by Mary McCall
She assumed her regal posture and glared. “I am a lady. Do you truly accuse me of pummeling Glen and taking his sheep?"
Duncan leaned down nose to nose with her. “Nay, Face-O-Light, I do not accuse you of pummeling Glen. You know of what I speak."
Alera swallowed and clasped her hands tightly together. “I would hear the accusations before I speak."
He leaned a hip against the table, crossed his arms over his chest and kept his intense gaze on her. That had the desired effect. She squirmed. “A woman with more boldness than sense visited The MacTavish during the
afternoon. She had a hawk on her shoulder and a stag at her side."
She snorted and waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Do not be ridiculous. Deer will not walk with people."
He nudged up her chin until she met his gaze. “They will if the woman is Gifted and full of mischief."
Alera gasped and whispered, “Do not speak of my curse, Duncan. If your friend hears and accuses me of witchery, I could not bear the test."
"I'll not accuse you, Lady Ranald,” Brendan said.
She began turning toward Brendan. “Thank you, but I am Damn-it-Alera, not Lady Ran—"
Duncan took hold of Alera's jaw and looked in her eyes. “This woman told The MacTavish that she was Face-O-Light, and she would have the White Faerie King shoot a flaming golden arrow from his silver bow into MacTavish's heart if he ever harmed another Ranald. Then she took Glen's sheep."
Alera jerked her head back and glared. “And why should you blame me? I am English. I know nothing of this bright face of whom you speak."
"It is Face-O-Light, and she spoke Gaelic with an English accent."
She tipped up her stubborn chin. “Welladay, I am surely not the only poor English woman—"
"There was that other thing too, laird,” Geddes interrupted. “The MacTavish said she was the bonniest lass in the hills with blue jewels for eyes, the rosiest lips, and rippling brown hair that shimmered gold and flowed past her hips. ‘Twas adorned with heather."
Alera's hand went up to primp her hair, and a slight smugness crossed her face before she could hide it. “I always wear my hair up or in one fat braid down my back."
"I also know your hair ripples when you take your braid out.” He leaned down and pulled a heather sprig from her hair and held it under her nose.
She looked away and cleared her throat. “I have no horse."
"I did not say she rode.” He favored her with a mocking lift of his brow. “How did you know?"
"Laddie was missing for the better part of the afternoon, laird,” Auggie volunteered. “You know how he has taken to the lass."
Alera glared at Auggie then peeked up at Duncan through her lashes. “Well?"
"Well what?” he asked.
"What are you doing here?” She glowered at him in a poor attempt to turn the situation away from herself. “I did not expect you for three days."
"Kevin is a good warrior,” Duncan replied. “He sent for me as soon as he found Glen."
She scowled at Kevin. “Why did you not tell me?"
Duncan fisted his hands. “Damn it, Alera, where are the sheep?"
"In a safe place,” she snapped.
"They could be attacked by wolves,” Colin warned.
"Nay,” Alera grumbled. “I left them well guarded."
Duncan raised a sardonic brow. “By who—Henry?"
"I took a couple of MacTavish's dogs to watch them and left Henry to help,” Alera admitted.
"Who is Henry?” Colin asked.
"Didn't know the lady had an Englishman with her,” Parlan said.
"We really should kill him,” Leith suggested.
"Aye, that would be best, seeing as he is English,” Colin agreed.
"But he does us a favor by helping the dogs watch Glen's sheep,” Auggie pointed out.
"You did not spank the dogs did you, milady?” Egan asked.
Geddes frowned. “Why would she spank the dogs?"
"We're not exactly certain about that ourselves,” Kevin replied. “She did not explain well."
Alera groaned and leaned her face into her hands, resting her elbows on the table.
"But she was right about that other thing,” Parlan said.
Duncan wiped a hand over his face. He knew he shouldn't, but he was going to ask. “What other thing?"
"She said nobody...” Parlan paused then nodded. “And she meant nobody, because she said it twice and pounded the table. Anyway, nobody comes on our land and pushes us around. Course then she lost me. Wanted to spank dogs."
