The Marriage Alliance

by Mageela Troche

  She nodded, pleased by her logic. With a steady shake of her head, she humphed at herself. “I’m daft.” Squaring her shoulders, she straightened her silver brooch and headed to the door. “I will not cower here any longer. Nay, I wasn’t cowering. I was planning. Aye…now I have a plan.”

  Ailsa slammed her fist on her hips and nodded brusquely to herself. “I plan to win over the clan. Now, I must see to my duties. I’m sure there are a great many chores in need of my guidance.”

  Chapter Five

  “She’s still abed,” Caelan said, crossing his arms over his thick chest. It amazed him that a woman slept as long as her. The day was mostly spent. The patrols had returned. Duncan set young Malcolm’s nose. He greeted the ships landing from the isles.

  “Nay. Ailsa is awake,” Duncan replied, with a shake of his head.

  “Only wed a handful of hours and you’re already aware of your wife’s habits,” Lachlan asked, amusement lacing his voice.

  The steadfast glint of mischief vanished when Duncan landed his stern gaze on Lachlan. Caelan smirked to himself.

  “How do you know?” Lachlan inquired with the feign innocence foolish lasses succumb to.

  Duncan raised his gaze to the chamber’s solitary window overlooking the courtyard. “She’s been peeking out since I spoke to the master stonemason.” Both men cast their eyes upward. “Caelan, watch her carefully. Most of the clan will not treat her kindly. She’s tender.”

  He left his commanders with her bare flesh flashing in his mind. Somehow, he had to show her sex was pleasurable no matter her belief. Never in his life had he wooed a woman, speaking tender words and making eyes at her as Lachlan did. Nay, he was Laird, Black Duncan the man who cut down men with a swing of his sword.

  A couple of steps ahead of his commanders, he stopped and angled back to them. “Caelan, I will not have her harmed. Forgive me, I meant no insult.”

  Caelan grunted his acceptance since Duncan appeared preoccupied with thoughts of his wife.

  “I’m grateful I’m not assigned your duty.” Lachlan smacked Caelan on his back. “I will be spending my day training.”

  “You need it,” Caelan declared. Lachlan guffawed as they entered the donjon and proceeded into the great hall.

  * * * *

  Meanwhile, Ailsa rushed from one place to the other. In her cheerful opinion, she believed the day was progressing very well. So far, no one killed her. That was always a plus in her mind, especially since she remembered the pledge bellowed two summers past at the Cameron Castle walls. “If another Cameron steps foot on MacLean land, we’ll cleave him in two and toss the pieces before your gates.”

  Albeit the donjon’s stairs had almost ended her life, in some way, MacLeans were trying to do her in. But she discovered a hidden skill…she could fly. In her haste, she missed two steps, toppled forward as her arms flapped like a bird fighting the winds then soared through the air. She didn’t want to die. She had too much to live for. She wanted to live!

  Reaching out, her hand had clutched air. She cried out for help. Where was her husband? Duncan should have been at the landing with arms outstretched and ready to catch her. If she lived through this, she planned to lecture him on his duties.

  Thanks to the wall and her hard head, her lifeless, broken body wasn’t sprawled at the bottom of the stairs. Her landing was anything but graceful. Sprawled on her back, her plaid was over her head, her cerulean leine bunched around her waist and her legs displayed for all who passed. Her slipper flew off but the important parts were attached. One of the dirt-matted wolfhounds came over and sniffed at her legs, sneezed then trotted away. Even the castle dogs didn’t care about her welfare.

  Starting with her toes, she wiggled every body part, even moved her eyes left and right. All seemed in working order, pained but functioning. She pushed herself up, instantly feeling dizzy as a thousand starry lights danced around her eyes. Ailsa held her head between her hands, hoping it didn’t topple from her body.

  Once the world righted, she gingerly dipped her hands in her hair and felt a pulsating bump on the right side of her head. Surely, it would grow like a second head. The floor’s hardness began to pain her smarting back.

  She couldn’t stay here all day although if she did, her husband would merely step over her on his way upstairs. Rolling over, she climbed to her hands and knees then, using the wall as support, she hoisted her aching body to her feet.

