Paper Roses

by Collier, Celia

  Shocked, Ciara turned sharply in the direction from whence the arrows had come. MacDonell and the lout named Torquil emerged from the trees. Hatred raced through her veins. How dare he destroy such a creation as this?

  MacDonell paused and notched another arrow in his bow. Ciara's heart leapt to her throat. He meant to kill the baby as well.

  "Dare not!" She shrieked and pushed herself away from the tree. Without a thought for her safety, she ran through the thick snow toward the men, cursing the weight of her gown that hampered her movements.

  Darkness clouded MacDonell's face, followed by a momentary look of surprise. An unfeminine growl wound through her throat as she lunged for the hated MacDonell. She hit the man square in the chest. He lost his footing and tumbled to the snow-covered earth, taking Ciara with him.

  "You merciless bastard!" she hissed and trained her nails for his face.

  A grip akin to iron circled her wrist. Beneath her, MacDonell's legs became entangled with her own. He grunted, then rolled, successfully pinning Ciara underneath him in the cold snow. The hard wood of his bow dug into her back.

  Fury licked through her veins as she squirmed beneath his crushing weight. "Remove yourself from me, MacDonell."

  Anger flashed across his dark eyes. His face mere inches from hers, MacDonell held her wrists in a crushing grip. "Never interfere with a hunt again, or so help me, I will sink an arrow into your black heart."

  "My black heart?" She groaned and tried to remove his cumbersome weight. "You are the one who killed that beautiful deer."

  He adjusted his body and pressed her firmly against the ground. Her heart thudded in rhythm with his. The feel of his lean, muscular form shoved intimately against hers curbed her breath and threatened to steal her fury.

  His harsh breath brushed her cheek. "Aye, I killed the deer. If you had not come shrieking through the glen, I would have had the fawn as well."

  "You bastard." Ciara clenched her jaw and tried desperately to move. Given half a chance, she'd sink a blade in the broad expanse of his back. "How could you kill such beauty?"

  Some of the tension eased from his body. "'Tis simple, woman -- I like to eat. That deer will feed this clan for near a week." He loosened his hold on her wrists. "As laird, 'tis my duty to see to the needs of all who reside under my roof."

  With a grunt, he lifted himself away from the ground. Brisk air flooded Ciara's lungs. She lay against the cold, wet earth and stared up at him.

  MacDonell towered over her, his irritation clear in the depths of his dark eyes. An image of a tiger on the prowl sprang to her mind. He looked as if he were ready to pounce on her again.

  "Do they not dine on meat where you come from?" he asked as he brushed snow from his clothes.

  Ciara grimaced and rolled off the painful bow. She struggled to her feet and noticed their fall had broken the weapon. Satisfaction touched her breast. At least she had saved the fawn, and this churl would kill no more deer this day.

  "Of course my clan feeds on meat." She fixed him with a glare she prayed would send him into the bowels of hell. "However, I prefer not to look my meal in the eye before eating it."

  MacDonell scowled and retrieved the broken pieces of his bow. "'Tis not as if I intended to slice a chunk from the carcass and slap it down before you, woman."

  He grimaced at the severed weapon. Ciara refused to feel any guilt over what transpired. MacDonell flashed a glance to her, then turned his attention on the fallen deer. Ciara followed his gaze.

  Her stomach churned at the sight of Torquil lifting the lifeless doe onto his broad shoulders before moving toward the keep. Unable to bear the view, she closed her eyes and turned away.

  The echo of MacDonell's sigh drifted through the air. "I did not know you were about to witness the kill."

  A sad chuckle escaped her lips. She raised her face and stared at the orange-streaked sky visible through the bare branches of the trees. "Would it have mattered?"

  A moment of silence passed before he replied. "Nay."

  Ciara turned and stared into his haunting eyes. Why did he have to be so callous? Then again, he was a MacDonell. Killing came naturally to him and his clan.

  "Why am I not surprised?" She lowered her head and started for the keep.

  MacDonell grasped her arm. Ciara refused to look at him. In her present state of mind, she doubted if she could ever eat venison again.

  "Women should not witness death, if it can be helped."

