The Marriage Alliance

by Mageela Troche

  “I do not plan to drown myself. I just need time to clear my thoughts.”

  He grunted and crept closer to her.

  “Whatever does that mean? Was that an aye? I understand or whatever you say as long as you remain still?”

  “Don’t move,” his burr held a hard edge.

  “I have not planned to…at least not yet.”

  She turned her back on the loch. Her right foot slipped on the lichen caught on the rocks. Her arms wailed, trying to find her balance. She plunged in the loch with a loud splash and didn’t know how to swim. Before panic gripped her, strong arms locked around her waist and hauled her upward. She broke through the surface, sputtering and gasping for air.

  Her plaid weighed her down, twisting around her legs, binding them together. She gripped Caelan’s arms as he hauled her to land. Her hands curled around the white sand. On her hands and knees, coughs racked her body until air replaced the water in her chest.

  Her stomach felt a tingle quickly becoming a tickle. Her torso wiggled and her shoulders shimmied back and forth. She pressed her hands against her stomach and a herring flopped out from the folds of her plaid. “I caught a fish." What a day she had.

  She sunk to the ground on her stomach. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  “Only my duty, my lady.” He sat back on his heels.

  Ailsa flopped onto her back, looking up at the blue sky dotted with slow moving, feathery clouds. “That went well.” Really well since she lived.

  “You should get some rest,” Caelan said, towering over her with his hands on his hips and his legs braced wide.

  “Rest…I’ve had a hard day.” She accepted his hand, aiding her as she rose to her feet. “I lost a slipper.” She wiggled her toes. Water squished between them and dripped from her drenched plaid and ran rivets down her face. Not able to help herself she began to laugh.

  “Caelan, I have not lost my wits. But if I do not laugh, I shall cry.”

  Her words still didn’t appease him. It had the opposite reaction, his scowl deepened. “Thank the Lord you are quick. I do not know how to swim.”

  “What?” Caelan bellowed. “Don’t ever climb to those rocks again. Only a fool would be there lacking the skill to swim.” He ran his shaking hand through his hair. He roared at her and for one reason, he worried about her. “If you drown, I would be really put out.”

  “I imagine I would be worse for it than you. Please do not—”

  “Do not plead with me not to tell MacLean. From the state of us, only a fool would not notice.”

  “If you must. God’s teeth, I don’t think I’ve ever been so wet.”

  Side by side, they began the trek back to the keep. Underneath her bare foot, pebbles and stones dug into her soles, stinging her. Every step, she squished and left a trail of water droplets. Her plaid and leine rubbed against her damp skin, chaffing her raw.

  “Are you hurt?” Caelan demanded when he saw her twisting her torso to ease the rubbing.

  “Nay but I’m certainly uncomfortable,” she grumbled when they reached the clachan. The clan fell silent as they deserted their chores and rushed forward, crowding around them.

  “My lady is fine. She just had a wee accident and fell into the loch.”

  “Are you well, my lady?” Moira asked after Caelan’s announcement.

  “What did I just say?” Caelan snapped.

  Ailsa jumped in surprise but Moira paid him no mind. She gave Moira a smile. “I am wet but well. I’ll be heading to my chamber to right myself.”

  “Aye, let her past before she becomes ill.” A burly woman called out, shooing the crowd to disperse. “She’s a puny little thing. Why, she has no meat on her bones. My Brigid is bigger than her and she’s only twelve. The wee thing probably will be feverish before this day is through.”

  Ailsa appreciated her concern but preferred not being called a puny thing.

  “It’s because she’s a Cameron,” a wizened man added with a wave of his cane.

  “I’m a MacLean,” Ailsa roared and stomped her foot. She howled with pain when her bare foot landed on a sharp stone.

  “We’ll see, wee lass,” the wizened man retorted, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Enough,” Caelan barked. “Back to your business so my lady can get out of her drenched clothes. Come.”

  Ailsa really wanted to glare at her audience crowding her but that wasn’t the way to win their acceptance so she strove for regal. Her head held high, she ambled at Caelan’s side.

  Almost to the postern gate, she stepped on a stone, twisted her ankle, and tumbled backwards. Rolling repeatedly, she screamed, bumping her head and scraping her skin on her descent. Caelan ran behind her, not knowing how to stop her or just to wait until she did. She came to a rocking stop, sitting up.

  A shadow loomed over. In her dazed mind, she thought it was Duncan and started to cry.

  “Are you hurt?” Caelan’s face was very close to hers, searching for blood.

  In a small, dejected voice, she said, “That seems to be the question of the day.”

  “Come, let’s get you home and into bed where you can’t hurt yourself.” Putting his arms under hers, he lifted her up. Blades of grass drifted to the ground.

