She stared at the floor. “What if it doesna?”
“Respect and mutual tolerance are a better fate than loneliness.”
She wanted to believe it would be enough to extinguish the fire inside her heart that meeting Sgùrr had ignited. Loneliness didn’t seem bad in the absence of love. The seer’s solitary life might not appeal to most, but it promised more to Aileana than being tied to a man who didn’t love her. One she wasn’t sure she desired enough to marry, either. Best to hold her tongue and agree to whatever her auntie wanted. Seeing Margot cry again would destroy what little control she maintained over her emotions.
“I will try.”
Margot smiled. “That is all I expect, sweet Aileana. Now rest for a while, then I will send a tub and hot water up so you can bathe before you see Errol again.”
As Margot shut her door, Aileana wondered if she could really be Errol’s wife. Would the women who’d hated her for so long receive her as the new Lady MacRae? Then she pictured Errol, remembering his gray eyes and chiseled face. All too easily she could convince herself to surrender to the pleasure his soft lips promised to deliver, but it was the morning after she questioned. Did she possess the perseverance to let love take root between them like her auntie suggested?
Chapter 13
Miracles happened if one exercised faith. That’s what Errol had done over the last four hours, pacing the length of the solar and kneeling at his da’s bedside, praying for a sign his father would improve. As he usually did after he recovered from a collapse, the old man demanded help out of bed the second his eyes opened.
“The MacKenzies will be here soon,” he complained.
Errol swallowed his joy. He couldn’t let his father see how relieved he was to see him awake, or it would only encourage him to get up. “The healer gave specific instructions. Remain abed for a sennight, until you’ve cleared some of the fluids from your lungs and your color improves.”
“My color?” His eyebrows shot up. “Am I a lass concerned with rosy cheeks, or Laird MacRae?”
“Whatever you wish discussed with our distinguished guests, I assure you, it will be done.”
His father winced as he repositioned himself.
“Are you in pain?”
He nodded. “It feels like my ribs are bruised.”
“Pressure in your chest?” Errol pointed to his sternum.
“Aye.”
“Here.” Errol picked up the cup on the bed stand. “A mixture of herbs and ale to make the medicine palatable.” Supporting the back of his sire’s head, Errol helped him sit up.
Laird MacRae drank greedily, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Bring me some meat and bread.” He looked at Cameron standing in the shadows. “Have one of the lasses deliver the tray, I’m tired of staring at your solemn face.”
The secretary bowed and left the solar.
“You shouldna be so hard on him,” Errol offered in the man’s defense. “He hasn’t left your side.”
With a gruff sigh, Laird MacRae replied, “He hasn’t the strength to pick me up off the floor. If it weren’t for you, I’d have bled to death.” He rubbed the side of his skull where the deep gash had been bandaged. “He’s grown soft tending to my needs inside, so I’ll treat him like a woman until he proves himself worthy again.”
This time Errol chuckled openly. “Some men aren’t blessed with brawn and brains.”
“Are you suggesting you are?”
“Aye.” Errol beamed with boyish pride.
His father waved his hand dismissively. “Arrogant fool.”
Errol leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “I’m happy to see you awake. Is there anything else I can do to make you comfortable?”
“Get me out of this bed.” Laird MacRae pulled the fur back, his body shaking.
“Nay.” Errol covered his sire’s hand with his. If the laird exerted himself too much, he might die. And if Errol had anything to say about it, his father would live for a number of years. “The healer is certain you will survive, but only if you follow her instructions.”
“I want to stand on my two feet,” he insisted.
“Please.” Fear stabbed Errol’s gut as he imagined his father dying because he wouldn’t yield to reason. He gently forced his father flat on the mattress. “Rest. You’ll catch a chill. The winds are whipping across the loch.”
Turning to the maid sitting quietly in the corner, he signaled her to join them. “I expect ye to watch over my father. Keep him covered.” Errol returned the discarded fur to its proper place. “Speak with him. Feed him. But send for me if he tries to get out of this bed.”
