They lay side by side on his bed, thighs pressed together and arms and hands intertwined. He’d stoked a fire to chase away the chill in the room. Shadows danced on the ceiling, and she watched them for a long while in silence, contemplating if she should raise the subject of Marsaili tonight. She feared it would break the magic spell they seemed to be under, so instead, she said, “Tell me more of yer childhood,” hoping it might lead him to feel more at ease to reveal whatever he was hiding from her.
He pulled her into the crook of his arm. “It was a rather normal childhood for a boy born to be laird,” he replied easily.
“Were ye glad ye were to be laird someday?” she asked.
“Aye,” he said slowly. “I suppose I was glad of it. I idolized my da, ye see. I wanted to be just like him—fair and honest, revered, feared, and liked. I spent most my days trying to excel at whatever task my da set before me to do, so he would be proud. It burned within me to make him so. I believe it was like that for Bridgette, too.”
“Do ye?” Lena asked, wiggling into a position where she could see his face. His strong, handsome profile made her breath catch. “What makes ye believe that?”
“Oh, she had a habit of donning braies instead of her gowns, and going sneakily about to try to hunt, even as a wee lass. She hung on Da, and when other lasses were trying to get lads’ attentions, she was begging to learn to hunt and partake in battle.”
“Yer da encouraged her, then?” Lena asked, hopeful that he had so she could point out to Alex that his father had not been overprotective of Bridgette. Then maybe Alex would see he should not be overprotective of her.
“Certainly nae,” Alex said, giving her a look as if she were daft. “He told her as a wee lass that ’twas nae her place to go off to battle and hunt, and once Da passed and I became laird, I told her the same. But Bridgette was always stubborn, and ye kinnae tell her much.” Alex smiled. “Just ask Lachlan. I’m certain my sister gives him fits.”
“Aye, I’m certain she does, as well. But Bridgette lived through all she did because she kenned how to defend herself. And she kenned that because, after a time, ye allowed her to learn to do so.”
“Allowed her?” He scoffed. “By the time I realized what the sneaky lass was up to, she already kenned well how to defend herself and hunt.”
Lena ground her teeth. This conversation had not helped her in the least to get Alex to see her point, but it did give her insight into where his fiercely protective nature came from. She leaned forward and kissed him, to which he gave an appreciate growl. “I bet ye made yer da verra proud.” Uncertainty, unmistakable as the sky darkening when the sun went down, fell across his face and cast it in shadow. Lena frowned. “Alex? Did yer da nae ever tell ye he was proud of ye?”
“He did,” Alex replied, his tone gruff and his face, which had been open with their talk moments ago, closing off. “My da was nae one to hold back praise or advice.”
“What sort of advice did he give ye?” she asked, curious but also sensing there was something important his father might have said that Alex was not revealing.
Alex yawned and stood, and when he picked up her léine from the ground, disappointment and sadness settled over her. He was going to make her sleep in her bedchamber. Considering his previous violent dream, she knew it was wise, but it still made her sad. If only he would open up to her, mayhap his secrets would not haunt him in his sleep.
He turned toward her. “A man must be braw and a laird fearless. Whereas a man could have weakness, a laird could nae.”
“All men have weaknesses,” she said.
“Aye,” he agreed, crooking his finger at her as he dangled her léine from his fingers. She slowly rose off the bed and went to him. When she stood only a hairsbreadth from him, he said, “Which is why my da also told me nae ever to show my weaknesses. Hold them here—” Alex touched his head “—and here—” he touched his heart “—for none to ken but me.”
“Perchance,” she said, unable to restrain herself, “that is why ye have nightmares.”
His face darkened. “The hour grows late, and I grow weary. Ye must depart to yer bedchamber.”
“Alex,” she said, a desperate feeling rising in her chest. “If ye would but speak of what bothers ye—”
“Nay,” he snapped, cutting her off. His eyes shone with misery. “I kinnae. I’ve told ye.”
He had. He had told her, and she knew she was asking a great deal, but now that she realized just how fully he had captured her heart, she wanted his. She did not think she’d be happy with less.
