by Lisa Torquay
Her cousin drafted a side smile. “I hope you do not object to host the enemy.” The jest not particularly appreciated.
“A McDougal married a McKendrick for an alliance.” He stated, clan affairs not the matter for breezy remarks in his view.
“So I heard.” And what the renegade heard must be the other clan’s version, obviously.
“If you will excuse me, I have work to do.” With a nod, he walked away, wondering whether he would lose it over a renegade.
“I forgot how harsh a Laird can be.” Alistair commented when they were alone.
Her giant of a husband marched towards the manor in that severe manner of his and she hoped she did not make a mistake in inviting Alistair to stay. This became her home, too, after all.
“Too much to do at this time, I assure you.” She smoothed the first impression.
Her cousin’s presence here would mark the alliance between the clans, come to think of it. Soon, by the way, both clans could prepare a feast to celebrate the end of the long hostility. Sam would have to be here though. Maybe next summer if nothing came in the way.
In a moment, his expression brightened. “Do you remember how we used to taunt each other on Samhain?” He remembered. “I challenged you into jumping the fire and you would win over me most of the times.”
Aileen breathed a laugh. “But I never managed to bite the apple in the apple bobbing. You did.”
“I was good at that.” They talked on about their remembrances.
Both continued their stroll, returning for dinner.
~.~.~
Dinner did not prove so relaxed a meal.
Aileen and Alistair chatted and laughed about their pranks as children, but Taran participated little of it.
The Laird watched them with an increasing scowl. Well aware that they were first cousins. He also possessed first cousins who had been like siblings for an only child as him. His mother conceived for the second time when he had been ten and died of that child’s stillbirth and his father did not remarry.
No reason for this irritation, he scolded himself. Rational as the argument sounded, it made nothing better. A repeat of the churning in his stomach from the church feast day manifested, and he found himself incapable of neutralizing it.
The two of them carried their congeniality to the drawing room while Taran buried himself in his study in search of a modicum of self-control in his ledgers. With low success in the endeavour.
~.~.~
Samhain evening came crisp but rather pleasant, with wisps of clouds caressing a crescent moon sided by stars. A cheering mood took Aileen over as she approached the feast spot and the enormous bonfire sending its intense glow towards the sky.
Villagers, tenants and chieftains milled on the grounds. Children ran everywhere, sometimes almost knocking the adults in their way.
Careful with her attire, she dressed a fine underdress hemmed with lace and embroidery and the McDougal plaid spencer. On the arm of her husband—an unsmiling one—she approached the crowd who became her people now.
Alistair did not shed his breeches, shirt, cravat and coat, albeit making it a point to wear the McKendrick headdress.
But Taran made up another tale entirely. In full formal tartan, tall, midnight hair ruffled by the breeze, green eyes flashing with the light from the fire, certainly the most gorgeous man on Samhain. Aileen felt proud of him and the way the folk around looked up to him and did not hide it.
As soon as they neared the bonfire, the women claimed her company, and she must leave the men by themselves.
Not far, Shannon stood with a group of village women, keeping her distance. Seamus and Gracie passed by and greeted her affably.
Whisky and ale flowed liberally, and the food prepared by each house lay in long wooden tables, feeding the general merriment. Laugher sprouted here and there, louder as they consumed more drink.
The games started as the bonfire blazed its brightness in the night. Boys lay by the it and others jumped over them. Divinatory games surrounded the place, too. Aileen was particularly eager for the apple bobbing, a dear childhood memory.
When it set to start, Alistair took her by the hand and pulled her to it. She did not intend to participate, in fact. What harm would it do, anyway? Allowing her cousin to convince her, they entered it.
From afar, Taran stared in her direction, as many gathered to watch and laugh. Naturally, she did not want to foresee if she would marry by New Year, like the other girls. At that time, the game started being more of a children’s play.
Hands tied back, the participants placed themselves as the dangling apple hung from a tree branch. Someone bobbed the apple and everyone in the circle sought it.
Many tried and failed, many succeeded, revellers brought new apples and Aileen concluded she did not have so much fun in a long while.
Until she and Alistair came to the apple at the same time and their heads bumped once. They insisted in disputing the prize and their heads bumped again. In between laughs, Aileen gave it another try, colliding with her cousin anew.
Something stirred behind her, the crowd moving aside.
And then it looked like an army of Celts crashed the game. But no. It was only her husband storming in the middle of the circle, grabbing Alistair by his collar to punch him ferociously.
Aileen froze. Together with the whole of the people in the feast. Her eyes not believing what they saw.
The bonfire popped still blazing the night.
Jerking herself into action, she paced into the circle, untying her hands.
Alistair lay on the grass moaning. Taran stood legs braced over him, fists tight by his sides.
“What do you think you are doing?” She hissed, which sounded as a yell in the cavernous silence of stunned participants.
He did not utter a word as she knelt beside her cousin to measure the damage the troglodyte did.
She wanted to shout. She wanted to stomp her foot until the Earth cracked. She wanted to thrash this man who she married. To a pulp.
