Highland Hope (Wild Thistle Triology Book 1) (12 page)

What did she care if he mended the doll? The endearing action would not be enough to fully win her over. ’Twas one act and an easy one at that.

MacKerry cleared his throat. “I left after my father died.”

Hope snapped her attention back to him, nearly forgetting her question. She frowned. “Your father?”

Shadows fell over his face, sorrow, grief. Emotions she was well familiar. “Aye.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry.” She reached out to touch his arm, then snapped it back when his brow lifted. “Was he a MacKerry?”

Aidan tipped back his head and his steady gaze settled on her. “Aye. He was all I had left.”

Truth be told, she felt horrid. Here she’d goaded the man and he’d suffered a loss just as she had. The poignant loss of a parent. The ones they depended on to guide and give love. “’Tis wretched, I ken.”

A half smile played on his mouth. “Aye, you do. After he died, I kenned MacKerrys wouldn’t care for me to stay.”

The image of the lad who’d been killed flashed before her eyes. She cast a speculative glance at MacKerry. “Why?”

A humorless chuckle rasped from him. “Don’t worry, m’laird. I did not attempt to murder them.”

She ducked her gaze. “I wasn’t—”

He chuckled. The sound pulled her attention. How humor changed the man. ’Twas almost like when he was sitting with the lasses and all tension slipped from his body. His brow rose and his gaze challenged her to lie. “Weren’t you?”

Did he have to be so perceptive? She shrugged.

“We need to discuss what will happen after we wed.”

She laughed and waved a hand at him. “Nothing will change. I’ll still lead. You . . . do whatever it is you do. Mayhap become Sergeant at Arms. Would that suit you, MacKerry?” Hope said with a smirked. “The council will keep you on your toes. They have a way with meddling in business that isn’t theirs.”

He cocked an arrogant brow. “’Tisn’t the clan their business?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, muscles bunched and the doll was crushed between their brawn. Poor doll. As her gaze struck upon the hard planes, she almost envied the raggedy doll. Strong arms around her, supporting her. Och, such sentimental thoughts. She didn’t need someone else’s support.

“Aye,” she agreed, “but they realize I am laird. A position awarded me as my father’s eldest child.” He watched her with an unreadable gaze, but intensity and hostility crackled the air around them.

Hackles raised, she flicked her head at him. “They do, MacKerry.” But even as she said the words, she wanted to take them back. She rubbed the back of her neck. How was this to work? As man and wife, ’twould be necessary. But they were strangers and she’d led alone for so long. Even when her mother was alive, she didn’t interfere greatly, she gently guided.

“I ken. And I will be Sergeant at Arms.”

She pulled back. “The position is yours, to be sure. You’ll be a fine leader for the men.”

A wry smile curved his mouth. “I’m surprised you admit as much, m’laird.”

So was she. “I’ve seen you with the men, the wee lasses,” she said with a shrug. “I’d be a fool not to realize your talents.”

Hope watched MacKerry set the doll on the bed and pace the chamber like a pent-up animal, tightly strung and ready to pounce. Feral. God, he was a magnificent man, truth be told. She appreciated that about him. MacKerry’s presence seemed to absorb all of the air in the room.

She felt his perusal, hot and fierce. The awareness slipped around her, teased her, then hit her deep within the pit of her stomach. Her heart pounded against her chest as her breaths came quickly. Meeting his gaze, she nearly fled the chamber, for his eyes held hers with longing mingled with lust and a sprinkling of anger. ’Twas a brilliant display and she gasped as he paced to but a breath from her. She envisioned him on the training field, in the Laird’s chair, and in their bed. Commanding. In control.

Even as she was confused by her feelings about the man. Whether he was here for nefarious reason or not, the man was to be her husband.

Before Hope could turn and run, MacKerry slipped an arm around her, tugged her close, and claimed her mouth with a searing, needful kiss. Sweet surrender, was all she could think, then all thought melted away.

MacKerry . . . Aidan’s kiss deepened. Naturally, she leaned into him, felt the breadth of his chest as her heart beat in conjunction to his. The tempo quickened as his hands roamed her back. Her body trembled.

