by Fiona Faris
Thoughts of her father turned her gaze to the darkening Cairngorm Mountains. What are they doin’ right about now? Eatin’ supper and plannin’ our next strategic maneuver, most like. Part of her was glad to not be with them and she felt guilty for the disloyal thought. If she was being honest with herself, it felt good to be out from beneath her father’s heavy heel. It didn’t hurt that her new abode was absolutely exquisite. How many times had she sat and stared at the very tower she now gazed from and dreamt of the day she would live there? Malcolm had admitted sitting in the same spot and looking out over the mountains dreaming of being a highland laird. Alana found an odd poetry in their shared dreams, so different and yet the same.
Alana caught her reflection in the window pane and paused in her hair brushing. Father had always said she looked just like her mother. She couldn’t help but wonder what her mother would have thought of the things she was doing. Alana was not devious by nature, but she was loyal to a fault and would have done anything to make her father proud of her. Would my mother have asked me to seduce a man for revenge? She doubted any mother would wish to put her daughter in such a compromising position. The fact that her father had done so without a second thought had hurt her beyond words. Alana knew that he blamed her for her mother’s death and she had been punished for it every day of her life whether by a cruel remark or by the back of his hand.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Setting the brush down, she arose to answer. Malcolm stood before her handsome in a fresh shirt and plaid fastened over his shoulder by a silver broach bearing the Murray crest. “Ye look bonnie, lass,” he praised with a glint of interest in his eyes.
“As do ye,” she replied shyly, the warm feeling in her cheeks telling her that she had blushed in spite of herself. There was something about the man that got under her skin and made it impossible for her to act the way she wished. Her father had made her practice seducing his own men before he had turned her loose on the laird’s son. She had hated every moment of it, but none of them had affected her the way Malcolm did.
“Shall we?” he asked, extending his arm to escort her to the main hall.
As they descended the stairs down into the great room, Alana heard the strains of music floating up from below. The bag pipes wailed a cheery tune while the sounds of feet stomping on the floor and fists pounding on tables kept time. The shouts of men, women, and children could be heard above the din, rivaling anything she had ever heard before. The sound thrilled through her veins, making her feel more alive than she could ever remember. Her father’s men had been fond of bawdy songs of which there were many sung drunkenly and often.
Alana was certain that many of the men in attendance were also worse for the drink, even still, it felt different here. It felt genuinely happy in a way that she had never experienced before. There were no war cries for revenge or cursing of their enemies. There was naught but comradery and the true enjoyment of being together. It was not what she had expected.
Malcolm led Alana to the raised dais at the end of the room where his family sat and pulled out a chair for her to take a seat. “I cannae sit at the high table. I am nae o’ yer family,” she protested.
“Ye are my guest, and as my guest ye sit with me,” he informed her, his eyes telling her to argue was futile.
Deciding that arguing was not in her best interest, Alana quietly sat down. Malcolm took a seat in the chair next to her. The table was laden with platters of venison piled high, bowls of boiled root vegetables, kale greens, roasted game birds, bread, and various other savories. The sight of it made Alana’s mouth water. Malcolm hefted a large portion of venison onto her plate and another onto his. “I shot it myself last eve,” he admitted before sinking his teeth into it.
Alana felt as though she had not eaten for days. She attempted to use as much restraint as decorum dictated, but found it difficult given her ravenous state of hunger. Malcolm must have noticed because he leaned over and spoke with a chuckle. “Ye dinnae have tae hold back, lass. ‘Tis plain for all tae see that ye are hungry. Yer eyes are near fallin’ out of yer head o’er the sight before ye.”
Alana felt her cheeks grow warm once more. At first she thought he might be mocking her, but upon closer inspection she saw genuine concern and caring in his eyes. “I beg yer pardon,” she apologized.
“There is nae need tae apologize, lass. Eat yer fill. Ye will nae go hungry while in my care. I swear it,” he promised. “I ken nae o’ yer past, but rest assured that ye are safe and cared for here among your fellow clansmen. Ye will have a place here as long as ye wish it.”
“But I am a stranger tae ye. How can ye promise such things tae someone ye dinnae ken?” she asked, surprised at the warm reception she had gotten since her arrival.
“Were ye born on Murray lands?” he asked.
“Aye,” she answered truthfully.
“Then ye are nae stranger. Ye are a member o’ this clan and the Erskines and Murrays look out for their own,” he explained.
“How do ye ken ye can trust me?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“Yer eyes do nae speak evil tae me. Do ye plan tae do me harm, lass?” he asked.
“I dinnae,” she lied, attempting not to look away from his face and reveal the untruthful nature of her words. Upon reflection, she supposed it was only a partial lie as it was her father who intended to oust them from their homes at the point of a sword and not her, but her actions would directly lead to Malcolm and his family’s demise and that made her culpable.
“Then I have nothin’ tae be worried about,” Malcolm replied with a smile.
