by Paula Quinn
“I’m sorry, Alex. I dinna mean to dredge up old memories.”
He slowly smiled at her, chuckling sarcastically. “Nay? Yer return makes me doubt that very much.” She was a walking, talking bad memory, the kind that would crush a weaker man’s spirit. But Alex wasn’t defenseless anymore—that’s what he kept telling himself.
She fell silent and turned back to the hearth. “I doona blame ye for being suspicious. My heart is truly broken over everything that’s happened—especially John’s death.”
“Is it?” Why would she care whether his brother lived or died? Whether his clan thrived or failed? She fled Clan MacKay in the middle of the night, taking his heart and John’s with her.
“What do ye mean?”
“Are ye a spy for the Sutherlands?”
She squinted at him, her full lips forming a hard line. “The Earl of Sutherland is an intelligent man, Alex. Why would he send me to do his bidding when he has hundreds of men at his disposal?”
“I told ye I’d ask the questions, lass.”
“I remember.”
“It would serve ye best to listen.”
“Or what?” She stepped away from the hearth, eyeing him with cool interest.
“Are ye a spy?”
“Jesus have mercy…” She rolled her eyes. “I know I took ye by surprise. Imagine how I felt coming back here to speak with John and finding ye instead. Had I known ye were here, I would’ve stayed away.”
“The feelings are mutual, lass, believe me.”
“I am no spy, Alex. Just a woman who wishes to reunite with her family.”
Was she daft? If she wanted to go home, why’d she ride so far northwest? Her sire’s lands were in the opposite direction. “Did ye forget where yer da lives? Twould have been a much shorter journey to yer home.”
She huffed out a frustrated breath. “I am not stupid, Alex MacKay. And I have a keen sense of direction. My intention was to gain John’s forgiveness first, and maybe even an annulment before I faced my father.”
“Annulment?” So she could reclaim her life and find happiness with another man? He strode across the room, angry that she’d even suggest it. “John wouldna have agreed to such an arrangement. The MacKay’s are a proud clan, Keely.”
“Annulments are common enough.”
“Not to the MacKay’s.”
“I doona understand?”
Alex stared at the woman like he’d never met her before. “An annulment suggests failure, Keely.”
“My failure, not John’s.”
“Spoken like a woman who doesna understand what a man is made of—what drives him.”
Keely blinked at him. “Aye, I understand. Ye call it pride and honor, but I consider it pigheadedness.”
Alex pumped his hands closed several times, hoping to alleviate some of the building pressure in his chest. The she-devil had openly insulted him. “Pigheadedness?” he repeated as he stepped even closer to her. “Ye destroyed John’s life.”
“Aye, I played a part in his misfortune, but so did ye.”
Almost forehead to forehead, he gazed down at her, not missing the spark of anger in her fathomless eyes or the soft fragrance in her hair. Keely Oliphant might represent everything he wanted to forget, but she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Which only made his rage run that much hotter, for she once belonged to him. “Be careful where ye point yer finger, lass. I played no part in yer deception. If anything, I am the unluckiest of all. Ye promised yerself to me, then went behind my back and accepted my brother’s offer for marriage.”
“We were young,” she said.
“Ye were wanton, Keely. Ready to surrender that maidenhead to me.” He reached for her hands and she flinched. Why? In his experience, women who winced like that were victims of abuse. Has someone hurt her? Regardless, he pulled the twine off, freeing her. “Ye were mine.”
She retreated a step, rubbing her wrists. “I belong to no man.”
“Every female on God’s green earth belongs to a man, lass. Whether her sire or husband, brother or uncle, doesna matter.”
Very slowly she raised her head and met his gaze. “What do ye want from me, Alex?”
Alex curled his fingers under her stubborn chin, turning her face side to side. “I doona know yet, lass. But until I do, ye’re to stay here.” Satisfied he’d made his wish clear, he turned on his heel and headed for the door.
“Alex?” she called.