None of it she did. Stupid to add one scandal to another. To attack someone on Samhain and a member of a clan which had been a rival for more than a hundred years would be recounted for centuries ahead. From here to Dover. Not to mention the nefarious consequences it might bring.
Mahogany ogle fulminated the green ones. Fierce like a goddess’.
Her rage threatened to explode and overflow. Her attention turned to Alistair, and she ignored it.
Fortunately, the damage proved to be a lesser evil. Alistair had a swelling, blackening eye, but his dignity seemed more bruised than his body.
After helping him up, she looked at the still stupefied audience. “I think it time to go home.” A struggle to keep her voice level. “Take a burning log to your houses and let us renovate the hearths.”
Without looking at her equally speechless husband, she guided the McKendrick kin to the manor.
~.~.~
Taran marched home, his guts chafing to explosion point. He lost all control at the sight of his wife in so close physical contact with another man. It did not matter said man was her kin. Her first cousin, at that. He snapped. The dam flooded inadvertently.
Hell broke loose.
In every possible way.
Seamus had stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. Shannon displayed a smug smile. Gracie shook her head reprovingly. Not to mention the others, whom he had known forever. Each one immovable, thunderstruck.
He put his foot in it.
Irrevocably.
So much for believing he smoothed things down since she came back from the McKendricks. He raked his hand through his sable hair.
Problem being he did not regret it. Not really. Since the day before, he had seen the renegade monopolize her company, confabulating, touching her in every opportunity. Especially touching her. That had been the breaking point.
The fury at the vision of any man venturing his hands on her, even innocently, came irrational and ine
luctable. He wanted to remain the only man to have that privilege.
How asinine could that be?
His mind whirled so upset, he never saw where he headed. Barging through the door, he closed it.
He had entered his wife’s study. A highly enraged wife stood there.
The place felt like the lioness den.
“What was that?” Eyes bulged like torches bombarding meteorites of fire at him. Quick breath, chest heaving, fists on her hips.
A hurricane could also be a beautiful sight.
“He used every opportunity to put his hands on you.” Taran became no less enraged.
“Alistair is my blasting first cousin!” Emphatic, every word forcefully pronounced.
“A man nonetheless.” He insisted.
“Do you understand what you did?” Her torso inclined forward.
“I gave him a lesson.” Braced legs, his hands on his hips, too.
“You have completely wrecked Samhain, you troglodyte!”
When she threw his epithet like that, his blood boiled for other reasons entirely. “Not much. The revellers are still on site.” His casual answer covered his troubled thoughts. Or so he hoped.
“And attacked a McKendrick!” She spat vehement.
“This cannot count as too big a damage.” He put on an unruffled stance, dismissing the importance of her kin.
“Is that so?” Her marvellous eyes squinted on him. “After you went to such lengths to forge an alliance?”
There was that, too, he mused innerly. “A marriage ranks higher than a mere disagreement.”
“Disagreement?” The absurd answer seemed to exasperate her more. “You punched a man half your size.” She paced the limited space.
“It is not my fault if I grew taller than he.” And not his fault if the renegade chose the foppish English manners.
“You have to sort this out, Taran.” Even in anger, his name on her disastrously delicious lips unsettled him.
How to agree with her without looking… malleable? “I will decide about it.” A dogged response.
“Not only this.” Indignant. “Everything!” She crossed her arms over those delectable mounds. “You have been acting strange for a while.”
“No, I have not.” Time for a retreat, for she would corner him soon. “Do not count your ravings as reality.”
“I do not care what you think of it.” She countered hotly. “Strengthen it because I will not be part of this madness.”
He could agree with the madness part. That which she inflicted on him, either present or absent.
Not waiting for an answer, she trudged out of the room and clicked the door shut with a dry sound, leaving him alone with his troubled conscience.
~.~.~
A fuming Aileen stopped in the hall and pulled deep breaths through rage-burning lungs. Her husband wasted a colossal amount of energy to strangle the cause of his outrageous behaviour and tamp it down firmly. The strain on him too visible not to notice. She had not a clue as to the source of it. Which meant she possessed no instruments to address these issues.
No secret for her he was a possessive man, overbearing and peremptory. Which infuriated her at times. And aroused her, blast it! This made him a complex man, full of the contradictions which caused her to admire him and be exasperated to distraction, all rolled in one. Something nagged at him though. He must come clean about it. Whether he would, remained to be seen.
Successful at recomposing herself to a decent degree, she walked to Alistair’s chambers, where she had left him after tending to his superficial wounds. After which, she had taken refuge in her study to let off the steam. Just to see her blasted husband lunge into it five minutes later.
At his call, she slipped in the chambers. An ashamed smile touched her face. “How do you feel?”
Robed, he sat on an armchair beside the bed. “Not bad, considering.” A fable he did not become incensed.
“I can send a footman to help you during the night, if you prefer.” She should do it herself, but she suspected she would not be a good nurse tonight.