  Once standing, Ailsa glared at the steep steps and felt better for her effort, not that the stairs seemed offended.

  She lumbered into the deserted great hall except for the castle dogs in the corner of the hall, busy licking themselves. She gave them privacy and beheld the cattle horns. She snatched an apple from the bowl in the center of the table.

  “If Duncan considers that a woman’s touch, I shudder to think of a man’s.”

  As Lairdess, she had duties to perform and the most important was the meal. Ailsa wished she heeded where the servants appeared during the paltry wedding feast. Her gaze darted between the two arched doorways on the west wall. She sank her teeth into the apple and made a decision. Into the second doorway she went.

  Once down the narrow corridor, she stepped into the kitchen. Iron cauldrons hung over a blazing fire. Surely, only the devil could withstand this heat. Never in her life had she captured a room’s whole attention. The young lad rotating the spit gaped at her, appearing to be nothing but blue eyes in a flushed, sweaty face. The boar’s underbelly was at risk of burning.

  Ailsa wanted to run from the kitchen and hide in her chamber. Instead she strengthened her resolve and folded her hands before her when she ached to fidget.

  "Good morrow." She planted a smile on her face where it remained when no reply was given.

  The kitchen servants cut their gaze to the plump, towering woman with a scowl that would make Duncan proud. She inclined her head then pushed back her linen headdress.

  “Are you Cook?”

  The woman nodded and crossed her thick arms over her paunchy middle. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m Ailsa MacLean.”

  Silence greeted her words as each stared at her as though she carried bad humors. Ailsa pretended the staff wasn’t sharing wary looks.

  “I see the meal preparation has begun. Please forgive me for not speaking to you earlier. I was wondering if you could prepare some tarts, maybe elderberry. Do we have plenty?” The only answer was a swift nod. “I don’t know the numbers but there will be no guests tonight.”

  “Aye, my lady,” Cook replied, her scowl never faltering. Ailsa figured, much like being left-handed, MacLeans came to this earth bearing a scowl.

  “Very good. Please carry on with your duties.” The kitchen staff never steered their sight away from her and seemed to be sending her on her way.

  Their eyes trailed her out the open doorway, which provided no breeze. Before starting down the kitchen stairs, she peeked over her shoulder and saw them crowding the threshold, watching her. She gave a wave before descending.

  “That went well.”

  Stopping at the bottom stair, Ailsa planted a smile on her face and forged ahead. People stopped and gawked at her. She bid hello to all she passed as she zigzagged through the crowd. With every clansfolk she passed, fervent whispers began.

  “What’s wrong with her?—Never, seen hair like that, have you?—Did you see her hair?—My lady is daft.”

  Stiffening her resolve, Ailsa strode onward, acting as though their comments had no effect on her. “Pardon, what is your name?” She asked the young lad lugging a basket of oats.

  His strawberry blonde brows flew up. “Sean,” he spluttered.

  “Where are the stables?” Sean hitched a thumb over his bony shoulder. “Thank you.”

  Hay blanketed the entrance. This was the cleanest stable she ever seen. She inhaled the blending scents of hay, oats, horse and leather. Horses filled the stalls, their tails swatting away flies and at the far end of the building, a man wa
s cleaning out the stalls.

  Ailsa called out over his humming. He stabbed the pitchfork into the hay and faced her. He tried to lean against the top of the wooden handle but missed it and tottered backwards. Ailsa ran to his side. He backed away from her. She was just as surprised as he. Never had she beheld someone who appeared as though he came in from a snowstorm. His bushy white brows obscured his eyes and his tufts of pure white hair stood from the side of his head and his ears. Only his hair betrayed his years since his trim form was still upright.

  “I’m Ailsa MacLean and I’m searching for my mare.” She glanced around the stalls for Joy.

  “I’m Phelan, the stable master, my lady. She’s around the corner.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. Light peppered into the building and outlined the sharp corner leading to the back of the stable.

  “Oh. Why is she hidden?”

  Phelan wouldn’t stop gawking at her. These glances were irritating her but she wanted acceptance not to be thought of as a shrew.

  “These are for the men in case of attack but don’t worry, your mare is being pampered. She’s a fine piece of horseflesh.”

