Highland Moonlight (33 page)

“Let us hope you will not have to make a choice between them, Mary,”

Duncan said, his expression grave.

“There can be no choice, Duncan. Alexander is my husband. My place

is with him.” She drew the hood of her fur-lined cloak up over her head.

Duncan fell into step with her as she strode across the courtyard to the

gate. “Where might we be going, Mary?” he asked.

“To the weaving shed. Alexander has need of a new kilt.”

They climbed the hillside to the village in silence. Mary stopped to rest

as they reached the top of the rise.

“Does it not please you that Gavin has been moved from the dungeon

to a chamber?” he asked.

“Aye. I am grateful Alexander has relented enough to allow him to be

moved. And as much as Gavin has complained about being confined to his

chambers and guarded, he is pleased to be clean and comfortable again.”

A wry grimace thinned her lips momentarily. “I believe ‘twould break off his

tongue to speak a word of thanks to Alexander for his treatment though.”

Duncan nodded. “He believes he is right in seeking revenge for your

honor, Mary. I can understand his position. You are my sister now and

‘twould be my duty to retaliate agin anyone who would bring you harm.” His

gray gaze fastened on her face as he drew a deep breath. “I can understand

my brother’s position too. Alexander would have what happened be, if not

forgotten, at least left undisturbed, now you have accepted him as your

husband. He is concerned your brother will find some way to turn you away

from him by sparking anew feelings of hurt and bitterness over the incident.”

Mary realized Duncan was trying to be helpful, but she could not speak

of anything to him. To do so would be disloyal to Alexander. Her gaze turned

from his face to the distant snow topped hills beyond. “What is in the past

can not be changed. It does no good to dwell on it.”

She continued down the rough-hewn road to the weaving shed. The

scent of the dyes used to color the wool hung strong within the enclosed

area of the room. The women’s laughter sounded pleasant and happy as

she and Duncan entered the structure. Seven looms, and the women who

worked at them, filled the cramped space.

Tira was the first to look up and see them. Her expression grew cool,

and her gaze flat and unfriendly. Silence fell over the room. The other

women’s expressions grew shuttered as they focused on Mary. After a

lengthy pause, one woman rose from her seat and approached them. Her

auburn hair, plaited in a long tail, hung down her back. Her youthful features

were marred by lines at the corners of her eyes and around her mouth.

“My name is Mai, m’lady. What may I do for you this morn?” she asked.

“I have come to purchase a length of wool,” Mary explained, offering

her a smile the woman did not return.

Duncan wandered restlessly about the room while they spoke. The

woman proceeded to show her several bolts of tartan fabric already woven.

Mary frowned as she tested the quality of the wool between her fingers. “I

would have the best for my lord,” Mary stressed. “‘Tis for him a new kilt.”

Mai led the way to a wooden table stacked high with more bolts of

cloth.

Mary ran her hand over a soft wool tartan of blue, green, and black and

nodded. “This one I think, do you not agree?” she asked, trying to draw the

woman out of her hostility.

“The men have gone this morn to take the prisoners away?” Tira

asked as she sauntered up to them.

Mary’s gaze rose to the taller woman’s face. “Aye.”

“If not for you, they would not have to risk their lives to do so,” Tira

accused.

Mary’s chin rose though a sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

She did not appreciate having Tira challenge her with the very thoughts that

riddled her with guilt and worry. “I did not invite the men upon Campbell soil,

Tira. Nor did I council their attacks on the livestock.”

“‘Tis because of you that they were here.” Her eyes glittered green

malice. “‘Tis because of you, our men must risk their lives to protect us.”

“‘Tis my husband’s life that is at risk as well, Tira. Have you forgotten

that?” Mary asked.

“A husband you do not want or deserve.”

Mary felt helpless not defending herself against the statement. She

could no more change the past than Alexander could. “Women of my station

seldom choose the men they wed, Tira. ‘Tis the men that choose them. ‘Tis

I, Alexander chose and ‘tis I, whom he wed. He is my husband and I will

serve him in whatever way he asks of me. I will honor him with my respect

and my loyalty.” Mary stepped closer to the woman meeting her emerald

gaze with unwavering regard. “He deserves at least as much from the

people he leads and defends. You are offering him none of that by

questioning his judgment. Think well on that, Tira.”

Her attention turned to the other women in the room, moving from one

to the other to find none would now meet her gaze. She reached for the

purse at her waist for the coins to pay for the wool, but Duncan was already

counting out the necessary amount. Whether by chance or on purpose, his

large frame stepped between Tira and herself.

Her expression mirroring her fury, Tira stalked away to her place

before one of the looms.

Duncan accepted from Mai, the bundled wool secured by a scrap of

fabric. Guiding Mary to the door, he escorted her from the hut.

Mary kept her face carefully averted from him as reaction brought tears

to her eyes and a tremor to her limbs. She drew the cold air deep into her

lungs then released it slowly as she struggled to retain her composure.

“Well done, lass,” Duncan praised her.

“What she said was true, Duncan. ‘Twas because of me, Gavin and

his men were here. ‘Twill be my fault should Alexander be harmed on this

journey.”

“Nay, lass. Men will do as they will without regard for their women,

Mary.”

A wry chuckle forced its way past her worry. Mary raised her gaze to his

face and offered him a smile. “‘Tis grateful I am to you, Brother, for

reminding me of a lesson that I should have indeed learned by now.”

