Highland Hope (Wild Thistle Triology Book 1) (21 page)

She woke and stretched and eased her taut muscles. They felt as if she’d cleaned the keep for nigh one week straight. Hope couldn’t believe how satisfied she felt, how incredibly content.

It had been quite some time since she greeted the day with a smile and not a load of worry upon her back. She rose from bed and quickly got dressed.

Hope glanced about the chamber. Where was Aidan?

A bit of her earlier contentment slipped away. Why did he leave?

A knock sounded at the door.

“Aye,” she said as she opened it.

William, the twin her sister loved to torture stood before her, head down. “Yer wanted in the council room,” he said in a quick rush before running down the corridor.

She sighed. The council would have to wait until she bathed. She yelled after the lad for water to be brought to her chamber.

“Nay, laird,” he yelled from afar. “They need ye now, ye ken.”

She grabbed the laird brooch from the dresser and secured her tartan.
The council wanted her now, ye ken
. When she saw William again, he’d better be mucking the barn.

Hope strode with purpose and was at the threshold of the council room within a few moments.

There stood Aidan. She smiled as her stomach flipped about and her heart melted as she went over to him. Anger marred his features, forcing her to take a step back.

“What has you vexed?”

He shook his head.

“Ah, lass,” Liam crooned. “I see yer fit to join us today.”

“Watch yourself,” Aidan growled.

Foreboding quaked her stomach. Hope grasped Aidan’s arm for strength. Something was not right. The council was too smug. Liam especially.

“We’ve news of yer wedding.”

She glanced at Aidan and watched as his jaw flexed, harden as if made of stone. Stephen cleared his throat and Liam threw him a quelling glare.

“We’re to be wed on the morrow,” Aidan said without looking her way.

Her knees nearly buckled, not by the news, but by the cold demeanor in which Aidan was treating her.

“That is if ye still want to marry the man.” Liam picked at the sleeve of his shirt.

She stepped forward and sweat trickled down her back. “What do you mean? I asked him to marry me.”

Aidan pulled her behind him. “Auld man, you know not what you do.”

He rasped a mirthless chuckle, wiped spittle away with the back of his hand. “Aye, lad, I ken.” Liam stood and walked over to her. “Meet Aidan MacKerry. He has arrived to claim his birthright.”

“Birthright?” It hurt to breathe as Hope tried to understand what Liam said. She gripped her hands until it hurt. “What are you talking about?”

Aidan turned her toward him and looked pleadingly into her eyes. “Don’t listen to them, Hope.”

“But she has to, MacKerry. She needs to ken what type of man ye are.”

Hope looked at Liam and folded her arms over her chest. Trying to be brave when she just wanted to run from the room. “State your peace.”

“MacKerry’s mother caused much trouble when he was just a lad. He was a braw one, to be sure.”

Aghast, she tried to think clearly. “You knew Aidan when he was young?” By Saint Fillan someone had better tell her the truth.

“Aye, he lived in the keep. His father was cuckold and his mother did her best to ensure their family wasna welcome at Wild Thistle.”

No
. Oh, God, no. Blood rushed to her face as rage claimed her. “Lived here?”

Aidan remained silent and she loathed him for it. He didn’t defend himself. He didn’t yell Liam was telling lie upon lie. Nay, he stood there, a study of a man carved of the mountain. Cold. Caged energy.

What did this mean? Why did he return? “Tell me everything.”

Liam chuckled and Stephen slammed his fist against the table.

“I’ll tell her,” Aidan said. He still wouldn’t look at her.

She looked at him, willing him to smile, pull her into his arms, and say everything was going to be okay. Tell her Liam was a fool. Her heart broke when he took a step back, putting an actual divide between them.

“I am Aidan MacKerry only because my father begged the clan to let us take their name.”

“Then who are you?” she rasped as her mind raced to think of who this man could be.

He shifted his weight and set his hands at his waist. “I am Aidan Tavish.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “From our Sept clan?” Hope moved to sit in her father’s chair. She needed the strength of the wood, the wisdom her father had imparted from the chair.

He tried to grip her arm as she passed.

She sat and pinned him with a glare. “
Do not touch me
.”

“MacKerry, let us talk to the laird,” Connor said. The loyal man moved to stand by her.

She held up her hand. “Nay. I want to hear it from him.” Her stomach roiled as she watched him with that stony expression on his face. ’Twas as if it were hard for him to speak the truth to her and she had no doubt it was because the man had tricked and lied to her.

And then made love to her.

She swallowed threatening tears and watched MacKerry. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of crying before him.

He visibly swallowed and continued. His shoulders pulled tight and he keep his eyes on Liam as if willing the man to hell. “My family was banished from Wild Thistle.”

Banished? “Why?” How had she not heard about this?

