“I beg ye, woman. I want this, with ye.”
“And I’ll believe that when the Loch Ness monster dances jigs at the faire.”
He stood up straight, his broad chest widening farther as he inhaled a deep, trembling breath. He dropped her icy fingers. The anguish on his face was soon schooled to impassivity. He backed up a step. Swallowed hard. Turned away to face his fire, which was leaping merrily, as if pleased that Aileana’s world was crumbling. Silence stretched, filled only with the sounds of crackling wood.
“I’ll see ye to Urquhart at first light,” he muttered, his voice gravelly, his chest once more rising and falling on a shaky breath as if he summoned strength, and his jaw muscles twitched. “Consider our handfast void. As promised.” He chewed his cheek, his brow drawn tight, his profile hard, stewing on thoughts he struggled to articulate. “Just say that ye’ll…” He shook his head, fighting for words.
Instead of finishing his sentiment, he strode across the floorboards, through the private door to his bedchamber. He shoved it shut with a hard thud, and as the moments stretched on—turning to minutes—and as the fire crackled, enhancing the deafening silence, she realized he wasn’t coming back.
…
5th of January; day before Twelfth Night
The sky was heavy with clouds prepared to dust the earth with more snow, matching James’s mood. They plodded along silently, and blast it, but each time he felt Aileana move behind him, shift against him, adjust her hold upon him, he bit back a desperate plea that she reconsider this severance. Losing her touch after barely acquainting himself with it ached so deeply, it was like a fist to the gut. Her unwillingness to hear him had left an acrid aftertaste in his mouth. But why would she believe him when their clans had never afforded each other a shred of trust before?
He took a deep breath and pounded his chest, recalling wee Maudie running to Aileana as she left amid the hall, stunned to silence, as if a funeral procession passed by. He recalled the child’s cry, begging to know if she’d done something wrong and given Aileana cause for displeasure. Bless the lass. And damn Aileana, winning the fledgling’s heart only to discard it so easily.
“We’ve arrived,” he finally muttered, stating the obvious as dusk darkened the sky further.
They rode toward Urquhart’s main gates, where Sir Donegal was upon the gatehouse, calling for the portcullis to be raised.
“Lady Aileana is returned!” he called, and a general echoing of cheers arose from within the walls.
Devil lumbered across the drawbridge, but as he reached the portcullis, he couldn’t bear to go farther, stopping just short of the thick stone wall and grate. His lungs burned as he heaved in air, and he was certain his hands hadn’t stopped trembling since the night before and his ruse had been exposed in all its crude glory. The urge to pound his chest again and clear his throat was overpowering, yet he managed by a thread to remain stoic.
Looking within, he could see the castle folk had paused their tasks, their happier faces not so gaunt from hunger as before. Evergreen sprigs decorated the doors. Smoke rose from the castle chimneys. His repayment of goods had done this, given Aileana’s people back their sense of worth and their smiles. The door to the keep opened, and blast it! He couldn’t face Seamus Grant, now striding into the bailey, followed by a fretting Lady Peigi. He reached behind him, grasped Aileana beneath her arms and hoisted her down. She gasped, caught her footing, and gaped up at his unceremonious severance.
“Allie,” he managed to croak. “It stopped being about the money the moment I woke up to ye in my arms by the fireside. It stopped being about the lands as soon as I caught ye when ye fell ill. And ever since then, this handfast… It started becoming something much more, when I realized I was falling—” He caught his pathetic admission. What man of worth spouted such poetics? And yet the gruff edge to his voice turned thick, and he could feel his blasted eyes rimming red. “I’d rather give ye up to make ye happy than make ye miserable with me. I just beg one thing. I thought ye were mine when I bedded with ye, and if a bairn comes of our union—” His voice cracked, and he cleared it angrily. “I beg ye have sympathy for its bastardy. The stigma of such is a shame I’d no’ wish on anyone, least of all my seed.” Damnation, were his eyes now misting? “My inheritance will be past the point of claiming by then, but I’ll gladly take ye back.”
