The laird’s expression remained unchanged as he eyed Broc. “Is this true?”
“Aye.”
“I had hoped for such a union someday. The lass has earned a special place in my heart. She’s faced a hard start—the spite of many of the women, superstitious fools that they are. And let us not forget the rumors of her origins. How one head of red curls could earn the vexation of half a clan, I know not.”
Errol rubbed his chin anxiously. His father should know the answer. “None of the women in our bloodline have red hair.”
“Yes, yes,” Laird MacRae said dismissively. “The MacDonalds are known to father such daughters. Do you think I don’t hear the whispers at the high table? Nonsense, all of it. And if ye ask the lass, she will tell you how often I’ve warned the women to stop cursing her.”
“And that obedience lasts as long as yer within earshot,” Errol commented, his ire rising.
“She’s a spirited girl,” Broc said. “With some patience and a little discipline, she’ll come to heel.”
Errol snorted. “Like a dog.”
His father’s head jerked in his direction. “You oppose this match?”
Errol sucked in a breath, knowing the consequences if he spoke truthfully. Was the lass worth losing a lifelong friend over? Would Broc hate him hereinafter? And in addition to a lost friendship, the last thing Errol wanted was to gain an enemy within the ranks of the men he’d one day lead. But that kiss at the loch had sealed his fate. Though she might not be meant for him, Errol knew a man worthy of her heart was somewhere close by. He gazed at Broc again, hoping to catch a hint of humility. But none existed. The warrior puffed his chest out and opened and closed his fists. Arrogance served no one. And if he judged correctly, Broc only wanted Aileana because she’d rejected him. He’d take her to wife to prove a point, not out of love or admiration for the girl’s indomitable spirit.
If given the chance, Broc would break that spirit.
Errol leaned forward in his chair. “Aye, father. I oppose it.”
Even the usually silent Cameron gasped with surprise.
“On what grounds?” his father demanded.
“The lass doesna wish to couple with Broc.”
Laird MacRae chuckled. “If we let our women choose their husbands, this keep would be short of skirts.”
Broc grinned.
“Ask him what uncivilized tactics he’s used to woo the girl.”
This seemed to interest his father, his gray eyebrows shooting up. “Tell me.”
Broc’s cheeks turned red, a silent admission of his guilt. “A stolen kiss or two in the kitchen.”
“I hardly see the fault in such an innocent—”
“ ’Tis a lie.” Errol stood, then addressed his friend. “Doona make me speak the words. Withdraw your suit and we will forget this ever happened.”
Laird MacRae looked from one man to the other. “Is there another willing to claim her?”
Errol’s heart thundered. “Let the lass choose.”
“No,” his father said. “ ’Tis better to decide her fate now. I’ll not have my captains and son fighting over her like stags in rut. A husband is the only solution. Aileana is a lovely girl. If I were a younger man again, I’d happily overlook her birthright and pursue her with unbridled joy.”
Was his father trying to tell him something? When Errol was a lad, his sire had always promised him the privilege of choosing his own wife. The laird didn’t wish his only son to be burdened with an unhappy union the way he had been. Eventually his parents had fallen in love. A rare thing in the Highlands, where arranged marriages were as common as dunghills.
“Blessed Virgin,” Errol said as he started to pace. “I see no reason to rush the decision. The girl is hardly settled. When I found her, she told me she didn’t wish to return here. Forcing her to wed isna going to renew her faith in our family. If anything, it will make her run.”
“If the good Lord said a married woman is anxious about worldly things and how to please her husband, then I’ll trust His wisdom,” Laird MacRae said. “Do ye still wish to marry the lass, Broc?”
“Aye.”
“Errol? If you can’t think of another, I will bless…”
Errol didn’t envy any man trapped by the bonds of matrimony, but he respected the institution for what it was. Suddenly the remembrance of soft red curls and bright blue eyes stole his breath. Hungry lips met his and opened willingly, her tongue as curious to explore the depths of his mouth as he was hers. The fullness of her breast in his palm, how her pert little nipple teased his fingers. She gasped with shock when he pinched it, and her tiny hands explored his body appreciatively. It felt right. So perfect. She might be a virgin, but desire flowed like a river beneath her virtuous skin. That moment of mutual attraction had captured more than his attention.