Liam tutted. “He’s getting to it, m’laird.”

And she didn’t ken if she could handle any more, but knew she had to for the sake of her lairdship and the sake of her sanity. The truth must be spoken. Hope gripped the arms of the chair, dug her nails into the hard surface.

MacKerry scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed. He leaned forward and set both hands onto the surface of the table, as if the weight of the information was too much for him to bear.

Hope tried to breathe, inhale, exhale. Her world seemed to spin before her as she tried to understand what was happening. Aidan was a Tavish? His family was banished?

“Tell her,” Connor said. His features darkened as he glared at MacKerry.

He nodded and visibly swallowed. “My mother tried to . . . tried to seduce your father.”

Hope stood, ran her fingers through her hair, and sat again. “Nay.”

“’Tis the truth of it, m’laird,” Connor said with a grim face.

Her poor mother. How such an action would have hurt the gentle woman beyond measure. All she remembered from her youth was the love her parents shared. How they seemed to never tire of each other. If such treachery happened she could only think her mother was devastated.

“She didn’t succeed. Then she tried to seduce the other members of the council. Again she failed,” Aidan said. “And we were banished, and my father wasn’t allowed to be laird.”

She looked to Connor and Liam. They nodded. She sunk back into the chair. Rubbed her brow as the men around the table remained silent as if letting her gain her breath and her feet beneath her.

“Why did you come back?” she wondered aloud.
Why did you kiss me, steal my virtue, and devastate my world?

He pointed to the council and Hope knew ’twas part of their machinations that she was here, in the laird’s chamber feeling as if the life had been kicked out of her. The damn council and their need for power.

Liam rose and pulled a piece of vellum from his sporran.

He laid it on the table and she looked at it, not certain she wished to see what was written on its surface. Curiosity won and she grabbed the paper.

If ye wish to lead Clan MacAlister, the time is now. Take heed and do not speak of this to anyone. I will seek you, when you arrive. The council awaits you, our rightful laird.

“Who wrote this?”

“The council, save Connor.” Aidan said. His voice grated her every last nerve. She wanted to slap him, rake her nails along his handsome face. She didn’t care about his mother or father. He’d lied to her. He’d played with her heart and now it was in shambles.

The entire council had betrayed her, except Connor.

“Leave,” she said to all. “Leave the chamber now.”

Aidan stopped before her, his gaze pleading.

“Nay,” she cried out when he tried to speak. “
Leave
.”

All of the men left and she stood in the middle of the room without an idea of what to do, what to think.

She’d been such a fool.

Chapter 19

Numb.

Her mind was blank and her heart just another organ in her body. She milled around her father’s chamber, truly lost and confused. What had just transpired? She failed to find any logic to the situation.

“Oh, Mother, why has this happened?” she cried out to the chamber. “Why?”

Such a fool she was to allow a man inside her heart and body. Now, she was riddled with the pain of humiliation.

Hope sat in her father’s chair. Longing to be in the comfort of his embrace and strength and wisdom. Yet, the worn wood failed to bring the comfort of his strong arms and raspy chuckle. What would her father do in this circumstance?

He wouldn’t hide away, nay, he’d approach the bastard who smite him, challenge him if necessary, then be done with it.

Ah, men had a way with these sorts of problems. They’d fight and be done with it, share an ale in the main hall and slap each other on the back. Och, what simpletons they were.

She rubbed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the chair.

He’d taken from her a most precious possession. Most dear indeed and now Hope had to live with the consequences of their actions no matter how it pained her.

What should she do? Did she need to approach MacKerry? Rail against him like a harridan? Or should she be compliant?

Nay, ’twasn’t the answer. She needed to be strong and show the clan she was still laird no matter what MacKerry and Liam had said.

How strange he’d lived amongst them and no one had been the wiser. Strange how his parents had caused such scandal and it hadn’t been spoken of, at least in front of her.

Something nudged at the back of her clouded mind. Nora, and her nervousness. And the fact Liam and the rest of the council had been so accepting of her marriage. It all rang false and she needed to determine who to trust.

With a weary glance about the chamber and a deep sigh, Hope left the room and took the back passage to her own chamber.

Once there, she changed her clothing and rang for water. She needed to think, but mostly, she needed to bathe the scent of MacKerry from her skin.

With every breath, she smelled him. Masculine, musk, and lovemaking. If she wasn’t so out of sorts, she’d relish the scent. But the idea she’d given MacKerry her last vestige of innocence, smarted like an infected sliver embedded in her arse.

A knock sounded at the door. “Enter.” She pointed toward the tub and the lads emptied their steaming buckets. “Go.”

’Twas just enough water to quickly bathe and then she’d have to venture toward the bailey.

She shucked her clothing and eased into the hot water. Thoughts rushed through her mind. MacKerry, the murdered lad, Liam, and her parents.

