The Marriage Alliance

by Mageela Troche

  Duncan seethed.

  That bastard didn’t deserve her. He proved Duncan’s opinion of him was correct. The man was a knave and whoreson. One thing Duncan knew— Ailsa had value to him.

  “I would like to run my sword through the bastard.”

  His table companions agreed. “I say we do what MacLeans do best. It’s time to raid. Only MacKinnons until we know differently.”

  Duncan gazed across the hall and spotted Moira returning with the untouched tray. He pushed back his chair and met Moira before she went into the kitchen. He whipped off the linen covering the food.

  “My lady said she wasn’t hungry.”

  “She has to eat.”

  “I told her the same thing but she said she wasn’t hungry.”

  Duncan snatched the tray from Moira, the linen floating to the timber floor. “She’s going to eat if I have to tie her down and shove food in her mouth.”

  He climbed the stairs three at a time while his hands gripped the tray. “Her mouth sure opens wide when she wishes to disobey me. So, it should be easy to get the food in her.”

  Duncan groaned. The woman drove him daft that now he was actually grumbling to himself. For the first time since Niall fell ill, he felt lighthearted. But something else happened too. He cared for Ailsa.

  The one emotion he denied himself to develop after Ceara destroyed that capability in him. After all this time, his hatred never diminished. In love, he was blind to her actions, both cruel and selfish. He was truthful and he hadn’t searched deeper than her bewitching beauty. Duncan shouldered his guilt and learned from his wrongdoings, swearing never to permit a chance for it to happen again.

  He could care for Ailsa that much was acceptable…but love her?

  Never.

  Duncan trusted her but he could never trust his heart to her.

  Blinking away his thoughts, he came into the room. Ailsa was perched on the x-frame chair, half her body slouched on the bed. He set the tray down on the table and lifted both Ailsa and the chair.

  “Duncan.” She blinked away the haze of slumber.

  “You will eat everything before you.” He stabbed a finger at the tray.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Yes, you are.” He folded his arms over his chest, daring her to disagree.

  “Duncan, I believe I know my body better than you do.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that.” She shot him a disgruntled look as he twisted the chair until she faced the tray. “You will obey me, Ailsa.”

  “I will not obey you.” No one was foolish enough to dare his temper, yet this elfin lass did, all the while looking quite straggly. She didn’t appear much of a threat.

  “You vowed before God to obey.” She shook her head while he rebuffed with a nod.

  “I added when I wish to my vows.”

  “That’s not obeying. That’s doing what the hell you wish.” He crouched down, flashing his thigh. “Ailsa, you have to eat. I cannot have you sick as well.”

  Ailsa realized one truth that rekindled her heart. Duncan cared for her. That was the start she had been striving for and soon love would bloom. Ailsa wondered about his vow never to love again. Yet, caring almost always transformed into love. Unlike that woman, Ailsa couldn’t bring herself to say her name, she would protect his heart.

  She cupped his hard-planed cheek in her hand. He relaxed and nuzzled against her palm. She dropped it, still feeling the blunt edge of a day’s growth. Breaking a piece of bread, she savored not the food but his affection. Duncan stood guard over her side until her last bite.

  “See how easy it is when you obey me.”

  “See how easy it is when you explain your thinking to me.”

  Duncan smiled. “I will try to do it more often.”

  “Good.”

  “Are you going to try something as well?” He cocked his brow.

  She shrugged, adding a humph for good measure.

  “Ailsa,” he growled.

  “I will try to obey,” she uttered, then beamed up at him.

  “Now, we have everything we need.”

  “Oh nay, husband, we need much more.”

  Commotion echoed up from the courtyard, drawing Ailsa to find out the goings-on. She opened the oak shutter and peered outside. Not able to see much, she still saw enough to know Duncan was riding out.

  “How long will you be gone?” Ailsa asked over her shoulder, fearful if she turned, he might see the glassiness of her eyes.

  “This night. I look to cause some mischief.” He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her trim middle. He rested his chin on the top of her head. It didn’t matter that he had to hunch over. He liked her nestled against him. She laced her fingers with his. He kissed the top of her head.

