“Oh, Malcolm,” she chortled. “Have you told your father?”
“Told him what?”
“That you’ve chosen your bride.” She patted his arm.
“Nay, I…What makes you say such a thing?” Had he chosen? There was no denying the attraction, and he did find her pleasing in many ways. Still, she was obstinate and far too independent in her thinking for his tastes. What did he really know about her?
“We’ve all seen the way you look at her. The signs are unmistakable. You’re both twisted into knots around each other.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “The clan gossips tell me you canna keep yourself from kissing the lass whenever she’s within reach.” She chuckled at his chagrin.
“She has naught to bring to a union between us. Father would never agree to the match.”
“Aye, but she’s the daughter of a king. ’Tis certain your father will object at first, but he’ll soon see the soundness in your decision. You have my blessing, such as it is. She’s a braw lass and a match for you in wits and will. She’ll give me fine, strong grandchildren.”
“Dinna speak of grandchildren just yet, Mother. I scarcely know the lass, and she may return to her own people ere long.”
“As you say.” Lydia folded her hands before her with a knowing smile lighting her features. “Elaine and I wish to take her to the village on the morrow. I would have your permission. If you deem it necessary, send a guard with us. We need to introduce her to our people. The sooner our clan comes to know her the better.”
It went against the grain, and his gut told him to keep her on the island. Yet his mother was right. “Aye. You may take her. I’ll send Robley, mayhap Galen as well. Come.” Malcolm took his mother’s arm. “Let us return to the hall.”
Alethia tightened her bow, tuned her violin and glanced at Liam and Robley, who accompanied her. The hall had grown warm and stuffy from the sheer press of bodies packed inside, and both of their brows were beaded with sweat. The two brothers were accomplished musicians able to follow her with ease. The three of them had not practiced together before tonight, yet they jammed along with the jigs and reels she played as if they’d known them all their lives. Maybe they had.
Beth caught her eye, and they exchanged a smile. Her friend had never been without a dance partner. Her hair, shiny and clean, fell around her shoulders in golden waves. Beth’s cheeks glowed with color, and she sparkled with happiness.
Seeing Beth this way made sharing her limited supply of shampoo and soap well worth the sacrifice. If she remained in this time for much longer, she’d apply herself to learning how to concoct something just as good. After all, all good bath stuff included some kind of plant life. Elaine and Lydia certainly glowed with cleanliness. They’d teach her.
“Lady Alethia, ’tis past time for a respite. A young woman such as yourself must long to dance, aye?” William said, approaching the dais where they played. “Let my nephews continue to play whilst you take a turn on the dance floor.”
“I’m fine, Laird.”
Elaine made her way through the crowd to stand next to her father. “Surely there are dances from your own land you’d be willing to share with us.”
Alethia glanced at the expectant faces surrounding her. Should she show them the way she and her friends danced when they went clubbing in New York? She smiled to herself. These good people would be entirely shocked by what was considered acceptable in the twenty-first century. Nope. Best keep it a cultural exchange, something she could share with pride.
“All right. If I could borrow a shawl from someone, I could show you a dance our women do.” A ripple passed through the crowd as a shawl was handed to her. She held it up to examine. Wool, with fringed edges, it would do nicely.
“Robley—there is a particular rhythm I need on the drum. You can play anything you want on the pipes, Liam.” She tapped out the beat of a powwow drum for Robley until satisfied he had it. She stepped down from the dais. “I need space. All of our dances are done in a circle.”
The crowd formed a wide ring, and Robley played the beat she’d shown him, improvising and adding more between the main rhythm. Half step, half step, back step, twist. Alethia extended her arms so the shawl resembled the wings of a large bird, a crane. Spin, step, step, dip. The bagpipes picked up the beat, adding melody. Spin, back step, twist, spin. She danced as the women of her nation had since the beginning of time, moving clockwise in a circle around the hall to the beat of the drum, the heartbeat of Mother Earth.
Intricate steps and spins came as naturally as breathing. Memories of contest powwows, of friends teasing and gossiping about the young men watching from the stands came to her in a rush. Soon, the faces surrounding her in the great hall changed to the faces of her family. Her mother and father, Gran, cousins and aunties, uncles and childhood friends all shadow-danced with her around the circle.
Joy turned to anguish as she realized the faces passing before her mind’s eye might be lost to her forever if she couldn’t get back to her own time. Homesickness and grief tore at her. She tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat and searched through the crowd of faces for Malcolm.
The moment she stopped dancing, bodies pressed close. She couldn’t see through them, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Where was Malcolm?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Malcolm returned to the great hall just as Alethia began to dance. She moved with provocative grace, drawing him like a moth to flame. Dark, silken tresses fanned out around her as she spun. He longed to run his fingers through her hair to feel its softness against his bare skin. Her exotic beauty charmed his senses and filled him with masculine pride.
Had he chosen Alethia as his bride? He hadn’t given it any serious thought until his mother put the matter to words. He let the notion take root, and a feeling of rightness settled over him. Watching her weave a spell over everyone in the hall, his body tightened with desire. Adjusting his sporran, he noticed he was not the only man to do so. His jaw clenched, and he reached instinctively for the dagger at his waist.