  “I always thought so. I shall just visit and stop bothering you.” Darting around the corner, she spotted Joy munching on oats. She dashed under the rope and received a head butt from her loving mare. “I didn’t forget about you.” She threw her arms around Joy’s neck.

  “You are being spoiled.” Ailsa buried her face in her thick mane. “At least one of us found her place. I shall come back with a treat but now I am off to meet the clan. Wish me luck.” Joy nibbled on her hair, earning a laugh from Ailsa. “Stop, you’ll mess my hair.”

  With a wave to Phelan, she rushed from the dim stable and into the bright sunlight. Each MacLean returned Ailsa’s smile with a surprised visage as though she expected them to welcome the Sassenach king.

  Once out the postern gate, the clachan sprawled along a deep rutted tract flanked by stone cottages. Wispy puffs of smoke plumed out the thatched roofs. MacLeans worked outside, whether repairing their homes or sewing. The clachan was alive with a hum of conversation.

  She practically ran down the sloping hill leading from the castle and almost pitched forward when Caelan matched her stride with effortless steps.

  “Oh Caelan, you scared me.” She placed her hand over her heart trying to put it back into her chest.

  He grunted.

  “I’ll take that as an apology.” His aquamarine eyes remained lifeless. “I have the feeling you would rather be elsewhere. Do not let me interfere with your duties.”

  Caelan matched her stride. “You are my duty. Um…my lady, your hair—”

  “Aye,”—she sighed—“I know.” His blonde brows flew into his hair. “’Tis red. I’ve never cared for the hue but since I’m unable to change it, please speak no more of it.”

  “It’s—”

  She halted and held up her hand to stop any words for spilling from his mouth. “I know many highlanders have red hair. It doesn’t help. So, if you have no wish to see me cry, do not mention it. Look there’s Moira, we must speak with her."

  Ailsa grabbed his arm and tugged then, stumbling backwards. Caelan remained frozen but for the glare aimed at her hand clutching his arm.

  She snatched it away as though he burned her. “Forgive me. I meant no insult.”

  “Aye,” he snarled.

  Caelan fell into step alongside her, shaking his head. Ailsa guessed he failed to understand her dislike of her hair. Since he had pale golden tresses considered the height of beauty and being a man who never gave one thought to hair color, she comprehended his befuddlement.

  “Moira,” she waved excitedly “it is so grand to see you. Have you met Caelan?” Ailsa inquired, bearing a too bright smile from strain.

  Moira looked at Caelan then at Ailsa. “My brother serves under him.”

  “That’s grand. I hope I have not disturbed your day.”

  “Of course not, I was on my way to visit my brother and his family. Would you care to meet them?”

  “Oh please.” Ailsa clapped her hands together with glee. Now was her chance to make a favorable impression on a MacLean outside of the castle.

  Moira pointed to the cottage with a pile of peat atop smashed wildflowers. Moira stopped with her hand raised to knock. “My lady, your hair—”

  “Please make no mention of it. Caelan already brought it up but there is nothing I can do about it.”

  Moira dropped her hand to her side. “It didn’t appear as such last night. It actually appeared quite fetching.”

  “Sadly, daylight reveals it for what it truly is. Please make no more mention of it,” Ailsa repeated.

  Moira shared a bewildered look with Caelan before knocking. “As you wish.”

  The door swung open to reveal a flustered man with hair as fair as Moira’s ermine locks and pure blue eyes, a broken nose and bow lips that looked alluring on Moira but too soft on him. However his glower wiped away any softness. But the two small boys clinging to his thick legs had Ailsa grinning.

  “Please my lady, come in. My wife is visiting her sister and I was appointed commander of the wee devils.” Ailsa pretended not to witness the shared look between the men nor the shake of Caelan’s head.

  “This is my brother Malcolm and the wee devils are Braden and Liam. And that wee lass is my niece, Helen.” The twins bowed their towheads while keeping hold of their father’s thick legs while Helen tottered over on bare, pudgy feet. She picked up speed and rammed straight into Ailsa’s leg, knocking her back two steps. She grabbed hold of the stool for support and neared the fire.

