“I dinna think to bring a sack or basket for such things.”
“They are no trouble, my lady,” he said. Seeing the joy in her face as she greeted her people lightened his own spirit. “Are there more to see to?”
“Nay, no one to visit, but I had hoped to take ye to the sea.” She glanced down the road as it curved toward the sea.
“We could ask yer father’s men to take this back to the keep.”
The widening of her eyes spoke of her ignorance of those who followed their every move. Ah, so her father had a care for her, whether he did it to protect her or to spy on Iain mattered not. The MacKinnon would play both of them against each other if it suited his aims. Iain must remember that.
“Where?” she asked, hands on hips, as she turned to face the path they’d walked.
“There, my lady,” he said, pointing back two cottages. “And there.” The guards followed them, one on each side of the road, inching their way along as Ailis had walked at Iain’s side.
“Have they been following us all along?” Her pale brow furrowed and he almost reached out to touch and smooth it.
“Aye.”
He’d noticed them in the hall first and then as they walked from the keep. It made sense on her father’s part and confirmed what Iain suspected. The chieftain had no intention of allowing his daughter to marry some unknown stranger who’d appeared on his doorstep.
“Ronald!” she called out. Though the man looked like he wanted to disappear, he nodded and came to them. “I pray ye, take these things back to my chamber.”
“But, my lady,” Ronald said, glancing between the lady and his assignment. “I must stay. . . .”
“I see Robbie over there,” she said, pointing at the second guard. “He can follow along until ye return.”
When faced with the lady’s orders, the man did the only thing left to him. He gathered up everything that Iain held and walked away, nodding to Robbie as he walked past him. With that settled, she stepped back to Iain’s side and waited until he raised his arm for her.
She directed him toward the path to the sea. The air grew saltier and the winds picked up as they climbed a small rise and stood at the top looking out at the water.
“The harbor is to the west of the castle,” she said, pointing past the stone walls. “This part is mostly unapproachable by sea due to the sea stacks and rock formations all along this coast.”
That made Dun Ara Castle safe from most invasions using the sea. Guard the small harbor, he could see, and the only approach was by land.
Iain looked farther across the sea knowing that Coll lay closest to them, with Barra and Rum and Skye some distance across the sea. His father’s people were on those islands.
“Ye did it again.” Iain turned to find her studying him as he studied the sea. “Ye make a sound, like a slight inhalation, and stop moving.” She stepped to him, standing between him and the sea. “Is that when a memory returns to ye?”
He nodded, unable to speak as he struggled to find and keep the bit of knowledge he’d just gained.
“What did ye remember? Just then?” she asked, her body close enough to feel her heat. She placed her hand, her ungloved hand, on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
“Something about my father’s kin. Here,” he nodded at the lands to the south of where they stood now. “And out there, too.” He gazed over her head and across the sea to the islands in the distance.
“What other memories have returned?” she asked quietly, lifting her head, staring into the openings in the fabric where his eyes lay. Could she see his eyes? See him there within?
“Ye. Ye are there, too.”
He admitted it against his will. He wanted her to know that she somehow lived in his thoughts. In that moment, all he wanted to do was touch her. Feel her skin on his. Mayhap that would make him remember why she was such a presence during his recovery.
All it would take was for him to tug his own glove off, as she had hers, and touch her. Reaching behind his back, he grasped the tips of one glove and pulled it off.
Iain lifted his hand as the skin tingled at the feeling of the air on it. She gasped at his touch, as he slid his fingers over her hand on his chest and wrapped them around hers.
Other than the good brothers touching him in their care of his wounds, he had neither sought nor desired the touch of another until now. And, even as he felt the uneven ridges of flesh on the top of her hand, he knew she could see the same on his.
Something shifted in him. A hope that she wouldn’t shy away from him or his touch. A prayer that she understood the step he took and his appreciation of the one she had. An awareness of how right it was to hold her. To be close to her. To touch her. To kiss. . . .
His mouth was on hers before the thought finished. She opened to him. He dipped his tongue deeply inside her mouth, searching and tasting. His body reacted to the touch of her tongue against his, hardening and readying. She slid her hand off his chest and she entwined their fingers, keeping their hands touching.
The kiss intensified and he wanted more. To touch more and taste more. To have more. He noticed when she slid her hand along his arm to rest on his shoulder. Iain used his other hand to claim her, pulling her tight against him.
She fit. Her mouth fit his.
Her body against his felt right. She moaned. He found her staring into his eyes as their mouths possessed each other. In that moment, Iain knew that she must be his. She was his. He tugged his other hand free and placed both around her head, sliding into her hair so he could take her mouth as he wanted to take her body.
They had done this before, of that he was certain. They had kissed and touched and possessed one another. But when? Then her hands sought purchase and touched his back and he pulled back.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked in a whisper, her voice filled with passion and wanting. She released her grasp on him, reaching up to cover his hands as they gripped her head.
So why couldn’t he remember her? What would make his mind not want to remember her? He searched every inch of her face, willing himself to remember who she was to him, but nothing. Had she something to do with what happened to him?