Aidan moaned, a guttural admission as well as insightful. Hope allowed him to ease his tongue between her lips, delve into the hot moistness, and spar with her own tongue. Such pleasure she’d never felt. The emotion cascaded further into bone melting lust and desire.

’Twasn’t a bad thing, having desire for your intended, ’twas dangerous. She pulled back, still tight in the strength of his embrace. Those same arms she was admiring for their support. Tipping her head up, Hope soaked in his presence, the softening of his features and the light bluish-grey of his eyes. In a thrice, they darkened, but still held amusement as they crinkled in the corners. She moved her hand to cup his cheek, dragged her thumb along his broad mouth.

Catching her breath, she just stared. His mouth twitched into a lazy grin.

Her heart pattered so loudly, she was surprised he couldn’t hear it.

Blinding realism settled around her. What had just happened would change everything. The carefully-developed strategy would shift, perhaps fall into ruin.

“Nay,” he said.

Hope widened her eyes.

“Don’t think.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Just feel.”

To further accentuate his point, Aidan leaned in and captured her mouth once again. Instead of remaining there, he roamed his kisses over her jaw up to her temple. He inhaled and she smiled when he sighed. The intimacy nearly overwhelmed her. It felt as if the sky had opened up and rained stars. She’d done well to stand alone, not depend upon anyone, save her mother, in order to remain in charge. By fulfilling her duty to the clan, Hope had become very lonely, especially since her mother’s death.

Duty. The word tumbled through her mind and pierced her heart. Why did she need to forsake herself for the duty towards the clan? Did her father truly expect this? Surely he never felt lonely amongst his people.

Aidan tipped up her chin. “Lass, all will be well. ’Tis grand to be attracted to your husband.”

She nodded as she bit at her lip. She envisioned her parents. The way her father would sneak up behind Catriona and wrap her in a hug and kiss her each and every time he saw her. Their love radiated around them and touched those near. Hope was surprised her mother had survived so many years after her father’s death when her heart was so clearly broken.

Hope had never thought of herself as a romantic. Indeed, she never understood the way one would moon over their love interest. But blood rushed through her veins, invigorating, pulsing, and she knew this is what they felt, what drove them together.

“I need to get back to my duties. There are clansmen waiting for me to hear their disputes,” Hope whispered. Her voice caught at the back of her throat as she tried to say more. But the truth was she didn’t know quite what to say to the handsome man before her. ’Twas her intended, mayhap they were strangers, but they were to be wed regardless and she needed time to breathe and think over what had just changed, the slight shift of power.

She slipped out of his embrace, his hand clasped hers, held, then their fingers entangled. The moment so dear, it touched her more than the embrace. With a quick glance over her shoulder, Hope left the chamber absorbed in the remaining heat of his touch and the potent directness of his gaze.

She stepped back into the chamber. “Come with me, Aidan.” She nodded toward his tartan. “’Tis time you wore our colors.”

His brow rose and he came to her side. “Did you call me Aidan?”

“Aye. I would think after that kiss, ’twas time to call you by your Christian name.”

He nodded as a smile reached his eyes and followed her to her chamber. Some clansmen called out to her and others to him. She hid her smile when he asked about them or bid them good day.

They entered her chamber and she opened a trunk. The scent of lavender spilled out as she rifled through its contents. Ah, just what she was looking for. Her mother had asked for it to be woven prior to the war with Clan Mungo. Her father had never worn it. She grabbed the tartan, snuggled it against her face.

’Twas a treasure. One she wished she didn’t have. She stood, swallowed the threatening tears. “My mother had this made for my father.”

He looked at the neatly folded tartan and then back at her. “I can’t accept something so dear.”

She smiled, warmed by his refusal even though his eyes belied his sentiment. He wanted the tartan, the MacAlister tartan. His desire was palatable.

Hope handed it over to him. He reached out to take it, then let his arm fall to his side.

“Are you certain?” His husky voice seemed laden with emotion.

With a quick nod, she pushed it toward him. “Take it. Put it on.”

Aidan took the woolen garment, held it against his chest. “Turn around, m’laird.”

She furrowed her brow in question.

“I mean to put it on now.”