  “She can walk but stopping seems to be a difficulty,” Ailsa said, laughing. She hunched down, eye level with the blue-eyed tot and was rewarded with a gummy smile. Staring into her wide and trusting eyes, Ailsa wondered about her bairns. Would they resemble Duncan or her? Would they have her red hair or Duncan’s deep brown? Have brown eyes flecked with gold or green as hers? One thing for certain, Duncan’s children would scowl.

  Helen stretched out a dimpled hand and her fingers opened and closed. Not rising, Ailsa scooted to grab the ragdoll on the basket behind her. “You want your bairn.”

  Helen took it and started gnawing on the doll’s yarn hair.

  As the child mumbled her language and drooled, Ailsa couldn’t help herself and embraced the tiny lass and inhaled her fresh, baby scent and the smell of burning hair.

  “Fire!” Caelan roared from across the cottage. Ailsa turned around as Moira screamed. Before she could find the fire, Caelan yanked her plaid from the flames and stomped on the edge.

  “I was on fire,” Ailsa asked as she gazed down at the smoke rising from her charred parti-colored plaid. “I was on fire!”

  “Are you harmed?” Caelan demanded, trying to peer at her legs under her gown. She batted away his hands.

  “Nay, I feel no pain.” Moira bent down checking the back of her legs.

  “You are unharmed though your plaid isn’t.” Moira crinkled her nose in regret.

  “Where’s MacLean?” Malcolm prompted.

  “Nay! Please do not tell Duncan.” When Caelan opened his mouth to disagree, she cut in, “I shall tell him.” When the moment was right, she said silently. Which wouldn’t be for some time. “I was on fire,” Ailsa repeated, looking down at her singed plaid.

  Moira patted her on her back. “It happens to quite a few people.”

  Ailsa didn’t believe her nevertheless she held onto her hope. “Has it happened to you?”

  Moira contemplated lying to save Ailsa’s delicate feelings but the truth won. “Nay but…” Moira looked from Caelan to her brother imploring for assistance. Both men were at a loss for consoling words. What did men know of consolation? Nothing.

  “It does not matter. I am unharmed though humiliated so all is well.” She clasped Moira’s hand. “I thank you for your attempt.”

  Moira nodded.

  The twin boys eyed her as though she was a hal
fwit. The same regard directed her way this day and it wasn’t even finished. Ailsa wanted to fit in with the MacLeans but her every action ended with a disaster.

  Tears welled up. A couple of tears fell. She blinked the rest back before another fell. From across the room, Caelan’s hushed voice floated to her. “I’ll take her back. It might be safer.”

  Ailsa sprang from the chair and charged from the cottar. Not caring in which direction, she headed. She ran and ran, not slowing as Moira called her name or Caelan screamed for her to halt.

  She stopped when she came upon the loch. Panting, Ailsa climbed onto the rocks jutting out into the tranquil loch. To the east, she saw the fortress rise. But that isn’t where she wished to be. Ailsa hungered to be somewhere welcoming to her, a place where her foolish actions would not reflect badly. One place where she belonged. She hoped, prayed, and wished this were the place since MacLean land was the last place she would ever venture.

  Hugging herself, she scanned the breathtaking panorama. Crisp air dusted her face, cooling her flaming cheeks. A black sea bird shattered the serene reflection of the clear sky when it dove into the loch catching its meal, but Ailsa spared no thought to the bird. She focused utterly on finding peace. However, the placid scenery never calmed her. Ailsa no longer denied the looks cast her way. Not that she suspected becoming part of the clan would happen with her vows but she hoped that at least a chance might have been given. Ailsa had to make a better impression on the clan otherwise the instant they spotted her they would flee in the other direction.

  She would start again and lay siege to the MacLeans until their full surrender. How could Ailsa go about accomplishing that? She needed allies. Moira was on her side and Ailsa was grateful for her but she needed more.

  “My lady! Stay there, do not move.”

  Looking over her shoulder, she gave Caelan a smile. He did look foolish, taking mincing steps as though she were a skittish mare he wished not to spook. His arm was outstretched ready to catch her should she fall. Caelan was still too far to accomplish that.