Her Highland Rogue: A Wild Highland Guardian Novel

by Violetta Rand

  “What do you mean?” Aileana asked.

  “We are betrothed now.”

  Her bottom lip quivered. “It canna be. I am unfit to be your wife.” Aileana appeared like she desperately didn’t want to believe him. Her assessing gaze swept over him, no longer filled with desire. “You free me from one nightmare and deliver me into another.”

  “Nightmare?” The cutting accusation lingered like smoke in the air. Stepping closer, he claimed her delicate hand. “Do you deny our attraction? Does the idea of being the future Lady MacRae turn your stomach? Don’t you want to share my bed, lass?”

  She tried to jerk free, but he held her hand tighter. The poor lass had strong flight instincts. Perhaps that’s what brought her to his home all those years ago. Had she willingly fled her home? Had something tragic scared her away from her family? Although he’d like to know, he meant what he said earlier. Her inferior birth didn’t matter. What woman could resist the idea of becoming his bride?

  “Tell me what concerns you.”

  Her eyes flared. “I don’t command respect from the people who serve your family. I am little better than an outcast. Have you ever heard the way the women talk about me? The awful things they say? I’m a different man’s whore every week. When Broc started sniffing about the kitchens, they accused me of bewitching him, for what bastard could catch the eye of such a distinguished warrior?” She sighed. “And now I will suffer even more. Yer the object of nearly every maid’s favor.”

  Errol’s arrogant grin surfaced. “Including you?” If only she’d smile again.

  He wanted to hear her laughter for the first time, wanted to see the glint of merriment in her lovely, sad eyes. She may not be the woman he dreamt of taking to wife, but something about her kept bringing him back. And if he had his way, within a few days he’d have her flame-colored hair fanned out across his pillows and his cock buried deep inside her. He sucked in a ragged breath then, lust building inside him.

  This time she succeeded in sliding her hand free of his grip. “Ye don’t need my praise, sir. From the look on yer face, you already know the answer.”

  His smile broadened. “So you do like me?”

  She rolled her eyes, then nodded.

  “We’ve found common ground, then.”

  It would take time to win her trust and affection. But he wasn’t finished sharing important news yet. His father had also decreed that the betrothal should be announced tomorrow. Not much time for a wee lass to adjust to her vastly changed circumstances. Part of Aileana’s allure lay in her untamed spirit—the need for freedom—whatever she considered it to be. Afraid she affiliated it with Sgùrr and the life she led alone on top of that godforsaken peak, he knew he’d have to work doubly hard to convince her otherwise. If it meant having her guarded day and night, so she wouldn’t bolt, so be it.

  Though he preferred letting her be the girl she’d always been.

  “What if I reject your offer?” she asked, determination pinching the spot between her lovely red brows.

  “On what grounds?”

  She swallowed, looking uncomfortable. “I am no MacRae.”

  “Aye,” he agreed. “But in a short time you will be.”

  “Only when I say yes.”

  “Say it.” Fear of rejection overwhelmed him suddenly and he grabbed her by the shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. Their faces were mere inches apart and he could feel her warm breath on his skin. “The time for games is over.”

  “I am not teasing you, sir. How can you expect me to rejoice when I’ve had so little time? Let me share this news with Edme and Margot.”

  Her request was acceptable. “Granted.”

  She closed her eyes. “Thank ye.”

  “Look at me, Aileana.”

  She did.

  “You will meet me by sunset at the entrance to the great hall. Before the commencement of the eventide meal.”

  She bit her lip. “But I’m expected to help prepare the food, then serve it.”

  He studied her curiously. Intelligence dwelled behind her expressive eyes. Yet somehow she maintained an endearing naivety that made him smile. She didn’t understand what marrying him meant. “Your duties are suspended, lass. Now the women will be expected to serve you like a queen. And if one dares to disrespect you in my presence, or within earshot of any of my captains, the punishment will be severe.”

  “You’d do this for me?”

