Her Highland Rogue: A Wild Highland Guardian Novel (14 page)

Making love to Aileana had drained his strength. Curled together under the warmth of his plaid now, Errol knew their time alone was short. ’Twas the reason he’d taken her so hard and fierce—but the next chance he got, he’d go slow, savoring every inch of her perfect body. He kissed the back of her head.

“Are ye better, lass?”

She wiggled in his arms, pressing her arse against his ready-to-go-again manhood. “Aye.”

“Do ye think you can tell me what happened while I hold you? I swear on my mother’s grave to not get angry.”

She went rigid in his arms.

“Aileana?” He flipped her onto her back, leaning over her. “What is it?”

“Doona cage me in.”

Fire flared under his skin. Someone had hurt her—he could feel it, see it in her eyes. “Tell me,” he said more forcefully than he intended.

“Broc…” she whispered.

“Did the bastard touch you?” He was up then, sitting next to her, but afraid to hear what she had to say.

“After you escorted me to my new chamber the night we made love, I couldna sleep. So I went for a walk outside. Broc cornered me in the woods, told me if I didn’t leave he’d kill me.”

“Kill you?” He rose to his feet, fists clenched at his sides. He’d promised not to get angry, but he couldn’t hide his rage. Staring down at her, he tried to control his tone. “What reason did he give?”

Aileana climbed to her feet too, straightening her bodice and smoothing her skirt down, her tiny hands shaking. “In retaliation for our betrothal.”

“Tell me exactly what he said and did, Aileana. Do not leave out the slightest detail.”

He listened patiently as she stumbled through the story, her eyes wide with regret and pain. And once she finished speaking, she stood in front of him with her head down like a shamed child waiting to be chastised.

“Doona bow your head.” He lifted her chin. “Yer innocent and should be proud of the way you defended yourself.”

“But I didn’t,” she said.

“I don’t understand.”

“This saved me.” She clutched the chain around her neck.

He moved closer to see it clearly. A miniature silver galley. “What significance does it have? I’m afraid I doona understand.”

“This pendant once belonged to my father. And I’m sure Broc recognized its significance, for once he beheld it, he dinna rape me.”

The man would pay with his life for assaulting her. But the new mystery in front of Errol made no sense. If he didn’t recognize the importance of the pendant, why did Broc? Perhaps Aileana simply misinterpreted his intent. Maybe he wanted the piece of silver for himself. But Errol would not torture her with more questions. The most important thing was getting her back to Kintail, back into his home and arms every night for the rest of their lives.

Once they were both dressed, he reluctantly returned her to the MacDonald keep, ready to face her father. Food had been set out, and Laird MacDonald sat at the head of the table, with Liam and Gunn to his left, and Cian and Sgùrr to his right. What a difference an hour had made, and Errol hoped it was a sign of good things to come.

“Sit,” the MacDonald commanded without a flicker of emotion on his face. “Break bread with me and we’ll discuss your futures.”

Errol accepted a glass of wine, thankful it tasted better than the watered-down ale from earlier. Then he shoveled a spoonful of stew into his mouth, feeling ravenous.

“We are faced with a serious dilemma,” the laird said. “The MacDonalds and MacRaes are old enemies, sworn to fight to the death whenever we meet. The good Lord only knows the origin of our blood feud, but today, I am willing to put our enmity aside in order to find a peaceful solution. Cian? Will you join me?”

The surly man muttered something under his breath, then crossed his arms over his chest. “I stand firm by what I said before.”

Laird MacDonald’s serene features transformed immediately. “Then leave the table.”

“Excuse me, brother?”

“Milord,” the chieftain corrected.

“Milord,” Cian repeated, stone-faced.

“Do ye think I enjoy reprimanding you in front of our guests? In front of your daughter? Sometimes the path to peace is preferable over the road to war. Your continued derisiveness serves no purpose, Cian. This girl came here with her mother in search of answers, not to fight. Not to disrespect you or our clan.”

Errol watched as Cian studied his daughter at length.

“Aileana is blameless,” Cian said. “But her mother and Errol MacRae are partners in this deception.”

“Deception?” Errol said, his ire rising. “I woke up one morning and found my beloved gone. I searched for her tirelessly—fearing the worst. You know nothing of me.”

