Highland Moonlight (15 page)

ease. How long could they continue in such a vein, before the strain grew

too much for them both?

“Can you walk down the stairs, Alexander, or do you need to be

carried?” A teasing smile played about Duncan’s features.

Alexander scowled at him. Should Mary discover he was not as

helpless as he pretended, all would be ruined. “I shall make it below with

your help, Brother, and Mary’s.”

****

bench to the left of his father. She checked the bandage about her

husband’s thigh to reassure herself his injury had not broken open from the

strain of coming down the stairs. Alexander slid down the bench, making

room for her next to his father. She settled there with a smile in his direction.

“I too would lie abed all day if I had a lass such as Mary to wait upon

me, Brother,” Duncan said from across the table.

“‘Tis unfortunate her sister is already wed. It could have been

arranged, Duncan,” Alexander replied easily. “Anne is very much like Mary in

looks, but different in temperament. There were those at Lochlan who could

not tell the two of them apart, though I had no difficulty doing so.”

“You once said your horse knew my scent as well as you did. Mayhap I

should have bathed more oft,” Mary said.

A heartbeat of silence followed, then the men down the table roared

with laughter.

David’s voice rose above the melee of comments that followed. “I

apologize for my brother’s choice of words, Mary. I am certes Alexander did

not mean them as anything, but a compliment.” He shot Alexander a frown.

“At the time the words were spoken, you had just coaxed my horse to

come to you, lass. ‘Twas you who wondered why he came so easily.”

Alexander reminded her playfully. “‘Tis true enough that each lass has her

own scent. Yours is like sunshine and woman, with a hint of spring flowers

beneath.”

Mary found her face growing hot with a blush, the intimacy of the

comment, spoken before such company, throwing her into confusion. She

kept her gaze lowered to the wooden bowl Alexander had filled with porridge

for her.

John changed the subject. “One of the stable lads brought to me this

morn a weapon you had left in the stables, Alexander. ‘Tis a crossbow.

Where did you come by it?”

“‘Tis Mary’s, not mine, Father.”

John’s brows rose and his gaze turned to her.

“‘Twas a gift from my uncle, Hugh MacPherson, my lord. He fashioned

it for me. ‘Tis lighter in weight and easier to span.”

“‘Tis an unusual weapon for a woman.”

“Aye. But more accurate than the long bow at a distance and more

deadly.”

“You shall show me how skilled you are, after the meal,” John said in

his usual brusque manner.

She gave a brief nod. “If it pleases you.”

“Mary will not span the bow, Father, David will do it for her,” Alexander

stated.

She looked up, surprised by his objection. ‘Tis not difficult.”

“‘Tis not good for you, or the bairn, to strain yourself spanning the

weapon.”

She tried to ignore the feeling of pleasure his concern brought her.

Her gaze moved about the table to each of the men’s faces. She could

live amongst them for the rest of her days and never truly be a member of

their clan, unless accepted by John Campbell. What price would she have

to pay for that acceptance? Submission to his son?

Alexander place a chunk of bread spread with butter next to her. Her

eyes rose to his face. How could he have harmed her so? Why? The

questions ran over and over again in her mind. There had to be a reason.

She believed him sincere in his regret for what had happened. But why

would he risk her father’s wrath by openly declaring they had been

together?

“What is amiss, lass?” Alexander asked.

She shook her head and brushed aside the fine wisps of hair curled

against her forehead. Her appetite gone, she pushed away the bowl of

porridge.

“Will you have a bit of honey on your bread then, Mary?” he asked.

“Aye.”

She could ask Alexander about that night, but every time she started to

speak about it, fear of what he might say overwhelmed her. To shame her

so, must mean he held no affection for her, and if he spoke those words

aloud, she could not continue living with him. If she was to remain with him

for the rest of her days, she had to hope that one day he would care for her

in some way.

She had seen what a marriage devoid of caring had done to her

mother. It had drained the life from her and made of her a shadow within the

landscape of the castle. Looked upon as breeding stock by her husband,

she had lost the will to live, long before the last babe’s birth had taken her

life. She had to hope for something better.

She followed Alexander’s uneven progress from the steps of the great

hall to the side courtyard. After watching him lower himself into a chair two

of the men brought out for him, she turned her attention below.

She surveyed the makeshift practice field John had ordered organized

during the meal. A straw dummy hung from a pole suspended from the

west wall. A quintain, its arms outstretched, had been erected near the loch.

In between, targets stationed in staggered rows zigzagged across the

courtyard at farther and farther distances.

“Is it a warrior you are hoping to make of my wife, Father?” Alexander

asked, frowning.

“Nay, I thought ‘twould do the men no harm to practice a bit after Mary

is finished.”

She studied the field as she accepted the loaded bow from David. She

remembered her uncle’s patient presence beside her and the many hours

of practice he had encouraged. He had meant for her to be able to protect

herself, if need be. Perhaps he should have counseled her on the merits of

caution and patience as well.

The men’s laughter rang out behind her, loud and irritating. Anger

surged through her. She nodded to the lad who stood next to the dummy,

and he set it to swinging and backed out of range. Bracing her feet apart,

she raised the bow to her shoulder and loosed the bolt. The arrow stuck the

stuffed form in the chest, dead center, setting it to dancing wildly.

With David spanning the crossbow and returning it to her each time,

she sighted the targets one by one, piercing the wood time and again with

the wooden shafts. With each heavy hiss and thump of an arrow, some of

the pent anger and pain released from her. She barely noticed the men

growing silent behind her.