  “What is happening?”

  His sigh brushed through her hair. “At this moment, I do not know but I will find out.”

  He kept secrets from her. That knowledge pained her but she never said a word since she kept a secret hidden in her heart.

  She must tell him. As she began to say the words, he spun her around and claimed her lips. This kiss was unlike others. It held a promise and a goodbye as though he needed it to see him through his duty. And Ailsa needed to feel him, the sweet contact to cradle close to her while she awaited his return.

  Duncan broke off the dizzying kiss.

  “Be well so when I return to you, you’ll be well and whole,” he murmured in her ear, his breath fanning across her skin, and sending a tremor through her.

  “I love you, Duncan.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ailsa never looked upon his face. He stiffened in her arms and she sensed him withdrawing from her, not physically but the closeness of the moment before dwindled away to nothing. Her breathing halted, trapped in her chest. She wanted to take back her hasty words but she promised to speak the truth so she must not regret her admission. It pained her though. Ailsa heard the pounding of her heart before it cracked, not breaking completely. Her stomach dropped and her nerves tingled. Her skin felt as though a thousand tiny fires flared over her flesh.

  For a long terse moment, they stood in each other’s arms with the noise of the courtyard and Niall’s whimpering cries the only sounds.

  “You must be going.” She dropped her arms and took a large step away, bumping into the wall. Ailsa watched in a daze as Duncan clasped her hand.

  “Ailsa.”

  Niall cried out, sitting up and kicking off his covers. He slid off the bed, his bare feet on the cold floor.

  Both dashed to him. Ailsa reached him first. She scooped him in her arms and placed him back in bed. Running her fingers through his sticky hair, she murmured soothing words to calm him. His body went limp.

  “You should go. I’ll care for him.”

  Duncan’s gaze bore into her. She swallowed her cry for him to leave while avoiding his eyes. He dipped his chin in a curt nod then departed.

  Ailsa didn’t watch Duncan ride out so she never saw him looking upward for one glimpse of her face.

  * * * *

  Hector slipped into the room as quietly as possible. Ailsa’s lilting voice floated to him. Her melancholy tone belied the cheers of victory, the song about the glories of Red Olav celebrated.

  He wondered if he should leave or send her to bed. No doubt, she was tired. Exhaustion clouded her eyes and darkened the surrounding skin to a gray-purple hue. But the sadness weighing her down truly captured his attention.

  “Has he worsened? Forgive me, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “You surprised me, nothing more.” She dropped her hand from her chest. “I believe he is on the mend.” She waved Hector toward the horsehair padded x-frame chair. “He feels cooler though the fever still rages but he’s resting now.”

  Hector settled on the chair, his twisted leg stretched out before him. “I expect no different. If I could survive my affliction then he will survive, right?”

  She kept her eyes on Niall, not waiting to s
peak a lie or tempt fate.

  “Is Duncan’s departure the reason for your despair?”

  She looked toward the shuttered window. “It is.”

  Hector knew she left a great deal of her emotion unsaid but she was incapable of hiding her heart. She loved Duncan.

  For a moment, he pitied her since Duncan would not love her. Then he remembered one important trait about this tiny lass. She conquered the MacLeans. Now only the laird remained and she was the woman to do it.

  “Come in, Moira,” Hector called out, his eagerness notched up his tone. “We will care for him so you may sleep.”

  “I want to stay with him.”

  “My lady, you look horrible.”

  “More like hell, Moira.”

  Ailsa gawked.

  “Don’t worry, we will care for him and if there is any change, we will come for you. But please, get some sleep. You cannot be ill for what lies ahead.”

  Ailsa nodded, not grasping Hector’s comments’ underlying meaning. She gave Niall a motherly peck on his plump cheek then crossed to the door.

  As she opened it, Moira called out, “my lady, a bath is waiting for you.”

  “Thank you.” She closed the door behind and hauled her weary self to the empty chamber. Thankfully, Ailsa was exhausted and her mind barely functioned.

