Highland Hope (Wild Thistle Triology Book 1) (7 page)

“She was lovely,” Hope said with a tinge of sadness. Her jaw clenched and tight lines fanned from her eyes. ’Twas then he remembered her mother had passed.

He moved to pat her shoulder, then thought better of it. She glanced at him then shook her head as if clearing her mind of thoughts of her mother.

She represented a strength he both loathed and found admirable. Her chin tipped imperiously and the golden flecks in her eyes brightened, making him think of a queen’s countenance. Then her gaze swiftly narrowed beneath his scrutiny.

She bristled as if realizing she was talking to her perceived enemy. “I’ve no need to learn about your youth, MacKerry. Kindly keep your memories to yourself.”

He’d irked her, it was obvious and lovely on her face.

“’Twas you who asked,” he countered.

“No matter.”

Aidan scoffed. “We’re to be wed. I’m certain we’ll have to talk at one point or another.”

She sighed and set her free hand at her waist. “We need to find my sister, not stand here havering.”

Sadness and worry flitted in her gaze. Heartache over her mother he assumed and mayhap a wayward sister. The grief seemed to consume her as they walked and he loathed to see a sad woman, even if it was Laird Hope MacAlister. If she started crying he’d certain flee, for nothing was worse than consoling a woman in tears. But he doubted she’d show such vulnerability to him.

She glanced toward the other caves and then back toward the keep. She gave a frustrated sigh. Her face soft with desperation to find her sister. She was worried and inside she was fretting. The worry softened her, made her vulnerable. Surely the troubles of the past fortnight had culminated into a vexing situation. And he knew only one way to take a woman’s mind off her troubles.

He stepped toward her and swept her in his arms. Her eyes widened as he descended, slowly so not to make her skittish, but with enough purpose she knew his desire. Her lips parted and her tongue darted out quickly to wet the plump surface. His mouth brushed against hers with a soft caress. She gripped his arms and pushed. He kissed her again. She stiffened, then her fingers dug into his biceps as her lips relented, accepted his kiss. As a moan escaped her lips, masculine triumph flared and he delved deeper. A sizzling leap of lust cursed through him. God, she felt good in his arms. Aidan ripped his mouth from hers and narrowed his gaze. His chest heaved. His blood sang. Through hooded eyes, he watched her and inhaled the womanly scent about her. Hope’s face was flushed, her eyes glazed. Aidan reached for her again.

With a flick of her wrist, a dirk appeared from its sheath and pressed against his ribs. “You touch me again, and you’re a dead man.”

Aye, all spit and fire, this woman. And she was going to be his. Aidan sobered for a moment and stepped back. His?

Nay, she was a means to the lairdship. ’Twas the way he must see her. In the same vein as his mother and Anne, all women who would forsake the heart of another to gain for themselves. His duty was to secure the lairdship and if that included a beautiful woman to warm his bed, so be it.

But she’d never warm his heart.

Raking his fingers through his hair, he bravely spoke when all he wanted to do was kiss her again, nearly as much as he wanted to rip the lairdship from her grasp. “Tell me about your sister,” his voice rasped. Aidan was still unnerved by his physical reaction during their embrace. And the ambush of feelings she’d awakened despite his determination not to feel any.

She glared at him. Hope tipped up her head, she answered, although he noted it was with a heavy reluctance. “Faith is impulsive. Always looking for adventure and never tending to her
duties
.”

Duties. The way she said the word, reverently, solemnly. “She’s just a lass.” They turned and headed out of the cave and up the narrow path.

“Och,” Hope said. “I’ve tended to my duties since I was but ten and two. And it was my privilege to do so.” They’d reached the grassy land near the palisade.

He nodded, he couldn’t fault her for her convictions. They were honorable. But a nagging feeling deep in the pit of his stomach told him there was more to Hope’s stalwart convictions to be laird. Much, much, more.

