The Highland Dynasty: The Complete Series

by Amy Jarecki

  She drew away from his foul-smelling breath. “You wouldn’t.”

  Aleck scowled. “Now that you’ve asked to go to Iona, how will I know you will not run?”

  “Mayhap I’d already be away if I had.”

  A tic twitched under his eye. “Do not use an insolent tone with me.”

  Helen pursed her lips and stared down at her lap. Must he grow more disagreeable by the day? She glanced at Eoin. He offered an apologetic shrug of his shoulders.

  “What about hunting?” she asked, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “I enjoy a good hunt with a bow and arrow.”

  Eoin appeared to appreciate the change in subject. “As I recall, your marksmanship is admirable.”

  She smiled.

  “We could put her atop the bailey walls if there was a siege.” Aleck swayed in his chair and laughed at his ill-placed humor.

  How much whisky has he consumed?

  “I’ll pray that will not be necessary,” Eoin said, but he glared at Helen’s husband like the Chieftain of Ardnamurchan must be completely daft.

  Aleck picked beneath his thumbnail with his eating knife. “You’re soft, MacGregor.”

  Heaven help Sir Eoin to maintain his calm.

  Her prayers were dashed when she shifted her gaze his way. Helen had seen the look on Sir Eoin’s face once—right before he and her brother launched into a real fight—one stopped only by six armed guards. She couldn’t even remember why the two friends had attacked each other with such ferocity. Though the reason no longer mattered, she knew Eoin to be deadly when provoked. Every muscle in her body tensed while the dais filled with silence.

  Across the hall, the music started.

  Thank the good Lord.

  Helen clapped her hands, praying the minstrels would pull Aleck from his foul mood.

  Eoin raised his tankard, his jaw set. “Do you enjoy dancing, Sir Aleck, or does that not appeal to your bull-brained audaciousness.”

  Helen froze. God save us, there’ll be a brawl for certain.

  Aleck squinted. “Are you in…” He belched. “…sulting me?”

  “Insult the generous chieftain of this fine keep?” Eoin spread his arms wide. “Nay, nay. I’d never consider such an offense.”

  Aleck shook his eating knife as he swayed in his seat. “You’d best not.”

  “I see you’ve musicians this eve.” Eoin changed the topic and sat a bit straighter. “It would be ever so enjoyable to watch you give your wife a turn on the dance floor.”

  Helen tightly clasped her hands under her chin. “Oh no, Sir Aleck doesn’t care to dance.”

  Her husband guzzled more whisky, the tankard weaving before he set it down. “Dancing is for lasses before they marry. A young buck has no need to strut like a preening peacock after he’s bedded a woman.”

  Helen gaped, completely horrified at his remark. Yes, Aleck had always been brazen, but his behavior this eve topped all tasteless babble.

  That deadly glint return to Eoin’s eyes. “I strongly disagree. I’ve watched women—er—people of all ages enjoy a good reel.” He stood, bowed and offered his hand. “May I have this dance, Lady Helen?”

  She risked a startled glance at Aleck. He rolled his hand through the air. “Go on. If you want to kick up your heels like an alehouse tart, don’t let me be the one to stop you.”

  Helen pushed back her chair and stood. “I beg your pardon? I have never set foot inside an alehouse.” Before Aleck could make another snide remark that would embarrass her to her toes, she snatched Eoin’s hand and pulled him to the dais steps. “I will enjoy this dance if it slays me.”

  The MacGregor Chieftain chuckled. “’Tis good to hear, m’lady.” He offered his elbow. “No woman dressed in such style should be required sit idle while dancing music plays.”

  “My sentiments exactly.” Helen had a great deal of difficulty maintaining her serene countenance. By the saints, Aleck had irritated her. Why couldn’t he have commented on Maggie’s beauty? Why did he sit on the dais and brood, pouring whisky down his gullet? Did he hate her? Surely he did and, if so, why had he not allowed her to retire to Iona? The man reveled in making other people uncomfortable or unhappy and he’d only grown worse since Eoin MacGregor had arrived with his army.