"Arrugh!” Alera came to her feet, placed her palms flat on the tabletop, and glared at the clansmen. “I did not wish to spank dogs! I was trying to tell you revenge should be swift."
"Well, why did you not just say so?” Parlan asked.
"We already knew that,” Colin said. “'Twas why Kevin sent for the laird."
"Where are the sheep?” Duncan asked in a voice honed by impatience.
"They are at my spot by the brook."
"How did you get the sheep to follow you?” Brendan asked.
Alera raised a haughty brow. “Sheep are not bright. I said ba-a-a-a-a-a and they came with me.” She sat on the chair and clasped her hands in front of her on the table. “I am through answering questions. I would know how you intend to punish me?"
Duncan hooded his eyes. Her knuckles were white from the force of her grip, belying her serene expression. He had to come up with something severe enough so she would learn her lesson. MacTavish could have killed her. “You are confined to the keep."
The color drained from her face. She raised terror-stricken eyes to his and clutched his hand with both of hers. “Please do not confine me, Duncan. I cannot breathe and my heart slams. And I... Please do not do this. Hit me instead, or flog me. If you have not a whip, I will braid one myself. I will even wed you. Just please do not confine me. I beg this of you."
She slid from the chair onto her knees and bowed her head against his waist, her entire body trembling as hot tears scalded his hand. What was wrong with the lass? He had seen Alera afraid when he first found her. But never had he seen her so terrified that she would lose her dignity and grovel. His clansmen were looking at him askance.
Logan, who had remained silent, approached Duncan and spoke low behind him so no one else could hear. “Have you forgotten what confining does to Gifted women, brother?"
Duncan clenched his jaw until the muscle in his cheek flexed. How could he have been such a fool? The spirit of the Gifted went where destiny took them and stayed because fate compelled them. But to confine a Gifted woman could break her spirit, which was meant to be free.
He raised her chin and gazed into her brimming eyes. His chest spasmed to see her so distraught. But he had to punish her. He certainly wasn't about to hit or flog her as she suggested. And damn it all, he couldn't let marriage be a punishment.
"You are not to leave Laidirkin without an escort,” he said curtly.
Relief flooded her eyes, and she kissed his hand. “Thank you,” she whispered, her throaty voice choked as she caressed her wet cheek over the back of his hand.
"Kevin, escort Lady Ranald back to our chamber.” Duncan pulled his hand from her grasp and left the hall, slamming the door behind him.
He headed toward the brook. Damn it all, the lass confided her love for him to Henry and sought vengeance for his clansman. She even referred to Ranald land as our land. What duty could be so binding as to force her to flee? And damn him for causing her such distress.
Footsteps approached from behind. Brendan slapped Duncan's shoulder and walked along beside him. “Duncan, she is bonny enough, I'll grant you. But I give you only another month until you're daft."
Duncan sighed and wiped a hand over his face. “Truthfully, Bren, I'm thinking I already am."
"Why, because you lightened her punishment?"
"Nay. Because I just cancelled it.” He turned a rueful gaze upon his friend.
“She already was not allowed to leave without an escort."
Brendan shrugged. “So you're a man who cannot stand tears."
"Nay. ‘Twas not her tears. ‘Twas her terror at the notion of being confined.” Duncan stopped and faced his life-long friend. They had first met as know-it-all boys at the age of eight when Duncan had gone to train under Brendan's father. After a fight that bloodied both their noses and earned them both a thrashing, they became inseparable. Along with Luthias MacMathan and Michael MacArthur, they had performed the blood ritual making them brothers. Duncan would trust Brendan with his life, and now he would also trust him with Alera's. “She is the Gifted MacKay."
Brendan let out a long whistle. “You're a lucky man."
"Aye. A lucky daft man.” Duncan resumed his walk. “When do you leave for England?"
"Next month. Any longer would only anger King Alexander."
"I hope you'll at least consider this Faith woman. If you don't, Alera may declare a feud on the Sutherlands."