She curtsied and retrieved a stool from the far wall. Once she sat down, Errol turned back to his sire. “I must prepare for the MacKenzies.”
His father gave him an assessing look. “Did you share the news with Aileana?”
“Aye.”
He nodded. “And how did the lass take it?”
“She made it very clear she dinna want a husband.”
A chuckle-cough escaped his father’s throat. “Spirited. The perfect match for my obstinate son.”
“If I could only convince her of that.”
“Give her time,” he said. “I’m proud of you for demonstrating such compassion and honor. Before you left to recover the lass, I feared you’d never learn. But it seems I am wrong.”
“I’m grateful to ye for trusting me again.”
“Doona think I’ll stay abed tomorrow. I intend on announcing the betrothal tomorrow night, as planned. The sooner you marry, the better it is for the clan. I want grandchildren, Errol. Heirs to assure our lands will stay where they belong. The king is making a bad habit of stripping titles and lands anytime he smells the slightest weakness.”
Though the MacRaes were sworn enemies to the MacDonalds, he understood why their enemy clansmen were seething for blood. The MacKenzies were growing more powerful by the day…unfortunately at the cost of MacRae assets. “Is this what you wish me to tell the MacKenzies?”
“Say nothing. Just listen. Let them get comfortable—drink our ale and fuck our women. And by eventide tomorrow, when their hard heads are still swimming from overindulging tonight, I’ll break the news that my only son willna be marrying one of their daughters.”
His father’s words caught Errol by surprise. “Is that the purpose of their visit?”
Laird MacRae wheezed and gestured for the maid to hand him the copper pot on the floor by the bed. Once in hand, he coughed violently, then spit in it. The fitful nature of his coughing attacks left him breathless. He sank back against the pillows.
“Yes,” he answered. “An important part of it.”
“Why didn’t ye tell me?”
His father grinned. “And give you another reason to challenge my authority?”
“Sweet Jesus,” Errol said. He raked his fingers through his hair. “You’ve avoided other chieftains and their daughters until now.”
“On the promise that I’d given my word to let you choose your own bride. My generosity with time has ended. Since the day Murdoch MacKenzie of Kintail made an alliance with our clan, they’ve aspired to join our families through more than treaties. It seems the Wild MacRaes have their own ideas about marriage though. John MacKenzie is no fool, he’s a capable chieftain with four daughters. And if it weren’t for Aileana, I would have agreed to send you home with him.”
More news that made Errol want to sit down. “And did you arrange for me to have an ample bridal purse?”
“If that’s what it takes to get you in front of a priest.”
To succeed in their mission, Errol understood shedding blood for the MacKenzies was necessary. But marrying one of the chieftain’s daughters…He’d met the eldest two before, Mary and Odara, both as frigid as Loch Duich in the dead of winter. “So you willna consider handfasting with Aileana?”
Laird MacRae scowled. “You’ll take proper vows before God.”
The question was more for Aileana�
��s benefit than his own. He knew how troubled the lass was. And the fear that she’d run away again to avoid marriage grew every hour he spent away from her. “As you wish, Father.” He turned to go.
“Wait.”
Errol faced him, afraid his worried expression would betray him.
“Ye have feelings for the girl?”
“You’d have to be blind to not see how beautiful she is. I remember how scrawny she was when she first arrived. The flame-haired lass no one wanted to get close to because they thought her a bad omen. Superstitious fools.”
“Including you?”
Errol’s reasons for avoiding her were entirely different. He’d liked her from the first time they’d met. Those big eyes followed him wherever he went, and when he visited the kitchens for supplies before leaving for a hunting trip or clan business, she’d rush to gather what he needed. As they matured, her curiosity grew into something more tangible. So did his undeclared feelings. But he never dreamt his father would approve of such a match, so Errol acted disinterested, to protect her and himself.
