She barely had time to put aside the tunic before Niall hauled his gangly body onto her lap. His spindly legs hung over the side and his toes grazed the floor. He laid his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes. Soon his languorous breath was heard softly under the cracking of the peat as its smoky scent surrounded her. His warmth coming from his light body felt like a healing balm to Ailsa. She finally won over Niall and now everyone else hated her. Deep inside her, she was fine with that. She rested her head atop his and closed her eyes.
Jolted out of sleep when the weight disappeared, her groggy sight landed on a blurry Duncan handing a limp Niall to Caelan.
“Up you come.” Duncan tugged her to her feet and she pitched forward into his solid chest with a thump. She hissed as blood flowed back to her numb legs, stinging them with never-ending pins and needles.
When the pricking ceased, she released Duncan’s bunched up tunic and stepped a safe distance from him.
On her own two feet, she trudged away, leaving Duncan to stare at her. The foul stench of dried ale assaulted her nostrils. Her stomach rolled, pitched, and flew into her throat. Her hand sped to her mouth to stop the rest of her insides from making an appearance.
But she didn’t have to worry about that since she fainted.
Chapter Fifteen
Duncan flew across the hall, his roar bouncing off the walls as he caught Ailsa before she hit the ground.
“Get Màiri,” he bellowed as he charged up the steep stairs. He kicked open the chamber door and gently placed her on the bed. She was still in her swoon, her body limp, and her head lolling to the side. He gripped her hand, needing to hold her.
“Ailsa,” He called out her name, his voice growing in volume each time then stepped aside when Màiri sailed in with a pitcher of water. Hector, Lachlan and Caelan followed and crowded around the bed.
“She caught Niall’s sickness,” Duncan said, while Màiri placed a damp cloth on her forehead. “She’s feverish. Look, her cheeks are flush. She’s ill.”
Ailsa moaned and her eyes fluttered. Duncan glared down at her when she tried to move. A damp cloth was slapped over her eyes and Duncan ordered her to stay like a castle hound.
There was no growl but she humphed.
“I’ll allow your disobediences since you are ill. But you will not die and you will remain in bed until I give you permission to rise.”
He pushed past the gathering and stormed out of the chamber. Ailsa ripped off the cloth from her eyes. Everyone raised their gaze to the battlements when the heavy door slammed.
Màiri shooed the men from the room. When the door closed behind them, Ailsa sat up and swung her feet over the side. She unpinned her brooch and began undressing. Màiri took her plaid.
“You do not seem angry at me.”
“I’m not. You had nothing to do with your father’s treachery.”
Ailsa wondered what she meant but was too ashamed to ask, “That’s so kind of you to say especially after I shot you. I wish Duncan had your faith.”
She patted Ailsa’s hand. “Give him time. Let me help you with your hair.” Ailsa angled away from Màiri and pushed her hair over her shoulder. The gentle stroke of the comb sweeping through her long tresses began to lull Ailsa into sleep.
“I’m not ill,” Ailsa said, refusing to speak of her husband.
“That you’re not.” Màiri parted her hair and began to plait her locks.
“Can you tell him”—Ailsa pointed upward to the battlements—“that?”
“Nay, my lady, that’s your duty.”
Ailsa snorted very unladylike and enjoyed it. “He won’t believe me.”
Màiri chuckled. “He will once you explain what ails you.”
“I can’t,” Ailsa confessed. “He won’t be happy.”
“You’re having a bairn.”
Ailsa wrapped her arms around her middle. This was the moment to rejoice at the gift God granted, instead she was heavy hearted and overwrought with fear. Her body was taut, strained to a fragile thread, her bones almost snapping from the strain.
“How could he not be?”
She knew why he would not be. Their marriage lacked trust, which meant love would not come. He tolerated her. A child would never change that.
Ailsa shook her head, not wanting or able to speak about the heartbreak and rejection. She blocked out her sorrowful notions or she would weep. And she forbade that behavior from her.