Furthermore, if they were betrothed, he could shield her from men like Broc.
“I claim her, Father.”
Laird MacRae smiled and folded his hands on the desk, then leaned back in his chair, appearing triumphant. “Cameron?”
“Yes, milord?”
“I expect a marriage contract by tomorrow evening, when we will announce my son’s betrothal.”
Broc grimaced at Errol, contempt burning in his eyes before he whipped around to Laird MacRae. “Am I excused, milord?”
“Do you wish to challenge my son’s claim?”
“No.”
“You may go, then.”
Broc stood and left the solar.
“Congratulations, Errol. I pray you find happiness with Aileana.”
Humbled by his decision, Errol nodded, his mind and heart filled with conflicting emotions. “I suppose I should share the good news with the lass.”
“Yes,” his father agreed. “The sooner she knows, the better for all of us.”
Chapter 10
Aileana returned Leah’s cloak to the peg by the door, determined to find a way to keep her hands busy. Just as she entered the main room of the kitchens, she heard a familiar voice that always made her smile.
“Come here, Aileana.” Margot stood in front of the long worktable, her hands on her hips. “Where have you been?”
She needed to feel her auntie’s arms around her. “I-I…”
“Speak up, lass.”
Drawn into a tight hug, Aileana let her head rest on Margot’s shoulder. She shivered with sadness. The careful control she’d kept on her emotions disintegrated and tears filled her eyes. Margot tsked and held her away from her body so she could see Aileana’s face.
“What happened?”
“Have you not heard the rumors?” She palmed the tears away.
Margot’s jaw tensed, but her gentle blue eyes showed nothing but compassion. “These little twits say many things, and if I took them all to heart, I’d find an early grave. Edme is waiting for us in the larder. Come…” She handed Aileana a basket. “We need help transferring some meat. We’re expecting MacKenzies tonight.”
Aileana gladly took the basket. Margot kept a protective arm wrapped about her shoulders as she led her down a narrow corridor and a set of stairs. Several cavernous rooms carved from stone were located partially underground. Cooler air greeted Aileana as she entered the largest cellar, wall torches providing enough light to see the racks of meat hanging on iron pegs hammered into the stonework. Edme stood before a wild boar with a knife.
“See who the young master brought back to us,” Margot announced as she encouraged Aileana to step deeper inside.
Edme turned around and smiled. “And where did ye think you’d be able to hide?”
“I’m so sorry,” Aileana sniffled, never able to hide her feelings from these two dear women.
Spinster sisters, they’d loved her unconditionally from the moment she showed up. Edme had gotten a wet cloth and cleaned Aileana’s face and hands while Margot worked quickly to put together a meal. They sat with her at the servants’ table, watching her eat so fast she was sure to have the worst
bellyache of her life. But they didn’t discourage her. And only when she’d finished the last hot bannock did the questions start. That’s all she remembered from her first night in the MacRae keep. She woke up the next morn in bed with Edme, wrapped in clan plaid and pleasantly warm. And in the eight years she’d lived under their guidance and protection, not once had they raised their voices at her or beat her.
“The laird came to the kitchens looking for you,” Margot said.
“Acted as if ye were his own flesh and blood.” Edme put the knife down on the worktable and wiped her hands on the towel draped around her waist. “Did you run away because Broc asked for yer hand?”
Her breath caught in her throat. “What?”
“Once Errol left to find ye, Broc requested a meeting with us. Imagine how flattered we were that he took the time to speak with us before approaching the laird.”
“But he doesna love me.” Aileana leaned on the wall to steady herself. “ ’Tis my fault. I’ve hidden the truth for too long. I wanted to protect you from the vile things Broc had done. I know you admire him.”