****

Alexander warm, but the wind’s deep bite penetrated his woolen breeches

between knee and boot. He rubbed the spot periodically to warm it. The

tartan scarf Mary had looped around his neck protected the lower half of his

face, though ice crystals formed at regular intervals on his brows and

lashes. Brushing them away with a gloved hand, he cleared his vision.

Pale moonlight bathed the snow-covered hills, illuminating the path

ahead. Lorne and warmth beckoned only an hour away. Though his fingers

and toes had long since gone numb, he was reluctant to stop so close to

their destination. The suns slow rise over the edge of the hills to the east

firmed his decision. Its rays would warm his men and him enough for them

to continue.

Snow laden trees shimmered in the early morning sunlight as they

approached the castle an hour later. Ice coated one side of the tall walls

giving a metallic sheen to the stone blocks from which it was constructed.

The formidable beauty of the place never failed to impress him. Though no

longer his home, the memories the castle evoked offered him feelings of

belonging.

He remembered the day Mary had spoken of being part of two clans,

but never truly belonging to either. After all, she had endured, she deserved

to be accepted by his clan.

The gates opened before them, allowing them entry. Men rushed

forward to take control of their mounts as Campbell clansmen and their

prisoners dismounted in the courtyard. The group moved in force to seek

shelter within the great hall.

“Alexander, welcome!” John approached as soon as they entered the

hall, his deep voice carrying easily across the hall. “Is Mary well?”

His father’s inquiry about her, before Duncan or himself, was proof

enough of his affection for the lass. Alexander smiled despite his cold

stiffened cheeks. “The bairn is growing and she is well.”

Campbell clansmen clustered at one fireplace while the prisoners

sought the warmth of the other. Servants hastened to offer both groups

warm drinks, bread, and meat.

“Come to my antechamber where you may warm yourself and we may

talk in private,” the Campbell Laird suggested. He called to a servant to

bring mulled wine and food.

His feet feeling like blocks of wood, his steps deliberate, Alexander

followed in his father’s wake to the large room off the great hall.

“Sit before the fire and warm yourself, Alexander,” John ordered, his

brows drawn together in a frown of concern. He pushed a chair closer to the

huge fireplace. “You should not have pushed yourself and the men so

harshly.”

“‘Tis important I return home as soon as I might.” Alexander offered a

booted foot to his father and John deftly gripped the shoe and pulled it off.

‘Tis my belief there are MacDonald or MacLachlan forces hiding there.”

John’s brows rose then he nodded, his expression grave. “My patrols

found evidence of two camps here, one to the east just beneath the

outcropping that boarders MacNaughten land and the other to the south.

After you departed, no more were found.”

Alexander extended the other foot and grunted in pain as his father

jerked the boot free. He rubbed through the heavy stockings he wore to

warm some feeling into one foot then the other. “We were attacked on the

way to
Caisteal Sith
, and some of the men were injured.”

“The lass?” John asked immediately.

“Mary was not harmed. Derrick was pierced in the chest by an arrow

and Artair’s arm was nearly sliced through. Mary’s care saw them through.”

“The men you have with you?” John urged.

“They are MacLachlan or MacDonald or both. They were brought upon

my land by Mary’s brother, Gavin. He has been wreaking havoc with our

herds and stirring up mischief trying to draw me out in order to revenge

Mary’s honor for what happened at Lochlan. I can not be certes Collin is not

responsible for his presence.”

“Where is this brother?” John demanded. “I would speak with him.”

“He is still at
Caisteal Sith
.”

John’s brows rose again.

“He is the only family Mary has left.” Alexander quickly explained about

Ian MacMillan forbidding Anne to consort with Mary.

John’s scowl grew darker.

Interrupted by a servant with a tray laden with mulled wine, meat,

cheese, and bread, they fell silent.

“I am willing to try and make peace with Gavin—if he does not force

me to kill him first,” Alexander said when they were once again alone. “I

have pledged I will try to heal the breach between Mary and the MacMillan’s

as well.” He freed himself from the fur robe and stretched out his long legs,

positioning his feet closer to the fire. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him as

the fire warmed away the chill. He leaned back in his chair.

“You have found some peace together?” John asked as he poured

mulled wine into a brass tankard and handed it to Alexander.

“Aye.” Silent for a moment, he stared into the fire and sipped the brew.

His thoughts returned to the kiss Mary had given him before they had

parted. To offer him such sweetness, she must surely have forgiven him.

“Eat, Alexander,” John urged.

He turned his attention to the food his father offered him. They spoke

of the journey the next day and his return to
Caisteal Sith
. Alexander raked

his fingers through his hair and yawned widely, his body demanding sleep.

“A fire has been built in your chamber,” John said. “You must rest. We

will speak again at the evening meal.”

Alexander passed through the great hall en route to his chamber. The

prisoners, guarded by several of his father’s men, lay on the floor before

one of the fireplaces. Snores erupted from the group here and there, but

otherwise the men were quiet. His men had obviously sought the barracks

to sleep in preparation for the journey on the morrow.

With slow steps, he climbed the stairs and made his way to the

chamber he and Mary had shared well over a month before. He shed his

weapons and clothing and sought his rest on the fur-covered bed. The

silence closed around him. The emptiness of the room and the bed struck

him and he opened his eyes. For a moment, Alexander experienced the

familiar loneliness and separation that had plagued him during his many

years of fighting. In the past, he assuaged those feelings by seeking out

some willing wench to fill his bed and distract his thoughts. That comfort

held no appeal for him now.

His eyes settled on a stool close to the fire. In his minds eye, he saw