by Mary McCall
She brushed a hand over her cheek in a nervous gesture as her flesh burned. “Thank you, Uncle Leonce. But I did not do much."
Leonce smiled. “Marcail told us all you've done for her these past weeks. You have a strong, kind heart, and Duncan will be lucky if he can win it from you. Now, go see Marcail. She swears she'll not rest until she knows you're all right. I'm going to track down that errant husband of hers."
Toril wrapped an arm around Alera's waist. “Your Uncle Leonce is right. Let's go see how Marcail is holding up."
Alera's brows furrowed as she accompanied her aunt toward the cottage. “I am so sorry. I am thinking only of myself again. I never had this problem till I came here."
"Alera!” three young voices chanted.
The twins and Megan rounded the corner, running toward Alera.
"Grandpa!” Hope and Angel cried, changing direction.
Leonce scooped up a twin in each arm and spun around, inciting a giggling chorus.
Megan threw her arms around Alera's legs and smiled up at her. “I missed you today."
"I missed you too, Megan.” Alera knelt and caressed Megan's cheek as Duncan and Julien arrived at the clearing. “Did you enjoy your long ride?"
"I told everybody how wonderful you are,” Megan admitted with a happy smile. “And how God sent you here to save me. I love you."
Alera cupped Megan's face and kissed her nose. “I love you too, little rose."
"Father Cunningham says Aunt Marcail had twins, and he is coming here to baptize them, cause of the wee girl is ailing."
"Then we must pray very hard for her, so Almighty God will know we wish her to stay with us."
"I'll pray very, very hard. Father says you're going to be marrying Papa after. I told him I was glad, cause now I'll be your wee lassie and I'll be having a mam again."
Alera smoothed back Megan's hair and blinked back tears. “Then I am glad you are glad."
The twins joined them and Hope gasped. “We get to call her Aunt Alera now, Angel."
"Maybe she'll keep cooking for us.” Angel cast imploring eyes toward her soon-to-be-aunt. “Nobody makes oatcakes sweet like you do."
"Aunt Alera, you have to call me awee Hope while Grandma is here."
"Can we eat now, Aunt Alera?” Angel asked
"I am hungry too, Mam,” Megan added, her pixie eyes shining. Alera realized she already thought of Megan as her daughter, but how could she have a family without Papa?
"I want to see my mam,” Hope said. “Then you can feed us."
"And after, we can all go wolf baitin',” Angel suggested.
Alera looked at the three precious faces glowing with excitement, and her heart tumbled. She was going to marry Duncan, and that meant she would fail Papa. She leaned her face into her palms, and tears flowed down her cheeks.
"What is wrong, Mam?” Megan asked, distressed.
"Why are you crying, Aunt Alera?” Hope asked.
"I think she needs a hug,” Angel suggested.
All three little girls threw their arms around her. Alera couldn't help herself. She sobbed harder. She hadn't had this problem with crying before she came here, either.
"Come, lassies.” Toril drew the children away. “Alera has had a rough day. Go spend some time with your Uncle Julien, so Alera can catch her breath. We'll feed you in a wee while."
"Will it be long?” Angel asked with a pout.
"Not too long. Get your Uncle Julian to take you to pick some pretty flowers. Then we can make a garland for Alera to wear at the wedding."
The girls raced over to Julien. Alera looked at Duncan through bleak eyes. Without a word, she turned and entered the cottage. Toril stepped in behind her, shut the door, and pulled Alera into a motherly embrace.
Alera cried all over her. “He lied to me, Aunt Toril. He said ‘twould be my choice. Then he went behind my back to Uncle Julien."
"Nay, Alera. Duncan did not lie.” Toril rubbed Alera's back with soothing strokes. “I doubt he even wanted to tell Julien your name. ‘Twas Megan who loves you so much she boasted."
"Can you talk to Uncle Julien?” Alera wiped her eyes against her sleeve. “Make him change his mind? Mama said he would do anything you asked."
Toril smiled. “I might have gotten you a few days before you threatened to put an English arrow in his arse, but he'll prove stubborn now."
"Did you just say she threatened to put an arrow in Julien's backside?” Hope called from the bedchamber then appeared in the doorway.