Margot looked to her sister first, then back at Aileana. “Has the man hurt ye?”
“Just my pride.” Anger welled up inside her. Keeping quiet had done more harm than good. “Whenever you weren’t about, and usually after the fool had drank too much ale, he’d lumber in and try to have his way with me.”
“His way?” Edme sounded furious.
“He touched me,” she explained so there were no misconceptions about the man. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
“The deceptive arse had us both believing his intentions were honorable,” Margot said. “Wait until I see him again.”
“No, please.” Aileana shook her head. “I am the cause of too many problems already. Errol…”
Edme tilted her head sideways and stared unblinking. “You address the laird’s son too informally, child.”
“What happened on your trip home together?” Margot asked.
Aileana regarded her thin face. “Nothing of note,” she said. “We spoke of little, we were too desperate to make it back to the keep before we froze to death to think of anything else.”
She would never tell them about Sgùrr, or the kisses she’d just shared with Errol at the loch. But if she weren’t more careful about how she spoke of the laird’s son, someone might guess they were intimately connected. ’Twould be better to walk about with a blindfold on than be forced to look upon Errol’s handsome face and not be able to openly admire it. She’d have to remind herself multiple times a day to avoid him. Just a mere thought about Errol gave her gooseflesh.
“I believe you,” Edme said. “But that doesna change how I feel about the captain. Broc can never be trusted again. If you willna permit me to speak with him, then I will talk to the laird.”
“I beg you to give it some time first,” Aileana said. “Master Errol is familiar with the situation. And after the fight last night…”
Edme clicked her tongue. “You weren’t spared Muriel’s wagging tongue?”
“She speaks truthfully, Auntie.”
“Only when it serves her needs,” Margot shot back.
“I am the cause of the strife between the laird’s son and Broc. If I had come to you right away, none of this would have ever happened.”
Further explanation wasn’t required. Her aunties encircled her, wrapping reassuring arms around her. Aileana let their protective warmth sink in. How she wished life could always stay this way. But childish hope would not improve her situation.
“Aileana?” a masculine voice called from behind.
All three women turned, to find Errol standing in the doorway.
Aileana’s heart raced. What did he want with her? Hadn’t he tormented her enough today? She eyed his soft lips.
“Answer the master,” Edme said.
“You mustn’t keep him waiting.” Margot gave her a gentle nudge.
She sighed, then broke away. “Milord?” She curtsied.
“We must talk alone,” he said gruffly.
Oh God. His tone suggested misery of some sort.
“Sir.” Edme stepped forward. “My work is nearly done here. I would gladly chaperone…”
“We don’t require supervision,” he said sharply at first. But then his stony expression softened. “The lass will be safe with me.”
“Of course.” Edme bowed her head.
“Come.” He gestured for Aileana to follow him.
Reluctant to leave her aunties behind, Aileana walked slowly into the corridor, fearing what he’d say next. But instead of talking, he simply gripped her elbow and steered her faster down the hallway, then turned into one of the less used cellars. He kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot, then turned around, his eyes smoldering with need.
“We never discussed the fight…”
“Don’t talk, Aileana.” His mouth crashed over hers, forcing her to swallow her words.
His strong hands settled on her waist and he tugged her into his chest. All the things she’d promised herself earlier, like staying away from him, had been for naught. The moment their lips met, desire sparked to life inside her. She’d mistaken it as a whim before—but once in his grasp again, her fingernails digging into the sleeves of his linen shirt, she knew it to be false. He withdrew long enough to suck in a ragged breath and she stared into the flames of his eyes. What did he want? Bedding her would solve nothing. And she refused to give up her maidenhood to a man who didn’t care deeply about her.
She had his protection. But the first and only man to ever make love to her would offer his heart. And they’d hardly spent enough time together to share even their most basic beliefs.
“I need more, lass.”
