“But Lachlan could have something in the future?”
He rested his hands on her shoulder and bent down so they were eye level. “Rowen, if you do something foolish, then it affects the whole clan. We will be at war. Can you live with it?”
She shook her head, hoping it dried her pooling tears. “I will do as I must.”
* * * *
Rowen stretched her back to ease the stiffness. The stool wasn’t very comfortable. Being taller than most women, Rowen had to bend over the kitchen worktable. She picked up a turnip and started digging out the inside pulp.
“How many lanterns do you wish to make?” she asked Ailsa.
“As many as I can. I want the hall to be filled with them for Samhain. Duncan enjoys them so.”
Connor sat beside his mother. His tongue peeked out the side of his mouth. He focused every thought on carving the scariest neep he could. His little fingers gripped the knife as he cut into the turnip. His dark eyes shined brightly with excitement. He paused to take in his work and smiled before carving some more. She would have children one day, but they wouldn’t be Lachlan’s.
As if she had fairy magic, Lachlan appeared. Connor twisted to look at him.
“I have a come for a treat.” Lachlan wrapped Cook in his arms. Mistress Garvie laughed. Lachlan planted a loud kiss on her cheek.
“I ha’e nothing fae ye.” She playfully slapped his arm.
Lachlan nuzzled her neck.
“Och, ye the devil. Verra weel, I ha’e something fae ye.”
Lachlan released her and followed behind her. She stopped at the table where the apple sweets were. She gave one to Lachlan. He took it and snatched another one. He dodged the flap of her kitchen linen before it struck his arm.
“Lachlan. Lachlan.” Connor jumped to his feet and dragged Lachlan to the table. “Look what I’ve done.” He picked up a turnip and made a roar as he showed Lachlan.
“If I wasn’t a brave solider I would be scared but the ladies shall be running away from that one.”
Lachlan peeked at Rowen. The man smoldered. She couldn’t stop herself. She grinned at him. He returned it. She had made a promise to Caelen to stay away. She would break it.
She rose from her seat. Ailsa pretended not to notice even lowered her head more when Lachlan followed.
In the hallway just outside the kitchen, she halted. Lachlan appeared. Her breath caught in her chest. She put her hands behind her and leaned against the wall to stop herself from wrapping her arms around him and kissing him.
“Meet me tonight.”
One corner of his mouth lifted before his lips spread into a bright grin. “I shall.” His heated gaze dropped to her lips. He didn’t touch her. Yet, she felt the brush of his lips across her own. Her lips tingled. He stepped back and hurried away.
She let out a drawn-out exhale to cool off the heat radiating from her. It helped very little. She still shook. She ran her hand over her hair to smooth it down. She strolled back in to the kitchens on shaky legs. She swore every eye landed on her. She peeked about. None paid her any mind, caught up in the preparations for the meal and for Samhain. Tonight was when summer ended and winter began. Herds were gathered. The animals that could not survive the harsh winter were slaughtered. Tonight would be a feast as the line that protected the living from the dead dissolved and the spirits could return. The men would be masked to make mischief and do pranks.
The rowans were placed over the door to keep them from entering the home. Men were out building the bonfire so the clan could light their hearth fires from it for the new year.
Rowen hated this night. This was the first year she had spent away from her home. Most MacLeans did not flee from her. Nevertheless, there were a few. Some who taunted her or chanted to protect themselves. She had seen enough amulets and charms to keep every spirit away from Scotland and England, probably Wales as well.
She settled back on her stool.
Ailsa cocked her brow. Her jeweled green eyes were large in her face. Her lips pursed. “Be careful, Rowen.”
“Why does she have to be careful, ma?” Connor asked.
“Because we don’t want her to be hurt.” She brushed back his thick, black hair, and then planted a kiss on his forehead.
“Aye. The knives are sharp, but I’m heir to Laird MacLean, so I know how to handle them. That’s what da said.”
“I promise not to get hurt.”
“A grand promise,” Ailsa said. “Can you promise not to hurt another?”
