by Cathy MacRae
Gillian shrugged. “Adults dinnae always remember I’m there. Did Skadi chose the right pair of legs?”
Observant child. “No. She sought the pair she believed belonged to Baldur, a god who was beloved by everyone, and quite handsome as well. The legs she chose turned out to be Njord’s.”
“Was that bad?” Gillian asked, leaning against Aadny for comfort, a worried look on her face.
Hanna shrugged one shoulder. “He was a very wealthy sea god, but the problem between them was they neither one could bear living at the other’s home. Njord loved the sea and the cry of gulls, and Skadi cherished the snow-covered mountains and the howl of wolves on the air. They soon parted ways and were never together again.”
Gillian frowned. “My da is supposed to marry again because he needs a lad to be laird when he is gone. I want him to be happy.” Her chin thrust forward in resolute decision. “I will see he doesnae choose a wife because of her legs!”
She paused, worrying her lip with her two front teeth. “Did ye live near the sea, Hanna?”
“Yes,” Hanna replied. “Why?”
“Was it verra different there? Do ye like it here?”
“I am content here, skatten min,” Hanna said. “Ye and Aadny have filled a hole in my heart and replaced a dark place with much light.”
Gillian nodded solemnly. “It was like that when my ma died. My da and I went away for a year because he was too sad to stay here. I am glad ye are here, Hanna. Aadny and I will take care of ye.” She cocked her head. “Mayhap Da will help.”
Hanna nearly choked. Gillian’s da’s help had tossed her into a torment of indecision. Why hadn’t she known giving in to the urge to bed the MacLean laird was a bad idea? Because she’d had no experience with what he called making love. Submitting quietly to Torvald resembled making love with Alex as much as dangling her feet in a placid loch resembled braving a storm-tossed sea. Succumbing to the lure of his touch had left her sated yet hungering for more.
Help? I daresay I need help. But not from your beautiful father, skatten min. No, I would not survive his eventual dismissal. I will not allow him to break my heart.
CHAPTER 19
A summons to the Laird’s solar the next day sent conflicting waves of anticipation and dread through Hanna, quickening her pulse. Alex’s intense looks as she went about her daily duties in the hall let her know he hadn’t forgotten their stolen time in the stable loft and wasn’t about to give up seeking to further their relationship. She squared her shoulders and rapped on the closed door.
Wariness building, she waited for his command to enter, but none came. Exasperated at the wasted time, she took a half-step away, then, after a moment’s hesitation, grasped the latch and opened the door. Alex was not in the room, but a large bundle rested in prominence on his desk. A piece of parchment lay atop the packet, drawing Hanna’s curiosity.
She stepped to the desk, surprise widening her eyes as she read the single word on the strip of parchment, the print in a bold, masculine hand.
Hanna.
She touched the close-woven cloth bundle, her fingertips scarcely registering the weave of the wool before she drew back. The door snicked shut behind her and she whirled as though caught in a treacherous act.
Alex strode across the room his head tilted in a gesture of curiosity.
“Do ye like it?”
“Like it?” Hanna’s eyes narrowed. What exactly did he ask? His question set alarms skittering beneath her skin. Did she like their stolen moments? The feel of his skin beneath her fingers? His dark hair and almond-shaped eyes? Eyes she now knew were a legacy from his Armenian mother. His offer to share his bed? Of marriage? Her certainty neither would work soured the pang of longing rippling in counterpoint to the wariness. She scowled.
“I have thought ye many things, Hanna,” Alex said as he perched one hip on the edge of the desk and folded his hands in his lap. “But being illiterate isnae one of them.” He nodded to the bundle. “’Tis yers.”
His bold assessment heightened her simmering resentment. “It has my name written upon it but naught else. Deviousness isnae one of your vices—that I know of.”
“Ye wound me,” he reproached. “I have no desire to hurt ye or cause ye to distrust me. Would ye do me the honor of opening the bundle and accepting it as the gift it is?”
Her reproach deflated slightly and a tiny thrill shot through her. A gift? Her curiosity threatened to become a smile at the unexpected offer.