  “You’ve forgotten what a devoted man I am, Aileana. But I blame myself. For too long I’ve shunned my responsibility and acted more a king’s fool than the laird’s son. People will talk behind our backs. What matters is how we present ourselves. Will ye embrace the idea of me becoming your husband? A united front will protect us, but if we appear disingenuous, the gossipmongers will feed on our weaknesses.”

  Her tearful gaze surprised him. He wanted to comfort Aileana, but when he opened his arms, she retreated a step. “Not now,” she said. “May I go?”

  “There’s one last thing I must tell you.” Sympathetic, he still couldn’t put off the truth any longer. “My father will announce our betrothal tomorrow night.”

  “Of course,” she said, then walked around him and left the room.

  Did she think him less affected by their situation? Hours ago he was a free man. There were still beautiful women he wanted to bed. Places he wanted to go. But all those selfish needs were buried the moment he pledged himself to Aileana, both victims of circumstance. Yet the more time he spent with her, the more he liked the idea of taking her as his bride. No other woman had inspired his fierce protectiveness to come out. And when he imagined Broc’s filthy mouth kissing her, it fueled his rage.

  He made his way back to the great hall, where preparations were under way for the retinue that would arrive later this afternoon. Peace in the western Highlands was tentative. And with the crown solidifying its ties with the MacKenzies, anyone that served that clan faced the same threats they did. Plans must be made. Treaties and oaths must be renewed. For as long as Errol could remember, the MacRaes were considered the Mackenzies’ shirt of mail. And that kinship could never be broken. Tested, but never severed.

  “Master Errol.”

  What did Cameron want now? Hadn’t he fulfilled all his father’s wishes already? Just as Aileana requested, he too needed time alone to think. “Did I forget something?”

  “Nay.” The man’s eyes were bloodshot.

  Errol gripped his arm. “What is it?”

  “Your father. Please, come quickly. He collapsed.”

  The news pierced his heart like an enemy’s arrow. He flew up the stairs and into his father’s chamber, finding him sprawled unconscious on the floor, a trickle of blood stained his chin. Servants filed into the room. Errol knelt and gently lifted his sire off the ground. He carried him to his bed and Cameron whipped the fur aside. Positioning him on his back, Errol then arranged some pillows under his head.

  “Bring the healer,” he barked at the closest maid. “And fresh water and linens so I can clean his face.”

  Laird MacRae was not a young man. His illness had taken hold six years ago, starting with a hacking cough in the dead of winter. The following spring, he seemed to recover, but as the months passed, he lost his hearty appetite and weight—the first signs that death lingered. But consumption couldn’t cripple his da, the man refused to stay abed for more than a couple days at a time. Clan business required his presence, so he sat in the great hall like any laird, settling squabbles between his tenants and welcoming chieftains from neighboring lands.

  But this moment had been fast coming. Errol gazed down at his father. He covered him with the fur and rested the back of his hand on his forehead, checking for fever, knowing the lung disease brought hot sweats and cold chills with it. Then he leaned close to the laird’s nose, listening to his breathing. Steady but slight. What relief he could find in that, he took willingly. His sire would live another day. But could he rule? His captains would have something to say about i
t, especially with MacKenzies on the way.

  Although allies, any sign of weakness would force the MacKenzie laird to question MacRae defenses. And in Kintail, with the barbarous MacDonalds at hand, it was unacceptable. Lairds didn’t lead from their deathbeds. That’s what sons were for. And being his only child, Errol knew better than anyone what that meant. He might gain a clan and wife on the same day.

  A maid returned with a bucket and the linens he requested. “Set the pail on the floor, lass.”

  He dipped the cloth in the water, then sat on the edge of the mattress. With a cautious hand, he wiped his father’s face clean. He dropped the soiled linen on the floor and grabbed a fresh one. This time he folded it in half, then left the cool compress on his da’s forehead. At this point, all he could do was wait for the healer. She had black spleenwort and other herbs that could ease the laird’s discomfort and help him breathe better. Then it hit Errol. Maybe he should summon the priest. Perhaps prayers were needed more than remedies. Not caring who watched, he covered his father’s left hand with his.

