Paper Roses

by Collier, Celia

  He held onto the pommel and grasped Ciara's arm. Silently, she slid to the ground. Alastair released her, then dismounted. He led the horse to a post and secured the reins.

  "No stones greet us," Ciara said and adjusted her cloak around her beautiful hair. "Perhaps she has mellowed?"

  "Perhaps," he said and, touching her elbow, guided Ciara to the door. "She could be waiting for us to open the door so her aim is true."

  Ciara frowned. "You make her sound as agreeable as a fishwife."

  "You have yet to meet her." He lifted his hand and knocked on the weathered wood. "Johann, 'tis I, Alastair." The silence of the forest was their only reply. He knocked again. "I have brought my bride to meet you. Pray open the door."

  The barrier flung open. Ciara jumped and retreated a step. The putrid air of a croft used to house livestock in the winter assaulted his nostrils.

  Alastair was thankful he had not dined before departing. Chickens darted between his legs and scurried into the snow.

  He stared down into the tormented face of a mother who lost her only child. Raven hair streaked with gray covered a head that barely reached his chest. Her size meant naught to him. This little woman came in a powerful package.

  Alastair smiled. "You look hale, Johann."

  Sorrowful brown eyes moved from him to Ciara. "Why did you bring this Mackintosh bitch to me?" She moved forward and examined Ciara with a scowl. "An unsightly lass at that. She is a credible argument for chastity."

  Despite his good intentions, Alastair began to get angry. "That is quite enough, Johann. Ciara has done naught to harm you."

  "Ciara?" A mirthless chuckle escaped her lips. "'Tis ironic such an ogre was given the name of an angel."

  Beneath his hand, he felt Ciara tremble. He scowled and started to speak. His wife stopped him.

  "You know the myth?"

  Johann sneered and drew her moth-eaten cloak around her. "Aye."

  Alastair creased his brow. "I know of no fable surrounding your name."

  Ciara looked up at him and nodded. "Aye. 'Tis said during the Yule one year a lonely man fell asleep along the western seashore. During his slumber, he dreamt of an angel named Ciara. At Brigid's Well they shared a kiss. He fell hopelessly in love with her, and longed for the end of each day so he could be with his angel again."

  He knew exactly how the man in the story felt. One kiss from his Ciara and he, too, had fallen hopelessly in love.

  "This is all quite charming, but does naught to make your presence welcome." Johann stepped into her croft and pushed against the door.

  Alastair placed his hand on the barrier. "We came to talk to you about Rachel."

  Hurt flashed across the woman's eyes. "Laird or not, I should take a dirk to you." Her gaze moved to Ciara. "The sire of this heathen bitch killed my daughter. By all rights I should be given free reign to bind and torture her, make her suffer the same indignities forced upon my Rachel."

  Tolerance for her only went so far. "Enough!" His roar was effective for the woman ceased her verbal assault. Alastair sighed and willed his annoyance to abate. "Johann, I have learned information that sheds new light on the death of your daughter."

  Some of the anger that creased her face eased. "What kind of information?"

  Alastair looked down at Ciara and pulled her close. "I believe the Mackintosh was innocent."

  Rage clouded the woman's face. "You grunt between her legs a few times and decide the condemning words of my dying daughter are false?"

  "You, dear woman, have the vilest mouth of anyone I have ever met in my life."

  Dear Lord, Ciara was angry. Not that he blamed her, but the tone she used was one he had never heard before. Alastair looked down at her and found himself at a loss.

  Johann stepped to within an inch of Ciara and scowled. "The opinion of an ugly slut means naught to me."

  A vein twitched in Ciara's jaw. "'Tis bold you are to call me ugly. When was the last time you looked into a mirror? I dare say you would frighten Nessie right out of the loch."

  A baleful growl lodged in Johann's throat. She shoved his wife so hard, Ciara stumbled and fell into the snow.

  Alastair had all he could stand. He stepped forward when Johann advanced. He would throttle the woman himself.

  "Husband, nay!" Ciara said, her gaze locked on Johann. "'Tis my battle."

