by Madelyn Hill
Aidan would have to make sure he did not get burned as he claimed his birthright. With her fire, she’d fight, of that he was sure. Yet, in the end, he’d succeed.
He’d be Laird MacKerry of Wild Thistle Keep or die trying.
Chapter 8
Hope dressed for the evening as one would dress for a trip to the dungeon. Loathing and she admitted, fearing every moment of it. Pain pounded her head just as it throbbed in her shoulder. The search for Faith had drained her energy and she was in no mood to face the clan.
The lass had been a fool to venture out alone, especially since she’d kenned about the rumblings of unhappy clans. Clans who’d attacked her family before. Clans who caused the fighting which lead to their father’s death.
One would think she’d be be use to her sister’s wanderings. Faith was bent on hunting. Feeding the clan, she’d called it. And while Hope kenned her sister had amazing prowess with a bow, she kenned ’twasn’t safe for such a lovely lass to venture about the forest alone.
Hope set a cool cloth on her shoulder. ’Twas too much to worry about with the clan, her injury and the upcoming marriage to MacKerry.
Tonight the formal announcement of her impending marriage would be announced. Not that the gossip hadn’t already meandered its way through the keep. She’d received congratulations made out of kindness and loyalty. Heard the planning of the event and even witnessed a few men betting on whether it would take place or not. In her heart, Hope didn’t feel blessed, especially when MacKerry kissed her. Her betraying heart went against her better judgment, allowed her mind to go senseless. Just thinking about the embrace sent a rush of heat through her body and confused her even more when she thought of the years she attempted to distance herself from any romantic entanglements.
She’d been too busy running the clan. Her mother had warned her to slow down, relinquish some of the control to the council, but Hope had always thought them responsible for her father’s death. They had fought side by side and failed to protect her father and her laird, and she’d rather die a slow death then reward the men who’d failed to protect their laird.
’Twasn’t as if she never wanted to wed. She’d witnessed great love between her mother and father. She kenned the possibility of a fine marriage and sharing that special love with bairns. But most of the lads in the clan were foolish and didn’t understand the amount of dedication it took to lead a clan. She frowned as she thought a moment. None had actually approached her in a romantic manner.
And now one, heated kiss had foiled her ideas of romance and even prompted her desire to . . . to partake in the ritual again.
Never one to be winsome, Hope brushed away the desire to be held by MacKerry’s strong arms. The ever-present need to do her duty prompted her actions and Hope knew she’d do what was best for the clan.
At this moment, the best was marrying MacKerry. She swiped her hair from her brow. The future was uncertain, to be sure, and how they were supposed to sleep in the same chamber and lead the same men was beyond her.
As she ran her hand over the dark blue wool of her gown, Hope frowned at her impression in the looking glass. She shifted and pulled at the bodice. After a longing glanced at her tartan folded at the foot of her bed, she signed, resigned to wear the gown. By right, she should be joyful, but her eyes were dull and she couldn’t muster a grin for all of the cream tarts Nora could bake.
“Mother,” she prayed, “what should I do?”
A slight whisper tickled her ear and she knew her mother had heard her plea, yet no answer came forth. An ache so deep slammed into her body. Dear God, she missed her mother keenly, it was as if a part of her was missing.
And now, in the midst of her grief, Aidan MacKerry was befuddling her mind. By Saint Margaret Mary, why didn’t she have the strength to resist the man?
Hope inhaled and left the chamber, ready to face her people, certainly not ready to face her future husband.
“M’laird, can I be troubling ye for a wee bit?”
Hope turned toward Stephen. “Aye, is there trouble?”
He pulled at his shaggy, graying beard. “Nay, lass, laird. Just a word with ye.”
She followed him to an alcove and sat on one of the two chairs. “On with it, Stephen. I’ve news to tell.”
He nodded his head and grinned. “That ye do. And we’ll all be pleased for ye.”