He dinna stop until he was in the hallway with the door shut. Curse God for bringing her back into his life. In the short amount of time he’d been back in the Highlands, everything that had happened gave him every reason to want to leave. He only needed to ride for the beach where his ship waited to take him home. Twenty of his best warriors were with him, men who had pledged their allegiance to him in Constantinople. Men he trusted more than anyone.
He closed his eyes and imagined he was back in the desert, riding one of his stallions through the endless sand dunes, nothing on his mind but speed and freedom. That world seemed more like a fantasy now. “Damn this place.” He stormed off, ready to drink himself into oblivion.
Chapter Six
After a short time, hoping Alex had other duties to attend to and was gone, Keely risked opening the door to her chamber. There was so much commotion going on belowstairs, she hoped to slip away unnoticed. After all, she’d done so before, in the middle of a wedding feast. No one wanted her here. If someone did see her, why would they alert the guards? The sooner she left, the better for Clan MacKay.
But much to her disappointment, two guards were posted in the corridor.
“Lady Keely,” one said. “What do ye need?”
“I-I…” she struggled for an excuse. “Food. Water for a bath. Please.”
“Laird MacKay has already seen to yer comfort, milady. A lass from the kitchens will be here shortly.”
“Thank ye,” she said, braving a step into the passageway.
“I’m under strict orders to keep ye in the chamber. Please doona make any trouble.”
“Trouble?” she arched her eyebrows, not understanding why this stranger would believe she’d cause any problems. “What has Alex told ye? Do ye have a name?”
“Craig MacKay.”
“Tis good to meet ye, Craig. And yer friend?”
The other soldier frowned at Keely. “Cavas.”
“Cavas?” she asked curiously. “Tis an Irish name, is it not?’
“Aye,” the guard confirmed. “My mother is a MacKay, my sire, a MacMurra.”
“Would ye deny a lass a bit of fresh air?”
Cavas shook his head. “Ye’ve had plenty of air from what I’ve heard, Lady Keely. Tis better to keep to yer room until the laird says otherwise.” The young guard gestured for Keely to return to her bedchamber. “If ye require anything, doona hesitate to ask.”
Cavas was bolder and less congenial than his cohort. Convincing him to turn a blind eye while she ran away would be near impossible. “I require use of the privy.” Perhaps she could kick out the back wall and escape. Or she’d feign illness and linger in the privy for hours until the guards gave up and went for help. Anything was better than passing time alone in the bedchamber that used to be occupied by Alex’s mother.
Though Keely wasn’t superstitious by nature, even she could feel a presence in the room. Good or evil, she couldn’t say. But there was something or someone there, and she preferred not to find out.
“The laird had the good sense to foresee such a request,” Craig said. “See, milady?”
He picked something up off the floor and then offered it to Keely.
She stared at the bronze chamber pot. “Alex is a considerate man,” she said severely, her hope of escape shrinking by the moment. “What about my bags?”
“Aye,” Craig said. “I am to tell ye that a maid will attend to yer things as soon as possible.”
“Very well.” She withdrew inside the bedchamber, and Cavas gave her a triumphant loo
k as he closed the heavy wood door. Though it hadn’t been barred from the outside, Keely knew she was a prisoner, not a guest. At least in the dungeon the darkness shrouded her from the humiliation she experienced whenever a MacKay stared at her in judgement.
As for the general discomfort of the room, her gaze zigzagged from the bed to the hearth, the padded chairs in front of it, to the dressing table in the corner, the narrow window on the far wall, to the high ceiling, where someone had lovingly painted colorful flowers and the sun. It felt strange, as if she was intruding on someone’s privacy. “I doona want to be here,” she whispered. “And if ye’re here, whoever it be, could ye kindly tell the Lord all I wish for is freedom.”
Nothing stirred, and Keely took a deep breath, relieved and surprised by the ridiculous fear inside her. Spirits were for children to believe in, not grown women, and surely not the educated daughter of a laird. She claimed one of the chairs in front of the fire, tucking her legs underneath her gown, letting the heat melt away her disappointment.
