Mary Reed McCall (8 page)

“My disgrace will continue long after I leave, MacRae, as well you know,” Aileana answered flatly. “You’ve ensured that with this unholy bargain between us.” All the passion had left her, and her voice echoed cold and hollow like the whisper of a ghost.

Duncan couldn’t stop himself from looking at her then, feeling a jab in his gut at the desolation he saw in her eyes. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about that, but of course she was right. By living with him as leman, even if only in name, she’d never again be considered fit as another man’s wife. He struggled against the urge to comfort her, to reach out and fold her into his embrace. To quell the feeling, he moved past her and gazed at the breathtaking view of the loch beyond his windows.
Don’t be a fool,
he told himself. She’d never accept solace from him. Not when he’d been the very cause of her disgrace.

But he’d had good reason for what he’d done. Her sister and her clan had brutalized his life and stolen what was his, and Aileana was adding to the injury by continuing to keep the
Ealach
from him. All of this pain, all of this unpleasantness never had to be if she wasn’t so stubborn and unyielding.

Duncan willed his anger to take hold again. He could not let kindness drive him, couldn’t let pity keep him from his goal. Though he’d never permit physical harm to fall upon her, Aileana must be made to reveal where she’d hidden the amulet. And if shame and underhanded tactics were needed to achieve that end, then he would use them.

“Giving me the amulet will make your life easier, if
nothing else, Aileana,” Duncan said with grim finality. “You’ll be better off in the bosom of kin who love you and want to protect you, rather than here, surrounded by people who wish you harm.” He bent to pick up his bag and his claymore. “Think on it while I’m gone.”

The hurt in her eyes was too great to bear. Grief shadowed her face, and he couldn’t stop the renegade thought that such a thing was wrong, terribly wrong. That a proud, loyal woman like Aileana MacDonell should know nothing but joy and love.

Gritting his teeth, Duncan strode to the door. He couldn’t allow himself to reconsider anything that had passed between them. He wouldn’t.

So then why did he hurt like hell right now?

Before he could make the mistake of answering his own question, Duncan did the only thing he could think of doing—he pushed open the door and left, refusing even to nod to her in farewell.

Aileana rolled over on her pallet the next morning, restless, waiting for the cock in the yard to crow. It was almost dawn, yet she knew she didn’t need to move into Duncan’s massive bed. Whenever he was away, Bridgid left her alone to make a morning fire or not as she chose, using the opportunity as another way to show her disdain. She was never outright neglectful, but her coldness spoke volumes nonetheless.

Duncan was right. His clan hated her and wished herill. All day yesterday and into the night, his words had churned in her mind, prodding her to a decision she’d been dreading to make. It certainly might have the power to change her life, she trusted for the better, but at what cost?

She allowed herself a grim smile. It wasn’t the choice
Duncan had been hoping for; oh, no, she’d not reveal the hiding place of the amulet to him anytime soon. Nay, she’d decided on a plan that he’d suggested himself on her second night here, though she’d known even then that he’d said it only because he thought her incapable of accomplishing the task.

She was going to make the wild, murdering MacRaes like her.

Rolling onto her back, Aileana pulled the covers to her chin and stared into the gray quiet of the chamber. Silence and docility hadn’t worked with his obstinate clan. Since her arrival she’d tried to behave as the calm woman that Father had worked so hard to create of her. For all of her life, it had been a struggle for her to comply—a fight against her true nature—but where meek obedience had pleased Father, the MacRaes were using her efforts to be accommodating as simply another reason to overpower and isolate her.

How to make them like her, then…?

She was woefully inexperienced where such things were concerned. At Dulhmeny, she’d been kept apart, treated with a kind of innate respect by anyone who saw her, regardless of whether or not she deserved it, thanks to her status as the keeper of the amulet. She’d had no real chance to learn the skills required for friendship with others; anything she knew of human concord had been learned at the hands of her brothers or father, and her mother’s death had left her with little in the way of female guidance, except for Morgana. After the Troubles and Morgana’s banishment, Father had tried to remove any remnants of her influence on Aileana with steely focus, using his own will to beat her into submission.

Sighing, Aileana moved her thoughts from the past to
the here and now. What about someone here at Eilean Donan to pattern her behavior after? If she wanted to garner this clan’s respect, she’d do well to choose someone who’d achieved it already. There was Duncan, of course, but he was their laird and a man as well. Not the best comparison, for her purposes.

Was there a woman who might serve? There were many females at the castle. Too many, where Duncan was concerned. But there was only one that Aileana knew to be respected and obeyed by one and all.

Bridgid.

Pulling the covers over her head, Aileana groaned. With the exception of Nora, Bridgid was the last person she wanted to emulate. The woman barked orders, ran around in a fury and seemed annoyed most of the time.

