The Marriage Alliance

by Mageela Troche

  Nay, it was Duncan.

  He swooped down, snatched Ailsa into his arms, and rushed to the donjon.

  Cradled in his arms, Ailsa knew she found where she belonged. Her fanciful dreams, hidden deep in her soul safe from her father’s chiding remarks and neglectful behavior, were alive. On her travels here, Ailsa destroyed those wishes, never believing Black Duncan would be the man to bring them to reality. Finally, she could dream again.

  Safe in his arms, she snaked her arms around his neck, a bemused expression on her face. She loves him. And wanted his love in return. That which the ear doesn’t hear won’t stir the heart, she remembered. This wasn’t the time to share her inner most emotions knowing he would spurn them. Ailsa couldn’t survive his rejection.

  “You have changed a simple task into a debacle.” Ailsa took no offense to his blistering tone. “I think a couple of days in bed shall jolt your strength.”

  Ailsa tried to wiggle out of his arms but his band of muscles tightened and refused to let go.

  “My lady, are you unwell? I shall get you water.” Moira ran alongside the couple, matching Duncan’s swift stride.

  “I’m well, nothing to be concerned about.”

  “Wife, you fainted,” Duncan added.

  Ailsa gasped. “I didn’t faint. I wished to sit down so I did.” Her husband gazed at her as though she’d lost her mind. She smiled sweetly up to him. “Now put me down, there is much to finish.”

  “The day has ended for you. Now to bed where you will remain until I grant you permission to leave.”

  “The men shall not have a place to eat.” Her words brought about the results she desired. He froze with her snug in his embrace. She snuggled closer to him.

  “I can finish it.”

  Ailsa swung her legs like a gleeful child. “That will be most amusing, seeing you directing the servants on where to hang the tapestries.”

  The man growled at her so she rose up and planted a quick kiss on his lips, smothering it. When Ailsa opened her eyes, Duncan stared at her as though she lost her mind and was trying to determine what to do with her.

  “What has come over you?”

  Moira dashed away, giving them their privacy.

  “Nothing at all. I’m quite well,” Ailsa assured him but he seemed not to believe her. She fixed the folds of his plaid. “While I like being in your arms. I have a great deal of work and unless you plan to carry me around you must put me down.”

  Without thought, Duncan lowered her, sliding her down his sculptured form. “I have a great deal to do.” Besides finishing the hall, winning the clan’s acceptance and helping Moira get the man she loved, she had to formulate a plan to gain her husband’s love. “I have many plans that need to be carried out.”

  “What plans?”

  “I cannot tell you. You’ll see soon enough.” She dashed back into the donjon, her mind already plotting.

  Besides, how hard could it be?

  Chapter Nine

  The great hall gleamed and was ready for the furnishings and décor. The space was bare and supper ought to be served in less than two hours. And if this hall wasn’t completed before mealtime, she didn’t have to worry about the hungry men; instead Duncan was her most dangerous threat.

  The creak of the donjon’s heavy door alerted her to someone’s approach. She hoped it wasn’t Duncan. Ailsa breathed easily when Caelan came into view trailed by someone Ailsa never thought to see again in her life.

  “Keifer,” Ailsa cried with joy. Her mind flooded with sweet memories.

  From the pleasure on his face, he was happy to see her. “My lady.”

  “Welcome to my home. Please allow me to offer you some refreshments after your journey. You must be parched.” She dashed toward the kitchen. “Keifer, please sit.” She called out as she passed through the arched doorway. Keifer’s perplexed gaze scanned the bare hall. Caelan’s stony gaze met his without reaction, waiting to see how the Cameron lad acted. Keifer remained standing.

  Ailsa returned with a platter of bread, cheese, and fruit and cup of wine. Caelan wondered how she intended to serve him since the only place to set it was the floor. Her dilemma dawned on her and Keifer seemed just as confused, not knowing what to do. Keifer looked from the platter to the cup then back again. His movements were jerky but he took the cup from her.

  “Thank you, my lady.” He guzzled the wine.

