"Guards?"
MacLean's wretched voice made Ciara shrink against the stones. Perhaps it was best if Alastair tossed them out.
"You insult me by offering such an indignity to a man of my position."
Another step separated Ciara from MacLean. She could feel his filth creep up the stairs toward her.
"That reminds me. The livestock will be guarded as well."
"You bastard!"
The hiss of MacLean's voice in response to Alastair's slight drifted through the hall. Feet shuffled and the thud of bodies being tossed around echoed up the stairs.
Ciara's heart leapt to her throat, yet she could not force herself down the steps. Alastair would not kill her brothers, and it would be difficult for Eneas or MacLean to gain an advantage over her husband.
Another thud permeated the air, followed by the wrathful timbre of Alastair's voice.
"Torquil, get this cretin who calls himself a laird the hell out of here before I kill him."
Ciara stayed for no more. She turned and bolted up the remaining stairs, then entered her lonely room.
Her hands shook from the confrontation. She could only imagine the thoughts and fury that raced through not only her brothers' heads, but her husband's as well.
Tension tightened the muscles across her shoulders and wound through her veins. She would not rest again until MacLean was far from this keep.
Unable to remain still, Ciara began to pace. Each step twisted the knot lodged in her belly.
As much as she wished to see her brothers, she did not think she could tolerate MacLean. The man's voice made her squirm and the thought of seeing him again sent revulsion straight to her soul.
Gooseflesh slid over her skin. She paused before the hearth, closed her eyes and rubbed a hand over her arms.
Alastair would protect her. She may be mad as the devil with him at the moment, yet if MacLean so much as brushed her skirt, MacDonell would kill him. Of that, she had no doubt.
The leather hinges of the door creaked. Ciara opened her eyes and turned toward the barrier. Alastair stood framed in the threshold, his face clouded with indecision.
'Twas then she knew the depth of his feelings for her.
Despite his deception, and her tender feelings, Alastair loved her. He clearly suppressed his urges and instincts, and allowed people he could not otherwise abide to occupy his home.
She began to tremble. Now she was safe. As long as she remained in his presence, no harm would come to her.
"Alastair," she whispered, her voice choked.
He moved into the room and pushed the door closed with his foot. The emotions that filled his eyes wrenched her breast.
He loved her. He truly loved her.
She longed to run to him, to feel the warmth of his strong arms around her. Yet, she hesitated. Her emotions licked through her veins as quickly as a fire took to dry wood. They battled with the betrayal wedged in her heart.
"You heard what transpired?"
The timbre of his voice vibrated through her soul and pulled her from her troubled thoughts. Unable to form words, Ciara nodded.
He sighed and approached the table. "Have no fear, wife. Although I was tempted, I did not harm your brothers."
She approached the table and paused by his side. One touch would not hurt. "Alastair," she whispered and placed a hand on his arm. The dusk of his eyes rested on hers. Ciara swallowed hard. "The presence of MacLean is the source of my unease. He is immoral."
A frown tugged the corners of his mouth. The gentle brush of his fingers caressed her cheek. "Among other things."
Ciara shivered against his touch and closed her eyes. She needed him so very much, needed his touch and reassurance.
"I will protect you with my life," he whispered and pressed his lips to her brow.
The depth of his worry, as well as his convictions, was apparent in his touch. 'Twas as if he needed her as much as she needed him.
His hands cupped her face and his lips strayed to her cheek. "None will harm you, love," he whispered and cradled her head against his chest. "I will kill any who dares to try."
Ciara felt like weeping. Nestled against the comforting beat of his heart, feeling the tenderness of his touch, her emotions threatened to consume the deception lodged in her soul. He made it very difficult to maintain her war with him.
She lifted her head and stared into his eyes. For the first time in her life, someone other than a kinsman loved her. Her heart trembled. How could she continue to punish him when the proof of his love was so clear?
"Stay with me until they leave. I do not feel safe alone."