“I know your clan. And the apple doesna fall far from the tree.”

Laird MacDonald groaned. “Another disparaging word from your mouth, Cian, and I’ll remove you myself.” He looked to Errol. “Kateland explained everything to me, including the disturbing news that you’ve bedded my niece without taking wedding vows. How do you answer?”

Errol laid his spoon aside and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What happens between the lass and me in the privacy of our chamber is no one’s concern. I am a man, and she is a grown woman, more than capable of making up her own mind.”

“I see,” the laird said, holding his gaze. “Aileana? How do you feel?”

“Errol speaks the truth. I gladly gave my virginity to him. I had no other gift to offer.”

Silence fell over them, her honest words as alarming as a knife aimed for the heart.

Clearing his throat, the laird inclined his head. “Are ye with child?”

Aileana’s cheeks flushed. Errol’s fingernails dug into the flesh of his palms, offended by her uncle’s lack of propriety. This was a conversation best reserved for behind closed doors.

“I don’t know, sir.”

He nodded. “And how long has it been since you’ve been together?”

“I doona see what difference it makes,” Errol interjected.

“All the difference in the world,” the laird replied, matter-of-fact.

Aileana’s shoulders drooped instantly, guilt written all over her pretty face. “Just now,” she confessed.

“Son of a whore!” Cian slammed his fists on the table. “You will pay dearly for this, MacRae.”

True to his word, Laird MacDonald shot up from his chair and marched to where his brother sat. Taking his arm, he said, “Get up.”

Cian tried to shake free of his grip, but the MacDonald dragged him to his feet. His bodyguards surrounded Cian and escorted him from the hall.

“Now,” her uncle continued, finding his way back to the table. “Continue, please.”

“Errol and I made love in the woods.”

He rubbed his chin, appearing to be in deep thought. “Is the love so strong between you?”

“Aye,” she said without pause. “Only I didn’t know it until I spent a week here.”

“Distance has a way of providing clarity in matters of love. Right or wrong, the heart wants what it wants. And I am not the kind of man to stand in the way of such feelings. But unfortunately, a MacDonald canna marry a MacRae.”

“Why?” Sgùrr finally spoke up. “She’s lived away from the clan and has no part in your family politics. The very reason I left. I never wanted Aileana to be exposed to this sort of thing, never wanted anyone to dictate what she could and couldna do with her life.”

“A grave mistake on your part,” the laird said. “Which brings me to the solution.”

“What?” Errol asked out loud. “You’re not going to keep us apart, are you?”

“And bring the might of the MacRaes and MacKenzies down on my head? Look around you, lad, all the clans are suffering. I havna the desire to invite death to my door. And I know if I send you away without my niece, you’ll find a way to come back with more than two fighters. Then we’ll both suffer for the sake of pride.”

Perhaps he’d been too quick to judge the MacDonald chieftain. The man spoke wisely.

“I doona speak lightly, lass,” he focused on his niece. “For if you choose to leave here tonight, the MacDonald name will not go with you. My allies would accuse me of many things if they knew my brother’s only child wed a MacRae. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Errol slipped his hand under the table and gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze.

“I do,” she said. “But so many have already seen me, and know who I am.”

“The people at this table and the men and women who serve in this keep know what penalties they’d face for disloyalty. Your identity will be kept a secret, child. But you’ll live in our hearts—that much I promise. For a MacDonald could never gaze upon you and not see my mother. As for you, Errol MacRae, if Aileana chooses you, doona let me hear you havna taken vows before a sennight has passed.”

The point was well taken. Errol got up and gestured for Aileana to spin around on the bench. Then he stood in front of her and dropped to his knee, holding her right hand. “Before all here and God as my witness, if you’ll have me, I’ll marry ye the minute we get home.”

He was lost in her beautiful blue eyes, and her soft smile filled him with hope.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I want to go home. I wish to be Aileana MacRae.”

Errol made no excuses as he entered the MacRae keep with a very tired Aileana in tow and headed abovestairs. His bride-to-be must rest and regain her strength. He’d eventually visit his father’s solar and reveal the information he’d gathered from the MacDonald chieftain.

Once she was safely tucked in bed and asleep, he stationed a guard at her door and went downstairs.

