by Quinn, Paula
“I guess we shall never know, my friend. John is dead, And I have a ship waiting.”
“Curse those heathens,” Mathe said. “Blast that damned vessel—may it crash and sink on the first wind—ye with it, if ye dare abandon us again.”
Alex’s hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword. “If ye weren’t a trusted kinsman…”
“What?” Mathe shot up from his chair. “Tell me.”
“I’d drive my blade through yer gullet.”
“Ye speak against yerself, Laird Alex.”
“How?” He locked gazes with his formidable cousin.
“My words should mean nothing if ye doona have interest in this clan’s future success.”
“If I dinna care, old man, I wouldna be here.”
“Good.” Mathe reclaimed his seat. “Have the heathen ways so polluted yer Christian heart?”
Alex relaxed his stance, removing his hand from his sword. “Depends on the man asking.”
Mathe arched his brows. Everyone in the room knew him to be a devout follower of God. Nothing could tempt him away from his steadfast faith, like nothing could force Alex back into it.
“What happened in the desert, Alex? Why do ye shun yer responsibilities so easily?” Jamie asked.
Nothing bad had happened. He’d welcomed the change, perhaps too eagerly, shedding his tartan like a viper shed its skin. “Stop the asking.”
“Is it the lass?” Mathe pressed.
“Return her to Laird Oliphant. He’ll see her punished and wed to the type of man who will lock her up so ye never have to set eyes upon her again,” another council member offered.
The idea of another man touching Keely, bedding her, and filling her belly with his unborn babe made Alex angry. Though he despised the lass for what she’d done, he couldna abide the thought of her being married off to a stranger. But that’s what would happen if he sent her home. No father would keep a daughter that brought shame to her family and clan. Keely had done so by seeking refuge with the Sutherlands.
His only recourse was to find a MacKay to marry her. “The lass isna going home.”
“What?” Mathe asked.
“Ye heard me.”
Jamie pretended to clear his ears of something. “But I dinna.”
Alex met his cousin’s hard stare. “Aye, ye did.”
“The MacKays need an heir,” Mathe said. “And though the lass is treacherous by nature, she is young and beautiful–perhaps worth keeping.”
Alex’s jaw clenched instantly. Just because he refused to let her go dinna mean he wanted her for himself. “I doona need ye to play matchmaker for me.” He shook his head at Mathe. “In order to right the dishonor she brought on this clan, Keely must be married to a MacKay. A man up to the challenge of bedding the wench.” Alex turned his attention on young Jamie. “One with plenty of experience where women are concerned. One who can guarantee Keely won’t want to escape their bedchamber.”
The council members chuckled, except for Jamie.
“My brother, God keep him, was not the sort to cavort with women out of wedlock. His inexperience dinna help where Keely was concerned. She’s a spirited lass.” Spirited. Passionate. Beautiful. And a damned liar.
“God bless, Laird John.” Mathe crossed himself, his sadness palpable.
“Aye.” Jamie crossed himself, too.
“Before I had a chance to suggest what man I thought should be the next laird, ye elected me.”
“Yer dissention doesna matter, Laird Alex. Ye canna undo what has already been decided. And we’ve all taken the knee—pledging our allegiance to ye.”
Alex’s gaze slowly crept over the four men at the table. Each nodded in agreeance. Curse his misfortune. But, there was another solution, one that crossed his mind out of desperation. His family’s branch of the MacKays was one of several independent clans. If the council voted to dissolve their branch and joined forces with the main clan, the Sutherlands wouldn’t be so quick to attack again.
Or, as laird, he alone could make that choice. But something so underhanded would count as the ultimate betrayal. As much as he dinna want to be laird, he would never deceive his kinsmen. “There is another choice.”
Mathe studied him suspiciously, and Jamie just gaped at him.
“What are ye suggesting?” Mathe queried.
“Join forces with a larger branch of the MacKays.”
The room grew silent, and Alex knew the answer—they wouldn’t do it.
“Yer sire would be ashamed of ye!” Mathe chastised him. “Give up our lands, our independence? For what? To become the chattel of a stranger?”
