, then the mother hadn’t claimed Hamish as the father. Thus, again, there would be no point in writing the birthing down, let alone that the child was given away.
Still, she needed to see. Too much depended upon Rory’s lineage not to.
Ailsa reached for the first flat satchel containing various parchments and unwound the package. Inside was a bound cartulary regarding the building and upkeep of McCrieff Castle. She carefully placed it back on the shelf.
She grabbed the one next to it—this book was on the parish. That, too, she returned. Her eyes roved the shelves. There were other satchels, some bulky, most likely containing scrolls versus books.
None of it was in order. Church lists, with flecks of brittle parchment in pieces too small to read. Still precious enough that she didn’t dare just toss it to the side. She could ask for help. There were others here who knew the documents, could probably guess by sight which she needed, but she felt this was something she needed to do herself.
* * *
Hours later and Ailsa stretched her arms and back. She’d stopped long ago placing the cartularies back on the shelves. At one point, she thought she’d organise it. Now the room was untidy. Some books hadn’t made it back to the satchels, nor some scrolls, and she stood back and surveyed the room. As the time crept on, she’d become impatient. To think to organise it was madness. For now she was tired and carnage laid at her feet.
She was also no closer to the truth. She’d hoped that she could discover something of import on her own. There was a part of her that purposefully felt she’d been kept in the dark. Her father overly protective, Hamish controlling, Rhona reluctantly sharing her remedies and hiding secrets until her deathbed.
The records of her birth she found, as for—
‘I thought you’d be in Hamish’s room,’ Rory said.
Ailsa started at the sound of his voice and the closing of the door. She turned to face him. ‘I left.’
Gazing roughly around the room, Rory stepped forward.
She raised her hand. ‘Wait. The documents are scattered.’
‘I can see that. Why?’
‘I was...organising records.’
He’d changed since she saw him last. His clothes different, his hair a bit damp, but it wasn’t simply his physical appearance.
He’d strode from their bedroom full of outrage. She’d expected Rory to return within momen
ts with something from the kitchens and news of a confrontation with her father. Instead, hours later there was a predatory stillness about him.
Shadows played havoc here and she shouldn’t be able to see everything about him so clearly, yet she did. His dark brown hair was loose and framed his unshaven jaw. The bristles there darkening and casting him further in shadows. His eyes just a shade lighter held some burning emotion that shifted too quickly for her to discern. She wanted to say frustration, but it was held back, simmering too hotly for that emotion.
Nothing of this moment could she fully understand. All she knew with certainty was that he sought her out and found her here...alone.
‘Did you find my father?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t get you food.’
‘I didn’t expect you to.’ She swallowed. ‘Did he have much to say?’
‘What makes you believe I found him.’
That stopped her. ‘You said you’d find him. There’s been some time since then, so I thought perhaps you had.’
‘And you believe I’d do as I’d say?’
What was going on here? So much more under the surface with this man, but what, she didn’t know. She’d wed him though they approached their marriage differently. She, trying to protect her people; he, trying to secure the lands owed to his clan. Then she’d laid with him, bared her body and he had rejected her.
They were strangers with mistrust between them, but still she’d undressed before him, still allowed him in her bed. Accepted his kisses, his touch...and the way he touched. Yet now, she couldn’t understand what he meant then by ‘This is what was meant to be’?
She had never felt such pleasure before, had never allowed herself such vulnerability and exposed her very soul to him. When he had said those words, had he meant that what she felt, what she perceived they both felt, that was how it was truly meant to be between husband and wife? Or had he known in that moment he would deny their marriage?
‘Do I believe you’d do as you’d say?’ she said. ‘Within reason.’
His brows drew in. ‘I always do as I say.’
‘You brought me no food and, though vows were exchanged, we aren’t married,’ she said and quickly wished she hadn’t. They weren’t here for that. They weren’t here for anything. Except they said words before her clan and he had never meant them.
‘I met your sisters.’ Rory took another step. This room was meant for papers and perhaps a few people inside, but Rory was so large just that slight step further into the room made it seem so much smaller.
‘How are they?’ she asked.
He reached down and picked up a single parchment, laid it back. Picked up another, then let it fall to the ground. ‘They’re alive and well, if that is what you ask. I think you and your father do not credit them enough with intelligence. I found them rather interesting.’
Suddenly needing more room, Ailsa stepped back. Rory noted her movement and raised a brow. What had happened between this morning and now? Exhaustion had blurred her earlier indignation and anger, but she was still shamed and he was still in the wrong. Now she felt as if he set a trap and she merely needed to set foot in it. If he had originally approached her like this, she would never have agreed to marrying him.
‘They are interesting and quite opinionated.’
‘Where is your mother?’
She thought he’d know some of the clan’s interests, but then, when had there been time? ‘Dead. She died giving birth to them.’
‘I’m sorry.’
She almost felt that he meant it, but he was a good liar. ‘She was a gentle soul. I think if she had lived, we would have given her a very difficult time. My sisters especially. They are a bit more...free.’
