Deadly silence filled the room. Glances were exchanged, yet none were courageous enough to challenge him.
Alastair nodded. "Verra well, now I will address my wife's looks."
"MacDonell, nay," Ciara whispered and tugged upon her arm. These were words she preferred not to hear again.
He ignored her. "I find no fault with Ciara's appearance and my opinion is all that should matter. In my eyes, she is beautiful." He shook his head. "I fail to see what you, my clan, finds so offensive."
Ciara ceased her struggles and turned a stunned gaze on him. Beautiful? To speak such words in private could be disputed as a lie. But before the entire clan?
"She has bewitched you, laird. You burned your bed for her." The proclamation came from the back of the hall. Others nodded their agreement.
"I admit to being under her spell. Which man among my clan has not made a fool of himself over a comely lass with star-dusted eyes and berry-red lips?" Silence settled over the room. "I am no different from you. Ciara pleases me. Unlike you, I took the time to know her. If you would bother to speak to her, look upon her with kindness, you would discover the same caring, wonderful woman I found."
Grumbles drifted through the room. Ciara couldn't tell if they believed him or if they longed to stone her.
"What of the bed?" The shouted question raised more voices in the hall.
"Destroying the bed was my decision. Ciara made no mention of this to me at all."
A flurry of murmurs sped through the room. Ciara trembled beneath the harsh glances cast her way. Alastair slipped his hand from her wrist and twined his fingers with hers.
"Remember this." His voice brought an end to the whispers that filled the room. "If you insult my lady, 'tis the same as insulting me."
His words settled over the chamber. Ciara was unsure about the clan, but she was convinced he meant every word. Alastair looked down at her. Her heart fluttered against her ribs and she had the horrible urge to weep with joy.
He told the truth, not only now, but earlier as well. She saw it reflected in his eyes, as clear as a spring day.
"Come, wife," he whispered and turned to leave the chamber.
"She must be a mighty forgiving lass tae give herself tae a clan responsible for the downfall of her sire."
Disbelief washed through Ciara and stilled her heart for one painful moment. Her step faltered and she stood rooted to the floor as firmly as the trees in the forest. Beneath her fingers, she felt Alastair's pulse miss a beat.
Slowly, she turned to face the room. The first person she saw was Torquil. He stood amidst a sea of men, his scowl instilled upon her soul.
"'Twas this branch responsible for the deaths in the glen?" Where her voice came from, she had no idea. It sounded weak and distant to her ears.
Torquil lifted one bushy eyebrow. His gaze slid from her to Alastair. "Ye dinna tell her ye rode with the men that day?"
Ciara closed her eyes. Betrayal wedged in her soul. So eager was she for attention, she convinced herself that Alastair could not possibly be involved. A chill settled over her heart. She had been such a fool.
"I had yet to explain that aspect to my wife."
His admission tore through the remnants of her trust. She pulled her fingers from his cold grasp and looked up at him.
He had not lied to her, for she had never asked if he was involved. Yet he knew the truth all along and chose to keep silent.
"How could you, Alastair?"
Misery lined his face. "Ciara, there is much about that night you do not know."
"Aye, like what a thieving bastard her sire was. He brought death upon his own head."
Torquil's words penetrated her brain. She turned to face him. "My father a thief?" She shook her head. "Never."
Disgust curled the man's lips. "Aye, Mackintosh stole hard and heavy from all the neighboring clans. Sheep, cattle, horses. The final insult came when he captured our laird's mistress tae have as his own."
Shock tore through her breast. He was lying. Her father adored her mother. Ciara shook her head and took a step away.
"I see ye doubt my words. Ask any present. Laird Mackintosh abducted Rachel. He subjected her tae unholy sins, sodomy among them, before she died."
"Cease your lies," she whispered and retreated another step. "My sire was incapable of such things."
Torquil moved through the crowd toward her. "Rachel escaped a fortnight later and lived long enough tae name Mackintosh as her tormenter. Yer sire got exactly what he deserved. My only prayer is that he is roasting in the depths of hell for his actions."