Someday he’d share that secret with her.
“Aye,” he admitted. “But it seems my silence has cost me more than I ever imagined.”
“Go, then,” his father said. “Woo her gently. And never be afraid to speak from the heart, lad. ’Tis the way I won your mother’s love.”
—
Aileana gazed in the handheld mirror Margot had delivered to her room along with the tub. Wearing the dress Sgùrr had given her, with her hair braided on the sides, the rest hanging loose down her back, she dared to believe she might make a suitable lady. Until she lifted the hem of the gown and stared down at her well-worn, leather boots. A bitter reminder of her place in this household. Only noblewomen wore silk slippers. She sighed and turned away from her reflection.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
Aileana once again found herself alone with Errol. His mouth dropped open, and her body prickled with awareness. She tried to ignore his shameless gaze by focusing on his clothes. His trews clung to his muscular legs, his linen shirt hung just below his hips, a leather belt pulled tight showed off his narrow waist, and his plaid was draped neatly over his left shoulder, pinned in place by a silver bodkin with a square-cut ruby. He’d dressed as his father would, the ancient MacRae claymore with the jeweled handle sheathed at his side.
Nervous he’d catch her staring, she jerked her head upward. “Is your father well?”
He rubbed his chin, slowly meeting her gaze. “Aye. I apologize for not coming to you sooner, I’ve been with him all this time. It took holy orders from the Pope himself to keep the man abed.”
Aileana laughed gently behind her raised hand.
“Why did you do that, lass?” He captured her hand and massaged her knuckles.
“What, milord?”
“Never deprive me of that beautiful smile.”
His praise made breathing difficult. Everything about him provoked her, challenged her to deeply consider what path she’d choose for her life. Countless times she’d hoped as a girl he’d take notice of her. Now that he had, Aileana feared she’d say or do something wrong. Though she’d observed the polished manners of noblewomen over the years, emanating that kind of grace seemed hopeless. Her hands were meant for the kitchens, meant to pound and knead dough, meant to refill the laird’s cup, not to take repast at the high table.
“Word about the laird reached me by way of the boys who brought the tub abovestairs,” she explained. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“You did right by waiting here,” he assured her. “Did Margot and Edme wish you a happy life with me?”
“I only spoke with Margot.” She averted her eyes. “She thinks well of you, especially after saving me from Broc.”
“Do you think well of me, Aileana?” His brilliant smile bathed her in warmth. And when he reached for a strand of her hair, she stepped closer.
“I think ye do,” he continued, twirling her hair around his finger. “But are too proud to admit it.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, once again trying to picture herself as Lady MacRae. Errol could have chosen anyone. All her life she’d craved answers and never got them. She wanted warmth. Happiness. A family. A clan. She sucked in a breath and opened her eyes. The man before her offered all those things. They weren’t strangers. Surely she could consent to the marriage and try her hardest to be a good wife. Then if it didn’t suit, she’d leave.
“Aileana?”
“Pride is the only thing I have,” she said. “Look about this small space. What do you see?”
His gaze swept the room. “A bed, chairs, dressing table, and a trunk. Everything is orderly and clean. Even that fur…” He gestured at the cover on her bed. “ ’Tis not a wrinkle in it. So I see many things beyond the physical objects that occupy this space. Much can be learned from the way a man or woman lives.”
She considered his words for a long moment. “So what does your father’s cluttered desk suggest?”
He chuckled. “Clever, lass,” he said. “The man is as wild and chaotic as a winter storm, I admit. But underneath, he’s as loveable as I am.”
“Loveable?” she repeated; it was the last quality she’d associate with the laird or his incredibly handsome son.
“Do you not find me so?”
Now he was teasing her. “I will wait to answer that question.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “So let me show ye something else.” He held the small mirror up, standing behind her. “Take a long look at yourself, lass. I know a man is judged by his wealth or fighting skills, or by his bloodline or whether he’s the firstborn son. It matters not. For the only thing of import is whether you can face yourself. Can you hold your head up high every day and find peace in knowing you’ve led an honorable life?”
