The seductive tone of his voice stirred in her belly. If what they shared thus far was merely a beginning -- she shivered.
"Are you cold?" he asked and lowered his lips to her throat. "Pray tell me aye, so I can warm you."
Ciara closed her eyes and stroked his back. "Much as I would like to oblige you, I fear my sensitive body would protest."
Alastair raised his head. "I hurt you?"
She shook her head. "Nay, but I am not used to such -- attention."
Longing touched his dark eyes. "I should not have had you twice." He kissed her chin and sighed. "I could not help myself." His lips brushed hers. "If I do not remove myself from this bed, I will be unable to stop myself again."
Pleasure coiled through Ciara's soul. To know that he craved her, desired her, was difficult to comprehend. No one had ever wanted her in this way, nor had she been interested in sharing her body with another.
Until now.
With a groan, Alastair rolled away from her and climbed from the cocoon of their bed. He shivered and rubbed his arms. "'Tis cold as a tomb in here."
His words stilled her heart and images of Valerie flashed through her mind. Had they experienced a similar glimpse of heaven, the same paradise Ciara shared with Alastair last night?
"I need to join the men. Do you wish a tray, or will you accompany me?"
His voice drew her gaze. Kilt draped around his lean hips, he pulled on his crumpled shirt and hid his broad chest from her view.
"A tray will be fine," she whispered and tried to force mental images of him and Valerie from her brain.
He paused before the hearth and glanced at her. "Is something amiss?"
Ciara did her best to smile. "Nay. I am just weary."
Alastair grinned and tossed a log on the dying embers. "With good reason." He shoved his fingers through his hair and gathered his discarded boots. He approached the bed and seated himself beside her. "Stay abed and rest. You will need your strength."
A shiver licked her spine. Those words held promise.
He pulled on his boots, then leaned over and placed a chaste kiss upon her brow. "I will return as soon as I can."
Ciara nodded and watched him approach the door. She frowned. "Has Torquil unlocked it yet?"
He paused, his hand poised on the latch. "It was never locked."
Nay, that could not be. Ciara pushed herself up in the bed, the sheet clutched to her breast. "I saw you lock it."
Alastair shook his head, then looked her way. "You were free to leave any time you wished, Ciara. All you had to do was tell me nay."
Annoyance stirred in her veins. She shoved her hair out of her face and frowned. "You tricked me?"
Again, he shook his head. "I merely made my wishes known. I created an illusion. Departure was always within your grasp."
Ciara grabbed her pillow. "You are an immoral rogue, MacDonell." She flung the pillow toward the door.
Alastair caught it and tossed it back. "Mayhap my tactics were illogical, yet one thing you cannot deny, Ciara." His gaze slid over her and a smile curled his lips. "You said aye."
A growl lodged in her throat. She hurled the pillow at him again. He chuckled and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Ciara fell onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling. The man was pretentious beyond belief. Anger at herself rose in her breast.
He was right, she had given her consent. She had also failed to attempt to flee. That was not the point, though. Once again, she had played into his hands. His mind must be crafty indeed to constantly turn things to his favor.
That was before he tangled with her.
Somehow, Ciara vowed to find a way to even the score with Alastair MacDonell.
Chapter Fourteen
"Have ye gone completely daft? How could ye take her maidenhead?"
Alastair glanced up from the papers spread across his desk and frowned at Torquil.
'Twas bad enough tradition demanded the laird's sheets be hung for all to view after a marriage was consummated. However, discretion usually followed. To hear the gossip that surely spread through the clan like fire, and from his most trusted man, irritated Alastair.
He sighed and gathered the documents he examined. "I am quite sane and I took naught from my bride. She gave herself to me of her own accord."
The big man smirked. "I imagine she did."
His words chilled Alastair's blood. The papers slipped from his fingers. "What do you mean by that remark?"
Torquil stepped into the room. "As homely as she is, I imagined she would have given away her chastity long before now." He snorted. "Did ye cut yerself and stain the sheets with yer own blood?"