  Wicked laughter echoed off the trees. "Och, 'twill give me great pleasure to beat you to death." Johann dove for Ciara.

  In a blind flurry of movement, Ciara rolled away and Johann landed face first in the snow. A blink of his eye brought an image to Alastair's mind he would never forget as long as he lived.

  Ciara held Johann against the cold ground with a knee pressed against her back. One hand clasped the older woman's wrists while the other twisted her face into the snow. Fingers twined in streaked hair, Ciara lifted the woman's head.

  "From one crone to another, death will not greet me this day." Increased pressure from Ciara stilled the squirming Johann. "Ask my pardon."

  "Go to the devil, you witch."

  "After you." Ciara clenched her jaw and shoved the woman's face into the snow once more.

  Alastair leaned against the post where his horse was tied and watched. Never in his life had he seen anything as amusing as this.

  After five more denials from Johann, followed by a face shoved in snow, Alastair decided it best to interfere.

  He moved behind his wife and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Let her up, Ciara."

  She shook her head and shrugged away from his grasp. "Not until she begs pardon."

  Alastair smiled at the muffled curses that drifted to him from Johann. "I dare say hell would freeze first."

  "Pull her off of me, laird. She is crushing my backbone."

  "Consider yourself fortunate that is all I have done. Now, beg pardon for your insults or I will sever your spine."

  "Ciara --"

  "Stand away from me, MacDonell, or you will be next."

  Damned if he didn't believe her.

  "I yield," Johann gasped, her face contorted with pain.

  "Do you beg pardon from myself and my husband?"

  Johann hesitated, so Ciara tightened her hold. "Aye, aye, now let me up."

  Ciara released her hold and climbed to her feet. She brushed at the snow that clung to her cloak and gown and grimaced at Johann. The woman rolled to her back and choked on the brisk Highland air.

  "Where did you learn such tactics?" Alastair asked.

  She shot him a heated glance. "One does not grow up in the midst of eleven brothers and not learn a thing or two." Her gaze returned to Johann, who managed to sit up in the snow. "We have wasted a trip. This woman has no desire to learn the truth. She would rather wallow in self-pity and seclusion."

  Alastair hated to admit it, but he feared Ciara was right. He watched his wife make her way to their waiting mount. A weary sigh escaped him. He stepped forward and offered Johann his hand.

  The woman's eyes met his for the space of a heartbeat, then her weathered palm slid against his. Once on her feet, she brushed at the snow that covered her clothes.

  "I am sorry we disturbed you, Johann. It will not happen again." He approached his mount and reached for the reins.

  "What information do you have?"

  Her words made him pause. He glanced at Ciara before he answered.

  "Are you truly interested, or are you gaining your second wind to have another go at my lady?"

  A moment of silence passed. "I am truly interested."

  Alastair turned to face her. This was the most docile he had seen Johann in years.

  Her gaze flashed to Ciara. "If her sire was not responsible, I want to know who is." She looked down at her clothes and scowled. "Give me a moment to change into something dry, then come in and sit a spell."

  Ciara stood unmoving by the horse. Once the door closed behind Johann, Alastair dared approach.

  "Is your temper cooled now, wife?"

  "I had no i
dea one woman could be so mean." She closed her eyes and rubbed a gloved hand over her brow. "At first, I thought kindness would reach her. Yet once her mouth opened, I knew the only thing she would understand was a thrashing."

  Despite himself, Alastair chuckled. This drew Ciara's gaze and he tried to sober.

  "I beg your pardon, wife. I am elated to see you can take care of yourself, should the need arise."

  "I never thought I would have a husband to defend me, Alastair, so I learned to do it myself." She crossed her arms over her belly and turned away. "As scrawny as Johann is, 'twas an unfair match."

  He smiled and moved behind her. "From where I stood, I would say the match was even." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. She squirmed and he tightened his hold. "You gave me yet another reason to love you, Ciara."

  The door creaked open. "Do you plan to stand out there all day and freeze off your behinds?"

  Alastair sighed. "Come, wife, we are being beckoned."

  "I heard."

