“Neglecting your duties, Hagan?” Alec cut in. Portia glared at him and he’d wager she wanted to tell him to close his mouth.
“That’s kind of you,” Portia said. “Camerons are gentlemen.”
Rosin frowned. Displeased or as confused as Alec?
Hagan blushed and cringed. “Can I escort you home?”
“Aye, that would be lovely.” She tucked her hands behind her back, pushing her breasts out, and did a little twist of her body.
“Perhaps, you two should speak and share what has occurred since you last saw each other.” Portia dismissed them with an amicable dismissal and the command of a lady.
Hagan looked about for a place to set the flagon. He shoved it at Rosin, who took it before any spilled on her. Rosin looked to Alec. He shrugged.
Neoinean took his arm. Hagan covered her hand with his own. His eyes fixed on her and a grin on his face.
Rosin swung her head between the departing couple and Portia. She even glanced at him, seeking assistance. “Lairdess, that was Brus’ last choice. Who will ye pick now?”
“You.”
Rosin gawked much like Alec did. She shook her head repeatedly.
“You love him. Do not deny it. You wish to wed him so here is your chance.” Portia waited for Rosin’s reply.
Rosin licked her lips, glanced at Brus, and pressed her mouth tight before she blurted out, “I canna. He was married to my sister. That would be wrong. Nay, I canna.”
“You haven’t denied your love for him.” Portia laid a hand on her shoulder.
Rosin bowed her head. Alec saw the wetness in her eyes. “When did you fall in love with him?”
She lifted her head. Her eyes wild as if seeking an escape instead, she turned to Portia. “I fell in love with him after my sister’s death. He is a good man. My husband was a good man too. He gave me a good life and cared for me deeply. I was happy. I will be betraying them both.”
“Loving again after a loss is never a betrayal. Don’t give up your chance at love because of nothing more than fear.”
Were her words for Rosin or him? Was he giving up his chance at happiness with Portia? He didn’t know and didn’t want to explore that.
“What is your choice, Rosin?” Portia grasped her hands, not letting her escape from the truth.
She bit her lip. She tugged at her hands then clasped Portia’s. “I choose love. But does Brus wish me for a wife?”
“Aye,” Portia said with conviction.
Alec leaned down and said, “How will you make that happen?”
* * * *
Luckily, Brus swayed his way to them. He hummed and took the flagon from her, pouring more into his cup. “Rosin, are ye enjoying yeself?”
“Aye,” she answered in a shaky voice.
He searched her face. “Verra weel.”
“Brus, I have found a wife for you.” Portia hadn’t wanted to blurt it out so frankly.
He sent a lingering glance at Rosin before he turned his regard to Portia. “Who is da lass?”
“I know she is perfect for you. The two of you have developed a bond after Cece’s death and you love her. You even asked her to wed you. Rosin.” Portia nudged Rosin forward when she lingered behind her, almost hiding behind Portia.
Brus turned and walked away. Rosin fled.
“What do you plan to do next?”
“The same as before—get Brus a wife.” Portia chased after Brus.
She stepped out into the bailey. The cool night never penetrated her plaid, not that she cared. Nothing, not even the most frigid of weather, would stop her from getting the right wife for Brus. The sounds of couples sneaking away caught her ear first. She scanned the bailey for Brus. He hovered away from the torch light in the shadow. He half-slumped against the castle wall. She approached him. She hadn’t been wrong. Any comment she could have spoken did not reach her mouth. Truthfully, she didn’t know what to say. Luck was on her side and Brus spoke first. “Ye mak the wrong choice. Rosin and me self. Nay, tad be a betrayal to Cece.”
“You spoke of finding the same love with Cece and you have. Of course, it is her sister but here is your second chance.”
“When I ga to Heaven, which wife da I spend eternity with?”
“Spend three days with Cece and three with Rosin and Sunday rest.”
“The laird would have asked why ye think ye welcoom in Heaven?”
“You asked for her hand before, why not now?” Portia knew the risk. She had taken it with a firm belief that he would see the right of this union. Brus and Rosin couldn’t end as her confession did.
“I was tryin’ ta hae on to my wife.” Brus wiped his hand down his face.
“I understand that. So what has changed?” Brus twisted his lips to stop him from speaking. “Brus,” she said in a warning tone.
“I love her. But tis nit fair ta her. Folks willa say I married her because of Cece. That will only hurt her. I canna da that.”
“Then love her as you did and do Cece and people will learn you love her for her. No one will ever question the reason why you married her.”
Brus jumped up and grinned, revealing his missing tooth. He sped into the great hall. She wasted no time going after him. Missing this wasn’t something she was willing to do.
Once inside, she spotted him standing before Rosin. Without halting, she reached their side.
“Rosin, I asked ta lairdess to find me a wife and she did—ye. I love ye and wanna marry ye and ye are marrying me because ye love me.”
“Verra well, Brus. I’ll marry ye.”
Portia clapped her hands. “My first duty as lairdess is complete and a success. I’m good at arranging marriages.”
Next duty was getting the laird to love the lairdess.
