The Marriage Alliance

by Mageela Troche

  “Ailsa, you look uneasy. You are not frightened?”

  She shook her head. “I was just thinking about your climb down the stairs.”

  “I might not be the swiftest but I get it done. I wish someone constructed a contraption to lift me up without me exerting all my energy. I must work on that. I have to talk to the carpenters. Alas, we have greater things to worry about.”

  “Surely, she couldn’t be as”—Ailsa looked around, not wanting to be overheard gossiping— “bad as you say.” Ailsa yawned.

  “Now isn’t the time to worry about such gossip. Would you stop yawning,” he reprimanded.

  “Forgive me. I had very little sleep last night.”

  He grabbed Ailsa’s arm and began hurrying her step. “There are three rules one must obey when dealing with Màiri —the first is you must accept and eat whatever food or drink she offers. That one includes the whole clan.”

  Hector nodded at the women grouped around the well. Ailsa added her wave and received one in return from a few ladies. That was progress.

  “The second is the time you visit. Her duties keep her busy from before the sun rises and long after its descent. If you disturb her in midday, she might chop off your hand so you must visit after the noon meal.”

  “Does Duncan follow that rule?”

  “Of course not, he does as he damn well pleases and no one can gainsay him. But if you don’t follow the second rule, she’ll never see or speak to you again. The third—she has a particular seat and only she’s allowed to sit there. Even if she offers it to you don’t sit there.”

  “Would she?”

  “She never has but I plan for all possibilities no matter how remote. Do you remember everything?”

  She threw back her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Three rules that have been etched in my mind.”

  Hector stopped in front of a cottar at the end of the tract. Clan folk gathered around watching the Lairdess standing before Màiri’s home. Niall and his friends grouped together and watched them.

  “She’s gonna eat her alive. She don’t like Camerons,” the boys shouted behind her.

  Ailsa humphed in reply. Niall remained silent. She wondered was it because Hector stood beside her or for the first time, he didn’t have a comment to share?

  “Yep, she hates Camerons,” another voiced piped in.

  Ailsa spun around and slammed her hands on her hips. “I am a MacLean,” she roared at the spoiled little laddies. The boys ran from her as though she sprouted two horns and a forked tail.

  With a gusty sigh, she smoothed her hair and turned back to the open doorway darkened by a Viking size of a woman. Oh God’s feet, Ailsa thought about running away too. Then she looked up to the scowling face and realized she was Cook.

  “Hector, you haven’t graced my home in some time.” Her face had an angelic glow through a few lifelines graced her face. Ailsa noticed the laugh lines and took solace in that she smiled quite often. “My lady,” she bowed, “please come into my humble home.” She swept her hand in a gesture to enter.

  The long square room was tidy with simple furnishings. A blue and yellow plaid hung over the windows. A small chipped jug full of wildflowers was stationed next to the stack of wooden bowls and cups on the long trestle table. Màiri smoothed her tablecloth and pulled out three chairs cushioned with a bright parti-colored plaid. .

  “Please take a seat.” Màiri tapped two of the chair backs.

  Ailsa remembered rule number three or was it two…never sit in Màiri’s seat. Ailsa reluctantly sat in the seat closer to the fire as Hector lowered himself in the other. Màiri stirred the stew cooking over the fire. Ailsa tucked her plaid underneath her legs, making sure not one yarn came near the flames. A repeat of yesterday was unnecessary and most unwanted.

  While Màiri tapped the large spoon on the side of the kettle, she looked at Ailsa from the corner of her eye. Instead of Ailsa complimenting her on her house or even grinning, she yawned. No matter how hard she tried, the yawn grew and her mouth opened wider.

  “Please forgive me. I hardly slept at all last night.”

  “I understand. I’ll be returning to my duties once my daughter returns from Malcolm’s home.”

  “Take your time,” Ailsa added.

  “The men wouldn’t like that,” Màiri retorted with a half-grin. She poured a tankard of ale. “Leann Fraoich. My sister brewed this herself.”

