Alastair pulled Ciara into his arms and cradled her face against his chest. She had witnessed enough death in her life; she need not witness more.
The couple in the snow struggled and a moment later, Johann's painful cry split the air. Her body tensed and shuddered for what seemed an eternity. Her cry died away and she fell atop of MacLean. The man's hand slid from her back and dropped lifelessly into the snow.
Ninian and Alastair exchanged glances. Finally, Ninian approached and rolled Johann to her back.
Her dagger protruded from her chest. He felt her wrist, then slowly looked up at Alastair and shook his head.
Despite her betrayal, Alastair felt a stab of remorse for the lost soul. There once was a time when Johann had known peace and joy; a time when she was a pleasure to be around, to confide in.
Ninian examined MacLean, then stood. He stared down at the bodies and sighed. "They are both dead."
Beneath his embrace, Ciara trembled. He swept her into his arms and carried her toward his horse. "Torquil, I leave you to see to the dead and return my blade."
"Aye, laird. Do take yer lassie home. She looks a mite worn."
Once mounted with Ciara nestled before him, Alastair turned toward home. He glanced down at his wife and the love he felt for her surged through his heart.
"Tell me again how you feel about me, wife."
She leaned her head against his arm. A lazy smile touched her lips and her soft palm cradled his cheek. "I love you."
Elation curled his lips into a smile so broad, his face hurt. For the first time in his life, Alastair knew love.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ciara removed the last of her possessions from her mother's trunk. 'Twas due time to settle into her life with Alastair. She no longer had a need to live out of a worn leather case. Alastair's mountain was now her home.
With care, Ciara closed the lid. Her fingers lingered against the cool grooves of the ancient, well-worn leather overlay. 'Twas all she had left of her mother.
A sigh passed her lips. This belonged in her past now. Before her lay a future with a man she loved, and who loved her. Ciara had no idea what she had done to deserve a man like Alastair, but she would thank God and Valerie for him every day of her life.
Beyond the windows of the newly-furnished room that once reeked of death, Ciara gazed into an azure sky. The light reflected off the snow and the boughs of trees.
Melancholy touched her heart. She missed Ninian. A fortnight had passed since the nightmare at the croft. Ciara closed her eyes and rubbed away the gooseflesh that prickled her skin.
Everyone who wished her harm was now dead. Johann, John, MacLean. She opened her eyes and stared aimlessly toward the horizon.
Through the death and blood that surrounded this mountain, her father's name had been cleared. For that feat alone, Ciara would always love Alastair. 'Twas because of him and his oath that bitterness and hatred did not linger between the two clans.
Torquil surprised her as well. Each time their paths crossed, he inquired after her health and the health of the babe.
She smiled and placed a hand on her slightly swollen belly. It gladdened her heart to know she had won over her most adamant opponent. Although he would perish before admitting it, Torquil had a soft spot for her.
Warm hands and a tender kiss upon her ear pulled Ciara from her thoughts. She smiled and leaned against her husband's chest.
"Is the trunk ready to be moved?" Alastair asked as his arms circled her thickening waist.
"Aye," she whispered and covered his arms with her hands. She could stay this way forever.
He sighed and nuzzled her neck. "I suppose I should move it, then."
Ciara smiled. "Aye, husband." She turned in his arms and stared up into his beautiful eyes. Her fingers trembled as she smoothed away a lock of hair that tumbled across his brow. "I love you."
A slow smile touched his lips. He covered her hand with his own and kissed her palm. "And I you, woman."
Her hand still held in his grasp, he lowered it between them and dipped his head towards her.
The feel of his lips on hers and the intoxicating scent of masculinity that belonged to him alone, made Ciara's knees tremble. Never again would she find herself alone and unloved in the world.
With a groan, Alastair raised his head and pressed his lips against her brow. "I fear if I do not move that trunk now, it will remain in that spot until the morrow."
Happiness filled Ciara's heart. "Then go, husband." She stepped away from him and her soul burst with love.
Alastair moved to the case and lifted it onto his back. He frowned and lowered it to the floor again. "I thought you said this was empty?"
Confusion skidded along her spine. "It is."