* * * *
Portia sat in the great hall. She had seen to the morning duties so stealing some time for herself, she hunched over a Celtic tree tapestry, one Ailsa had begun. Around her, the great hall filled and ebbed with clansfolk. She even caught Hurley kissing Leah in the corner. The castle dogs chased the cat in the kitchen.
Portia wasted the day away, humming a ballad she heard at the feast. She stretched her neck to see Alec coming toward her. Her welcoming smile died as light fell over Laird MacLean and his wife.
“There have been changes,” Lairdess MacLean turned slowly, taking them in. “Where is the dozen of bear skins on the floor? Oh you have brought out the old candle holders. Gone is all the silver.”
Portia pinned her needle in the fabric. “I hope you approve.”
Ailsa hugged her. “This is Alec's and your home. It seems to be a happy one,” she finished in a whisper.
“Then I must show you the new laird’s chamber. I wish I could show you all but I cannot. This is still much to do.”
Ailsa linked her arm with Portia and headed to the castle stairs.
“Has much changed since your departure?” A quiver of dread gnawed at her poise.
“Very much. A good thing.” She wore an open and contented expression.
Portia took one last look at Alec.
“Be careful, Ailsa.”
“Duncan, what could happen here?” Ailsa spun toward him. She tapped her foot in irritation.
“You can fall down the stairs, trip or catch on fire or be unhappy.”
“The fire happened once—once,” She said to Portia. “And I’m insulted, husband, you would never allow me to be unhappy.”
Would Alec say sweet nonsense to her? Her safety was the most important thing to him and had been since the day he stole her away…did that include happiness? She would never allow him to be unhappy.
He dipped his head. She decided he would.
* * * *
Ailsa paled once in the bedroom. She twisted her hands and wore a sickly expression. With every glance about the chamber, her hands relaxed at her side and her color returned to normal. She moved about more freely. Her stride was loose and at ease. “Oddly enough, my father did the greatest service to me.
He freed me from here by marrying me to my Duncan.”
“You speak of him as if he were a little babe.”
Ailsa sent her a sly look. “He can be. As wives, we see a different side to our men. He can also be the Black Duncan who sends men into a tremble.”
Ailsa ambled about the room. She smoothed her hand down the bed curtains. “You have transformed the chamber. Alec must have loved it.”
“Aye. He is still trying to figure out where everything belongs. I catch him just sitting in here. Do not share with him that I learned this—I caught him asleep in the chair and he doesn’t flee the room.”
“I imagine. No one had ever done something like this for him.”
A tremor shot through Portia, only to feel a lightness that all would be well even as a veiled threat hovered.
“He is a good man.”
Ailsa spotted the clock and hurried to it. “Glad you gave it honor. Alec loves this thing. For me, it was a reminder of all I had stolen.” She inspected the clock with an open gaze. Portia got the feeling this was the first time she wasn’t haunted by it. “Time does wondrous things.”
“Meaning?”
“How long have you been here? Two months. You arrived here near death, powerless against outside forces and now, you are wife and lairdess to hundreds.”
“Outside forces are still a danger.” Light filtered through the window. Instead of basking in the sun’s ray, she felt the prickles of menace approaching.
“They always are.”
“Ailsa, I understand what you wish to tell me.”
She grabbed her hand. “As sisters, I have the right. You are helping Alec be laird. I see he is helping you too.”
“He does not seek my guidance. You saw him downstairs with your husband.”
“Did you not find Brus a wife? You also helped Cairine and Quinlan. You organized a feast for the clan. You stood by him when he presented the spoils of the raid. You put your touch on this home.”
“Aye, but—”
“If he didn’t want your guidance, he wouldn’t have done any of that. After all, do you wish to plan battles or ride beside him into one with a claymore in your hand?”
“Nay. He wishes to protect me against everything.”
“Duncan does that. Sometimes it is required and other times I do the same to him. It’s only that his protection is easier to see than our own.”
“True, we don’t go around bellowing orders and waving a sword.”
“Things would be easier.”
* * * *
Duncan ticked off his fingers. When he stopped, he cocked his ear then waited longer on the off chance the ladies lingered to eavesdrop. In her younger years, Ailsa had a habit of eavesdropping as a means of protection. It seems it hadn’t ceased.
“Ailsa will take your wife to the chamber.”
Instead of sitting, the men gathered around the hearth. “Are you sure? Portia has fire.”
“Aye, she really wants to see the changes. She practically raced me here from the clattan then halted to speak to everyone. MacKintosh sent me a missive.” The frivolous atmosphere changed.
“To lay threats at my door,” Alec retorted.
“Among other things. Lairdess MacKintosh wishes to meet with her sister.”
“To turn my wife against me,” Alec said.
“You married into your enemy’s family. This might be the chance to work out a deal. Ladies are soft and talk and talk and talk, perhaps they can settle the dispute.”
“Would you send Ailsa to settle a dispute?” Alec crossed his arms.
“Hell no.” MacLean scowled.
Alec cocked a brow. “I will not allow the meeting.”
“You are putting her in danger.”
Alec pushed away from the wall to get away from MacLean and his words.
“Sounds like your father’s action.”
Alec leaned forward, crowding his brother’s space. “Watch what you say. He would have never protected her.”
