by Madelyn Hill
Liam pounded on the table. “Bollocks! What does it say?”
Hope leaned forward and swept the contents back into the bag. Despite the shadows the candlelight offered, she could read anger and contempt on Liam’s weathered face. His ire threaded through his body, making him as tightly wound as the string of one of Faith’s bows. He lurched for the parchment, rattling the table, displacing the tumblers and candles. Waxy tallow and ale mixed together as they formed a river which dripped onto the hewn flooring.
Connor caught Liam before he completed his task. “Get hold of yerself, man.”
Stephen leapt from his chair, spilling it backward with a resounding thud. Ian sat, face stricken.
Liam ripped his arm from Connor’s grasp. “Get off me, ye eejit.”
By Saint John, she thought to herself, she must tell them. “Sit down,” Hope said loudly, with enough authority, even Duncan looked in from the corridor. She caught and held her cousin’s gaze.
He nodded, then turned back to the hallway. Duncan’s broad back acted like a door, impermeable to interlopers.
“Sit down,” she repeated. This time, her low, guttural command cut through the chaos.
Each man stilled, threw a look in her direction, and sat.
Hope stood. When she was certain the men were going to stay, she began pacing the room, circling the table, heightening the tension so thick it was like the fog of the sound on a moist spring morning. In response, the men’s temper simmered like the cresting waves of the water before a storm, much like the storm during her father’s death.
“I’ve made a decision regarding MacKerry.”
Liam lifted his shoulders and shifted to the edge of his seat. Leaning forward, he pounded his fist on the table. “Speak woman.”
Hope lifted a brow and waited until the old man sat back into the chair. “As you are all aware, my mother was my most trusted adviser.”
Liam waved an impatient hand. “Aye, aye. Go on with it.”
Hope held a sigh and glared at Liam. “I’m in need of another to help me rule.” She looked pointedly at the men. “And to follow my father’s decree.”
Connor cleared his throat. “We ken this, laird. Tell us yer plan,” he said softly and with a nod of encouragement.
She chuckled, then sobered. “I have spoken with the prisoner MacKerry and I will marry . . . him.” A weight lifted off her chest allowing air to flow freely through her tense body. She inhaled, relieved she’d spoken the words aloud and the keep didn’t come crashing down one stone at a time around her. She prayed her parents weren’t vexed with her. Surely, they realize she was fulfilling their demands? But to wed a stranger, one she felt may be a spy for the Mungos, most likely seemed extreme to them and would seem so to the clan as well. With these men before her, she kenned extreme measures were necessary.
“Are ye certain, m’laird?” Connor questioned, concern forced tight lines around his eyes.
She patted his arm and smiled. ’Twas kind of him to be worried for her. Yet she’d no choice in the matter, she had to protect her family, her clan. “Aye. To remain laird I have to wed.”
“Why not one of our men?”
She shrugged and lifted her mouth into a wry grin. “None have asked.”
Connor scrubbed his hand over his face. “Fools.”
She laughed. “Aye.” Not that she could see herself married to any of the men she’d trained. ’Twas odd marrying MacKerry didn’t send shards of worry through her. Somehow, deep down, she was content with the decision.
“As long as you are certain. We ken nothing of the man.”
But they would. She’d find out why he was truly at Wild Thistle Keep. “I am certain.”
She glanced at the men around the table. Some watched her back, others glanced at Liam.
Why was Liam smiling? Hope had expected him to bawl his ire until the entire clan came running. In fact, all of the men seemed suspended in some manner of pleasure. No protest, no shouts of her leadership causing the clan’s doom.
“Weel, lass. ’Tis glad I am ye are finally thinking o’ settling down. Yer mother and father would be proud.” A satisfied grin lifted Liam’s mouth as he glanced around the table. “Do ye not agree, men?”
Why were they so pleased? She set her hands at her waist and watched the smiles curve their mouths. A chill skittered up her spine. Liam was planning something, she felt it, she kenned it. And she’d discovery what and why. Och, ’twas so much to deal with and now, her mother was gone. There was no one to lean on and seek guidance.
Mayhap, MacKerry would be more than the means to follow her father’s decree.
Could he be the man who’d be a true partner? Nay. He was a means to keep the lairdship, nothing more.
Ian, a silent sort of man with long grey hair that was plaited at the temples, raised his glass. “To our laird and MacKerry. May their union be prosperous and may bairns soon be blessed to them.”
The rest of the men cheered and raised the tumblers Connor had quickly refilled.
Hope stood watching this unbelievable display of support. She longed to let go of her suspicions, grudgingly accept their congratulations, and be done with it. Yet, flashes of the past, vibrant and bold, held her back. By Saint Joseph she had her doubts about these old men who schemed to gain their way and, ’twas obvious they were doing just that at the moment. Hope didn’t miss the wink Liam gave Stephen. The man chuckled in response. She wanted to take it all back, pull the glee right out from beneath them. But she’d wait for now. If her announcement brought such merriment, then she’d not quell the moment. She’d let them think she believed their well wishes.
Stephen rose and bowed before her. Hope stepped back, unaccustomed to the blatant adoration, when the council and her were usually at odds.