He smiled faintly. “No need.” He motioned her to sit by him. “I will depart at dawn. Your husband is not the most sociable of creatures.”
A bubble of laugh nearly escaped her at the comment. An understatement that did not match the troglodyte one bit. “A veritable pity it got so awry.” She took his hands.
“Do not worry about that.” He assured her. “Aunt Bridget will be much more congenial, no doubt.”
They conversed a little longer as she bade him farewell and retired.
~.~.~
Taran spent a long time in his study before he decided it time to go to their chambers.
A fire burned in the hearth, but Aleen was nowhere. Air expelling forcefully through flaring nostrils, he looked around the room. A light shone under the connecting door to the lady’s chambers. His hand reached the door only to find it closed. No. Locked.
Bluidy hell!
It would not be so easy to resort to his smoke-screen tactics this time. Besides stubborn, the woman could be hard on him.
Who would blame her?
He fell on his arctic bed. Without her soft comfort by him the night promised to be long.
Sunrise announced itself when sleep claimed him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Bad nights’ sleep did not make for productive work, Aileen concluded days later, as she watched the first snow fall outside her study window.
Taran and she encountered each other little and talked even less. She decided to use the lady’s chamber, for sleeping in his bed would weaken the resolve of a glacier. Not to mention she would be all over him. Literally. And this situation needed a solution or the windstorm would keep going.
But it had not been easy. To lay night after night in a lonely bed when the lust-inducing giant lay mere feet from her. Her memories and her wanton body two powerful enemies. Each night a fierce battle to maintain her resolve.
To cool her skin, she ventured outside with a coat. Her breath steamed the breeze as her shoes crunched the new snow. The crisp air filled with the smell of burned logs from the hearths. A sigh escaped her. She lifted her face to the sky as snowflakes fell to create little lakes of freshness on her cheeks. Pure delight on her.
When she lowered her head, her eyes met Taran’s as he returned from the distillery. Their stares clasped together to unleash that tragic chain of reactions. Worsened by the longing which never relented.
Her husband’s tall frame in a tartan with the upper part wrapped around the steel wall of his torso. Her treacherous memory presented her with the feel of them in her hands, on her chest, peppered hair teasing her breasts.
Blast the man!
No. Blast her memory!
He neared her and the green of his eyes gleamed in the cold air, his bristle square jaw ticking on a stone expression. “In need of cooling?” Scorn flooded those irises and stretched his sensual lips.
Her brows pleated. “Do you not think you give too much importance to yourself?” He certainly thought he could do the job better than the snow.
A derogatory grin came to that mouth of his. “Not much, if you consider I am in dire need of it.”
“Thankfully, it is snowing, I reckon.” She crossed her arms in an attempt to keep the effect he had on her at bay.
“A dip in the loch could also help.” The grave drawl caressed her traitorous ears.
Vermillion washed her face at the image her mind produced of him in the water swimming in all his glorious nakedness.
“Fine.” She managed to imprint casualness to it. “You do that. I have to go back to my duties.” Of course, the idea of bathing in the loch stood totally unfeasible, given the weather.
Turning on her heels she started for the manor.
“When, Aileen?” Her name in his deep voice did not facilitate anything.
Her head swivelled to him. “When what?” Not that she had no idea about what he was talking.
“When are you coming back to our… normal routine?” He crossed his taut arms gaze boring into her.
Except their life might be named anything but routine, she considered irritably. Their strong temperaments would eternally ripple their days. Intensely.
“The moment you decide to sort this whole mess out.” She said firmly.
“As far as I am concerned, there is no mess.” But his lips pressed together, his jaw still ticked accompanied of a scowl.
She breathed a humourless laugh. “You never struck me as delusional.”
His smirk had nothing on her. “Neither did you.” Implying her claim he displayed weird attitude came entirely from her imagination.
The pig-headed troglodyte!
As if she was tamping down something so hard it affected the total of the clan.
To avoid his seeing her temper, she walked away without giving an answer.
~.~.~
As she tightened the coat around her, her hips delineated to his eager view. His hands itched with the want of touching her.
It was not only that he missed their… sweltering nights. Problem being it impossible for him to ferret out why the loneliness. It made not an ounce of sense.
Not barely in their chamber. Everywhere. Every minute of the day. Their fierce sparring, the companionship, her tenderness and support whenever he needed it.
His life could be divided in before Aileen and after Aileen. As simple as that. And now there was no Aileen.
She would not make it easy for him. Not her. The conclusion wrenched his guts, for she forced him to go look at what bothered him. More than that, confess it. Even if only to himself.
Dangerous lass.
In the last couple of days, he had been pondering a lot over what happened in the Samhain and before it. Inevitable to give her credit. She was right. It listed as his obligation to straighten it. He did not fathom how. Maybe he would find out. He must, or this arid situation would not end.
He would do anything to see her smile flourish again to light her marvellous eyes and him. Make her happy, give her whatever she required materially and emotionally. If only he found the way.