Charming the Chieftain

by Deanie Roman

  Reaching out, he captured an errant curl between his thumb and forefinger, smoothing it behind her ear. “Did your father never walk with you then?”

  “No,” she replied her voice wistful. “The resemblance to my mother was too much for father, and so he could not bear the sight of me.”

  The pain of her father’s rejection then and now stung.

  Aeden’s eyes shone with compassion.

  “It was your Da’s loss then, and well my gain, lass. Do no’ doubt it.”

  She leaned into the hand cupping her cheek and an unbearable longing seized her. To know the all-encompassing love of this man would be a rare gift indeed. The unbidden wish brought her up short and she severed the intimate contact by dropping her eyes to the sand.

  Attempting to shake the somber mood, she forced a smile. “I also had the kind attentions of Father Fenton as well.”

  “Elisande, you must have realized the priest taught you naught save superstitions.”

  Frustrated, she bit back the retort dangling on her tongue when Ian approached, sweating and out of breath. She returned the soldier’s bow but managed to send Aeden a disgruntled glare.

  “I am sorry for the intrusion, my lady. Chief, you are needed.”

  Aeden rubbed his neck in agitation. “Needed for what? Can no’ Ronan handle the problem?”

  Ian’s eyes shifted to Elisande. “I am not sure of the circumstances. Fergal sent me to you with those words.”

  Exhaling heavily, he glanced at Elisande and responded, “I will come.”

  She couldn’t tell if his look was one of regret or exasperation. Either way, Aeden motioned for Ian and her to precede him. She moved past him with the intent to stick her nose in the air, when he captured her hand and pulled her to his chest and before she could gather her wits about her, he stole a searing kiss from her that curled her toes. He broke the connection and gave her a sensuous smile before he spun her around and set her on the path.

  A bit bemused, she touched her hand to her lips. The man took great pains to profess no deeper attachment to her than a strong sense of duty — nonetheless, if he ever deigned to admit he harbored soft emotions, she knew in his own way, he cared. And although he wasn’t happy about it one bit the revelation thrilled her. It would take bucketsful of determination to break through the thick shell that encased his heart, but today she witnessed the first crack.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A somber atmosphere greeted them in the great chamber. Servants and soldiers alike gathered around the nearest trestle table. Aeden pushed through the crowd commanding the clan’s attention. People stepped back to allow their chief through and everyone started chattering at once and she caught a glimpse of a man sitting on the planks. Elisande tried to follow, but they closed the gap, effectively shutting her out.

  “Silence! Magnus, give me an accounting.” Aeden demanded.

  Too far back behind the crowd, Elisande gleaned disjointed snatches of the soldier’s explanation. The clan’s visible upset worried her.

  “What is it?”

  An excited woman with a peaked nose hurried to spread the news. “It seems Ronan met up with the wrong end of a broad sword.”

  “Oh dear God, no.”

  She needed to get to him. There had to be something she could do. With those thoughts careening around her mind, she dove into the crowd and forced her way in.

  “Let me through, please,” she pleaded, but her words fell on deaf ears.

  “Wife, you are needed here,” Aeden barked the order.

  Like Moses parted the Red Sea, the clan created a clear path. She noted a few people crossed themselves when she passed by, though she kept her eyes straight ahead and pretended their actions went unnoticed. Aeden’s lips thinned at the slight, but he took his cue from her and let the offense pass.

  “How bad is he?”

  When she reached Aeden’s side, he placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her to the table. Blood poured from a deep slice in the fleshy part of Ronan’s shoulder. She laid her hand on his forehead in search of fever. Relieved, she rolled up her sleeves and probed the outer edges of the wound. He flinched, but said nothing.

  She tsked. “Dear God, Ronan, how did this happen?”

  A faint smile curved his lips. “You should see the other man.”

  Pursing her lips, she squelched a smile. He grimaced as she continued to prod his tender flesh. A striation occurred from the point of entry and she gave him a sharp look.