  Something in his voice drew her gaze to his. She wasn't sure why she looked, but she knew she had no choice. If she didn't know better, she would think the tiny lines around his mouth and eyes were formed by regret.

  "Alas, MacDonell, I witnessed the deaths of both my parents. 'Tis a part of life, and cannot be avoided."

  His fingers eased from around her arm. Ciara pulled her cloak tightly around her shoulders and walked away.

  * * *

  "You upset Ciara, husband."

  Alastair grimaced and shoved his fingers through his hair. "Then we are even, wife, for I am not overly pleased with her, either."

  He tugged the soiled shirt from the waist of his kilt and pulled the fabric off his body. If the witch had stayed where she belonged, he would not have lost a weapon -- nor the fawn.

  The shirt crumpled beneath his fingers. Twined in the fabric lingered the intoxicating fragrance of Ciara. He lifted the linen to his nose and breathed deeply of her scent. Lavender.

  "You should seek her out and ask her pardon."

  Alastair paused. Valerie would think him daft for smelling his clothes. He grimaced, tossed the soiled item aside and snatched a clean one from a drawer.

  Guilt set aside for the moment, he turned a gaze on his wife. She sat propped up in bed, her vivid eyes brimmed with tears.

  Now, what the hell had he done? 'Twas not his fault the daft wench went screeching through the glen and foiled his hunt.

  "I have done naught to feel remorse, nor do I wish forgiveness." He tugged the clean linen over his head and shoved his arms through the openings. "'Tis that viper who should beg my pardon for her actions."

  Tears spilled over Valerie's lashes as he tucked his shirt into his kilt. The sight of her sorrow shoved a dagger through his heart.

  "You lied to me, Alastair."

  Her weak, choked voice twisted the blade already embedded in his chest. Had she somehow discovered the fib he told her last eve? With a sigh, he approached the bed and sat beside her.

  "I did not mean to displease you," he whispered and lifted a strong hand to her hollow cheek. "I would never harm you."

  "Yet you have done just that." She looked away from him and drew a ragged breath into her lungs. "You promised me last eve that you would care for Ciara as you have for me."

  Relief tumbled through his veins. So that was the oath she thought he broke. Gently he moved his fingers to her chin and turned her to face him.

  "'Twas no lie, wife. I made you a vow and I will do my best to keep it. Yet, when I am on a hunt to provide food for you and my clan, I will not allow a shrew to interfere."

  Anger touched Valerie's blue eyes and mingled with her tears. "Cease calling Ciara names. She is not a shrew, nor is she the viper you dared call her a moment ago."

  How did a woman's mind work? He was the injured party here, not Ciara. Alastair rubbed a hand over his weary eyes. No matter how much he was provoked by the enchanting witch, he must restrain himself from speaking his thoughts in the presence of his bride.

  "I let my anger rule my head, wife," he said and dared another look into her luminous eyes. "I will slander Ciara no more."

  Ciara. The woman was like none he had ever met. One moment he wanted to choke the life out of her, and the next -- well, if he were to be honest with his soul, he would admit to the desire she stirred in his veins.

  She dared him to test the waters of her wrath and discover first-hand if her passion was as fiery as her temper. He almost challenged that dare this morn while the witch
was trapped beneath him in the snow.

  "My friend has been hurt so much by life, Alastair. You have no idea the depth of her wounds."

  The tender embrace of her voice drew his thoughts from a place they should never have ventured. Guilt gnawed in his belly and clawed its way up his spine.

  "Ciara needs you so very much, Alastair." Valerie raised a gentle hand to his cheek. Her lip quivered and he feared she would weep.

  "The lass needs naught but to return to her clan, Valerie."

  Silent tears slid over her cheeks. "She needs a man, Alastair, someone who will love her and show her kindness."

  Alastair's breath lodged in his throat. "What has that to do with me? I am already wed."

  Valerie lowered her gaze. "Not for long, husband." Her voice betrayed her sadness. "My time is limited, as well you know."

  He wiped away the tears that stained her cheeks and sighed. "I have not lost hope that you will recover." Valerie raised her gaze to his. "You are my wife, and the only woman I wish to think upon right now."