Màiri tapped her shoulder and climbed to her feet. “Lie down and maybe tomorrow will be brighter.”
Ailsa settled into the bed. “I do doubt it. It’s autumn in the highlands.”
In the dark, she grinned and set her hand low on her belly. Her body seemed no different but she was different. She was going to be a mother. A child would look to her for love and give her pure, unadulterated acceptance.
A niggling part of her thoughts worried over the chance of Duncan’s rejection of not only her but of their child. Never would she subject her child to such a harsh existence.
Weary of his distance, Ailsa decided he needed to know the pain that gripped her. It was time to put the plaid on the other body. She barred the door.
* * * *
After easing his troubling thoughts, he sought his bed. Setting his hand on the latch, he was shocked. He would have been less surprised if a thousand MacKinnons stepped from the shadows and offered him a dram.
The woman had the gall to bar him from his bed. “Ailsa, open this door.”
Silence greeted his command. He banged again. The door rattled under his heavy fist.
“Go away, Duncan,” Ailsa called out. At least she was conscious and no harm had come to her. She was in danger, not from her illness but from him.
“Duncan, people are trying to sleep,” Hector said.
“I’m one of those people and I can’t because that woman barred me.”
“Good for her,” Hector grumbled before he shut his door. Duncan glared over his shoulder.
He started banging and demanding entry. “I know you are awake. Let me in or I will break down the door.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I never say anything I do not mean.” He cocked his ear. No reply. “Stay away from the door.”
He stepped back and put his shoulder to the solid door. The heavy wood groaned and shifted a bit but remained in place. At least it offered the protection his ancestors desired.
Stepping back again, he stopped himself when the door swung open.
“You are a mad man.” Ailsa glowered. She waved him inside.
“You do not command me,” he roared as he rushed in their chamber.
Her humph had her tossing her head back. “Are you so feverish you aren’t aware of your actions?”
“I am not feverish. I’m—”
“Then you purposely defied me.”
She pushed past him and went to the bed. Instead of slipping under the blankets, she ripped the plaid from it and tucked it under her arm.
She stopped before him. After a deep breath, she licked her lips. “Duncan, I can no longer live with your thinly-veiled hatred.”
Her words reeled him but somehow he kept his stance steady. “I thought you were a better man than my father.” Tears fell and she did nothing to stem their flow.
“Don’t ever compare me to that man.” He snapped in a harsh tone. Ailsa turned her face. Duncan moved a step away.
“I barely survived my father’s disgust and I’m unwilling to live such a life again,” She avowed in muted voice.
“Your vow of love was false then?” He sneered, revealing his pain. The anguished look pierced Ailsa’s heart so profoundly she yearned to hold him. But she could not risk the pain of his rejection. His snub would ruin the fragile thread of her heart. Her fragile strength would collapse from the desire to be with him.
“I have never spoken a falsehood to you. I do love you.” She reached out to cup his cheek but dropped her hand. “But I have value. I cannot be bartered or disc
arded on the whims of another. I deserve to be cared for but most importantly, loved. If you are incapable of giving me that because Ceara”—Duncan blanched—“destroyed that in you, do not hold me responsible for it. Not since the day we wed have I given you a reason to doubt me yet that is all you have done. I want more. Which you refuse to gift me with, thus I’ll leave you in peace.”
Duncan grabbed her by her arm as she stepped by him. “You can’t leave me. You’re my wife.”
“It isn’t I who forgets it. Please let me go. Please,” she begged, her bottom lip shaking.
“I can’t,” he confessed in a pained whisper. “Your place is beside me.” He yanked her into his arms and carried her to bed.
She wanted to fight him but she loved the safety and affection in his arms and gave up her fight for this night. Ailsa knew when she lain in another bed, cold and lonely, her tears would be her only company. Never releasing her, Duncan lay down and arranged the blankets over them. He pulled her against his chest and draped an arm over her waist.
It took quite some time before sleep came for either one but husband and wife stayed locked in their embrace.