Och, her parents. They’d be so disappointed in her. Hadn’t her mother havered about pride in her womanhood and lairdship. In one fell swoop, she’d disrespected all she’d been taught.

But if MacKerry had been part of the clan, her mother and father must have known him and his parents.

If only her mother was here today, Hope would have never made such drastic mistakes.

The water cooled and Hope quickly finished her bath.

She hastily dried off and dressed, complete in her formal tartan, sword, and laird brooch. Regaining a bit of confidence, she left her chamber and headed outside.

A hush greeted her as she left the main hall and entered the bailey. Women cast their gaze to the ground.

Ignoring them, she moved closer to the training area and watched as some men worked through their paces.

Aye, they were fit, her men. Well trained and eager to fight by the looks of it.

A pair sparred in the center, sweat gleamed on their foreheads and wet their shirts. Swords clashed and scraped as they lunged and struck at each other. Aye, fit, they were.

Duncan approached, with his scowling and ruddy faced. His anger worn upon his face was directed at her.

She held her ground and waited for him to speak.

He tipped his head. “Ye’ve mucked it up, laird.”

Hope shrugged. She owned him nothing. “’Tis your opinion.”

Duncan threw his head back and laughed. “Nay, ‘tis the opinion o’ most.” He leaned in closer. “MacKerry says he’s laird.”

She shivered at the thought, but glared at her cousin. “Aye, ’tis what he says.”

Her cousin squinted at her as if inspecting her for the first time. “Are ye no going to thrash him?”

Startled, Hope thought for a moment. Why was Duncan being so kind? He’d done nothing but vex her since MacKerry’s arrival and now he was being kind.

She crossed her arms before her chest. “What of the lad? Who do you think killed him?”

Duncan shook his head. “Nay. ’Tis a mystery, to be sure.”

“Mayhap not.” Hope looked her cousin in the eye. “Do you think he knew MacKerry?”

With a grimace, Duncan shifted his weight and looked at the men in the practice yard. “I doona ken the man and I doona like the man, but a murderer? Nay.”

Hope wouldn’t retreat. “He arrives here, claims he was summoned.
Agrees
to marry me and a lad is found dead and MacKerry’s dirk is missing.” She lowered her voice. “What better motive then to kill a lad who recognized him?”

Duncan shook his head. “Yer daft. Doona ye think he was summoned? Liam and the others are aulder than loam. They kenned who he was.”

Hope furrowed her brow and rested her hand on the hilt of her sword. Rubbing a finger back and forth, the worn metal soothed her. Aye, what Duncan said was true.

She’d been a pawn, a victim of their game.

Anger raced through her as she unsheathed her sword and marched to the middle of the training area. She drew her sword against Dougal, one of the men training. A mite young, but lean with hard fought muscles and she knew a quick and eager mind.

“Have at me,” she growled at his confused expression. “Aye, you heard me.”

She paced forward and the lad took a step back, tripping on a rock and fumbling with his weapon.

“Come on, you
eejit
,” she yelled. “Raise your sword.”

He dropped his sword and held up his hands. “Nay, laird.” Dougal nodded to her and gave a mock salute as he turned and left the training area.

She rested the tip of her sword on the ground. Her breath coming fast as her anger shifted to fury.

“Does anyone have the courage to fight me?”

The men stopped their actions and stared at her.

“Are you all cowards?” She raised her sword into the air. “Does anyone have the courage to fight me?” she repeated and punched the weapon upward to accentuate her ire.

It was as if the air stood still while all watched, waited.

Hope waited as well. Disheartened, but still holding the weighty sword above her head.

“I’ll challenge you,” a voice behind her called.

She closed her eyes and sighed as she lowered her arm. She turned toward MacKerry.

He stood strong and proud. His weapon gleamed at his side and the crisp white shirt he wore made him look handsome beyond measure. She almost, almost wavered. ’Twas the exhaustion plaguing her, she thought. It was not possible to think clearly when one had not slept well the evening before and then had their heart crushed.

Vexing, truly, that MacKerry was the cause of her sleepless state.

And there he stood, flesh, braw, full of Highlander arrogance. The sun ricocheted off of his dark hair, glistened in the dewy drops of sweat beaded on his forehead.

Remain strong, she warned herself. With a quick straightening of her shoulders, she said, “There is nothing I’d rather do than run my sword through your unworthy body, MacKerry.” Her shrug took all of her resolve to manage, Hope continued as she lifted her weapon and casually examined it. “Mayhap one of the wee lads would care to dally with you. I am looking for stouter game.”

MacKerry threw his head back and laughed, deep and rich. The gall of the man, she seethed. “I wager you are looking for other game, but, alas, I’m the only game you’ll find in this keep.”