"God save us then. She got sheep from MacTavish and put such fear into him that he gave you that valley to end your feud. Many in my clan are superstitious. They would probably quake, too."
"Aye.” Duncan grinned. “And she did such a thing with a faerie story. I'll have to take the lass in hand, though."
"True,” Brendan agreed. “You cannot have her going about ending feuds. ‘Twould take the fun out of the Highlands."
Duncan bid Brendan goodnight and returned to the keep. He entered his chamber in the wee hours of the morn and stretched. His eyes adjusted to the darkness. His heart lurched. Megan slept alone. Alera was nowhere in sight.
He rushed downstairs and out of the keep, intent upon finding Rufus and setting out in search of the provoking lass. A flash of white in the center of the archery range caught his eyes. His breath suspended as he beheld the vision rising from the mist.
Alera faced the east, her arms flung wide and her head back. Released from their braid, her long tresses floated on the breeze, and her loose gown billowed behind her. She remained motionless—a personification of all of nature in communion with the Almighty.
No wonder MacTavish believed her to be Face-O-Light. She radiated beauty, femininity, zeal for life.
He approached her, and she turned toward him. Fat tears streamed down her cheeks. She avoided his gaze and clasped her hands together. He reached for her, and she drew back.
"I could not sleep and feared my restlessness would wake Megan.” Her voice sounded thick with anguish. “I am so sorry I angered you, Duncan. I told you I was cursed. I have a demon that rages and an imp who pushes me to recklessness. I try hard to be a lady, but I...I..."
She bowed her face into her hands. “I failed twice today. ‘Twas rash for me to go to MacTavishes. And I cast my dignity aside before your clansmen when I begged you not to confine me. Mama would be so disappointed, and I am so ashamed."
She looked so sad that Duncan ached. He drew her into his arms and
rubbed his jaw over her silky hair as she settled against him. “Alera, have you ever been confined?"
She nodded against his chest.
"Tell me about it."
"I have always had a problem with mischief. ‘Tis part of my curse. When I was eight, I did a terrible thing that became known at home as The Incident. Mama and Papa did not punish me in a manner many thought they should. My nurse thought my parents were wrong. She shut me in a chest overnight. Mama found me the next day. I do not remember it, but Mama said I did not speak or move for a week.” A sob escaped her. “I am sorry if I embarrassed you in front of your clansmen and your friends. My greatest fear is being confined. I have a need for open spaces and the outdoors."
"You did not embarrass me, and our clansmen think no less of you.” The lass obviously didn't know her legacy or how special she was. “You are not cursed, lass. I'm going to tell you a story my father told me when I was young. Listen well. ‘Tis a tale all Highlanders pass along to their sons in hopes that they will be chosen."
He kissed her brow and rested his chin on the top of her head, gently rocking her back and forth. “Many years ago a Celt known as Ri Tuaithe Kai, which means king of fire, found a young lassie washed upon his beach. He recognized her as the daughter of a great Druid priest who served his worst enemy. By the code of the time, he should have left her to die."
"Why did her father not protect her?” An irritated edge crept into her tone.
Duncan smiled, glad she was getting her spirit back. “She was being sent to marry a prince across the sea. A storm wrecked her ship. Ri Tuaithe Kai took the lass home to his wife who was heavy with child. His wife tended her back to health. He dispatched a messenger to his enemy that his priest might come in peace to claim his daughter and take her home."
"He came, did he not? No father would desert his daughter on purpose.” She sounded anxious for the lass and Duncan wondered if she had felt abandoned by her father.
"Aye, he came, accompanied by his wife who was a great priestess. ‘Twas said between the pair, they could harness all the powers in the world and command nature. They were overjoyed to receive their daughter back. And in appreciation, they bestowed a great gift on Ri Tuaithe Kai. Beginning with the bairn in his wife's womb and once in every generation hence, a girl child would be born with the gift to walk and converse with wild creatures, relieve suffering, and feel all emotions with great force."
Alera stiffened in his arms, and he brushed his lips over her temple.
