by Alisa Adams
They were brothers! And yet, they didn't look much alike. Lachlan was big, tan, and dark brown in the hair and eyes. This man was slender, a little shorter, and of different coloring. Their only similarity was the gilded tone of their skin, and Aoide suspected that came more from working in the sun than any connection of birth.
Her stare suddenly attracted the attention of Lachlan's brother. A single, black brow rose with curiosity when he saw her on his brother's horse. He looked to Lachlan, clearly expecting an explanation.
His features arranged in a stoic fashion that revealed all the emotions of a stone wall, Lachlan moved to help her down from Merlin's back and then drew her to his side.
"Aoide this is my brother Tomas. Tomas, this is Aoide...she is to be my wife."
Given her fears and self-doubts over the last few hours, Aoide's heart took a hit when Tomas's first reaction to this introduction was to burst into laughter. Her cheeks warmed with mortification and she tilted her head so that her hair might hide some of her face.
Tomas quickly realized that Lachlan wasn't joking.
"You serious?!"
Lachlan's single nod had Tomas's behavior turning over and the tension between the three of them melting away. Instantly, he was all charm once more, reaching out to take Aoide's hand and raise her knuckles to his lips. His mouth was soft and his smile more of an entertained smirk over her hand. But it wasn't unkind. Just pleasantly surprised.
"My apologies, Mistress Aoide," he offered, a hand on heart and his face the perfect mask of contrition. "I beg that you understand my reaction was not to do with my brother's choice of bride but simply that he made a choice at all."
Aoide could understand that...sort of.
"You are the brother that Lachlan has spoken of," she said, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction, however obvious the statement.
"One of them," Tomas corrected with a nod. "Although I might be the one he talks of more. I'm far more entertaining than his other brother."
Aoide felt a nervous smile crossing her face. She was starting to recognize the humor in Tomas's words. The boys that traveled with Garrett made similar jibes at one another.
"There are two of you?" she asked, suggesting that such a thing would be dangerous for the world as a whole.
Tomas's eyes flashed with interest.
"Indeed. But Finlay has become downright boring since he upped and married. Always tending to her instead of playing witness to the drama of the world." He spread his hand to gesture towards them both. "Case in point."
As Lachlan's saddlebags were fetched down from his horse by Dennis, Aoide turned a little to avoid catching his gaze. She knew it was cowardly to avoid him, but she also wished not to hurt him anymore than she might have already.
"At least I don't have to worry about Lachlan becoming dull in matrimony," Tomas said with another hit to Lachlan's arm. "He was never much fun to begin with; it won't be much of a change."
Lachlan gave little reaction to his brother's teasing, but his gaze was speculative upon Aoide when she couldn't restrain her giggle. She offered a half shrug of surrender. She could do little against his brother's amusement. The man was lively, full of energy, and had a way with words that was both charming and infuriating. She could see why the man might cause mischief wherever he went and how Lachlan had spent his life dedicated to caring for his brothers. If this Finlay was anything like Tomas, he must have had his work cut out for him.
"Come on!" Tomas demanded, apparently unfazed by Lachlan's silence. He took it in stride and the man's usual behavior. "Let's get your pretty lady to your tent. She can't wear that as the intended of a captain."
Aoide looked down her livery and plucked at the tunic self-consciously. They were far larger than the ones that Dennis had given her and far more cumbersome, but Lachlan had refused to let her keep the garments he had stripped from her body that first night.
Tomas was assessing her with a measuring eye.
"We'll have to see about finding you a dress, Mistress Aoide."
16
He had known that introducing Aoide to his brothers—particularly Tomas, who never knew when to shut his mouth—would be a trying experience. Lachlan had steeled himself for the questions and the looks that would accompany suspicion and amused grins. It would all serve to stoke his temper and irritate him beyond measure, but he was used to dealing with the occasionally childish impulses of Finlay and Tomas. He hadn't been worried that their reactions would be anything outside of what he could handle.
He had been wrong.
After taking Aoide to a relatively large log cabin that functioned as his private quarters and captain's office, Lachlan had been forced to yield to Tomas's forceful personality and head away from the structure and towards the tent that belonged to his second-in-command. As soon as they reached his own territory, Tomas was quick to whirl on his brother, an apple in hand, and a speculative look in his eye.
"Alright," he demanded. "Give it up. What the bloody hell happened in Scone?"
The conversation that followed was minimal but truthful details on Lachlan's part and a digging and probing investigation on that of Tomas's. The more Lachlan was cagey over the details of his meeting of Aoide, the more his brother became intrigued. He was especially interested in what had made a man previously uninterested in any sort of marital promise to propose to a girl he had only known a month. Lachlan was even less helpful in providing reasons for that.