“Y-yes,” she whispered, deeply moved by his profound thoughts.
“Good.” He spun her around to face him. “Then doona fear me, lass. Marry me, and we’ll find our futures together.”
Chapter 14
The MacKenzies had not been pleased when Laird MacRae didn’t join them in the great hall yesterday. But Errol followed his sire’s advice, and with little trouble had the five men drinking heavily and singing songs within a couple hours. Always able to drink most men under the table, Errol hadn’t neglected his duties. He’d raised a dozen cups in salute to their allies, reveling in the knowledge that he’d avoided an unhappy union with a MacKenzie by choosing Aileana. And now, just minutes away from escorting her to the feast to witness his father’s announcement of their betrothal, his heart thundered in anticipation.
Leaning against one of the stone columns at the entrance to the hall, he appraised the preparations. All the servants had worked through the night. Banners of the MacRae tartan decorated the walls. Ribbons of the same colors—green, red, and blue—were tied to the dozens of brass candle stands. His father had demanded nothing but the best, wax tapers in every holder, French wine, and the silver plates and goblets usually reserved for the finest of celebrations. Errol approved—how many times did a man stand claim a bride?
He appreciated the bouquets of dried flowers strewn about the hall in copper and silver vases, which he knew Aileana’s aunties were responsible for. Beyond his sire, Cameron, and Broc, the maids were the only ones who knew his secret. Tonight Errol would make all the women who’d dared to slander his future wife swallow their bitter words. Justice came in many forms, but at times he wished his father was more liberal about punishing the pecking hens in the kitchens. A tongue carved out of an evil mouth would put an immediate end to their wicked thoughts. For it wasn’t what a man put into his mouth that polluted his heart, it’s what came out of it.
He turned to the narrow stairs and sucked in a breath. The team of seamstresses employed at the keep had labored doubly hard to finish one of the silk gowns for Aileana. He’d dreamt of her in flowing sea green silk, her mane of fiery hair tu
mbling over her shoulders. She required no embellishments to look beautiful. Her smile alone could outshine the summer sun, her teeth like tiny pearls. But Errol would no sooner present her without gems around her neck than he would in homespun. He patted the leather pouch at his hip, where his mother’s Scottish pearl and ruby necklace was safely nestled.
As he stepped away from the hall, Broc appeared. They hadn’t spoken after the meeting in his father’s solar. Friends since childhood, it pained Errol to know that a woman had so easily changed things between them. But age brought different responsibilities, and he’d be damned if he ever let a female under the care of the MacRaes fall into the hands of any man who would only use her body to prove something.
Broc frowned.
“I thought my father sent you to check on the herd.”
“Aye,” he said. “Not one is missing.”
“Do you join the festivities tonight as a friend?”
Broc threw him a resentful look. “I enter the hall as I do on any other occasion, to fill my hungry stomach.”
“I canna allow you to cast a shadow over this celebration. Aileana is a free woman, and she chose me. Like it or no, she never would have accepted your suit. If you truly care for the lass, spare her feelings.”
“I make no promises,” Broc said.
“Then eat in the kitchens.”
“You’d have me sit with the women and lads?”
“Doona question me, Broc. I’ve reached my limit already.” He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for the bearded giant to protest further.
When Broc turned away, Errol sighed with relief and made his way up the stairs. He had assigned a lady’s maid to Aileana this morning, hoping she’d accept the help of the woman. He understood Aileana’s self-doubt. She’d grown up as a servant. But as he looked back on her time here, it became clearer that she was raised in a household that taught her something about the ways of a respectable lady. The way she walked and talked, the fact that she could read and write, and her soft demeanor all suggested someone had loved her. Another mystery he planned on solving once they wed.
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