As he neared the broken timber that was once Ciara's door, Alastair paused. The faint light of candles flickered through the shattered wood and beckoned him forth.
At the threshold to a room where just an evening past he had found exquisite pleasure, Alastair stood and watched his bride.
Ciara sat at the table, her back toward him. A collection of candles flickered through the darkness. The uneven glow of the flames kissed the russet length of her unbound hair that cascaded down her back and brushed her velvet-clad hips.
Lord, she was lovely. Should he dare speak to her? He glanced to the floor and summoned the courage to face his wife. He told her he did not plan to play fair. The lass could not say she had not been warned.
"Could you not sleep?"
Ciara paused, yet kept her back to him. "What are you doing here, MacDonell?"
"An empty bed woke me." Alastair tossed caution to the wind and approached the table.
Spread across the polished wood lay an array of paper strips, painted a variety of colors. Smooth twigs rested near her slender fingers and awaited use. Nestled on the table before her was a perfect white rose.
Alastair paused behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. She tensed but did not pull away. "This seems an odd time to indulge in your craft."
Ciara shrugged. "When my thoughts are troubled, this soothes me."
Tormented thoughts. Shivers slid over his skin. He was the cause of her sleeplessness.
"What is it you do?" he asked and leaned over so his cheek brushed hers.
Her hands trembled as she removed a tightly wound piece of paper from around a twig the size of his little finger. "This will be the center of a rose."
With fascination he watched her shape the paper into a bud. She curled the edge of another strip around a slightly larger twig, then affixed it to the end of the bud to form a perfect petal.
"Where did you learn this?" he whispered and moved his hands gently down her arms.
Ciara stiffened for a moment, then continued with the next petal. "My mother was French, and had a fondness for roses. They were displayed in her family silver and her embroidery. I experimented with different things until I could duplicate the beauty of nature. That way, my mother could have her roses all year."
His fingers curled around her wrists, yet did not hamper her movements. 'Twas strange, but he felt as if he were helping her create these magnificent blooms.
Another strip of painted paper slid between her fingers. She wound it around a twig and glanced at him. "'Tis tiresome to watch. Pray, leave my chamber and return to your bed."
Infatuation coiled in his belly. "Och, nay," he murmured and pressed his lips against her cheek. "'Tis seductive to watch you like this."
Ciara quivered and the paper tore. "Your tactics will not work this night, MacDonell."
He smiled and moved his arms around her. "I wish nothing more than to watch my wife perform an art."
The twig fell against the polished table. Ciara cursed and reached for it again.
Alastair kissed the curve of her neck.
"Merde! Will you cease this?" Ciara shoved away from his embrace and stood so abruptly she overturned her chair. Nestled in her eyes he saw the torment that struggled for dominance in her heart. "You are violating my terms."
He nodded. "I made myself quite clear, wife. I do not plan to play fair."
Ciara fixed him with a narrow look and took a step away. "You betrayed me, MacDonell. I will not be seduced by you again."
Lord, perhaps he could find some enjoyment from this damnable situation. Memories of the bantering that followed their marriage flitted across his mind.
Alastair smiled. "I accept your challenge."
"MacDonell," she whispered and retreated another step. "Pray leave this room."
He studied her a moment, fighting the urge to drag her into his arms and kiss her breathless. At this point, that would gain him resistance and that was the last thing he wanted from his beautiful Ciara.
"Verra well," he whispered and gave her a short bow. "I wish you peaceful slumber, wife." He turned on his heel and walked away.
In the dim light of the corridor, he paused and smiled back at the shattered door. He would win this match, and soon.
No more secrets remained between them. Now that she knew the truth about him, about his clan, nothing else in the world could come between them.
Once he regained her trust and her love, he would cherish it, and her, for the remainder of his days. Never again would he do something so dire that Ciara would be tempted to leave him.
He returned to his room and climbed into bed. Ciara. They belonged together. He would kill anyone who dared come between them.
* * *
"Invaders approach."