  Moira and Hector sat in silence, staring at the closed door. While Moira built up the fire, Hector heaved out of the chair and dampened the cloth. Hector mopped Niall’s brow. This little boy always caused a commotion but Hector loved to enflame his temper. That was his entertainment. And like a good brother, Niall always fell for it.

  “What has you laughing?” Moira asked as she wiped her hands on her apron.

  “I was thinking about the time when Niall tried to throw a caber.”

  “It was more of a stick. Of course, he was four,” Moira replied with laughter. “Hector, he will be well.”

  His shoulders stiffened, almost swallowing his neck. That was not good for his leg.

  “True. If I could survive my illness then he could survive this. Moments such as these cause a person to realize the value of the people you care for.”

  He looked to Moira with such heartfelt emotion she knew he cared for her. He held out his hand and she placed hers in his. In unison, they stepped to one another. Moira anticipated the kiss that never came, instead he held her close to his lanky body.

  Equal in height, they put their heads together. Moira’s heart soared because she learned Hector cared for her but in his arms she swore she detected a deeper underlying emotion. She felt love.

  He continued to hold her, not wanting to let go, and she preferred being in his arms. “I discovered a surprise.”

  “What surprise?”

  “Ailsa loves Duncan.” Hector dropped his arm and perched on the edge of the bed.

  The man discerned Ailsa’s love but the love Moira held for him seemed to go right over his empty head. She tried not to snort her indignation and allow Hector his say. But with every moment of silence, it was becoming harder.

  “I think it’s just what Duncan needs. Maybe he’ll learn not all women are Ceara.”

  Moira agreed but in her moment of selfishness, she wondered about her love. “What about you falling in love?”

  Hector’s chuckle was twinge with scorn. “No woman would love me. My body is twisted and I’m incapable of providing for a wife as a man should.”

  “That isn’t true. I’m sure someone loves you.” She wanted to scream, “I love you” but those words stayed buried deep in her.

  Hector snorted but his yearning shined in his eyes. “Moira, you care for me but no one knows me as you do. Our relationship is different. You see me whereas the lasses can’t look beyond my limitations.”

  Moira’s eyes narrowed. Now was her chance. She must risk her whole heart and gain everything or miss her chance and gain nothing.

  She leaned toward him. His face blurred until the sharp contours of his face softened then blurred. Her lips landed on his. The contact she longed for was sweeter than she ever dreamed.

  Moira pulled back. Blinking, she caught sight of his shocked visage. Embarrassed, she ran out of the room.

  “Moira wait!”

  She never stopped until she barged into her sister’s cottar.

  * * * *

  Duncan, ahead of his men, passed the spot where he had tossed Ceara to the man she wanted. Instead of thinking of her, his mind was consumed with Ailsa’s declaration of love ringing in his head. She loved him. Ceara professed the same sentiment and her words were false.

  There were many differences between his wife and the scheming vixen and the most important was Ailsa believed she loved him. It pained him knowing he couldn’t love her. If someone deserved to be loved, it was Ailsa.

  A soft rustling of underbrush scattered his musings of love. His men halted without a sound to alert their prey.

  He peered into the darkness of woods and caught a glimpse of shadowy figures patrolling the borders. He held up five fingers. Caelan nodded.

  Duncan didn’t have to instruct, his men knew what to do. MacLeans, Spartans of the North, knew warring better than the nation their nickname stemmed from.

  Duncan pulled his broadsword and gripped the pommel. Retaliation…On his terms but on enemy land. He motioned to MacLean warriors to fan out and once in position, Duncan gestured to Caelan to make noise to draw the men toward him.

  Caelan pulled down a tree branch, nodded at Duncan then let it snap back. MacKinnon’s patrol made a great deal of noise, breaking twigs, rustling branches, and crunching leaves. When the patrol was inches from his blade, Duncan jumped from the brush and swung his sword.

  He cut down one man then a swarm filled the small clearing. These men weren’t clansmen fighting to protect their homes and cattle. Duncan heard French calls through the air. The patrol ran in the darkness.