Dark fury raced through Alastair's veins. Jaw clenched, he climbed to his feet and glared at the man before him. "Retract that insult at once, or die where you stand!"
"I merely repeat what is being whispered through the clan."
Alastair drew his dirk and stepped around the corner of his desk. "Ask my pardon."
Tense silence stilled the air. The beat of Alastair's heart thundered in his ears. Staring into his friend's eyes, Alastair wasn't convinced the man would yield.
Finally, Torquil bowed his head and asked for forgiveness.
A deep breath filled Alastair's lungs. He sheathed his dirk and attempted to shove his anger aside.
"Granted." He moved to the fireplace and, arm resting on the mantel, stared at the smoke-stained stones. "Gather the clan."
A moment of silence passed before Torquil replied. "For what purpose?"
Ire stirred in the pit of Alastair's belly. With care, he turned to face his guard. "Because I command it."
Torquil grimaced. "When do ye order their presence?"
"Vespers."
The big man nodded, then left the room. Anger, hurt and betrayal stabbed Alastair's soul. In the four years he ruled this clan, never had he known them to turn against his wishes. The men and women always showed him respect and honored his decisions.
His gaze fell to the portrait of Valerie still in its revered place on the mantel. 'Twas her dying wish that flung him and Ciara together. He would be forever grateful for her wisdom. Yet to have his people disgrace his new bride with slander and hearsay twisted his heart.
Ciara's courage could not be ignored. To honor a request that bound her for life to an enemy of her clan was beyond his comprehension. If he'd had a personal quarrel with Mackintosh, if they had truly been enemies, Alastair wasn't certain he would have been as fearless.
For the life of him, he could not understand why everyone around him thought Ciara unattractive. Aye, when he first met her he thought her plain, average, but never unbecoming.
The memory of how she looked last night was emblazoned upon his mind. Her hair, her blush, her complete surrender. Alastair shivered and closed his eyes.
Ciara was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he had ever known. The difference was, Ciara hid her loveliness beneath a mass of flame-kissed hair and a sharp tongue. She concealed it deep within her damaged heart, between the cracks of her fractured soul.
Dejection lodged in his chest. His clan was the source of most of her hurt, himself included. A reckless ride through a secluded glen branded the MacDonells enemies to her people.
Alastair opened his eyes and stared into the crackling fire of the hearth. Shame wound through his heart.
Before he claimed her body as his, he should have told her of the occurrences that transpired that day -- events he was forced to participate in or face expulsion from his home.
I sired nae coward!
Bitterness rose in Alastair's throat. His father shouted those words for all the clansmen to hear. Bodies littered the glen and blood stained the earth. Alastair still felt the fabric of his tartan being ripped away by his father's gnarled hands. Disgust had shone in the man's eyes.
Walk among the bodies. Find one that lives.
Alastair shut his eyes against the memory. His father was a heartless bastar
d who did not understand how compassion could reside in the heart of a warrior. Forced to walk through blood-soaked heather, the faces of the dead were forever etched upon his soul. His clansmen kicked and jabbed the bodies until they found one who had yet to succumb to death's embrace.
Kill him!
Hatred coiled through his veins. Taunted by his father, his gaze blinded with tears, Alastair drew his blade. Yet he faltered, unable to slay a wounded man.
Lift yer sword and strike him dead or ye are nae son o' mine!
Alastair would never forget the man's face. The agony that contorted his features, the plea for mercy in his eyes. Spurred by the mockeries of his father and clansmen, Alastair relented and plunged his sword through the man's heart.
'Twas the only thing that saved Alastair from being driven from the clan tied to a yoke.
And he never learned why the deaths occurred, or the reason for his father's hatred.
A touch brushed his arm. Startled, he turned and stared down into the enchanting eyes of his wife.
"Is something amiss?" she asked, concern in her voice. "You heard not a word I spoke."