"Then why does it feel as if it is filled with stones?"
He knelt before the clasp and lifted the lid. Ciara stood behind him and peered over his shoulder into the barren vessel.
"I told you 'twas empty."
"Aye, so you did." He felt along the bottom, examined the exterior, then rapped his knuckles against the underside.
"What is it you do?" Ciara asked.
Alastair withdrew his dirk from the sheath at his waist and forced it between the bottom and side of the trunk. His muscles strained as he pried upon the wood.
Her heart dipped to her belly. "Husband, cease this at once." She laid a hand on his shoulder. "You are ruining it."
The wood creaked and groaned beneath his blade. Amid the noise, the bottom lifted away.
Alastair wedged his fingers into the opening, returned his dirk to his waist, then glanced at her. "'Tis a false bottom."
Ciara looked on in confusion. Why would her mother have need of such a trunk? The moment Alastair lifted away the partition, she knew.
Packed tightly amid straw was her mother's silver. Alastair removed the items with care and placed them on the floor.
Ciara retrieved a goblet from the pile and studied it in the light. Roses intertwined to form the stem and spanned upward around the base.
"This must be worth a fortune," Alastair said as he climbed to his feet.
"It is," she said and turned her gaze on him. "'Twas a gift to my mother's family from the King of France. My mother's grandsire served the crown with valor. Since he would accept no compensation, the silver was crafted."
Alastair took the goblet from her hand and studied it closely. "No wonder Eneas wanted it so badly."
Ciara averted her gaze. Eneas. 'Twas his bothersome quarrels with their mother that forced her to return to France. Although her mother never revealed the subject of the arguments, staring down at this priceless collection confirmed the topic of their spats.
These candlesticks, goblets and platters, if bartered well, would keep Eneas in sumptuous comfort for the rest of his life.
"Ciara?"
Alastair's voice drew her from her thoughts. She turned to him and looked into his worried eyes.
"Is something amiss?"
She glanced away for the space of a heartbeat. "Nay, husband. Unfortunately, this all makes perfect sense to me now. Mother's wish to journey to France, her strange deathbed request for me to guard this trunk always and never surrender it to Eneas." She paused and shook her head. "I wish I had known this was here. It would have purchased the best healer in the land; someone who might have saved her."
He pulled her into his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. "Your mother did not want it sold for any reason, Ciara. 'Tis why she hid it here and bequeathed it to you. She knew you would cherish it always."
A lump formed in her throat. She closed her eyes and nodded against his chest.
"I will build a special cabinet for this," Alastair said and eased her away. He tucked his fingers beneath her chin and raised her gaze to his. "We will place it where its beauty can be admired by all."
Ciara lowered her gaze. "Doing so will make me feel like my mother is here with me." She looked into his dark eyes and a flood of emotio
ns rushed through her heart. "I will no longer have to rely on paper roses to feel her presence."
A soft smile curled his lips and he gently shook his head. "Ciara, my love, didn't you know that you carry a piece of her with you every day? 'Tis here, in your heart." He placed a hand over the pulse in her chest. "You never needed paper roses."
Tears stung her eyes. How did he know her so well? 'Twas as if they were created for each other.
The two of you share the same soul.
Valerie's haunting words echoed through her mind. 'Twas at that moment Ciara realized what Valerie knew all along.
Ciara needed Alastair as much as he needed her. Their common bond was Valerie, a spectacular woman who cherished paper roses.
Should she live to be a hundred, Ciara would offer a prayer of thanks each day that Valerie had uttered such a wish before she died.
Ciara had her memories, her roses and the love of a magnificent man. She vowed to cherish them always.
About the Author
CELIA COLLIER
Stillwater Oklahoma is home to Celia Collier, her husband, two children, Lady (the dog) and Shadow (the ornery cat). A Naval veteran originally from Phoenix Arizona, Celia first moved to Oklahoma during her high school years. She began writing in 1990 while her husband was away on deployment.
Her love of history, with a fondness for Scotland, shines in her work.
PAPER ROSES is Celia's second novel to be released in electronic format.
Visit Celia's Home Page At
http://www.cowboy.net/~celiac/index.htm
Paper Roses Page 23