Yet there had to be more to her than that. Rolling from her pallet, Aileana scuffled to the hearth and rekindled the fire. She ruminated as she worked, mulling the possibilities.

Bridgid was good with children. Aileana remembered her surprise the morning she’d seen Bridgid’s face wreathed in smiles because little Tom had brought her a posy from the glen. Bridgid had patted the boy’s head and given him a cake from the larder when she thought no one was looking. Then she’d scooted him off to play before reverting to her usual self and snapping an order to one of the kitchen workers.

Chewing her lip, Aileana eased herself into the chair in front of the now brightly crackling flames. Bridgid occasionally showed other softer qualities as well. Many in the clan came to her when they were sick, and she always made time without complaint. She even seemed to know some of the healing properties to be obtained from certain plants and foods.

Here was a connection,
Aileana thought. She herself had been a sort of healer at home, and the herbs from her garden, along with her status as keeper of the amulet, had inspired many of the folk to bring their sick up to the castle for her treatments.

Perhaps emulating Bridgid wouldn’t be as difficult as she feared. The
bailie
was like anyone else—a blend of prickle and puff. She helped those around her, but she also wasn’t afraid to vent her feelings and frustrations.

It was settled, then. Bridgid was the one. Aileana dressed with an energy she hadn’t felt since she came to live with the MacRaes. It might be the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she’d make them like and respect her. And she’d have the double satisfaction of watching Duncan swallow his words, along with the gall that was sure to accompany it.

Anxiety fluttered in the pit of her stomach, though, as she prepared to descend to her fate. The results could be no worse than what she’d been forced to endure already, she reasoned. With any luck she’d be successful, and Duncan would see his extortion attempt had failed. That, in and of itself, was a worthy goal.

And it was exactly what she needed to remember, she thought, as she took each step from the safety of her bedchamber toward the staring, unfriendly faces that waited for her in the kitchen below.

A
s usual, when Aileana entered the kitchen all conversation ceased. Looking around, she weighed her options. She’d decided to begin her new life at Eilean Donan by enlisting some of the women to help her start a collection of herb pots, as she’d used at home. But she’d need baskets for gathering, and some clean, well-shaped pots in which to store the roots, leaves, and flowers she collected.

Pushing up the sleeves of her tunic, Aileana steeled herself for her first trial and started toward the scullery area. There she approached two women bent over a vat of steaming water, rinsing some of the morning’s breakfast bowls.

“I’ll finish this,” she said firmly as she nudged them aside. “And while I do, I want you to find me eight or ten small clay pots, preferably with lids. You know better than I where they’re kept. Just stack them at the end of the courtyard.” Aileana plunged her arms into the warm
water and began to scrape and rub the bowls with a handful of scouring twigs from the bottom of the vat. “Oh, and find a few baskets as well. I’ll be foraging in the wood later today.”

Dead silence greeted her command. She felt the stare of every person in the kitchen boring into her back. Now was the time to act upon her decision to be authoritative.

What would Bridgid do?

Lifting her arms from the vat with a splash, Aileana whirled to face the women. “Have I been unclear? It isn’t so hard, I think, and I’d be doing it myself, but I’d be wasting time, not knowing where to look.” She blew a strand of hair from her face and wiped her brow with her forearm. The women just continued to stare, though she saw a flicker of suspicion in the younger one’s eyes.

Willing her voice to sound commanding, Aileana scowled. “It’s very simple. You can do it one of two ways. Either I’ll follow you to where the pots are stored and leave this mess behind for you to clean when you return, or I can finish the task while you do as I bid. It’s your choice.” Raising her brows, Aileana waited for a response.

After another tense silence, the younger one snipped, “I’m not doing anything until I talk to Bridgid. I think she’d be interested in knowing about this.”

Aileana pursed her lips.
Curses
. She’d counted on practicing her authority for a while before she was made to face the master herself. Well, there was nothing to be done about it. She’d have to deal with Bridgid sometime.

Turning back to the bowls, she shrugged. “Do as you wish. But if I don’t have those pots available to me by the time I’m finished washing these, I’m going to rip apart the pantry, the buttery and any other storage place I can see until I find what I need.”

The two women left, and the others in the kitchen slowly resumed their tasks, though Aileana sensed an undercurrent that hadn’t been there before. She took solace in the methodical work of cleaning the other utensils, biding her time until Bridgid returned with the women.
Firm and in control
. She repeated the phrase to herself as she worked. But she still jumped when the
bailie
’s rasping voice cut through the low hum in the kitchen.

“What’s this, missy? Making demands of a sudden are you?”

Aileana turned slowly from the tub. Bridgid looked especially irritated; she’d obviously been pulled away from some hard work. A faint sheen of perspiration covered her brow, even at this early hour. As usual, her head cloth was a bit askew and her wiry hair had escaped to frame her face in prickly looking curls.