He dragged the reins around and tapped Devil into a canter, then as hard a gallop as his weary horse could muster. Relief and hopelessness twined themselves together in a tangled bundle of regret. At least it was over and he could get on with life. He never thought this severance would be so painful. Surely it was only his pride wounded. Surely he hadn’t been about to declare that he’d fallen in love. But it was too damn late. He knew he had. And his heart had just bled out like a sword thrust through it.
…
“What did that bastard do to ye?” Seamus demanded, racing to Aileana’s side as tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks. “Christ, wee sister. He didnae even provide ye with a wardrobe. Look at ye—ye return to us in the same rags ye left in.”
He wrapped her in his arms, and the strange need to defend James overcame her.
“He did provide for me, but I refused to keep anything—”
“I fed ye to a wolf who would dump ye back at home like a rejected sack of grain,” Seamus continued, too consumed to hear her.
Bless him, she thought, resisting the urge to look heavenward. He knew exactly the wrong thing to say as he squeezed her in his protective embrace.
“My thanks, brother, for likening me to such a commodity; it makes me feel much better about my situation.”
“I’m sorry, I’m forever guilt-stricken about the decision I had to make. But I thought that he might fancy ye. I began to think he was taken with ye.”
She looked up at him, dabbing futilely at her puffy eyes. “Why would ye think that?”
Seamus tightened his hold. “When he delivered the cattle and the home goods, he could barely answer my questions about why he’d done it, and when I guessed that it was because he liked ye, he turned beet red, like some lovesick lad.”
A tingling of wariness lodged in her stomach. Had James been telling her the truth about his feelings? Nay, preposterous. He’d already admitted his motives for forcing the handfast.
“And when Seamus suggested to him that ye might actually be happy in that brute’s house with him,” Peigi chimed in, petting her hair back, “our brother said the MacDonald felt certain ye would never be happy there, and the sound of James’s voice was…”
“Forlorn,” Seamus clarified. “I could tell he was smitten. Or at least I thought he was.”
Aileana pulled back, suddenly aware of all the eyes peering onto the drawbridge, watching her. She was never so weak as to break down crying, but now their people, who were used to her strength, were watching her whimper like a pup. Peigi turned her around, taking her hands.
“But these tears, sister, can only mean a few things. Was he cruel to ye?”
She shook her head. “On the contrary. He was kind and protective.”
Peigi’s voice went soft so no one else would hear the personal question. “Did he force ye to his bed?” She eyed Seamus stiffening at her side, his knuckles whitened on the hilt of his dirk perched in his belt, as if prepared to chase down James and administer justice if she even hinted at impropriety.
Again, she shook her head. James hadn’t forced her to do anything. She’d chosen to lie with him, encouraged him to do so when he’d shown restraint. “Nay. He was honorable, nay the devil we all ken him to be…”
Peigi smiled fondly and squeezed her hands. “Then is it possible, sister, that ye’ve become smitten, too, and these tears are from heartbreak?”
Aileana froze. Indeed, she had grown fond of him. She’d taken a risk and opened her heart. She’d let down her defenses, begun to care for his peo
ple, especially Maudie. When he’d given back her earrings, shame sagging his brow, she’d known there was good at his core, even if conflict had shaped him into the warrior he was. When he’d fed foxes, held wee lassies on his arm with such comfort, and sat beside a feverish woman’s bedside through the night, she’d known he was gentle at heart—someone she could love. When she’d learned of his tragic upbringing, she’d sympathized with a lad who’d had to fight for his legitimate title in ways no other heir would have been required. How would she have survived if she’d been born of her father’s indiscretions and raised by a stepmother who’d sabotaged her at every opportunity?
“He only married me to gain his inheritance, for the conditions upon him were such that he needed to marry a Grant before Twelfth Night of this year in order to be given the coin,” she said begrudgingly. “I thought he meant it when he said he wanted to give this marriage an honest try, but in sooth, I was nothing more than the key to his wealth.”
