Highland Moonlight (32 page)

returned from the evening patrols with his men. Just inside the door, he

shrugged off the heavy fur robes that covered him from neck to mid calf and

handed them over to one of the servants. His eyes went to Mary’s empty

place as he crossed the distance to where Duncan sat at the head table.

With every step he took, he sensed an unsettling tension in the air. He

became aware of the men’s interest in his progress and heard the lull in

their conversation.

“Is something amiss with, Mary, Duncan?” he asked, concern bringing

a sharpness to his tone.

“Nay, Alexander.” Duncan shook his head. “The lass is well. Though—

Mayhap ‘twould serve you well to go up and speak with her.”

Alexander’s brows drew together, and his gaze settled on his brother’s

grim expression. With a brief nod, he turned toward the stairs.

Concern for her quickened his pace, and he took the stairs to their

chamber two at a time. All was quiet as he shoved open the door. His eyes

swept the room until they fell on Mary’s small figure before the fire. His heart

beat a rapid rhythm against his ribs as he strode forward into the room.

Searching for some injury, his eyes raked her from head to toe. He breathed

a sigh of relief when he saw none.

She rose to her feet as he approached, but there was something

tentative and uncertain in her expression as she turned to face him. He kept

his tone even, though her anxious gaze did not ease the feeling of

foreboding plaguing him.

“What is amiss, lass?”

“‘Tis about the men you captured, Alexander. I saw them today.”

“Aye, and did you recognize any of them?”

She drew a deep breath. ‘Twas my brother who pierced your leg with

an arrow, Alexander. ‘Twas he who has been killing your cattle and sheep,”

she said with a bluntness that had him staring at her. ‘Tis he who is leader

to the men you have imprisoned downstairs in the dungeon.”

He shook his head. “Your brother is but a wee lad, Mary.”

“Aye, Kenneth is but a lad.” Her blue eyes were clouded with worry.

“‘Tis my half brother Gavin you have captured and imprisoned.”

“Half brother...Half brother,” he repeated taking it in slowly, his gaze

locked on her. Her brother had pierced him with an arrow and had stolen

his cattle and sheep. “‘Twas he who attacked us between Lorne and here?”

“He says, nay, Alexander. He gave me his oath it was not he, and I

believe him.”

She instantly believed her half brother who had tried to murder him,

but it had taken him, her own husband, months to earn her trust. Or had he?

If her trust was his, why had he not heard of this half brother before? Rising

anger brought heat to his cheeks, and he clenched his hands at his sides.

“From where does this half brother hail?” he asked.

“He was fostered by the Frasers. Gavin oft came to see us, for he was

close by when we lived with my aunt and uncle.” She swallowed. “He is all

the kin I have now, Alexander. You do not mean to harm him, do you?”

“Nay, I do not harm men that are intent on murdering me,” he said with

biting sarcasm.

Mary flinched. “‘Twas on my behalf he was acting, Alexander. He…he

felt ‘twas his duty to seek revenge for…for what happened. If you had a

sister and she—”

“I have no sister,” He cut her off. He was tired of paying for his actions

those many months ago. He would have an end to it. “The man tried to

murder me, Mary. Had his aim been true, you would have been a widow,

before you became a wife. Only days ago, had I not defended myself, he

would have struck me down.”

“He is my brother, Alexander,” she reminded him, her gaze pleading.

“Aye, and I am your husband and your loyalty belongs to me!” His

temper flared anew making his tone harsh. “‘Tis the second time in as

many days I have reminded you of that!”

Mary caught her breath and outrage crossed her features. “And would

you have me remind you of your loyalty to our bairn?” She demanded her

cheeks growing flushed and her eyes alight with temper. “Will you spill the

blood of his uncle and start anew the feud we hoped to settle? Is that the

legacy you intend for our son? Would you have the two of us torn asunder

beneath the bloodlust the two of you are intent upon?”

“Whatever I decide ‘twill be my decision, wife, and you will abide by it.”

“You have denied me my sister and Collin my brother, is it to be that I

am to lose all my kin?”

He caught back the angry tide of words that leaped to his lips. “How

have I denied you your sister?” he demanded.

“Because of what happened at Lochlan, Ian MacMillan has forbidden

Anne to consort with me. He believes me to be unfit for her to–” Her words

dwindled away to silence. One hand clenched against her breast as though

pain struck her there.

He swore. What else had she withheld from him? He raked his fingers

through his hair and drew a deep breath to cool his temper. He did not

know which enraged him more, Ian’s injustice toward her or Mary taking her

brother’s side against him.

“Mayhap ‘twould have suited you for him to strike me down. ‘Twould

have finally given you the justice you were denied,” he accused.

“Had I wanted you dead, I would have killed you myself,” she shouted

at him.

His fist slammed down on the table in frustration. “You do not have to;

you have a brother to do it for you.”

Her eyes flashed blue fire at him. “After all I have borne on your behalf,

after all the suspicion and doubt that has been heaped upon me because

of what you did those months past—” She fought with obvious effort to rein

in her temper. “If you believe I have conspired with him, Alexander, you are a

fool!” Her voice cracked beneath an ire that brought a hoarseness to it. “Had

I wished you harm, I’d have given testament agin you at Lorne and ended it

there! Had I wished you harm, I would not have...”

“‘Twould be my wish to know why you did not,” he stated, his gaze

probing her face. “Why did you choose to wed me?”

“Why does any lass wed?. ‘Twas for a roof over my head and over my

babe’s, and I preferred yours to the threat of Bearach MacDonald’s,” she

said, a wry twist to her lips.

