Highland Fire (Guardians of the Stone) (16 page)

T
he sound of lapping water was like a gentle nudge to Lìli’s waking thoughts. She opened her eyes, disoriented, for it was not a sound she was accustomed to hearing.

Dust motes danced upon the rays of light that slid in beneath the wooden shutters, and for a moment, she was uncertain how she had come to be in this room though she had the vaguest impression of being carried into the chilly night air in the middle of the night, and clinging to the warmth of the man who carried her.

Her face burned a little at the recollection.

She was alone for the moment, but a glance about revealed that her coffers had been delivered here sometime whilst she’d slept and she was not so naive she didn’t realize immediately in whose room she slept.

This was the laird’s chamber.

Aidan’s belongings were everywhere—woolen blankets with the rich reds and greens of his plaid, a collection of daggers along one wall and a tapestry with the depiction of a howling wolf at its center. Everything about the room reflected the man who inhabited it. There was nothing soft here, no adornment simply for the sake of it. Her coffers sat on the floor next to the bed, but otherwise the room was immaculate, though the walls and floors were made of wood, which gave it a sense of crudeness that couldn’t quite be dispelled, even by the large, ornate bed that was the focal point of the room. Like a dais, it sat in the center of the chamber, turned so it was positioned at odds with the walls and she had the impression it was positioned so he could more easily guard the door. She wondered if he slept with his claymore under the bed. Heaped with heavy blankets, and large enough to sleep four people, she wondered, too, with burning cheeks, whether the laird of Dubhtolargg had lain here with her last night. He very well may have, for the bed was enormous and they could have slept at opposite ends without ever touching.

That thought alone made her scramble from beneath the covers, for the last thing she wished to do was have Aidan find her still lying abed and mistake it for an invitation—a bedding after the ceremony was soon enough!

Abandoning the warmth of the covers, she faced the morning chill, and was drawn at once to the window, where the promise of sunlight peeked in through every crack in the wood. She opened the shutters and peered out to discover that, as expected, she was somewhere in the dwelling out upon the water, and the sight that greeted her took her breath away.

It was strange, but lovely to look out over the loch so near her window, with the sun shining down over the glassy surface. In truth, it was not such a terrible sight to wake to... and she would not mind at all … save for one simple complication...

Aidan dún Scoti.

Her gaze returned to the bed, and she wandered back to the monstrous piece of furniture, inspecting the other side, running her hands over the blankets where he would have lain. The sheets were cold, giving her no clue as to whether he had slept here or nay... only that he would have been long gone.

Her emotions were conflicted, for he was her betrothed, a man feared by David of Scotia... the man whose life she must find a way to end... and yet, he had shown her gentleness last night, bringing her here instead of dumping her into that tiny bed with dirty Aveline. He had allowed her to rest in comfort and warmth … without touching her. Her clothes were still intact, only her shoes had been removed. Those were not the actions of a barbarian.

She tried to convince herself that what she did was for the good of Scotia. David seemed to believe Aidan was a threat to the peace of the clans. Through his tales, she had, in fact, envisioned Aidan as a great painted brute, with greasy hair and bloodstains on his clothes—and his people as war-mongering, bloodthirsty fiends, who walked around gnawing the meat off bones. It was an image David had painted first, and Rogan had seen fit to embellish.

But it was not the truth.

These people were no different from her kin. The stories were all lies. These were simple folk, mayhap, but otherwise much the same as any other clan.

That truth unsettled her, for it meant that what she was about to do was far more self-serving than she would like to believe... and yet... for her son, she would move the
Am Monadh Ruadh
themselves.

Next to the brazier, she spied a small ewer with clean water, along with a bowl, and went to splash her face, hoping that once she was done she might then awaken from this nightmare and find herself in her bed at Keppenach, with her son’s sweet little hands caressing her cheeks, bidding her to waken.

Kellen, sweet Kellen, how does he fare?

The water in the ewer was icy. It stung her skin, but she welcomed the sensation, and wondered if there was a private place along the loch where she might bathe. She didn’t dare undress here for fear of being discovered. As for her arisaid, it was nowhere to be found and she realized she must have left it at Glenna’s, and then began worrying over Glenna's child, wondering how he too fared.