“Nay. ’Tis a wonder to me how ye feel. How ye fit to me.”
He wasn’t ready to explain the memories of her or describe the intensity and pleasure of them. Mayhap ’twas as the good brother who treated injuries said after all? That the woman in his dreams was not real, but a manifestation of his memories. But that was before he’d walked into Dun Ara and seen her.
Iain had just spoken her very thoughts back to her.
The last thing she needed to be doing was falling under this stranger’s enticement. As she faced her father’s ire and Davina’s disapproval, Ailis needed a clear head and a plan to thwart her father. This man clearly muddled those for her. She’d held out this long, avoiding any man’s attentions or intentions, and wasn’t ready to behave as though all was well.
Ailis glanced up at Iain and noticed the way her lips felt swollen from his kisses. How she’d pressed against him during those kisses, losing herself to the passion as she did with. . . Lachlan.
She narrowed her gaze and studied what she could see of him and his form. Something in him was calling up her own memories of the man she’d loved, to whom she’d pledged her love, heart and body. But what was it?
He shifted, taking a step away, as her father’s guard called out to them. Would the men report back to her father that she had flung herself into this stranger’s arms? She heard the slow, deep breathing as he held out his hand, his bare hand, to her. Ailis placed her palm in his hand, feeling the uneven skin under her touch.
They walked in silence back toward the village, leaving the sea and the memories and that kiss behind. Ailis couldn’t help herself. She thought of Lachlan’s kisses and the way their hands would touch, fingers entwined. And the way he would kiss her until they were breathless and panting in want and need.
He slowed his pa
ce to keep their strides matched, his longer legs covering the same distance much faster than she could. With each matched step, comfort filled her. It felt right at his side. Which was mad and not something that should be.
It should be Lachlan at her side.
It should be Lachlan she married.
But, she thought with a glance up at this masked stranger, if she didn’t come up with a plan to circumvent her father’s will, this was the man she would marry in just a few days.
Could she betray Lachlan’s memory in that way? Could she betray their love?
Chapter Seven
If her father thought that spending time with this man would make her more amenable to accepting Sir Duncan, he’d misjudged her badly. And if Davina thought her counsel would be welcomed, she had as well.
The woman who had been her closest friend breathed betrayal into every conversation with Ailis’ father. No matter that she’d managed to forestall a decision by imploring her father for a reprieve. No matter that Davina carried out the tasks that Ailis’ mother had and did it well. Or that she’d provided Finnan MacKinnon with the one thing he’d always sought and had never achieved, a son.
None of that mattered to Ailis as she sat through meals over the next days with her family, her father’s chosen husband and the stranger who’d walked unsuspectingly into their battle of wills. What interested her most right now was how effortlessly the stranger fit at the table and at her side.
They’d spent hours together each day since his arrival and she looked forward to their next encounter. A wry sense of humor revealed itself when they went to the stables to choose a horse for him to ride. His strength was clear in the way he fought during a few more training bouts in the yard. His kindness was shown when they visited the village and he was made to wait while she saw to the needs of those in her care.
His manners at table were no different from Sir Duncan’s and his ease at speaking to the chieftain or his servant hinted of experience. He also seemed well-educated, for he’d offered his opinion on several topics and her father accepted them easily.
He fought well, too.
Ailis had hidden behind the corner of the stables and watched as her father and three of his best warriors challenged Iain to fight. Thought not as strong as they were, Iain held them off well. She could tell when his clothing impeded his movements, but he took nothing off to make it easier for himself.
Oh, how she wanted to see beneath those garments and the mask he wore to the true man beneath! As though he understood her thoughts, he lifted his head and met her gaze.
“Curiosity again, my lady?” Could he read her thoughts? “I saw ye watching today. Did ye see what ye wished to?”
“Nay.” Why deny it? Everyone in the keep and village wondered about the man beneath the layers.
He laughed and she noticed his voice was smoother now than when he’d first arrived. Almost as if he’d not used it before and now it was warming up because he talked more. It remained hoarse and not more than a whisper, at that. But he didn’t struggle to get the words out as he had before.
“If ye would like to speak honestly, I would as well,” he said. He leaned in closer so only she would hear his words. “There are matters to settle between us before this situation escalates further.”
His words, which could have an ominous tone, thrilled her instead. Over these last days, they had spoken on many matters and Ailis always felt as though he considered her words in a way no one here ever did. Only Lachlan had.
“There now. Ye have that look in yer eyes,” he said. “What were ye thinking just then?”
Ailis swallowed down the tears and grief and shrugged at his question. “A memory, sir.”
“So that is what my face,” he began, “What my eyes look like when I remember something?”
She would have run away, uncomfortable at the thought of discussing Lachlan with this stranger, but he reached out and took her hand. Guiding it under the table, he entwined their fingers and squeezed her hand.
“Who was he?”
His question, stated softly and plainly, threatened to shatter her very being. Other than Davina, no one here knew about Lachlan or their love. The only word that ever arrived was that one of The MacLean’s sons had died in a fire. Since their clans were not in good standing with each other, barely a moment was wasted on that news. Her own injury in that fire had been hidden and blamed on something completely separate from that. Only she and Davina knew that truth as well. When he squeezed her hand, she decided to speak the name of the man she would never stop loving.