Suspect of his intentions, Hope leaned back and waited for him to reveal his hand. The man had something on his mind and she’d be damned if she were to beg for him to speak.
“There’s something the council would like ye to do.”
Her stomach roiled and Hope nearly left the man standing in the hall alone. What more could they possibly want from her? “Aye?” she questioned as a trickle of perspiration ran down her back.
Stephen steepled his fingers and watched her intently. He sighed. “Ye must have the wedding soon. ’Tis rumblings of trouble, ye ken. We need a man leading us.”
She crossed her arms before her chest. “A man, you say?” Rage ripped through her as she stood. “Have I not served the clan well?”
The man tipped his head. “’Tis true, lass. Ye’ve led us well, but yer mother is no longer here.”
“When have we not been able to protect ourselves?” Hope shifted closer to him. Did he think she was not painfully aware of her mother’s absence? “I will still lead, man. Even when I wed, I will lead. Aidan MacKerry will not be laird, you ken the traditions just as I do.”
He held up his hands. “Clan Mungo has kept in the shadows for too long. We ken they’ve a plan to come to Wild Thistle.”
She rose and paced before the auld man. With hands fisted on her waist, the quick wrenching pain in her shoulder nearly had her back down. Instead, she glared at him with the pent-up animosity that had been simmering for too long. She kenned what the man said was true. “How do you ken if I haven’t shared the information with the council.”
He shrugged his stooped shoulders and remained silent.
She tapped an impatient foot. “Tell me, Stephen. Tell me now, or you’ll not ken what hit you.” Hope did not know how much more she could take. After all of the years she had done her duty, put the clan before her own needs, and he dared to try and keep information from her.
He tossed up his hands and gruffly said, “Do ye think we’ve no spies?”
By Saint Thomas, of course she knew of the clan’s resources, but they reported to her, not the council. To her, the laird. And report to her they had. “Schedule a meeting for the morn.” She turned quickly and left the alcove. The main purpose of her hasty retreat was to cut the conversation when she was in charge. Blast the council and their archaic notion that a lass couldn’t rule without their interference.
“Make certain ye tell MacKerry of the meeting,” the auld man called after her, his voice haunting her like a ghost as it echoed through the passageway.
Hope scoffed, but knew she’d tell MacKerry, regardless.
Yet, the conversation festered in her mind and told her a fight was yet to come. And the confrontation would be more than anyone bargained for.
After checking over her appearance, she headed to the main hall as a heavy weariness cloaked her. Confidence was needed in order to convince the clan her marriage to MacKerry was wanted, not necessary. “Och, what am I to do?” she asked her mother once again. Hope knew an answer wasn’t forthcoming, but it eased some of the tension riddling her neck to ask as she pushed closer to the hall.
As she entered, all eyes watched her. Clan members smiled and tipped their heads toward her. A few laughed and danced a merry jig as she passed. She forced a smile as she neared the head table. The dais was occupied by her sisters, a few council members, and MacKerry himself.
Och, he looked perfect sitting at the dais, his chair next to hers. There was a
commanding presence about the man—confident and a leader of men. She’d heard of the sparring with Duncan and how the men settled their differences over a dram. ’Twas important the others trusted him, felt as if he was one of their own. He grinned at her and his broad smile nearly buckled her knees.
She stopped for a second, then squared her shoulders. Pull yourself together, he’s just a man. Hope strode forward and sat in the chair designated for the laird. Would MacKerry demand the seat after they wed? she fleetingly wondered. The idea vexed her. Ignoring him, she accepted a tankard and took a healthy sip.
“Lads and lasses, ’tis grand news afoot.” Liam lifted his drink and nodded toward Hope and MacKerry. “A wedding to be sure. A marriage between our lovely laird and Aidan MacKerry.”
Hope stood and nodded as dread settled in the pit of her stomach. “Aye, ’tis the truth of it. MacKerry and I are to be wed.” To his credit, MacKerry rose and grasped her hand.
The show of affection incited the clan and they stood and applauded.