  “I don’t know if ye can hear me, Da, but I want you to stay. It’s too soon for ye to go.”

  Errol could hear women weeping in the corridor, and was that Cameron murmuring verses? Damn the world for condemning such a good man to a slow death. Errol deserved punishment, not his father. He squeezed his hand, regretting not having told his sire how much he admired and loved him.

  Sometimes words weren’t enough, but it would make all the difference to his da. “If you survive the night, I swear you’ll grow weary of how many times I say I love ye…”

  Chapter 12

  “You can’t neglect your duties,” Margot said, standing near Aileana’s bed. “The laird and priest will consider it a great transgression. Dry your eyes, lass, come break bread, then we’ll find something to occupy those idle hands.”

  Aileana had sought sanctuary in her room after she finished speaking with Errol. Where else could she go? If she stayed in the great hall, people would only be reminded of what happened. If she went to the kitchens, where she was no longer permitted to work, Muriel and the rest of the maids would give her hateful looks and accuse her of wicked things. Rolling onto her side so she now faced her auntie, Aileana shook her head.

  “Even if I wished to go with you, I am forbidden to work.”

  “What?” Margot sat on the edge of her mattress.

  Aileana rubbed her eyes. “Forgive me, I should have spoken to you sooner. So much has happened over the last couple of days. Things I’d sooner forget than accept. I doona like strangers deciding my fate, Auntie. And no matter how long I lie here trying to understand the laird’s logic, I can’t.”

  “What are ye talking about, Aileana?” Margot cast a suspicious glance at her.

  Aileana sat up and tucked her knees under her chin. “Laird MacRae will announce my engagement to Errol tomorrow evening.” She shivered at the thought—of touching him with intimate familiarity in public. If she didn’t, as he warned her, people would surely doubt their sincerity. She must prepare herself to make a great show of it.

  Margot’s expression changed to one of shock. “Did I mishear you, child?”

  “Nay.” Aileana smiled sadly. “I am to marry the future laird.”

  Margot folded her hands on her lap, her gaze wandering over the sparse furnishings in the small room. “What really happened between you and Master Errol on the way home? Don’t lie to me, child. Haven’t I the right to know?”

  Guilt washed over Aileana. She didn’t want to withhold the truth. But she couldn’t tell her everything. If she did, she risked exposing Sgùrr. “Aye,” she said. “I spoke honestly before. Please believe me. All of this is to protect me from Broc. I am certain Errol had other plans for his life. For some reason he feels obligated to marry me.”

  Margot caught her hand and squeezed it affectionately. “Regardless of his reasoning, you will be the lady of this keep. And for that good fortune, you must go to the chapel and give thanks to the Almighty.”

  She touched Margot’s cheek. “I doona wish to celebrate or give thanks. My heart doesna rejoice. I fear God will punish me if I give false praise for something I can’t accept.”

  Margot stood up. “I’ve heard enough of your complaints. Before today, what hope did you have for a prosperous life? A husband who respected ye? Children that will be clothed and fed? A home to truly call your own?”

  “I wish I could feel differently.”

  “Make yourself.” She walked to the end of the bed and opened up the trunk.

  “Wait!”

  It was too late, Margot clicked her tongue as she lifted the fur-trimmed, blue dress from its hiding spot. “Where in God’s name did ye get something this lovely? Tell me.” She faced her. “Promise me you didn’t take it from one of the noble ladies visiting the laird.”

  That was as painful as a blow to the chest. Aileana stumbled off the bed, heartbroken Margot would think her capable of theft. “ ’Twas a gift.”

  “From Errol?”

  “No.”

  “Who? Broc? If so, we must burn it.”

  Aileana refused to let anything happen to the beloved garment. She tugged it out of Margot’s hands and clutched it to her chest. “I canna tell you.”

  Margot frowned. “What secrets are you hiding, child?”

