“James, you do realize you would control the estate that includes Chattan Castle and the farms Chattan oversaw?”
James’s own lands stretched as far north as Inverness and as far east as the Cairngorm Mountains, and while these acquisitions were valuable, were they worth the personal sacrifice?
Why couldn’t Calum see ’twas impossible? It would be easy to marry someone local and ignore the affairs of their nation, but he could not. His influence was great enough that if he were to back the Stewart, others would follow, yet it was a delicate operation which took time and patience.
“Aye, but at what cost?”
His exasperated retort was enough to quell Calum long enough to provide an opportunity for escape. He descended the winding staircase of the west tower and strode through the tapestry-covered hallway toward the main entrance. These hangings also depicted various individuals in their moment of defeat. He glared at them. Damn them all!
James strode toward the stables where Arion waited. Urging the great white horse from his stall, he mounted the beast and tore off across the barren expanse outside the thick walls of the bailey, his teeth bared and his jaw set. Before long, they were enveloped in dense forest.
He rode hard for about an hour along the beaten road passing verdant, rolling farmland until he stopped near a small loch. The sun broke through the clouds and daytime stars twinkled on its flat surface. Shady trees clung together on one side while the other spread out into a green carpet forming a large field. These lush surroundings weren’t far from Chattan lands. He dismounted and walked Arion over to a small babbling stream for a well-deserved drink, patting the horse’s thick neck.
The cool air helped. Refusing Chattan’s proposal should have been easy, yet he couldn’t without revealing his larger plan. His neighbours would never support him outright. No, he must stay the course and allow them to follow his lead over time. If Scotland were to survive as a thriving, independent state, she must unify, in every sense of the word, and the one man who had the drive and intelligence to make that happen was the Stewart king.
James remounted Arion and headed to Chattan Castle where he would put an end to this ridiculous arrangement once and for all.
* * *
Aileana paced. Something was wrong with Gawain and wondering about it was exhausting. He’d disappeared straight after the burial and she hadn’t seen him since. Normally, he greeted her each morning without fail, but today he was nowhere to be found.
Since her uncle’s death, Gawain had been short tempered with many servants, including this morning at sunrise when he’d pitched into Andrews for questioning him on his whereabouts the previous evening. When Andrews reported this to her she was quick to defend, but did Gawain deserve her faith?
She jumped when Gwen cleared her throat from the doorway of the great hall.
“What!” Aileana hadn’t meant to snap.
Gwen smiled. “I apologize for interrupting you, my lady, but I was wondering if you would care to break your fast?”
“Oh Gwen, I am so sorry. Please forgive my rudeness.”
“No need to apologize, my lady,” Gwen smiled. “You’ve been through a great ordeal. Would you like some bread and mead?”
Gwen didn’t deserve Aileana’s frustration, she was ever the comforter. The woman could ease tension out of stone with one of those smiles. What Aileana needed wasn’t nourishment or to remain cooped up inside the cheerless walls of the castle.
“Thank you, no. I believe I shall walk for a time and collect wildflowers.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’m overdue for fresh air and I see the cowslip are wilting. Heaven knows we need all the peace and tranquility we can acquire from their energy these days.” Aileana walked past Gwen and squeezed her hand.
“An excellent choice, my lady,” Gwen grinned.
“You have taught me well.” Aileana smiled back. Gwen was a practicing pagan as were many others at the castle. Aileana herself was a Catholic Christian, however, under the kind-hearted guidance of Father Addison, she’d been taught tolerance. There were times, she feared, she and he were in the minority in this world.
Gwen fetched Aileana’s blue cloak and draped it over her shoulders. The air was warm enough to leave her hair uncovered so she let her long blonde curls hang loose across her back. She replaced her soft-soled slippers with hard, leather shoes better suited for the outdoors and left Chattan Castle.
The early morning mist was refreshing as she walked along the well-beaten road leading north toward Inverness. The fog lifted just enough to expose the stunning landscape. Out here, with the rolling green hills and explosions of colour, she could spread her arms wide and feel free from the pain gripping her. The tightness in her chest eased. In the distance, the sharp mountain peaks protruded from the crawling mist towards the blue sky. The day would be lovely when the fog burned off.
Aileana reached the crossroads and turned right, following a smaller path leading east. Thick brush and oak trees framed the path, often giving way to vast farmlands that lay beyond. Littered here and there were bluebells, lady fingers, and cowslip. She knelt to collect some, pausing to inhale their sweet scent.
The flowers brought back memories of the many times her uncle had brought them to her. Widowed and with no children of his own, he took guardianship of Aileana after her father’s death and came to love and treat her as if she were his own. All these years, they had only each other and she was lost without him.
Her hair prickled at her nape. She stepped onto the road and looked both ways, her arms full of flowers. The thunder of hooves reached her ears at about the same time her peripheral vision caught a flash of something white and very large coming around the bend just ahead. She leapt out of the way to avoid being trampled, landing on her backside. She strained her neck and viewed the largest horse she’d ever seen. The dense fog had prevented her from seeing the horse or its rider approaching at top speed. She was lucky to have avoided serious injury.