She could no longer hold the tears at bay. They tumbled down her cheeks like the blood of her father. The blood these men had spilled. With a sob, she turned and fled the room.
Lies. They were all lies.
She raced up the stairs, refusing to heed her husband's plea to stop.
Her husband!
Dear God. Was marrying her Alastair's way of seeking revenge on her clan?
She ran into her room and bolted the door. The horror of Torquil's words echoed through her head and shattered her soul.
What was she supposed to do now? God Almighty, she was married to the laird. How could life be so cruel?
* * *
"You bastard!" Alastair struck Torquil hard across the face. "Why was I never told this?"
Torquil staggered, yet did not fall. His stormy gaze settled on Alastair. "Ye ken. 'Twas common knowledge yer sire bedded Rachel."
Alastair's fingers curled into his palm. "Aye, that I knew. But I was unaware of what led to Rachel's death." He took a deep breath. "On his deathbed, father said 'twas sin that killed her. I thought he referred to his affair with her."
"Yer sire went mad the night Rachel vanished. And when she returned and died in his arms, it pushed him over the edge."
Anger and disbelief battled in Alastair's veins. Things made sense to him now. His father's rage and demented demands. The blood thirst that dominated the glen.
His gaze rested on Torquil. "You were my friend. You should have told me."
"I thought ye ken. 'Tis why this clan could not understand yer infatuation with that Mackintosh bitch."
"Silence!" Alastair snapped, his rage still high. He turned to cast a gaze over the clansmen who occupied the room. "Dare not speak ill of my wife again. Ciara is no more responsible for the sins of her sire than I am for mine."
Disbelief lined Torquil's face. "After all this, ye plan tae honor yer marriage?"
"Aye," he said, without hesitation. "Naught has changed. I expect loyalty from each and every one of you. Do anything to harm my lady, and I will kill the offender and display his head on a pike. Dare not test me, for I assure you I mean every word."
Alastair turned on his heel and left the room. He had to speak to Ciara. Fear stirred in the pit of his belly. Somehow, he had to convince her that all he said was true.
He admitted love for the first time in his life. Alastair would be damned if he would lose it now.
* * *
"Open this door, woman!"
Ciara adjusted the ties along the bodice of her gown and ignored her husband's request. His blatant betrayal before his entire clan was one thing she could not forgive.
Fighting the emotions that threatened to overcome her, she smoothed the skirt of the plain gray wool gown she found among the things Alastair had sent to her chamber from the upper room. This was more suited for her than the finery MacDonell had offered. Ciara moved to the small mirror on the mantel and stared at herself.
Ribbons no longer adorned her hair, nor did the blush of happiness stain her cheeks. Her heart was numb, unfeeling. To hear such blasphemy about her sire, coupled with Alastair's lies, slaughtered the hope and happiness she foolishly allowed to rise to the surface.
Her door vibrated from blows, followed by the muffled curses of her husband. Still, she ignored him.
Mindlessly, she gathered her hideous hair and worked it into a knot at the nape of her neck. When she finished, the
image that stared back at her was one she was accustomed to seeing.
A drab spinster with nothing at all to look forward to in life.
Ciara lowered her gaze and moved toward her trunk. She placed the last of her belongings inside, then silently closed the lid.
The crack of wood giving way echoed through the room. She turned, hands clasped before her, and waited for her husband's entrance.
Alastair stumbled into the room the moment the barrier gave way. The shattered wood groaned and fell to the floor.
"At least I know you breathe." Hair tousled, face flushed with annoyance, his gaze locked on hers and he rubbed his shoulder. "Why did you disregard me?"
A tiny shiver danced along her spine. She forced it aside and cleared her throat. "I was not ready to face you, MacDonell."
Concern touched his dark eyes and he slowly advanced. "Ciara, I swear to you I had no knowledge of what you learned this eve."