Ciara's heart dipped to her belly. She raised her head and looked at Alastair seated at his desk. His gaze remained on Torquil, who blocked the threshold.
"How many?"
The giant scowled and approached the windows. "Fifty, maybe more. My numbers are poor."
Alastair frowned and turned to her. "Go to your room and remain there until I come for you."
"Who would arrive in such deep snow?" she asked and set aside her sewing.
Torquil grunted. "I may be slow at numbers, but plaids I ken." His dark, narrow eyes flashed to her. "'Tis a mixture of Mackintosh and MacLean tartans that contaminate our soil."
"MacLean? Why would that slimy bastard be in their company?"
Ciara's hands trembled as she stood. She knew why. Clearly, Eneas intended to force her into compliance.
Torquil shrugged. "Who kens the likes of him?"
Alastair removed his blade from its resting place over the hearth. "Ciara, do as I say. I will handle this."
Anger stirred in her veins. "What makes you think there is something to handle?"
Her words halted his movements and drew his gaze. Ciara swallowed hard, yet refused to allow him to intimidate her.
"Woman, get yourself above stairs now, or so help me I will drag you there by the hair."
"Nay. I refuse to allow you or anyone else in this clan to harm my family." She held his gaze while inside, her stomach cringed. Clearly, her husband was not used to being defied. "Three years have passed since I last saw my siblings. Naught is wrong with them paying me a visit."
Alastair frowned and glanced at Torquil. "Prepare the men," he said, not continuing until the giant left the room. Once they were alone, he slowly approached.
"Dare not defy me in the presence of others. I bade you to your chamber for your protection. This could be a ploy from mine enemies."
"It could also be a simple wish for brothers to see their sister."
Aggravation darkened his eyes. "No one climbs my mountain without permission."
"Och, off we go again on the idealism that you own this mountain."
"I do!"
"Nevertheless," Ciara said, trying hard to keep her temper at bay. "Those are my brothers out there. As your wife, I expect them to be made welcome."
Alastair stopped before her. Flecks of gold melded with the dark brown of his eyes. He did indeed look like a panther ready to strike.
"I anxiously await the day when you are truly my wife once more."
Ciara's belly kissed her spine. She swallowed hard and moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Do not attempt to change the topic to your favor, MacDonell."
The seductive curve of his lips made her insides quiver. "Verra well. Were you not taught that wives are to be submissive to their husbands?"
God help her, but she wanted to hit him right in the middle of his arrogant face. Her fingers curled against her palm to suppress the urge.
"If you think I will blindly obey your every wish, you are sadly mistaken. If this is what you seek, find yourself a dog."
One dark eyebrow rose and disappeared beneath the tumble of his hair. "At least a dog would know its place."
Fury licked through Ciara's veins. She clench
ed her jaw and moved to strike him. He caught her wrist with ease, his eyes deadly.
"Do not defy me on this, Ciara." He released her and nodded toward the doorway. "Go."
The words Ciara longed to call him tumbled unspoken through her brain. She would rather kiss the devil than admit defeat.
Images of MacLean flashed through her mind. The man was lewd, to say the least. How Eneas managed to forge a friendship with the man was unknown to her. If eternity passed before she laid eyes on MacLean again, 'twould be too soon.
Perhaps it was best to let Alastair have his way, just this once.
"Verra well," she said with a lift of her chin. "I will go this time. However, expect defiance in the future."
"I welcome your fire when we are alone."
The smug smile of victory that crossed his lips fueled her temper. She turned on her heel and walked away, lest she give into her urges and strike him down.
The arrogant cuss. She may have conceded this battle, yet in the end, she would win the war.
* * *
Alastair sat astride his mount, his gaze locked on the line of men forging a path up his mountain. Through the thick frost of his breath, his attention focused on just one man.
Fergus MacLean.
Disgust tightened Alastair's fingers around his reins. There were very few men Alastair truly despised. MacLean was one of them. The stories told about the decrepit laird made his skin crawl.