“Faith and Honor know nothing of what I’ve sacrificed in order to lead this clan. My mother babied them, tried to protect them from—”

She stopped speaking and gazed into the copse of trees behind him. He turned, although his eyes wanted to linger on her beauty, the flicker in her green gaze, and the shimmer of the sun that lit on her hair.

“Faith Mara MacAlister, come out of those trees.”

Aidan watched as the young girl emerged from the forest. Sulky, apprehensive. A crown of golden hair curled around an angelic face. Brambles stuck out of her tresses and scratches marred her tan skin. Aye, she was young, and most definitely Hope’s sister. Her lily-green gaze inspected him with interest. The same green eyes with which Hope glared at him with. Faith’s were less fiery than Hope’s. But they screamed MacAlister.

Hope strode past him, fury tightening her jaw. He didn’t envy Faith to have such an irate laird, ready to chastise her within an inch of her wee life.

“Och, Hope, don’t be vexed. I just wanted to venture out of the keep and hunt.”

Hope stopped a breath away, and pointed her finger at her sister’s chest. “Wanted to venture
out
? Don’t be
vexed
?” Hope’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Where’s your mind, lass? You could have been killed, or worse, there are many a man out here ready to ravage you.”

Faith threw her hands up in the air, her skin flushed. “Would you listen to yourself? You think because you live your life so seriously the rest of us should do the same.” This time her younger sister began jabbing a finger in Hope’s chest. “I’ll not be wasting my life working my fingers to the bone. You’re the laird, you should be enjoying yourself a wee bit.”

Hope rubbed her brow. Aidan watched as resignation eased much of the anger from her features. He hated to see the slump of her shoulders. Aye, she was a proud one, but he sensed a weariness about her as well.

“Hmmm, you’ve nothing to say, do you?”

A quick transformation had her hackles raised once again. “I’ve plenty to say, you wee lass. You are to return to the keep.
Now
.”

Her sister crossed her arms in front of her chest, obviously settling in for a long fight. “I’ll not have you ordering me about, you ken?”

He’d had enough. Women. Did they always need to stir the pot of trouble so it spilled over the sides causing a mucky mess? “Cease yer havering.”

Both turned toward him, mouths gaping and eyes narrowed. He fought a grin. “’Twill settle nothing to be arguing a losing fight. She’s your laird as well as your elder.”

They each scoffed.

“Mind your own business, MacKerry.”

Aidan rolled his eyes heavenward praying for strength. He dragged his fingers through his hair. What did they expect of him, worse yet, why did he care? Hope’s seething anger vibrated around him. Aye, he knew she loathed his interference. But she’d have to get used to the idea of him and the role he planned to take within the clan.

Faith stood still, patiently waiting for him to speak. ’Twas another trait her sister obviously failed to inherit.

A flash of irritation gleamed in Hope’s eyes as she turned toward her sister. With an impatient wave of her hand, she said, “I’ve no mind to listen to him.”

She stomped away, her untethered hair flowing behind her in the lapping wind. Thick whips of dark auburn swirled and tangled. Aidan curled his fingers into a fist to stem the urge to reach for her and feel the softness of her mane, absorb her fury with a kiss.

Damn his attraction to this temperamental beauty. He looked forward to the taming of her. Aidan knew it wouldn’t be easy and he savored the thought of the attempt.

He shook his head,
bollocks
, he was a bloody fool. She’d never be tamed. A potent shot of lust inflamed him as he watched her retreat. She never looked back, but the sway of her hips enthralled him. Unabashed, he was a man after all, he watched until she was no longer visible.

“She’s forever giving orders, that one.”

He’d forgotten Lady Faith was standing beside him. Chagrined, he refocused on her. Question and amusement lifted her brow and a smile teetered on her mouth. She was comely, but Lady Faith lacked the fire, hot and searing, that his future wife possessed, owned, and brandished freely.

Aidan would have to make sure he did not get burned as he claimed his birthright. With her fire, she’d fight, of that he was sure. Yet, in the end, he’d succeed.

He’d be Laird MacKerry of Wild Thistle Keep or die trying.