Hurt stabbed her heart. She refused to acknowledge it or look away from her husband's gaze.
"You knew." A deep breath filled her lungs. "I wish to leave."
His gaze darted to the trunk behind her. "Do you promise things freely with no intention of honoring them?"
Ciara shook her head. "Nay."
Confusion touched his brow and clouded his eyes. "Then, why --"
"I cannot stay where I am detested and misled." She lowered her gaze. "I want to go home."
"You are home." The shuffle of his feet moving over the stones made her tremble. "You are mine now, Ciara."
She shook her head in denial. Emotion attempted to stir in her breast. She tried valiantly to bury it.
"You did your duty, MacDonell; we both did. Our union was a grievous error, yet it can be corrected."
"What transpired between us last night was not a mistake!" His anger drew her gaze. "I will not let you leave."
"You have no choice."
The emotions that crossed his face frightened her. She retreated a step, only to bump into her trunk.
"You are the one with no choice, woman!" He pulled her against his chest. Ciara did not resist. She stared into his troubled eyes and tried to remain impassive. "You are my wife. I refuse to let you go."
Ciara's heart thudded against her breast. "Your clan will stone me for the lies they believe about my sire."
Alastair shook his head. "They will not harm you."
"I would if I were in their place."
The rage that funneled through his veins showed in his eyes and his embrace. "I vow to look into this matter and discover the truth. Will you help me?"
Her voice deserted her. Compliance was the last thing she expected, or wanted, from him. She shook her head.
"If you are convinced Torquil's words are false, why deny me?"
"Lies or not, one thing remains true, MacDonell, and always will." She took a deep breath and disengaged herself from his grasp. "You rode with them. From the moment I arrived, you knew that you participated in the slaughter of my sire and his men, yet you said not a word."
Torment consumed his features. "I cannot deny that."
Her hands trembled and she turned away from his sorrowful gaze.
"So much makes sense to me now. Our consummation was a form of retaliation. However, the crown jewel in your revenge was making me believe you desired a crone."
"Ciara, you are so terribly wrong."
She closed her eyes against the feigned pain in his voice. He placed his hands upon her shoulders. Ciara recoiled and turned a gaze on him.
"Do not touch me. I cannot tolerate that now."
A disgruntled sigh escaped his lips and he shoved his fingers through his hair. "Everything that transpired in this room last night was the truth."
Ciara shook her head. "You deceived me."
"Aye, I did, yet I want to tell you the rest of the story. Will you listen?"
She turned her back on him. "Do I have a choice?"
Silence lingered between them. Finally, MacDonell spoke. "Ciara, I was absent most of the year your sire perished. I returned the day my sire rode out. He ordered me to accompany him in battle, although I was unaware of the cause. My queries went unanswered. When I refused to kill, my father labeled me a coward."
I am not a coward!
The memory of Alastair's declaration shortly before Valerie died spiraled through Ciara's soul.
"After the brunt of the battle was over, he stripped me of my tartan and a search among the bodies revealed a man who had yet to perish." He turned her and raised her chin with his fingers. "Look at me, Ciara. I want you to know I speak the truth."
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Etched upon his face were the horrors he endured five years past. Empathy tried to coil around her heart.
"I was ordered to kill the man, or be banished from my clan and my home. Naught I did could sway my father from his decision." He lowered his gaze a moment, then whispered, "The clan backed my father and forced me into a quandary. I am ashamed to say I killed a wounded man."
Tears filled Ciara's eyes. How was she to know he did not continue with his lies? Had every moment that passed since they met been filled with deception?
"I cannot expect you to forgive me for hiding this from you. My only excuse is, I was so captivated by you that I did not want to risk hurting you."
"Yet you have done just that, MacDonell." So many thoughts tumbled through her head, Ciara had a difficult time thinking. "You have shattered the fragile bonds of trust so newly-formed between us."
His fingers brushed her cheek. "I refuse to let you leave me, Ciara. Should you dare try such a thing, I will come for you."