The bastard best have a damned good reason for trespassing on his mountain.
The warriors of MacDonell stood at the ready. Four dozen rode mounts. The remaining men stood in knee-deep snow, their bodies layered in fur. Leather shields, broadswords and bows weighted them down. Yet, despite the elements, Alastair knew any one of them could out run a deer.
"How close tae the keep do ye plan tae let them get?"
Torquil's words drew Alastair from his thoughts. "We are a safe distance. Let them wear out their horses and save ours."
"I dislike this, my friend." Torquil grimaced and rubbed a hand over his bearded face. "Mackintosh, I can understand. But what the devil is MacLean doing here?"
Alastair nodded toward the gap in the trees. "We are about to find out."
Twenty feet before him, the men drew in their reins. Alastair slid his gaze over the leader of the group. The man wore the plaid of Mackintosh. From his badge, Alastair knew this was the laird. Neatly-groomed burnished hair lay against his shoulder. Eyes as blue as the heavens surveyed him.
"I come in search of Ciara Mackintosh," the man said, his hand resting on his pommel.
Disdain coiled through Alastair's belly. Something about the man, the way he carried himself, the superior lift of his nose, irritated Alastair to no end. "Identify yourself."
A smirk curled the man's thin lips. "Eneas Mackintosh." With a docile nod toward his shoulder, he continued. "My brother attends me as well."
Alastair's gaze flashed to MacLean. "What is this one doing in your company?"
Eneas frowned. "That concerns you not." He adjusted himself in his saddle. "Now, do you take me to my sister or do we draw swords?"
This man was begging to be killed. Alastair nudged his mount forward a few paces.
"All who trespass upon my land concern me, Mackintosh." Again his gaze slid over MacLean. "If you desire entrance, explain his presence."
MacLean's lips parted to reveal a mouth filled with rotten teeth. Beneath a shield of greasy hair, eyes as narrow as a snake's assessed Alastair. "Ciara is my betrothed."
Revulsion stirred in Alastair's heart. Clearly, her brothers thought very little of her to even entertain the idea of matching Ciara to MacLean. 'Twas difficult indeed to hide his disgust.
"I find that impossible to believe," Alastair said, barely noticing when Torquil drew alongside.
Eneas sighed. "It matters not what you care to believe, MacDonell. I came to remove my sister from this keep so she can honor her betrothal."
Alastair cupped his hand over the hilt of his sword. The touch of cool metal did little to dispel his anger.
"'Tis a shame you wasted a journey. Ciara is already wed, to me."
"You lying bastard!" Eneas hissed, his eyes dark with rage. "Ciara would never defy me. Nor would she wed into a clan who murdered our sire."
"Your opinion means naught to me, Mackintosh. I have the papers to prove my words." Alastair tightened his hold around his sword. "Ciara is mine."
Fury etched deep lines across the other man's face. "I demand to see my sister at once!"
What a fool this man was. 'Twas cocky, indeed, to ride onto MacDonell mountain uninvited, much less in the company of a man rumored to favor sheep in his bed. 'Twas bolder still to make demands on him.
"If you wish to live to see the sunset, I suggest you adjust your tone and consider your words with care." Alastair kept a keen eye on Mackintosh. If he thought Ciara would not hate him, he would kill the bastard now and do the world a favor.
From behind Eneas, another man wrapped in Mackintosh plaid moved his mount forward. 'Twas clear they were brothers. Yet where Eneas irritated Alastair, this one did not.
"I am Ninian, another of Ciara's brothers. Our journey has been long and I would appreciate a chance to speak with my sister and rest my mount."
At least this one had more style and sense than his elder sibling. Still, Alastair longed to banish them from his mountain. Despite his wishes, he knew he could not do such a thing. Ciara would never forgive him.
"Do you swear to keep that lecher and your laird under control?" Alastair asked.
Ninian nodded. "I do."
Despite his instincts, Alastair believed him. Eneas may be the laird, but 'twas plain he was not the wisest choice for the position.