  “My favorite,” Hector added. “Duncan prefers the Alba but me, I love heather ale.” He licked his lips and rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  “I always save some for you. Moira has almost perfected this recipe. Hector, you must come to the alehouse and test her work. You have a very excellent palate.” She handed one to Ailsa and the other to Hector.

  Ailsa sniffed the light amber ale. “You can smell the heather. It’s like standing in the middle of a moor and drinking in the world.” Ailsa took a taste. Licking her lips, she realized why this was Hector’s favorite and took a deeper swallow.

  “Where is Moira this morning?” Hector asked after he tasted his ale. “I didn’t see her up at the donjon.”

  Ailsa blinked repeatedly, attempting to clear her blurry sight. She swallowed back another yawn.

  “She’s helping my Dara. She just had her third child, another boy.”

  “Are Dara and her son doing well?” Ailsa prompted a little louder than proper.

  “Aye, my lady.” Màiri glanced at her tankard then back at Hector.

  “I should like to visit her. I do so love bairns.” She swung her tankard up. “We must bring a gift to celebrate his birth,” Ailsa finished with a seemingly never-ending yawn that had tears prickling her eyes.

  Her eyelids felt heavy and kept drooping. She felt so relaxed. Her tense limbs loosened and became heavy. Never had she felt so at ease as though nothing affected her. She had worked herself into a mental frenzy with the horrible enactments she was sure would occur.

  Màiri didn’t yell at her, slam the door in her face, or pull her by the hair back to her chamber.

  “You are not what I expected. Hector told me you were mean but I think you’re very pleasant.” Ailsa emphasized by swinging her tankard back and forth. She beamed then yawned, never seeing Hector’s shocked face or Màiri smothered laughter spreading into an oppressed grin.

  “You must have thought me a crazed simpleton but the blame lies with Duncan. My hair was a fright all because of him.”

  “Ailsa, what are you speaking of?” Hector questioned. “Did Duncan groom you?”

  Ailsa swung the wooden tankard, forcing Hector to duck or be hit. “My husband wished nothing more than to ravish me and he prevented me from plaiting my hair so naturally I ended up frightening the clan. Although, I enjoyed being ravished.”

  “My lady, have you broken your fast?”

  Ailsa twisted her lips to the side and shook her head. “My stomach was tightened and twisted and the mere thought of food made me ill.”

  “She's sotted.”

  Ailsa didn’t hear Hector. She leaned toward Màiri. “The lads told me you don’t like Camerons but I’m a MacLean.” She ended with a yawn. She peeked at Hector. His chestnut eyes weren’t like Duncan’s, lacking the stubborn will. Aye, she saw that as he stared wide-eyed at her. Ailsa sat back with a smile.

  She slumped in the chair, not able to hold her body up any longer. It must be the fire’s heat seeping the tension from her body.

  That was her last thought before she dozed off.

  Màiri snatched the tankard from Ailsa’s limp hand before it tumbled to the floor. “I think her crazed but my Moira says she’s not what we thought.”

  Hector froze, his cup halfway to his mouth. “She isn’t.” He raised it to his lips and drank deeply.

  “I’ve yet to determine that.”

  “Then give her a chance before you dismiss her.”

  Màiri thought, like her kinsmen, did she deserve that chance? “How does the laird feel about her?”
/>
  Hector stared deep into the empty mug, not seeing the froth on the bottom. “He doesn’t quite know but he is intrigued.”

  * * * *

  Duncan speculated that while he waited in the woodlands along the eastern MacDonald border, his wife was at this moment causing mischief. He hoped Lachlan could handle his puny wife.

  “I betting those bastards won’t show,” Caelan said, breaking through Duncan’s rumination.

  “I wish those bastards would attack,” Duncan grumbled. “I need to get home,” he muttered to himself but Caelan overheard anyway.

  “Lachlan has everything in order.”

  Duncan gave him a hard stare. He doubted Ailsa was included in that order. He wondered for a brief moment when he returned whether his wife would be whole and hale. She seemed to have the knack for causing injury to herself just as Ailsa seemed to have the knack of turning his thoughts from crucial matters like feuding.

