The Forbidden Highlands

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Nay, I havena,” he finally remembered to say.

  “Come, I will take you to the kitchen for. . .” she began.

  “Nay.”

  From the way they both startled, Iain realized his tone had been too forceful. “Yer pardon,” he said, nodding to each one. “I find it better to eat alone.” From the way their eyes darted from his gloves to his hood and then to his mask, they were trying to figure out his injuries. “Just so.”

  “Here now,” Lord MacKinnon said. “The maid will take ye to yer chamber and send for food.”

  “My thanks for yer hospitality, my lord.”

  He had not included being gifted with the man’s daughter, but the thought made Iain want to laugh. His throat tightened, making laughter impossible.

  The lady stepped away and watched him leave to follow the servant. She averted those lovely blue eyes as he walked to the doorway.

  “My lady.” He waited for her to raise her gaze to him. When she did not, he nodded and moved on to the corridor, behind the girl waiting next to the laird.

  The young servant glanced nervously over her shoulder as he walked behind her. By the time they reached the stairway, her pace quickened and he couldn’t keep up. The day had been long, he was hungry and he ached. He turned into the stairwell and found her several steps up waiting for him. Soon, they stood before a chamber. She lifted the latch to open it.

  “Yer name, girl?”

  “Agneis, my. . . sir,” she said with a curtsy.

  “My thanks, Agneis,” he said as he entered the chamber. “Will the food take long?”

  “Nay, sir, I will fetch it quickly.” She curtsied before darting away.

  Iain glanced around and saw a small but clean bedchamber. A fire burned in the hearth, bringing warmth to the room. He left the door ajar so the servant bringing food could enter. Iain tugged the wet plaid from his shoulders and tossed it over one of the chairs near the fire so it would dry. Feeling exhaustion overtaking him, Iain slumped into another chair to wait for food.

  If not for his stomach rumbling, he’d have fallen onto the bed and given in to the growing fatigue. Lord MacKinnon’s servants were quick. Only minutes later, he heard heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. A burly lad carried a tray laden with bowls, plates and a large pitcher.

  Iain stood while the lad placed the tray on the table. Fragrant aromas surrounded him and his stomach answered. The lad laughed and lowered his head in a polite nod before leaving.

  Not long after the stew, bread, cheese and a fair amount of the strong ale filled his stomach, Iain felt himself drifting to sleep. Without enough strength to walk the four or five paces across to the bed, he tugged the mask free of his head and laid it on the table. Leaning his head on his arms, he fell asleep.

  Iain didn’t know how much later, but he woke with the knowledge that someone else was in the chamber. The soft scent of a woman revealed the intruder’s gender and he guessed it was Ailis. If she’d wanted him to know she was there, she would have knocked so she must want to catch him unaware. Now that his hood rested on his neck, the candle’s light on the table would reveal his appearance if she walked to his side. Was that her intent?

  He blew at the candle softly and watched as the flame wavered and then went out. A soft gasp told him she knew she’d been caught. Iain waited for her to pull the door closed before he moved. The soft glow of the fire gave him enough light to see. He dropped the bar next to the door into its brackets and listened. Soft footsteps padded away and he let out the breath he’d been holding.

  Truly alone and secure, he tugged the hooded tunic over his head. He sighed with relief at its removal. The gloves came next, but they were harder to take off. The skin on his forearms remained sensitive. Once the gloves were in place, it felt more comfortable. He’d been unable to undress for almost a sennight. The air around him hurt and soothed at the same time.

  Sliding his breeches down after pulling his boots off, his legs felt the same, both torment and respite. The thin shirt was the last piece of fabric off. Iain stood naked, waiting for the inevitable wave of sensation. He hissed through clenched teeth as his body recovered from the shock of exposure to the cooling bedchamber.

  He quickly mixed cold water from the jug with some water heating near the fire and washed as much as he could. Then he cleaned his shirt, placing it over a chair to dry. He needed to stretch or his skin would tighten while he slept.