"Aye.” Toril's eyes twinkled.
"Well good for you, Alera,” Hope said with an amused grin. “My brother needs someone to take him down a notch every now and then."
"Alera?” Marcail's tired voice called from the bed chamber.
"Aye, Marcail. I am coming. I apologize for weeping all over you, Aunt Toril. ‘Tis surely Duncan's fault. I never wept before I came here.” Alera sniffed and dabbed at her eyes as she went to her cousin.
Marcail lay propped against pillows with her tiny daughter on her chest and her son nestled in the crook of her arm. Despite her exhaustion, she managed a wan smile. “Are you all right, Alera?"
"'Tis a question I should ask you.” Alera perched on the edge of the bed. “You should be asleep. By nightfall nature will come calling, then you will be too busy...whizzin' to sleep."
A sparkle appeared in Marcail's eyes. “Which twin should suck the bitters?"
"I am sworn not to tell, though I should warn you they are preoccupied with trying how to figure out how ruttin' works."
Marcail grunted and moved a hand to her belly. “Do not make me laugh. I'm too sore. Hold Leona for a moment for me."
Alera picked up the tiny infant and nestled the babe in an arm. She gently caressed her index finger across one soft silky cheek.
"Uncle Julien will be forcing the wedding today, will he not?” Marcail asked.
"Aye.” Alera kept her gaze on the babe, wanting to hide the distress she suffered from fate's latest jest.
"I hope you will be happy here. You've become a sister to me over the past few weeks, and I would miss you if you went away. Duncan is a good man, and he has had too much grief in his life. I'm glad he found you. But because he is a man, ‘tis very important for you to handle this wedding right."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, look at Mam.” Marcail winked at her mother. “Papa tricked her into wedding him. She never got to say her vows in front of a priest."
Alera's eyes flew to her aunt.
Hope grinned and shrugged. “'Tis those lion eyes. All he has to do is look at me a certain way and I melt."
"Then there is Aunt Toril,” Marcail continued. “Grandpa and Uncle Julien captured her during a raid. When Uncle Julien decided to wed her, she refused. Grandpa claimed laird's rights and spoke for her. So even though she had a priest, she still did not get to say her vows."
"But you are happy, are you not, Aunt Toril?"
"Aye, Alera. I am very happy, though ‘twas a difficult adjustment.” Toril smiled. “Like you, I was not fond of being forced."
"Now we come to me, Alera. I have known Logan Ranald all my life. When I was twelve and he was six and ten, he told Papa he meant to have me. Papa told him he would have to wait, of course. Then when I turned five and ten, Ewen Gordan gave me a bouquet at the harvest festival. Next thing I knew, I was face down across Logan's lap, riding for Ranald land as if all the kelpies in Scotland were on our trail."
"So Logan forced you to marry him, too?” Alera asked, stunned. Her cousin and Duncan's brother seemed so perfect for each other.
"Nay. I wanted to marry him, because I loved him. I was miffed, though. I wanted Mam and Papa at my wedding. So I said my vows.” Marcail's eyes sparkled with mischief. “But I only promised I would wed him and wear his plaid. I waited a full two weeks before vowing to love him. To this day, I still have not agreed to obey him."
"You are not serious?” Alera clenched her jaw to keep her mouth
from hanging open.
"I am. ‘Tis a sore point for Logan. Duncan roasts him about it all the time. Now hand me Leona and go think about what you will say while I take a nap. I want you and Duncan to be godparents, so you must wed before the baptisms. Aunt Toril, please tell Uncle Julien I said they cannot wed till Logan returns and I wake."
"You must be falling into delirium if you expect Uncle Julien to follow your orders,” Alera said.
"Of course he will follow my orders. Just as you have King Henry, I happen to be The MacKay's favorite godchild.” Marcail gave Alera a tired wink.
Alera returned Leona to her cousin's chest then pulled the drape closed behind her as she left to prepare a snack for the children.
Hope arched a brow at her impish daughter. “What was that all about?"
"Aye,” Toril said. “What kind of mischief are you up to?"
