by Laura Landon
“Are you ready, lass?” Iain asked when the cup was empty.
“Aye. I hardly feel anything now. I must remember to tell Sister Magda Martha she has a real talent for brewing wine. No wonder the sisters remain so content confined behind those walls. A glass of this every day would give even the shyest of the sisters the courage to serve a hall filled with drunken warriors.”
Iain laughed again. “Your mistress has been quite successful at keeping her humorous remarks well hidden until today, Kenneth. Did you know she possessed such wit?”
“Aye, milord,” Kenneth answered. “She has at times shown herself a joy to be around. Rare though those times may be, shall I say.”
“I will na forget you said that, Kenneth,” she answered, her words slurring slightly.
Iain shared a smile with Kenneth, then a warning glance before he took the first stitch through her flesh.
Iain heard a small gasp and was thankful Kenneth supported her by the shoulders and held tight.
“You play unfairly,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “You did na warn me you were about to begin.”
“A thousand pardons, milady,” he said, taking another stitch, then another. “I thought it best to surprise you.”
She bravely kept her injured arm held out for Iain to sew while she clung to Kenneth with the other. Before Iain was half finished, her grip relaxed and she slumped in Kenneth’s arms.
“Finish quickly, milord,” Kenneth said. “Before she awakens again.”
Iain sewed as quickly and carefully as he could, then applied the poultice and wrapped her arm. When he finished, he picked her up and carried her over to the place where they would make camp.
“Gather wood for a fire, Kenneth. The weather will cool once the sun goes down. I do na want her getting chilled.”
“Will she be all right?”
“Aye. She will feel much better in the morning, even though her arm will always bear a reminder of this day.”
Iain pushed a strand of her dark hair from her forehead. He knew her so well and yet so little. He looked at Kenneth. “You said earlier you would never let the MacBride hurt her again. Is today not the first time she has come to harm because of him?”
Kenneth opened his mouth, then closed it. “That would be for the mistress to answer. I’d best gather the wood before it gets dark,” he said then walked away.
Iain watched as Kenneth headed for a small grove of trees before he pulled the tartan beneath her chin and sat beside the lass he’d taken as his wife. He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to make her dread marriage so and yearn for a life cloistered behind convent walls. He prepared himself to accept whatever had happened to her, and promised to guard her so no harm would come to her ever again. He would never give her opportunity to regret she’d been forced to marry him.
He remembered how fiercely she’d fought her father, prepared to die rather than marry. He knew it was not the touch of a man she feared. Her kiss had told him that much. It was something else. Whatever it was, it was important no longer. Nothing was important enough that he could have allowed her to step foot inside the convent gate.
Their marriage was the answer to every trouble threatening his people. Not only would their marriage bring about harmony between the MacAlisters and the MacBrides, but it would also create a reprieve from the constant fighting with her father. This would give him time to convince the Cochrans who lived on the other side that the MacAlisters were not the ones behind the midnight raids and the senseless destruction and burning of their crops.
And now that he had a wife, perhaps there would again be a closeness between him and his brother Roderick. Perhaps the past could be buried and forgotten and the bond uniting the two brothers could again be as strong as it had been when they were young.
Before Adele had nearly destroyed them both.
His thoughts invoked an image of Roderick’s wife. Even from the grave, her demented madness had the power to reach out and destroy them.
. . .
Màiri opened her eyes and stared up into the star-filled night. The moon was full and bright, bathing the Scottish countryside in luminous shades of muted brightness. It was the same magical moon she’d described to the Scot. The same beams beneath which he’d kissed her.
She could still feel his lips pressed against hers, feel his arms wrapped around her. And now he was her husband. God help them both.
If only she had been brave enough to step within the convent walls. If only she had not yielded to his demand that they marry. She did not know how she could ever be his wife.
She tucked her injured arm against her middle and sat up. The throbbing had eased a little. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as earlier but it would be days before she didn’t know it was there. She glanced at the Scot who had taken care of her and pushed away the confusion she felt.
Tonight was her wedding night. She was no longer free but bound to a man as her mother had been bound to her father. A cold chill raced down her spine and she fought the panic raging within her.
Soft sighs filled the quiet night as Kenneth and her husband slept peacefully beside the dimming fire. She quietly stood and crept away from their camp, taking refuge in the solitude of the open meadow. She needed time to herself. Time to consider the ramifications of being married to the Scot.
She knew the only reason her father had betrothed her to Iain was because he hated the MacAlisters almost as much as he hated her. Although she didn’t know how the feud had started or why, it was fueled by a hatred that went back more years than she had been alive. Pillaging and stealing and destroying what belonged to the MacAlisters came second nature to her father, and the inborn jealousy and hatred he harbored for every MacAlister in Scotland was second only to the hatred he’d harbored for his wife and daughter. She knew exactly why he’d tricked the MacAlister laird into believing he wanted peace.