“M’laird, I pledge me service to you and MacKerry. Of that have no doubt.”
Aye, she did have doubts, doubly so when Ian mimicked his comrade’s motions and pledge. Liam held himself back; as he was wont to do. He regarded her, coolly, and surprisingly with a twinkle of pride in his rheumy gaze.
Confused, Hope nodded to the men and turned to leave the chamber. She’d never felt comfortable leading from the auspicious chair, no matter if it was her right.
Too many memories of her father swam before her when she was sitting in his chair. Him bouncing her on his knees, her falling asleep as she was tucked in the secure comfort of his lap. He’d brush her hair, tuck it behind her ear while whispering words of encouragement and love. And watching wide-eyed as he donned his warring tartan and held his targe and swung his sword with slow, proud movements. Och, pain of regret pierced her stomach. What she wouldn’t do to have him back. Not only for her, but to lead the clan. A burden she’d survived if only on her promise.
Her pledge to lead the clan.
Remember, lasses. Through Hope, Faith, and Honor, ye can rule.
Devotion to the clan welled within her as she blinked threatening tears away. Marriage would secure her role as laird. A position granted to her and Hope knew not to her husband.
“When’s the happy event?” Duncan broke into her musing.
“Now, Duncan,” she said attempting to soothe away his smirk. “’Tis time. You ken it as plainly as I.”
He leaned forward. His hot breath blew through his fiery whiskers. “All I ken, lass,” he pointed his finger at her, stern and unsettling, “is yer head is turned by a handsome man.”
“Out of my way,” she ordered. “I’ll not discuss this any further.”
He chuckled. “He is a bonny lad, I’ll give him that.”
Hope walked around the man, unwilling to waste the time with his teasing, but grinning at his last statement. He kenned she needed to wed. ’Twas no secret her father wanted all of his lasses wed when they were of age and if
they were to continue to rule. And wanted them to rule together. An impossible feat in her mind and since they all had different interest it may never happen. Regardless, with Faith and Honor so young and truly uninterested, the responsibility rested solely on her shoulders. In the future, they’d each find a way to support the clan and offer their skills.
“Duncan, lad,” she heard Liam call, “come have a wee bit o’ celebration with us.”
His grunted reply was lost on Hope as she continued down the torch-lit corridor.
She needed to confer with MacKerry and make sure he understood what was expected of him. The way she ruled with her mother by her side had staved off attacks and kept their clan safe and prosperous. She needed MacKerry to understand her position and to be on board.
Aidan paced his cage. His breath ripped from his body. He grabbed at the impenetrable iron bars, loathing the prison. When would they come for him? He’d agreed to the marriage nearly a day past. Yet, at each passing moment regret invaded his mind.
How could he marry her? The Laird of Clan MacAlister, the enemy he’d vowed to replace. Resting his head on the cool iron, Aidan thought about his plan. After the visit he’d received from the man, there were things he’d never considered. He must devise a way to gain his birthright without marrying Laird MacAlister or bringing her harm. Physical harm at least. He doubted she could be hurt in the emotional sense. Her hard gaze and rigid commands did not win empathy from him. Truly, what kind of woman wore a tartan and led a clan?
He tipped his head and he watched as a mouse scurried across the damp mud flooring. With the tip of his foot, Aidan pushed the bowl of porridge, now congealed, through the space in the bars.
Eagerly, the mouse sped to the bowl and began devouring the crude breakfast.
“Hungry are you?” The rodent stilled, its beady eyes reflected whatever daylight seeped into the dungeon. Disregarding Aidan, the animal resumed its feast.
As he inspected the scavenger, realization struck him.
If Laird MacAlister ever found out his secret, she would surely view him in the same manner: a scavenger.
With all that Clan MacKerry had, he was often looked upon with disdain. Being brought in as they were, not everyone welcomed him as a MacKerry. Distrust of his father and mother never relented and was cast upon him as well.
The mouse stopped eating and began to wet its paws and pat its face.
No one had recognized him at Wild Thistle, and mayhap they never would. He was just a wee lad when they were banished. Yet, Aidan feared he’d made a deal with the devil, not only with Hope, but the blasted man who’d visited him. Marriage, he thought with a heavy sigh, how he cursed the union.
It had brought his father his doom and in effect, both he and Aidan had lost everything. He’d just have to make sure this marriage didn’t do the same. No longer the fool, Aidan had learned from his da’s mistakes. Trust would not be brought to the union. No romantic entanglements or promises, just a contract.
He owed one man and that was his da. For his memory and Aidan’s pride, Clan MacAlister would be ruled by him. As it was decreed before shame drove them from the protective palisade of Wild Thistle Keep when he was a lad.
The dungeon had lost its chill, allowing only a murky darkness to remain. Aidan paced, kicked at the mud floor, and swore vengeance. Even amongst the MacKerry’s he’d never experienced the total humiliation of imprisonment.
Where the devil was Laird MacAlister? Did she plan to keep him caged until the nuptials?
He itched his filthy skin. What he wouldn’t give for a swim or even a bucket of water to clean the hair matted to the back of his neck.
