Highland Surrender (22 page)

It struck him then how little he knew about his own wife. He knew her irascible temper, of course. And her impetuous nature, and the way her eyes glinted when he said something that
offended. He knew how soft her lips were, and the sweet taste of that curve in her neck. And that she’d had a pony when she was a child. But other than those few things, he knew nothing of her life before their marriage.

“How did you pass the time today?” he asked instead, thinking the question so banal that surely she could take no issue with it. Then he held back a sigh of frustration while his sister answered in her stead and regaled him with every excruciating detail of their adventures. And Fiona’s gaze landed everywhere, except on him.

CHAPTER 23

R
IDING BACK TO
Dempsey, her husband seemed subdued. He’d been pleasant enough when he joined them on the blankets, yet something in his manner hinted at distress. She didn’t care, of course, but his moods changed like the weather, and with less warning. Now he rode in silence next to her, as if his thoughts were heavy. But like their ride earlier in the day, his eyes kept coming back to rest on her. She felt his glances, like butterfly wings, resting and then fluttering away.

Alyssa rode a length behind them, humming softly to herself.

The sun began its descent over the mountains, turning them purple in the distance, and clouds cushioned the sky. It would rain soon. The horses sensed it and pulled at their bits.

“Did you enjoy the day?” Myles asked at last.

“I did. Thank you for inviting me.” She could be gracious, if she wanted to.

“Thank you for accepting,” he replied with a tilt of his head.

They rode another minute, and the wind picked up, setting sail to a flower in her hair. She caught it with her fingertips, embarrassed. “Oh, I’d forgotten about these.” She reached up to pluck the others out.

“Don’t,” he said. “They look lovely. You should always wear flowers in your hair.”

He seemed in every way to be earnest, but she felt exposed and on display. She let the petals fall from her hand but left the other buds in place. To pull them out now would seem defiant, and they’d had such an agreeable day she thought not to shatter it with impertinence.

Another silence fell, with only the soft footfalls of the horses’ hooves upon the grass sounding out, and the occasional call of a bird.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister?”

Her husband’s question, though delivered in a soft tone, still dealt a blow. She wasn’t certain until that moment if he had heard her say so.

“You never asked.”

“No, I didn’t. And yet, that seems the sort of detail which might have arisen without my prodding. Where was she when I was at Sinclair Hall?”

“Hidden.” Fiona gripped the reins more tightly.

“Hidden? Why? Is she malformed?”

She frowned at his base assumption. “Quite the opposite. She is the fairest imaginable.”

“Then why hide her?”

“Because there was no need for you to meet her.” She could not keep the warning tone from her voice.

Now he frowned. It was obvious in his expression he thought her answers deliberately evasive, yet his voice was steady. “I should think she’d want to see her own sister wed. You’re not telling me the whole truth of it.”

Fiona took in his rigid posture and realized there was no harm in telling him now. Margaret was safe at Sinclair Hall, and he no longer posed a threat.

She met his gaze squarely. “Had you seen Margaret, you might not have settled for me.”

Her husband paused, his manner lightening noticeably. “You feared I’d wed her instead?”

“Perhaps.”

His lips twitched. His shoulders rose another degree. “I was betrothed to you, Fiona. But I confess, I’m flattered by your worry.”

Ah, the arrogance of the man. Such a Campbell. He thought it was sisterly jealousy that had made her keep Margaret from his sight. A sour taste crept up her throat, and she could not keep her words at bay.

“There is no flattery implied, my lord. I sought only to protect my sister from your advances. I would not force her into my situation.”

The humor fell away. His eyes went dark and narrow. His voice lowered to a growl. “Of course. For a moment, I forgot your distaste for this marriage and the way I’ve abused you. Praise God your sister’s fate is not so abysmal as your own.”

With a fast kick to the flanks, he spurred his horse into a gallop and rode away without a backward glance.

He was a fool. That little bit of ale from the inn must have addlepated his senses, for he’d sat upon that blanket all afternoon, pondering ways to make his wife adore him. But she was equally determined not to.
Protect my sister from your advances, indeed!
He could buy Fiona a dozen emerald necklaces, and still she’d see him as her enemy. Myles rode across the bridge, his horse’s hooves clattering over the stones like warning bells. In the ward, he jumped from his saddle, tossed his reins to a groom, and strode into the hall.

“Bring drinks to the laird’s chamber,” he told a serving girl, for he had a strong urge to sit by his father’s side and ask once more how on God’s green earth the man had found himself in love with Aislinn Sinclair. She must have been far sweeter than her daughter.

He entered his father’s chamber, glad to see him sitting upright in his bed. Marietta sat beside him, a book of psalms in her lap. Myles crossed the room and bent to kiss her cheek.

“Greetings, Mother, Father. You’re looking well, sir.”

Cedric’s chuckle ended in a wet cough. “I’m hearty as a newborn kitten, but you’re a loyal son to humor me.”

His father’s words were not far from the truth. He was wan, his color mottled at the temple where one injury could still be seen. The gash was healing, but the bruise remained. His arm was in a bright silk sling, a fanciful bit of frippery in stark contrast to its intended purpose. His other injuries were hidden beneath a fine linen shirt. Another bit of impracticality, but one must put on the appearance of having dressed in one’s best. That shirt must have been his mother’s doing.

“How was your trip to the village with Fiona?” his mother asked.

“Quite productive, Mother. Father, you’ll be glad to hear old Bigsby’s bull is still rutting his days away, impregnating every maiden cow in his path.”

“Myles!”

His mother only feigned shock. He knew well enough he could not scorch her ears.

“My apologies, Mother. Perhaps you would excuse us while I tell Father about the more mundane details of my day’s events?”