“I’m not demanding anything,” Aileana answered, proud that her voice never wavered. “I’m simply trying to accomplish a task. I need pots for storing my herbs, and I don’t know where to look for them.” She wiped her hands dry on her tunic and glared piercingly at the two women. “If it’s that much trouble for them to help me, then I’ll just go ahead and waste the time searching out the pots myself.”

She started to push by, but Bridgid stopped her. Startled, Aileana looked up and saw a glimmer of interest in the direct gaze that met her own.

“What are you wanting with herbs and such?” But before Aileana could answer, Bridgid’s expression hardened, and she stepped back. “You’re not using them for deviltry, are you? Because if you do the things your cursed sister did, I’ll string you up and light the fire beneath you myself!”

Aileana blanched at Bridigd’s reference to Morgana’s evil; it seemed that her sister had inspired hatred that went deep. Though it startled her to hear such words spoken, it wasn’t unexpected, she knew. Even Father had forbidden the mention of Morgana’s name in the years following the Troubles. And it had been because of her that Aileana had spent so much of her life sheltered in her bedchamber, to prevent any dark forces from influencing her in her possession of the
Ealach
, as her sister had been swayed.

She shook her head, keeping her gaze fixed on Bridgid. “I swear I’ve never used my knowledge of herbs for evil. In truth I learned the beneficial uses of many flowers, roots, and leaves.”

But Bridgid still stared at her with stern accusation, and Aileana’s temper flared. It wasn’t right, and she couldn’t accept it—not if she hoped to earn the respect of anyone at Eilean Donan. Letting her frustration have complete rein, Aileana stood to her full height and added, “More important, though, is this: whatever my sister was or was not in the whole of her life, I am not her. I’ve spent years paying for her sins, and I’ll do it no more.” Cheeks flushed, she finished with a demand. “Now for the last time, I’m asking for some help in finding what I need. If you won’t give it, then get out of my way so I can fetch the blessed pots myself!”

Everything went deathly still in the aftermath of her outburst, and Aileana had the distinct impression that this was one of the few times Bridgid had ever been rendered speechless. When she finally spoke, there was something in her tone that hadn’t been there before.

“I suppose there isn’t anything wrong in your gathering herbs for storing. We can use them for cooking, as well as for illness.” She seemed to consider Aileana for a
moment more, studying her with her gaze before finally nodding. “Very well. You can pick what you like to put away, but not until after the noon meal. Ella and Mab…they’ll lead you now to the storerooms and help you find some pots. Get on with you then,” she sputtered, before flapping out of the kitchen to harp at some other unfortunate worker.

The younger of the two women looked pale, and her eyes widened fearfully as she took in Aileana from head to toe. Then she and Mab left the kitchen, heads tilted together as they whispered, likely about her, she knew, from the sidelong glances they kept giving her.

“The pots are stored in there,” Mab said, once they’d crossed the center yard. She waved in the general direction of a little wooden door; it seemed to lead to a room that had been added to the castle in more recent times. The stones of these walls looked newer compared to the more ravaged parts of the fortress.

Aileana nodded acknowledgement, and the women scurried away. She hardly noticed their condemning looks for the swell of excitement that bloomed in her breast as she pushed open the door to the cool, dark storage chamber. Rows of little earthen pots lined the shelves—a veritable treasure trove of them. The floor was full as well, the rest of the chamber scattered with several barrels and a few large crates that rested in a random pattern atop soft cushions of hay.

Stepping over them, she examined some of the pots on the shelf. But as she lifted lids to examine the ancient remnants of their contents, her gaze kept straying to the crates. They were large and finely built. Not the kind of boxes she would have expected to find in such a place.

Finally, she could resist her curiosity no longer. Picking her way back to them, she knelt beside the largest of
the crates and pulled at its lid. To her surprise, it slid off easily. It was clear that someone had opened it recently, and it looked as though that person had taken great care with it.

She shifted to let the light from the door come in, feeling a thrill of surprise at what she saw. Yards of glossy satin lay coiled inside the box; spun of deep green, it shimmered even in the dim light, and she reached out to touch the buttery-soft material with reverence. But as her fingers brushed over the silk, she felt something hard. Something buried beneath the folds of fabric. Gently, Aileana moved the soft material to see what lay beneath.

A gasp of wonder escaped her. There, in perfect condition, rested a harp of exquisite workmanship and beauty. Its lines were long and elegant, and it was formed of wood that had been polished many times by loving hands. Wood that glowed mellow against the detailed golden comb and tuning pins that held the strings in place. As fine an instrument as this must be worth a small fortune, she thought absently. She let her fingers drift along the massive, carved circle that formed its base, then up along the beautiful, sloping neck, and to the strings. At her touch, a delicate vibration filled the chamber with the richness of angel-song. She was so lost in the melodious sound that she almost didn’t notice the shadow edging closer to the doorway. But then it shifted, plunging the room into darkness.