His father would have used her. Hadn’t Alec planned to do the same? Aye, he was a Cameron but he had never been his father’s son. He couldn’t endanger her.
“You are not either.” MacLean jumped back. “What do you think she will do when she learns of this? Much like every woman, she’ll run off and then, she’ll be in their hands.”
“Last time she was near a MacKintosh, they tried to kill her. What do you think they will do now?”
“War is coming. You have a choice as laird, lead or rule?”
Alec was a leader of men. He lacked the black heart to rule over without a care of others.
“Or do you fear the choice she may make?”
“She is my wife. She will honor that bond.”
No matter the talk the messenger spat, she was his wife. The Sassenach bastard would not claim her. His brand was on her, part of her as she was of him. But did she want to be with him if presented another choice?
* * * *
The glen’s grass waved, unfurling like a banner catching the wind only broken by the rocks that had cracked the surface. Mountains rose on each side, splitting the earth to rise above everything and standing guard over the people who called this land home. That included Portia now.
Not a sound broke nature’s silence, either uninterested in the events or bearing witness to a moment in life where it diverged.
Behind Portia, Cameron warriors stood guard, their weapons at the ready. Alec placed himself at her side, where he had been since he presented this proposal.
“Alec, all will be well. I remember your instructions, though my sister will not plunge a dirk in my chest. That would be rude.”
The arrival of the MacKintosh clan killed any retort. A safe distance away, they drew up. Portia recognized the tall figure separating from the men. Matilda always seemed to glide instead of walk. Portia learned from her and helped her grow into a lady worthy of her position.
Alec grasped her arm when Matilda started toward her. “I do not approve.”
“I must.”
He dragged his hold away, letting her go. Portia halted at the exact spot Alec told her to, still safe on Cameron land.
“Portia.” Matilda’s delicate voice sounded like a boom in the glen.
“Matilda.”
Both sisters faced each other, a separation between them. Portia lifted her arms and leaned in, only to pull back. Matilda tucked her arms to her side.
“You look well.” Matilda’s eyes held a gold light, banishing the nut hue. Her round mouth spread in a half-smile of joy and sorrow.
“I am safe.”
Matilda glanced at Alec. “I disagree. I cannot protect you now that you are a Cameron.”
“Marrying the Chattan chieftain wouldn’t have guaranteed my safety either.”
She bowed her head. “I thought it would have been best. The whole clan would have protected you.”
“You are wrong, Tilly,” she said, using her endearment for her. “MacKintosh’s commander, Liam, tried to kill me.”
“What?” She grasped her by the shoulders and searched her. “Where? Are you well?”
Portia chuckled, for the first time feeling a little less solemn. “If not, I would not be here.”
“True.” She ran her hand over Portia’s hair. “I did not know. I suppose I owe my thanks to your husband for killing him. Otherwise, I would have killed him myself.”
Her hand flew to her chest to ease the strike Tilly’s words inflicted. Alec hadn’t told her. Portia recognized her sister’s hard face of determination.
“I do not want to disrupt your household.”
“My sister wed my enemy.” She bit on her lip at what had already happened. “Does he treat you well?”
Portia turned to him for a look. Alec shifted, ready to rush to her. “That he does.” Portia spotted MacKintosh standing before his men, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. “There can never be peace between the two clans?”
“Never. We will not be meeting ag
ain either.” She gave Portia a watery smile.
Her chin trembled. The oppressive pang took root in her chest. The sister she had was gone from her, banished to the end of her realm. “I wish it could be different. I love you, Tilly.”
“I love you, too. I shall miss you.” Tears fell from her eyes, turning the rims red.
Portia couldn’t hold back her own. “Perhaps one day.” She heard the hope in her voice, only for it to die with the truth.
“This means war.”
“Aye.” She gulped back her tears and heartache. “But you shall never be my enemy. But I must stand by my husband.”
“I must do the same.”
They jumped in to each other’s arms. Portia held tight, mesmerizing the light weight of her body. When she arrived at MacKintosh Castle, she had been weak, physically frail and so fearful, every sound or touch had her jumping. Tilly stayed the nights, waking up during the darkest hours to whisper that she was safe and well. The baron would get his reward—a sword to the throat.
She breathed in the scent of wildflowers and leaves. She’d never smelled it without a pang. Portia had remembered Tilly preparing for her wedding, the promise of happiness both celebrated. Now, Portia had to peel her arms away and leave her behind.
With a will Portia found in herself, she released her tight hold. Her arms were heavy and empty. A keen ache cut through her, churning her stomach when Portia yearned to hold on but had to go forward without her.
“Portia, the baron is in Scotland. The King of England supports the marriage. Father has sided with the barons and they are revolting against Henry. But he shall come for you.”
“I know and I shall meet him.”
“If you must, promise to be safe and smart.”
She tucked a strand behind Portia’s ear. Her touch lingered. She fisted her hands as if she wanted to hold her once more but denied herself.
Portia erected her defensives. “I shall.”
“My husband demands you withdraw your claim to the land or fight.”
“It is Cameron land. You can tell him we shall never give it up.” Her voice was hollow but strong.
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