Tenderness softened the worry from his eyes. "Mayhap, if MacLean's presence returns you to my arms, I should thank the man."
Her tummy fluttered against her spine. "We will share a room, husband, nothing more."
He pressed his lips together and nodded. "'Tis a start, wife; 'tis a start."
* * *
Alastair sat before the hearth and stared into the low fire. His feet propped upon a stool, he occupied a stuffed chair in his wife's chamber.
His wife.
Guilt tugged at his bruised heart. He had betrayed her, that could not be denied. Somehow, he needed to find a way to earn her forgiveness and regain her trust.
He glanced toward the bed where Ciara lay sleeping. The tender glow of the fire caressed her face and lured to life the longing hidden in his soul.
Do you know why she hates MacDonells?
Valerie's ghostly voice drifted through his mind. Bitterness rose in his throat. Alastair lowered his gaze and stared at the blanket that covered his body.
Ciara hated him and his clan. He closed his eyes against the pain that knowledge placed in his heart. How could he expect her to forgive him, when he could not forgive himself? Once again, he found himself wed to a woman he did not deserve.
"Alastair?"
Her tender voice pulled him from his sorrow and he rested his gaze on her. She sat up amid her rumpled covers, worry upon her brow. A pristine nightgown concealed the body he had explored one night, and longed to sample again. Blood stirred in his loins. He turned his attention back on the hearth.
"Could you not sleep?" he managed to whisper.
"Nay. My thoughts are troubled."
And he was the cause, no doubt.
"What keeps you from slumber, husband?"
Alastair closed his eyes. Should he tell her that guilt kept him from sleep? Or that the knowledge she slept less than ten feet away kept him awake?
The groan of the bed lured his gaze. Ciara climbed from the confines and approached his chair. Her tousled tresses glimmered in the light and dared his fingers not to touch. A familiar ache wound through his soul.
He loved her with every fiber of his being. The knowledge that she resented him stabbed his heart. 'Twas then he knew how Valerie must have felt. She had loved him to the very depths of her soul, yet he could not return her feelings. Perhaps this was God's way of punishing him for his sins.
Ciara lowered herself to the floor beside his stool and rested her head upon his thigh. His body tensed at the contact and drew her gaze.
"Does this disturb you?"
Lord, if she only knew. He swallowed hard and shook his head. "Nay, wife. I would prefer you did not sit upon the cold stones, though."
Her gaze lowered for the space of a heartbeat before returning to him. "I want to be near you, husband."
Alastair's breath caught in his throat. 'Twas another step in the right direction as far as he was concerned. Little things such as this would regain her trust.
"Come, wife," he whispered and held his hand to her.
Indecision clouded her eyes. She glanced from his hand to his face, then slowly slid her fingers against his palm.
Joy spiraled through Alastair's heart. With care, he helped her to her feet, then pulled her into his lap. He covered her with the blanket and held her in his arms.
This felt so right to him. How he had
missed holding her, touching her, loving her.
Ciara snuggled against him and rested her head on his shoulder. "My weight does not bother you?"
Alastair smiled and placed a chaste kiss upon her brow. "There are many things about you that bother me," he whispered. "Your weight is not one of them."
She lifted her head and stared into his eyes. Longing stirred in his veins once more. God Almighty, she was beautiful. He wanted to kiss her so badly, he could taste her upon his tongue.
As if she read his thoughts, Ciara lowered her gaze. "I search my heart for a way to forgive you, Alastair." Again she looked into his eyes. "Each day, each act of kindness from you, weakens my resolve."
He lifted his hand and lightly touched her cheek. "Once I gain your forgiveness, I vow never to hurt you again."
Ciara said nothing. She looked away from him and once again settled in the cocoon of his arms.
The subtle scent of lavender teased his nostrils and tempted his dormant passion. He closed his eyes, held her close, and willed his body to remain impassive.
Time. Through the passage of time, he would gain the return of his wife. He stroked her hair and stared into the hearth once more.
He could hold her like this forever. In all his life, he had never felt anything so natural.