  Knowing it futile to stop her, Aileana watched helplessly as her auntie rummaged through the old chest that held all of her worldly possessions. It saddened her to think that everything that meant anything to her could be packed away in a dilapidated trunk she rescued from the fire pit. She’d enter into the bonds of marriage by having a servant deliver it to Errol’s bedchamber. And then he’d see what a careless mistake he’d made. For Aileana’s heart resembled that aged trunk, cracked and faded—and irretrievably broken.

  “What is this?” Margot straightened, the piece of animal skin holding the last of the secret treasures in her hand.

  She flinched at the deeper disappointment in Margot’s voice. Why explain, she wouldn’t believe anything now.

  Margot unfolded the fur. “More gifts from an admirer?”

  Aileana eyed the ornate silver bracelet. “Yes.”

  “There’s a small fortune of silver coins in this pouch, lass.”

  “Take it,” Aileana said. “I want you and Edme to have something for your future.”

  Someone knocked on the door, and Aileana sighed with relief. Margot opened it and stepped aside as three women entered, carrying bolts of colorful material and baskets.

  “Laird MacRae has ordered new gowns for the lass,” one of the women addressed Margot.

  She nodded and hid the items in her hand behind her back. “I will sit quietly in the corner while ye take measurements. Aileana is the nervous sort, you may require an extra pair of hands to hold her down.”

  The woman looked between Aileana and her auntie.

  “She is only teasing,” Aileana said. “I am more than willing to stand still while you work.”

  Before she joined the women, she stashed the gown in her trunk, then closed the lid. Obviously the conversation with Margot wasn’t over, just put off until this next step toward her marriage was completed.

  For what seemed like hours, Aileana stood in her linen shift while the women poked and prodded her all over. Five dresses were to be made, two wool, two silk, and one of linen. But even as Aileana admired the rich colors the women had selected for her, she couldn’t find happiness or peace. She’d rather wear rags and retain her freedom than prance about the keep in silk. Margot was afraid Aileana was lying to her. Well, marrying Errol in the absence of love seemed more of an abomination to her than lying.

  But no one would agree or sympathize with her, so she remained silent.

  Once the seamstresses left, Margot stirred to life in the wooden chair in the corner. “I am happy for you, lass.”

  “I still feel empty inside.”

  Margot sighed and stood up. “It is my turn to be
g your forgiveness, Aileana. You’ve never given me reason to doubt you.” She offered the bracelet and pouch to her.

  Aileana accepted them. “Please keep the silver, I have no use for it.”

  Tears welled up in Margot’s eyes. “Do you remember your first day working in the kitchens with me?”

  “Aye,” Aileana said fondly.

  “Wherever ye came from, no one had taught you how to make bread. So we patiently went through all the steps, teaching you how to measure out the ingredients first, then how to mix them, finishing with how to work with dough. You pounded your little fists into it over and over again.”

  Aileana laughed. “How many times did we start over?”

  “Three or four.”

  “After I burned the first two loaves.”

  “Yes.” Margot’s eyes twinkled. “But the important thing was patience. In time you learned. The same lesson can be applied to a husband, lass.”

  Aileana appreciated the heartfelt illustration, but her aunties were spinsters. “But you never married.”

  “Do ye think I never loved a man?”

  Aileana bit her lip, worried she’d insulted her. Even now, Margot was young and attractive enough to find a husband. “Who was he?”

  “A brawny warrior who served the MacKenzies. Callum.”

  “What happened?”

  Margot’s shoulders drooped and she dabbed at her eyes. “He died in battle long ago. We were betrothed only weeks before.”

  Knots formed in Aileana’s stomach. All this time she assumed no man had won Margot’s heart. But the sorrow on her face proved how wrong she’d been. “God rest his soul.” She hugged her auntie.

  “Thank you.” Margot pulled away. “Now do ye understand why it’s so important to accept your future with Errol? I’ll not have you mourn the loss of a man for the rest of your life the way I do. As laird, Errol will lead his men into battle. His chance of being killed on the field of war should make you cherish every moment at his side. Embrace this betrothal, Aileana. Love will come in time.”