“Malcolm.”
“James.” Malcolm spared his friend a brief glance.
“I have heard it said you do double time in the lists. Do you expect trouble in your father’s absence?”
“I always expect trouble. ’Tis why I’m still standing.”
“Shall we train together on the morrow?”
“Without a doubt.”
“I would like to suggest a wager.” James’s eyes were fixed on Alethia.
“What prize do you hope to gain?” Malcolm hoped his friend heeded the warning in his tone.
“If you win the best two out of three bouts, you keep my favorite stallion. If I win, I take yon maid off your hands.”
“Nay,” Malcolm snapped.
“Do you fear losing?” James challenged.
“I fear doing you real harm at the end of my sword. ’Twould displease both our fathers.”
“Ah, like that is it?”
“Aye.” Malcolm frowned. Alethia’s expression changed from joy to anguish as she danced. He needed to get to her. The music stopped, and she was swallowed up by the press of his clan. He worked his way through the tangle to the center. Alethia’s face had gone pale, and her eyes were huge and bright. “The lady needs air. Give way.”
Her relief at seeing him was plain to see. Taking her hand in his, he led her to the doors of the great hall and out into the fresh, cool night. “Come. Walk with me to the loch.”
She spoke not a word as he guided her through the portcullis. He heard her sniff a few times, and she swiped at her eyes. He took her to the place where he’d rescued her from Hugh. Settling himself on a large, flat boulder, he drew her down beside him. “Tell me what has upset you.”
She took a breath and let it out slowly. “I’m suffering from homesickness, I guess.” She gave him a forlorn look. “I might never see my family or my home again.”
“Och, lass. They search for you, aye?” He patted her back awkwardl
y.
“Of course they’re searching, but they won’t find me.”
“Could you no’ come to see this as your home?”
“What? You mean inside the curtain wall?” She sniffed.
Her tone made him smile. “’Twill not always be thus. Harvest will begin in a se’nnight. I’ll take you to the fair in Inverness once the crops are in. Will that please you, mo cridhe?”
“Sure. Don’t get me wrong, it’s great here, but it’s not the place that makes a home.” She shrugged. “It’s the people.”
“I take your meaning well. When I was a young man—”
“You’re still a young man.”
“As I was saying,” he said as he put an arm around her shoulders, “when first I earned my spurs, such a restless energy filled me that I set out the very next week to see the world with a group of like-minded young knights.”
“Where did you go?” Her body relaxed, and she leaned against him.
“To France, Italy, Spain…wherever my fancy took me. I fought against the Sassenach with the French, won my fortune in contests of strength and saw the wonders each place had to offer. Liam and Robley were with me. We were all eager to test our mettle and make our fortunes.”
She shifted against him. Her floral scent filled his senses, and he savored her pleasing softness and warmth beside him. The feel of her silken hair draped over the bare skin on his forearm robbed him of coherent thought.
“Go on.” She jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. “Keep talking. It’s helping.”
“You are a fierce little thing, aren’t you?” He rubbed his ribs in mock hurt, pleased when she giggled. “I grew more restless with every passing day. We all missed our families, so we came home.”
“When did all of this happen? How long have you been back?”
“Four years have passed since our return.”
“Did the restlessness go away once you were home again?” she asked in a small voice.
Her face was luminous in the moonlight. He ran a lock of her hair through his fingers. “Nay. It plagued me still. Funny…”
“What is?”
“I dinna feel restless now.” He dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers, thrilled that she didn’t pull away.
“I’m happy for you.” She glanced at him. “I wonder what made it go away?”
Malcolm tightened his arm around her. He had no doubts about the source of his newfound contentment, and when the time was right, he’d explain it to her. Now was the time to have some of his questions answered. “I wish to discuss another matter with you, something I’ve meant to ask since the day you spoke of Madame Giselle. Can you describe her?”
“She’s small, about my height, and she looks old and frail, but that’s not what I read from her at all.” She shuddered and put her hands over his as she spoke. “She didn’t feel true.”
Malcolm twined their fingers together and forced himself to pay attention to her words.
“Her eyes are sharp and dark, like she misses nothing. She holds magic. I could feel it.”
“Did she tell your fortune?”
Alethia shot him a glance and quickly looked away. “I don’t want to talk about this. It’s upsetting.”
“Aye, but I do. You will answer my questions.”
“Has anyone ever mentioned how overbearing you are?”
“No one dares.”
She snorted. “Only because you work so hard at being intimidating.”
“Alethia.”
“No, she didn’t tell my fortune.” She shook her head. “She went on and on about someone being in grave danger, and she said she’d do anything to help.”
“What else did she tell you?” He felt her stiffen. “Tell me.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” she muttered under her breath.
“Aye, so you’ve said, but I am a nee-an-der-thal.” He raised one eyebrow and gave her a stern look. Her laughter sent ripples of gladness through his soul. “You will tell me, so we can put this behind us.”