‘Than you?’ He took a journal off the shelf and flipped through it. She’d held that journal just moments before. It looked diminished in his large hands. From here she could see the scars along his knuckles and in the tender crook of his thumb, and knew he’d earned them. He was a warrior now, but at one time he’d had to train, at one time he’d made mistakes.
‘I’m free.’
‘Apparently, because here you are instead of in Hamish’s rooms.’
Here was one of her mistakes. Forgetting the passing of time in this room, allowing Rory to find her. She was married and it was conceivable he would search for her. The other mistake was walking further in the room and allowing Rory access to the information.
‘I told you why I was here.’
‘You’re not organising. You’re searching for a cure.’
She wouldn’t lie to him, but that didn’t mean she would tell him the truth. Last night proved that he didn’t trust her. She’d never been more vulnerable in her life. She said she’d help him, gave a vow before God, and he’d...hurt her. ‘I said I would help your friend.’
‘But you didn’t come here when he was struck down, only when you thought McCrieff’s Chief needed help.’
She would grant some allowances for their differences, the fact they were strangers, but never this. ‘Don’t you dare accuse me of such a thing. It was you who demanded we wed immediately. You who barred me from reaching your friend. Since that time, I’ve done everything I can for him. This clan has continued to stay by your friend’s side to care for him as well. I’m here to find a cure for them both.’
‘Both?’ he said, a note to his voice. ‘So you, too, believe Hamish suffers from what Paiden does.’
She was unused to politics, to subterfuge. Everything she said felt as though it was cloaked in lies. On the surface, her husband should know everything, but he’d shown he did not trust.
Could she blame him? His friend could be dying. Still, with last night unresolved between them, she would not expose herself or her clan again. ‘Hamish has been ill for many seasons.’
‘But it has worsened overnight?’
‘What are you accusing me of, Lochmore? Shouldn’t all of this have been discussed before we said our vows?’
‘We’re not married,’ he said.
She couldn’t hide the flinch as his cutting words struck right where she had stewed all day, but she did turn her back so she didn’t have to see the simmering rage in his eyes boring into her. She’d placed some trust when she married Rory, even more trust when she’d lain beneath him. Now this? ‘If you’ve said your piece; you should go. I have work to do here.’
Silence, but she refused to turn again to see if he left or stayed. She did have work to do; kneeling again on the cold floor, she attacked another stack of papers.
* * *
Rory bit back a curse. He’d been manipulated since he was a baby. As the son of Lochmore’s Chief, he’d been shuffled and positioned to take over the Clan’s interests. Over the years, he’d suspected he wasn’t even his father’s son, which meant he was more manipulated and controlled than anyone knew.
With no way to earn his right on Lochmore’s lands and under Lochmore’s rule, he’d come here to secure his future, to gain some respect from his Chief and clan. If he wasn’t a chief’s son, then he could earn the right to rule. A gamble to be sure, but there was enough incentive here to make it worthwhile. Except he was being directed and controlled again. What made it worse was he hadn’t known how far or gravely until his conversation with Frederick.
If McCrieffs themselves were divided, there was no solution to the problem between McCrieffs and Lochmores. He’d married believing there could be a chance for some future, but there wasn’t.
Lies everywhere. Even his wife lied to him. She told him she couldn’t leave Hamish’s room. Yet here she was, telling him she did it to organise mouldy parchments. That was another lie.
Some of the records she’d disturbed were certainly on gardening, and herbal combinations, but some were documents that usually were in churches. Lineage on families, births, deaths, acquisitions.
Her purp
ose in this room wasn’t for organising, but to find information and not only on herbs. Controlled again. Would nothing be his own? Yet he didn’t feel the same wrenching frustration towards her as he did towards her father, or his own father for that matter.
It was because of that moment in the courtyard. It had skewed everything he’d done since then. Her beauty, her intelligence more tempting than the control of McCrieff land. Then he’d touched her, kissed her, held her to him while his body burned. To accomplish what he needed to, to unveil truths, to help his friend, he had refused to take her in their marriage bed.
But he wanted to. No, more than that, it was something beyond need...a longing. Here, with her vibrant hair half-bound, half not, her cream gown covered in dust and wrinkled beyond repair, she was as much a siren to him now as she had been in the courtyard.
More so because her pride would not tolerate his behaviour. And rightly so. He’d been heartless last night, cruel today.
How was she to be understanding, if they had no understanding between them? Yet how could he risk his friend’s life, even if they could resolve what was between them? Someone had intentionally harmed his friend and it appeared also the McCrieffs’ Chief.
His eyes scanned the room for answers, found nothing but dust motes floating in the dim light provided by the three lit torches. The room was filled with precious scattered paper and damp air, as if this room refused to let go of winter though spring showed its abundance everywhere else.
Ailsa was like spring to him. Danger surrounding him in that courtyard and he’d not been able take his eyes off her fiery locks. Dining at his enemy’s table and he’d kept trying to catch her green gaze like some lovesick fool.
Last night, he’d demanded she take off her gown, to gain some control, but he wasn’t in control, hadn’t been since he undid her laces. Rory shut down those thoughts as he had all day. His body was still drawn tight with need and desire. Touching her only made him want more of his wife.