His father nodded. “You’ve sat by my side long enough, Mari, and I’m dull company. Go find something to gossip about with that sister of yours.”

His mother looked about to refuse, but his father prompted once more. “Go on with you.”

She rose, resting the book of psalms on the table next to the window. “Very well. I shall retire for the evening. Good night, my love. Good night, son.”

After the door closed, Myles sank into the seat his mother had just vacated, and propped his feet up on his father’s bed. “There is not much else to tell. Simple matters, easily rectified. The gristmill needs a new roof.”

The serving girl from the hall arrived with several cups and a pitcher of wine. She set the tray on the table and then handed a full goblet to Myles.

“Can you drink, Father?” he asked.

“Of course I can. I’m not dead.”

The girl handed him a goblet as well and then with a fast curtsy was on her way.

Cedric took a long draught, sighing afterward. “Ah, that’s the stuff. The surgeon has me eating gruel. As if that could bring back a man’s strength. What else did you encounter today? Did I hear your mother correctly? Fiona joined you?”

Myles pulled his feet from the bed, and they thumped to the floor before he leaned forward in his chair. “Aye, she joined me. And we had a pleasant day until the end. Father, do you recall all you shared with me during your fever?”

Cedric took another hearty swallow. “I do.”

Myles scratched his head. “Well, I shared a bit of that news with my wife, and she is wholly disbelieving. ’Tis clear her own mother kept the secret as well as you.”

Cedric sighed. “I had hoped to never tell you any of it at all. But this attack has made me ponder my mortality, and if I die before the truce has taken root, all will be for naught.”

Unease clutched at Myles’s gut to hear his father speak of dying. They faced it every day, of course, but never before had the earl been so harrowingly close to its edge.

“But why is this truce with the Sinclairs so important? It’s little matter to Aislinn now, as she’s no longer here.”

“I’m here.” His father’s face flushed with color as he spoke. “And I vowed to protect her children. The promise is no less binding.”

“And you hope to protect Fiona and the others by aligning them with us and the king?” He took a gulp from his own cup.

The earl nodded. “There is that.”

Myles choked a little on his ale. “Is there more?”

His father drained his cup. “Some of my secrets I shall keep.”

Blast his father and these secrets. He was being coy again, and it was frustrating. “Father, I cannot lead effectively without knowing all you have to impart. If there is more, tell me now.”

But Cedric only held his cup out to be refilled. Myles picked up the jug from the table and filled the goblet.

“You know there is a chance it was the Sinclairs behind that ambush, yes?” Myles asked, irritation clear in his voice.

The earl considered this a moment. “I spoke at length with John at your wedding, Myles. He seems a sensible sort, and I trust he sees the value in this truce. He’s not ruled by blunt emotion as his brother is.”

“Aye, but it’s his brother who is laird.”

“True. But I cannot think why Simon would agree to the marriage and then seek to undo its purpose. Your mother tells me Tavish has gone off to inform King James of our attack. Mark my words, if he learns anything at all, it will be that Archibald Douglas is behind this somehow.”

“But Archibald Douglas has been in London for years, since the king exiled him.”

“Aye, and Douglas is a serpent whispering into the ear of England’s sovereign. No two men conspire more to knock James from his throne, for if our king is indisposed, Douglas will return home and once again lead the regency ruling Scotland.”

“Douglas has no true claim. He is the king’s stepfather, nothing more.”

“Aye, but still married to the king’s mother. And since James has no heirs as of yet, Douglas is still next in line. And there are many powerful clans who would love to see him back at the helm, for it would benefit them.”

“And destroy us.”

“Yes, most likely.”

Myles took another hearty swallow. “In that case, let’s hope Tavish returns to Dempsey soon with useful news.”

“Yes, and in the meantime, you must convince your wife we are not monsters.”

“I confess, Father, I find myself at a bit of a loss in that regard. I’ve never encountered so willful a lass. I even turned to Vivi for advice.”

His father burst with laughter, which ended in another cough. “What help could Vivi be?” he choked out. “She’s never had to woo a wench.”

“Aye, and she drove her own husband to the grave. But she seems to have a way with my wife.”

Cedric raised a brow. “Birds of a feather, perhaps?”

Myles smiled against his will. “Vivi suggested I be
nice.
”

“Nice?” The earl’s other brow joined the first.

“Yes, nice. And so I’ve bought my bride a necklace.”

His father nodded. “Seems the right approach. And what happened when you gave it to her?”

“It’s in my pocket. She annoyed me on our way home, and I’ve yet to give it to her.”

The earl laughed once more. “Give it to her. Perhaps you will sway her yet.”

The talk moved on to other things, mundane details of running such a household, the warmth of the weather, the price of labor for the gristmill roof. The hour grew late. It felt good to simply spend time in his father’s company, without worry of plots and wives and matters of intrigue. But at last, the earl’s eyes began to droop, and Myles acknowledged his own fatigue.

“I’ll leave you to your rest, Father. Sleep well and mend.”

He left the earl’s chamber and walked to his own, wondering what reception he might find there from his wife, if she was even still awake. The necklace felt heavy in his pocket. He should trade it for a kiss, if she’d give one. He chuckled as he put his hand to the door’s latch, but then her words from earlier in the evening whispered through his memory.

I sought only to protect my sister from your advances. I would not force her into my situation.

He flushed with unwarranted shame, and it rankled him to the core, for he had done nothing to feel shameful of. He’d been patient with her, more tolerant of her behavior than most men would be. Ungrateful wench. He’d have her ask for his kisses after all. He’d not force himself on a woman who found humiliation in his touch. Protect her sister, indeed.

He took his hand off the latch and made his way farther down the corridor. He’d take his rest elsewhere and let his wife keep warm in the blanket of her own stubborn pride.