Chapter 8

Hope dressed for the evening as one would dress for a trip to the dungeon. Loathing and she admitted, fearing every moment of it. Pain pounded her head just as it throbbed in her shoulder. The search for Faith had drained her energy and she was in no mood to face the clan.

The lass had been a fool to venture out alone, especially since she’d kenned about the rumblings of unhappy clans. Clans who’d attacked her family before. Clans who caused the fighting which lead to their father’s death.

One would think she’d be be use to her sister’s wanderings. Faith was bent on hunting. Feeding the clan, she’d called it. And while Hope kenned her sister had amazing prowess with a bow, she kenned ’twasn’t safe for such a lovely lass to venture about the forest alone.

Hope set a cool cloth on her shoulder. ’Twas too much to worry about with the clan, her injury and the upcoming marriage to MacKerry.

Tonight the formal announcement of her impending marriage would be announced. Not that the gossip hadn’t already meandered its way through the keep. She’d received congratulations made out of kindness and loyalty. Heard the planning of the event and even witnessed a few men betting on whether it would take place or not. In her heart, Hope didn’t feel blessed, especially when MacKerry kissed her. Her betraying heart went against her better judgment, allowed her mind to go senseless. Just thinking about the embrace sent a rush of heat through her body and confused her even more when she thought of the years she attempted to distance herself from any romantic entanglements.

She’d been too busy running the clan. Her mother had warned her to slow down, relinquish some of the control to the council, but Hope had always thought them responsible for her father’s death. They had fought side by side and failed to protect her father and her laird, and she’d rather die a slow death then reward the men who’d failed to protect their laird.

’Twasn’t as if she never wanted to wed. She’d witnessed great love between her mother and father. She kenned the possibility of a fine marriage and sharing that special love with bairns. But most of the lads in the clan were foolish and didn’t understand the amount of dedication it took to lead a clan. She frowned as she thought a moment. None had actually approached her in a romantic manner.

And now one, heated kiss had foiled her ideas of romance and even prompted her desire to . . . to partake in the ritual again.

Never one to be winsome, Hope brushed away the desire to be held by MacKerry’s strong arms. The ever-present need to do her duty prompted her actions and Hope knew she’d do what was best for the clan.

At this moment, the best was marrying MacKerry. She swiped her hair from her brow. The future was uncertain, to be sure, and how they were supposed to sleep in the same chamber and lead the same men was beyond her.

As she ran her hand over the dark blue wool of her gown, Hope frowned at her impression in the looking glass. She shifted and pulled at the bodice. After a longing glanced at her tartan folded at the foot of her bed, she signed, resigned to wear the gown. By right, she should be joyful, but her eyes were dull and she couldn’t muster a grin for all of the cream tarts Nora could bake.

“
Mother
,” she prayed, “what should I do?”

A slight whisper tickled her ear and she knew her mother had heard her plea, yet no answer came forth. An ache so deep slammed into her body. Dear God, she missed her mother keenly, it was as if a part of her was missing.

And now, in the midst of her grief, Aidan MacKerry was befuddling her mind. By Saint Margaret Mary, why didn’t she have the strength to resist the man?

Hope inhaled and left the chamber, ready to face her people, certainly not ready to face her future husband.

“M’laird, can I be troubling ye for a wee bit?”

Hope turned toward Stephen. “Aye, is there trouble?”

He pulled at his shaggy, graying beard. “Nay, lass, laird. Just a word with ye.”

She followed him to an alcove and sat on one of the two chairs. “On with it, Stephen. I’ve news to tell.”

He nodded his head and grinned. “That ye do. And we’ll all be pleased for ye.”

Suspect of his intentions, Hope leaned back and waited for him to reveal his hand. The man had something on his mind and she’d be damned if she were to beg for him to speak.

“There’s something the council would like ye to do.”

Her stomach roiled and Hope nearly left the man standing in the hall alone. What more could they possibly want from her? “Aye?” she questioned as a trickle of perspiration ran down her back.

Stephen steepled his fingers and watched her intently. He sighed. “Ye must have the wedding soon. ’Tis rumblings of trouble, ye ken. We need a man leading us.”

