Ursula? Conn had distracted him.
He waved Conn closer. “Who was that beautiful woman by your side when I came in?” Alasdair looked around the great hall. “It was as if she disappeared in a puff of smoke.”
“That was my lady friend,” Conn replied, then one of his eyebrows rose. “You are my guest, but you may not feast on all that is at my table,” he warned, leaning in within a breath of Alasdair face.
He backed away. “Never mind,” Alasdair said, his cheeks heating. “I thought she looked like someone . . .” But he would have seen Ethan at the table as well. Perhaps the resemblance between the two women was just a coincidence or due to his fatigue. Maybe his eyes had played tricks on him.
“There are many women in the castle. Let me send one to your chambers.” Conn’s offer woke Alasdair from his musings. As much as that would distract him from thinking about Ursula, he did not want any other than her in his bed.
“Your hospitality is beyond my expectations, good friend, but I need to depart at sunrise with my pampered party.”
Conn glanced over at the trestle tables still full of Lord George Gordon’s men. They were boisterous and blatantly drunk.
“You have a daunting task,” Conn agreed, nodding toward the tables. “Gordon’s guards appear to be muddled in their mead already.”
Alasdair shook his head. “My clansmen would never be that disrespectful. Not at Dunvegan and especially not here at Invergarry.”
Conn turned his attention back to Alasdair. “How fares Dunvegan?”
Alasdair grasped his chin in contemplation. What to share? His hesitation wasn’t lost on Conn.
“You fear the MacDonalds will rule all of Skye?”
Alasdair started to boil inside, his defensive response innate. He waited for the rising ire to pass. He did nae want to go off on his good friend.
“The MacLeods and the MacDonalds will forever be mortal enemies.” Alasdair got up to pace on the dais. This wasn’t a subject he could discuss sitting down. “Our clans have too much hate. Too much history. Too much angst between us. A truce will never be.” Alasdair stopped and faced his host.
Conn pursed his lips as if he wanted to say something but remained silent. Alasdair took it as a cue to continue. “If the MacDonald clan gains dominance one day, you can bet your family fortune we will be fighting to gain it back the same day. The score is never settled.”
Conn chuckled lightly and smacked the seat Alasdair had vacated. “Come, friend. I want to discuss a rumor and have you put it to rest. I cannot talk to you as you pace.”
It was Alasdair’s turn to chuckle as he took up his place next to Conn. “’Tis not true. Not my fault. I’m not guilty.”
His friend burst out laughing. “You sound like my stable boy.”
Alasdair grinned, but Conn grew serious.
“There is trouble between here and Skye, my friend, and it is not all coming from the MacDonalds.” Conn leaned in. “I’ve heard Volar is back.”
“The Viking?” Alasdair had heard of a man who had come to Skye from the Shetland Isles. He’d been told this Viking and his men had patrolled the wharfs of Inverness, pillaging and causing general havoc until they were forced back to their long boats.
“My course has been east to west, Conn. I am nae coming from Dunvegan but returning. I was just two days from Inverness where I learned King James had dispatched several battalions of soldiers to assist ridding his Scotland of the Norwegian barbarians.”
“My friend, they may have decided on a new port to pillage, for there are rumors of Viking mayhem from Portree to Bernisdale. I do nae want to alarm you, but Dunvegan may be their next target.”
Alasdair pushed back into the regal chair and crossed his arms. “The Vikings make a yearly sport of attacking Dunvegan. ’Tis nothing new in our world.”
Conn made a harrumph sound, then pointed to Gordon’s men at the trestle table. Many of them had their heads on the table, out cold.
Alasdair shook his head. “I should send the whole lot of them back tomorrow and travel on my own,” he said with disgust.
Conn brightened and leaned forward. “You may be in luck. I am lending a large contingent of my soldiers to aid a friend on a journey to Skye in the morn. Why not join their group? When they reach their destination, my men will escort you to Dunvegan.”
When Alasdair started to object, his friend stood. “This is settled.” Then he turned to his servant who’d been waiting patiently off the end of the dais and waved him over. “Get these pieces of shite out of my hall,” he told the man, pointing at Gordon’s men.
Alasdair laughed as he followed Conn out into the corridor and gave his good friend’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Loyalty and competency are not the same thing.”
“Remember, Crotach, these men are not Highlanders. I’d hate to even count them as Scotsmen.”
Alasdair agreed, “They act more like Englishmen, weak and pompous.”
They both laughed as they said goodnight.
Making his way up a narrow, winding, stone staircase, Alasdair almost tumbled backward when a rush of skirts and a dark-haired lass threatened to knock him down.
After she grumbled an awkward apology and struggled to regain her footing, Alasdair grabbed the lass by the shoulders and set her upright. “Slow down or you be causing a calamity of major proportions.”
When she did not look up to address him, he shook her gently.
“Yes, mi lord,” she finally mumbled.
Alasdair was about to release her when he took a second look. Although the staircase was dimly lit from a sconce around the next turn, the weak glow gave out enough light for him to recognize her.