She turned her attention to the quintain planted a farther distance away

than the other targets. The mechanism had a stuffed sack representing an

outstretched hand mounted on one end of a pole and a shield fastened to

the other. The same lad as before set the figure to spinning. She raised the

stock of the crossbow to her shoulder, and focused on the stuffed cushion

representing a clenched fist as it rotated. She held her breath and

squeezed the trigger. The bolt struck the weighted end of the quintain, its

force not enough to spin it around as a lance would have done, but enough

to make it wobble and jerk.

Mary dropped the weapon to her side. Her muscles felt weak, but for

the first time, the rage and pain plaguing her had drained away. She turned

to face the men behind her. Alexander had risen to his feet. His gaze

searched her face intently, his expression forbidding, his brows drawn

together in a harsh frown. Conscious of the other men’s gazes as they

waited for their leader’s reaction to such a display, she turned her attention

to John for the first time anxious about his response.

“Well done, lass,” John praised as he stepped forward to take the bow

from her, his pale amber gaze steady. He squeezed her shoulder. “‘Tis a

fine Campbell warrior you are.”

Fighting a sudden need to weep, she swallowed against the knot in

her throat.

“Alexander, Mary has grown chilled despite her labors. You must see

her inside.”

She tried to still the trembling besetting her as Alexander limped

forward to take her arm.

As he guided her up the stairs of the great hall, he paused to look

down at her. “You could have killed me anytime at the cave. What stayed

you?”

She debated her answer for several moments in silence. Why had she

been reluctant to pull the trigger? Because she still cared for him.

“Killing and violence come more easily to men. Only to protect myself,

or those who belong to me, could I raise my hand, or a weapon, agin

another.”

“‘Tis oft been those same reasons behind what I have done,” he said,

his expression grave.

She remembered how he had protected her in route to Castle Lorne.

Why could he not have ministered those protective urges upon her and

protected her honor with as great a zeal as he had taken it? Why was she

driven to find a reason for his actions? The answer came to her with little

surprise. Because she wanted to find some redeeming answer to his

actions. And even if she did, what then? Would it make her love for him any

more or less?

“Will you kiss me, Alexander?” she asked.

He stared at her, open surprise in his expression. He cupped her face

in his hands, his tawny gaze trailing over her features with a look in their

depths that caused her throat to grow tight with emotion. He lowered his

lips to hers, their pressure at first careful then hungry with need.

Tears coursed down her temples as her hands grasped the leather

girdle about his waist, and she clung to him. A sob rose up inside her, and

she turned her face against his chest.

Alexander held her while her grief spilled out in great heaving sobs

that shook her entire body. “I am sorry, Mary. So sorry,” he said.

The high sweet notes of a flute and fiddle flowed on the gentle evening

breeze as Alexander guided Mary to a spot close to the open doorway. The

aroma of roasting meat mingled with the straw and animal smells drifting

from the stables in a reassuring blend that spoke of prosperity and well-

being. Light streamed from the open doorway of the great hall, where

dancers swung and twirled in hearty abandon to the music.

The room had grown stuffy with the movement of the dancers and the

fires built in the two huge fireplaces at either side of the great hall.

“Might I get you something else to eat, Mary?” David asked from

beside her as he placed a heavy wooden chair behind her.

“Nay, I have eaten my fill.”

“Mayhap a tankard of ale then?”

“‘Twould be welcome, thank you,” she agreed with a smile.

Alexander raised a brow as he listened to their conversation. “‘Tis I

who am injured, David.”

David grinned at him. “Would you be needing anything, Alexander?”

“Aye, a tankard of ale would be fine.”

Alexander’s attention turned to Mary as she watched the dancer’s

fancy footwork. Stamping their feet, they swung around each other, the

women twisting the long tails of their skirts back and forth in rhythm to the

music.

David returned with the ale and she murmured a word of thanks as

she accepted it.

“Would you wish me to take your place and partner Mary in a dance,

Alexander?” David asked.

Alexander’s brows rose as he turned to Mary.

“I am content to watch, Alexander.” Her eyes rose to David’s face. A

faint smile touched her lips. “There are more than a few bonny lasses

awaiting your invitation, David. Do not fash yourself about me.”

David flashed her a smile then bowed away to do as she suggested.

Searching her features in hopes of discovering what she was thinking,

he finally shrugged his shoulders. “Why do you not wish to dance?”

Soft color touched her face. “‘Tis too soon after I have supped.”

He bit back a sigh of frustration. “Might a stroll be safe enough then?”

“Aye.” she agreed readily.

“‘Twill be cold outside, and you will need your cloak.”

‘Twill only take a short time for me to get it.” Mary rose and strode

through the crowd to the staircase.

He slouched against the chair’s high back and watched her disappear

up the stairwell. A memory of the uninhibited joy she had taken in dancing at

her sister’s betrothal feast came back to him. A smile laced with pleasure

had played about her features as she had followed his steps, her

movements graceful and skilled. Was she reluctance to dance because it

reminded her of that night? His eyes moved around the crowded hall.

Mayhap everything about the feast reminded her.

“Greetings, Alexander. ‘Tis been a long time past since last we saw

each other,” a husky female voice said from beside him.

He looked up into a pair of emerald green eyes surrounded by thick

black lashes. A smile curved his lips at the saucy grin before him. “‘Twas