  She laughed. “You are so proper suddenly. You’ve always called me Ailsa the tender and now, I’m my lady.”

  Caelan stiffened, more than his usual inflexible stance. Keifer picked up on the affront he would cause if he dared such improper behavior.

  “Now, you are the Lairdess.”

  “I haven’t changed that much. I just took the place I was trained to hold. But, please let us speak of other things, how is the clan faring?”

  “Tavish the Old went onto his reward. Fluer visited him every morn like she promised. He complained that she didn’t do anything like you did.” Sorrow descended over her. She spent many hours with Tavish, strolling the lands as he cared for the cattle. “And Ena had a daughter.”

  She raised her hand to muffle her giggle. “Now Lucas has seven daughters.”

  “He swears he will never have a moment of silence. He’s threatened all the lads and his hair is already gray.”

  Duncan walked in to find his wife laughing with the Cameron messenger and Caelan disgusted.

  “Step away from my wife.” The messenger took a step back then bowed to him.

  Ailsa rushed to his side. “Duncan, this is Keifer. Connor’s best friend and my friend.” Duncan’s scowl lessened to a frown. “He taught me to ride.”

  “He has a message for me.”

  “Do you have one for me as well Keifer?” She held her breath, awaiting his answer. He bowed his head, ashamed that he had nothing for her.

  “Nay, my lady. The laird sent me with this message.”

  She swallowed. “’Tis fine.”

  Keifer shook his head. “However—no insult to Laird MacLean—Alec demands a report on your happiness.”

  “You may inform him that I am quite happy. I have a lovely home of my own.” Keifer looked perplexed by the state of the hall. “I’m sprucing up the hall. We MacLeans live sparsely but not that sparse.” She chuckled softly but Duncan caught the underlying layer of hurt that was still heard. “So, I shall leave you men to your business. Keifer, please give my greeting to everyone.”

  “I shall, my lady.”

  The three men watched her exit the hall. Keifer pulled out the parchment and handed it to MacLean.

  He unrolled the scroll and scanned it. “Tell him I’ll be there.”

  “Aye, laird.” Keifer searched for a place to set the cup. Caelan snatched it from his hand.

  “Wait. Does Cameron demand a report on his daughter?”

  Keifer snorted with derision. “Never.”

  “One more thing, tell her brother Ailsa is cared for and to never question it again.” Duncan turned his back, dismissing him.

  Normally, Duncan placed messages in the chest but much like every other item in the hall, it was gone.

  “What word from Cameron?”

  “He requests a meeting tomorrow. I wonder the reasons for this.”

  “Think he means to attack the MacKinnons.”

  “That sounds like the only possible reason for a meeting. I just have a nagging thought in the back of my head.” Duncan shook away his thoughts. “Lachlan needs to be informed. I want him to get information during our visit.”

  “There’re going to be a clan full of sighing lasses.”

  Ailsa dashed back into the hall. “Duncan, you must leave. The hall must be finished or no one will eat.” Ailsa shooed the two feared warriors out.

  * * * *

  Hungry men filed into the hall, not bothering with her hard work. She stood at the high table and waited for some acknowledgement of her work. They never spared a glance to the exquisite tapestries hanging f
rom the limed walls, not one compliment was given for the enormous tapestry of Marys at Jesus’ tomb hanging on the east wall. Though sinful, Ailsa took great pride in that one. It required months of her time to complete the intricate work. The six border oversized rosettes strained her sight until dots danced around and her fingertips were reddened and almost raw so when she began stitching the angel sitting upon Christ’s empty tomb with both Marys facing him it seemed a joy.

  The men didn’t know that and would never since they had still yet to cast their sights upon the intricate work.

  Her humph failed to earn her the slightest reaction.

  “I’m hungry,” Niall said, as he scampered into the hall.

  Another male who never troubled himself with her hard work, she humphed.

  He held his stomach. “I can feel my belly growling like a wolf.” He parroted a wolf.

  Ailsa glared at the men standing around the trestle tables when they smiled Niall’s way.