  Checking the bar, he moved as close to the fire as he could before the terror overtook him. Burned, the monks said. His back, legs, arms and hands. Part of his face and the back of his neck. All marked with fire’s touch.

  He clasped his hands and leaned over, reaching down to touch the floor. Then, up towards the ceiling. Iain moved as Brother Isiah had shown him. Similar to how he’d trained. . . .

  Another shard of memory caught his attention. He had trained as a warrior, wielding sword and staff in battles against. . . .

  And that quickly, the opening in the haze of his mind closed, leaving him with another frustrating glimmer of his past.

  Barely making it through the entire series of stretching motions he did before sleeping, Iain crawled into the clean bed and sank into its comfortable layers. The ropes beneath him groaned as loudly as he did.

  He’d arrived here a stranger, hoping for a meal and shelter from the storm. He ended this day, betrothed to the laird’s daughter, to be married within days unless she could find a true objection to him. Would she? Was his damaged body enough to form an impediment?

  The reaction of certain parts of him at the memory of her naked before him proved there would be no impairment of that kind.

  The strange events of the day plagued him. His thoughts blended with phantom bits of sounds and images, all moving around in his thoughts. His restless mind sought truths and proofs for hours before he found sleep.

  Chapter Four

  “Ye must be angry.”

  Ailis didn’t turn at the familiar voice. She continued watching the man who would be her husband. From the windy edge of the battlements, she could see him as he walked around the keep and the outbuildings of Dun Ara Castle. He didn’t pause too long in any place, but kept walking, covering every square foot within the walls. Since just past dawn, nigh on two hours by her measure, he walked.

  “Ye are angry,” Davina said, from a much closer spot than where she’d first spoken.

  Ailis closed her eyes for a moment, trying to regain control before speaking. She couldn’t help but shrug free of Davina’s hand when her former closest friend placed it on Ailis’ shoulder in what she thought must be an offer of sympathy.

  “I think most reasonable women would be upset and angered, nay stunned, at this, Davina. My father gives me away to a total stranger.” She turned and crossed her arms over her chest. “A man who could be an enemy or ally and who has no claim or right to a chieftain’s daughter.”

  When Davina opened her mouth to reply, Ailis shook her head. “And why does he do this? Simply to teach his willful daughter a lesson? To prove he can shame and humiliate her and force her obedience before their clan?”

  Refusing to stop now that she’d begun, Ailis shrugged.

  “For those reasons and one more; to rid himself of his only daughter now that he has a new wife and a son to inherit all.”

  Davina had supplanted Ailis and Ailis’ mother in the keep and in her father’s heart. That was the root of all of this. Ailis refused to accept her former friend’s new place in their family shortly after Ailis’ mother had died. Then Lachlan’s death only months later left her inconsolable and alone, with no one to share that grief. Recently, the birth of her half-brother Kennan had driven the divide even deeper. Her father’s satisfaction at finally having a son overrode any attempt to please his daughter.

  A moment passed. Ailis realized that Davina had not disagreed with her. Ailis leaned into the winds across the battlements, trying to let them carry away or dry the tears she couldn’t stop.

 
“If ye hadna made yer refusals so public, he wouldna have gone to such drastic actions.”

  Though her voice was soft, the accusation was harsh and painful. Once, this woman would have defended her and been her counsel when facing the choice of a husband or the loss of her beloved. Once, Davina would have been at her side rather than at her father’s. But the marriage offer Davina accepted made everything different and difficult between them.

  Ailis couldn’t deny her own behavior had brought this result. No words came to her. No rebuttal. Her inability to say anything would have become obvious had not a servant approached just then.

  “My lady. The babe is ready,” the girl said, bobbing respectfully before them. Kennan was hungry.

  Davina nodded at the girl and turned to follow. Part of Ailis was glad to see her go. But another part wanted to beg her forgiveness and exult in her happiness. Just before Davina entered the stairway back into the keep, she stopped.