  Besides trying his nerves and preventing peace of mind, she was beginning to weaken him. Duncan MacLean was a fearsome warrior. His mere presence sent hundreds of men running in terror. Since his wedding, most importantly his wedding night, his puny wife had him losing focus on battles.

  Duncan reasoned he worried because she yearned for acceptance by the clan. And she was having a very hard time adjusting. The clan thought her daft and some, the superstitious lot, thought her bad luck. Duncan thought her soft, softer than MacLean lasses. Aye, her softness pleased him, especially her supple body.

  “I don’t miss Ailsa,” Duncan snapped.

  “What are you talking about? I asked if you knew what we were missing,” Caelan explained with a quick shake of his head.

  “Right.” He scanned the moor then stalked to his left, never snapping a twig or rustling a leaf. Caelan’s question had him thinking about what he missed. If not for his wife, he would have deciphered MacKinnon’s plans. Ailsa turned his thoughts and that could get his kinsmen killed.

  “MacLean.”

  “She’s done it again,” he muttered, slamming his fist into his open palm. The woman needed to stop worming her way into his thoughts. He vowed many seasons past never to allow a woman into his heart and the weakness women foster in a man. He would never be weak again.

  “Why did the MacKinnons start raiding now? Knowing I can call up double their numbers and seek any reason to war against them. I’m missing something. I need to find it.” He slapped Caelan on his back and grinned. “I feel the need to raid.”

  Caelan gripped the pommel of his broadsword and smirked. “I am in need of some fun.”

  “We help ourselves to some very fine MacKinnon cattle then onto home. I can’t wait to get home,” Duncan confessed.

  “I can’t wait either,” Caelan replied, knowing his fun would begin upon his arrival on MacLean lands.

  * * * *

  Duncan rode ahead of his men as they journeyed closer to the fortress, men returned to their homes, wanting to see their wives and eat a home cooked meal. The new MacLean cattle were added to the herd. However, as Duncan got closer to his home, he felt relieved. As far as he could see, everything was unscathed and still standing strong.

  Duncan galloped into the courtyard. He looked toward the clashing swords and grunting soldiers training in the courtyard. Malcolm was in the flushed face of a young soldier, giving him an earful, that boy would never forget but Lachlan was absent. He should have been waiting for him or the very least training his men. He glanced about the courtyard and toward the donjon’s doors. No one rushed toward him. A small part he refused to acknowledge wished Ailsa greeted him.

  He swung from the saddle and tossed the reins to the Phelan. “Give Troy the best. He deserves it.” Duncan patted his hardy mount’s flank.

  Phelan crossed himself. Phelan looked different to Duncan but he wasn’t sure how. Again, Ailsa was interfering with his thoughts. If not for her, he would have known instantly the one thing that was out of the norm. He would figure it out after he had seen his wife.

  “’Tis good to have you back,” Phelan said as Caelan pulled up beside him and jumped from his saddle. Usually Caelan saw to his own mount’s care but this time, he handed the duty to a stable boy.

  “I refuse to miss one moment of Lachlan’s greeting,” Caelan said, scanning the crowd for the second-in-command. “Here he comes.” He pointed toward the half-constructed wall then rubbed his hands together gleefully.

  “It’s cruel you find so much pleasure from Lachlan’s troubles. Nothing horrible could have occurred,” Duncan said.

  “Duncan, look at everyone, have you seen MacLeans smile so brightly? Something horrible happened and while I worry about my lady, I do derive some pleasure from Lachlan’s troubles.”

  Caelan relaxed his stance when Lachlan joined them. “Has a lass been running her hands through your hair?”

  Lachlan glared and his nostrils flared. He hugged Duncan without cuffing him on the back.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Duncan demanded, peering upward to see what had Lachlan gazing skyward.

  “I’m thanking the Lord for answering my prayers.”

  “What prayers?”

  “The ones I uttered every hour asking for one thing, your safe return.” Duncan and Caelan shared a look that was broken when Lachlan embraced Duncan again.

  “Ailsa,” Duncan muttered, pushing Lachlan away.

