Highland Fire (Guardians of the Stone) (23 page)

Glenna’s son came wrapped in a warm plaid, on the shoulders of one called Lachlann, with Glenna accompanying the brawny warrior.

“Lachlann says the faeries left auld Morag’s cheese only for me,” the lad bragged. “To make me strong again, and look!” He fortified his muscles, looking fierce, although his face was still wan, and there was a fine sheen of sweat upon his upper lip despite the cool night air.

Lìli was certain Glenna had read her thoughts. “We brought him only to pay his respects to his new lady,” she offered with a smile, and a curtsy, though it was not a gesture of obeisance—more a playful show between friends, which it seemed they were fast becoming.

Lìli could not allow herself to feel guilty. To save her own son, she had no choice.

She smiled at the boy, and reached up to feel his forehead, an automatic gesture. It was cool to the touch. “Ye are braw, for certain,” she told him, grinning back at him, “and one more night of rest will see ye e’en more so.”

The boy nodded, smiling. “That’s what me minny said, too, but Lachlann said he dinna mind the load e’en though I am big for eight!”

Glenna touched the warrior gently upon the arm, a tender gesture of thanks, and the man did not miss it. He peered down at the child’s mother, his look gentle, despite his size, and then looked toward Lìli and winked and said, “’Tis glad I am no’ to have the chief competing o'er the lasses anymore.”

Acutely aware of the way her new husband observed her every move, listened to her every word, Lìli laughed nervously.

Aidan suddenly bent to whisper into her ear as Glenna, Lachlann and her son moved on. “My kinsmen crave ye to be true,” he said. “See that ye dinna play them false.”

It was a swift reminder that no matter how real it all seemed, this was no true match and her husband did not trust her. “I wish only for peace,” Lìli insisted, and it was true, for she wished with all her heart that peace would be their conclusion.

But it would not.
She knew that only too well.

The look in her eyes gave Aidan the impression she meant every word she spoke, and in that instant he wanted desperately to believe her.

Despite that it was his wedding, he knew there was much he should be doing, aside from standing here ogling his bride, but he found himself entranced by the sight of her, the subtle movements of her brow... her mouth... the gentle turn of her lips. And when she smiled, he liked the way she turned her head ever so shyly—like a sweet child.

But she was no child.

With the advantage of his height, the view he had of her lovely breasts was unbearably delicious—particularly for a man who had not lain with a woman in far too long. The neckline of her gown was not nearly as revealing as the one she had arrived in, but it taunted him just the same. It seemed every move she made, every word she uttered, only served to undermine his resolve to resist her, and that truth settled poorly in his gut.

Or mayhap it was simply Una’s pickled houseleek—nasty fare!

By the gods of his ancestors, it was his duty to remain strong and vigilant... but at this moment, Aidan had no notion where Rogan was, nor the milksop priest, nor the men who had escorted them. For that matter, he hadn’t seen Lael all evening, although it was certain she was somewhere in the vicinity. He had eyes only for his bride. For all he knew, Cailin and Keane could be preparing to blow the kegs once more, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Lìli had come to him, not in her lavish
Sassenach
gown, but in the simple woolen dress his mother had worn when she’d wed his Da. Gone was her MacLaren cloak, and in its place she wore an arisaid woven solely of his colors—a gift from Glenna, no doubt, which only served to illustrate how much Glenna’s heart had turned toward the lass.

Forsooth, his wife was a bloody sorceress, it was true, for she was bewitching him even as she stood beside him in utter silence. And she did indeed share Sorcha’s freckles, though Lili’s were barely visible, as though she’d outgrown them. The elusive scent of roses drifted to his nostrils, and he yearned to bury his nose in the lustrous strands of her hair to see if that’s where the scent originated. “I ken that David’s hand is well played,” he told her. “In truth, I dinna believe in sorcery, Lìli, but your beauty is no less a curse.”

Lìli peered at her husband in surprise.

The tone of his voice was not rude at all but his words seemed intended to be. And judging by the look in his eyes, she thought mayhap his own words had taken him a little by surprise, and that he had merely spoken his mind, for if aught, his tone and expression now seemed more plaintive than anything else.

Could it be his backhand way of complimenting her perhaps?

The thought that he might actually desire her sent a tiny frisson of both fear and excitement racing down her spine. Never mind that she had convinced herself she dreaded their coupling. The fluttering in her breast named her a liar. Aye, for considering his dismissal of her yesterday and his angry words this morning, she had thought him completely immune to whatever it was that other men seemed to find attractive about her. She had not even felt such a heady rush over Stuart’s flirtations.

The sound of the reed lifted somewhere in the night, haunting and melodic. Her senses were dimmed and heightened both at once—the
uisge
, no doubt—or mayhap 'twas the pickled houseleek, for while it seemed that Lìli only played at magic, she sensed the old woman harbored ancient secrets in those unnaturally green eyes.

Why she was driven to answer as she did, Lìli had no idea, but she dared to flirt with her husband. She arched a brow. “And here I thought ye were brave to wed a cursed lass... do ye tell me now, Husband, that ye dinna believe your own wives’ tales?”

His green eyes reflected the flames, turning more gold than green... like those of a wolf’s, and a tiny, feral smile turned the corners of his mouth. He said, without much heat to his words, “The only tale
my
wife should tell is the truth, and if that not be the case, she will find herself accursed in truth.”

Lìli turned away.