  “Why are you standing here?” Niall demanded.

  “I thought it might be fun but I was wrong.”

  “Duncan says you’re wrong a lot.” He shrugged one-shoulder before bouncing around the hall with energy Ailsa envied.

  As another humph escaped, Hector’s low chuckle sounded beside her. “Let me compliment you on your taste. The hall looks as I remembered it when my mother was with us. I see you discovered the dragon tapestry.” Hector pointed to the west wall, where the ferocious, intertwined dragons with the elaborate Celtic spiral background hung. “I unearthed it in the cellar. I had never seen such beautiful work.”

  “That was my favorite. I still see my mother working on it. Duncan removed it after her death. I guess it pained him to look upon it.” His face took on a melancholy mask, lost in the memories of the woman. Ailsa understood that emotion. She behaved the same when her mind conjured up memories of her departed mother. Yet, now she took solace in those few memories of a time when she had love in her life.

  He swallowed back his emotions. “I think I might be spending more time in here. Niall, those are seats you put your behind on not your feet.”

  Niall jumped off one of the two chairs flanking the hearth while Ailsa added, “Where is Duncan? I am ready to eat,” Niall whined, sounding like the child he was.

  “Thank you, Hector. You are the first to notice. I don’t believe these men are the feared MacLean warriors yet they fail to see what is before them.”

  “We see it, my lady but it’s what women are supposed to do.” A warrior named Galvin called out.

  “Do you not praise each other when you cut off the arm of your enemy?” The men nodded in unison. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Let me explain one thing to you men, if you don’t give praise to women for things they are supposed to do, they will do nothing. And that means no food to fill your empty stomachs.”

  The rush of compliments burst from the men and the hall hummed with them vying to flatter, grander than the one before. One even praised how high the tapestries hung.

  Duncan stood at the hall entrance, not believing the foolishness before him. Silence descended when he readied himself to shout over the noise. Lachlan and Caelan headed to the table while he followed at a sedate pace.

  “My lady, you have banished the chill that had settled in this hall. I commend you on your hard work and skillful eye.” Lachlan rhapsodized until Caelan cuffed him on his shoulder.

  “It looks lovely,” Caelan added on his way to his seat.

  Ailsa smiled sweetly at Duncan, waiting to hear his opinion. When he stopped before her, his gaze raked the space. “The hall looks good.”

  “Good,” she echoed, not pleased with his inadequate compliment.

  “Well, the tables are back.”

  Her plump lips pinched together, her nostrils flared and her hands fisted. She looked prepared for violence.

  He grinned and she mirrored it. “The lion struggling with the serpent is my favorite. I’m pleased you displayed that one.”

  Her cheeks pinked, delighted he recognized her work.

  “Are you going to cry?” Niall demanded, horrified at the prospect.

  “Nay. I’m pleased so many prefer it.

  “If we didn’t, we wouldn’t eat.” From behind her, a warrior grumbled. Ailsa believed Galvin spoke but she ignored him while her smile never faltered.

  Duncan ushered her to the table and signaled for the repast to begin. Niall darted to his seat, knocking into Ailsa.

  As they feasted on the sea's bounty, Duncan spent the time speaking of training and other things of which Ailsa had no interest. Yet, she never cut in or tried to change the subject.

  Throughout the meal, Duncan sensed Ailsa’s excitement. Her leg jiggled under the table, knocking his leg. Never once sparing a glance, he wondered at her source of excitement. He almost questioned her then decided not to, permitting her to reveal her thoughts in her own time.

  When the men filed out of the hall, she appeared relieved. Niall patted his stomach then belched. It echoed through the hall. Moira came to the high table and began clearing it.

  Hector smiled up at her. “You are in a fine mood this night.” She shared a quick look with Ailsa.

  “That I am. I helped my lady with the hall and it turned out quite fine.” Moira gathered up the cups, spoons, and bowls.

  “It certainly did. How is your mother faring? I must confess I do miss her cooking.”

  She dumped the items into a bucket. “She’s healed and will be back for your dinner.”