She looked askance, explaining the conditions to her siblings’ shocked faces, and continued to dab her splotchy eyes. Sakes, the truce kerchief. She suddenly sobbed at the sight of it, burying her eyes within it.
“And yet he brought ye home,” Peigi finally said. “He’s given up his money for ye. Did he reject ye?”
Oh, her foolish, foolish pride! He’d done the opposite—he’d begged her to stay.
“I insisted on being returned. He’s simply honoring my wishes.”
Peigi smiled, then shook her head with the closest thing to incredulity Aileana could remember gracing her sister’s porcelain face. “Then are ye so blind as to nay see what I see? He cared enough to let ye go. To let all of it go. Because he couldnae have yer honest heart.”
“Damnation, I hate to give that nàmhaid any berth for sympathy, but such actions only speak of”—Seamus cleared his throat to force something distasteful from his lips—“love. And if all of this is true, then I’d say ye took the best revenge a Grant could ever take on a MacDonald. Ye stole his heart, then ye broke it. And for some reason I’ll never comprehend, I feel sorry for the bastard.”
The statement spiraled through her mind again and again as Peigi led her inside, where Aileana glanced around the great hall and took in the festive evergreens, the rich smells coming from the kitchens. These people’s lives had been made full again, thanks to James making amends, regardless of how the feud had once started. And yet while the castle folk sang and laid out food for the evening board, Aileana swallowed at the hollowness in her stomach, like an empty cavern, envisioning the redness that had rimmed his eyelids as he’d departed. Had she made a mistake?
I have. Oh, I have! And just as suddenly as she’d demanded to be brought home, she bolted to her feet and abandoned the dais, dashing to her chamber to change. She had to go to James, and her clothing was still damp and cold from the snowy journey home. He would stop for the night somewhere soon, and if she were quick, she’d be able to follow his tracks.
…
Of course, the only place to stop for the night was the rocks under which James had first slept with Aileana. But if James pressed on, there would be no other shelter for leagues, and blast this winter, but it was already dumping more snow upon him. Continuing in such a downfall could prove folly for poor Devil.
He dismounted with a reluctant sigh and blotted out the images of Aileana sleeping so soundly upon his chest by this very firepit. He unsaddled Devil and rubbed him down. Blessedly, the remains of their first fire and stack of unused wood still lay untouched.
He heaved his packs within and rummaged through a pouch for his flint, cracking it upon the striker to make sparks. At last, one spark took hold on a dried leaf still clinging to a twig. He nurtured the flame until an ember took hold and eventually, a blaze.
Drawing his mantle over himself, he sat back against a rock and stared at the dancing fire, recalling Marjorie’s humiliating deliverance home, recalling the years of his youth when his stepmother had snubbed her nose at him. He hadn’t mourned his stepmother’s passing—it was because of her he’d lured Aileana into the handfast. But if Aileana carried his seed, would his bairn be raised by a stepfather someday who detested his child as much as his stepmother had detested him? Could he claim paternity and usurp her custody? The thoughts did nothing but cause his stomach to roil, for such a legal course would only stoke the fires of rivalry betwixt their clans and make her hate him more.
As he closed his eyes and swigged his flagon of whiskybae, trying desperately to doze so he wouldn’t have to think anymore, he heard Devil grunt. His eyes popped open. Devil was hard to see in the darkness and downfall of snow, but from the firelight’s weak reach, he could determine the horse’s ears pricked forward.
He stood, slipping his claymore from its sheath beside him, and rose, stepping out of the rocks. Two shadows on horseback approached, cantering out of the darkness. He patted his waist, ensuring his daggers were secure, felt his sgian dubh in his boot, sgian achlais in his armpit. If these travelers meant trouble, he would need every blade to fight himself free.
Except one shape was much smaller than the other, and long fabric flowed from…her.
Aileana. His heart leaped into his throat with hope at the same time that it seemed to drop to his feet in wariness. Did she want to come back to him? Or had she come to add further insult to injury? Had she brought her brother to accuse him of forcing her to his will or taking liberties?