  “He doesna abandon ye, Lis.” Davina walked back closer. “He loves ye and worries over yer happiness. Ye have been so caught up in yer misery, ye havena noticed. Even now, he sends men out to check this man’s story.”

  Shocked by this news, Ailis shook her head. Her father was not as calloused as he appeared to be?

  “Come up with a real objection or accept Lord Duncan, who yet stands willing to wed ye.” A baby’s wail echoed up the stairs and Davina brought both arms across her chest in a telling gesture. “Think on my words, Lis, and on yer part in this,” Davina said as she walked away.

  Ailis stood in the silence that was disturbed only by the sounds of the winds and the seabirds overhead looking for food. She didn’t want to think on what Davina said. Turning back to look over the battlements, she couldn’t see Iain.

  When her stomach rumbled loudly, Ailis knew it was past the time when everyone would eat. Did Iain know that? No one had approached him in all the time he walked below. And he’d gone no closer than several paces from anyone. So, she thought not.

  He’d looked worn and exhausted when he’d taken leave and gone to the chamber assigned to him. She’d snuck inside because she wanted to find out more about him and the mask he wore. If her gloves covered damaged arms and hands, what did his cover? And what did that piece of cloth that draped over his face and neck hide? Did he sleep in it? She’d found him asleep, sprawled across the table with the bowls and cup pushed aside.

  One candle lit the dark shadows of the chamber but ’twas not enough to see what she wanted to see. The mask lay at his hand and the hood was pushed back, exposing the back of his head. Whether black or brown, she couldn’t tell, but his hair grew in ragged patches across his head. The sides appeared long but the back looked almost sheared off. Her hand reached out and only the slight exhalation and extinguishing of the candle warned her that he’d roused.

  “Lady?” As though her thoughts had conjured him up, Iain stood before her now. “They wait at the table below for ye,” he said, holding out his arm to her. With the other, he held the hood to keep it in place when the winds would pull it sideways.

  She accepted his arm. To refuse would be rude. She had no reason to treat this man, this puppet, this bluff of her father’s, in such a manner. When they stepped within, he adjusted the hood, tugging it forward so it created a shadow over the mask.

  Ailis noticed that their hands were not dissimilar. Both encased in gloves, she felt the ripples of his skin under the thin, worn layer of leather. She knew that his hid the same that hers did, scars from damage. Had his been some injury in a battle? He’d said he was a warrior, so ’twas possible.

  The servants and others who lived and worked in the keep parted as they passed. Ailis heard the whispered questions and saw the pity in their gazes. Lowering her eyes to watch the flagstones of the floor as they walked, she wondered if their pity was for her, the lord’s daughter they knew, or for this stranger being given her in marriage?

  Caught up in her thoughts, she didn’t realize he’d slowed until he laid his other gloved hand on hers. He drew her into a small alcove just before the entrance to the hall.

  “Ye came to my chamber last night.” He released her hand and lifted her chin. “Why?”

  Was this a test of some sort? To see if she had the courage to face him and admit the truth? He wouldn’t find her wanting in this regard.

  “Curiosity, I fear.” When all she heard was a slight huff, she continued. “I wanted to see yer face, uncovered, before we wed. To see the man ye truly are.” She shrugged a bit. “’Tis the truth.”

  “Ye wouldna like what ye see, my lady. And that is my truth.” He slid his leather-covered hand to hers and traced a path with a finger down her glove. “I suspect yer gloves hide much the same from view.”

  She blinked but didn’t look away first. He did, stepping back and waiting for her to move to his side. Instead, Ailis grabbed hold of his sleeve and pulled him back.

  “Ye walked in a stranger and accepted this offer. Why? Do ye not fear entangling yerself in matters that could offer ye more danger than benefit?”

  She tried to ask the question without making it an accusation. She’d done that already and insulted him. But Ailis wanted, needed, to know the truth. Most men would be highly guarded of such an offer and not trust it to be in good faith. A man without memory was at a greater disadvantage than most. His eyes met hers as he slid his hands to her shoulders.