Edme and Margot were the first to stop him.

“Please, Master Errol,” Margot pleaded. “Is Aileana well?”

“Can we see her?” Edme asked.

The soft spot he had for these women showed in the way he spoke to them. “Dearest ladies,” he said. “Your niece is tired, nothing more. ’Twas a long journey home. But I promise nothing will ever drive her away again.” The appreciativeness on their faces was all the thanks he needed. “You may visit with her tomorrow.”

He marched into the great hall then, in search of strong drink. One of the maids curtsied as he approached. “Bring me the best ale.”

“Aye, milord,” she said.

He touched her arm. “Where is Broc, lass?” The man made it a point to let the women know where he was at all times.

“In the stables.”

Her answer angered him, for all he could picture was the captain raping Aileana in a pile of hay, then leaving her for dead.

Minutes later, the girl returned with a pitcher and cup. But he refused the smaller vessel, and guzzled from the flagon. The warriors lounging in the hall watched him with curiosity, for he’d never overlooked his manners in this way, drinking like a bloody Viking. But he’d make no apologies for how he felt or what he was about to do. Some things stayed with a man forever. Some sins were unforgivable. And Broc MacRae must pay for his evil treachery.

Liam and Gunn joined him.

“What are ye planning, Cousin?” Liam asked.

He lowered the pitcher from his lips, warm ale dripping down the sides of his face. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. “Preparing,” he growled.

“Tell us what the chieftain told you,” Jaimie urged. “A man shouldna harbor secrets that trouble his soul.”

“Nor should he interfere with things he knows nothing about,” he said tonelessly. The more time that passed, the deeper his hatred grew for a man he once loved like a brother. “You willna get involved. That’s an order.”

“Aye, milord.” Gunn saluted.

Once Errol finished the ale, a malevolent smile curved his lips. He placed the empty pitcher on the nearest table, then casually strode out the main entrance without a word to his friends. The cold night air invigorated him. Love and hate were very similar, something he’d learned the hard way over the last weeks. And if a man searched his heart, he’d see that passion was behind both.

A series of stone and wood structures comprised the stables, the main building large enough to shelter the laird’s prized horses. Several lads were busy working within, feeding and grooming the beasts. They bowed as Errol walked by, but he ignored them, only interested in one thing. He approached the bottom of the ladder that granted access to the spacious loft where fresh hay was stored. Although he heard nothing, he knew where Broc took the women he bedded.

“Broc MacRae,” he called into the darkness above. He waited several minutes, but there was no reply. “Come down.”

“What do you want?”

“I wish to speak with you.”

“Can it wait, milord?”

“Nay.” And if Broc didn’t obey, Errol would be more than happy to drag him down the ladder.

Whispers sounded from above. Errol stepped back as Broc’s leather boots hit the first rung, and watched him climb down. Sprigs of hay were stuck in the man’s dark hair, his plaid shamefully wrinkled.

Errol damned himself for ever trusting the man. His error in judgment had nearly cost Aileana her life. And now his hunger for revenge wouldn’t relent. “Bring the lass down,” Errol commanded.

“Why?”

“I want to see her face.”

Broc cursed to himself, then called out to her. “Collect yourself, Aubrie. Master Errol demands your presence.”

Minutes later, she appeared, her cheeks stained with embarrassment. She stood before Errol, head hanging. “Have I done something wrong, milord?”

Knowing the errant lass to be very young, Errol took compassion on her. “Nay,” he said. “But I must caution you to choose a better man to bed in the future.”

Aubrie’s dark eyes met his, a look of surprise on her face.

“Get back to the kitchens, lass. Edme and Margot willna be happy if they find out you were here before the hall was cleaned. Go.”

She looked to Broc first, but the coward turned his head, refusing to acknowledge her. With a gasp, she ran out of the stables.

“Is this the way things will be now?” Broc questioned. “So bitter because Aileana has left, you’ll shadow me, and deprive me of pleasure?”

He looked upon Broc with great disgust. “I’ll protect any lass from you.”

“Then I shall seek counsel with your father. I willna live with you at my heel.”

“No,” Errol said between clenched teeth. “But you’ll die with me in your bloody face.”