She tipped her head and looked at him. “Would you truly like to spar with me? Your intended? The one you have tried to steal the lairdship from like a gutter thief?” Hope ignored the dangerous gleam in his eyes. She took a step forward and playfully spun her weapon in her hands, the weight reassuring and tangible, calming. “What more could you possibly gain?”

MacKerry moved with such deft speed Hope was thrown off kilter. He snatched her sword and tossed it aside. Metal clanked against the earth and stones. He wrapped his muscle-strapped arm around her waist and pulled her against him. Her breath whooshed from her as she hit his broad chest with a mix of anger, pleasure, and desire.

The solid length of him against her muddled her mind and Hope almost capitulated and allowed her heart to rule her actions. But what a wretched mess her heart had wrought. She ignored his strong legs cradling hers, the hardness of his manhood as it pressed against her womb, and the look of steel and strength, powerfully heady, of his gaze as he bore down on her like a hawk after prey.

Dignity, she reminded herself. Her mother and father had ruled with dignity. Hope slowly turned out of MacKerry’s hold. “I do not have that type of sparring in mind.”

She left the practice field, breathless and confused, but proud she didn’t allow her baser needs to override her pride.

Aidan had watched her leave, the long, lean line of her back, the set of her shoulders, gave witness to her ire. She was piqued, his betrothed.

The fire of her set his loins to aching. He wanted to follow her, pull her into his chamber, and make love to her as if the Wild Thistle Keep was crumbling and falling into Sound of Sleat and this was their one last chance of passion.

If he’d proposed it, she would have spat in his face. Damn Liam and his meddling. If Aidan had been able to tell Hope the truth in his own way, they wouldn’t be in their current predicament. Aye, she’d be angered, but he’d have been able to reason with her.

Now, as she strode from him and into the keep he knew naught what to do. And even as the council had created this mess, they weren’t his allies. Nay, they were the foes with control on their mind.

Aidan looked around the training field. Men still gathered as if waiting to see what would happen next. He wasn’t here for their amusement, damn them.

He threw them a disgruntled look and followed Hope. He called to her and she ignored him. Instead, she entered the keep and headed toward her chamber. Aye, she was stubborn. He deserved her scorn, but she would listen to him.

He had a story to share. A story of a family wronged.

“Hope,” he called again. Even when she slammed her chamber door, he continued to call to her.

Aidan tried to open the door, but she’d barred it. “Hope, let me in, lass,” he said gently.

He heard her moving beyond the door. “I’m asking you to please open the door.”

The door creaked open. “Lad,” Nora said with question in her eyes. “She needs time to be alone.”

Aidan looked at the old woman. She’d been kind to him, kinder to Hope and Aidan wanted to respect her. He kenned Hope needed time, but he kenned even stronger she needed to hear his story. 

Nora touched his forearm as she exited the room and stood by him in the hall. “I remember you. A braw fighter to be sure.” She chuckled. “Aye, you would stand up to a lad twice your age and nearly win.”

Curious, Aidan didn’t interrupt her. He didn’t remember the woman before him, but she clearly knew him. And the memories had wrought sadness to her face as her eyes sheened with unshed tears.

“When your parents left, och, there was such chattering of tongues.” She shook her head as a slight smile formed on her lips. “The clan wasn’t quite the same after that. Aye, Hope’s father led us well. He was strong, but fair and kind.”

Strong, but fair.
Bollocks
, those words chaffed. “My father should have been laird.” Aidan pulled away from her touch and crossed his arms before his chest. “Not a fairer man has lived in Scotland.”

She tutted as a grandmother would placate her grandchild. “’Tis the truth of it, lad. He was a wonderful man. ’Twas yer mother,” she paused while giving him a quick gauging look to see if her words bother him.

He nodded to prod her to reveal more.

Nora shrugged. “She caused the rift and left you clanless.”

The information wasn’t new to him. His father had often taken the blame for Aidan’s mother’s machinations in an attempt to make sure Aidan wouldn’t hate her. Yet, hate her he did. He’d witnessed his father’s shame after she’d left them for better offerings. And the words spouted by the council weren’t entirely a surprise. He’d heard some rumors while living with the MacKerrys. His father had pushed them aside and begging him to ignore the sour words.

Yet his da held onto the bitter memories with a pledge to right all wrongs. Aidan heard the pledge day and night with each glance at the worrisome brow of his father’s. Aye, the lines etched deep around his da’s eyes, deep with pain and stress.

But never did he blame his wife, Mairead. Nay, ’twas always the MacAlister clan.

Aidan scrubbed his hand through his hair. Tension riddled his body as he tried to think, not feel as his emotions had ruled him thus far, but think. “Come with me,” Aidan told Nora. “I need to know all.”

She nodded with a pleased look upon her face. “Aye, that ye do, lad.”