“His name was Lachlan. He died last year.”
In the few moments after her disclosure, Ailis waited for his reaction. Her previous words about the loss of her virtue, spoken in anger that first night, must be on his mind now. When she could no longer bear the heavy silence between them, she glanced at his face.
His gaze was empty. He stared over her head and didn’t seem to know she was there. He was remembering something!
“Does the name mean something to ye, Iain?” she whispered, tugging on their joined hands to gain his attention. “Do ye remember that name?”
Was he a MacLean? Had Lachlan been his kin? Mayhap there was some family resemblance that caused her to think of her lost love when he spoke. . . or when he kissed her? Another suspicion tickled her memory, but she pushed it away for its absurdity. Lachlan was dead, she was certain. She squeezed his hand harder and called his name once more.
“Iain? Did ye ken Lachlan MacLean?”
He blinked. She could see his eyes moving within the mask’s openings. His hand shook in her hold and she held her breath awaiting his disclosure.
“I thought for a moment that I did,” he admitted, his voice hoarse again. “But, like the other memories that have haunted my dreams and my mind, it flitted away.”
“But that doesna mean ye didna ken him.” He shook his head and released her hand.
“Alas, my lady,” he said, regret filling his voice. “I have no memory of anyone by that name. Or any MacLeans.”
Davina had chosen that moment to eavesdrop. Ailis heard her gasp at the name of their enemies.
“Ailis, I pray ye leave that subject,” she warned.
Ailis took in a breath and let it out before saying a word. Even that did not help curb the anger she felt.
“And I pray ye to stop interfering.”
Iain stopped any further exchanges when he stood between them. He asked her father’s leave to go before stepping back.
“I would speak to ye,” her father said, rising as well. “Come now.”
Though the words were spoken in an easy manner, they were an order and Iain nodded. She glanced over and saw Breac and another of his men rise, too. Strange that. Fear flooded her and she worried that her father had some ominous fate planned for Iain. She reached out and took his hand, pulling him back to her.
“Have a care, Iain,” she whispered. “If ye still wish to talk,” she said and then paused. At his nod, she continued, “I will await ye in yer chamber.”
Watching as the four men made their way out of the hall, Ailis was surprised when Davina slid across and sat in the chair at her side. Their usual practice was to go their own way once the meal was done.
“Is it wise to speak of the MacLeans with this stranger, Ailis?” Davina asked. “With tensions so high and the recent conflict so fresh?”
The MacKinnons and the MacLeans, and the MacLeods for that matter, all claimed different and changing portions of the Isle of Mull. Lands and cattle, moved from owner to owner every year, it seemed. The MacKinnons had lost their lands to the south and had been pushed to almost the very northern edge of Mull in the most recent feuding. And, the alliances with the king shifted at a furious pace, one clan or another in his good graces or outlawed as they met or refused his demands.
“Iain but asked a question, Davina. I answered him.”
“But ye swore never to speak his name,” she said in a softer voice a
nd tone. “Yet ye told this stranger. Was that wise?”
“I promised him honesty and so I answered his question.”
“Honesty?” Davina leaned back against the chair. “Why would ye promise him such a thing? Ye dinna ken him. Ye dinna owe him.”
“He walked in seeking the hospitality of our hall, a refuge from the storm, and found himself in the middle of. . .a clan war of sorts. He will leave with a full stomach and a few nights’ rest and some coin if my father is feeling generous. But not the bride he has been promised. The least he deserves from me is honesty, Davina.”
Davina smiled now. Ailis recognized that smug, satisfied smile from their years as friends. It signified a task gone well or a prank enjoyed.
“So ye will marry Sir Duncan then?” Davina asked.
“I wish to marry no one,” Ailis admitted aloud. “I have no heart in me for a husband.”
Davina reached over and covered Ailis’ hand. She leaned forward and pressed against Ailis the way they used to when sharing secrets or plotting some mischief.
“Lachlan is gone, Lis,” Davina whispered. “Ye must go on with yer life.” The tears burned in her eyes. “Ye have lost so much in such a short time, but ye canna live in the past forever.”
This was the first time that Davina had advised her on any matter since she’d married Ailis’ father. The longing for such comradery shook Ailis to her bones. Ailis missed Davina almost as much as she missed Lachlan and her mother.
“I ken ye dinna understand why I accepted the offer of marriage to yer father, but ’twas not done to hurt ye or tarnish the memory of Lady Elisabet. I had so few choices to make a good marriage, Lis. Yer father—”
“Was a good match?” she asked. The bitterness couldn’t be held in after all. It burned in her gut like the fire that consumed Lachlan had. Hot. Strong. Corrosive.
“Aye, a better match than a lowly MacNab cousin could have or should have hoped for. Ye ken that. Ye kenned my circumstances.” Davina shrugged. “More than that, Lis, he makes me happy.”
The Forbidden Highlands Page 18