“God bless ye, m’laird.”
“To m’laird and MacKerry!”
More cheers and well wishes were called out. She smiled, truly loving her clan and their support of her and the marriage. ‘Twould be worth it, marrying MacKerry, following her father’s decree and ensuring the safety of her clan.
She glanced at MacKerry and blinked. Such pride filled his features, making his gray eyes dazzling in the candlelight. He met her gaze and grinned. Damn if those dimples didn’t pierce his cheeks and make him look as if he were a young lad and not the impressive warrior he was.
There was something in those gray eyes of his. Something more than pride. As she watched him, his eyes darkened and his mouth quirked.
Her skin flushed and she looked out to the clan, to those she loved.
MacKerry pulled her closer.
Dear God, he wouldn’t.
Aidan took the sign of acceptance and decided to further cement the proposed bond between him and Hope. She’d been watching him with those bewitching eyes of hers. She grinned at him as the clan continued to shout their approval of the upcoming nuptials and he pulled her close.
He kissed her cheek and quickly inhaled the warm, womanly scent of her, knowing full well she’d not dare slap him in front of those she wished to fool. Her skin heated as her nails dug into his palm.
Fire.
Aye, she was a fiery lass.
When she’d graced the clan with her presence, Aidan nearly succumbed to her beauty and moved to embrace her as if he had no control over his body. He ignored the twist of his stomach, how she had slowly crept beneath his skin and was easing into his thoughts. And not just thoughts about her beauty and her lush curves, but of her intellect and how the clan seemingly adored her, revered her. Brushing aside the romantic leanings he refocused on the illusion of an engagement, on how he’d become laird for the sake of his family, especially his father. Bollocks, ’twas as if he were asking his mind to turn off, ignore how his cods tightened at the mere thought of the strong woman he was to wed. She was loyal and brave, traits he admired, but she was also laird, a legacy which should have been his.
“When will ye wed, Laird MacAlister?”
“When can we expect a bairn, m’laird?”
High color made its way over her cheeks. Och, ’twas fetching.
“Now, now. We’ve just made the announcement. We’ve a bit of planning to do,” her voice rang confident through the main hall.
Of course the lot before them couldn’t feel the tremor of her hand or see the slight clenching of her jaw. But he did and it was reassuring to see the Laird of Wild Thistle Keep was human. ‘Twould be hard to keep on course when each time Aidan saw her, heard her speak, his admiration grew.
Aidan bade his intended and the clan to sit. He raised a tankard of ale and said, “To Laird MacAlister, my wife-to-be.”
The hall erupted once again with rousing cheers. He sensed a nervous energy from the people, as they chatted and clapped. Many smiled at them and yelled good wishes. The laird ensured the people were well fed with freshly caught salmon and venison. Ale flowed freely and was drunk with enthusiasm, for the unexpected marriage.
“I’m still laird,” she said beneath her breath. “I’ll be making the speeches and decisions.”
Aidan shrugged. Did this woman actually think she’d be the only one making the decisions? Aidan wasn’t going to allow her to control his birthright or him as a man.
Despite what he wanted to think and feel, he’d nearly recanted his claim when Hope had entered the main hall, dressed in a gown, not a tartan. Lovely in a blue gown which hugged her generous curves and pushed up her plump breasts, the baser male in him growled with lusty urges. Aidan banked the desire she wrought in him with iron will.
“The wedding will be in a fortnight,” Liam yelled over the din with a raspy voice.
That voice.
’Twas the man who’d visited him in the dungeon. The man seemed to think he could control not only Aidan, but Laird MacAlister as well. Should he reveal the threats the man made? Warn Hope of the treachery? Then he remembered Liam’s warning and how not only Hope would be killed, but Aidan himself.
“Liam.”
The older man looked at Hope with a cocked brow filled with challenge. “Is that a problem, laird?” His tone played innocent, but full of intent as well.
Laughter rippled through the hall as many assumed Liam was jesting.