His body, charged for a confrontation while his heart squeezed, sent an ill feeling swirling in his gut. But as they neared the firelight, his confusion mounted, for Seamus wore a humored, patronizing smirk, as if the bastard were about to make a jab, and James couldn’t help but think it would be at his expense.
Aileana fanned her skirts over the saddle and dismounted before James could consider assisting her, and when she turned toward him, her eyes looked sore. He wanted to brush his thumb across them to push away the moisture but refrained, for she was no longer his to touch.
“Jamie, I…”
Jamie. How he loved the moniker. How it brought back fond memories of both his childhood and the affection he craved from this woman before him.
“Were ye really going to walk away from all that money?” she asked.
He twisted away from them, tossing down his sword with a clatter and heaving a sigh, perching his hands at his waist.
“Lass…” He turned and eyed her over his shoulder. “When I chased a lad back to Urquhart, I had anger in my heart. I intended to make ye pay for stealing and saw an opportunity to fulfill the conditions put upon me.” He turned away again. “But the moment the demand for a bride left my lips, I knew I was embarking on something bigger. I knew, when I saw the fear on yer face, that I didnae want to hurt ye.” He shrugged. “I need the money, aye, but I want ye. And if I cannae have my Allie”—he shook his head—“well, what’s a purse of coin in this short life we lead?” He shrugged again. “I never had it to begin with.”
A hand settled on his arm. His heart skipped a beat to feel her touch.
He glanced down at the gloved fingers, so slender and delicate, it was a wonder that they’d helped her people push ploughs and heal injuries. “Jamie? When I overheard ye and Brighde talking, I thought the worst. It seemed like something the Devil MacDonald, who’d raided us, would do, and I didnae honor our truce and give ye a chance to explain, nor did I account for all the fine things ye’ve done for me since the moment we handfasted but saw them as ploys to win me into staying. And when ye left me this afternoon, I couldnae make sense of why I felt so sick until my brother and sister…”
“She loves yer ugly face, man, is what that stew of words means,” Seamus said with brotherly ribbing, to which Aileana scowled back at him.
James glanced to Seamus. Odd, he was never off his guard, but for a moment, he’d forgotten about the enemy laird nearby.
“We told her she belonged with
ye,” Seamus continued, “for it’s clear as day ye’re smitten with her like a wee milksop for a mistress, and obviously she’s gone and turned traitor on us all.”
The anger that would normally spike at such insults didn’t this time. Aileana was in love with him? Sakes, but aye, he was smitten like a wee milksop, and he didn’t care who saw it. He turned to face her, his eyes searching hers as his hands unconsciously migrated to hers to interlock with her fingers. His brow furrowed questioningly, awaiting her elaboration.
She took a deep breath. “I want ye to give me another chance, if ye’ll have me. Ye proved to me today that I matter more—”
Somehow, she was in his arms, and he was bent over her, his lips crushed to hers. Relief loosened the noose that had been suffocating his heart. Her fingers snaked around his nape, her body snug against his as he encompassed her in his arms. He lifted her up, uncaring of Seamus watching him maul his wee sister, and was carrying her toward his fire when Seamus cleared his throat like a church warden.
“I handfasted the lass,” James retorted over his shoulder.
“Aye, and ye severed that agreement. If ye want my sister, then new terms and agreements are in order.”
Aileana giggled, looking up at him with softness in her eyes; James wanted to bask in such a glow forever and never again see the angry scorn that she’d once bestowed upon him.
“No going back this time,” he whispered.
She shook her head. “No going back.”
He reached into his sporran, withdrawing two folds of fabric—cuts of MacDonald and Grant tartan.
Her eyes widened, and she touched them, too. “Ye kept them?
He nodded, then felt a smile etch into his solemn face. “Do the honors, brother-of-marriage.” He held them forth to Seamus.
Seamus, groaning at the title, took the fabric, joined their hands together in an intertwined fist, and knotted the tartan around it.
“James Moidartach MacDonald of Clanranald. I give ye my wee sister, Aileana Grant, again. What are yer terms this time?”
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