She crossed her arms before her chest. “A man, you say?” Rage ripped through her as she stood. “Have I not served the clan well?”

The man tipped his head. “’Tis true, lass. Ye’ve led us well, but yer mother is no longer here.”

“When have we not been able to protect ourselves?” Hope shifted closer to him. Did he think she was not painfully aware of her mother’s absence? “I will still lead, man. Even when I wed, I will lead. Aidan MacKerry will not be laird, you ken the traditions just as I do.”

He held up his hands. “Clan Mungo has kept in the shadows for too long. We ken they’ve a plan to come to Wild Thistle.”

She  rose and paced before the auld man. With hands fisted on her waist, the quick wrenching pain in her shoulder nearly had her back down. Instead, she glared at him with the pent-up animosity that had been simmering for too long. She kenned what the man said was true. “How do you ken if I haven’t shared the information with the council.”

He shrugged his stooped shoulders and remained silent.

She tapped an impatient foot. “Tell me, Stephen. Tell me now, or you’ll not ken what hit you.” Hope did not know how much more she could take. After all of the years she had done her duty, put the clan before her own needs, and he dared to try and keep information from her.

He tossed up his hands and gruffly said, “Do ye think we’ve no spies?”

By Saint Thomas, of course she knew of the clan’s resources, but they reported to her, not the council. To her, the laird. And report to her they had. “Schedule a meeting for the morn.” She turned quickly and left the alcove. The main purpose of her hasty retreat was to cut the conversation when she was in charge. Blast the council and their archaic notion that a lass couldn’t rule without their interference.

“Make certain ye tell MacKerry of the meeting,” the auld man called after her, his voice haunting her like a ghost as it echoed through the passageway.

Hope scoffed, but knew she’d tell MacKerry, regardless.

Yet, the conversation festered in her mind and told her a fight was yet to come. And the confrontation would be more than anyone bargained for.

After checking over her appearance, she headed to the main hall as a heavy weariness cloaked her. Confidence was needed in order to convince the clan her marriage to MacKerry was wanted, not necessary. “Och, what am I to do?” she asked her mother once again. Hope knew an answer wasn’t forthcoming, but it eased some of the tension riddling her neck to ask as she pushed closer to the hall.

As she entered, all eyes watched her. Clan members smiled and tipped their heads toward her. A few laughed and danced a merry jig as she passed. She forced a smile as she neared the head table. The dais was occupied by her sisters, a few council members, and MacKerry himself.

Och, he looked perfect sitting at the dais, his chair next to hers. There was a commanding presence about the man—confident and a leader of men. She’d heard of the sparring with Duncan and how the men settled their differences over a dram. ’Twas important the others trusted him, felt as if he was one of their own. He grinned at her and his broad smile nearly buckled her knees.

She stopped for a second, then squared her shoulders.
Pull yourself together, he’s just a man.
Hope strode forward and sat in the chair designated for the laird. Would MacKerry demand the seat after they wed? she fleetingly wondered. The idea vexed her. Ignoring him, she accepted a tankard and took a healthy sip.

“Lads and lasses, ’tis grand news afoot.” Liam lifted his drink and nodded toward Hope and MacKerry. “A wedding to be sure. A marriage between our lovely laird and Aidan MacKerry.”

Hope stood and nodded as dread settled in the pit of her stomach. “Aye, ’tis the truth of it. MacKerry and I are to be wed.” To his credit, MacKerry rose and grasped her hand.

The show of affection incited the clan and they stood and applauded.

“God bless ye, m’laird.”

“To m’laird and MacKerry!”

More cheers and well wishes were called out. She smiled, truly loving her clan and their support of her and the marriage. ‘Twould be worth it, marrying MacKerry, following her father’s decree and ensuring the safety of her clan.

She glanced at MacKerry and blinked. Such pride filled his features, making his gray eyes dazzling in the candlelight. He met her gaze and grinned. Damn if those dimples didn’t pierce his cheeks and make him look as if he were a young lad and not the impressive warrior he was.