“I’ll depart as ye asked,” she said, hearing the stiffness of her voice. “but I fear the separation ye place between us now will be as a thorn in my side.” She turned away, but he caught her arm and brought her to face him once more.
“Mo chailin chalma, I am sorry.”
He cupped her cheek with his hand, and she pushed it away. Hurt flashed in his eyes, which made her own gut twist, but perchance if he felt her pain, he’d try to open up and talk of what bothered him. “I dunnae need yer apologies. I need this,” she said, placing her hand on his heart. For now, it was the closest she could venture to telling him she loved him. His eyes widened, and she wondered if he knew, if he understood that he had her love.
His large, warm palm settled over her hand. “Ye have it, Lena. More than anyone ever has.”
“I’m greedy,” she admitted, mimicking his earlier claim. “For that does nae feel enough for me when I ken ye hold secrets there.” Knowing there was nothing more she could say to compel him to confide in her, pledge his love, or even acknowledge with any sort of gladness that he had her love, she raised up on her tiptoes and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, then scurried from the room.
Sleep evaded her alone in her bedchamber. She tossed and turned, her mind awhirl with thoughts of Alex and the Steward; Marsaili, her betrayal, and her problem; and Greer and her brother. She gave her pillow a hard punch to try to get comfortable, deciding that she’d send Broch to deliver a message to Iain the next morning, explaining about Marsaili and soliciting his advice. She’d have to tell Alex in the next few days, too, in case Iain decided to come here to confront Marsaili himself.
Just as she started to drift to sleep, Alex’s tortured voice reached her. The curse words he let fly singed her ears. She scrambled out of bed, threw her plaid over her shoulders, and hurried to the door of his room. She hesitated to enter the bedchamber, but she feared for him. Inside his room, it sounded like a battle was raging. She took a sharp breath and cracked the door open.
He thrashed on his bed, arms pummeling the air in front of him, as he hurled insults. “Spawn of Satan! Ye make me sick. I will rip out yer heart and watch ye die.”
And as shocking as the gruesome affront was, the mottled rage that twisted Alex’s face shocked Lena more. The moonlight streamed in his window, so she could see his face perfectly. Suddenly, he grew still and quiet—all except his breathing, which came in pants. He jerked as if touched on the face or even the chest, then gagged as if he were retching.
Tears sprang to Lena’s eyes, and a dark, disturbing memory of the first time her husband had abused her and her reaction to it hit her. Dear God above! Had Alex been abused?
Bile rose in her throat, and she had to press a palm over her mouth not to retch herself. She breathed deeply in and out, watching him.
He was proud and fierce. If he’d been abused by someone, she could not see how it affected him when he was awake. Yet every person was different, and mayhap he maintained so much control, so much force of will to contain his feelings about the abuse during the day, that at night, when he was asleep and had no way to restrain his emotions, they came out torturing him again and again.
Tears streamed down her face at the horror of the possibility. Her own experience had almost killed her, and it likely would have robbed her of every bit of joy life still had to offer had she not had her sisters-in-laws to talk to and, ultimately, Alex to heal her.
&
nbsp; “Ginny,” he whispered, a broken sob from his chest. “Ginny. Ginny. I’m sorry, lass.”
Lena heard her own sobs, unable to control them, feeling her husband’s torment, unsure of what she knew or how to help him.
He shot bolt upright suddenly, scrambled from the bed, and went straight to the wall. He began to pound his fists into it. Lena’s heart exploded as she gaped at him. She had to do something or he’d injure himself.
“Alex!” she hissed. When he did not stop beating his fists into the walls, she called his name louder. “Alex!”
He swung around, fists up, a murderous look upon his face. “Satan’s son,” he roared, eyes wide and unseeing as he stalked toward her.
“Alex!” she screamed, one last time in the hopes to wake him, but when she realized she had not, she turned to escape the room. He caught her by the shoulder and swung her around, his hand coming up, palm open, to slap her. Fear bolted through her, as she cried out his name again.