She brought her thumb to her mouth and chewed on the nail as she thought the matter over. He took the hand from her mouth and held it, smiling at her disgruntled look. Everything about her pleased him, even her obstinate willfulness. Since finding Alethia, he hadn’t suffered a moment’s restlessness. Aye, he suffered other things in its place—lust, an aching need to claim her and a compelling desire to keep her safe. ’Twas a small price to pay.
“Giselle said she’d been watching me for a long, long time, but the fair was the first time we’d ever met.” Her brow furrowed. “She also said I had untapped depths.”
“Did she give you anything?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “She placed a pendant around my neck before sending me here. Why are you asking all these questions?”
He fished in his sporran for the ring the old crone had given him the day she told his fortune. Holding it to the moonlight for her to see, he asked, “Does the charm she gave you resemble this one?”
“Oh crap,” she cried. Reaching for the ring, she took it from his hand to study. “What does this mean?”
“You recognize it? What else did she say?”
She turned stricken eyes to him and handed the ring back as if it burned her hand. “She didn’t tell me anything else. Madame Giselle mumbled something about destiny and sent me here without a single freaking clue.” She rose abruptly. “I have to go back to the keep. I have things to do.”
“At this hour?” He rose to follow.
“I have a lot to think about.” Lifting the hem of her gown, she turned and fled back to the keep.
Malcolm let her go. He had much to think about as well. The moon hung full and low over the horizon, as if in ripe promise of the coming harvest. He watched the play of light and shadow upon the loch, while his mind puzzled over their discussion. Each question led to more.
What peril was Alethia to protect him from, and how could he prevent it? She had not told him everything. They would talk again on the morrow, and the day after that, until she confessed all of her fears. Only then could he conquer them and unravel the mystery plaguing them both.
The vision of Alethia dancing in the hall replayed in his mind’s eye. He committed it to memory while pondering her odd mix of vulnerability and defiant independence. How was it one wee lass could have such a powerful hold upon his heart in such a short time? He laughed and gave one more passing glance to the moon before starting back to the keep.
Alethia pulled the bedcovers up to her chin and stared at the ceiling while mulling over what she’d learned from Malcolm. Giselle had given him the matching ring to her pendant. Which meant what? Had the fortune-teller given them both the matching pieces to provide a clue to solve the puzzle? If so, then Malcolm’s life was in danger.
Or did the pendant and ring contain some kind of magic for keeping track of their whereabouts? How could she possibly know? In her efforts to get home, she’d tried every conceivable method she could think of to release any magic the jewelry might contain. She hadn’t even caught an echo of power from the stupid thing. No. They were pieces to a puzzle and nothing more. She was sure of it.
Hunter got up and used the chamber pot she kept placed near his bed. Small boy, small bladder. She scooted over to make room for him as his small feet padded toward her in the darkness. It was the same every night. He started out in his own bed and ended snuggled up in hers.
Lifting the covers for him to climb in, she turned on her side and pulled his warm, sleepy body close. His own unique little-boy scent made her heart ache. Her life was becoming way too complicated. She belonged in the twenty-first century, yet she couldn’t bear the thought of being taken from Hunter. He’d already suffered so much loss in his life, to lose her now might be the beginning of the end for him.
Having lost her own parents at a young age, she knew from personal experience that kind of hurt never went away. She understood what he was going through, and bonding with him had been automatic. T
heir connection stemmed from shared experience and a common need. In many ways, they were both outsiders here.
She lay awake until the birds heralded the approaching dawn. Damn that old fortune-teller. A single tear slid down her cheek. Kissing the top of Hunter’s head, she felt torn. She walked in two worlds and always had. Not all native, and not all white, she’d never fit fully into either culture. Now, half her heart resided in the future, and half lived in the past.
Her thoughts shifted to Malcolm, causing a fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach. What if she tried to save him and failed? No, better not think like that. Giselle had chosen her for a reason. She would not fail.
Someone patted Alethia’s cheeks. She woke to find Hunter’s face mere inches from hers.
“I’m hungry,” he signed.
“You’re always hungry.” Digging her fingers into his ribs, she tickled him until he rolled into a ball and giggled. The sound filled the room with music far sweeter than any she could ever make with her violin. “Today we go to the village. I’m going to buy you a bow. It’s time you started earning your keep,” she teased.
Hunter hopped around the room. “And a sword?” he signed, eyes bright with eagerness.
“No. You’re too young. In a few years, maybe.”
Her refusal did little to dampen his spirits. He tugged her covers off. “I’m hungry.”
“Wash.” While Hunter washed and brushed his teeth with the torn twig as she’d taught him, Alethia opened the trunk and fished around for the velvet bag holding her jewelry. Dumping the contents on the bed, she surveyed the contents. The pearl earrings and gold bangle bracelets had belonged to her mother. No way would she trade them away for daggers and a bow.
Helplessness and despair flooded through her in a deluge as she lifted the pendant Giselle had foisted upon her. That damn witch had robbed her of any control she had over her own life and forced her into an impossible situation. Her despair turned to resentment, and the choice to trade the pendant away overwhelmed her. She wanted nothing more than to be rid of it and the memories it evoked of Giselle’s betrayal.
True to the Highlander (The Novels of Loch Moigh) Page 9