  Now that the territory had been drawn, and Johann knew where she stood with Ciara, it wouldn't surprise him if the two women became friends.

  * * *

  Ciara sat on a stone ledge before the hearth and grimaced at the ewe that nudged her hand. In all her life, she never seen a place as filthy as this.

  A milk cow occupied one corner of the cramped room. Chickens and sheep dominated the rest. Dung covered the floor, yet did not seem to bother Johann as she moved about, fetching mugs for her guests.

  Alastair occupied the only chair in the place. 'Twas a crude contraption that looked as if it would not support his weight. An equally rustic table and a lone cot completed the furnishings.

  "So, you want me to tell you all that transpired the fateful day my Rachel returned?" Johann asked and handed Alastair a mug.

  He peered into the vessel and scowled. "Aye, I do."

  Johann grunted, then hobbled over the floor to hand Ciara a mug. Guilt touched her heart. Was she the cause of the woman's limp? She accepted the mug with a whispered thanks. Johann grimaced and turned away.

  Ciara looked into the cup and frowned. Something floated atop the drink. She used the tip of her finger to remove the item.

  'Twas dung, most likely from the chickens.

  The ewe, momentarily distracted, returned. Ciara placed the mug on the ledge and scooted away from the animal. The sheep didn't seem to mind the filth and dipped its nose into the vessel.

  "The laird knew I never approved of him using my daughter like he did. Yet, Rachel was in love with the man, so what was I to do?"

  Alastair placed his mug on the table and sighed. "What of the day she returned?"

  Sorrow touched Johann's eyes. Ciara almost felt sorry for her. The woman eased herself onto the edge of her cot and absently stroked the ears of a lamb.

  "She was bruised from head to toe with nary a stitch to cover herself." Grief fractured her voice. She paused a moment, then continued.

  "Rope had rubbed the skin from her wrists. Cloth hid her eyes from light the entire time of her captivity. She was near blind by the time she escaped. 'Tis a miracle she found her way home."

  The hush of her voice drew Ciara's gaze. Despite their rocky start, empathy rose in her breast.

  "She told what acts were performed on her, and what she was forced to do to gain rest or food. When she refused, her flesh was cut, then hot wax dripped into the wounds until she complied."

  A shudder sped through Ciara. She stared at the floor, unable to witness the pain in the woman's eyes. Bile churned in her belly. She swallowed hard and forced it away.

  "She did not see her tormenter?"

  Alastair's voice drew Ciara's gaze. Hope seeped into her veins.

  Johann shook her head. "Nay. 'Twas during the night when she was taken from us. The bold bastard stole her from your father's keep."

  "Then, how did she know to accuse my sire?" Ciara asked.

  When Johann looked her way, she wished she had remained silent.

  "He told her his name, repeatedly, during the long hours they shared. Even if he had not, we would have known who to accuse."

  Alastair creased his brow. "How?"

  Johann climbed to her feet and moved to a shutter. She eased open the barrier and closed her eyes against the breeze. "He branded his crest into her buttocks."

  The stench of the room, coupled with the story, forced the restrained bile to Ciara's throat. Without a word, she ran from the croft. Her legs refused to support her weight. She sank to her knees and vomited in the snow.

  It could not be true. Her sire was incapable of such things. Another wave of nausea overwhelmed her. She closed her eyes and prayed the sickness would pass.

  The weight of a cloak covered her shoulders. Ciara opened her eyes and found her husband kneeling beside her.

  "Are you all right?"

  Tears stung her eyes. She looked away from him and wiped a shaky hand over her mouth. "I -- spewed."

  His hand touched her brow. "So I see. I asked Johann to fetch some water from a nearby stream."

  Ciara trembled and pulled the cloak around her shoulders. "'Twill be frozen."

  He shook his head. "She keeps a hole chipped through the ice."

  Despite her wishes, tears seeped from her eyes. "It cannot be true, Alastair. The things she stated." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "My sire could not have done that."

  "He was innocent, Ciara."

  His words drew her gaze. She wiped her eyes and stared at him. "How do you know?"