Alana felt her hunger fade as guilt began to tie her stomach into knots. She had not planned on Malcolm and his family being so nice or so trusting. The idea of hurting them was beginning to cause her some moral discomfort. Alana attempted to silently get a grip on her emotions and shake them back into order. Her father would never forgive her if she failed. He had promised to disown her if she did not come through on her part in the entire ordeal. She could not, would not risk his ire now. Not when she was so close to giving him everything he had ever wanted.
Alana caught sight of the blonde-haired man named Finlay staring at her from across the dais. He was sitting next to Mary’s husband, Bruce, who was attempting to carry on a conversation with him to no avail. Finlay stared in stony silence, not averting his eyes even when she met his gaze. She could tell that he did not like or trust her in the slightest. Thus far he had been the only one to show any form of distrust toward her. He is goin’ tae be a problem. I will need tae tell Faither about him in my next message.
“I am suddenly feelin’ verra tired,” she heard Mary announce from beside her husband. “I believe I will retire for the night.
Bruce stood and pulled the chair out for his wife. “I can take ye up.”
“Nae stay and enjoy yerself, husband. The gatherin’ comes but once a year,” Mary replied.
“I can go with her,” Alana offered, standing up. She felt the need to escape Finlay’s suspicious stare.
“There is nae need,” Mary protested.
“I would be glad tae,” Alana argued and came around to offer Mary her arm.
“Well, if ye are sure,” Mary answered smiling.
“Aye,” Alana reassured her.
The pair of them made their way up the stairs toward Mary’s bedchamber. “Were ye able to enjoy yerself?” Alana asked as Mary grimaced in pain holding her lower back.
“Aye, for a time. Ye would think after sleepin’ this afternoon I would nae be tired, but I am… bone tired,” she admitted.
“’Tis hard work birthin’ bairns,” Alana answered.
“Aye, it is at that,” Mary agreed.
Having made it to the top of the stairs, they walked arm in arm down the corridor. Mary groaned in discomfort. “I wanted tae thank ye once more for the clothes. They fit quite well.” Alana attempted to make conversation to distract her from the pain.
“I am glad o�
�� it. Ye look bonnie,” Mary complimented.
“Are ye havin’ birthin’ pains or just discomfort from carryin’ around the wee bairn all day?” Alana inquired as another moan escaped Mary’s lips.
“Forgive me for blattherin’, ‘tis but discomfort. The stairs are gettin’ harder and harder tae climb with each passin’ day,” Mary admitted.
“Blather all ye wish. Ye will nae bother me,” Alana replied. “I just wanted tae make sure I dinnae have tae send for the midwife.”
“Nae yet, but the time will be upon us soon, I fear. Somedays I cannae wait tae have the wee bairn out so I can hold him and kiss him. Other days I ne’er want him tae be born so that I can keep him safe always,” Mary explained.
“Aye, I ken how ye might feel that way. ‘Tis common for maithers from what I have seen,” Alana assured her.
“Have ye e’er been married?” Mary asked as Alana helped her through the door and onto the bed.
“Nae, I ne’er had the desire,” Alana answered.
“Ye dinnae wish tae marry? Do ye plan on becomin’ a nun?” Mary asked, confused at such a notion.
“Nae, I just ne’er gave it much thought, ye ken?” Alana replied.
“Nae, I dinnae ken it. I have wanted tae be married from the moment I was auld enough to ken what marriage was. Watchin’ my Faither and Maither together, I kenned well what true love looked like and I was determined tae have it for myself. When I met Bruce, I kenned without a doubt that he was the one for me,” Mary answered with a dreamy far off look in her eyes as if she were remembering the day they had met. “Did yer parents nae leave ye with a dowry?”
“Nae, they dinnae,” Alana answered, removing Mary’s shoes and swinging her legs up onto the bed.
“Ye poor lass,” Mary commiserated. “Why dinnae I find a suitable lad for ye? Bruce has some verra nice brothers.”
“I thank ye for yer kindness, but I beg ye nae tae go tae such trouble. Ye need yer rest and truly, I am happy unmarried as I am.” Alana urged her to let go of the idea. If Mary really knew the reason she was not married, she would have hated her and thrown her out. Her father had determined that she would not be allowed to marry until they had taken Blair Castle and her worth had increased to draw in a proper suitor to make a substantial political and monetary alliance. To her father, marriage was nothing but a strategic maneuver on the chess board of life.
Pulling the blankets up over Mary’s protruding torso, she bid her goodnight and left the room. Descending the stairs, she made her way back to the great hall to rejoin the festivities. She hoped that Finlay had found something else to occupy himself other than suspiciously watching her. Alana scanned the hall looking for Malcolm. Spotting him, she pushed her way through the crowd to stand at his side. He looked down at her and their eyes locked.
“Is all well?” he asked.
Alana was not sure from the way he was looking at her whether he was inquiring about herself or his sister. She opted to answer the latter. “Mary is safely tucked into bed. All is well,” she reassured him.