His brother had said something similar when they’d met on the beach. “I could negotiate the terms, assure that ye and the other captains retain yer positions and wealth.”
“Cuimhnich air na daoine às an tàinig u.” Mathe shook his head in disgust.
Alex remembered well enough who he came from and dinna need the captain to tell him so. “I am my sire’s son, make no mistake, Mathe. But I am a man without roots—and in good conscience, canna claim what rightfully belongs to another.”
Mathe cast his gaze downward, his expression one of deep disappointment.
Diplomacy wasn’t a gift Alex possessed. He always spoke bluntly, preferring truth over softening the blow of what he had to say. “If ye willna join forces with another clan, then elect Jamie as the new laird.”
“Jamie, Graham, and Dag, will ye give me time alone with Alexander?” Mathe asked.
The council members dinna need any encouragement to take their leave. One by one, they exited the solar, avoiding Alex. Once the door closed, Mathe turned to Alex.
“I dinna know what happened to ye during yer travels. Maybe ye’ve shed too much blood, killed too many men and fooked too many women to know the difference between right or wrong. But I will tell ye now, whether ye wish to hear it or not, if ye abandon us again, it will destroy any hope yer people have for a secure future.”
Alex walked to the closest wall and rested his forehead against the rough, gray stones. “My father loved ye.”
“Aye,” Mathe said. “And he loved ye—more than ye know.”
Alex grunted in doubt. “My sire dinna know me.”
“Ye’re wrong, Alex. The day he realized ye weren’t coming back, it broke his heart. And John’s, too.”
His last claim made Alex whip around. “Doona lie to me.”
“Lie?” Mathe stood up and walked around the table. “Gaze upon these ancient stones, lad. Imagine how many generations of MacKays have stood in this same chamber revealing secrets unknown to the clan. If these stones could talk, what do ye think they’d say?”
Alex ran his fingers over the wall, in awe of the men who had cut the rocks so perfectly, then fit them together to form the great keep that had provided shelter for his family for seven generations. “I doona ken.”
“Clean the sand from yer ears, boy, and listen to me. See with yer heart, not yer eyes alone. Ye fear the unknown, nothing more. If ye truly wanted to go, ye would have never raised the sword in defense of our clan against the Sutherlands. And that woman—Keely Oliphant—she wouldna be here, either. Ye’re afraid of what the future holds—yet willing to hold on to the past.”
Alex was silent for a moment. “Ye’re a fool.”
“Nay. I’m a MacKay.” Mathe thumped his chest. “And so are ye.”
“Not by choice.”
Mathe stood directly in front of him now, his eyes narrowed.
Alex’s heart hammered as Mathe gripped his shoulders. “I doona know what gods ye worshipped in the heathen lands—what men ye served, but ye’re here now. Called home by the Almighty. Dinna ye see that, lad?”
See what? The remnants of his father’s life that was unfairly cut short? Or his brother, Laird John, also known as Gentle John? What legacy would Alex leave behind if he were laird of the MacKays? None. Because Alex wasna meant to be laird. He was a ruthless mercenary interested in one thing—gold. �
��I told ye before, old man, I’m a sellsword, not a bloody laird.”
Mathe raised his hand and slapped Alex’s cheek. Shock and rage swirled within Alex’s gut. The lingering sting from Mathe’s calloused hand deepened his anger. Their gazes locked, and Alex beat back the urge to retaliate. No man, not even his sire, had ever assaulted him so shamelessly.
“I am prepared to die.” Mathe dropped to his knees and bowed his head, pulling the length of his gray-streaked hair to one side, revealing the back of his neck.
“Why did ye strike me?” Alex growled.
“I acted on behalf of yer da. For never has a son of the Highlands acted so wretchedly. Ye are a selfish, lad, Alexander Joseph MacKay. I’d rather die than live to see the day this clan is destroyed from the inside-out.”
Alex huffed out a frustrated breath. Curse his birthright. Damn the Highlands. And to Hades with the beautiful past that sat abovestairs awaiting word on her future life. “Keep yer head, old man.”