Alex tilted his head at the packet and Hanna touched it again, then slowly pulled it to the edge of the desk. She deftly untied the plaid ribbon, the wool so fine it slid like velvet through her fingers. Unfolding the cloth revealed a pelt of incredible plushness that invited her caress. At Alex’s encouraging nod, she picked it up. The fur edged a long cloak of deep russet, the weave thick yet supple, guaranteeing warmth and comfort.
“Put it on,” Alex urged.
Hanna glanced at him. His dark eyes glittered, pleasure tilting the corners of his mouth.
“I cannot accept such a gift,” she murmured.
“Why not? ’Tis mine to give. There are no conditions if ye accept.” His mouth hardened into a straight line. “Ye know I want ye. Ye also know I have sworn the choice is yers. Can ye not accept that it pleases me to please ye?”
A whisper of feminine delight warred with the boundary she’d sworn to place between them. “It places me in your debt,” she replied, realizing how churlish she sounded. “I would think of ye every time I wore it.”
Her confession restored a tiny bit of Alex’s humor. “There is naught wrong with that. As long as thinking of me brings ye happiness.”
He stood, angling his body close to hers. Picking up the cloak, he draped it about her shoulders. “I dinnae believe ye will need this until the cold months approach. Mayhap by then ye will have decided to accept my offer.”
Placing a kiss to her temple, he took a step back, nodding as he perused her. “The cloak was made for ye and none other. It looks beautiful on ye. Keep it.”
His boots thumped the stone floor as he left the room. Hanna fingered the soft wool and rubbed her cheek against the plush collar. But the warmth inside spiraled from the spot on her face where the touch of his lips lingered.
* * *
The bedtime story had become a nightly ritual, but this night, Gillian’s questions put aside tales of monsters and intrigue, insisting on knowing more of Aadny’s family.
“I was separated from them many months ago,” Aadny tried to explain, but Gillian cocked her head in puzzlement.
“I s’pose my da could have lost me in Spain, but he and Peigi dinnae let me out of their sight. Did ye wander off?”
Aadny’s lips thinned, though she did not appear angry at Gillian’s question.
“Nay. I escaped. Men had come to raid my village, and I slipped away before I could be captured.”
Hanna shook her head. It was a tale too common and too heart-breaking.
Aadny sent Hanna a worshipful look. “And Hanna saved me from men on the docks a few days after I arrived here. I am very grateful to have met her.”
“Och, I am glad I met her, also,” Gillian asserted. “She is a braw woman—and my da likes ye.” Her chin tilted as she slanted her gaze to Hanna. One of Hanna’s eyebrows shot upward.
“I asked him long ago if he wanted another wife—after Ma died, ye know. And he said we’d pick one out together.” She beamed. “Now I have ye!”
Aadny giggled and Gillian joined in. Hanna did not. “I do not think your da needs a Norsewoman for a wife.”
“Och, he doesnae care what the council says,” Gillian said matter-of-factly. “And I dinnae wish a ma who is young and pretty.”
“But ye approve of me?” Hanna asked, one side of her mouth tilted in irony.
“Aye. Ye are verra brave and strong—my da says so. I know that is important to him, because my Auntie Bela is verra brave.” Gillian sent Hanna an assessing look. “Ye are beautiful—n
ot like the others. They are silly and false.”
A slight ache started in Hanna’s temple. The child was determined to make a match and Hanna wondered if Alex had anything to do with it.
“The servants say the laird is a just man,” Aadny chimed in. “And he has a fine form.” Her eyes twinkled, refusing Hanna’s silent rebuke.
Gillian grinned. “My da is verra kind and everyone loves him,” she put forth, possibly with a bit too much emphasis on the kindness and love. Hanna remembered the harsh man who had not blinked an eye as she stood over the man she’d killed on the dock, blood liberally marking her guilt. Instead of imprisoning her as was his right, he’d had the other miscreants hanged. And Agnes served in the laundry, though he’d warned Hanna that she would have suffered the same fate had she lied to him. Just? Yes. Kind? No.
And yet, she’d seen him with his daughter. A firm hand that bespoke abundant love for the wee one. She’d seen him kiss the top of Gillian’s head and tickle her toes, give her a puppy and steal her berry pasties.