She shook her head vehemently. But it didn’t dissuade him; once again her protest was lost in an equally passionate kiss. He tasted of ale and meat—smelled of fresh linen and smoke. It frightened her how willing she was to taste and touch him with sweet abandon. Women were tasked with promoting everything moral. But she’d lost her way the moment he called her name from the doorway in the cellar. And judging by the looks on her aunties’ faces, they knew it well, too. What other reason would Errol seek her out?
After they finished with each other in the shadows of the storage room, she’d crawl to the chapel and beg forgiveness for her impure thoughts. For her wanton behavior. For wanting to lift her skirts and let this beautiful man do whatever it was men did to women in the dark. She’d heard the moans and groans in the corners of the great hall late at night, after anyone of quality went to sleep. Now she understood.
Errol’s skilled hands slipped below her waist and around her hips, cupping her arse and lifting her to his body. She instinctually wrapped her legs around his middle, locking her ankles behind him. Their gazes met, and she felt his rapid heartbeat against her own breast. Never thinking it possible that she’d have the same effect on him as he did her, it gave her a deep sense of satisfaction. Another sin of significance—pride. She’d been raised to be humble and silent in the presence of her superiors. But how could she submit to such pleasure without enjoying it, too?
“I have news, lass,” he whispered near her ear.
Chills spiraled down her body at the feel of his breath. “What news?” she asked.
“The kind that binds us together forever. The kind that requires a second and third taste of you before I share it.”
He dipped his head. Their tongues swirled together as he crushed her to him, his body growing more rigid by the moment, his erection pressing against her core. Dear God, this couldna happen. Not here. Not ever.
She pulled away. “Please,” she begged. “We can’t keep meeting like this, doing this. My mind isna capable of anything else whenever you’re near me.”
He chuckled. “The sweetest confession I’ve ever heard.”
That confused her. He enjoyed making her suffer? “You’d keep me defenseless?”
“I’d keep you clos
e,” he said, setting her on her feet.
Aileana considered their futures unchangeable. Errol had his place in the world. But she, the lowest born, had nothing but bleak prospects to look forward to. “You are noble,” she said. “I am a bastard.”
“Don’t speak that way.” He held his finger to her lips. “Your unfortunate birth is no concern to me. Only the woman standing before me matters.”
“Why?”
He rested his palms on her shoulders. “Broc asked my father for your hand in marriage this morning.”
She swayed a little, but managed to stay upright. So were these stolen kisses, then? Errol’s twisted way of saying goodbye before he turned her over to the great bearded fiend she no longer could stand the sight of? “I respect and serve the laird,” she said with confidence. “But I refuse to marry that man.”
“Rest easy,” he said, a sad smile on his face. “I spoke on your behalf.”
“Ye did?”
“Did I not promise to protect you?”
“Aye.”
“I never break an oath, lass—regardless of the consequences.”
“Thank you.” His blind allegiance humbled her.
“Doona thank me yet,” he said. “There’s more to tell.”
She looked away and hugged herself, feeling very much alone. ’Twould have been better if she had gotten lost atop the mountains or died of hunger and cold. Standing here trying to guess what Errol was going to say next terrified her. What future had his father chosen for her? Did he have the right to do so? Would she accept it, obey the man she owed so much to?
“Lass?” Errol tipped her chin upward. “In order to keep Broc from marrying you, I had to pledge your hand to someone else.”
“No.”
“There’s nothing you can do, the laird has spoken.”
“I will run again,” she threatened. “Isn’t my life my own?”
“Not anymore.”
Tears burned her eyes, but she swiped them away before they fell. She must remain strong. “Then who does it belong to?”
“Me.”
Chapter 11
What more did he need to say to make her understand? His answer rang with finality. From the day Errol drew his first breath, his life had never been his own. It belonged to Scotland and his father, to the people that lived on MacRae lands. So taking control of his betrothed seemed natural. Why should she fear it? Women seemed much happier when they were married with children. The good Lord gave purpose to everyone. And being a wife and mother were the holy duties assigned to females. He’d read the passages in the Bible himself.
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