He pulled Ciara into his arms and kissed her. How could he tell her of the torture that spun through his soul? She would despise him, abandon him for something over which he had no control. That was one fate Alastair could not face.
"Never leave me," he whispered against her lips. He closed his eyes and held her tightly in his embrace. "Promise to stand by me always."
Desperation pumped through his veins and tangled with his heart. Only Ciara could dispel the anxiety that ruled his brain.
"I promise," she whispered and struggled in his grasp. "You rob me of my breath, husband."
Alastair loosened his hold and eased himself away from her. She drew in a breath and he realized he had crushed her.
Her eyes met his and the worry mirrored in the blue depths tugged at his valor. "What was that about, MacDonell?"
He shoved his fingers through his hair and turned away. How could he tell her the truth about his clan? "I just wanted to kiss my wife. Is that a sin?"
"Nay," she whispered and placed a hand on his arm. "But why did you have me promise never to leave you?" She stepped around him and lured his gaze with a hand on his cheek. "What is amiss?"
Alastair drew a deep breath. "Rumors are spreading through the clan. I have called a meeting."
Ciara stared at him, her body perfectly still. 'Twas then he noticed she wore the emerald gown and had taken care with her appearance. She looked almost as desirable as she had last eve.
"This drivel," she said, her voice soft. "It concerns me?"
All he could do was nod. Hurt flashed across her eyes moments before she turned away.
"Ciara, I will cease the wagging tongues once and for all." He placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her back against his chest. "The clan will accept you this night, or face my wrath."
Head bowed, she remained silent a moment. "What do they say about me, husband?"
The hush of her voice tugged at his heart. He could not tell her all she wished to know, for it would harm her.
Ciara lifted her head and turned to face him. "Do they call me witch and believe I used sorcery to seduce you? Does bile choke them every time I enter their midst?"
"Ciara --"
She shrugged out of his grasp. Tears shone in her eyes like the crown jewels. "Do they think you are condemned, facing life with a woman so repulsive in looks that a seafarer would pass her by?"
His anger tried to surface again. Hearing her words, truth or not, displeased him. "You are not ugly. Do not refer to yourself like that again."
Astonishment touched her face. "I am painfully aware of my looks, MacDonell. Clearly, so is your clan. None speak to me or meet my gaze. The women avoid my presence and tug their bairns inside when I pass for fear my glance will harm them."
"This night I will dispel this treatment. 'Tis unacceptable for my lady." Christ's blood, Ciara was beautiful. Why did others treat her so badly?
A ragged breath entered her lips and she wiped a hand over her eyes. She shook her head. "I know their opinion of me. 'Tis nothing new to these ears. Over the years I have heard it all." Her gaze sought his. Through a haze of unshed tears, her lip quivered. "Why did you have to make me feel attractive? Such deception only makes the truth hurt all the more."
"I have not deceived you, woman." If he lived to be a hundred, Alastair knew he would never understand women. "In my eyes, you are the most ravishing creature God ever created."
Ciara closed her eyes. "If only that were true."
Anger gripped his heart. He grasped her by the arms and pulled her against him. "Christ's blood, Ciara! Why do you resist me and my words?"
She pressed her hands against his chest. "Why do you tell half-truths?"
"I did not --"
"Aye, you did!" She shoved against him hard and gained her release. Two steps away from him, she paused and glared at him. "Look upon me, husband. My mouth is too big, my nose is too small and my eyes are slanted. If I stay in the sun overlong my skin blotches, then I am called the spawn of the devil." She jerked the ribbons from her hair and pulled the glowing mass over her shoulder. "Then there is this. Hair the color of fire, another mark of Lucifer. My flaws are many, my attributes few. Valerie was insane to force me upon you."
Alastair clenched his jaw to keep from howling with rage. Starting a fight with Ciara was the last thing he anticipated. Yet now that it began, he would be damned if he would let her win.
