Highland Moonlight (27 page)

her sounded loud in the confined space.

The smell of sweat and human excrement became almost

overpowering as they reached the base of the steps. Feeling nauseous,

she covered her nose and mouth with the tartan shawl draped about her

shoulders, to try to dull the stench. How did the men who resided here, and

the ones who stood guard, bear it?

The chamber was little more than a wide passageway. The cell’s wide

oak doors were slatted with thick lengths of wood barring the prisoners

from escape. Alexander led her to one of the compartments. At his nod, the

man who stood guard lifted the heavy bar.

Alexander stepped through the portal first, holding the torch aloft. A

man lay on a pallet on the floor, his eyes glassy with the fever shaking his

body. The dull light reflected off the sheen of sweat bathing his pale face.

Setting the basket she carried to one side, she kneeled on the cold

stone floor beside him.

“I will not have any Campbell bitch laying hands upon me,” the

prisoner said in a slurred tone around the chattering of his teeth.

Alexander stepped forward at the man’s words.

Mary rose to stay him. “Nay, Alexander.” She shook her head. Her gaze

returned to the man’s face half covered by a scruffy beard and streaked with

sweat and dirt. “Is it your wish then to lose your arm or your life for the sake

of your pride?” Mary asked.

A struggle ensued behind the man’s gaze then his features settled

into stubborn lines.

“I will leave you to it then,” she said with a nod and turned to retrieve

her basket.

“Wait—” he croaked as they reached the doorway. “I would be grateful

for your care,” he said, his tone less than gracious.

“I will not be insulted for my trouble,” she warned.

He nodded, his movements weak. “I will not again offer you insult.”

Her gaze rose to Alexander’s face. One heavy brow rose, leaving the

decision to her. She turned back to the prisoner to kneel beside him once

again. She laid bare the arm streaked with red. The injury was not a bad

one, but the color around it had her frowning in concern. “I will need him

moved upstairs, Alexander,” she said as she looked over her shoulder at

him.

His features settled into a frown. “If we must. He will have to be

guarded and I will not allow you to remain alone with him.”

“She nodded and rose to her feet. “Now, there must be something

done about the smell of this place,” she said. “The air is not fit for beast or

man.”

“‘Tis they who have fouled it. One of them may be chosen to empty the

buckets they are using.”

‘Twould do no harm to bring them out one at a time for me to tend their

hurts.”

“Would you kill them all with kindness, wife?”

“If MacLachlan clansmen are amongst them I have met, we will know

for certes one way or another.”

Alexander was silent and a frown drew his auburn brows together.

“Their hands will be secured first.”

“If a small table may be brought down, I will see to them after I have

cared for this man.”

“There is no hurry for you to tend them. They are not going anywhere.

You may see them tomorrow, after the air has had time to sweeten.”

He turned and motioned to the men who stood at the wide entrance.

The men stepped forward to lift the man to his feet. In his weakened

condition, the prisoner swayed unsteadily. The brawnier of the two

clansmen swung him over his shoulder and carried him out of the cell. The

other followed close behind.

Alexander’s hand rested against the small of her back as he urged her

out of the dank chamber. He paused to order that one of the prisoners

empty the buckets.

Mary preceded him up the stairs.

“Derrick is almost healed. Mayhap he can see to them,” he suggested

as they came out of the stairwell into a large storage room.

“All will be well, Alexander. I will not lower my guard about them.”

His frown darkened into a scowl. “If I can not be here, Gabriel is to be

with you at all times.”

She nodded, well pleased by his concern for her safety, or was it the

bairns? There had been times of late she had felt closer to her husband, yet

he did not speak words of affection even in the throws of passion. She knew

he desired her, but what of affections? Would it bring him pleasure to know

of her love? Would he treasure it as something precious, or would he

accept it as his due? Would he return her feelings in some way?

Mary drew a deep breath. Sharing her body with him had narrowed the

distance between them in some ways. It had partially healed the hurt

inflicted five months before, as well. His gentleness over the past months

had done more. If only she could be certain of his feelings for her. Why did

men think it unmanly to show their emotions, yet think women cold if they

did not?

The great hall was filled with men and servants celebrating the sixth

day of the Twelfth Night feast. Mistletoe hung in every doorway and sprigs of

holly decorated the windowsills. Huge Yule logs burned in each fireplace at

the ends of the room. Candelabrums, twelve candles full, had been lit and

placed on the tables. The carved Yule candle she and Alexander had lit the

first night burned on the head table.

Servants carried in great steaming kettles of wassail and placed them

atop braziers on a table against one wall, where the heated brew would be

safe from mishap. Barrels of ale and honeyed mead lined the back wall

away from the fire.

The men were in high spirits, their laughter loud and raucous as they

ate and drank. Musicians, hired for the celebration, played lively tunes

between courses. The music and voices reverberated in the room.

As soon as Mary entered the hall, Fergus sought her out. “I have

placed the man in the chamber Artair was in, Lady Mary.”

She nodded. “Please send my things. I will have a need for some salt,

water, and willow bark and a brazier on which to keep the water hot.”

Fergus nodded and left to do her bidding.

Alexander grasped her arm. “You will share a meal with me first, Mary.”

His tone had a wry smile curving her lips. He sounded very much like

his father when he ordered her about. “‘Twould please me to be asked, my

lord husband.”

His tawny gaze fastened on her face. “Will you not share a meal with

me, my lady?” he asked, his manners at their most courtly.