Hanna stood abruptly. “I believe we should all get some sleep.” She grabbed the blanket from the foot of Gillian’s bed and shook it out.
Gillian frowned as she slid prone and plopped her head on the feather-stuffed pillow. “Do ye not like talking about my da?”
“I believe your da is a fine man,” Hanna prevaricated, ignoring Aadny’s look of interest. “Ye should not meddle in adult business.” She patted the blanket about Gillian, tucking it close against her.
With a sigh, Gillian closed her eyes. “Someone should,” she murmured.
“Go to sleep, Gillian,” Hanna reproved.
“He would make a good husband,” Gillian insisted.
Hanna dropped a quick kiss on the child’s forehead. Gillian’s eyes flashed open.
“And ye would be a good ma.”
* * *
Hanna set the tray on the table, giving it a quick wipe to discourage mice. The tabby cat on the banked hearth blinked its golden eyes as if to disparage her concern, for surely no mouse would be so foolish as to trespass this kitchen?
“Would ye speak with me?”
Hanna’s heart tripped at the sound of Alex’s voice. She both dreaded and anticipated his departure on King Alexander’s orders in the morning. She wanted to spend the remaining hours locked in his arms—or, perhaps as far away as she could possibly manage. It seemed the air was too thick for her to breathe when she was in his presence. Would she find the courage to leave whilst he was away?
Setting her warring thoughts aside, she followed him into his solar. He closed the door and Hanna remembered her earlier wariness at being alone with him in this room. This time, she did not fear harm to her person, but the cost to her heart, for she was well aware it would take very little to tempt her back into his arms.
Maintaining her distance, she stared at the man before her. His tall form still showed the benefits of his active life. His upright stance, his head tilted at an angle that revealed the confidence of a man born to lead. Silver threads at his temples gave concession to the passage of youth, and though Hanna did not truly know his age, she suspected he was perhaps ten years her senior.
The cuff of his leine slipped back, revealing a scar that ran from the back of one hand up his forearm. Potentially a grievous wound, and if so, he’d overcome it completely, for she saw no weakness in him. Strength radiated from him. Stubbornness. Yes, she saw that in him, too. Much like Torvald, though the lines at the corners of Alex’s mouth pulled his lips into smiles that melted her heart, while Torvald’s lips had pushed often enough into frowns of frustration and impatience.
Alex closed the distance between them and claimed both her hands. He ran his thumbs across the backs of her hands and Hanna stared at them as the shock of his touch seared paths up each arm and pooled hot and low in her belly.
“I have come to realize why I dinnae trip over myself to take one of the young, lithesome lasses to wife soon after Annag died.”
“Because ye were waiting for an older woman with no prospects, born on the wrong side of the border, and whose appearance is merely adequate?”
“Hanna!” Alex protested.
“I am considerably older than the maidens I saw in your hall a little over a month ago,” Hanna pointed out. “I have but two gowns—only one of which is truly mine—no husband or family for protection,” she added. “And ye cannot dispute my heritage.”
Alex drew first one hand to his lips, then the other, dropping a gentle kiss to the back of each one. “Ye are so incredibly beautiful,” he said. “So strong. My Valkyrie.”
“Valkyrie?” Hanna repeated, startled at the image. “I do not hold sway over men’s lives.”
“Och, but ye do, sweet Hanna. Ye dinnae hesitate to author the end of that scoundrel’s life on the dock that day, and ye certainly hold sway over my life. And my happiness.”
“Alex, we’ve discussed this.”
“Aye, we have,” he agreed. “But I dinnae believe I said the right words.”
“What makes ye think so?” she asked.
“Because ye havenae consented to becoming my wife.”
Hanna shoved the pang of longing deep inside. “I have told ye my reasons. And unless Norway and Scotland have declared a truce, I will not argue the points. I will not make a suitable wife for ye, and I will not give ye my heart only to have ye return it when ye marry a Scottish woman as your council wishes.”
“Hanna, I am leaving on the king’s business in the morning. I would ask two things of ye.”
Startled at his change in direction, Hanna nodded. “How may I help?”