  ’Tis bittersweet to see an old friend. On one hand, I’ve ever so enjoyed having him as a guest, but I believe it would be best if the MacDonald uprising were quashed soon. The longer Sir Eoin remains, the more likely there will be a serious confrontation between the two chieftains.

  Eoin led her to the line of women and took the place across from her in the line of men. He looked dashing, wearing a plaid, shirt and leather doublet. Sarah had been right—the patchwork in his shirt wouldn’t be noticeable, especially when covered by a doublet.

  He grinned.

  Merciful heavens, Aleck had never grinned at her like that. When Helen met her husband, it had been their wedding night, and that was disastrous. He’d soused himself with whisky and bumbled through copulation, which completely mortified her. Helen had been embarrassed to show her face in the great hall for an entire season. Fortunately, he only visited her chamber a few times a year. Doubtless, such an arrangement exceeded the bounds of the ordinary. After all, she wasn’t completely ignorant of the world. There were clansmen and women—married folk—who seemed to enjoy coupling. And she’d happened upon more than one guard with a moaning woman in his arms.

  Helen never moaned—gritted her teeth and bore Aleck’s brutal thrusts, was more like it. Perhaps she was just one of those “frigid” women who would never enjoy copulation. She’d heard about that, too. Oh, the many things a lady of the keep overhears when supervising a bevy of servants.

  She locked arms with Eoin and skipped in a circle.

  “Are you all right, m’lady?”

  “Of course.” She feigned a smile. “Why would you ask?”

  “I thought for a moment you might be unhappy with the prospect of dancing with me.” He pointed to his feet. “As I recall, you were ten and six when you told me I’d never learn my left from my right.”

  She laughed out loud—only Eoin MacGregor could pull her from melancholy and make her chuckle. “Oh my heavens, I was the most atrocious lass at six and ten. I acted as if I were the Queen of Sheba.”

  “Not at all. You were right and I spent a fortnight practicing before I allowed your mother to talk me into partnering in your dancing lessons again.”

  Oh, how many fond memories his words brought. “Dearest Mother. She always had a way of bending you lads to her will.”

  “That she did.” They parted and continued to their respective lines. When they once again faced each other, he hadn’t lost his jovial grin. “You were about six and ten when I really first noticed you.”

  “Honestly?” Helen thought back. “But hadn’t you started partnering with us years before that?”

  He stepped in and clasped her hands. “Aye.” The look in his eyes grew dark.

  She watched his face while they sashayed through the tunnel of dancers. Her mouth suddenly went dry and her midsection was attacked by a swarm of fluttering dragonflies. They had to be dragonflies rather than butterflies because the sensation was completely unnatural. She dare not question him about his meaning.

  He hadn’t noticed me before I’d turned six and ten?

  They exited the tunnel and parted. Helen clapped a hand over her mouth, the full significance of his words dawning on her.

  All this time she’d believed the looks of longing across the hall were frivolous one-sided yens of a silly maiden. Had he actually returned her affections—even a little? Not that it mattered now, but to know they’d once shared something deeper than mere friendship. Helen’s heart thrummed. Perhaps that would make tolerating Aleck’s abuse a wee bit more palatable.

  When she rejoined the line and faced Eoin, she didn’t have to feign her smile. Nothing in all of Christendom could wipe the grin off her face.

  Again they join
ed elbows. “I believe dancing agrees with you,” Eoin said.

  She took in a refreshing breath. “I think you are right. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed it.”

  He smiled down at her with eyes shining, just as she’d remembered him doing years ago. “I meant what I said. People of all ages should dance. ’Tis invigorating—makes the heart rush and one’s breathing speed. I think ’tis good for the soul.”

  When the music ended, all of the dancers laughed and clapped. Helen held her hands out to the minstrels. “May we have another reel, please?”

  The fiddler bowed. “Certainly, m’lady.”

  She clasped her hands together and faced Eoin. “Do you think your heart can withstand another lively dance?”

  “There’s no question about the power of my heart.” He grinned ever so warmly. “But are you up to another?”

  “Me? Why I’m only getting started.”