His heart leapt. “Ursula?” Alasdair’s voice was thick from the shock. It had been her at the head table after all.
Chapter 25
What could Ursula tell him? Ethan had forced her to leave? That he’d threatened her? Some of that she could claim true. But it would be hard for Alasdair to forgive her for bolting from the great hall when he’d appeared, after begging Conn not to give her away.
He released her as if he’d grabbed a hot poker. “’Tis you,” Alasdair said, his frown fierce and his glare deadly.
“Walk,” he ordered as if he’d take no arguments, pointing down the corridor from which she’d come.
Ursula stayed mute and spun on her heel, shocked at the coincidence they’d arrived at the same place at the same time. Good luck or back luck, she’d soon find out as they walked in silence, Alasdair behind her.
After a slow tortuous journey down multiple corridors, they finally reached his guest chamber, where he told her to stop. He marched up to the entrance and shoved open the door. It banged against the wall inside.
She shivered, wanting to scream and run, but she was certain he’d catch her and drag her back to his room to . . . Would he harm her?
The room was lit by the glow of the hearth. As she stumbled in, he pointed to a chair and left her without entering. Once the door closed, her heart pounded like a rabbit caught in a fox’s lair.
Although it seemed like an eternity, it wasn’t long before he returned. She almost jumped out of her skin, her heart still pounding, when he opened the door without knocking.
Highlanders.
As if he’d forgotten she was there, he tossed his sporran, then his leather vest, on the bed and began to pace. Saying nothing. Giving her no idea what would happen next.
Ursula studied his profile in the amber glow. He stopped moving. Had he come to some decision, or was he ready to make an accusation?
Although the muscles covering his bare shoulders and arms glistened like bronzed armor, Alasdair hunched over as if suffering from a fresh wound.
His posture was more apparent to her now than in the past. Quinn had spo
ken of him being hunchbacked. He appeared that way to her now, and defeated.
Fearful as she was, her heart still went out to him. Ursula wanted to heal him. She had promised but not delivered on attending to him at Urquhart Castle. Because—she blushed—because he had needed something else. But he’d been a gentleman to her that night, and he had only sought his own pleasure. Pleasure she’d been willing to give.
Did he want her to touch him again? To heal him? Or did he wish to punish her?
When he turned to her, her gut wrenched. Filled with dread and uncertainly, she thought she’d vomit.
“I’m in need of an heir. What is your price?”
Ursula blinked hard. What was that? What is my price?
She’d been prepared for a lecture on responsibility. To be called a traitor. A witch. Untrustworthy. She finally gathered her wits and was surprised she didn’t deliver harsh words with the fury that was building inside.
“You want an heir?”
“Aye. All my brothers are dead.”
She coughed, using the gesture to sort through possible responses until she found the suitable one.
“I do nae want to appear callous, and I’m sorry you’re the last of the MacLeods, but my purpose in this lifetime is nae to bring a babe into this world.”
Alasdair stared at her. “God created women for that purpose. And to please men,” he declared with absolute faith, as if those words had been written by the saints.
She coughed even louder this time. “That is blasphemous and irreverent.” His ignorance and stupidity would not be tolerated. Ursula bounded up from the chair and strode to within inches of his chest. She began to poke it. Hard.
“You say you want an heir, but that happens only when two people consent to join hearts, minds, and spirits. To recreate their likeness in God’s image.” Her poking turned into a shove. “You cannot play God without dire consequences.”
When she finished her rant, Alasdair was backed up against one of the canopy posts.
In the next moment, before Ursula could take a breath and start into another diatribe, his mouth was on hers. Grabbing her about the waist, he spun her around until they awkwardly toppled onto the soft velvet bedcover, his lips still locked to hers. Demanding.
Would he take what he wanted without her permission?
Could he?
Her heart beat frantically when he lifted her on top of his chest. She pushed against him, trying to separate herself from him, but his arms tightened. Exasperated, she bit his lip.
Yelping like a pup, he let her go and pushed her off.
She rolled over to her side, precariously close to the edge, but he grabbed her arm just before she would have tumbled to the floor. He tugged her back to his side.
Ursula breathed hard. Should she seek help from Conn or settle this herself? Her adoptive father would never condone Alasdair’s actions. If she asked Conn, she was certain he’d boot Alasdair’s arse out.
Turning to look at her and rubbing his lip he said, “You must have a price.”
He’d ignored everything she’d said.
All right, if he was going to be pigheaded and obstinate, she could, too.
“The Faery Flag. That is my price.” Why had she said that? She’d planned to tell him why she would never agree.
He was silent.
She closed her eyes and tried to focus in on his thoughts.
Was he considering her offer?
Ursula had always assumed she was barren and had given up on the idea of having children after watching too many women die in childbirth while helping her mother, where she’d learned her craft. For every birth she’d assisted, she’d felt the pain, but she’d never realized the joy. For the babes were never hers.
’Twould be sweet retribution if she was given the flag but could not produce an heir. Would he hold the flag hostage until he could see proof? She needed the flag for Fyvie.