You and Ciara share the same soul.
The haunting whisper of Valerie's words drifted through his brain. How daft he thought her at the time for making such a comparison.
Now he knew that her words were true. Ciara nestling in his lap only strengthened Valerie's words. They did indeed belong together.
"I love you, lass," he whispered and pressed his lips against her brow. He closed his eyes and prayed with all his might that soon Ciara would forgive him.
Chapter Eighteen
Alastair paused in the doorway of the dining chamber, Ciara at his side. Although she would never admit it, he knew she was apprehensive about the confrontation to come. The sleepless night they shared was proof of her unease.
"Shall we?" he asked.
The depths of her blue eyes searched his. She nodded and, with a gentle hand at the curve of her back, Alastair guided her into the room. Unease churned in his gut, and against his arm he felt his bride tremble.
Maids moved among the tables, settling trays upon the wood. A few clansmen occupied benches, engrossed in quiet conversation, and spared them no more than a glance.
At the head table, Alastair helped Ciara into her chair, then seated himself beside her. This meal could not end soon enough for him.
People filtered into the room and found their seats. Alastair leaned back in his chair and surveyed the area.
His men wore weapons into the hall, a custom Alastair usually forbade. Yet in light of their visitors, he encouraged it, felt it was best his clan be prepared. None would rest easy until their unwelcome guests departed.
At that moment, the men of Mackintosh and MacLean entered, Torquil and a handful of others close behind. Animosity clouded Eneas' face the moment he saw Ciara. Likewise, contempt curled the thin lips of MacLean. Alastair's fingers coiled against his palm.
Ninian glanced at his sister and smiled. At least she had one brother who appeared to give a damn.
The men moved toward them. Each step twisted Alastair's gut. With care to keep his dislike in check, he stood and glared at the men.
"MacLean is not welcome at my table." He nodded to Torquil. "Move him far from my sight."
Anger churned in MacLean's eyes. "The king shall hear of the insults you offer."
Alastair shrugged. "It matters not to me whose shoulder you weep upon. Consider yourself fortunate you did not sleep in the snow last eve."
The group dispersed. Ninian moved around the table and placed a kiss on his sister's cheek.
"'Tis hale you look, Ciara." He seated himself beside her, ignoring Eneas and his pompous glare.
"'Tis good to see you again, brother."
"Mackintosh," Alastair said, drawing Eneas' gaze. "This is reserved for you." He nodded to a stool beside him and lowered himself into his own chair.
Pleasure filled him at the insult he offered Eneas. Lairds were unaccustomed to eating from a stool. Alastair wanted this worm within easy reach.
Haughtiness touched Mackintosh's eyes. Alastair silently dared the vermin to challenge him in his own hall.
"I will not allow you to provoke me, MacDonell," Eneas hissed as he settled onto the offered seat.
"Pity. I so looked forward to gaining a valid reason to kill you."
Eneas rested his arms on the table and leaned forward to look at Ciara.
"Sister, dear, do not become accustomed to this clan or its laird." His gaze flashed to Alastair and a thin smile curled his lips. "'Tis clear Valerie was out of her mind when she made her last wish."
Alastair grabbed the man by the nape of the neck and shoved his face into a bowl of porridge.
Eneas sputtered and scrambled to his feet, overturning the stool in the process. Instantly his hand went to his waist.
Alastair knew he had been right to remove the visitors' weapons.
"Beg my pardon at once, MacDonell!"
Calmly, Alastair used a linen cloth to clean the sticky mess off his fingers. "Ciara and I are wed, and naught will change that. I thought I made that clear last eve."
"She is betrothed --"
Alastair stood and glared down at the arrogant cuss before him. Aggravation edged its way to the surface. One wrong word and he would toss the man into the hearth.
His tactic worked, for Mackintosh retreated a step and wiped a hand over his soiled face. "I will forgive you this time."