"Listen to me well, woman." He took a deep breath and expelled it through his teeth. "Your mouth was made solely for my kisses. Your eyes shimmer with the brilliance of jewels intended to gaze only upon me." He reached out and filled his hand with her glorious hair. "And this," he said, his anger abating, "is more enticing to me than anything that has ever tempted me before. I can assure you that Satan, or the wish of a dying woman, has naught to do with my feelings for you."
Ciara frowned and snatched her hair out of his grasp. "Do not lie to me, MacDonell."
"I am not lying! Christ Almighty, you would try the patience of a saint."
"Then I will not make you suffer a moment longer."
Alastair grabbed her arm to keep her from leaving. "Why do you believe I lie?"
"Because I am not ignorant. Never has a man paid me such praise and meant the words." She tugged at her arm. "What makes things different with you?"
"I am your husband."
She snorted and again tugged on her arm. "Under duress."
"Damnation, Ciara, I love you!"
Beneath his fingers, Ciara went perfectly still. Her eyes met his and silent tears slid over her cheeks. Alastair released her arm.
What had he said?
"That lie hurts me most of all."
She ran from the room in tears. The echo of her sobs sliced through his heart. How many people had lied to her in the past to give her such a great amount of mistrust?
Her tears bespoke her feelings of betrayal. She had not cried when Valerie died, nor during the storms that followed. He had the feeling that she showed her emotions to no one, and would resent him pushing her to such a point.
Alastair shoved his hand through his hair and left the room. Somehow, he would find a way to get through to his clan and his wife. He refused to let anyone hurt Ciara ever again.
Chapter Fifteen
"Release me, MacDonell!" Ciara grimaced and struggled to free her arm from her husband's firm grasp.
With her emotions still raw from their previous encounter, being in his presence was the last thing she wished.
"I said, release me!" She tried to dig her heels into the slick stones as he pulled her down the stairs.
"Nay," he replied, ignoring her feeble attempts at freedom. "I called a clan meeting. You are now part of this clan."
They reached the bottom and Ciara tripped over the hem of the green gown. She continued to struggle with him all the way down the corrido
r. He shoved open the doors to the dining chamber and hauled her down the aisle behind him. Embarrassment slid through Ciara's veins. Oh, but MacDonell would pay for this. She would run him through the first opportunity she found.
Their entrance silenced the murmurs of three hundred clansmen crowded into the hall. Animosity splintered the air coupled with looks of utter loathing. Despite the bold Mackintosh blood that flowed through her veins, Ciara trembled. 'Twas clear the entire clan wished her dead.
"MacDonell," she hissed and tried to gain her freedom.
He disregarded her and did not halt his long strides until he reached the front of the room. At the laird's table, Alastair stopped and, Ciara still held in his grasp, turned to face his clan.
"My anger goes beyond words."
The deep timbre of his voice reverberated off the walls. A few clansmen lowered their gazes. Ciara didn't blame them. She felt like running far from this keep and its angry laird.
"Never in my life have I been more ashamed of this clan than I am right now."
The fingers coiled around her wrist eased their pressure slightly. Ciara glanced from the disheartened faces of the clan to her husband.
"I took a wife, yet my own people refuse to accept her. They doubt her purity, shun her for her name, and whisper about her looks."
Ciara's heart spiraled to her feet. He planned to publicly humiliate her.
"I stand here now to tell you all that I am happy with my bride. She has more courage to face this clan than any of you would have if placed in a similar situation."
He was happy with her? And he thought her courageous? This could not be true.
"She was chaste until last night. The rumor that has me placing a wound on myself to stain the sheets is false. I dare any of you to doubt my words, for if you do, I will strip for a complete inspection. If I am challenged, and once the curious are sated, you will be banished from this clan as a traitor."
Heat rushed to Ciara's cheeks. Images of what he looked like nude flashed across her brain. Would he truly be so bold as to disrobe before his entire clan merely to prove her virtue?
Paper Roses Page 12