Through marriage he could accomplish what his superstitious nature could never allow him to do. He could rid himself of his accursed daughter and give her curse to the hated MacAlisters at the same time. Oh, how he must be laughing right now. He had rid himself of her as thoroughly as if she were dead.
She made her way across the open meadow, needing to get away, yet knowing it was too late for her to run. She picked up her step as her mother’s dying words echoed in her head. The truth of what she’d said caused as much pain as the wound in her arm.
Do na ever give yourself to a man, Màiri. Marriage is impossible for anyone with our gift. I wish I would have known before I married. Your only chance for happiness is with the sisters at the convent. Make your life only with them.
She crossed the meadow. She would be safe until Iain found out about her gift. When he realized she was different, her fate would be the same as her mother’s. She would be feared and shunned and finally locked away for fear others would find out and think she was a witch.
She walked a few steps more. She didn’t have the strength to go further and there was nowhere left for her to run. Nowhere safe except. . .
She stopped and looked around. Her gaze rested on the gray stones of the convent. She was so close. All she had to do was step through the portal and he could not come after her. Once the church granted her sanctuary, she would be safe for all time.
She took another step.
Safe for all time.
She stepped closer.
“Màiri?”
She stopped. Her weary legs seemed barely strong enough to support her. She’d almost made it. She’d almost left him alone on the outside and saved herself from the hatred she would yet see in his eyes. She’d almost escaped him before he wished her dead like her father had wished his wife dead, without the courage to do the deed himself.
She’d almost. But not quite.
Now she had no choice but to hide her gift from him forever.
Chapter 7
Màiri rode toward MacAlister Castle with her head high and her heart pounding in her throat. Each
step of the horses’ hooves took her further from the secure refuge only the convent could offer and closer to the same nightmare she’d watched her mother endure her whole life. Each word of her mother’s desperate warnings came back to haunt her. Her only chance for happiness would be lost once she stepped foot through the castle gates. How could she have fooled herself into thinking she could live as the MacAlister’s wife?
She braved a look at the Scot riding at her side. He had not said a word to her since last night, his silence magnifying his disappointment. He knew how close she’d come to entering the convent, how tempted she’d been to seek refuge there, regardless of how her actions might have affected him. The furrows on his face showed his anger, the dark glare in his eyes his mistrust.
Why had she been such a coward when he’d held his sword to Kenneth’s throat? Surely he wouldn’t have killed him? Surely…? But she had not been sure.
Even though she’d seen a kind side to his nature the weeks she’d cared for him, yesterday she’d witnessed a ruthless side equally as powerful. If only her gift could sense the truth from him. But it could not. Where he was concerned, it still failed her at every turn.
“Are you tired?”
His words startled her and she grabbed the edge of the saddle to steady herself. “A little. Will we reach MacAlister Castle soon?”
“Aye. It will na be long. Should we stop and rest for a while?”
“Nay. I am fine.”
“I can see that by the pale color of your face. Lean toward me,” he said, riding his horse close to hers and holding out his hand to touch her forehead. “You will be home soon.”
Home.
A chill as cold as a harsh highland winter raced from her fingertips to her toes. Would life in Iain’s keep be any different than the life from which she’d run? Would Iain’s clan fear her as the MacBrides had? How long would it take for her husband to realize the mistake he’d made in marrying her and forbid his people to speak to her, as her father had?
Before, or after he’d gotten her with child?
Màiri pushed the panic aside and longingly cast a look behind her toward the direction they’d come. His voice startled her and she spun around.
“It is too late to seek a life with the sisters, Màiri. We have already spoken the vows.”
She lowered her gaze to her hands. “But our marriage has not been consummated. It is na too late. If you petitioned the church for a special—”
“Nay! You are my wife now. You will na ever think of leaving me.”
His words were harsh. She stiffened her spine and stared ahead, refusing to let him intimidate her.
“Did you know your father had betrothed you to me?” he said, his voice softer. “Is that why you ran away?”
“Nay. I did na imagine he would ever betroth me.”
“Why? You are his daughter.”
“A fact he preferred to forget.”
“Were you close to your mother?”
The breath caught in her throat. “Aye.”
“What was she like?”
The pressure tightened in her chest. “She was a kind and gentle woman who wanted only to love and be loved.”
“Your father did na love her?”
“My father is incapable of loving anyone, save perhaps himself.”
“Even his daughter?”
“Especially his daughter.”
“And you fear I will be the same?”
She flashed him a defiant glare. “I fear nothing, milord. Especially what your feelings for me will be. Do na forget. You forced this marriage. I did not.” She needed to change the subject. “Are we almost to your home now?”
There was a gaping silence that caused a small shiver to race down her spine before he answered. When he did, his voice held the sharpness of a sword cutting through the sweetness of honey.
“Aye. We’ve been on MacAlister land since early this morning. MacAlister Castle is just over that next rise.”
