Mary Reed McCall (6 page)

The evening meal had taken place in virtual silence. Kinnon was wrapped in his own thoughts, and the others were so exhausted from the day’s activity that
they’d barely kept their heads steady above their venison stew.

Duncan smiled wryly and chewed the end of a narrow bone. At least his frustrations had had one positive result today; he’d managed to incite a sort of terrified enthusiasm for the hunt. Many of the men had chosen to take to the wood rather than face him in the hand-to-hand fighting he’d pressed on any that decided to remain at the castle. The reward had been three fine bucks and a doe, with meat aplenty for Bridgid to make several hearty meals in the kitchen.

Yet for all of his efforts, the most difficult task still lay ahead of him. At the top of the curved steps, in what used to be the haven of his bedchamber, Aileana MacDonell lay in wait to ruin his sleep for a second night in a row.

He stole a wistful glance toward the end of the hall. Several of his people sat around the massive fireplace to hear the clan
senachie
tell tales of battles fought during times of old, when the MacRaes had first pledged their allegiance to the great MacKenzie overlords.

The bard painted a glorious picture of Duncan’s ancestor, Lachlan MacRae, who’d joined in a bloody battle when the MacKenzie was protecting Wester Ross from the MacDonalds; Lachlan killed many in the conflict, crowning his victory by slaying a MacDonald chief. Then he sat on the body in the middle of the battlefield. When the MacKenzie saw him there and asked why he fought no more, Lachlan had replied that if everyone killed as many MacDonalds as he had that day, the MacKenzies would win the day.

Duncan frowned. Would that he’d been so sensible in his response when Robert MacDonell had asked him if he wanted to take Aileana in payment for Gavin’s
crimes. His mouth tightened. But stubbornness had prevailed over common sense, inciting him to meet the challenge with one of his own. Greedy for revenge, he’d added insult to the harm he was about to inflict. And now he was stuck with Aileana MacDonell because of it.

There was nothing redeeming about this mess. He couldn’t even bed her. Memories of the evil her clan had wrought made that unthinkable. Yet at the same time, Kinnon was right in believing that his conscience wouldn’t allow him to stand idle while others abused or insulted her. Revenge or no, he couldn’t stomach it.

He clenched his jaw and looked down at his right hand, flexing it against the warm, smooth leather of his glove. Aye, it was a fine mess. And there was no way out of it that he could see, save finding a way to make Aileana MacDonell give him the
Ealach
and go home.

The sound of laughter pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked again toward the gathering at the hall’s end. One of the village wenches had hopped onto Angus’s lap and was winding her arms round his neck in invitation.

A pang shot through him. For thirteen years in the hell of the Tower he’d longed for such warmth. Not only for the release to be found in a woman’s softness, though that need drove him the same as any man. Nay, more, even, he’d ached for the simple want of touch, the peace to be found in a loving woman’s embrace. He craved the perfect sense of belonging he’d been so close to knowing with Mairi before she’d been killed.

He’d loved Mairi in the way of youth, the emotion sharp and sweet, but it had never come to full fruition. When he’d returned from captivity, he’d sought out female companionship, eager to feel again, to have something other than the grinding pain of regret and vengeance
twisting in his gut. But every time he looked into their faces he’d seen it. The shadow of fear. His scarred face and ruined hand made them shudder.

Nay, being with women only left him feeling more alone and more aware of the truth—that if Nora or Tyra or any of the other women warmed his bed, it was due to their respect for his position as the MacRae or the pleasure he might give them, nothing more.

More laughter and cheers rose from the
senachie
’s corner, and Duncan pushed himself to his feet. He had to leave. Self-pity was an emotion he rarely indulged, and that he had just now surprised him. But he couldn’t afford to dwell on the past; his present difficulties demanded attention and would wait no longer.

By the time he reached his chamber, he’d decided on how he would approach Aileana and what he would say to her. He wasn’t a heartless man, and that was going to make this conversation unpleasant for him as well as for her. But she was too upsetting to the balance of his life, and if getting her to admit where she’d hidden the
Ealach
meant that he’d have to appear unfeeling, then so be it.