"I do not wish forgiveness. You deserved that." Behind him, Alastair felt Ciara's hand against his back. He scowled and returned to his seat. "The issue of our marriage is now closed."
"Thank you, husband," she whispered, her head bowed. "Eneas can be difficult at times."
"'Tis for you I did not toss him out on his behind." He took a deep breath and ignored Eneas, who returned to his seat.
Ninian leaned forward and frowned. "Why was Valerie's wish not mentioned in your missive informing us of her loss, MacDonell?"
A chill settled over Alastair's heart. "I sent no missive announcing her death."
"Aye, you did. Word reached us within days of the event."
Alastair focused on his wife. "Did you inform them?"
Ciara shook her head. "I had planned to, but the storm approached and halted my request to you for a messenger."
What the devil was happening here? His gaze scanned the clan assembled before him. Had one of them turned traitor?
"I do not understand this." Ninian's voice drew Alastair's gaze. "Eneas read the missive to the clan, then informed Valerie's people as well." His frown turned to Alastair. "We could not understand why Ciara did not come home once the death occurred. 'Tis what prompted this visit."
Alastair tried hard to remember the days that followed his wife's death. None of his trusted men had departed for the time required to deliver such news. But someone had made the journey.
Unease settled in his belly. He turned to Eneas. "Did you retain the missive that bespoke Valerie's passing?"
A smirk touched his lips. "Nay. It bore the MacDonell seal. Once the information was read, I used it to wipe my ass."
Ire licked through Alastair's veins. "You beg for another taste of porridge, I see."
Eneas leaned away from him and scowled. "Touch me, and I will make Ciara a widow."
A chuckle escaped Alastair's lips. "'Twould require a man greater than you to see to the task. Yet, if you insist, I am certain my people would not mind the entertainment of watching you wither in death's embrace."
"Please cease this arguing."
Ciara's voice drew Alastair away from his thoughts of strangling Mackintosh. Instead he sighed and asked, "Whose name graced the missive?"
"Yours." For once, Eneas looked disturbed. "You truly did not send the message?"
Alastair said nothing. He would prefer not to let his enemies know that a possible traitor lurked in his midst. "Finish your meal so you may leave my sight."
Silence settled over the table, and again Alastair surveyed the room. His gaze paused on Torquil. His hatred for Ciara was clear, yet the man could not read, much less write. In fact, he knew of none in his clan, aside from himself, who could master such a task.
Perhaps the disloyal one sought out the services of another. The village priest would know his letters, yet Alastair was not convinced a man of the cloth would forge his signature.
He turned his gaze to Ninian. "Before you depart, I would appreciate a word alone with you."
Ninian nodded, and continued his meal and quiet conversation with Ciara.
"I need a word with my sister as well."
The tone of Eneas' voice grated on Alastair's nerves. "Whatever you wish to speak to my bride about, you will do so here or leave in silence."
"The devil you say, MacDonell. 'Tis private family business and does not concern you."
What Alastair wouldn't give to take a whip to this man! "I deny your request."
Anger distorted Eneas' face. "You are overbold, MacDonell."
"You are a -- "
"Husband."
Ciara's gentle hand upon his arm halted the crude words from tumbling from his lips.
Her gaze flashed from him to Eneas. "What do you wish to say to me, brother?"
Eneas scowled and shoved the bowl of porridge to the far side of the table. "Mother's possessions," he said and slid a glance to his sister. "What did she bequeath you?"
Ciara frowned. "Enough coin to gain my passage here and her traveling case. Why?"
Alastair grimaced. "What concern is this to you, Mackintosh? Anything possessed by Ciara became mine the moment we wed."
"MacDonell -- "
"Not the family silver," Eneas said, not allowing Ciara to finish. "If my sister surrenders those items now, I will dissuade MacLean from pursuing his plea with the king."
"I cannot surrender what I do not possess," Ciara said as she climbed to her feet. One look at her and Alastair knew she was tempted to silence her brother herself. "Even if I did hold those items you covet, I would not relinquish them into your greedy hands."
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