* * * *
Duncan left Ailsa in bed. The noise coming from the courtyard never roused her. Her brow was cool so he didn’t understand why she slept so deeply. Nevertheless, he escaped to the hall so he could pretend last night never occurred.
He watched Niall stuff his mouth to fill his never content belly. Duncan raked his gaze over Hector. He appeared as poorly as himself.
“Have you seen Moira this morn?” Hector lowered himself to his seat.
“Aye, she served us,” Niall answered around a mouthful of cheese.
“Where is she now?”
Niall shrugged and ripped apart the bread. Hector looked questioningly at Duncan.
“I believe she’s—there she is.” Hector twisted in his seat, watching Moira stride into the hall, bringing another flagon.
“Moira, I need to speak to you.”
She squeaked but dragged herself forward. She bowed her head and placed the flagon on the table before spinning on her heels, and scurrying from the hall.
“Stop!” Hector commanded but she never did. “Tell her to stop.”
Duncan’s roaring command stopped her short. She took a half step, debating whether to defy the laird. She dragged her foot back. “Come here, Moira. My brother wishes to speak to you.”
She sighed so forcefully her whole body straightened then loosened. Her lips pursed. She raised her gaze upward. Her arms were stiff at her side. Hector’s glare increased.
“Aye, Niall,” Moira said with her back toward Hector. Niall froze in mid-chew with his cheek puffed out with food, and stared wide-eyed at her.
“My other brother wishes to speak to you.” Duncan caught her pursing her lips before she faced Hector. She remained tight-lipped.
Hector rose to his feet. “Moira, I never intended to hurt you. Truly, I was surprised, pleasantly so, that you cared for me. I did an injustice by believing that you couldn’t see beyond my twisted body yet you saw deeper than I ever could. And I was wondering if you would become my wife.”
She crossed her arms. “Why?”
“For two very simple reasons. First, you bring me much joy. Only you make me happy the moment my eyes land upon you. I always find myself wondering what you are doing and I’m impatient to see you. Secondly, yet most importantly—I love you. Will you be my wife?” He demanded when no reply was given.
“Aye.”
Màiri ran screaming with joy from the kitchens. Niall looked disgusted. Duncan was a mass of various emotions—happiness, pain and jealously. Why couldn’t he give that to Ailsa? What was wrong with him?
“I’m not getting married,” Niall grumbled as Màiri hugged him to her ample chest.
Duncan rose and gave his best wishes to the betrothed couple. “I wish you both happiness.” He started out of the hall. Hector called out and rushed over to him.
“You can have the same joy I feel. But you never shall if you do not risk all you have. Extend your feelings for her and she would never break faith with you.”
Duncan turned away and left the hall.
* * * *
White thick clouds dotted the sky. Rain seemed impossible but one never knew what the winds would bring. However, the sun always shines in the highlands, you just have to wait till the clouds burn away. But today, the vista was spectacular in the grips of autumn. Berries on thin stalks were a burst of color on the verdant shrubs. Thick woodlands of birch, pine, and thick Scottish oak were transforming into an explosion of brown, amber, and gold.
The clachan sprawled out in the distance behind them. Ailsa swore she could stomp each home into the ground, no bigger than anthills, that’s how small they appeared.
Overhead an eagle soared through the air, a dark silhouette against the sun’s ray, only its call distinguishing it.
“I’m glad you thought of a walk,” Ailsa said as Niall strolled beside her. An ermine rustled through the edge of the woodlands, preparing for winter much like everyone in the highlands. “I’m so happy you woke me since I would have missed all this.”
“Duncan taught me to ride on this moor.”
“There is enough grass to cushion any fall.” She looked down, running the tip of her shoe through the blades.
“My father taught Duncan and Hector here. So, Duncan said this was the place to learn. Why is Duncan mad at you? Is he going to punish you?”
“I believe his anger is my punishment.”
Niall hung his head. Ailsa hunched down and with her thumb under his chin, she raised his face. “Niall, this…tension between Duncan and I doesn’t lie with you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For being so mean to you. I had to be because you were a Cameron but you’re not any longer. You’re nice and beautiful and Duncan is a fool.”