The more Aidan walked the breadth of the cell, the more his blood boiled.
The insult of his neglect only made him want to throttle Laird MacAlister and the bloody council. The neglect added insult to injury. She demanded him to marriage, only to not partake in traditional marriage rituals, and she left him in this filthy cage to rot.
He shook the bars again. They rattled. He crouched down on his haunches and looked at the hinge of the door. ’Twas in wretched shape. With a tight grip, he held the door, lifted, and grinned.
Just as he was about to lift the door from the weak hinges, a light flickered in the distance.
Could it be Laird MacAlister ready to set him free?
The glow moved with trepidation. Stopping, then progressed again.
As the bearer came forward, Aidan chuckled. ’Twas a lass, curious, by the looks of her. She gazed shyly at him. Then tapped her chin and strode forward. Her attempt at bravery was only offset by the tremor of her lips.
“You’re to marry the MacAlister?” she accused as her gaze traveled from his head to his toes. “A bit dirty for my taste.”
Aidan grinned at her honesty. She looked older as she neared, mayhap ten and five, her eyes squinted in inspection. Dark hair haloed her and sparkled as torchlight reflected off the curly strands. She’d be a beauty, he thought as he took in her high cheekbones and dainty nose.
“Nothing a dousing in the stream won’t fix.”
She held the torch out toward him and traveled it down the length of his body.
Brazen chit. Smiling, he asked, “Do I meet with your inspection?”
She gasped. Even in the darkness he could see her skin pink.
“I’m Lady Honor MacAlister.”
Aidan tipped his fingers from his brow in salute. “Aidan MacKerry.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How auld are you?”
He cocked a brow and smirked. “A wee bit older than your sister.”
“But she’s so auld.”
Aidan laughed. It felt good despite his surroundings. “How did you get past the guard?”
She shrugged. “They’re in the yard watching the sparring. ’Tis all they talk about.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste.
“Aye, men like their weapons.”
“Aye,” she said with a heavy sigh. “And then I am stuck mending their injuries. I’ve stitched each of them at least once.”
Ah, a healer. A grand position for any woman.
“Listen, lass,” he said. She came forward, curiosity obviously nudging away her fear. “Where is the laird?”
Lady Honor tipped her head toward the stairs. “In the yard with the men.”
He could free himself or the lass could set him free. ‘Twould be easier to explain to Laird MacAlister if her own sister took pity on him. “Would you mind handing me the keys?”
She glanced at the nail which pierced the stone wall. A ring of keys hung a few feet away.
She shook her head, eyes brightened at the very prospect of freeing him. “Nay, my sister would tan my hide.”
Her voice played uncertain to his ears and he knew if he gently pushed the issue, she’d relent.
Aidan tried again. “I’m to marry Laird MacAlister. Surely, you can let me out so I can see her?” He’d purposely softened his brogue, acted like a concerned parent with a conciliatory tone. “Or kick the keys to me. I’ll let myself out.”
The young woman tipped her head to the left, thoughtful and serious. “You are to marry my sister.” Her brows beetled. “Why didn’t she let you out?”
“I believe she is waiting to meet with the council.”
Her gaze flitted to the keys once again and she sighed. “Now she’ll be in a wretched mood. They are forever trying to tell her what to do.”
He chuckled. He’d no doubt on that matter. “But as her betrothed, I am able to move about the keep. And mayhap in the eve you can see to my wounds.”
Lady Honor gripped her chest as her eyes widened. “You’re wounded? Why didn’t they tell me?”
Och, he hated lying to the lass. “I’m a prisoner.”
She scoffed. “Still, you’re a man in
need. Where do you hurt?”
There were many places, none too severe, but he had her attention and sympathy. “’Tis some cuts on my back.”
Concern filled her eyes as she took a step forward. Several seconds of silence filled the dungeon. “If I put the keys right here,” she began as she tapped her foot on the dirt floor, “then you’d be picking them up and let yourself out?”
“Aye, lass.” He couldn’t help but smile at her seriousness. “’Tis a sound plan.”
She beamed under his praise and turned to leave.
She came back. The keys’ clinking echoed off the stone walls in rhythm to her gait and as the light of the torch in her tight grasp bobbled. Stepping back, Lady Honor MacAlister placed the torch in a sconce on the stone walls.
“Come to me after you see Hope so I can see to your wounds.” With a wink and a flutter of her hand in goodbye, she was gone.
He smiled as the echoes of her footsteps sounded through the dungeon.
Aidan pushed his gillie-covered foot through the space of the bars. The keys slid easily through the space and he bent to grasp freedom. Relieved of the confines of the barren cell, he quickly left the cell. ’Twas too easy, to be sure. Would guards be waiting for him as he left the dungeon?
Aidan stayed close to the walls, slowly pacing himself in order to view the area without being detected by a guard.
Time to find Laird MacAlister. ’Twas time to show her, show them all, he wasn’t one to be ordered around.
At the top of the stairs, he paused, inhaled fresh air, and waited. Surely there was a guard milling about? It mattered not. He was going to marry the laird and, unbeknownst to the clan, he was going to be the laird.