Rowen rolled the turnip between her palms. She couldn’t break another promise so she stayed silent.
“Ma, I can do a trick.” He balanced his play sword on his small, plump palm. It teetered then smacked Connor on the head. Both she and Ailsa drew in a shocked breath. Connor was wide-eyed then his face crumpled. His face reddened as he rubbed the heel of his palm against his forehead.
He sucked his teeth. “I did it before. Don’t tell da, I want to show him.”
“Very well.” She brushed his black hair from his face and kissed his head. He rolled his eyes. “Let’s get you a treat.”
She spent most of the morn with Ailsa. She had not seen Eacharn since they broke their fast. She made her way out of the castle to where the Murray men had setup their tents. Their gruff voices and raunchy jokes reached her ears. They must have spotted her because an embarrassed quiet fell over them.
“Good day, men. Do any know where I can find Eacharn?”
She noticed two men backing up and the uneasy glances shared between a few. They answered her with a shake of her head. She thanked them and headed toward the clachan.
A group of masked boys came running down the tract. She ducked into the copse of trees. When the lads passed in cheers and roars, she caught Eacharn’s terse voice.
She took no pains in being quiet, stomping through the decaying leaves and undergrowth. She almost called out to her betrothed when she heard the steely voices. She halted.
Behind Eacharn, the sea stretched out behind him and the isle’s mountains zigzagged across the sky.
“How do you think the clan will react to Rowen?”
Eacharn turned to his man. “Bran, they will treat her with respect and give her the due as my wife and future lairdess.”
“She is a banshee. People will think she brings death. Your father was a fool arranging this marriage.”
“I must marry. She is a MacKenzie and the ties between our clans will strength the Murrays. It is better for us. And if we don’t treat her as a bringer of death people will follow our lead.”
“I do not like her and her behavior. She is disrespecting you. I am not the only one who has noticed the glances between her and the bastard.”
He peered across to where Lachlan stood with MacLean. He felt an affinity with Lachlan. Both loved someone they couldn’t claim. He understood the pain of not being able to give all to one person, to hide the depths of the feelings and deny it to others and yourself. “Then you must stop them.”
“Why? When I agree.”
Eacharn faced him. His face was red like a ripe berry. “Do not act like a little boy. I am doing my duty, as is Rowen. You must do the same.”
“My only duty is to you. I have vowed to protect you and I am doing so now.”
Eacharn turned his face, away from the thick emotion in Bran’s voice. “Then do as you say. I cannot have you fighting with my wife. Do not betray me this way. I need you more than ever.”
“She will betray you.”
“You should understand. She loves him and he her. Both are honorable people and will do their duty. She may have this time with him so she can let go and he will let her. She will be faithful. I don’t wish for a melancholy wife.”
“She is wrong for the clan and wrong for you.”
“You will think any woman is wrong for me.”
“You are too good for any woman.”
“But I must have one and beget children. Our children will be strong and feared.”
<
br /> “First, you must do the begetting.” Bran stormed away, heading away from Eacharn and her.
Eacharn dug the tip of his boot into the dirt.
Rowen hurried away. She turned toward the castle, and then changed her mind. She was heading to the clachan when Eacharn appeared. She looked over her shoulder.
“Rowen,” he called out.
She spoke his name. Her voice sounded breathy to her, but he seemed not to have noticed.
“Having a good day?”
“Not as I wish.”
His thick, black brows pinched, making the skin around his eyes whiten. “Why?”
“I would rather be home.”
He grabbed her by both arms. “What has happened?” Redness swelled in his face but the firm, concern in his eyes eased her inner strain.
“Nothing. Just foolishness. I ought to be accustomed to it.”
“Rowen.”
She couldn’t tell him that she had come searching for him. “I’m uneasy about tonight.”
“Then I shall be with you. None would dare mistreat you with me at your side. Do not let it hurt you. You know Highlanders. Superstitious lot, but I am sorry. I will not allow that once we are home.”