“Peigi remains confined by the damp weather. Though the air is warm, the rains make her ache in a manner that keeps her abed. Gillian needs someone to look after her, and I would ask ye to do this.”
“Certainly,” Hanna replied. “I will care for her whilst ye are away.”
“In truth, ye already have much of Gillian’s care, and I am truly grateful.”
Pleasure at his words heated Hanna’s cheeks. “What is your second request?”
He paused, releasing one hand to settle the backs of his fingers against her cheek. Instinctively, Hanna leaned into the caress—and felt her world spin out of control.
* * *
Alex drew her close, wondering if she would resist him. To his surprise, her hesitation was brief, and he wrapped his arms about her.
“Promise ye will be here when I return,” he said. “I will have nothing to worry me if I know ye wait for me here.”
“I will not leave—ye know this. I have promised to care for Gillian.”
“I want ye to wait for me,” he growled, frustration fraying his temper. “Dinnae let some braw young man claim yer heart whilst I am gone.”
“Och, Alex,” Hanna whispered, “I cannot give away what does not belong to me.”
“I cannae think straight when I hold ye like this,” he grumbled. “Speak plainly.”
“My heart belongs to ye. I have wished for it to be otherwise, but, it has not listened to reason.”
“Then spend the night with me, Hanna. And I will have the marriage contract drawn up. We can marry upon my return.”
“There are too many obstacles . . . .”
He placed two fingers over her lips. “There are no obstacles save those ye echo endlessly back to me. I dinnae care if yer heritage is Norse. I have good relationships with many Norse. I dinnae care if ye give me a child or not. I may pick my heir as I please. Ye and I are of an age, though I daresay my summers far exceed yours.”
He drew her with him until he reached the hearth, then sank to his knees before her.
“Ye are a beautiful, rare woman, Hanna. Give me this night to pleasure ye, and I will give ye every beat of my heart for the rest of my life.”
CHAPTER 20
July 5, 1249
Alex ordered the ship away from the isle of Kerrera, gliding into Admucknish Bay as dusk fell. He stood patiently beside his king as Al
exander pondered the imposing edifice of Dunstaffnage Castle. Its irregular shape matched no architect’s plan, for the walls sat atop a mass of bedrock that cared naught for man’s love of straight lines and even angles.
“MacDougall built this?” Alexander, King of Scotland, inquired pensively, rubbing a thumb and forefinger over his chin.
“Nearly a decade ago, Sire,” Alex replied, hiding his concern for the spots of feverish color on the king’s cheeks. It was rumored the king had fallen ill on the voyage, but he allowed none to question either his health or his plans. “Though the finishing of it has been recent.”
“’Tis a brute piece of masonry,” the king grunted. “Nary a window in sight, and the damn thing appears to have risen from the rock itself. How tall does yer information say the walls are?”
“Close to sixty feet, if ye count the rock beneath it.”
“And likely ten feet thick.” The king swore beneath his breath.
“Aye.”
Silence drew a heavy veil over the conversation. At last King Alexander nodded.
“We will take the castle.” With a wave of his hand, the king indicated their return to the Isle of Kerrera.
Alex bit back his questions. They were for the king’s commanders and advisors, not him. If commanded to throw himself at the solid walls of Dunstaffnage, he would find a way to make things work in his men’s favor. He would not disobey his king, but he would not sacrifice his soldiers for a doomed cause.
The next morning broke pale yellow and pearl pink through misted clouds. Alex hurried through the crowded campsite. King Alexander may have had a formidable fleet floating in Oban Bay, but he’d ordered a tent to be erected on the Isle of Kerrera, citing a desire for more space and a bed minus the toss of the waves. The ships’ captains had been advised to ready the fleet, but no further instruction had arrived since the previous night, and Alex grew weary of the paucity of information, eager to return home.
A young man, likely in his early twenties—very early twenties if Alex was any judge—fell into step next to him as Alex approached the king’s pavilion. His hair swung free, lightly brushing his shoulders, his demeanor confident, perhaps even cocky. But the most striking thing about him was his overly-embellished sword belt. Gems the size of coins winked from the sturdy leather, causing Alex to blink in surprise.