Heat suffused its way over her neck and face. “Oh.”

“Aye, oh.” He chuckled and she let it roll over her with its soft edge.

“M’laird.”

“Aye.” She turned to face the wall. The rustle of clothing had her imagination summoning images of Aidan’s body. She’d felt the hard planes of his chest, his taut stomach. And she assumed his legs were equally muscle bound and impressive. Heat spun through her blood and pooled in her womb. Och, the feelings the man wrought.

“You can turn around.”

When she did, her hand flew to her mouth. “It suits you, Aidan.” The MacAlister tartan made him one of them now.

He mouth quirked and he nodded. His throat bobbed and she wondered if he was just as emotional over the tartan as she was.

He came to her, gathered her hands in his own. “Thank you.”

“’Tis merely a tartan.”

He kissed her hand. “Nay, ’tis a MacAlister tartan.”

He bowed and left the chamber. She watched as the door closed wondering at the pride shining in his eyes. She understood her pride, but he’d yet to be a MacAlister.

No matter, the clansmen awaited her. Would they sense it? The way MacKerry’s kiss had set her insides aflame and her desires into an unfamiliar place.

She swept her hands over her kilt, straightened her
liene
as she sought her cousin Duncan. Too many depended on her. She couldn’t give her heart to the first handsome man who came her way. Why not? Aye, he was the first man to show any romantic notions in her, but it felt . . . right.

By St. Valentine, what had her heart done?

Placing a cool hand on her flushed face, Hope entered the main hall.

“Where ye been?” Duncan said from behind her.

Hope whipped around to face him. He narrowed his gaze as he stared at her. “Aye, ye’ve been with him. ’Tis written on yer face.”

Her face reddened further. Duncan chuckled. “If ye could see yer face. ’Tis a treat to see ye without a word to say.”

If her cousin weren’t twice her size in brawn and she didn’t have an injury to consider, Hope would have hit him. Perhaps he saw the ire in her gaze, regardless, Duncan sobered.

“And ye used be able to take a wee jest.”

She inhaled, and regarded the man before her. Aye, he’d been by her side for as long as she could remember and although he vexed her more times than not, Hope thought of Duncan as a dear friend and confidant. “Jest, you say. The only thing to jest about is your skill with a sword.”

He leaned forward and said, “Me skill did its job on yer shoulder.” His voice was gruff, agitated and certainly meant to remind her he’d taken her down.

She shrugged. “In the end, ’twas I who won, truth be told.”

Duncan tipped his chin up. “Next time ye willna’ be so lucky. I’ll best ye.”

“Ha,” she scoffed. “That will be the day I give up sparring forever.”

Duncan bowed to her. “I’ll keep ye to that promise, m’laird.” He winked as he grabbed a plum cake from a passing maid. She swatted at him and Duncan laughed.

“Don’t bother the cooks, Duncan, you never ken what they’ll put in your food.”

He looked suspiciously at the cake now half eaten in his hand, shrugged, and popped the rest into his large mouth. “The women love me, ye ken.”

Hope chuckled and patted her cousin on the arm. “Aye, that they do.” She tipped her head toward the bailey. “Do you wish to challenge me today?

Shock filled his ruddy features. “Nay, m’laird. Ye’ve been injured and I wouldna like ye to use that as yer excuse when I crush ye.” He grabbed another cake and headed toward the dais. “Mayhap when yer wee wound is healed, we can spar.”

She smacked his arm, surely hurting herself more than him, but she wanted him to ken her displeasure even if it was a bit feigned.

“Have you questioned the guard?”

He scrubbed his hand over his beard. “Aye, they swear they hadna’ seen the lad or MacKerry.”

“And did you search around the keep?”

“Aye, I did as ye asked.” He sighed. “If ye ask me, he’s no’ a guilty man.”

Of course she felt the same, but without evidence how could she prove it? How could she ensure the clan’s safety if she wasn’t certain?

He leaned in close. “And ye agree with me?”

She pushed him away and he laughed at her efforts.

Duncan glanced around them. “Did ye want me to question the council?”

“Leave the council to me.” She wasn’t sure they were not guilty either.

“Aye, laird,” he said with a little salute.