"Why?" she whispered, her heart filled with uncertainty. "The wishes of your clan are clear. They will never accept me."
"I want you here because I love you."
"Dare not lie --"
"'Tis the truth," he said, not allowing her to finish. "Accept it or not, the choice is yours. Help me learn the truth about what happened to Rachel. 'Tis the only way for both of us to survive."
She wanted to believe him. If she persisted with her plan to leave and he followed, bloodshed would occur the moment her brothers spotted a MacDonell on their land.
Could she live with his death upon her hands?
She turned away from him and approached the window. The reflection that stared back at her was of a woman who was slain last night, a lonely spinster who no longer had a right to exist.
Her gaze moved to Alastair's image. The memory of their night together played across her mind. His tenderness, his whisper, his touch.
'Twas then she knew she could not leave. She saw the truth behind his words etched upon his face . He would indeed follow should she depart. That was one bloody battle she could thwart.
A shaky breath filled her lungs and she lowered her gaze from the reflection in the glass. "I will stay."
Alastair moved behind her. The moment he touched her, she spun away from him.
"Dare not presume to touch me, MacDonell," she said, her voice choked with emotion.
Confusion touched his eyes. "I do not understand. You consented to stay---"
"To avoid having your death on my soul." She stepped away from him and tried to still her trembling hands. "My brothers would butcher you the moment you appeared on our land."
Hurt flashed across his eyes. "Ciara -- "
"I will stay, yet we will occupy this keep as husband and wife in name only. We will not share a room, or a bed -- "
"Like hell!"
He reached for her. Ciara eluded his grasp. "'Tis my terms, MacDonell. Accept them now, or arrange to have my trunk taken to the dock."
His strong jaw tensed with unleashed rage and the fingers she eluded curled into the palms of his calloused hands.
"I will not lose this war with you, wife."
The hush of his voice slid through her soul and tugged at the memories buried deep in her heart.
"Nor will I, husband."
Tense silence filled the air
between them. Finally, MacDonell lowered his gaze and approached the broken door. He paused and glanced at her from over his shoulder.
"I give you fair warning, Ciara. I do not intend to play fair in this game of yours. Once I prove to you my words are true, I will claim you again."
He stepped across the shattered wood and left her alone.
Ciara managed to make it to a chair before she collapsed. This would be the most difficult battle of her life.
She closed her eyes, bowed her head and prayed for guidance. The ugly truth, countered by his words of explanation, battled with each other in her heart. She had suffered enough heartache to last a lifetime. Was it too much to ask for one act of kindness?
If, in the end, she could not forgive Alastair, Ciara prayed for a quick and merciful death.
Chapter Sixteen
Alastair rolled over in bed and reached for Ciara. Cold sheets were all that greeted him. Alarm shook his heart and opened his eyes.
She was gone, no longer at his side. Through betrayal, he had lost the one woman remarkable enough to heal his soul and show him the true meaning of love. And he was powerless to do anything about it. Her trust could not be regained overnight.
With a sigh, he tossed back the covers and climbed out of bed. He tugged on his robe and moved to stare out the lone window of his small room.
Ciara had yet to furnish the chamber Valerie died in, a room he had hoped to share with his bride during their lifetime.
Do you know why she hates MacDonells?
Valerie's ghostly voice echoed through his brain. Alastair closed his eyes and prayed the pain in his heart would ease. He had unwittingly hurt Ciara. If he had known that one day their paths would cross, that she would be his bride and fill him with joy, perhaps he could have dissuaded his sire in the glen.
He opened his eyes and stared into the inky darkness beyond his room.
The battle, the horses, the blood. 'Twas part of his past, and no amount of regret could change the events that occurred that fateful eve. Mayhap it would have been better had he disobeyed his sire and been banished from the clan. Then he would not have killed Valerie. He would not have met Ciara.
Alastair turned away from the window and approached the door. Sleep would not return with ease this night. He stepped into the hall and headed for the stairs.
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