A false smile tugged at her mouth as she shook her head. Aidan fleetingly wondered if he should interfere, but thought better of it. It may serve him better to step back and make his own plans whilst the clan prepared for the wedding. Not to mention he’d his own issues with Liam. He’d be certain to make sure the man understood he’d be making his own decisions in regards to Hope, their marriage and the lairdship.
Music filtered through the hall as a bagpipe began to skirl the tune made for dancing the Highland fling. Hope stayed in her seat, her gaze watchful. He wished he kenned what she was thinking.
A tinge of sympathy surprised Aidan. Hadn’t she presented the idea of marriage? Hope knew the consequences and now she was leery, even hostile. And that didn’t suit the fairness and kindness he knew she possessed by watching her interactions with clansmen. The lad who’d tossed a rock came to mine and how her one comment had filled him with pride. ’Twas kindness and love for her people. Mayhap, she kenned something he didn’t. Hadn’t he witnessed Stephen and Hope talking in the corridor?
He glanced at her once again. Candlelight from the sconces behind them flickered around her in a golden halo. Her skin shone brightly. Her profile was lovely with a straight nose, full lips, and lush lashes shadowing her cheek. Och, why did she have to be so lovely? To quell the desire humming through his veins, Aidan swallowed the rest of the ale in a single gulp and moved to leave the main hall. At the entrance, he looked over his shoulder. Liam bent over Hope and spoke into her ear. A look of disdain and worry cast a shadow over her features. He moved to go back to the dais, disliking the anger on Hope’s face and the man putting it there. Liam glanced up and saw him striding forward. Liam sent him a warning glare. With a quick shake of his head, the auld man slowly left Hope’s side.
Satisfied the man would leave her alone, Aidan left the main hall. He slipped out to the bailey. The bright moon filled the area with golden rays and created shadows along the wall. Nary a person was in sight. The clansmen were still celebrating the news of the betrothal with song and dancing. Pacing the bailey, Aidan inhaled the crisp night air and sorted through plaguing thoughts as he reaffirmed his plan. He clenched and unclenched his hands. Why did it seem his plan wasn’t working as it should? Mocking him more likely. What must his father be thinking? Instead of Aidan pushing, nay forcing, his way forward, making the council admit they summoned him, he was caught in th
is plan to marry the laird.
Distance was the key, yet it ’twould be hard to prove his worthiness to his betrothed if he remained aloof and they constantly butt heads. He had to make her and the clan see he was there to aid Hope with keeping the clan safe and prosperous.
Pride and history pushed him to remain on course and take the lairdship for his own. Proof was needed, even though the council sent for him, they’d yet to meet with him and detail the plan. If he could find them alone, without the watchful eye of Hope and other clan members, he’d question their knowledge of the proof of his claim. With that knowledge, he’d be prepared, to prove the lairdship was to be his.
Guilt, settled in his stomach. Och, he didn’t have time for such an emotion. He’d promised his father and with that promise, he’s right their family history. If only Hope wasn’t the one who stood in his way. If a man led the clan, he’d summon the support of the council and challenge the man. Once he won, the lairdship would be his. But with Hope as laird, it proved a difficult path to usurp her and take what was his. If only she wasn’t so braw. More than lovely, but with an underlying strength many women didn’t possess. He thought of his own mother, och, she’d torn their father apart with her betrayals, that much he knew. ’Twas as if she shattered his heart and it never mended and his trust of women, any woman, was gone. Aidan often worried his opinion of women was influenced by his father. Mayhap, he rushed into marrying Anne too soon? Or he was trying too hard to truly become one of the MacKerrys. It was as if he was trying to prove his theory wrong. And he wasn’t the distrusting man his father was.
A scuffling noise near the palisade drew his attention. Aidan slipped into the shadows and eased toward the racket. Gruff voices and the sound of fists connecting with flesh now overrode the merriment and bagpipes easing from the main hall.