While he was used to the way that Tomas bickered and nudged and constantly worked to unearth the deepest and most private secrets of others, Lachlan had never felt as irritated by it as now. A naturally reserved person, he disliked Tomas's tendency to ignore privacy but, at the same time, had rarely had anything to hide. He was a man of simple morals and clear duties. He never stepped a foot too close to a rule or embarrassed himself through drink or poor choices. He was a man that had been raised to keep his heart and emotions behind bars beneath the mask of stoic strength, and make his decisions based solely on honor and logic.
Such habits did not produce a man that possessed a lot of secrets.
Yet, now he had some.
He had Aoide.
While he was not ashamed of the bond that had formed between them over the last few weeks, he also didn't consider it to be open for public consumption or Tomas's poking. It was private; something personal—something only he and Aoide possessed.
And he wasn't interested in his brother mocking it. Not this time.
Presented, of course, with the first act of deception that Lachlan had ever attempted, Tomas could not yield in his interest. He asked questions, he made smart comments. He teased and spoke sarcastically in an effort to get a rise out of him or trick him into revealing how he had taken Aoide to bed or whether he had broken rules to see her free of crimes he had only minorly alluded to.
"But you can't possibly love her, right?" Tomas finally determined. He had finished the apple and was only surgically removing little pieces of flesh with his canines now. The man was like a feral animal. He never let any food go to waste. If he weren’t worried about growing trees in his stomach, he would have likely eaten the entire core.
"I mean, you've known her for a few weeks. You know nothing about her—you can't possibly be in love with her."
Lachlan didn't bother to point out that their other brother Finlay had decided that he was in love with his woman after only a handful of days. But, now that he shared something with a female of his own, it seemed unfair to take a shot at the absent Finlay especially when he and Merith had been happy for several years as man and wife.
"No," Lachlan answered Tomas, instead, intent on shutting him up. "I took her to bed and have offered marriage as the honorable answer. You know me. I'm not moved by great emotion."
He wasn't in love with Aoide. He knew that. He had never been in love, nor thought himself ever likely to be.
But he did care for her. He wanted her to be content, to be safe. He liked
her courage and found himself enjoying the conversations that they had together. Not to mention the manner in which she could satiate him. It had taken every piece of his self-control not to lay claim to her little body again before they were officially married. But Lachlan was big on rules, and the church was clear on its expectations. He had already taken her as a man did a woman once, likely losing all hope of repentance. But perhaps his restraint would count for something and protect both their souls just a little.
No, he wasn't in love with Aoide. She simply gave him all that he might want in a wife. And, unlike every other woman he'd ever met, he felt no revulsion in claiming her hand for the sake of seeing her taken by no other.
She would not cry.
The mantra went through Aoide's head as she struggled to breathe. She would not cry. She would not humiliate herself. She would not cower and beg for a life that she had been painting in her head.
Standing with her back to a sheet of linen, hidden by the tent behind her, Aoide felt nailed to the ground as if the soles of her feet had grown roots and sunk into the earth, holding her in place. She could not run, paralyzed by what she had just heard, and yet she could go no further either, fearful of revealing her presence to the speakers.
Back in Lachlan's cabin, Aoide had not taken long to change. With a single look at the fine green wool upon the bed, she had stripped her clothing without care for the windows or the chill. Where Tomas had secured the dress in a camp full of men, she had not a single guess, but Aoide had not waited to find out. She had pulled the piece on and reached behind her to fasten the ties at the back. It had taken her a moment to work at the laces, pull them into place, and then knot them so they would hold. She had then spent a moment feeling over the lattice pattern to ensure that she had tied it correctly and fastening the scarf that Lachlan had given her around her head.
Hurried by the idea of Lachlan seeing her in something besides rags or a male uniform, Aoide had rushed to the door, stepped back out into the sunlight, and looked around for the two brothers.
She had spied them, rushed down the row of tents with a step that she attempted to keep mildly graceful, only to then come screeching to a halt when she spotted the look on Lachlan's face.
He had been frowning, his jaw set at a hard angle. His arms had been crossed defensively over his chest.
Clearly, whatever they were discussing was distasteful to him. And Tomas was looking more animated than ever.
Not wanting to interrupt so important a conversation, Aoide had darted to one side. She had slipped behind the cover of the nearest tent before either of the men had noticed her and waited until she no longer heard their voices.
Hidden closer than she had intended, she had quickly realized that not only could she hear the deep rumble of their voices, but she could make out the distinctive words of their conversation.
A conversation that had explained to her all too clearly why Lachlan had never touched her that second time.
I took her to bed and have offered marriage as the honorable answer.
You can't possibly be in love with her...
No.
Can't possibly love her...
No.
The honorable answer...
Feeling like she was attempting to breathe around a knife in her chest, Aoide wasn't sure which reality hurt more—that she was in love with a man who never loved her or that she had been so blissful in her own state of ignorance that she had failed to notice his indifference until it was pointed out to her.
Lachlan had been kind. He had been attentive. He had done nothing beyond the acts of a gentleman. He hadn't touched her, not given her even a kiss of affection beyond a press of his lips to her forehead some mornings. He had not touched her with lust nor acted as he had when Dennis had kissed her.