She gave a watery smile. “Will you stand before the clan demanding they stop believing in such things? Because that shall not work. Highlanders are a stubborn lot.”
“Maybe not that, but together we shall show how grand you are.”
“You are a kind man. But”—her nose crinkled—“I don’t think that shall work.”
“It will. Trust me.”
That was the first step and when she nodded, he exhaled. She laid her hand on his forearm. That was the first time she touched him. That was a fine beginning and solid foundation to build their life on.
“Will you tell me more about life on Murray lands?”
“I swear ’tis the most beautiful place on earth. There is music in the air from birdsong as they feast on the plants that dot the ground. Animals weave their way through the valley and glen and drink from the river gorges. Pine and broadleaf woodland cover a great deal of land and the earth is rich with the scent of moss and ferns. In the heart are orchards and more forest. Then there is the shore. As if reaching through time and reminds us of our past is the ruins of a fortress. When you turn your eye outward to the sea, you can see dolphins and whales. Seals call out and blend with the cries of the seabirds nesting on the cliffs.”
“That sounds beautiful.”
“’Tis. I cannot wait to show you every spec of land. Together we shall travel to meet the clan, at least those who cannot come to us. I shall show you all the beauty made more striking by your presence.”
By the time night fell, she had gotten into the spirit of the holiday. Snatches of Eacharn’s conversation popped into her mind, but she pushed them aside. She gathered before the hearth with another group of women. The chatter echoed off the hall’s beams. The peat smoke added to the haunting atmosphere, as if a ghost would appear from its mist.
“Does everyone have their nuts?” The women nodded with excitement at Ailsa’s question. Rowen opened her hand to the two nuts nestled in her palm. One nut represented her and the other should have been Eacharn, but in her heart, this nut belonged to Lachlan. Usually, she was the first one to throw the nuts into the fire, hoping to learn the future of her marriage. This night she’d rather know nothing.
One by one, the women threw their nuts in the fire, watching if they burned alone, together or leapt away from each. If the nuts burned together, then the lass would be with the man she desired, and if burned apart from each other, then it was not to be. When a woman clapped her hands together with glee, Rowen felt the sting of jealously. And when one grunted with sadness, Rowen wanted to weep, feeling a kinship with them.
“Rowen, only you remain,” Ailsa said.
Rowen went to the fire. The fire’s heat licked at her skin. The smell of burning dirt swirled around her and blended with the fragrant nut scent. She squeezed the nuts, and asked. She tossed them in to the flames. She stood there. Smoke burned her eyes. She stayed, staring into the fire. The two nuts burned together, and then leapt apart. That was the future between her and Lachlan.
“Look, they came back together,” Ailsa said.
Rowen controlled herself before she betrayed her emotions. That didn’t stop her heart speeding up and skipping. She clapped her hands together. She lied to herself, swearing that the nuts had shown her her future. She knew the truth. Were they to be together in the future? Nay.
“That is a very nice omen for you and Eacharn.” Ailsa patted her arm. “I have the sack.” She shook it. “Let’s see how many children we shall have. I’ve been told seven. I hope it is wrong. Rowen.” She held it out to her.
Rowen dipped her hand inside and pulled out a straw. She counted the grains. “Five. I have seen Brenna’s feet. This one must be wrong.” She flicked it about, trying to get rid of the stubbornly clinging grains.
“Don’t fret, Rowen. After the first two, it’s easier.”
“Then, Ailsa, you may have my children after you have four more.”
“I couldn’t deny you the joy of carrying your child and feeling him under your heartbeat.”
“That does sound lovely.” Rowen rested her hand over her middle, wondering at the feel. “But five?”
Ailsa threw up her hands. “Better than seven.”
“Och, my ma had thirteen,” One of the kitchen maids said. “I think she should have stopped at nine because the rest of them are horrible.”
Another maid added, “My ma had ten, but only four live still.”
The women crossed themselves while Ailsa and Rowen stared at one another.