After Aidan had left them alone, she and Glenna had talked at length... mostly about their children, but Lìli had wept, despite her resolve not to. Tears would change little, she realized, and in truth, she had deceived the poor woman, for Lìli’s sins were far greater than the simple act of abandoning her son. This morning, she felt guilt-ridden over all the kind words and thanks Glenna had offered.

Would she thank her later? Once her chieftain was dead?

Doubtless not, for it was clear these people loved their laird—something Lìli could never afford to feel. So she hardened her heart, considering her own flesh and blood. She had a task to accomplish here and softening toward these people was not to her benefit.

And yet... she couldn’t—wouldn’t—have treated Duncan any differently. Children were innocents.

The door suddenly opened, and Lìli spun about, smoothing her gown down around her hips, feeling more discomfited than ever before in a man’s presence for she was guilty, despite that no one was accusing her of anything as yet.

Aidan held his breath.

He had fully expected to find her lying abed as it was early yet, but she stood with her back to the morning sun peering in through the unshuttered window. Its golden light surrounded her with a shimmering halo, and he was wholly unprepared for the sight of her.

She reminded him in that instant of a kelpie—a spirit half horse, half woman who tempted men with their beauty to ride them and then plunged them into the loch to drown.

He was drowning in those violet eyes, even as he stood on dry land.

Realizing that she must be weary beyond measure, he had allowed her to sleep while he rose to tend to matters at hand. Now it was long past time for her to break her fast, and he had already given the ladies leave to dismantle the tables and clear the hall. Thus he’d brought her a tray replete with nourishment—everything from bread and cheese to boiled eggs and berries. It was the first time in his life—ever—that he had felt compelled to serve anyone in this way. The tray in his hands felt awkward and heavy.

“Ye’re awake,” he said stupidly.

The sound of his own voice annoyed him.

She nodded, looking like a beautiful, terrified doe, faced with a hunter and his bow. Her gaze immediately dropped to the tray in his hand and to his chagrin, Aidan’s cheeks warmed, and he felt a keen desire to drop the tray and walk away. But he didn’t. He held his ground as bravely as any warrior facing death.

But she was hardly the image of death... she was beauty incarnate, even with her hair mussed and her dress wrinkled after having slept in it all night long. The soft blue wool traced her curves like a lover’s touch.

He liked this gown far better than the courtly costume she had arrived in. He only knew it for what it was, because the very first time David had come to Dubhtolargg, after his brother Alasdair’s death, in an attempt to secure Aidan’s loyalties, he had brought along his English wife, Maud. They had stayed but a single night, for the countess of Huntingdon had been none too impressed with their meager lifestyle and had pressed her husband to return her to her beloved home south of the border.

Last night, he had lain beside Lìleas, the distance between as wide as a river and yet so narrow that it had tormented him. Her silken hair had beckoned to his callused hands, to test the softness of it, unravel it from her braids and lay it about her like a pillow of velvet. And yet he hadn’t dared, for touching her may have proven his downfall. He had never in his life wanted to lay with a woman more than he wanted her—most especially after all he had witnessed yesterday—her kindness toward his sister and toward Glenna and the boy.

This morning, her curls had worked themselves free from her braid and fell in disarray about her face, a deep chestnut cloud of waves. Her cheeks were pink and her violet eyes bright and mesmerizing—a like color to the gown she was wearing now—a fact he had completely missed last night in the dim light of Glenna’s home.

He realized now he was staring and averted his gaze, walking over the bed to set down the tray he held. “I thought ye may like to break your fast,” he said, smoothing the covers away from the tray. He felt like an awkward boy, no different from his brother Keane, and he didn’t particularly enjoy the feeling.

“Thank you,” she said, but she didn’t move from where she stood watching him, like an animal frozen and ready for flight. If he said the wrong thing, she might vanish before his eyes.

Ach, but she was probably accustomed to fancy talk and fancy folk, and he was but a simple man.