  Did he mean to kiss her? Again? Here, where they’d be witnessed? Her body remembered the last one and readied for another.

  “I had to, my lady. When I saw it was ye in the middle of it, I had to accept.”

  “But why?” Though his hood covered the top of his face in shadows, she could feel his hot stare on her mouth as she waited for his reply.

  “So I could do this.”

  He followed those few words with that dreaded, feared, anticipated and desired kiss after all. His mouth momentarily touched hers gently and then he took possession of it completely. Strong and powerful, the kiss claimed and confused her in the same moment. Then he tilted his head, dipping his tongue into her mouth. Her body understood and she pressed closer, her hips and breasts against his hard body.

  Hot, masculine and possessive it was. She opened wider to give him purchase and was swept into the heat and desire that swirled as his tongue did. Heat pooled in her body, in that place deep within, touched only by Lach. . . .

  Ailis pulled free and stared at this man.

  Why did this kiss remind her of Lachlan? Would she forever be owned by a man now dead? Would her body not react as he’d taught it to? How long would it take before the pain of every memory eased into something softer, something she could bear? She brushed her hand over her mouth, feeling the way her lips swelled even through the layer of leather. His breathing showed he was affected as well. She wanted to lean back in to taste him as he’d done her.

  “I had to accept. . . ye.” His words came out on a breathy sigh.

  Anger, her companion for so long, flared quickly at his assumption that she was his for the taking. No matter who she eventually had to marry, her heart and soul would never be part of that bargain.

  “Ye willna find what ye think, sir, if ye pursue this to the end,” she warned. “This is a devil’s bargain and there will be no virgin bride in your marriage bed.” Though she’d admitted that to none but Davina, she spoke it now to this man. Meant only as a warning, mayhap a challenge, she knew she’d failed when his chin set, making the lines of his jaw more prominent. His shadowed eyes took on a glassy look for a second and then cleared.

  “Though I can say little of my past, I can say ye will not find a virgin husband there either, my lady.”

  He’d turned her blatant admission into a reminder of the unknowns that stood between them. She turned away, but he held her there with his fingers encircling one wrist. His grasp did not hurt, yet she comprehended that she was being held there.

  “Is that why yer father bargains ye away in such a manner? Is this a pun
ishment for yer shame?”

  “Nay! My father kens not about this.” Pulling against his hold, she whispered, “I didna tell him such a thing.”

  “And is there proof wrapped in swaddling out there as a result of yer. . . experience?”

  She wanted to slap him for such words. But the image of holding Lachlan’s child filled her thoughts and took her breath and words away.

  Oh, that she had been blessed to bear such a result of their love. At least she would have had a part of him with her now. Ailis could do naught but answer his question with a shake of her head before ducking around him and entering the hall.

  Those waiting watched in silence as she walked to the table where her father and Davina sat. Could they see the grief that threatened to overwhelm her? Had the stranger? Or had he been insulted to learn the truth which, if she admitted the truth, had been her aim?

  Ailis continued on, pulling the tattered edges of her control back into place, as she made her way to her seat. Acknowledging her father and Davina, she sat. This meal was less formal, so the tables were all on the lower floor. No one sat up on the dais. Iain had caught up with her and he took the seat offered to him by the steward at her side.

  Wallowing in pain and loss, Ailis couldn’t bring herself to chatter about the weather or the condition of the sheep or any other inane topics Davina brought up as she tried to engender polite discourse at the meal. Finally, her stepmother gave up her attempts to bring Ailis into the discussion and spoke across her to Iain.

  The servants brought trays of breads, cheeses and other plain foods and held them out to each one there. Before Ailis could make the pretense of wanting to eat, Iain selected several pieces off each tray and placed them on her plate.

  If it had been Lord Duncan, a man raised as a noble, ’twould have felt right. But this man, who remembered not his own life or past, acted with the manners expected of one. Ailis tried not to stare as he continued the polite manners expected at a laird’s table.