“Who is next?” Ailsa held out the sack. “Moira.” She held out the sack to her sister-in-law. Moira had been in love with Duncan’s brother, Hector, since childhood. Hector hadn’t thought himself the man for her since he had physical ailments. But they had since married and had a son and she was swelling with her second.
“Och, I think I have enough.”
“Nonsense,” Ailsa said.
Moira stuck her hand in the sack and pulled out a stalk. “Four. I’m halfway there.”
Rowen flicked the stalk against her finger. “Do you wish to exchange?”
* * * *
The castle gates were closed. Night had fallen on MacLean Castle and sent the living to their beds and left the dead to walk this night. Lachlan made his way inside the great hall. Remnants of the Samhain feast littered the table. The cat darted away as Lachlan peeked inside a flagon. Empty. Ailsa must have sent the servants to bed. Lachlan lingered in the darkness.
He should seek his bed. Instead, he hurried to the top floor and the small chamber he knew Rowen occupied. He moved on instinct and need. He opened the door and shut it without a sound. Walking heel to toe, he crossed to the bed. The fire’s flames cast a dying shaft of wavering amber light across the floor. The night air shook the shutters and the bedcurtains. He curled his hands around the bedcurtains and pushed them open.
Rowen was curled up beneath the linens and a deerskin. Her hands were tucked under her cheek. He had vowed years ago never to soil her with his touch. He hadn’t broken it. Not that Lachlan left the chamber. He did not want to be alone and the only time he wasn’t was when he was with her.
Rowen popped her eyes open. She sat up. “Lachlan.”
His words caught in his throat. He spun away. Her bare feet pad across the wooden floor. She laid her hand on his shoulder. A gentle touch he could have rolled off. Yet, he remained fixed in place.
He raised his gaze heavenward—in prayer or forgiveness? He spun around. She was so near…near enough to take her in his arms. That was what he did. He picked her up and pinned her against the wall. He covered her mouth with his own. It was not a chaste or teasing kiss. It was an open-mouthed one, ravishing and claiming her as his own. From pelvis to chest, not even the thin linen of her old leine was a barrier. That sliver o
f fabric was the only thing that kept a small speck of his control.
He snaked his tongue around hers, and then flicked the tip. Tonight, he had to have her to toss her on the bed and love her. That meant breaking a promise. He groaned as he broke it off.
On a ragged breath, he said, “Order me to leave.” He rested his cheek against hers. His stubble scratched her smooth skin. Her ragged exhales filled his ears. His hands roved her. He gripped her leine. The rip of linen rent the air.
“Not tonight.” She cupped his cheeks in her hands. Their lips slammed against each other. Lachlan slowed down the caress before their desire burned them up. This night he would love her, worship her. He had never loved a woman before. With Rowen, everything, even he, was different.
He needed to look at her. Her eyes were hooded and glazed. Her flushed lips were swollen and wet from his kisses. She looked like a woman thoroughly kissed. She required one more thing to have his touch brand her—to have his scent deep in her skin—to have her heady from his lovemaking.
He placed a kiss on her neck. Her pulse jumped and beat a wild tattoo against his lips. He nipped the skin. She let out a mixture of a hiss and groan. The sensual sound rustled through his hair and shot through him. She angled her neck and held onto his shoulders. Through the wool and linen, he felt her trembling.
“I will not let you go,” he whispered. His breath was hot against her skin. He trailed a path of open kisses down her chest. He savored her salty flesh. He caught her nipple in his mouth. He suckled. The weave of the linen scraped against her soft flesh.
“Lachlan,” she stammered. She arched her back, drawing her sweet apex deeper into his hot mouth. She clutched handfuls of his hair, not letting him go.
“There is more…so much more.”
Her bottom lip trembled. “I may melt before then.”
“I won’t let you.” He hooked his finger on the ties at her neckline and drew down the last obstacle. He kicked it aside. The dying light danced about her diaphanous flesh. Lachlan sprawled his hand on her stomach. His fingertips brushed the tender flesh under her breast.
Highland Scandal Page 5