She pressed her lips together to stop herself from weeping. But it did warm her heart. She tumbled to the ground when Niall threw himself into her arms.
“I’ll take care of you. And I’ll never be mad at you.” His thin arms squeezed her. She hugged him, content to have him.
“That’s all I need.”
He pulled away and offered his hand to Ailsa. She grabbed it and rose to her feet.
“Do you like berries? We can see if the berries sprouted on the rowan trees.” Niall, never releasing her hand, dragged Ailsa toward the forest. “Don’t tell Siobhan I’m taking you because she will be jealous. It’s not easy dealing with an irate woman.”
She chuckled away her gloom. “I shall not say a word.”
Ailsa scanned the vista. She heard the hollow sound of horses charging. Turning in a half-circle, she spotted galloping horsemen. Were they part of the patrol? Nay, they wouldn’t be charging toward them.
“Run!” Ailsa whirled around and darted away. Niall was steps ahead of her. The rumble of horses’ hooves blared behind her, becoming thunderous until she couldn’t hear the frantic beating of her heart but only the speedy tattoo of horses. The ground began to shake. Niall glanced over his shoulder and fell, rolling over. Ailsa slowed and plucked Niall to his feet.
Suddenly, she was scooped up and tossed over a saddle. Her hair hung over her face and she only heard Niall’s fervent cursing. She twisted, trying to find him and hoping he got away.
“Sit still, bitch.” But she never listened. Twisting to her right, she saw Niall sitting before a man, his arms bound behind him and blindfolded. Her arms were wrenched behind her, tied then a blindfold placed over her eyes. Their abductors’ voices cut through her fear—they were French.
Ailsa knew one thing. That Duncan would come for Niall.
* * * *
The sun journeyed to the west. The chill in the air had Ailsa shivering. And no matter how much her body demanded warmth, she kept her back erect, far from the man behind her. She never responded to the men’s taunts but she listened to every wo
rd. Thankfully, she knew French. MacKinnon kidnapped them. This meant war.
“All of you will die,” Niall vowed with venom out of character for a child. The men laughed, not knowing he spoke the truth.
“I think you’ve got it wrong, boy. MacLeans will die.” One of the men laughed and the others joined in but the grating scrap of portcullis rising drowned it out.
Ailsa was tossed from the mount. A biting grip stopped her from falling to her knees. He yanked her up three stairs, stubbing her feet on each of the stone steps and almost falling.
Smoke assaulted her nostrils as heat washed over her. A pinching grip jerked her to a stop. The blindfold was ripped from her head, yanking a few strands. She swallowed her yelp of pain. As she blinked, she became accustomed to the dim interior. She felt Niall slip his hand into hers. She gave it a reassuring squeeze while she beseeched the Lord to give her strength.
Never had fear so consumed her. Her whole body trembled with it. Her legs shook and felt like mush while her heart beat frantically and almost out of her chest.
When she looked across the great hall, Ailsa spotted her father savoring a tankard of wine. He appeared as calm as though she stood before him at Cameron Castle waiting for him to vent his anger upon her. Duncan was right about her father. He was a redhead rat.
She shot a glance down at Niall, silently telling him to remain quiet. He lowered his gaze, understanding her.
“Come here, girl,” he demanded. Trying to hide her fear, she crossed toward him. “Where are your manners? You’ve lived with those beastly MacLeans for far too long.” Niall glared at him but her father never had time for a child. “Greet Laird MacKinnon.”
Ailsa never spared the man seated beside him a glance. “I shall greet the devil first.”
Laird MacKinnon guffawed. “Some say I am.”
She shifted her attention to the blond man sprawled in the chair. The crescent-shape scar running from his eye down to his mouth weighed down half his face, making him appear as though half his face frowned. He seemed as fit as Duncan but missed the one trait Duncan possessed—a heart.
The Marriage Alliance Page 21