  Mirrored in the watery blue depths of her eyes, Alastair saw the truth. Despite Ciara's efforts, and his, Valerie would soon die. Resignation tightened his chest. He was naught but a helpless spectator in this battle with an unseen foe.

  "I love you so very much, Alastair. I only want you and Ciara, the two people I care for most in this world, to find happiness." Her voice wavered and tugged at his heart.

  God, he was such a blackguard. With Valerie he found a woman who loved him to the depths of her soul, yet he could not return the sentiment.

  He felt lower than an adder under a rock.

  "I beg you to be a fair judge with Ciara. With her, I believe you will both find love."

  Exasperation mixed with guilt in his chest. Torn between respect for his wife and an unexplainable infatuation for a beautiful witch, Alastair longed to run from the keep before madness overwhelmed him.

  "I will listen to no more of this talk," he managed to say. Heaven knows he had done enough this day to harm Valerie. "'Tis with you I pledged my troth. I will not sully our marriage or allow you to plan my next wife."

  Silence filled the air. Alastair wished she would say something, anything to let him know what thoughts occupied her mind.

  "'Tis not a sin if I give my blessing, which I do."

  The hush of her voice filled the air between them. 'Twas then Alastair knew she meant every word. Stunned, he tried to make reason from folly.

  What was Valerie's motive here? Surely she did not think that he could ever wed a shrew like Ciara. His head throbbed. Not only did he not wish to think about burying his wife, he would not consider following a plan that would place him in a viper's den, either.

  Valerie sighed. "I will not force the issue yet. You need time to think this matter through." She placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Just remember how well I know you, husband, and how well I know Ciara. The two of you share the same soul."

  Madness crept further into his brain. This had to be a very peculiar dream. "All Ciara and I share is animosity."

  "Liar," Valerie whispered, her voice soft. "The two of you share a bond in your fondness for me."

  "To that I will agree," he said, remembering how hard Ciara had worked in Valerie's chamber.

  "Alastair, hear my plea. 'Tis my desire and fond wish for you to show Ciara some tenderness." She held up a hand to silence him when he started to protest. "If you would only put forth a small amount of effort, you would earn her trust and be amazed at the woman you find lurking beneath the facade of an impartial heart."

  'Twas the trouble. He longed to explore Ciara, all right, and not in a brotherly way. The woman had haunted his nights from the moment she tumbled out of the wagon that brought her to his mountain. Aye, he knew what Ciara needed, and it had naught to do with friendship.

  And it was all so very wrong.

  Alastair sighed and cupped Valerie's hand in his own. He could never consent to arranging a second wife while the first still lived. And given a choice, he could never consider Ciara.

  He gazed into Valerie's eyes and his heart ached. She truly thought she knew what was best for him. All he could do for the moment was appease her.

  "I will do all in my power to make peace with Ciara. Yet I fear what you call a facade is true nature."

  A weak smile touched Valerie's lips. "You are wrong, husband. If you keep your word, you will soon realize how mistaken your thoughts are."

  An invisible band tightened around his heart. If he could muster no love for a woman such a Valerie -- a lass who deserved the emotion -- how could he possibly have such feelings for Ciara?

  He shook his head to clear his mind of such foolish thoughts. "I fail to see why we even speak of such things."

  "Because it is my will."

  Alastair leaned over and kissed his wife tenderly on the mouth. The salt that lingered from her tears swirled around his tongue. He was the reason for her unease.

  He rested his brow against hers and sighed. "You are my wife, Valerie. I will have no other."

  "Aye, you will. All men need sons."

  The truth of those words could not be denied. Despite his will, a heir would have to be produced before he breathed his last.

  Yet the mother of his children could never be a red-haired enchantress named Ciara. Even if he should entertain his wife's suggestion, he knew something she did not.

  He, Alastair MacDonell, had ridden with the men who slew Ciara's father. That, he felt certain, was one sin she could never forgive.

  Chapter Five

  Ciara leaned over an aged ceramic basin in her room and splashed cool water over her face. Her dreams had been haunted, first by the doe, then by MacDonell. In the hours before dawn, Ciara tossed against her mattress and tried in vain to wipe away the memory of how it felt to have his body pressed against hers.