  “Hopefully.” Ailsa squirmed to be set down. Gingerly, he set her on her feet. “How do I look?” Caelan grimaced. “Please be truthful.”

  His gusty sigh fanned across her face. “You look like hell.”

  “Good. It matches how I feel.” Caelan monitored her every step, prepared to catch her if she tumbled again. She threw her hair over her shoulder. “I’m usually much more graceful than this. I am.” Actually, Ailsa felt foolish, her brilliant plan to gain acceptance turning into a farce with her the fool. Funny, Ailsa thought the MacLeans might kill her; instead she would be the instrument of her own death.

  When they stepped into the courtyard, every eye landed on her. Running away crossed her mind but if it went like the rest of this day, she would trip and land most likely in the smithy’s fire.

  Coming through the crowd, Duncan paused a short distance from her. He looked very menacing with his hands on his hips and a glower on his face. Lachlan stood behind the laird and gaped at her.

  Ailsa picked up her scorched, drenched, dirty skirts and dashed into the keep.

  * * * *

  Duncan scowled at his wife’s retreating back. Never had he seen a woman in such shambles. Men returned from battle, coated in blood, and looked better than her.

  “Did my lady just run from you?” Lachlan questioned, stupefied. Duncan resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands.

  When Caelan joined them, Lachlan’s gaze raked his body from his soaked boots, squishing out water with every step to his dripping plaid.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Lachlan demanded.

  “My lady happened to me,” Caelan replied, a smirk playing around his lips. “I swear I’d rather face a thousand MacKinnons than guard her one more day.”

  “What the hell is with her hair?” Lachlan exclaimed, swinging his gaze between his two friends. “It looks like a wooly beehive.”

  “I tried to tell her but she told me she knew.”

  “She purposely went out like that,” Lachlan said, not believing Caelan.

  “My lady thought I spoke of the color of her hair but—”

  Duncan shook himself out of his disbelief. “I don’t give a damn about her hair. Tell me why in hell is my wife wet, dirty and bloody.”

  Caelan rubbed his temples between his spread thumb and forefinger. “First—”

  “First.”

  Caelan glared at Lachlan. “First, the edge of her plaid caught on fire when we visited Malcolm.”

  Duncan’s thick brows lifted a fraction.

  “There isn’t a mark on her. Then she fell into the loch.”

  Duncan’s eyes bulged out of his head. “What?”

  Caelan explained in vivid detail her unplanned swim. Duncan rubbed the nape of his neck, squ
eezing hard. “And lastly, she tumbled down the hill. My lady assures me she’s graceful.” Caelan finished and Duncan gaped at him.

  Duncan slowly recovered his composure and raised his gaze to the chamber’s windows. The shutter remained fastened so she must be changing.

  The woman was a danger…to herself. “Ailsa needs time to settle in. Not a word Lachlan or I’ll knock you on your arse.”

  “I only wanted to offer you some female advice,” Lachlan imparted.

  “I’ve gained some knowledge of women,” Duncan replied, aware such knowledge almost cost him his clan. He spotted the knowing look between his two trusted men.

  “MacLean, I would listen to him. No one knows more about the lasses than this fool.” Caelan pointed to a leering Lachlan.

  He drew out his sigh. “Tell me,” Duncan grumbled and folded his arms over his chest.

  “If she were my wife and had a day as this one, I would comfort her.” Duncan cocked his brow. “A tender embrace or hold her hand and sweet words like honey or my love. My favorite is my little dove. Even a pat on the back works,” he blurted out when he spotted Duncan’s flaring nostrils. “Women like such gestures. But remember one very important thing—whatever you do, never forget this—”

  “Spit it out,” Duncan growled.

  “Watch your tongue. Women remember every word man has ever uttered and will repeat it for years to come.” Lachlan scratched his head in confusion. “They seem to have a knack for that. It’s most annoying.”

  Caelan chuckled. “Don’t like your sweet words thrown in your face.” Caelan grinned at his friend’s glower.

  “I’ll remember that,” Duncan said, leaving the men to bicker among themselves and hurried to Ailsa.

  He must find his wife and explain she wasn’t to harm herself ever again and in some way comfort her. He was unsure how to manage that but he was a smart man and might figure out his course of action.

  Dragging himself up the stairs, he stopped before throwing open the chamber door. His intention was to comfort her not scare her.

  His wife was certainly disrupting his life. After that other woman, Duncan’s life became stable as he took on his duty. His power was strong and he balked at relinquishing even a thread of it. Ailsa had to settle into this life. He was willing to give her time, especially after today as his kinsmen questioned him about her. He hadn’t understood until he had seen her. She had looked mad.