“That is good. The bairn weighs heavy upon her and I cannae help but worry as the day draws nigh,” he expressed his concern. Leaning down close to her ear, he inquired, “How fare ye?”
“I am well,” she truthfully answered. Aside from Finlay’s obvious distrust, her father’s exploitation of her person, and a niggling shadow of guilt for her own deceptions, Alana felt better than she had for a long time.
“Would ye care tae dance, lass?” Malcolm extended his hand in invitation.
Alana shyly nodded in affirmation and took his hand. Malcolm led her out upon the dance floor whereby he swept her up into a reel. The trill of the bagpipes and the beat of the drums matched her heartbeat in its intensity as he swung her about the room. She could feel her blood thrumming through her body. Alana laughed in delight as they weaved in and out of the other dancing couples. Malcolm wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her off of her feet twirling her up in the air. The room and its occupants blurred as she spun round and round. When he returned her feet to the floor, she stumbled dizzily, causing him to pull her close to his body.
As the room came back into focus, Alana found herself staring up into Malcolm’s ocean blue eyes. Unable to look away, she felt weightless as if nothing else mattered. In that brief moment, she forgot about her family’s mission for vengeance and her true purpose for being there. All she could think about was the feel of his muscular body against hers and the outline of his lips hovering just above her own. She wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by such a man. His head lowered as if he had read her thoughts. She held her breath and lifted her lips to meet his. Just as they were about to kiss, a loud crashing sound from behind brought Alana fully back to reality. Alana pushed away from him and turned to see what had caused the interruption. She was not sure whether she felt it had been well or ill-timed as mixed emotions tumbled through her mind.
“She’s mine!” roared a large burly clansman as he stood over the prone body of another. Taking in the scene before her and the man’s loud proclamation, it appeared a brawl had broken out between the two clansmen over the attentions of a lass and one of the men had been thrown into the sword rack, sending him and the weapons sprawling. A dark crimson stain blossomed across the shoulder of his white shirt to drip upon the floor. Alana rushed over to tend to the wounded clansman. She ripped his shirt open to inspect the wound. The gash was deep and Alana applied pressure to staunch the flow of blood.
Turning to the nearest group of men, she ordered, “I need hot water, whisky, clean cloths, a needle and thread!”
They just stood and stared at her. “Now,” Malcolm commanded, having come up behind her. As if by magic, the men began to do as she had said.
“I thank ye,” she mumbled. She was angry with herself for falling prey to his charms and grateful that the fight had stopped her from doing anything foolish. She was supposed to seduce him, not the other way around.
“Let’s move him tae a quieter room so that ye may work in peace,” Malcolm suggested. Hefting the man up from where he lay upon the floor, Malcolm assisted him to a nearby empty bedchamber. Alana followed close behind, keeping pressure on the wound to hinder the poor man from bleeding out.
Once they laid the man upon the bed, more men entered the room bringing the ordered supplies. Malcolm cut away the man’s soiled shirt with his knife, then removed the man’s belt and put it between her patient’s teeth. “Bite down on this, Duncan,” he commanded.
Alana cleansed the wound with hot water first, then poured a fairly large amount of whisky into the gash. The man grunted and she heard the sound of creaking leather as he bit down harder on the belt. Her heart went out to him. She knew the whisky burned fiercely. She sat next to him on the bed and carefully stitched it closed, doing her best to cause as little pain as possible. “There now. Ye’ll be good as new in nae time at all.”
Duncan removed the belt from between his teeth. “I thank ye, lass. Ye are a fine healer,” he praised, examining her work.
“Next time how about ye dinnae pick a fight near anythin’ sharp?” she advised.
“Aye, that’d be wise,” he agreed.
“Ye may stay here and rest for the night, Duncan,” Malcolm offered.
“Aye, and sober up,” he admitted sheepishly.
“Aye,” Malcolm replied. “We will leave ye now.”
A shy face peeked around the door frame. “Will he live?” a young feminine voice asked. It was the girl that Duncan had fought with another clansman over.
“Aye, he will live,” Alana answered, smiling at the girl.
“Looks like ye emerged the victor, Duncan,” Malcolm observed.
Duncan grinned. “Had I kenned a wee scratch would have won her heart, I would have done it long ago.”
Malcolm laughed. “I leave ye in capable hands.”
Alana gathered up all of the items she had used to tend Duncan’s wound and exited quietly. Malcolm followed, pla
cing a guiding hand upon her back. Shivers traveled up and down her spine from his mere touch. She scurried ahead to escape her confusion. Her father would be furious were he to know her thoughts and feelings about his enemy’s son. She knew he had spies everywhere that would report back her every move. He would most likely be informed of the near kiss in the hall. She hoped he would assume it was all part of her seduction plan.
Either way I will nae be ‘round tae witness his wrath or pleasure at the news.
When Malcolm caught back up with her, she was still feeling frazzled. She needed to clear her head. “Would ye care tae finish our dance?” he asked.