Alastair sighed. "Verra well. My men will escort you to our keep. They will relieve you of your weapons for the short duration of your stay."
He turned his mount away and, with Torquil by his side, rode toward the keep.
"I will not pretend tae care for yer bride," Torquil said with a backward glance at the intruders. "Yet nae lass deserves tae have MacLean forced upon her."
Alastair grimaced. "The old bastard is part devil to have lived so long. He has buried more wives than the king has bedded whores."
"Aye, and yer lady was almost one of them."
Chills danced along Alastair's spine. Just the thought of Ciara at the mercy of a debaucher froze his blood.
If MacLean so much as dared a look at his bride, or any other lass in his realm, Alastair would kill him.
Chapter Seventeen
Ciara paced the corridor outside her room. Her gaze continued to stray to the glow of torches near the stairs.
How long would MacDonell leave her here? From the voices that drifted up the staircase, she imagined several more hours would pass before she was allowed to see her brothers.
Curiosity melded with impatience. To allow him to order her to her chamber was one thing. To be forgotten was quite another.
With resolve, Ciara approached the stairs. She would show MacDonell that he could not boss her about.
Each step grew slower and, mid-way down the spiral she stopped, her back pressed against the wall. From the sounds of it, the men were about to exchange blows.
"The betrothal papers promising Ciara to MacLean were signed over a year ago!"
Eneas' heated voice sent chills down her spine. Had he entered into an agreement with MacLean despite her wishes? Aye, 'twould be just like him.
"I could care less if the papers were signed the day of her birth. Ciara is mine, and I will kill anyone who tries to take her from me."
Ciara's breath caught in her throat. He meant his words. And by the tone of his voice, she knew he was very angry. A tense silence filled the air. She dared to descend another step.
"The king will see things differently."
Dread coiled through Ciara's belly and froze her to the stones beneath her feet.
MacLean.
The man enticed b
oth hatred and fear in her veins. She didn't understand why her brother would agree to an alliance with such a deplorable lecher.
"I need little encouragement to mount your head on a pike."
Ciara wound her fingers in her skirt and edged her way up a step. Now was not the time to defy her husband. He was furious enough without being tested further.
"To begin with, Ciara and I wed to honor the last wish of my late wife."
"Aye, we heard of Valerie's passing."
At least Eneas could muster an ounce of sympathy for the loss of her friend.
"Dying wishes are --"
"Secondly," Alastair snapped, not allowing MacLean to finish. "My heir grows in her womb as we speak. Those two reasons alone, you contemptible bastard, will hold more merit with the king than your broken betrothal."
Shock speared Ciara's heart. Her pulse thundered in her ears. What if his boast was true? Dear Lord, she would have to find the courage to forgive him if she discovered herself with child.
"You bedded her?"
Ciara lifted her gaze toward the heavens and shook her head. Leave it to Eneas to disbelieve anyone could desire her.
Alastair's chuckle reached her ears, yet she knew by the tone he was not amused. "Get the hell out of my keep before I toss you out."
"MacDonell, please, I for one am elated Ciara is not doomed to MacLean. I would like to see her before I depart."
A smile touched her lips. Ninian. Always her champion.
"You approve of her being with MacDonell? Must I remind you, he is our enemy?"
Ciara retreated another step. Eneas would not admit defeat with ease.
"Must I remind you Ciara is now part of this clan? Offend the laird, and you ruin all possibilities of seeing her again."
Ninian was irritated also. 'Twas clear by the hush of his voice and the clip of his words. The journey must have tired him, for Ninian was difficult to provoke.
Again, Ninian spoke. "The hour grows late, MacDonell. Allow us to share your roof this night."
Awkward silence filled the air. Ciara held her breath. Did her husband trust Ninian enough to allow them to stay the night?
Finally, Alastair's sigh reached her ears. "I grant you quarters for one night only, and under heavy guard. On the morrow, you may share the morning repast with your sister and see for yourself she is hale. Then you will depart."
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