  "Only a fool would abduct a woman for such illicit acts and tell her his name. Nor would he imprint his badge on her flesh." He lifted his fingers and stroked her damp cheek. "A badge as well as a plaid identifies you. From what I know of your sire, he was no fool."

  Ciara's lower lip quivered. She averted her gaze and nodded. "He was a good man."

  "Hush, now," Alastair whispered and pulled her into his arms. "I promised to learn the truth."

  Johann returned with a pail. Water spilled over the sides as she sat it beside Ciara. Alastair eased her from his embrace and filled a gourd dipper.

  "Here, this will help."

  Ciara didn't resist. The cool water slid down her throat and soothed her rampant tummy.

  "Are you breeding, lass?" Johann's rough voice drew Ciara's gaze. The woman frowned. "Do you have a bairn in the barn?"

  Despite herself, Ciara smiled and accepted Alastair's hand. "'Tis possible."

  Johann grimaced. "If I had known, I would not have been so rough on you."

  Somehow, Ciara doubted that. "No harm was done. Do not fret over the confrontation."

  "Och, the day has yet to come when I would worry over a Mackintosh."

  "Johann --" Alastair warned.

  The woman scowled and glanced toward the sky. "You best be on your way, lest you be caught in the storm."

  Alastair sighed and looked at Ciara. "Are you settled enough to ride?"

  She nodded and walked with him to their mount.

  "Place her in the saddle before you, laird," Johann instructed.

  Ciara trembled at the thought of the long ride home with her bottom nestled in Alastair's lap. "That will not be necessary. I -- "

  "The rump of a horse is no place for a woman in your condition." Johann scowled.

  Alastair lifted his gaze toward the heavens and gently shook his head. "Methinks it 'twas a mistake coming here," he whispered and lifted Ciara into the saddle. "Somewhere in the midst of her black heart, she thinks herself my mother."

  "There are worse things in life to suffer, husband," she said as he mounted behind her.

  The warmth of his arms embraced her and pulled her against his chest. She hated to admit it, but it felt good.

  "Will you keep me informed about my Rachel, laird?"

  Alastair nodded. "I give you my word." He gathered the reins and turned their horse toward home.

  "And the babe," Johann called as they neared the edge of t
he forest. "Send word when it is born."

  "Aye, Johann," Alastair replied and guided their mount from view.

  Nestled in his arms, Ciara stared up at her husband. So much talk about babes had occurred the last few days, she was beginning to wish it were true.

  "Alastair, do you think I carry a babe?"

  One dark eyebrow disappeared beneath the tousled hair that covered his brow. "'Tis entirely possible."

  Ciara lowered her gaze. "I never thought I would be a wife, much less a mother." She shook her head. "It worries me."

  "Why?"

  She shrugged. "What if I fail miserably at the task?"

  "Impossible."

  Her gaze sought his. "How do you know?"

  The dusk of his eyes swept over her. "Because I know your heart, Ciara. You would adore a child to the depths of your soul."

  He was right, and she knew it. All her life, she favored children. She helped kinsmen care for theirs, and played with them to keep them occupied. Her tummy fluttered at the thought of having a child of her own. She had only one fear.

  "What if our babe resembles me, husband?"

  A slow smile touched his lips. "Then I would consider myself blessed."

  Ciara's heart melted under his gaze. She prayed she soon found the courage to forgive him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Alastair sat at his desk and stared through the glass at the storm that deposited more snow over his mountain. Elbows braced on the arms of his chair, his fists pressed against his lips, he mulled over all he learned the last few days.

  Endless interviews with clansmen present when Rachel stumbled through the trees so many years ago only confirmed what Johann had related. The wounds that covered her body and the words that condemned a clan to death.

  He closed his eyes.

  Mackintosh was innocent.

  Deep in his heart, Alastair knew this to be true. Yet, none of his trusted men shared his view.

  They argued that the brand of a crest established Mackintosh's imagined superiority, not just over the lass, but the MacDonells as well. The argument was also raised that Mackintosh would be so bold in his actions because he never planned for Rachel to escape.