When she truly looked at it, removed the blinkers of foolish first love from her eyes, Aoide could see that any desire he had felt for her had been assuaged on that first night. He had felt the need to possess her, to claim her as his own away from his men. But once that had been done, the shine had left the prize. She was no longer the trophy that he had taken for his own.
Yet, by then, he had laid claim to her virginity. He had taken her chastity and now saw fit to marry her to protect her soul and reputation as a woman.
If there was one thing that Aoide knew of Lachlan, it was his unerring dedication to honor.
And it was honorable to marry the woman you deflowered, even if that woman was a homeless thief and vagabond that you no longer held a physical passion for.
Closing her eyes against the sharp, gutting pain in her chest, Aoide repeated her mantra over and again.
She would not cry.
She could not bear to lose such face before a man who, by all rights, was attempting to help her. It was not Lachlan's failing that he did not love her. In fact, if she tried to look at it objectively, the fact that he did not only served to prove how good a man he truly was—willing to shackle himself to a woman that he did not care for in order to do his duty as a man of dignity.
As much as she wanted to hate the captain right now, she could not. She could not bring herself to twist the love she still felt into something nasty.
She would not cry.
The question was, however, what would she do?
In a blazing rush, Aoide's instincts took over.
Just as she had found an organic and instinctive response to Lachlan in that one night of passionate bliss, she had a similar, guttural reaction now. Each time her need was so sweetly simple, so poignant and tempting in its basic nature. On that night, she had wanted only one thing: to be closer to Lachlan. She had wanted only closeness that had reached critical intimacy when skin on skin had not been enough. Now, her instincts were speaking with just such clarity. Only, this time, they wanted her to run.
She wanted distance from Lachlan—from this conversation, from the revelation that came with it. She wanted to run away and hide from the pain she was feeling and reclaim a sense of control over her life.
She could not simply stand here and witness it fall apart without word or fight.
Aoide was not a woman unused to rebellion.
And so...she would rebel.
With no possessions to her name bar the literal clothing on her back, such a rebellion was abundantly simple and yet intrinsically hard.
She had no belongings to reclaim in Lachlan's cabin. She had no friends to leave behind. She had not the forethought to require food or water.
Instead, Aoide placed one foot in front of the other, the emotional toll forcing her to recall how to make each and every step. Soon, she had found her rhythm, her legs were shocked from their stasis, and she was marching with purpose.
Away from Lachlan. Away from the camp. And away from a life that had shone so bright in her mind.
Only when her feet were near bleeding and the sun had truly set did Aoide finally cry.
17
Lachlan's mood had been dark and stormy for so long that he wasn't sure he recalled what it was like to feel content over a day's good work anymore. In truth, it had been near two weeks since he had last settled into his cabin after sunset with any sense of satisfaction. It had been just as long since he had managed a full night's sleep. Ever since he had returned to his militia in his homelands, Lachlan had tossed and turned through the dark hours, unable to claim the deeper and more restful state of slumber—which, in turn, saw his attitude and empathy thin to the point of tenuous fragility.
It was clear from the expressions of his brothers that such an unhappy state of being had not passed them by without notice. The two of them stood side by side in the doorway of his hut, watching him with a studious air that only served to anger him further. They were blocking his light, casting shadows over the barely lit room, and seemed ready to impede his morning ablutions.
The sun had just risen, and Lachlan's routine was to make inspection of the entire camp every morning. He had been fastening his belts into place, e
nsuring that his blades sat in easy reach on his hips, when the dark figures of two strapping young men had carved away the morning brightness.
"Good to see you back, Finlay," Lachlan grunted. His irritability had him using Finn's full name as a silent message for them to back away. He had responsibilities to see to, and something about their faces told him that he wasn't going to look favorably on what they had come to tell him.
His warning was heard by Finn, who took a few unsure steps. It was flat-out ignored by Tomas, who just leaned upon the doorway with a languid casualness that spoke volumes. He wasn't going anywhere.
Despite the younger of the two men being so much more determined in their little convergence upon his front door, it was Finn that broached conversation.
"I came back yesterday," he said, an odd look in his eye. "You didn't notice."
Lachlan's brow had lowered as he picked up his cloak from the back of his chair and swept it about his shoulders. Finn was by far the most sensitive of the three of them, always wearing his heart on his sleeve and following his heart over his head. But he wasn't a sap, and he certainly wasn't so easily wounded.
"You were too busy dressing down old Seamus for his knife work."
"It was subpar," Lachlan bit out.
"I was perfect," Tomas bit back.
The two of them were watching him with the sort of look one might give a hunted bear. Wounded and upon the ground still, it was the expression you wore when you approached its body, fearful that the attack had only stunned and injured the beast; that it would rear up in a vicious attack of self-defense.
"What is your point?" he demanded as he tied off the cloak. If they were so determined to block the door and hold him hostage until they had said their piece, his sense of efficiency insisted that he riled them to their purpose.