  “Aye.”

  Caelan snickered at him. “I thought you could get a woman to do whatever you desired with one of your charming smiles.”

  Lachlan shifted his attention to Caelan. “I would run you through with my sword but that would mean I must guard her.”

  “What did she do to herself now?”

  “Not a thing—”

  “So, the problem…”

  “The clan thinks she’s trying to kill them.”

  Chapter Seven

  Caelan gaped, his mouth hanging to his chest and Duncan was befuddled, frozen from Lachlan’s pronouncement. His eyes were popping out of his head. Lachlan repeatedly nodded at Duncan’s stunned disbelief. “How in hell is one puny lass going to kill an entire clan? And why the hell didn’t you stop such foolishness?”

  For the first time, Lachlan remained silent. “Tell me what happened.”

  Lachlan hesitated. “I don’t know where to start.” He rubbed his temple between his fingers. “No more of these dreadful duties. Caelan should deal with this. But your wife is worse than a horde of Vikings raiding.”

  “Explain.”

  “As has become her habit, my lady visited her mare.”

  “Duncan!” He looked over his left shoulder in the direction of Ailsa’s voice. Duncan heard her but failed to see her in the milling crowd.

  He set off, pushing through trying to reach her. He called out for her and caught her feminine high-pitched voice sounding from his left. Veering that way, he stopped at the edge of the training field and yelled for her again.

  “Duncan!” He saw her jumping up and down, flapping her hand over her head. Only three days lapsed and even she appeared not as he remembered. Her rich-hued hair that glowed like streaks of molten fire was tucked under a linen headdress that dampened his simmering lust.

  She lifted her skirts to her knees and dashed to him. The linen headdress fluttered to the muddy ground and her tresses flapped behind her.

  Duncan came to his senses aware of the direction she was heading—straight into the training soldiers. Before he could give a shout, Ailsa knocked over a stunned warrior, his blade buried in the earth. The warrior knocked into the back of another who twisted to face the danger only to bump into the one behind him. While Ailsa ran to Duncan, his men toppled like standing stones, knocking each to the ground. At least the men never dropped their swords. And Ailsa never knew she fell a dozen of the highland’s greatest warriors.

  “You are home.” Duncan barely had time to catch her in his arms. “Husband, you are filthy and caked with blood.”

  “A regular occurrence when
one wields his sword.” Duncan squeezed her to him. Not concerned by the witnesses, he covered her mouth with his own. This was a welcoming he wanted…to feel his wife’s pliable body in his arms, to smell her sweet scent and claim her for his own. It was good to be home.

  He tugged away from her lips but she chased after him for more. He infused all his passion into the kiss then wrenched away before he lost his fragile thread of control.

  “I’m heading to the stream to bathe away the grime. Why don’t you accompany me?” He teased.

  “I can’t I must finish supper.”

  “Màiri can finish that. You’re coming with me.”

  She shook her head. “She’s…not well so she is unable to complete it.”

  “Another shall but Ailsa, you are coming with me.”

  She squirmed in his arms, struggling to get to her feet. Duncan tightened his hold around her waist. “I want to hear everything that happened while I was away.”

  “Nothing happened.” Ailsa froze in his embrace. “So there is nothing to hear,” her voice rose to a squeaking, frantic pitch.

  “Lachlan tells me differently.” Her humph screeched in his ear. “Come along,” he said without putting down his wife. ”I wish to hear how you spent your days anticipating my return.”

  “I do not doubt the details would bore you.”

  “After the time I had, boring is needed.”

  She glared at him and he grinned in response. “Fine, but you can’t get angry.”

  “I’m a very patient man, Ailsa.” He swaggered to the stream, bouncing her in his arms. Duncan never loosened his grip, not giving her the chance to flee.

  Ailsa combed her fingers through his hair.

  Reaching the loch’s sandy bank, Duncan lowered her, sliding her along his sculptured body. She leaned against his chest and wrapped her dainty arms around his waist.

  “Missed me that much while I was away?” He smothered his laugh. “I suppose not.”