  “Any more time wasted and I would have a terrible decision to make,” she scolded him.

  “Get out of me way!”

  Suddenly, a rotund, bald man with the demeanor of an injured bore pushed through the crowd, past her, yet not before he dismissed her with a contemptuous snort. The well-padded, stocky man dug into the sack he brought and thumped a cutting tool on the table beside Ronan’s thigh and stared at him with keen expectancy.

  “Don’t be shy, you know that arm has to come off,” he instructed gleefully.

  In turn, Ronan shot the man an incredulous stare. “If you think you’re going to lop my arm off, you’re madder than you look, butcher.”

  Elisande blanched and looked from one man to the other. “This man is the butcher?”

  “Aye, and no’ a very good one at that,” Ronan remarked.

  The crowd laughed.

  “Watch yer tongue, or, I’ll cut that out next.”

  Ronan lunged for the big man who was surprisingly fast on his feet and feinted left just as Aeden went right. Elisande joined the fray, placed a hand on Aeden’s chest and made an appeal.

  “Husband, please see that your friend doesn’t injure himself further.”

  Aeden covered her hand with his and gave it a squeeze before he prodded Ronan to sit down. Warmed by his sweet gesture, she waited until Ronan was settled on the table, and then confronted the butcher.

  “You, sir, are not removing a perfectly good arm.”

  He shoved his face into hers. “Now you listen here, missy. I’ll not take orders from a woman.”

  Aeden moved in, but she stayed him with a hand on his forearm. Although he and Ronan set the events in motion, he never expected word to travel fast enough to alert the self-proclaimed healer. He stared at Elisande. Her beautiful face was alive with strength of purpose. He communicated his assent and allowed her to handle the situation … for now.

  Not in the least intimidated, Elisande thrust her hands on her hips and almost went nose to nose with the stout man.

  “You’ll not only take orders, you will follow them to my satisfaction or you shall find yourself escorted from the premises.”

  His face had gone such a peculiar shade of red, she thought he might have an apoplectic fit.

  “Not only will I not take orders from a woman, but I certainly won’t take orders from an English wench.”

  Astounded gasps filled the air. Swift as a lash, Aeden gripped the man by his neck and lifted him off the floor.

  “You will apologize to my wife, or, I will detach your head from your neck with one squeeze.”

  Elisande crossed her arms and watched as the odious man paled eight shades of white.

  “She’s your wife?” he squeaked.

  In answer, Aeden shook him until his teeth clattered. “You will show Lady Maxwell the respect due her. Now, apologize!”

  The butcher focused his bulging eyes on her. Sweat poured off of him in rivulets and his mouth opened and closed like a landed fish. “For-forgive me, m-my lady.” His fingers clawed at Aeden’s hand.

  “And, I’ll not have you speaking to any woman in this clan the way you spoke to me, is that clear?”

  The fat man nodded and a few of the woman around him crossed their arms and nodded too. The unexpected show of support made her smile just as Ronan slumped back on the table letting loose with a low groan.

  “Thank you, husband,” she said, with the intent of halting Aeden’s fun before his friend bled to death.

  She c
raned her neck and glanced around. “Gerda, where are you?”

  A voice piped up, “Here, milady.”

  “Go to my solar and fetch my satchel — and don’t pretend you don’t know where I keep it,” she said when the other woman would have protested. She fixed her with a no-nonsense stare. “I don’t have time for games.” When Gerda bobbed acquiescence, Elisande continued, “Once you collect my bag, I shall also need a bowl of hot water and clean linens.”

  “Aeden, do set the butcher down and have one of the men escort him from the keep. His sweat is creating a puddle and I wouldn’t want anyone to slip.”

  She caught his wink moments after he handed off the man to Thomas, who lifted him by the seat of his pants and tossed him out the door. Fiona chose that moment to shove her way in to snug up against Aeden. Infuriated by the woman’s audacious behavior, Elisande treated her to a ferocious glower until Fiona’s confident smile faded and dropped the hand ready to latch onto Aeden’s arm. She noted Aeden’s surprised expression and wished she knew what his thoughts were.