“Alex!” a voice roared from behind her as the door banged all the way open and Donald strode in. “Release Lena!” Donald demanded, but when he didn’t Donald reared back and punched Alex in the jaw. He released her to bring his hands to his face.
Lena cried out in dismay as Alex blinked, and when his eyes opened once more, shock and horror registered at once. He looked from Donald to Lena, and Donald said simply, “Another nightmare. They’re coming much more frequently now, Alex.”
“Alex,” Lena started. She stepped toward her husband but faltered as he gave her a hard, cold look.
His hand came up in a motion for her to stop. He pointed at the door, turned his face from hers, and said, “Leave me.” It was a command born of fear and shame, she knew, but it felt like a slap to her face.
Sucking in a sob, she nodded, departed the room, and cried herself to sleep.
Twelve
Alex had avoided Lena for two days because he was certain she’d demand he tell her about his past, and it made him ache to deny her. Donald had been correct in saying the nightmares were coming more frequently now. Ever since Lena had become his wife and they had returned to Duart, he awoke nightly with his body drenched in sweat, his blood surging through his veins, and his heart pounding against his ribs. It seemed the closer he became to his wife, the more his past haunted him. He could not understand why, unless it was as Lena had said and the memories wanted to be released. But the idea of telling her what had occurred with Gillis turned Alex’s blood cold.
How would Lena trust him to protect her when he’d failed so miserably to protect Ginny and Thomas? The shame of Ginny’s death and what had happened to Thomas, and to himself ate at him. It was a deadly wound festering inside him, and he could not imagine telling Lena of it, of the way he’d been defeated. He was laird now, and lairds kept their weaknesses hidden. They could not afford to reveal them.
His da had taught him that well. He’d explained it most meticulously after discovering Alex tied to a pole in Gillis’s barn. To kill Gillis would have brought the Steward’s wrath upon them, and at the time, his father had not been able to afford having the Steward as an enemy. The moment Alex’s da had set him free, he had wanted to kill Gillis, but his da had been unbendable.
Dunnae ever speak of what has occurred, he’d said. His da would see to it that Gillis suffered for his crimes; he’d vowed it. Moreover, his da had said he’d spoken to the Steward and had assured Alex that the other apprentices would be safe. Then he’d ordered Alex to depart for home with him and his men. Alex had wanted to leave, had wanted to be gone from the place as quickly as possible, but not they had been merely half a day’s ride away when he had been plagued with a feeling that the Steward would not keep his promise to send Gillis from the Steward’s home.
When Alex’s father had denied his request to return to the Steward’s home and check on Thomas and the other boys, Alex had snuck away and ridden hard back to the castle, with his da and his da’s men chasing him. They’d only just reached him as he arrived back at the Stewart hold. Alex had found Thomas, but it had been too late for him and for Gillis. Alex could nae say—then or now—that he was sorry Thomas had killed the man, but even so, Thomas had not been spared Gillis’s abuse. In truth, he had received much worse than Alex had. Alex’s father had interrupted Gillis’s games and prevented him from doing to Alex all the things Thomas had endured.
Alex knew what had happened to Thomas because the lad had told him in a flat voice with dead eyes. It was inconceivable. Alex had retched repeatedly upon the telling.
“Alex.”
He jerked his head in the direction of Donald’s voice. He waved a hand for the man to enter the solar. “Where is she?”
“The kitchens—same as yesterday and the day before. She spends most of her time there.”
Alex nodded, relieved and glad she was making friends with the women of his clan. “Keep a watchful eye on her, and report back to me if—”
Donald held out a sealed letter. “I intercepted this. Yer wife handed it to Broch with instructions for him to take it directly to Dunvegan.”
Alex looked at the letter, then at Donald. “And Broch relinquished it to ye?”
Donald smiled. “Aye. I told him ye kenned all about the contents of the letter and that ye’d already instructed a man to take it because ye felt certain Iain would want Broch to remain here watching over Lena rather than deliver a letter that simply tells Iain his sister is well.”