“You ask for too much,” he said softly. She was shocked he was even considering her request. His thoughts were not clear to her, but she could read the agitation on his face.
“You do nae believe what you asked of me is too much?”
Alasdair was quiet again. She opened her eyes and watched his chest rise and fall, wondering what it would be like to wake up with him every morning. She shook that idea out of her thoughts. That wasn’t going to be, regardless of his decision.
“You are a fine woman, Ursula, and I do nae mean to dismiss your value when I ask you to consider joining with me to produce a legacy for my clan.”
Ursula’s heart softened, and she sighed inwardly. Creating a legacy for his clan was more palatable than producing an heir under his command.
“If you had put it that way first . . .” She paused.
“You would have said yes right away and told me the honor would be enough,” he said, turning his head toward her with a hopeful look and eyebrows raised.
She burst out laughing. He was so incorrigible. She waited for him to speak again, but when he didn’t, and all that returned was his steady breathing, she went on.
“’Tis nae that I want the Faery Flag for myself, or for the glory of the having captured the secret of Skye Isle. It is to protect those who have become my family.” She choked on the emotion building in her throat. “Rival clans are uprising in Aberdeenshire.” She took in a shaky breath. “My sister of the heart is pregnant with twins and trying to rule with her half-English husband.”
When Alasdair’s face twisted into a confused expression, she held up her hand. “’Tis another story that, but I have promised not only to bring back the flower to save my friend, I have also pledged to bring back the flag to save them all,” she said with a confidence as if it was possible.
Alasdair bolted upright.
Was he angry with what she’d just confessed?
He was still in his kilt, his boots dangling over the edge of the bed. She stared at the maimed mass of muscle on his back and upper right shoulder. Until now, he’d kept it hidden from her. Even last night, he would not let her examine it when she’d asked.
Alasdair glanced at her over the scarred shoulder with a pained expression, as if her gaze upon him caused him discomfort.
When his eyes darted away, Ursula sat up and reached under her skirt for the pouch of healing ointments she always had tucked in the sewn-in compartment. She sensed a force more powerful than their own will guiding her.
With a vial of oil in one hand, Ursula moved closer and climbed over one of Alasdair thighs as he sat at the edge of the bed. She balanced herself there while she carefully removed the top of the container, spilled some of the oil into her palm, and then put the remedy aside.
“Close your eyes,” Ursula instructed, releasing a ragged sigh. There was a familiarity from last night, but that had been different. He had guided her actions, and she had pleased him.
If it not for that time together, though, Ursula wouldn’t have the courage to be this close to him now, gazing into his handsome face with his high, proud brow.
Taking a deep breath to stop herself from trembling, she said, “Let me do what I was born to do.”
And with that, she leaned into his chest, resting her chin on his left shoulder, then reaching across the expanse of his broad back, she began to rub the light ointment onto Alasdair’s scar.
With her eyes closed and all her focus on that spot, she went into a trance-like state.
Soon Ursula was in the pandemonium of the battlefield, Alasdair’s enemies killing men he loved. Clansmen bloodied on the ground around him, childhood friends. She could stand witness to it.
Looking into the eyes of the man who had maimed him, Ursula cringed when the axe came down on his shoulder. The grimness and the gore.
But as she manipulated her fingers in
to the seam of Alasdair’s mended wound, she massaged deeply, reaching beyond the severed muscles and skin that had healed on the outside to his emotional scars buried beneath.
As Ursula worked, she imagined she had found Alasdair’s untreated insecurities and shame buried in the deeper recesses of his physical wound.
There, she began to stitch together the ragged edges of his feelings. To mend the emotional wound and give Alasdair a chance to redeem his pride.
Ursula had been so focused on her work she’d tuned out Alasdair’s aggravated groans. But as she was finishing her healing treatment, she noticed the moaning had taken on a very different sound. Evidently, Alasdair was not only getting relief, he was getting aroused. She could not ignore his manhood rising next to her thigh, pushing up his kilt.
The image almost made her laugh, but it also made her realize how much she wanted Alasdair MacLeod. Her selfless nature had all but snuffed out any feelings brewing inside.
Ursula’s massaging hand slowed to a stop when she leaned back and her gaze met his. She could almost feel the heat radiating from the center of his dark-hazel eyes.
Alasdair leaned into her, and his lips captured her breath, then stole it.
Her mind spun. She wanted more of him. Flag or heir, neither was important now. They had crossed into a new realm of understanding.
Alasdair groaned into the kiss. A passionate, prisoner-takes-all kiss. She abandoned her inhibitions as she gave in to his spellbinding touch.
Now it was her turn to groan. She stretched her neck and arched her back with a sweet sound of approval.
Alasdair lifted her up into his arms, cradling her like a babe. He turned around from where he stood and carefully laid her on the satin pillows before he climbed onto the bed beside her.
How was it she had brought this man to bed again so soon? This time he had not mentioned the herbs, nor their effect on him as an excuse for his actions, which made her wonder if they’d ever had any power over him at all.
The Secret of Skye Isle Page 17