  Ailsa, not able to hold back any longer, grasped Duncan’s hand and jerked his arm. “You must come with me.”

  He cocked his brow but pushed himself out of the chair. Instead of her taking him to the bedchamber to seduce him, she guided him to the hearth. She looked so pleased for a reason unfathomable to him. Her joy was connected with the two chairs flanking a table. She had added a few x-framed chairs behind these two.

  “Those are for the men when they need to come into the hall,” she said after she must have caught his gaze lit on them. “There are also stools if more seats are necessary.”

  “Lovely,” he said, since she seemed to expecting praise.

  “Sit.” Knowing he would stand here until he did, he sat. Her hands were clasped together and a hopeful expression on her face. “Now, try the other.” She tugged for him to rise.

  Holding back his groan, he switched seats. “Which do you prefer?”

  “This one is fine.”

  The hopeful expression changed into a crestfallen one. She peeked at the one to his right.

  “I think the other one is better. My legs have more room to stretch out.”

  “That one is yours. You picked the right one.” She snuggled up to him. “Once winter comes, we can sit here, enjoying the fire while I work on my embroidery and you do…whatever it is men do.”

  “Sounds nice.” Women put importance on such things and if one wrong word were uttered, her feelings would be damaged. So, Duncan said as little as possible. Nevertheless, Ailsa was pleased. He did his husbandly duty even though he failed to comprehend the importance of the task. The newly decorated hall was more than a transformation. It was sign that her life had changed.

  This was the beginning of their new life.

  * * * *

  After bidding her husband a safe journey and being kissed until her body trembled and barely left her standing on her own two feet, Ailsa hastened to the clachan. Cattle roamed on the green fields, fattened for the harsh winter that assaults the highlands.

  She knocked on the Màiri’s door and hummed a song about Red Olav. Hearing Màiri bid her entrance, Ailsa entered the smoke-hazed room.

  “Good morn, Màiri. How are you faring?”

  Màiri sprawled on her stomach and twisted to glare at her. “I’ve been shot by an arrow. Bull’s balls, I’m not well.”

  “Please forgive me. I never meant harm and feel horrible for the pain I’ve caused you. I swear I shall never venture ne
ar anything sharp.” Ailsa choked on unshed tears. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Nay, my lady,” Màiri grumbled. Not satisfied, Ailsa did what she did every day; she straightened the room. She knew from Màiri’s icy disdain that she wasn’t welcomed or wanted but that never stopped Ailsa from coming here every morning.

  Màiri lounged upon her bed and as was habit, she said not a word. Ailsa kept up a steady conversation, never expecting or demanding a response.

  “My lady.”

  Ailsa dropped the bracken broom in shock and rose up.

  “You take all the fun out of my grumbling since you never take offense. Child, there is no need for you to feel guilty or try to make amends. You never meant to harm me,” Màiri grumbled.

  She lowered her gaze and tried to think of some way of earning Màiri’s forgiveness. “Never. I wish no one harm.”

  Màiri rolled her eyes. “My lady, you shouldn’t be cleaning my home. ‘ Tis not proper.”

  It wasn’t proper for a Lairdess to shoot her kinswoman either. “Proper or not, I am Lairdess and my duties include caring for this clan and you need care so please accept my help.”

  Màiri hesitated. “Very well, but only until my Frances comes. Thank you, my lady.”

  A few moments later, Frances came inside and took over the care of her mother.

  * * * *

  Duncan sat across from the redheaded rat. Or his father-in-law. Not that Laird Cameron inspired fatherly sentiments. He did inspire a deep disgust that churned Duncan’s stomach and left a foul taste in his mouth. Not even the piquant wine washed it away.

  Duncan was still stupefied that Ailsa shared blood with this man. His rat eyes darted about the great hall. His face was red from exertion. He huffed for air. It was the English in his blood, making him weak.

  Cameron couldn’t lie in the middle of the moor with only his plaid as cover against the elements. He would probably need a pillow. Not that Duncan underestimated him.

  Lachlan sat at his right.