He gritted his teeth and nudged open his door, prepared for a confrontation. Yet the sight that greeted him almost took his breath away. Aileana sat curled before the evening fire, a needle in her hand; her arm moved in rhythmic motion as she darned one of his tunics.

Duncan’s throat constricted at the utter serenity, the picture of domestic tranquility she embodied. The firelight caught her hair, setting her cinnamon tresses to gold, and he watched in fascination as she nibbled her lower lip. For the briefest moment he allowed himself to revel in the vision and to imagine what it would be like if she were truly his woman…if she were his wife.

Then she looked up and dropped her needle with a gasp. Her cheeks paled. And he saw it, the cursed whisper of fear—or was it revulsion?—shadowing her expression.

Pain wrenched through him, and he strode into the room, muttering, “What do you think you’re doing in here?”

“I—I’m mending your clothes.” Aileana retrieved the tunic she’d dropped, her gaze shifting nervously between him and the small mound of his clothes that she’d already repaired.

“Why?”

“I thought it my responsibility, and I’m skilled with the needle.” She set the work aside, curling her hands on her lap. He’d noticed that she fell to it often, that anxious, twisting of her hands. Another twinge rippled through Duncan’s gut, and he realized suddenly that her constant, fearful reaction to him bothered him more than anything else did.

Anything except the knowledge that he’d done nothing to prevent her from feeling it.

Striding to her, he scooped up the garments she’d stitched and shoved them in a basket. When he spoke, he tried to sound normal, as if he hadn’t just allowed another MacDonell to twist the knife deeper in his belly.

“Your efforts to appear biddable are wasted when none but I can see them. In future you will confine your domestic work to the hall or other areas where the clan can bear witness.”

He thought she might argue, but at the last moment she held back. Her cheeks reddened to a furious blush, and he couldn’t help but think that she looked like a woman drowning, too frightened to reach for the branch that would save her.

The nagging pain jabbed him again, and he surprised himself by asking suddenly, “Well, what is it? Do you wish to say something to me?”

Aileana swallowed, and, amazed, Duncan watched her demeanor change. She unclasped her hands and sat up straighter, as if his question had unlocked some magical door.

“Aye, I do have something to say. I have reason for wanting to remain in here,” she said. “And it’s ill-mannered of you to bar me from it without first knowing why.”

“Heaven forbid that I be ill-mannered,” Duncan answered, folding his arms across his chest. “What is it, then?”

Aileana blushed again, only this time the coral dusting of her cheeks banished the last traces of that awful frightened look. She stared directly at him, and her accusing eyes pierced him to the heart. “I know you heard what your men were saying to me while you were breaking your fast. But you did not see what happened in the kitchen just before that.”

He raised his brow. “You’re right, I did not. Tell me.”

“The details are of no matter. But it made clear to me that your clan despises me. And while it’s true that I’ve agreed to endure your spite because of the agreement between us, I will not be the object of all the mistreatment and hatred your people decide to heap upon me.” She nodded. “That is my reason for wishing to keep to this chamber when I’m not needed below, and a good one it is.”

“It’s not acceptable,” he argued, shaking his head. “You must learn to get along with the others if you’re going to be living here.” He shrugged. “Of course, if you want to return to Dulhmeny, just tell me where you’ve
hidden the
Ealach
and off you’ll go without another word from me.”

“So you’re still resolved to use cruel bribery, then?”

“I’m not trying to be cruel, lass, just realistic,” he said, steeling himself to drive the lance home. “If you’re going to stay, you must keep in mind why the others resent you. It’s because of all that your kin did to us. We’re still suffering the effects now. There’s a chance that if you work at it, you might win them over—but you cannot be doing that hiding in this chamber.”

“Win them over?”
Aileana’s hand clenched in her skirts and her eyes narrowed. “I’ve no care what that barbarous lot you call clansmen think of me!”

Duncan turned away from her. “Have it your way, then, Aileana MacDonell. But I’ll not be taking steps to make your stay here easier.” He took up the basket of clothes as he swung open the chamber door, calling over his shoulder, “You know what needs to be done if you want to leave. Until then, you’d be wise to follow me down to the hall to continue your work. I’ll give you a few moments to comply—but there’ll be no more retreating to this chamber from now on.”