Weak-kneed, Aileana scrambled to her feet. Her efforts to replace the cover on the box failed; her clumsy hands only succeeded in knocking the lid to the earthen floor with a thump.

“Don’t be frightened, lass. I’ve not come to harm you.”

Turning to face the speaker, Aileana shielded her eyes
with her hand. The man appeared in silhouette, bright morning sun streaming in behind him.

“It’s me, Kinnon. I saw the door ajar and thought to see who disturbed Duncan’s storage chamber with him not about the castle.” He stepped farther inside, coming into clear focus. His golden hair waved soft to his shoulders, and Aileana was struck again by the brilliant blue of his eyes. As ever, he had a kind look about him, though he was clearly wondering at her presence here.

Her gaze drifted to the bandages wrapped in thick layers round his leg from knee to ankle. “What happened to you?” she asked.

“I split my leg in the exercises yester morn.” He shrugged. “It’s a hindrance to be sure, but nothing that won’t heal in time.”

“Is that why you’re here instead of raiding the MacLeods with Duncan?”

He nodded and smiled. “Aye. That’s my reason for being here. But you still haven’t explained yours.”

She felt herself flushing, even though she reminded herself that there was no need to feel guilty. She had permission to be here, after all. “I needed some pots for my herbs, and Bridgid had two of the women bring me here to look.” She gestured to the shelves. “There seem to be a good many to choose from, and I should have no trouble finding what I want.”

“And yet you were not looking on the shelves but in that crate. I don’t suppose you found any pots for your plants in there, now, did you?”

This time guilt gripped her more firmly, deserved, she knew, for the snooping she’d been doing. “In truth, my curiosity got the better of me,” she admitted. “I seem to have an affinity for hidden places and mysteries.”

To her surprise, Kinnon grinned. “A woman after my own heart.” He limped over to the harp. “It’s quite a find you’ve made here. An old friend from long ago, this is.” He stroked his hand up the curved neck of the instrument, a wistful smile on his lips. But as he looked up his expression turned serious. “I wouldn’t let Duncan see you touching it, though, or any of these things.” He gestured to the other large crates in the chamber. “It’s better to let them lie for now.”

Aileana shook her head. “Keeping such a fine thing locked away…it seems sinful. If he’s not going to use the harp, then why not trade it for gold or cattle—something to aid the clan’s prosperity?”

Kinnon shook his head and folded the satin around the instrument again before replacing the lid. “Because it’s a part of Duncan as much as his eyes or his heart. He will never allow it to be sold or taken.” Straightening again, he turned and looked at Aileana as if he sought something hidden beneath the surface of skin and bone. She began to feel uneasy, as if he was somehow capable of seeing into her very soul. Finally he spoke, his voice softer than before.

“This harp was Duncan’s own pride and joy, lass. It was near as precious to him as possession of the
Ealach
was to our clan these hundred years. Mairi gifted him with it—or her family did, as a betrothal offering—but it mattered not. He thought of the harp as being from Mairi, and he loved it as he did her.”

Heat filled Aileana’s cheeks, and a strange, sinking sensation spread through her. She resisted the urge to fidget. Mairi—the woman she’d been told was the love of Duncan’s life…his bride, killed in Morgana’s attack on the MacRaes so long ago.

“Duncan loved this harp better than he loved some of
his kin,” Kinnon added, breaking into her thoughts. Smiling, he shook his head. “He was just coming into his own in those days, Duncan was, a golden lad with a future as laird of our clan ahead of him. Before your sister’s attack, he kept the harp near him much of the time, and, by God, he could wring the soul right out of you with the music that he made. Aye, those were happy days, with him and Mairi.”

Staring down at the crate, Kinnon paused, and his expression darkened. “I managed to carry it off and hide it once we learned that Morgana had sold him to the English. But I couldn’t help what happened after that. Even in the filthy hell of the Tower, he was so damned stubborn. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to touch the harp since coming home last year.”

Aileana waited, breathless, for Kinnon to explain further, but he brooded in silence. She knew she shouldn’t care—knew she shouldn’t feel so defensive in response to his memories of Mairi and Duncan—but she couldn’t help it. Worse, perhaps, was that a strange urgency to hear the rest of his tale consumed her. More than anything she wanted to know something more about Duncan and the woman who had won his heart, even though it felt like salt on a wound to think of it. Finally, working up her courage, she asked, “What…what happened to make him hate his music so much, then, that he chooses to secret his harp in here?”