  A gentle knock upon her door drew Ciara from her troublesome thoughts. Dressed in naught but her chemise and underskirt, she pulled on a robe, then eased open the door an inch.

  MacDonell stood in the hall. In the wavering glow of a torch, Ciara saw tired lines around his dark eyes, his mouth turned down at the corners. 'Twas clear she was not the only one in this keep who could not sleep.

  "I need a word with you." He sounded as tired as he looked.

  "I am in no mood to enter a duel of words with you, MacDonell." She lowered her gaze and pushed the door. His hand against the wood prevented it from closing. Her gaze returned to his.

  "'Tis a pity, for speak to me you shall."

  Arrogant cuss. Ciara frowned. "Very well, I will meet you below stairs shortly."

  MacDonell shook his head. "Nay. What I need to discuss I do not wish others to hear."

  A shiver licked her spine. She forced herself to remain calm. "Speak, then."

  Again he shook his head and stepped into the room. Ciara's heart leapt to her throat. She backed away from the door and his masterful form. Being alone with him was not a wise idea.

  "Are you aware of this intolerable plan my wife has concocted?"

  Ciara closed her eyes and willed her pulse to cease its erratic beat. He knew. She opened her eyes and swallowed hard. He gazed upon her as if he could gladly choke the life from her body.

  "Aye, I know of the foolhardy plan that wanders through Valerie's brain." Another swallow edged its way around the painful lump lodged in her throat. "'Tis clear her illness has dulled her senses. Now, remove yourself from my chamber."

  He didn't move. The rasp of his breath echoed off the walls and sent chills down her spine. Reluctantly, Ciara turned away from his unnerving glare and approached the lone window that overlooked the loch.

  She felt something must be said. Calling forth her courage, she stared across the pristine scenery and cleared her throat.

  "I tried in vain to make Valerie see reason."

  "Did you?"

  Anger quickly replaced the unease from a moment ago. She glared at him. The egotism of this man was not to b
e believed. He probably thought an ugly lass like her would grovel at his feet and kiss his toes for the chance to wed him.

  He was about to be proven wrong.

  "Aye, I did. I would rather die a spinster than to consider a life in purgatory with the likes of you!"

  MacDonell closed the distance between them, yet Ciara did not back away. If MacDonell itched for a fight, that is what she would give him.

  "Methinks I am the one who would suffer." His rough voice sent shivers along her spine.

  Ciara swallowed hard and met his cold glare. "Do not fear, my mighty laird. I have no intention of entertaining such a foolish notion."

  The darkness of his haunting eyes settled on hers. "Nor would I be fool enough to wed a woman with the tongue of a viper and the temper of a shrew."

  "Good, then we have no problem." Ciara crossed her arms over her belly and glared at him. She hated him from the top of his dark, arrogant head to the tips of his toes. "Now, remove yourself from this room."

  One dark eyebrow disappeared beneath the hair that tumbled recklessly across his brow. "'Tis my house you occupy, woman. I do as I wish."

  Ciara swallowed hard. 'Twas difficult indeed not to retreat from his imposing presence. "And what, pray tell, do you wish to do with me?"

  A vein twitched in his neck and the dusk of his eyes swept over her. Ciara trembled. She tightened her hold around her body and prayed he did not notice her discomfort.

  "That, woman, is one question you do not wish me to answer."

  Jaw tense, she lifted her chin. She knew only too well that, given the chance, he would bounce her down his mountain and drown her in the loch.

  "I refuse to leave until Valerie bids me so."

  Something flashed across his eyes, yet Ciara could not identify it, and she wasn't certain she wanted to. Perhaps she had read the thoughts that tumbled through his pompous head?

  MacDonell lowered his gaze and turned away. Ciara glanced toward the ceiling and released her pent breath, relieved she no longer endured his scrutiny.

  "I will do all in my power to make my wife see reason. I expect the same from you."

  Och, the cocksure fool was begging to be attacked. "What, pray tell, do you think I have been doing?" Her question drew his gaze once more. She shivered, yet refused to look away. "Valerie knows better than most my lack of fondness for all things MacDonell. In her heart, I believe she knows I could never honor her request."