  He tugged at her veil. “Perhaps this time your matronly head covering might fly away in a spin.”

  She touched her hands to her veil. “You jest.” She stole a glance to the dais. The chieftain wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention while he nuzzled into Mary’s ear—and the widow had again moved to Helen’s chair.

  Why am I fretting about what he thinks?

  She tugged the suffocating veil from her head and cast it to a nearby table. “There. Now we no longer need to worry about it.”

  “Bravo, a woman with your beauty certainly needs no head covering.” Eoin’s gaze darted to the dais as well. He growled before he returned his attention to Helen. But this time, they danced in silence. Helen’s emotion ran the gamut—first to humiliation and anger that her husband was up on the dais fawning over his leman—then to exhilaration that she was dancing with unabashed fervor for the first time since she arrived at Mingary Castle. At last, she opted to revel in the moment. With her hair unbound and brushing her hips, she felt free and unfettered. It reminded her of the days when Helen and her sister, Gyllis, were still maids, running up the Kilchurn tower stairs and watching the guard spar in the courtyard while the wind blew through their long tresses.

  Eoin had been one of the knights in the courtyard, as had Sean MacDougall, Gyllis’s husband.

  When the music stopped, Eoin took her hand. “You look deep in thought.”

  “Aye.” She sighed. “Just remembering the years at Kilchurn.”

  The minstrels began a slow almain. Eoin grasped her hand, leading her in the stately dance as if it were second nature for him. “Fond memories?”

  “Very much so. I miss my sisters. Gyllis especially.”

  “Ah yes, the two of you were very close.” The rough pads of Eoin’s fingertips plied her hand while they danced in a circle. Step-hop, step-hop.

  She smiled at him. “I love this dance.”

  “Aye, it can be very stimulating with the right partner.”

  She stopped. “I hope I am not keeping you from seeking out a more entertaining lass.”

  He reached for her hand and pulled her step-hopping in the other direction. “Nay, m’lady. There is no other person with whom I’d rather be dancing this night.”

  No? “Why have you not married after all these years?”

  He chuckled. “Because either the king or your brother has me running sorties all over Scotland. I’ve scarcely had the time to think about it.”

  “But you’ve been to court.”

  “Aye.”

  “I think we should find you a wife.”

  He shot her a wee frown. “Pray Lady Helen, I’d prefer to find my own wife.”

  The food churned in her stomach. “Have you someone in mind?”

  “Not yet.”

  She knew she shouldn’t press, but couldn’t help but ask. “Not ever?”

  He shrugged. “No one who ever stuck.”

  Good Lord, what did he mean by that?

  They danced through one song after another and Helen never tired. At the end of a high-steeping reel, she dipped into a curtsey and fanned her face.

  “Are you enjoying dancing with my wife, MacGregor?” Aleck groused from behind Helen.

  Her back tensed as if someone had just run a block of ice along her spine.

  Eoin straightened from his bow. “You would have been welcome to cut in at any moment.”

  The two men regarded each other with leery eyes, but Aleck swayed—and smelled pickled. He faced the thinning crowd and clapped his hands while swaying in place. “The hour is late. Good m-morrow.”

  He’s in his cups for certain.

  Helen searched for Mary. The nasty widow was still sitting in Helen’s chair, watching them as if a spectator at the Highland games.

  “Come, Helen,” Aleck said loudly as he clamped his fingers around her wrist. “You’ve frolicked with Sir Eoin enough for one night.”

  The stragglers in the hall stared.

  Helen cast an apologetic look at Eoin. “Thank you for dancing with me. It was most invigorating.”

  The muscles in Eoin’s jaw tightened and his eyes grew dark—deadly. But he smiled at her and bowed his head. “The pleasure was mine, m’lady.”

  “Bloody frivolities,” Aleck grumbled as he pulled her to the stairwell. Helen tried to yank her wrist from his grasp, but he tightened his grip. She could never imagine Aleck gently holding her hand in an almain. She couldn’t imagine him dancing with her at all. If he did, it would be with a grudging scowl on his face.

  She hastened her step to keep from being dragged. “Why do you not dance with me?”