There was something in those gray eyes of his. Something more than pride. As she watched him, his eyes darkened and his mouth quirked.

Her skin flushed and she looked out to the clan, to those she loved.

MacKerry pulled her closer.

Dear God, he wouldn’t.

Aidan took the sign of acceptance and decided to further cement the proposed bond between him and Hope. She’d been watching him with those bewitching eyes of hers. She grinned at him as the clan continued to shout their approval of the upcoming nuptials and he pulled her close.

He kissed her cheek and quickly inhaled the warm, womanly scent of her, knowing full well she’d not dare slap him in front of those she wished to fool. Her skin heated as her nails dug into his palm.

Fire.

Aye, she was a fiery lass.

When she’d graced the clan with her presence, Aidan nearly succumbed to her beauty and moved to embrace her as if he had no control over his body. He ignored the twist of his stomach, how she had slowly crept beneath his skin and was easing into his thoughts. And not just thoughts about her beauty and her lush curves, but of her intellect and how the clan seemingly adored her, revered her. Brushing aside the romantic leanings he refocused on the illusion of an engagement, on how he’d become laird for the sake of his family, especially his father.
Bollocks
, ’twas as if he were asking his mind to turn off, ignore how his cods tightened at the mere thought of the strong woman he was to wed. She was loyal and brave, traits he admired, but she was also laird, a legacy which should have been his.

“When will ye wed, Laird MacAlister?”

“When can we expect a bairn, m’laird?”

High color made its way over her cheeks. Och, ’twas fetching.

“Now, now. We’ve just made the announcement. We’ve a bit of planning to do,” her voice rang confident through the main hall.

Of course the lot before them couldn’t feel the tremor of her hand or see the slight clenching of her jaw. But he did and it was reassuring to see the Laird of Wild Thistle Keep was human. ‘Twould be hard to keep on course when each time Aidan saw her, heard her speak, his admiration grew.

Aidan bade his intended and the clan to sit. He raised a tankard of ale and said, “To Laird MacAlister, my wife-to-be.”

The hall erupted once again with rousing cheers. He sensed a nervous energy from the people, as they chatted and clapped. Many smiled at them and yelled good wishes. The laird ensured the people were well fed with freshly caught salmon and venison. Ale flowed freely and was drunk with enthusiasm, for the unexpected marriage.

“I’m still laird,” she said beneath her breath. “I’ll be making the speeches and decisions.”

Aidan shrugged. Did this woman actually think she’d be the only one making the decisions? Aidan wasn’t going to allow her to control his birthright or him as a man.

Despite what he wanted to think and feel, he’d nearly recanted his claim when Hope had entered the main hall, dressed in a gown, not a tartan. Lovely in a blue gown which hugged her generous curves and pushed up her plump breasts, the baser male in him growled with lusty urges. Aidan banked the desire she wrought in him with iron will.

“The wedding will be in a fortnight,” Liam yelled over the din with a raspy voice.

That voice.

’Twas the man who’d visited him in the dungeon. The man seemed to think he could control not only Aidan, but Laird MacAlister as well. Should he reveal the threats the man made? Warn Hope of the treachery? Then he remembered Liam’s warning and how not only Hope would be killed, but Aidan himself.

“
Liam
.”

The older man looked at Hope with a cocked brow filled with challenge. “Is that a problem, laird?” His tone played innocent, but full of intent as well.

Laughter rippled through the hall as many assumed Liam was jesting.

A false smile tugged at her mouth as she shook her head. Aidan fleetingly wondered if he should interfere, but thought better of it. It may serve him better to step back and make his own plans whilst the clan prepared for the wedding. Not to mention he’d his own issues with Liam. He’d be certain to make sure the man understood he’d be making his own decisions in regards to Hope, their marriage and the lairdship.

Music filtered through the hall as a bagpipe began to skirl the tune made for dancing the Highland fling. Hope stayed in her seat, her gaze watchful. He wished he kenned what she was thinking.