She smiled and curtsied. “‘Twould please me well, my lord.”

“‘Tis the finest feast I have celebrated in some time, Mary,” Duncan

commented as they joined him at the head table. “You have done well.”

“‘Tis grateful for your praise I am, Duncan, but I could not have done it

without Fergus and the others. ‘Twas their willingness to do their part that

has made it a fine celebration.” She washed her hands in the basin a

servant brought to their table. She watched as Alexander filled the trencher

placed between them with smoked venison, meat pastries, and boiled

vegetables.

The day had been hectic and Mary had found little time to rest. A

nagging pain had settled in the small of her back. Straightened in her seat

to ease the ache, she brushed at the fine wisps of hair teasing her

forehead. The noise and heat of the room pressed in around her and she

longed for a quiet moment in their chamber.

Her gaze rose to Alexander’s face to find him watching her. She

noticed, not for the first time, how the lighter tawny gold of his irises were

ringed by a darker tan and how his thick dark auburn lashes made them

appear even lighter. His hand came to rest against the small of her back as

though he would draw her close. “Is all well with you, Mary?” he asked his

brows drawing together in a frown.

Her gaze dropped to the dark patch of auburn hair visible in the open

neckline of his shirt. “Aye, I am well, Alexander.”

His fingers caressed her cheek drawing her attention to his face

again. “Look up, lass.” He pointed toward the ceiling.

She tipped her head back and spied a large cluster of mistletoe tied to

a thin rope left to dangle directly over them from the oak rafters above. “How

did that come to be there?”

“I climbed up this morn and hung it there.”

She laughed, delighted by the gesture.

“‘Twill give me leave to kiss you anytime I wish,” he teased. He cupped

her cheek and tilted her face up to him. His lips were tender as they

caressed her own.

She found her face growing hot, not with embarrassment, but a desire

to press closer to him and further the contact.

“I may leave it there until it crumbles away,” he said, his gaze alight

with similar feelings.

He didn’t need mistletoe to claim her kisses. Every time he drew near,

she felt a bone weakening rush of desire. With it came a need to hold him,

to smooth the lines of responsibility from his face and give him ease.

Sometimes, she longed for him to do the same for her. Yet, there were

times she held back from him, fearful of the power he had over her body

and her emotions.

“How fares the prisoner?” Duncan asked, making her aware of where

they were.

“His arm is festering and he is feverish,” she answered.

“Let us hope he does not die. We do not wish to foul Campbell soil

with the likes of his MacDonald carcass,” one of the men commented from

down the table.

They would feel the same if the man proved to be of the MacLachlan

clan. Her father had done little to endear himself to Alexander’s people.

Being his kin, she was judged for his actions. The coolness of some of the

women of the village gave testament to the length of the feud between their

clans. The fact she had been a part of the MacPherson clan at the time,

meant little. She still had MacLachlan blood.

Mary’s gaze wandered about the room as she nibbled at the choice

samples of food Alexander offered her and listened to the conversation

around her.

Her attention was captured as she noticed Tira’s interest directed at

their table. The repairs to her hut were nearly complete. She would be glad

to see her leave the castle.

The woman’s insolent green stare settled on Mary’s growing belly and

a smile, almost threatening, curved her lips. Fear and anxiety twisted inside

Mary. The woman was a danger to her and the bairn. Gossip could harm

the bairn’s place in the clan if doubts were cast on his parentage, and she

was certain the woman meant to do everything she could to harm her and

her babe. Worry pressed like a relentless weight on her shoulders.

Mary shifted in her seat once again, this time to ease closer to her

husband and seek comfort from his nearness. Alexander placed a hand

against the curve of her spine and rubbed with nimble fingers against the

spot that ached. Her eyes rose to his face and she forced a smile to her

lips. “Your training as a husband is going well, Alexander.”

His brows rose as his amber gaze looked down into hers. “I have only

begun yours, lass.”

Heat flared in her cheeks and settled in more intimate areas of her

body. Even with the threat Tira represented, marriage to Alexander was

proving a great deal more pleasurable than she had thought it would be

months before.

****

Mary left the table.

“Aye,” he agreed as he watched her climb the stairs to the chambers

above. “She is working hard to be accepted as one of us.” How would his

men react should the prisoners they held prove to be MacLachlan

clansmen? Would they blame Mary for their trespass? Surely not. He would

stand by her and offer her at least as much loyalty as she had given him.

After all, she had done to prove herself, his men would stand with her too.

He had to believe they would.

“Is something amiss with her?” Duncan asked.

“Nay. She seems content enough here.”

“Is she?”

Alexander’s gaze rose to his brother’s face, anxiety tightening his

stomach muscles. Did Duncan know of some doubt voiced by the men?

“She is alone here, Alexander,” Duncan said. “Just as she was at

Lorne.”

Understanding his brother meaning, Alexander breathed a sigh of

relief then frowned. How was he to ease her situation?

“There has been no word from her sister since you were wed?”

Duncan asked.

“Nay.”

“Do you not think that strange, Brother?”

“Aye,” he agreed. “Mary has not written to her either, though I know she

can read and write.”

“Did they have words then, mayhap about the bairn?”

“I do not know. Mary does not speak of her sister to me.” She seldom

spoke of her family at all.

“‘Twas in my thoughts to send an invitation to Anne to visit in the

spring. For certes ‘twould please Mary for her to be here when the bairn