  He continued up the steps. “I don’t care for dancing.”

  “But I do.”

  “Mayhap that’s why I allowed that sniveling maggot to fawn all over you.” He exited the stairwell and pulled Helen to her chamber door.

  Surely he isn’t planning to go inside. “Are you well m’lord?”

  “I’m bloody fine.” He opened the door and pushed her in. “You dishonored me with your making merry.” He held up her discarded veil. “You are a married woman and yet you bared your tresses in front of the entire clan.”

  Her face grew hot. “You dare criticize me?” Clenching her fists, Helen refused to look away from his angry stare. She didn’t care if he towered over her by a foot and looked like an overstuffed black boar. She would not tolerate his scorn behind closed doors. “I have watched you fawn all over that woman, that whore, for ages, and you have the audacity to confront me about dancing at a gathering?”

  “Your place is not to question me but to obey.”

  “Is it now? I am to remain taciturn and non-communicative in infinitum whilst you spend your days within Mary’s cottage? And presently you do not even try to be secretive about your infidelity.”

  His eyes had taken on a red hue, but that only served to make him appear more hideous. He grabbed her fingers and squeezed while he leaned forward, his sour breath oozing over Helen’s face. “Mary is my business and you will never speak ill of her.” Though his words slurred a bit, he’d been perfectly clear, especially with his bone-breaking grip.

  But Helen ground her teeth and bore the pain. “Is that so? Do you know how humiliating it is to be gazing out the window with Sarah while you’re adjusting yourself when leaving Mary’s cottage?”

  He stepped in with a deadly glint in his eye. “I—”

  “No. I’ll not listen to another overbearing word.” Helen snatched her hand away and skittered from his unpredictable right-handed slap. “What about slinging your arm around Mary’s shoulder and kissing her after disembarking from your galley? Bless it, Aleck. The entire clan watched you.”

  He sauntered forward, swaying a bit. “You are a bitter shrew.” As he neared, her nostrils filled with the stench of distilled spirit mingled with sour male sweat. “I ought to still your tongue with the iron branks and lock you in the dungeon.”

  Helen inched backward until she bumped into the table. Three years past, he’d imprisoned her in the iron branks for a whole day. Every time she swallowe
d, the metal contraption holding her tongue cut a little deeper. No, she shouldn’t have held forth so boldly, but so much angst had built up of late, she had no recourse but to confront him.

  “No.” She shook her head, trying to keep her tears at bay. “N-no...” She couldn’t lose her courage now.

  With a mean growl, Aleck lunged and snatched her arm.

  Helen tried to yank away. He raised his palm. With a screech, she recoiled, but his slap connected with stinging force. Reeling backward, Helen stumbled into the table, grasping it to maintain her balance. Her fingers wrapped around a candlestick.

  Aleck grabbed her by the hair and yanked her into the center of the floor. “You will obey me.”

  Before she could twist away, he latched a hand around her throat. Helen couldn’t breathe. His torturous fingers dug into her voice box. She screamed, but only emitted a choking croak. The room spun. With a surge of courage, Helen swung the candlestick with all her might, twisting enough to bash him in the temple.

  He released his grasp and tottered backward.

  “Help!” Helen shrieked, praying someone might hear. She stood square and faced him, brandishing her makeshift weapon with both hands, prepared to defend herself against another strike. Aleck’s red eyes grew wide as if stunned. Then they rolled up. Toppling backward, he thudded to the floor with a resounding boom.

  Helen gasped, clutching the candlestick for dear life, her entire body trembling. Merciful father, what have I done? She looked at the weapon in her hands. I didn’t think I hit him that hard.

  The door opened. Her candlestick clattered to the floorboards as Helen’s gaze snapped up. Glenda led Sir Eoin into the chamber and quickly shut the door.

  A tear dribbled from Helen’s eye as she gestured toward Aleck’s body. “I-I didn’t mean to hurt…” She clutched her throat. “H-he was choking me—and then I-I.”

  Eoin knelt and patted Aleck’s face. The big man moaned and licked his lips. “He’s drunk.”