Besides, he had never actually wooed a woman before now, and he couldn’t be certain that’s what he wished to do at any rate, even should she welcome it.

The entire situation was confusing.

“I had your arisaid burned,” he said, for lack of knowing what better thing to say. He wanted her to understand that she was his bride now, and that he fully intended to follow through with their bargain. In fact, he planned to wed her as soon as possible—tonight, as long as they weren’t burying a child, and it seemed as though, thanks to Lìleas, wee Dunc would be fine.

Lìli blinked at his words.

He’d burned her arisaid?

Like a frightened little girl, she had remained frozen in place, waiting for him to speak. But once he did, she wasn’t at all certain she had heard him correctly.

By the rood, what would possess a grown man to do such a childish thing? If
that
was not uncivilized behavior, Lìli didn’t know what was! She cherished that woolen cloak, and it was not as though good wool should ever be wasted, no matter what colors they bore.

“Why on earth would you do such a thing?”

He turned to look at her, his hands going behind his back, his green eyes glittering fiercely. “Because... I willna have
my bride
wearing another man’s colors. Do ye ken, lass?” He spoke calmly, without the least trace of anger, but the possessive tone of his words sent a quiver down her spine.

Lìli bristled. “I am
not
your possession, nor indeed your wife, my lord—not 'til we have said the words!”

“Aidan,” he persisted. “Ha’ ye spent so much time with bluidy
Sassenachs
that ye embraced their customs as well as their tongue?”

Lìli hitched her chin. “I've spent
no
time with the English. Lest ye forget, ’tis Caimbeul blood runs through my veins! I am a Scot the same as you!”

Too late, she realized it was the worst thing she might have said to him, for he stood suddenly, his jaw working furiously, though he said nothing in response.

“I am
not
a Scot,” he said, enunciating slowly.

Regretting her outburst, Lìli tried to soften her words somehow, and still remind him that she had a choice in this matter—even if she truly did not. “But
I am
—through and through—and I must remind ye, as such, I am free to wed where I choose!”

He narrowed his gaze and the muscles in his arms twitched beneath his tunic, as though he held his hands restrained behind his back. “Ach, but isn’t that why ye're here, Lìleas Caimbeul? Because ye
chose
to sacrifice yourself to the odious mountain Scot for the sake of peace?”

His calm demeanor did not fool her. In fact, he looked far more dangerous in that instant than he had since the moment she had met him—despite that he had discarded the war paint and claymore.

Lìli experienced an instant of true fear under his scrutiny.

“Nay,” he continued, his jaw working still. He took a step nearer, closing the distance between them, his eyes spearing her more deeply than any of the blades upon his wall could manage to do. “In fact, what was it David claimed? Not simply peace betwixt our clans, but between
all
Highlanders—of which I am, despite that I canna stomach the notion of brotherhood with Scotia!” When she said nothing, he continued. “Di’ ye realize it was a damned Caimbeul who stood and watched as Giric murdered his king in cold blood?”

Lìli shook her head, uncertain of what king he spoke. She knew nothing of the politics of men. But David was alive when last she saw him.

“Aye, they whispered into Aed’s ear as friends... all the while their daggers were poised at his back…”

It dawned on Lìli suddenly that he was speaking of a betrayal that was more than two centuries old. It was no wonder these men could not get along, for they clung to past injuries as though they were fresh wounds! Why could they not simply leave the past where it belonged?

“So, aye,” he proposed, “dinna remind me whose blood runs through your veins, for then I must also recall that treachery is your truest nature.”

He glanced down at the tray of food he had brought her and his look was one of disgust, as though he regretted the gesture.

Lìli tried to reason with him. “You speak of ancient histories, Aidan! ’Tis long past time to set the insult aside.”

“Ancient histories? Insult, you call it?” His hands left his back, and formed twin fists at his side as he took an angry step toward her. Lìli had the immediate impression that had she been a man, she would have found herself flat upon the ground. “Mayhap ye dinna recall it was your Da who walked away from a feast of friendship with my kinsmen’s blood upon his hands?”