Perhaps God had put her here for a reason. To help Alex, to aid Clan MacKay. Their greatest enemy had provided food and shelter for her—asking little in return. Only that she provided companionship for her dearest friend, Helen Sutherland, and to sometimes pay special attention to Earl Sutherland’s illegitimate son, Struan.
Struan remained ever respectful, but his eyes told a different story. The thought sent a chill spiraling down Keely’s spine. The man had a way with words, could soothe the wildest mare, even quiet a crying child. But when Keely had been alone with him, their conversation more personal, more honest, she’d sensed the restlessness inside him, seen the resentment on his face. Struan Sutherland did not like living between two worlds.
His father, the earl, had seduced Struan’s much younger mother, a visiting, distant cousin. After she died on her birthing bed, the earl had taken pity on his helpless son, claiming him—gifting him with the Sutherland name. But that rare mercy had cost Struan. As a nameless bastard, little would have been expected of him. But as a true son of the earl, though he would never inherit a title, he was expected to serve his father as loyally as his other two, legitimate sons.
It left Struan wanting more, and Keely had involuntarily become his confidant, often left for hours in the great hall listening to his secrets.
Why she was so focused on Struan she couldn’t say. Only that she’d grown accustomed to his presence every day, and now that she was alone and surrounded by silence, it made her regret ever leaving Dunrobin Castle. For she truly missed Helen. And the earl had treated her as his own daughter.
But in the aftermath of the destruction of the MacKay village, the memory of the burned-out cottages, the smell of ash, and the eerie absence of people and livestock, forced her to reconsider her purpose with the Sutherlands. Just why had the laird taken her in? Why had he forbidden her from communicating with her father and clan? Why had he refused to send word to John MacKay?
The fact that she was questioning herself so critically, only lent value to Alex’s suspicion. He had every reason to suspect her of spying. And the only way out of this keep was convincing him she wasn’t acting on behalf of the earl.
A knock on the door startled Keely. She sprang up from the comfortable chair. “Come in.”
The door opened, and a pretty, blond-haired maid came inside with a tray. “Lady Keely.” She did a half curtsy, then rushed to the table, setting the tray down. “My name is Leah.”
“Thank ye for the food, Leah.” Keely smiled.
“Laird MacKay asked me to serve as yer maid.”
“Did he?”
“Aye. Though my mother isna too pleased by it, tis my decision to make.”
How would the other women treat Leah for daring to serve an outcast? “If ye change yer mind, I’d understand. I doona wish for anyone to suffer because I’m here.”
Leah clicked her tongue. “Tis the older women who gossip the most.”
“Aye,” Keely acknowledged. “They’ve lived through unspeakable suffering. Today only serves as a bitter reminder of the past.”
“Is it true, milady?”
Keely snorted at the girl’s lack of manners, appreciating her unbridled curiosity. “What exactly are ye asking?”
“I am sorry.” Leah bowed her head.
“Doona apologize, Leah. Ask what ye will.”
Their gazes met, and Leah nodded. “Ye loved Alex but married Laird John?”
The girl reminded Keely so much of herself when she was but sixteen. “How old are ye, Leah?”
“Seventeen.”
“So very young,” Keely said.
“But ye are not much older, milady.”
“Perhaps not,” Keely said, “but I feel verra old today.”
“Ye’re tired, milady. In need of food and rest.”
“It will be verra hard to sleep after everything that happened…”
“Ye mean Angus’s death? Doona fash over that man,” Leah said. “He had a violent nature, always quick to anger—cruel to his wife and son.”
A new wave of sadness washed over Keely. “So I made a woman a widow and left her son fatherless?” Sinking onto a bench, Keely covered her face with both hands and took a shaky breath. “Is there no end to the bloodshed today?”
Keely heard the maid pour something into a cup, then she padded over to where Keely sat. “Some wine?”
Keely gazed up at her. “Thank ye.”