Aileana’s heart raced. She should have known better than to walk alone, considering all the recent raids. Was the rider friend or foe? She recognized a small path across the road. If she could get around the giant beast before the rider saw her, she could slip through the trees undetected.
Within a split second, however, the rider dismounted and held out his large hand. His deep chuckle made her cheeks burn.
“I’m sorry, lass. I didn’t expect to see anyone out at this hour, nor this far from any dwelling.”
The tall man took in her appearance, his sweeping glance resting on the embroidered stitching of her low neckline. His gaze lingered there before travelling up her throat. She held her breath as his eyes trailed over her body.
“You can ride with me if you like.” His husky voice conjured images of silk sweeping across her flesh.
She was entranced by the sight of him. Thick muscles flexed beneath a dark leather jerkin which ended just above his knee and was secured at his waist with a broad belt. In his current position, she could see his thigh muscle tense and her face grew hotter. His plaid covered one shoulder and ran underneath his sword arm secured by a large silver brooch offset with rubies and centred with a wildcat.
MacIntosh.
They supported the king. It wasn’t well known, but Uncle had speculated to those he trusted. Anyone who supported a man who pawned his people like cattle for his personal gain was no friend of hers.
It was clear from his inappropriate suggestion, she was better off not knowing him. He was no gentleman, despite his expensive accessory and giant horse. No decent man would speak that way to a lady. Couldn’t he tell by the way she was dressed that she was no common wench? Then again, it would not matter to this base sort of man. Either way, without a chaperone, she was not about to remain in his company for one more second. His hand hung in mid-air, but she ignored it, hoisting herself instead off the cold ground.
She mustered the most authoritative voice she could. “No thank you.” Aileana lifted her chin and walked
away.
“Wait lass. I’m sorry to have startled you. What are you called?”
Aileana turned on her heel intent to put this rogue in his place and ran into his chest. She gasped. The thick, rich scent of leather enveloped her, sending an unexpected shiver down her spine. She stumbled, but he was quick enough to catch her by the arms before she fell. Her hands splayed flat against his chest. Bulging muscles underneath his jerkin begged her fingers to stroke their curve.
His bright green eyes bore into hers. While his long brown hair was tied at his nape, a few strands had broken free and fell loose across his face. She fought the irresistible urge to reach up and tuck them behind his ear.
“Who are you?”
His deep voice was warm honey on her flesh. He smelled of sweet ale and she was transfixed by his mouth which curved in all the right ways.
“Perhaps you’re a faerie come to steal me away.”
His raspy voice made her skin tingle.
“Good sir—”
“I bet you taste as delicious as you smell.”
Aileana pushed against his chest. He pushed back. The stranger pulled her forward, his mouth now no more than an inch from hers. His hard body pressed against hers, spreading heat to her very core.
His fingers brushed the side of her mouth and his lips parted. Her knees trembled. His intent was clear and their proximity was inappropriate.
Panic hit her hard.
She twisted free from his grasp and dashed through the brush. She didn’t look back until she was sure he wasn’t following. Scanning her surroundings, she spied a more defined trail that would lead her to Chattan Castle without having to cross the main road again.
Aileana slowed her pace and drew a steadying breath. Who was that man and why had she let him hold her? She should have backed off upon his approach. Had he really meant to kiss her? A few more deep breaths slowed her heartbeat enough so that when she turned towards the main lane, leading up to Chattan grounds, she was calmer. But only a little. Her home was a welcome sight.
Chapter Three
Chattan Castle was small, but many considered it one of the most beautiful in the shire and Aileana took great pride in overseeing its upkeep. The path to the castle’s entrance was bordered with beautiful flowers and shrubs of all sizes and colours. She bent low to inspect the budding azaleas and remembered the lost bounty of wild flowers still scattered along the road.
She should go back to collect them. Then again, she would not risk running into that rascal again.
“Damned MacIntosh.” Aileana was not one to mutter under her breath, but the man had unraveled her.
“M’lady? I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” Hurst, her gardener, poked his head up from the brush.
Aileana jumped.
“Hurst. I’m sorry. I did not see you either.” Her voice squeaked. She smoothed her skirts. “Tell me, will our garden reach its usual potential this year?”
“Ahh, m’lady, you’ll be pleased when the azaleas are in full bloom. The bluebells and hawthorn are coming along and I believe your new roses will be in fine form before long.”
Her uncle had no time for planning combinations of colours and style of flowers, but Hurst was just as enthusiastic as she. When she was but eight summers, she and Hurst had designed the entire front garden and many travellers to this part of the country often stopped by to view the acclaimed Chattan grounds. It gave her something to focus on after her father’s death. Aileana’s responsibilities within the walls of the castle kept her from spending much time in her garden in recent years; however, she loved the brief visits she managed.
“Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure, m’lady. Agnes and I are broken-hearted over the laird. You’ll call on us if you need anything.”