  Nearby, Fiona sneered, “And who are you to replace our healer?”

  Elisande chose to ignore her and rifled through her bag. Although she methodically cleaned the dirt and blood from Ronan’s arm, she had not lost sight of her tormentor.

  “Leave us,” Aeden commanded Fiona.

  Elisande’s head snapped up. Murmurs rippled through the crowd and Fiona flinched as if hit. Her nostrils flared, yet she ignored Aeden. Reckless, she thrust a finger in Elisande’s direction. “You would allow her to usurp our healer’s authority?”

  Elisande lowered her head and concentrated on Ronan’s wound. She didn’t want to witness people nodding in agreement with the redheaded she-beast.

  “It is already done — ” Aeden began when another voice interrupted him.

  “Och, Donald is no more a healer than I am.”

  Elisande recognized Morag’s voice and stole a glance at the woman, who nodded and gave her a kindly smile. Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she managed to keep them in check.

  “I might have kept me thumb if’n milady had seen to it afore the butcher,” a man chimed in.

  But Fiona wasn’t finished. “Can you not see she has cast a spell over you? She’s a witch and I can prove it, I tell you!”

  Stunned by the malicious words, Elisande shared an incredulous stare with Ronan.

  “She’s a woman spurned, my lady, take no notice.”

  That Fiona dared to cast aspersions upon her character attested to the depth of her anger. She chanced a peek at Aeden, but his eyes were locked on Fiona. His frigid look of contempt could have formed icicles. To be so desperate for a title that she resorted to such shameful measures almost made her bear sympathy for the misguided woman.

  “Fiona, you have caused my wife distress for the last time.”

  “Aeden — ”

  He cut her off. “I will no’ allow such spiteful conduct to continue. You will cease venting your spleen and treat my wife with respect, or, I will have you removed from Maxwell land, ’tis your choice.” He cast an inflexible scowl around the silent chamber. “That goes for everyone here. When you insult or denigrate my wife you do the same to me.”

  Astonished, Elisande stared at Aeden. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod, and a ghost of a smile warmed her lips as she bent her head to the task. After she packed the wound with cobwebs, yarrow paste and honey she picked up a slender sewing needle. Ronan had gone white.

  “Someone please fetch Ronan a cup of spirits.”

  She waited for him to down the contents and threaded the needle with waxed silk.

  “I shall require quite a bit of light for the stitching.”

  Although the comment had been directed to no one in particular, suddenly the table was illuminated by candle after candle. She chose one closest to her, passed the needle through the flame and set to her chore. The shadows grew longer in the room and her legs began to cramp. She stumbled backwards only to be shored up by numerous hands firm on her back. At some point, a stool was shoved under her knees and she finished the intricate stitches. A jaw-cracking yawn took her unawares. She passed a weary hand over her gritty eyes and heaved herself up from the seat. She didn’t relish the inevitable expressions of horror when she chanted, but if she wanted Ronan’s arm to heal, she had to do what she must.

  “Please bow your head,” she directed and plucked three bramble leaves from her satchel and swabbed his arm.

  “I call upon three angels of the east, north and west. Heal yon warrior while he takes his rest. Seam the wound and heal the skin to ward of infection from within.”

  Finished, she kept he head down ready to push through the crowd again. With a heavy sigh, she slowly turned and noticed a distinct path before her. She looked around at the smiling faces in surprise.

  “Good work, milady,” a man complimented.

  “Beautiful stitchery,” another commented, when a young soldier touched her arm and whispered. “Would you have a charmed balm for saddle rash?”

  A bit thrown, it took her a moment to respond. “Yes, I do. Come to me on the morrow and I shall have it ready for you.”

  Waylaid by six more people with complaints, the crowd eventually dispersed and she noticed Aeden with a tender expression on his face awaiting her at the bottom of the stairwell. Touched by his show of loyalty, they made their way to their private chamber in companionable silence. Exhausted, she leaned heavily against his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her waist and they arrived at the solid oak door. She went in first and when he didn’t follow, she pivoted to face him.