He flung himself at Broc, lashing out with his fists, landing a solid blow on his nose. Broc stumbled backward, unprepared for the attack. He wiped blood from his face.

“If it’s a fight you want…”

Errol prayed the man would retaliate. He unbuckled his weapon belt and let it drop on the ground. Then he removed the knives he kept strapped to his ankles, in his boots, tossing them on top of his belt.

“Have you gone mad?” Broc asked.

“Quite,” he confirmed. “For I just returned from the MacDonald keep on Skye—with Aileana at my side.”

“Whatever the lass told ye is a lie.” Broc’s face turned pale. “A she-devil with the power to chew a man up and spit him out—bones and all.”

Errol laughed bitterly, for even when the truth stared the captain down, he would deny his guilt.

“Surrender your weapons and face me like a man.”

Broc did as he suggested, his sword and two dirks discarded on the floor. By that point, the stable lads had gathered behind them. Though Errol hadn’t planned on fighting indoors, it seemed impossible to change it now.

“What purpose does this serve?” Sweat beaded on Broc’s forehead. “What crimes am I guilty of?”

Errol shoved his hand in Broc’s face, the silver, galley pendant hanging between his eyes. “Does this answer your question? You traded a lifetime of brotherhood for money and the possibility of a higher position in the MacDonald guard? Faithless swine. My sire loved you. I loved you.”

Broc tried to rip the chain from Errol’s hand, but Errol punched him in the stomach. He staggered, trapped between the wall and Errol.

He struggled to catch his breath while hunched over, his hands resting on his knees. “Aileana belongs to me,” he spit. “It doesna matter that you spoiled her.” He raised his hand, slashing with a knife he must have hidden in his sleeve.

The blade bit into Errol’s arm. He shook the pain off, having suffered splinters in his hand that hurt more. “You’ve too many sins to work through,” he said, “and there’s no priest available to offer absolution. Let me hasten your trip to Hades.”

Grateful his enemy had given him a reason to kill, Errol scooped his sword off the ground, and it flew through the air in a rage-filled slash, finding Broc’s chest. The impact of the blow sucked the air out of Broc’s lungs. He dropped to his knees, his eyes wide with shock.

“You’ve mortally wounded me,” he said, covering his heart with his right hand, then examining his bloodstained palm. “It doesna change the truth—and you’ll live with it all your miserable days. I claimed her in the woods the same night you consummated your betrothal. You’ve taken a filthy whore as your wife.”

Errol growled, hearing a commotion behind him.

“Let him go,” he heard Liam say.

“For the sake of your soul,” a woman added.

He’d accept whatever punishment the Lord chose, but nothing would keep him from finishing this. Not the Almighty, and surely not the pleading of his kinsmen and servants. The truth would win today. Aileana’s honor would be restored. No man would question her virtue, insult her, or covet what belonged to him.

Broc met his gaze, not a trace of regret on his face.

“Say hello to the devil for me.” Errol kicked him in the chin, and the bastard’s eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped like a great stone, face planted in the earth.

Several people hurried around him to aid Broc. But Errol knew the man was dead. He turned around and picked up his weapon belt and knives.

“Did ye accomplish all you set out to do?”

Errol met Liam’s solemn gaze. “I did what any man would do to protect the honor of his family. And if I hadn’t killed him, the MacDonalds would have, for there’s a price on his treasonous head.”

“What do you mean?”

Errol drew closer to his kinsman. “This goes no further. Do I have your word?”

“Aye.”

“Broc was a spy for Cian MacDonald. One of many things I learned in my private meeting with the laird.”

For once his cousin was rendered speechless.

“Curse his soul for eternity.” Liam spat on the ground. “Some men doona deserve to live.”

To Errol, the subject was closed. He’d hear no more about it. The only person he owed an explanation to was his father, and once Laird MacRae knew the details of his favorite captain’s secret life, he would celebrate Broc’s death, too.

Love could rob any man of rational thought—whether a saint, or as evil as Broc. For that’s what had kept Errol’s heart beating all the days Aileana was gone. Love. Knowing she was safely tucked in her bed upstairs might help him sleep and recover from all the sorrow and pain.

Tomorrow was a new day, and Errol planned on living life to its fullest.