The name coming from her lips was like slap across the face. The

confession that would release some of the bitterness between them was

there wrapped beneath a tongue that begged to speak it. The open hostility

he read in her gaze offered him little hope she would believe him if he

did.How many times had he wished he could tell her? He sighed in

frustration and raked his fingers through his hair with a distracted hand. It

would be better to speak of it at a calmer time.

“‘Tis an honor to know you preferred me to a MacDonald,” he said in a

quieter tone.

“Mayhap I should not have been so quick to decide to wed. Mayhap a

hand-fast would have been better.”

He studied the defensive way she folded her arms against her waist

and averted her face. He did not hear conviction in her tone, but something

else.

For the first time in months, she was stiff and wary as he grasped her

arm above the elbow and drew her against him. Alexander tilted her face up

to meet his gaze. “We are wed, Mary, and only death shall part us.” He

attempted to soften his tone. “In truth, I do not doubt you. My words were

thoughtless and spoken in anger. How can I doubt you when you have

borne arms to defend me?”

For long silent moments, she searched his face for reassurance. “If I

do not have your trust, Alexander, there is no place for me here. If I can not

depend upon your faith in me, then how am I to earn it from your people?”

“‘Tis you who have seen fit to withhold things from me,” he reminded

her. “I have not heard of this brother, Gavin, until now, nor have you seen fit

to speak of Ian MacMillan and your sister to me.”

She lowered her face from his gaze. “I could not speak of Anne,” she

said so softly, he would not have heard her had he not held her near.

He gathered her closer as reaction brought a tremor to her limbs. After

a few moments, her arms crept about his waist and her head found its

familiar spot against his chest.

He drew a deep breath as he felt her relax against him. His hand

lingered in the silver streaked softness of her hair as he cupped the back of

her head. He ran his fingers through the pale tresses at the nape of her

neck and let it spill over his palm like spun moonlight. It seemed the peace

between them was like moonlight as well. It was destined to shine brightly

in the distance and no matter how close they came, it remained stubbornly

out of reach.

Alexander’s men, heavily armed, mounted in preparation for the

journey to Lorne. With their faces partially covered by tartan scarves, and

each man covered from head to mid-calf by a thick fur robe, they appeared

menacing. Mary shivered as she watched Alexander give the order for them

to spread out and surround the prisoners. With practiced precision, they

positioned themselves at equal distances around the men, guarding them

from escape. The horses danced with nervous energy, eager to be off, their

breath billowing out in steamy plumes.

“Take heart, Mary, we will not have to feed them throughout the winter if

we rid ourselves of them now,” Duncan said from beside her.

She attempted to control her expression though worry twisted inside

her. “‘Tis the weather that concerns me, Duncan. ‘Twill not be fit for man nor

beast should it begin to snow.”

“Aye,” he agreed, “but Alexander knows the dangers. All will be well.”

Her gaze focused on her husband as he spoke to Gabriel. Alexander’s

large frame was covered from neck to calf in fur; his hands protected by

leather gloves and his feet by knee high boots. He appeared well prepared

for whatever the heavens decided to offer, but even the furs he wore would

not keep the cold from penetrating should a blizzard strike.

His tawny gaze touched her as he strode to where she and Duncan

stood on the steps of the great hall.

“We will ride hard and hope to see Lorne before dawn tomorrow,” he

said. “‘Twill be at least three days before we return.”

Duncan nodded.

“If the weather turns, we will seek shelter at Lorne until it clears.” His

gaze dropped to her face. “You will have a care for yourself while I am away,

Mary.”

Though they had set aside their anger, the harsh words they had

spoken only days before still hung heavily between them. Driven by a need

to touch him before he left, Mary unwound the tartan scarf she wore about

her throat beneath her cloak. She stepped close to him, looped it around

his neck, and tucked it beneath his robe. “I do not fancy a husband without

his fingers or toes,” she warned in much the same bossy tone he used with

her. “You will have a care for yourself, as well.”

His wolfish gaze turned to pure gold and a devilish smile touched his

lips. “And will you offer me a kiss, wife, to warm me along the way?” he

asked, a challenge in his gaze.

Her eyes never left his face though she was aware of the men behind

him waiting for him to mount his horse and lead them forward. She stepped

close to slide her arms about Alexander’s neck and draw his lips to her

own. The kiss she offered him was not one of passion, but of tenderness.

When she drew back, his tawny eyes traced her features with such intensity

it brought an airless feeling beneath her ribs and a weakness to her legs.

His lips brushed her forehead before he released her and stepped away.

“Safe journey, Brother,” Duncan bid him as the men exchanged a

glance.

Alexander nodded. He strode to his horse and mounted. At his signal,

the men rode forward.

“‘Tis good to see the Lord and his lady so openly affectionate, Mary,”

Duncan commented. “‘Twill show a united front to all, in spite of what has

happened between Alexander and your brother.”

She drew a deep breath. Despite her worry for his safety during the

journey, she felt relieved by Alexander’s decision to escort the prisoners off

Campbell land. His decision to continue holding her brother prisoner

dismayed her. As much as she loved her brother, his presence continued to

cause her trouble with the Campbell clan at a time when she could ill afford

it. They had not fully accepted her yet, despite the fact that she had killed to

defend her husband. Their acceptance would certainly be slower in coming

as long as hostilities continued between her husband and her brother.

Because the two men were too proud to bend, neither would admit to any

wrong.

“‘Tis between them I am caught with little to do to ease their

differences,” she said with a sigh.