Marcail favored them with a sleepy smirk. “'Twas bait. Uncle Julien almost spoiled my snare, and I had to reset the trap. Alera and Duncan will both win this game. You'll see."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Sixteen
A faint smile quirked Duncan's lips. He leaned against the stone wall of the keep outside the front entrance on the landing and watched the unfolding scene. Alera had everyone waiting on her. Probably a last act of rebellion to irritate her uncle, and she would likely draw it out as long as she dared. Her plan was working. The MacKay paced a path back and forth across the landing, releasing snorts and growls worse than any angry bull.
Father Cunningham stood to one side, mopping his bald head with a white linen square and taking occasional peeks toward the door. Leonce and Logan loitered beside Duncan, grinning like daftles. On the other side of the landing, Toril couldn't wipe the amusement from her face as she watched her irate husband. Hope had remained at the cottage with Marcail.
"Aneuch! I'll be fetching her.” Julien stomped toward the front door.
The portal opened. Megan stepped out, wearing a pale-blue gown. A garland of pink rosebuds nestled in her short strawberry curls. She flashed Julien her sweetest little-girl smile then walked over to Duncan.
He picked up his daughter and balanced her on a hip with one arm. “I do believe my faerie sprite is the bonniest lassie in all the Highlands."
"Oh nay, Papa.” She shook her head. “Alera be very much bonnier. Wait till you see."
"We had best not wait much longer,” Julien complained. “What is taking so damn long?"
"She is waiting on special guests,” Megan informed him.
A caw sailed on the light summer breeze. Baran and Caellach landed on a second floor window ledge overlooking the landing.
Alera stepped out onto the landing, wearing a pale-blue linen gown over a white shift that peeked out at the scooped neck, sleeves, and hem. The garment gathered at the waist with a yellow sash. A pink rosebud garland crowned her head. Unbound curls fell in a thick waving mass to her hips, and long tiny braids at each temple held back her hair.
Duncan's breath hitched. A thrill flowed through him. The sun shone brighter as she swung around to face her aunt, her unbound tresses swinging behind her like a golden-brown fleece. Damn it all, he would never get used
to her beauty.
"Aunt Toril, have you seen the bouquet? I cannot find it."
"I have it.” Toril handed her a small bouquet of pick roses and purple heather tied with a yellow ribbon.
Alera faced Duncan and snorted. “Well, what are you gaping at?"
"Your hair,” he whispered. “You wore it down for me. ‘Tis—"
"Aye, I know,” she sniped. “Shimmering golden lights, floating around me, and all that. All I know is it seems to make you hot. Let us get this farce over with. Are you ready, Father?"
Julien turned bright red and made a choking sound. Leonce and Logan coughed to hide their laughter as a murmur of chuckles passed through the assembled Ranalds. Even Baran and Caellach fluttered their feathers and warbled a laugh.
"Aye, child.” Father Cunningham adjusted his ceremonial stole. He pulled a small cloth from his frock pocket and mopped his shiny head again. “Laird, if you and the lady will stand before me, we will begin."
"Wait!” Megan shouted. “Papa, put me down."
Duncan set her on the ground. Megan ran over to Father, pulled a handful of rose petals from her pocket, and tossed them on the ground. She peeked at Toril, who smiled and nodded. Then Megan smiled at the priest. “'Tis all right to start now."
Duncan and Alera took their places on the strewn petals as Megan went to stand with Toril.
Father mopped his brow again. “Who gives this wo—"
"You can skip this part, Father,” Alera suggested in a disgusted tone. “Everyone here knows the man already took me."
Duncan rolled his eyes at Alera's double entendre, while Leonce and Logan coughed again.
Julien leaned over and place his mouth next to Alera's ear. “You're not married to him yet, lass. Do not think for an instant that I'll not spank your bare arse right here in front of these people."
Standing straight, Julien scowled at the priest. “She is given by the MacKay. And do not ask if anyone objects."
Dabbing at his forehead again, Father Cunningham cleared his throat. “Holy wedlock, ordained by Almighty God and sanctioned by Holy Mother Church, joins a man and woman in a sacred union for the procreation of man..."
The holy priest preached about marriage and wifely duties for a full ten minutes before he made the mistake of mentioning virtuous women. A snort louder than Gilroy's prize pigs whipped through Alera's nose. Father wrapped up his sermon, mopped his brow, and turned to Duncan. “If you'll join hands and wrap the plaid, laird, you can speak your vows."