  This was a trap. As always, Duncan planned for the unexpected and this qualified as one. The MacLean warriors adjusted, never faltering in their fighting.

  A glint of silver flashed in the corner of his eye. He stopped the killing blow with his sword. He kicked out with his leg. The soldier in his heavy chain mail fell backwards. Duncan swung his sword in a low arc, killing the man.

  The sound of striking metal cracked through the night and jumbled with the cries of wounded and the last rattled breath of the dying.

  As quickly as the feuding began, it ended. The mercenaries scattered as the metal clanged in their hasty retreat. Duncan didn’t give chase. One of the mercenaries cried out for help.

  Dismounting, Duncan stood over him. “Who hired you?” He demanded in French. “Tell me, damn you.”

  “Cameron,” he rattled on his last breath. Duncan’s hissed curse carried on the wind to his commander. His harsh gaze met Caelan’s grim one.

  “The rat betrayed me.” Duncan wiped the blood dripping from his sword on the crushed grass. “Make no mention of this to my wife.”

  “You don’t think she played a role in this?”

  “Nay, nevertheless I wonder.”

  Caelan gazed questioningly at Duncan. He turned his back on Caelan and his thoughts as well. The idea flourished in his mind. Did she have any knowledge of this on their wedding day? Did she lay with him every night knowing what lain ahead? Was her every laugh aimed at him? Was her profession of love false? Duncan mentally shrugged those notions away.

  “The false alliance our marriage brought about means nothing now.”

  The men swung onto their mounts and melted into the night. Duncan didn’t want to believe his own thoughts about his wife’s loyalty but when he denied them before they proved true. Duncan was truthful enough to acknowledge that he couldn’t survive Ailsa’s betrayal.

  “This might make the clan turn from her.” Duncan heeded Caelan’s words. MacLeans didn’t trust easily and once crossed, they sought vengeance. But Duncan thought of him recoiling from her, no longer witnessing the glow that warme
d him, never to hear her tinkling laughter, the perfect mixture of innocence and sensuality.

  Never to hear her humph at him.

  “I’ll deal with that if it occurs.” Malcolm rode to them in the rear of the procession, ending their discussion.

  “Laird, Galvin’s wounded.” Duncan tapped the flanks of his mount. He pulled up next to Galvin, slumped over his horse’s neck. Blood coursed down his leg. He tried to sit up.

  “Don’t move if you are greatly pained.” Duncan took the extra plaid from his pack. Bunching it up, he pressed it against Galvin’s side, staunching the blood, then tied its ends. Galvin groaned and swayed in his saddle but he soon recovered a bit.

  “Can you ride?” Duncan demanded.

  “Aye, laird.”

  “I want him to be the first one in.” He faced Malcolm. “Ride swiftly and order Màiri to ready herself.”

  Malcolm rode into the darkness.

  Caelan came up beside him. “If Galvin dies, it bodes badly for my lady. If the clan discovers Cameron’s treachery, they might think you don’t trust her either. Maybe you should prepare her for what may lie ahead.”

  Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “I cannot.”

  “Or will not,” Caelan retorted. Fury steeled Duncan’s eyes as his whole being froze, ready to strike.

  “You dare question my judgment.”

  Without fear but with respect, Caelan inclined his head. “I do. Ceara betrayed you and the clan. But do not judge others by her treachery.”

  “You are a MacKenzie,” Duncan bit out.

  “That I am but I was raised on your mother’s milk.” Caelan tapped his mount, away from Duncan.

  * * * *

  Iron braziers dotted the courtyard, throwing light into every shadowy corner of the expansive space. Duncan threw the reins to the Phelan and carried Galvin into the hall. The trestle table was set up under the illuminated chandelier, adding to the candlelight flooding the table.

  “Lay him here,” Màiri commanded. Duncan set an unconscious Galvin upon it. Duncan dropped his eyes to his stomach and saw the sanguine stain marring his tunic. Galvin had bled so ferociously Duncan knew he lost a warrior. Camerons had taken his life. And Duncan would revenge Galvin’s death.