  “You’re not coming in?” She made no secret of her disappointment.

  He traced a thumb over her brow. “I will no’ be long. I need a word with Ian.”

  Shy, it took her a moment to say, “Shall I await your return?”

  In answer he pulled her to him and captured her lips in a promise of things to come.

  • • •

  The aroma of valerian wafted on the air. Elisande wanted their evening to be unforgettable. Having decided on a course of action, she hurried to the small storeroom at the end of the corridor. Inside, the potent scent of cloves, rosemary, and beeswax spiced the air. Stalks of fresh rushes were bundled and stacked tapers in rows of ten lined a corner shelf. Lavender, mint, chamomile, and lemon verbena hung on drying thongs from the ceiling near the large half-moon window. Chunks of peat spilled from weathered sacks and fresh laundered plaids were folded in an open chest.

  She gathered what she needed, well pleased with her treasures. Absorbed in her task, she jumped at the sharp crack in the wood floor outside the storage room entry. She swung her head around in time to notice a shadow cast across the threshold. “No one should be in the family wing at this hour,” she murmured in annoyance. “Breanna?”

  Why the chamber servant would be above stairs at this late hour perplexed her. Perhaps, she thought, she conveys a message from Aeden.

  “Do you have a message?”

  The shadow receded though no one answered. She rolled her eyes. “Come in. I promise I am not talking to specters.”

  Exasperated by the person’s timidity, she hitched the bundle in her arms and rounded the corner.

  “For heaven’s sake there is no need to — oomph.”

  She collided into Addis and her armload of stores tumbled to the floor. Flustered, she stooped to retrieve her items.

  “Please forgive me, I had not realized you were so close.”

  A shiver of apprehension raised the hair on the nape of her neck as she straightened. She reversed a few steps and put space between them.

  Addis moved forward until she ended up backed against the wall. He crowded her and fixed her with a malicious stare.

  “I heard you practiced your witchery up here.”

  “Witchery. What an absurd notion.”

  Despite her tenuous position, the accusation brought her anger to the fore and she challenged his presence.
/>   “Just what are you doing on this floor? Are you not quartered below stairs with the rest of the garrison?”

  “Shut your mouth.” Before she could scream, he brought his forearm to her throat.

  His menacing demeanor started a panic within her.

  “You had best leave afore Aeden discovers you.” Her tremulous voice betrayed her fear.

  “Do not speak that whoreson’s name to me,” he spat shoving into her.

  Frightened, she fought to regain control over the situation. “Remove your arm this instant,” she demanded.

  He smiled. She tried a different tact. “If you do not let me go I shall scream and then you shall have to explain your actions to your chief.”

  “No one will hear you.”

  He spoke true. With the evening’s revelry under way, not much would be heard over the noise. The realization started a rolling motion in the pit of her stomach. She made one last desperate attempt to reason with him.

  “Unhand me, and I will not say a word to Aeden.”

  “I think not. We will see in what esteem my brother holds you when he discovers you have lain with another,” he threatened.

  With a quickness belying his bulk he knocked her off her feet, dragged her down the hall and propelled her into a dimly lit alcove. The weak light cast his face into shadow.

  She found her voice. “Aeden would never believe I willingly allowed you to bed me.”

  “Have you not yet understood that you are an insignificant pawn in his game? You believe my brother to be a good and honorable man. He is neither of those things. He will do whatever he must in order to take vengeance upon me.”

  Fear swept through her. The maniacal look in his eyes convinced her he would do her harm despite her pleas. She stood frozen in place.

  “Now, I take from him.”

  Desperate, she tried to make him see the inconsistencies of his ill-logic. “If I am naught except a pawn what makes you believe he will care enough to retaliate?”

  “He’ll care because he owns you, you stupid slut.”

  The wet slide of his tongue made a trail from her cheek to the top of her breast. She shrunk back, sickened by his touch.