Alex pivoted, taking in the details of his father’s solar—the hearth and mantle, shelves packed tight with manuscripts, the wood benches, padded chairs from Italy, the weapons hanging on the wall, and his ma’s tapestries. Nothing had changed, only him. He strode to the door, forced it open, and headed out of the keep. The only cure for his rage? A heedless mount unafraid of galloping blindly across the rock-ridden terrain Alex once considered home.
Chapter Eight
“What do ye mean she willna come down for the evening meal?” Alex blinked in disbelief, wondering if Leah had misunderstood Keely. “Did ye relay my message word for word?”
“Aye, milord, I did.”
“Not forgetting the part about carrying her down if I must?”
“Aye, I was sure to say so.”
Alex couldna accept more disobedience. First his council, and now Keely. “Are ye laughing at me, Leah?”
“Never, Laird Alex.” She gave a quick curtsey. “Lady Keely gave a firm answer. She has requested that I bring a tray to her room.”
“Did she bathe?”
“Aye.”
“Pick a gown from the ones I sent?”
“Aye.”
“So, she is ready for supper?”
“I even dressed her hair.”
“Ye’re dismissed, Leah. Leave the lady’s food to me.” Alex stomped up the curved, narrow stairs. Keely had no right to defy him. Neither did Mathe or Jamie, or the other captains on the council, or his many cousins, warriors, tenants, servants, or any other bloody fool who drank his wine and gorged themselves from the meat set upon his table.
“And when did ye start referring to anything in this keep as yer own?” he asked himself.
Arriving at Keely’s doorway, he quickly waved the two guards away. “Rest for a bit. I will watch over Lady Keely.”
The men thanked him and bowed.
Once they were out of sight, Alex turned back to the arched door. His sire had commissioned a famous saor from France to craft it. A unicorn lying in a bed of grass and thistle graced the top. Clan MacKay was written in Gaelic, English, and French underneath the scenery. His ma had adored the unusual wedding gift. Alex shook his sentimental thoughts off, and banged on the polished wood. “Lady Keely.”
When no answer came, he knocked again.
“Who is at my door?” Keely finally called out. She pretended not to know who stood outside her chamber.
“Alexander.”
“Go away.”
He clenched his teeth. How long could he endure this torture? How long was he expected to swallow his pride while his inferiors took advantage of him? Aye, he’d been gone for too long and understood it would take time for the clan to respect his authority. But this woman—this she-devil, this hellion, she wasna part of his plan. In no way had he agreed to deal with Keely.
“Open the door, Keely.”
Footsteps sounded. “Ye commanded me to stay in this chamber, Alex. And that’s what I intend to do.”
“Ye’ll come when ye’re called, woman.”
“Like one of yer beasts? Perhaps ye would have more success with the hounds who lie underneath yer table.”
“God so help me, Keely…”
“Ye’re beyond redemption, Alexander. Remember? Doona call upon the Almighty for patience.”
Unable to abide her sharp tongue any longer, Alex forced his way inside, causing Keely to stumble back as he entered the chamber. “What are ye trying to hide?” he asked, gazing about the generous space. “There will be no more secrets between us, Keely.”
She tilted her head back defiantly, her blue eyes blazing like the fire in the hearth. “I demand my freedom. Send me home.”
“Ye are home. Or did ye forget those vows in the kirk? Where ye pledged yer heart and body to John. And absolute obedience to this clan.”
“In name only,” she shot back.
“Tis that name that binds ye to me. To this keep. To these lands. By law, ye are a MacKay. Not an Oliphant.”
She swallowed hard, carefully contemplating her retort. “I am more Sutherland than MacKay. For I’ve lived at the earl’s pleasure much longer than I ever lived by yers.”
He growled as he launched himself at her. Hearing those words come out of her lovely mouth made him crazy. A slap in the face or a punch in the gut would have been less painful. He backed her into the nearest wall, then took hold of her chin. “Are ye a Sutherland whore?”