His words surprised her. If they had been on MacAlister land since early this morning, she could not fathom the land her husband possessed, and the wealth. What could he have possibly hoped to gain from a marriage to her? It couldn’t have been her dowry. She doubted there had even been one. Her face warmed with embarrassment. “Why did you choose me for your wife? Why not some other laird’s daughter?”
“Because I want peace. It’s time to end the feud between the MacAlisters and the MacBrides. Enough innocent people have given their lives.”
“You risked much bartering for my hand in exchange for peace.”
He looked off in the distance as if the topic of his betrothal was as mundane as discussing the weather. “I did na barter for your hand. I did na even know the MacBride had a daughter. I offered your father land in exchange for peace but he gave me you instead.”
Her heart fell to the pit of her stomach. Her father had refused land for the chance to pass his daughter and her curse to his enemy. “Did you na think it was strange that a man known for his greed would turn down an offer for more wealth and proffer his daughter instead?”
His glare held rigid with pride. “I would have taken the bane of all Scotland as my wife to ensure peace with the MacBrides.”
“Are you sure that is na what you have gotten?”
“If it is, then I will turn my back on her and search until I find the sweet Agatha I came to care for when I was blind. She is sure to be close by.”
“Perhaps your Agatha is lost to you forever.”
“Nay, not forever. If I do na find her in my keep, I am sure to find her in my bed.”
The smile on his face turned her cheeks to fire.
His laughter echoed in the quiet Scottish air. “We will na remain strangers for long. You will see.”
Màiri could not find her voice to speak for a while. What he said set her heart racing. His threat was as certain as a promise. She would not escape his bed another night.
They rode in silence over the next rise then another, and when she could avoid him no longer, she turned to him. To her mortification, she found him watching her, the look on his face filled with anticipation. In her nervousness, she said the first thing that entered her head. “What made the MacAlisters and MacBrides enemies?”
“You do na know? Your father has never told you?”
She shook her head.
“Then it is na important between us either.”
“I would like to know.”
He gave her a sideways glance. “Very well. Your father and mine were friends growing up. They even fought the English at each other’s side. Your father was severely injured and would have died if my father had na saved him.”
Màiri stared at him, hardly able to believe the MacBrides and MacAlisters could ever have been friends. Her father had never found one good word to say about the MacAlisters.
“When your father returned home, he found out he’d been betrothed to a lass from a neighboring clan. Because he was na healed enough to fetch his bride himself, he asked my father to go in his stead. My father was the only one he would trust with his intended.”
“Your father brought my mother here?” A slight smile curved Iain’s lips upward, and her stomach flipped when he looked at her. Lord, but he was handsome.
“Nay. He brought my mother.”
Màiri couldn’t hide her confusion. “I do na understand.”
“During the long journey here, they fell in love. My father found a priest along the way and married your father’s betrothed.”
“I’m surprised my father did na kill your father for betraying him.”
He laughed. “He would have, I’m sure. But he owed my father for saving his life. He repaid the debt by not killing my father, but vowed that from that day on, there would be nothing but strife between the MacBrides and the MacAlisters. Your father has been true to his word all this time.”
A weight as heavy as a rock fell to the pit of her stomach. Now she understood. “That is why my mother always s
aid she was never truly chosen. Father told her more than once she was not the one he wanted.”
“I can see where your father made your mother’s life unbearable at times.”
Màiri turned away from him. Even his wildest imagination could not countenance how unbearable her mother’s life had been. How unbearable her own life had been.
“Were they happy?” she asked, truly wanting to know.
“Oh, aye. They were happy. I do na remember much about my mother. I was only five when she died, but my father made sure both Roderick and I knew what a wonderful woman she was.”
“How did she die?”
“Giving birth to Roderick. I do na think my father was ever the same after that. Her name was the last word he spoke before he died.”
Màiri stared at her husband, wondering what it would be like to be loved like that. “How old were you when your father died?”
“Nineteen.”
She could not hide her surprise. “You have been laird since you were nineteen?”
His look turned serious. “Aye. The elders met and decided I would be their laird. The MacAlisters voted and I became their laird.”
“Why did the MacAlisters vote? Wasn’t it enough that the elders decided?”
“I demanded a vote be taken. Everyone twelve and over had a say in who would be their next laird.”
She knew the expression on her face matched the confusion she felt. “I have never heard of such a thing. What if a small number of MacAlisters would have wanted someone else to be their laird?”
“If even one MacAlister would have wanted a different laird, I would na have accepted the honor.”
“Only one?”
“At nineteen, I could na have dissension within the clan. A good laird will always do what is best for his people. Even if it means stepping down as their leader.”
He turned his head to watch the way ahead and kept up his steady pace with Kenneth a short distance behind. Neither spoke again until they topped the next rise. He stopped his horse and pointed to a castle sitting in the distance. “What do you think of your new home?”
It was magnificent.
She stared at the massive stone castle sitting high on the ridge, then looked back at him in open-mouthed wonder. She could not find the words to tell him how the sight impressed her.