She could call on them and countless others at any time. She needed to reassure them they could rely on her for the same. Without knowing it, he’d reminded her of her purpose - them. Whether clansmen from the village or former nobility like Gwen, they all needed her protection. No matter what became of her, she would not let them down. She must find Gawain and set their betrothal in motion.
Aileana nodded and continued on to the castle. The smell of cooking meat met her as she entered the keep, sparking her hunger for the first time in days. Gwen met her in the great hall and took her cloak as Aileana sat near the hearth. The maid stared at her for a moment before she left the room. Gwen returned a short time later with a trencher of cheese, meats, and bread which she placed on a side table.
Gwen’s brow was knit and she chewed on her bottom lip. “Are you certain you won’t take your meal in the dining hall?”
“Not today.” It was the same response she’d given every day since Uncle Iain had died. They shared their meals in that room and she could not yet bring herself to do so alone.
Aileana ate in silence while Gwen stared at her.
“Is something wrong?” Aileana asked.
“Your cheeks have more colour. You look well this morn.”
Aileana remembered the man on the road and her face grew warm. There was no way Gwen could know of her encounter. “I had an invigorating walk.”
“Aye. Walking can do that.” Gwen didn’t leave or change her curious expression.
“Was there anything else, Gwen?”
“Nothing else, my lady.”
Yet, she didn’t move from her spot. The maid was lying through her teeth, but Aileana was too hungry to care. Gwen never did or said anything without reason and was too sharp for her own good.
“Pardon me, m’lady, but you are requested in the solar.” Colleen, the newest maid, wrung her hands. Gawain must be there and ready to talk. She stood while Gwen smoothed her dress and raked expert fingers through her wind kissed tresses.
“May I be of assistance?” Gwen asked, her expression full of concern.
“Aye, please bring refreshments to the solar. I’m certain Gawain will appreciate the offering, considering his early rise this morning.”
Gwen pursed her lips, but she did not say anything. Good. This was nerve racking enough without anyone adding to her trepidation. Though she had no reason to be nervous, Gwen’s frown unsettled her.
Aileana took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as she walked through the stone hallway to the solar. Her uncle had loved this room and furnished it to include the cushioned bench beside the fireplace. She frowned, realizing she would never spend another evening there reading to him. Aileana put the dismal thought away as she reached out to grasp the flat metal latch on the door. Her future lay behind it.
She hesitated and smoothed her pale blue dress again; hoping Gawain would be pleased by her appearance. Regardless of his reserved ways, they needed to address this marriage and his usual tight-lipped manner would not do. Perhaps with no one else around, he would engage in an actual conversation for once. Her life would be much easier if he would just tell her what he wanted instead of shutting her out.
Picturing him, she lifted the latch. She pushed on the door with a smile on her face and an appropriate greeting ready.
The heavy door arced across the floor quieter than a whisper. Aileana scanned the room. At first it looked empty, but she soon saw him sitting in her uncle’s chair behind his writing desk with his back to the door. He twirled what looked like a letter between his fingers. One leg was half slung over the other and the sight of a thick calf muscle surprised her. Didn’t Gawain pad his leg irons?
He seemed quite relaxed. Something wasn’t right.
Her heart beat a little faster as she crossed the threshold and crept further into the room to catch a better view of the lower half of his body. Woollen plaid covered a dark leather jerkin. A wave of nausea washed over her as she inched closer. Her eyes trailed up his torso where the plaid swept over a thick shoulder then disappeared behind brown hair.
She tripped on a chair, out of place in the centre of the room, and cursed to herself when the sound alerted him to her presence. She froze as
his head turned and green eyes met hers. Her mouth dropped. It was not possible! What was he doing here?
The man pushed back the chair. The sharp scrape of wood across stone echoed and sent a hundred butterflies loose in her gut. He turned toward her and stepped around the writing desk. She should flee, but could not uproot herself. His intent gaze pinned her. When he was near enough that she could have reached out to touch him, he held out a piece of folded parchment. She wanted to hide from him, from herself, from anything that would remind her how unhinged he made her.
He placed the letter in her hand and she looked down. Her clan crest was stamped in red wax. The seal was unmistakable. She placed her thumbs on either side of it and pressed, the soft crack echoing in the silent room. He stood so close, sending every nerve in her body on end. His leather scent filled her senses again, feeding her urge to slip into his arms.
She must get a hold of her scattered wits.
Her hands shook as she unfolded the letter and recognized her uncle’s scripted hand. A stabbing pain tore into her chest. How many letters had he sent her over the years when travelling? This would be the last one she ever read. She registered the stranger guiding her to a chair.
Through misty eyes she began. The first words were of a formal nature listing her uncle’s full title, properties and other assets, none of which were a surprise, but the last paragraph forced her breath to catch in her throat.
Upon her eighteenth birthday, my niece, Aileana Chattan, shall enter into a three month betrothal contract with James MacIntosh, Chief of the MacIntosh Clan of Inverness-shire. Upon their marriage, the Chattan Clan will fall under the protection of that Chief. In the event of my death before her eighteenth birthday, their betrothal must occur without delay.
Bound to the Highlander (The Highland Chiefs Series) Page 3