Alex smiled grimly. “Let us hope that’s all the letter conveys.”
“Ye fear it conveys unhappiness and tells him of the nightmares?”
Alex rubbed his chest, which had become tight. It had been feeling thusly since the last time he’d held his wife in his arms. “Possibly. And with Iain already suspicious of my behavior when I departed Dunvegan, God above only kens what he’ll do if Lena tells him of my nightmares and what has occurred.”
“Ye’d nae let him take her if he came, would ye?” Donald asked as he handed the letter to Alex.
Alex turned the letter over in his hands, fingering the seal—his seal. Where had the little minx found it? Her growing bravery gratified him even as it concerned him. He ran a finger over the wax, hating to open it and betray her trust but feeling he had little choice. If she had written of her unhappiness to her brother, Alex needed to know. He didn’t want to feud with Iain, but if the man tried to take Lena from Alex, greatest friend and ally or not, Iain would have to kill him first. Unless—his stomach clenched—unless she truly desired to go. He’d never keep her against her will, though to part with her would bring him misery. He understood this truth in the depths of his soul.
He’d come to care greatly about Lena, and the emotions were not driven by a simple need to protect her. They were complicated. She made him happy, and she banished the darkness during the day and at night when she was in his arms. Only when he was alone did it return. How he wished he could hold her as he slept, but he could not chance it. Nor did he want to be unprepared for what may come. With that thought, he broke the seal, unfolded the letter, and read it.
Shock moved through him like a blast of frigid wind. It stole his breath and momentarily left him unable to think. He stared at the letter, her words blurring and then coming back into focus.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
“What? What is it?” Donald asked, his voice filled with concern.
As Donald knew all about the task the king had given Alex, he simply said, “Lena’s sister is the traitor. She’s been sending her da word of what the king is doing.”
“What say ye?” Donald bellowed.
Alex held up the letter for Donald to read, and as the man did so, the color drained from his face and his lips thinned before pinching together. Alex recalled Lena’s words with each expression that came to Donald’s face, feeling as if Alex himself were rereading the letter. Lena had written that Marsaili had confessed that the only reason she came to Duart was because her father had blackmailed her to do his bidding by
withholding the location of her child, who he’d told her had died some years ago.
Alex was shocked to learn that Marsaili had a child, but there was not time to linger on that at the moment. The more pressing matter was that Lena had written to her brother not only to warn him of Marsaili’s dilemma, as Lena had put it, but to ask for advice. It seemed Marsaili had told Lena that Alex was going to the Steward to join forces with him. Lena had stated her belief in Alex’s faithfulness to the king, heartening Alex, yet she had not confided in him about Marsaili. Instead, she’d written to her brother. His wife did not completely trust him, and soon, she’d trust him even less. It was his appointed task to make himself appear to be breaking ties with the king, and there was no better way, no more perfect opportunity, than to seek out Marsaili and make her think that he wanted to join forces with her to bring down King David.
It made Alex ill to think upon what he had to do, and it set fear in his heart that he’d lose Lena because of it. If all occurred as it was supposed to, Lena, Iain, and all the highlanders who considered him a traitor would understand that he’d been working for the king from the start. But Alex worried Lena might not forgive him for hiding so much from her. His wife had made it plain that she wanted to know his secrets, as he’d demanded to know hers, yet he could not share this or the truth about his past with her.
Would he lose her over this? Perchance not physically, but emotionally? He curled his hands into fists as his heart pounded a hard rhythm.
“What are ye pondering?” Donald asked.
Alex looked to his longtime friend. “I’m considering how quickly Lena will flee from me when she hears that I have taken her letter and told her sister that I will be traveling to the Steward and taking her with me.”
“What makes ye believe Marsaili will confide in Lena?”
“Because,” Alex said, steepling his fingers in front of him, “she did so before. The lass dunnae wish to betray her family or she would nae have told Lena anything at all. But Marsaili felt she had to. She will do all she can to protect Lena from me, even as she plots to use me to find her bairn.”
When a Warrior Woos a Lass Page 15