“Tis not yer fault, milady. Mary MacKay would praise ye for freeing her of such a husband if she could. He cared nothing for his family, often leaving them hungry and cold. Because of ye, in a few months, I am sure she will marry again.”
“How can ye be so sure?” Keely sipped her wine, savoring the full flavor, eager for the numbness it would bring.
“Though Mary does nothing unseemly, tis no secret she an Neil MacKay, one of Laird John’s captains, are in love.”
“Would Laird John have approved of the match?”
“Aye.”
“Then I shall quietly consider it a blessing for Mary and her son.”
“Ye’re nothing like the women said,” Leah observed.
“Nay?”
“Ye’re kind, milady. Considerate. And beautiful.”
“I’m afraid yer kinswomen would be disappointed to hear it.”
The maid waved her hand in the direction of the door. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve given them a reason to be unhappy with me. I care little for what they say.”
For such a young lass, Leah had a good head on her shoulders. “Who is yer father?”
“Adam MacKay.”
Keely’s head snapped up. “The Adam MacKay? The famed outlaw?”
“Aye, the very one.”
“Then we have something in common, Leah. We’re both outsiders.”
The lass smiled. “Aye. Now can I serve ye some bread and cheese?”
“Have ye forgotten about the question ye asked earlier?”
Leah shook her head.
“Aye, it is true. I loved Alexander MacKay more than any woman had a right to.”
“But ye married Laird John.”
“I did. For reasons I canna share.”
“I understand, milady, and willna question ye again.”
Keely didn’t mind the presumptuous girl, in fact, she welcomed the company. Somehow, Leah had taken her mind off her present situation, making her feel welcome—even if that pleasure was fleeting, it eased Keely’s sadness.
“Ye are welcome to serve as my maid, Leah. Tell Alex I am grateful for his kindness.” Though she knew it had nothing to do with goodwill, she wouldn’t give Alex the satisfaction of seeing her upset. No, she must demonstrate her resolve in a way Alex would understand. Without losing control of her emotions, which meant no tears—no tenderness of any kind. She’d made that mistake already. It wouldn’t happen again.
The maid brought her a plate of food and refilled her cup with wine. Surprised by how hungry she actually was, Keely a
te three pieces of bread with cheese, and finished a third cup of wine before she yawned.
“If ye will allow me to help ye,” Leah offered. She walked behind Keely and started to unbind her hair, running her fingers through the long strands. “After ye rest, I’ll see to getting some hot water and a tub so ye can bathe before the evening meal.”
“The bath is welcome, but I willna be taking food belowstairs.”
“Laird Alex has ordered ye bathed and properly dressed, milady.”
“Did he now?” Keely turned around, looking at the maid. “And what else has Laird Alex demanded?”
“To immediately notify him if ye refuse, so he can carry ye to the great hall if necessary. He made it verra clear that ye enjoyed being toted around like a sack of grain.”
Keely snorted, not at all humored by Alex’s pomposity. If he ever tried to carry her again, Keely would … well she’d … damn if she knew what she’d do. Pride and honor must be retained in front of his clan. Though she’d taken the MacKay name, underneath she was an Oliphant. And her people were stubborn and strong, too. No man would make demands of her, not in the way Alex suggested.
“Tell Alex I will join him for supper when I am ready to do so.”
Chapter Seven
“I dinna ask for this,” Alex complained, pacing the length of his father’s solar. The council had gathered in private to discuss the clan’s future with him. “Why do ye think I’d want to be laird?”
“What in God’s name ails ye? Tis the natural order of things. Ye are Laird John’s brother—yer sire’s last son.”
Alex eyed the older man sitting at the head of the table, Mathe MacIver, a lifelong friend and distant kinsman from his mother’s side of the family. “And what great things did my brother accomplish that ye would find it necessary to choose me as the next laird?”
Mathe rubbed his bearded chin, looking to his left and right to get answers from the other men.
“He kept the peace,” one offered.
“Peace?” Alex was tempted to laugh. “Shall I recite the missive my brother sent? Relay the desperation he expressed?”