Duncan heard her gasp as he left the room. Slamming the door behind him, he set off down the hall. That hadn’t been easy. The woman was sharp as a blade and soft as butter all at once. She left him at odds, no matter what the outcome of their infrequent discussions. Yet he’d done what he intended to, hadn’t he? She would come out of his chamber, as he’d bid her—she hadn’t argued further. But the unsettled feeling remained.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw something peeking over the edge of the basket he carried. Something that swung with every step that he took. It was the
tunic that Aileana had been mending when he came into their chamber.

Emptiness unfurled with sudden ferocity in his stomach. He stopped in the middle of the hall, setting his burden down on the floor. Temptation came over him, too powerful to resist, and slowly, he stripped the gloves from his hands to touch the tunic, to feel the quality of her stitching with his fingers. Her work was fine and even. Worthy of a noble lady.

Or a loving wife.

A tingle of longing shot up his arm to lodge in the area near his heart. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, willing his resolve to remain intact as he tucked his tunic back into the basket. But the hollow feeling gnawed deeper.

He clenched his jaw and kept walking. Damn Aileana MacDonell. Damn her sweet, innocent gaze and her bursts of temper. And damn the effect her presence here was having on him. He’d planned to put her in her place just now. Planned to show her who was in control. But it seemed that she’d gotten the better of him once more, and simply by gazing up at him with those wide, honey-brown eyes as she sat mending his clothes. For in that instant, she’d made him thirst for something that he’d been allowed to taste for one, brief moment in his life, but could never have again.

He stalked into the great hall, tossing the basket of clothes on the floor before continuing through the huge chamber and out the door to the yard. He didn’t pause to acknowledge any of his people. He needed to get some air, needed to get away from his thoughts and his tumultuous feelings. And yet he knew that no amount of walking would help him to escape the knowledge that was
burning a hole in his chest—the sad truth that pummeled him from the inside out.

Nay, he couldn’t deny it. He’d been defeated once, years ago, by a MacDonell woman, and though he’d vowed never to let it happen again, in this latest battle of wills with Aileana, he couldn’t deny that it felt like he was losing once more…only this time the forfeit seemed to be a tiny piece of his already ravaged heart.

Aileana stared at the unyielding panels of the door, sure that the wooden beams were no more hard and dark than the soul inhabiting Duncan MacRae’s human form. Whirling away from the reminder, she felt her knees give way, and she sank down, struggling to resist the urge to dissolve into tears.

Ever since she’d first set eyes on the leader of the wild MacRaes, she’d felt in a constant state of turbulence. It was unsettling, especially after all of the years spent schooling herself to appear calm no matter what her inner feelings, even in the face of Father’s most humbling wrath. But Duncan seemed to have the ability to strike at the most vulnerable part of her, to make her feel exposed and raw. Wrapping her arms round her stomach, Aileana tried to focus on something—anything—to keep her from sliding into the morass of feeling that meant losing control.

The Ealach
.

Aye; she’d concentrate on the amulet and the good that would come from protecting it. If only the opalescent pendant were here with her. If only she could feel its weight and warmth in her palm and sense the reassuring power that throbbed through her when she touched it. But it wasn’t here, and it never could be. She needed to keep it safe, keep it hidden.

Until when?

The question ragged at her, but she refused to answer. She couldn’t. Not now. Not yet.

After a time, her breathing began to slow, and she felt her heart ease its pounding. But for all her trying, she couldn’t summon the vision she needed. The
Ealach
, mercurial as always, refused to appear in her mind’s eye. And it troubled her. Rarely did the amulet refuse to respond to her call.

Opening her eyes, Aileana sighed and stared into the flames that glowed and popped in the hearth. She knew she shouldn’t let it disturb her; her failure was probably due to the devilish MacRae’s constant goading.

When I’m more calm, the image will come.

Sitting back on her heels, Aileana let the fire’s warmth soak into her skin, feeling it bathe her face and arms. The dancing flames were hypnotic, but her uneasiness remained. It was almost as if she’d lost the
Ealach
, somehow.