Her eyes grew wide. “Never.”
“Are ye a Sutherland spy?”
“Nay.”
“Are ye betrothed to one of the earl’s sons?”
“How could I be? Until today, I was married to John.”
“Then ye are a MacKay.” He released her chin, but didn’t back away. “I forbid ye from ever speaking that name in my presence. Under this roof, even. For no lady promised to a MacKay will ever claim to be connected to the Sutherlands.”
She nodded in acquiescence, thinking better of challenging him again. “What did ye mean by, ‘I am promised to a MacKay’?”
“The council agreed unanimously that ye must wed a MacKay in order to maintain clan honor. Ye left John, Keely, but ye’ll not do it again. Whatever man is chosen, he won’t be an inexperienced lad or a monk like my departed brother. He’ll be a man. And ye better believe he’ll demand his marital rights—even if a room full of maids have to hold ye down for it.”
A garbled sound came out of her mouth as she pushed him away. “Get out!” she screamed.
“Aye,” he said, almost regretting he’d caused the agony on her beautiful face. “Take the night to come to terms with yer fate, lady. Come tomorrow, after my brother is buried, we shall revisit this conversation.”
*
Keely would pray fervently that Alex had the sense to see how wrong he was about everything. That he’d change his mind and send word to her father. She’d rather face her sire’s wrath than spend another day inside the MacKay keep. Sadness had been heaped upon her since the moment she’d crossed their border.
Stripping off the wool gown, she laid it over the back of a nearby chair, then sat on the edge of the mattress, drawing her knees to her chest. In a fairer world, she’d have the freedom to go where she wished. But such a life dinna exist. She could only fantasize about fulfilling her girlhood dream of travelling—visiting Italy and France, perhaps to the exotic places where Alex had lived for so long—where the sun kissed the sand.
Just then, she heard a bell ring from outdoors and rushed to the single, narrow window in her room. It was wide enough to see down to the bailey where a small crowd had gathered as a man dressed in a black tunic and breeches called out the name of her departed husband as he rang the hand bell.
“Our kindly Laird John Simon Alexander MacKay was taken too soon,” the man said. “On the morn, he will be laid to rest in the kirk…”
Keely backed away from the window, disliking what the mort bell represented. Evil spirits were warded off by its sound. Keely remembered the same ritual from her moth
er’s funeral. The bell used in her ma’s procession had been baptized by the priest. The bell ringer headed the long line of mourners that would walk the three miles to where her mother wished to be buried.
Returning to the bed, she crawled to the center, tired but unable to keep bittersweet memories from flooding her mind. The very night Laird John had been told Keely had accepted his offer for marriage. He requested an audience with her in the women’s solar, with only an elderly, deaf maid serving as chaperone.
“Why?” he’d asked. “Ye belong to Alex.”
“If ye think so,” Keely countered, “then why did ye ask me to marry ye?”
John rubbed his noble chin. Unlike his brother, John’s features were softer, his eyes deep set and compassionate. Aye, warmth radiated from his strong body, but not the heat of passion that affected Keely whenever she stood in front of Alex. This wouldna be a marriage built on lust or love, it would be one of respect and appreciation. She could live with that only if she dinna have to see Alex every day.
“Do ye always answer questions with questions?” he asked.
“Only if I seek my own answers.”
John chuckled. “Alexander failed to claim ye. How could any man resist ye, Keely?”
As she’d been told by John’s father, her future husband had no idea that his sire had arranged for Keely to marry his eldest son, not Alex. The MacKays and Oliphants wished to unite in blood—and power. They’d been at peace for generations, so it seemed the natural thing to do. Keely’s sire had sent a missive, demanding her obedience and absolute silence.
Alexander is young, her father had written, he’ll recover, as will ye once a bairn grows inside yer belly. Make me proud, daughter, and I’ll reward ye and yer husband.
There’d been no recourse, she was an only daughter with six brothers. It would serve her family best if she married the heir to the MacKay clan, not the second son.
“May I kiss ye, Keely?” John asked. “To seal our betrothal.”