How quickly they veered from compliments to threats. And yet somehow she felt a little less nervous with the knowledge that he was not immune to her. Still... her purpose here was becoming all the more confused, for despite that she told herself she was simply playing her role, nothing in her life had ever felt more real than this—from the desire she spied in his gold-flecked eyes, to the danger she sensed lurking just beneath the gentle warning. Something compelled her to warn him as well, for what if it were true? What if he grew to love her? What if she buried yet another husband? Then again, she would bury him anyway. At least this way she could lay the blame at someone else’s feet.

“Tisna me who ever claimed I was cursed,” she reminded him, meeting his gaze once more. “Still, I have already seen one husband put beneath the ground.”

“Is that a warning,
mo cridhe
?”

Aidan watched her expression, trying to read her.

Her lovely breasts rose with the catch of her breath and her eyes flickered with recognition of the affectionate words he used.
My heart.
For, aye, it seemed she was weaseling her way into his, despite the careful guard he kept.

And yet … strip away their associations, and they were much the same, he mused. They both hailed from the same past, the same proud nation. Only her kinsmen took another path, while his yet another. Dressed now as she was, with her hair adorned by a circlet of silver, bearing his howling wolf’s head device, there was nothing left to remind him of her ties to Scotia, and certainly not to England. How much of her heredity was gone by now, he wondered, supplanted by
Sassenach
customs? For what else was Scotia now but an arm of England? He wondered: Was there aught left of her Pecht heritage? In truth, she might have been fully Gael, but cloaked in his colors, with her dark hair sweeping into the night, and her face kissed by the firelight, she looked more like a Pecht queen.

“Nay,” she replied finally, her voice no more than a whisper. “No warning.”

God’s truth, but he had forgotten that he’d even spoken so enraptured was he with her beauty. Her violet eyes sparred with his, challenging him at some deeper level, unknowingly feeding his carnal hunger, for the desire to possess his wife, body and soul, became tangible in that instant. The need to hear his name whispered upon her lips was undeniable. Only one thing was certain: He desired her with a hunger that he wondered could ever be sated.

All sounds faded for the space of a breath, and it seemed the world paused. Even the breeze broke, as though the gods themselves held their breaths to see what he might do... and still she would not look away.

“Take heed,
sùilean gorm,
if you continue to look at me just so, I will take it as an invitation.”

He'd called her
Blue Eyes.

Lìli blinked, unable to look away.

The beat of her heart quickened and her palm felt sticky against the cup in her hand. Suddenly, as though fed by the passion ignited between them, the fire beside them seemed to surge, burning hot, dancing wildly. Flecks of golden ash rained down from the night sky.

“Drink up,” he said softly, eyeing the wooden cup in her hand.

He quaffed the rest of his own, and called out to the crowd, “
Slàinte mhòr agad!”—Great health to you all
!—and then he tossed his wooden cup into the writhing flames and looked into her eyes.

Lìli shivered, but held his gaze.

There was no way to avoid what she sensed was to come, though come what may, she vowed to do this on her own terms. Shuddering at his intense look, she did as he bade her, drinking full half a cup, and then she too threw her cup into the bonfire.

Suddenly without warning, Aidan lifted her into his arms and raised her high, exclaiming to one and all. “
Oidhche math
!”

Just like that, he bade them all good night.

T
he night grew dark as they slipped away from the bonfire.

The sound of revelry faded behind them and Lìli’s heart beat a staccato in her head. With every step her husband took, she imagined herself closer to the black sin that would condemn her soul to hell.

Aye, but dinna think of that just now.

Aidan spoke not a word as he whisked her down the long pier toward the
crannóg
. In the darkness, the pitch torches roared past her ears, the winking of flames scant competition for the glowing stars in the clear night sky, although were it not for the torches, the hall itself would have been immersed in blackness—swallowed by the bottomless darkness of the loch.

Silent and surefooted, Aidan bore her inside the hall, passing through the dimly lit room, and toward the laird’s chamber, where she had slept the night before. And then, once inside the laird’s bedchamber, he set her down upon her feet.

She felt dizzy and cold, her fingers icy and trembling.

In anticipation of the bedding perhaps, the brazier had been lit and the fire gave off a tawny glow but failed to warm the room. Unattended fires were not prudent in this wooden fortress, and this one was barely a flicker.

Tonight, the shutters were closed against the night sky—as though he would keep all that transpired in this room a secret wholly unto themselves. The thought gave Lìli a shiver of trepidation, for now was the moment when she would discover whether her husband was a savage or a gentle man. There were dark promises in his eyes that she could not read.

He closed the door gently and went to the brazier, stoking the flames, and for a long moment, silence permeated the room, the pop of green firewood the only sound that dared to defy the quiet. Her head swam a little—the effects of the
uisge
no doubt, but she was glad for the heady brew for it gave her a courage she might not otherwise feel. No matter that she told herself she was not afraid, her shivers betrayed her.

Divesting himself, he hung his claymore on two pegs upon the wall—clearly, he did not sleep with it. And with quiet precision, he set his dirk aside as well, and proceeded to remove his breacan and tunic, tossing them to one side upon the floor, away from brazier lest they catch a spark from the flames. Then he lingered by the fire to stoke the embers, completely naked save for his boots.

Silhouetted by the firelight, he stood with his back to her, unashamed. His shoulders were wide and muscled and the firelight danced upon his swarthy skin. Lìli had certainly seen him bare-shouldered before, but unpainted in the soft light, this was far more intimate. One long scar ran across his left shoulder and another lower at his side. His buttocks were strong and lean, the muscles flexing as he moved the poker about the brazier.

Shivering softly, Lìli told herself it was the cold, but even now she was growing warmer as she watched. And then he turned to face her suddenly, and she gasped, her eyes widening of their own accord, for he was somewhat
larger
than she had anticipated, despite that he was not yet fully aroused. Lìli swallowed convulsively.