Facing Alera, Duncan took her right hand in his and wrapped a long narrow piece of Ranald plaid about their wrists. His grip on her hand was probably tighter than she liked, but as he gazed into seething sapphire eyes, he wasn't about to risk her fleeing at the last moment. “I wed you, Alera, and proclaim you Lady of Clan Ranald. In time and eternity, you're mine.” Alera snorted. “I vow to protect you and provide for you till the day I die."
"Alera, child, ‘tis time for your vows,” Father said.
Alera narrowed her eyes. “I wed you, Duncan, so I can use your body and you can use mine without it being a sin. And I will raise Megan as my own. But since I am being forced into this marriage, I will not love you or obey you. Nor will I wear your plaid till I am ready."
Duncan hooded his eyes and clenched his jaw, not sure whether he fought to suppress anger or amusement over her insult. He heard Logan's coughing fit behind him and knew his brother enjoyed this. He also had a good idea who put the notion into Alera's lovely noggin.
"Now, child,” Father chided. “You put me in a bad position with your words of force. The Church requires intent on your part for the union to be binding. Nor can you expect the laird to accept your—"
"I accept,” Duncan said, not giving the priest a chance to finish.
"I declare intent,” Julien added.
Alera compressed her lips. Duncan flashed her his most sardonic grin.
"Well, if The Ranald accepts and The MacKay concurs, then I pronounce you husband and wife. Go forth, be fruitful, and multiply.” Father waved his right arm in the air in the Sign of the Cross then turned away.
"You forgot something, Father.” Alera kept her glare on Duncan.
"What is that, child?” the priest asked, turning back around.
"You may kiss the groom.” Alera shoved her bouquet at the cleric then placed her hands on Duncan's shoulders. She pulled him down, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her body flush against his. Then the lass proceeded to give him a blatantly carnal open-mouthed kiss.
Passion sizzled from her hot mouth and shot straight to his groin. He cupped her buttocks and massaged her supple flesh while returning the kiss and enjoying the play of her hungry tongue.
Father began chanting, “Oh my, oh my, oh my..."
<
br /> Duncan let Alera have control, assured his clan enjoyed the spectacle from their hoots and cheers. It wasn't everyday they witnessed their laird and lady on the verge of a lustful union on the front steps of the keep.
Alera pulled back, draping her arms around his neck. She nipped his lower lip then licked the spot. “You have married a wanton, Duncan Ranald. You best keep me sated. In case ‘tis not your turn to use the male brain, that is a challenge."
Damn, she pleased him. Duncan drew his brows together in a mock frown. “So you would challenge your husband on your wedding day, wench?"
"Aye. Right now I challenge you to hold off until after the baptisms. Then I challenge you to make me fruitful."
Without taking his gaze from hers, Duncan said, “Father Cunningham, I expect you at Logan's in ten minutes. No more."
Duncan leaned against a tree in front of Logan's cottage with his arms folded across his chest in a deceptively casual stance and hooded his eyes. Alera prepared dinner over an outdoor fire. What was her game? In the space of a day, her attitude toward him had gone from tentative trust to calculated lust to downright shunning.
After standing as godparents for Leona and Keith, as Logan named his son, Alera drew him to the same secluded inlet where they had made love in the past. Their mating was carnal and primitive—a sharing of bodies but nothing more. She controlled her passion and didn't faint with her release for the first time.
She made her position clear without words. She would share her body, but not her spirit. Not the part of her that sang to his soul. Damn it all, why did she deny the love he had seen in her eyes?
When they finished, she donned her gown and returned to the cottage. She set about preparing the maorachs Logan and Craig had brought back from the coast for supper. She refused Toril's repeated offers of assistance and became unapproachable to all but the children, whom she fed first.
Most of the clan retired, and no celebration was prepared, other than the opening of a few kegs by clansmen who welcomed Struan home. Alera had made it clear she didn't want festivities. Only Toril and Julian, Hope and Leonce, Logan, Kevin, and Geddes sat about the clearing wishing the newly wedded couple well.