"These women are totally loyal and protective of those they love. They can be deadly in their rages to defend their own. They abandon themselves to their mates in passion. Their spirits long for the hills, and they are happiest in nature."
She tried to pull away. “Duncan, I am not—"
"Shh. Let me finish.” He hugged her tighter. “No matter where they are born, destiny returns the Gifted to the Highlands that they may find their soul mates. The presence of a Gifted one is a good omen to the people where she makes her home. We know they are not witches. Ri Tuaithe Kai is dead, but the Gift lives on for the clan descended from him. They are known as the MacKays."
Alera gasped. She went so rigid, ‘twas a wonder her spine didn't snap. Duncan was fairly certain she wasn't breathing.
"Marcail's mother is the Gifted one of the last generation. She was born in England and fate brought her home to the MacPherson. The Gifted one of this generation was not born in the Highlands, either. She is the daughter of Baron Robert of Arundrydge and Bradana MacKay.” He nudged up her chin and dabbed at her wet cheeks with his plaid. “She is Lady Alera, and she is mine."
"How long have you known about Mama?"
"Since the day you found Marcail. The twins repeated almost word for word a conversation you had with her.” He caressed the crook of his forefinger along her trembling lower lip. “I forgot a Gifted one could not be confined. Logan reminded me."
Her brow furrowed. “Then you truly do not believe me cursed?"
"I know you are not."
"But there is also my recklessness. Surely—"
"The old Druid's wife had an imp of her own. To her husband's gift, she added a flaw. All MacKay women have a great love for mischief so their mates may never grow bored.” He caressed her with his eyes. “Alera, destiny chose our fate, and you cannot fight destiny. Marry me."
She raised a hand and massaged her brow. “You have given me much to think on."
Duncan rolled his eyes. “Had I known you would wish to think on it, I would not have told you."
"My thinking time is not over yet. You promised you would not pester me.” She glared up at him.
"I'll not pester you, but you need to use your thinking time to come to your senses."
"That is pestering."
"What do you want me to say?"
"I do not wish you to speak. I wish you to hold me."
Duncan drew her back into his arms and resettled his chin on her head, inhaling her light feminine scent.
Her arms slipped around his waist, and she sighed. “Duncan, did you ever wish you were not you, so you would not have to do your duty?"
"What duty would you not wish to be doing?"
She shrugged.
"I truly wish to help you with your thinking, lass. But if you'll not tell me, why not speak with Father Cunningham?"
She released a long weary breath. “I will think on it."
Duncan shook his head. If the great minds put their heads together and thought as much as Alera, they could cure the common ague.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Fifteen
Alera trudged toward the kirk as if she were going to meet the headsman. Near the entrance, she halted. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Saints above, she couldn't go on like this. She just had to settle the turmoil in her mind.
Worry about her future caused her to wake with her stomach a mass of churning knots. She tossed up a good ten minutes and laid abed another hour before she could heave her tired bones from the mattress this morn.
Father Cunningham should be able to help her. He seemed like a kind holy man. But damn if that wasn't just the problem. She would die from humiliation if she spoke with a holy priest about carnal matters.
Nay, she couldn't do it. Not at all. Her shoulders slumped, and she released a frustrated groan. Wiping a hand across her cheek, she turned and retraced her steps. Mayhap she should admit defeat and wed Duncan on his birthday. Marcail had told her it was just a few weeks away.
Father Cunningham watched the young lady flee for the third time in the past hour. He heaved a sigh and stepped outside. “Milady, wait."
She stopped and faced him, a sad guarded expression drawing her face.
"I do not know if you're wanting to talk to Him or me,” Father said. “But we both want you to know we're here for you."
Alera glanced away. “I have a need to speak with you, Father. But I fear I will shock or offend you...and humiliate myself."
"Well, now.” Father rubbed his stubbled jaw and cocked his shiny head. “Considering how long I've served the Almighty, there is not much left to shock me that I've not already heard. And I can rightly say I have never been offended by a tormented soul seeking ease from my Master—no matter the cause. As to the humiliation, I can only ask which is worse, the torment you're battling or a wee bit of embarrassment?"