  Maybe, he could kill someone for her. That wouldn’t work. His wife was gentle and kindhearted. Not bloodthirsty, conniving like another he remembered and ought to forget but never shall. He pushed aside thoughts of Ceara. That traitor no longer had a place in his life.

  Duncan opened the door and spotted his wife slumped before the hearth, still in her wet clothing. The hapless woman looked smaller than normal and much more pitiful. The poor lass had a hard day. He'd listen to Lachlan.

  Quietly, he shut the door and crossed to her. With his every step, she stiffened but never lifted her drooping head. Duncan stood over her. She hadn’t exaggerated last night; her hair resembled a sheep’s fleece with one difference. The fleece looked better.

  Duncan grimaced, unsure how to go about offering her comfort. Lachlan made it seem easy, a pat on her back and some sweet words, but this was turning into a most difficult deed. His stomach actually dropped and churned. He would get this done.

  Duncan squatted beside her. He peered around the tangle of tresses and glimpsed tears on her cheeks. Sweet words…what sweet words? His mind blanked. That wouldn’t work so Duncan decided to pat her back. He lifted his hand and tapped her. Ailsa clutched the stool before she toppled into the fire.

  “What are you doing?” She prompted, holding her throbbing shoulder.

  “I’m comforting you.” Duncan frowned. He shouldn’t have listened to Lachlan. He might have listened to his advice about warring but today, he should have punched him the second the words spewed from Lachlan’s foolish mouth. Maybe, he ought to punch himself to knock some sense in his head.

  He sighed and lifted her into his arms.

  “Put me down. You’ll get wet.”

  “I’ll dry.” Carrying her to the bed, she softened in his arms and rested her head on his shoulder. He perched on the edge of the bed and settled her on his lap. “Now tell me what happened.”

  She plucked at her plaid and never said a word. Duncan allowed her time to gather her courage. He rested his chin on top of her head and stroked her arm. When he realized she wasn’t going to speak, he said, “Did you have trouble with your hair?”

  “What’s wrong with my hair?”

  He realized his mistake when she glowered at him. Duncan wanted to kiss her right in the middle of her knitted brow. “It’s a little messy.”

  Her hands flew to her hair and she groaned. Tears welled in her eyes. “That’s why everyone looked at me like I was a halfwit. At least it wasn’t me.” She sounded joyful about it as she ran her hands through her hair. When she yelped with pain, Duncan tightened his hold of her.

  “What hurts?”

  “My head. It’s your fault.”

  “How?”

  “I fell down the stairs and you weren’t there to catch me.”

  Terrifying images of her limp body at the foot of the stairs filled his head. “You are not to descend those stairs without someone escorting you.” He didn’t know why the thought of her harmed chilled him. Her wellbeing was his responsibility and that was why. Nothing more.

  “Duncan, I can manage the stairs without help.”

  His rebuttal tugged him away from any musings he’d rather not bother with. “Obviously, you can’t.”

  “Fine,” she muttered.

  His wife couldn’t lie. “You will obey me on this, wife.”

  “I lost my slipper.” She wiggled her toes at him. He grabbed her foot and massaged it.

  “Tell me the rest that happened.”

  “I’m well.”

  Duncan dropped his hand. “Woman, you are wet, dirty, and scraped up and if that is well then I shudder at your horrible.”

  Ailsa smiled. “Today wasn’t one of my brighter days.”

  Duncan agreed.

  With a long drawn-out sigh, Ailsa began sharing her day. Absentmindedly, she stroked his forearm, smoothing down the short, fine hairs dusting his arm. He tried blocking out her feathery caress and the shivers waving through him. Between her light weight and her downcast eyes, he itched to grab her and claim her lips.

  With a tender kiss upon her brow, he cradled her against his chest. “You’ll find your place, just give it some time.” Because he couldn’t help himself, he gave her a brief kiss upon her lips.

  When he pulled away, Ailsa dropped her head to his solid shoulder. For a few moments, they sat in silence. “But, I’m not puny,” she uttered defiantly. “He’s wrong.”

  “Aye, he was. You’re not puny…you’re feminine.” Duncan rose to his feet, his wife still in his arms.

  “Duncan, you listened to every word I said,” her voice squeaked.

  “Of course. I’ll listen to everything you have to say, even when I have no wish to hear it.” He set her back on the bed and crossed to the washstand.

  She giggled with pure delight that made her beautiful green eyes sparkle.

  He poured water into the basin.

  “I shall never forget your promise.”

  His hand shook, spilling droplets over the basin’s edge.

  Lachlan’s words rang through his head…women remember every word men utter.

  With both hands, Duncan set down the jug and carried the basin to her. He dipped the square cloth in the water and began washing away smudges of dirt marring her face. Wiping away the streak along her cheek, he said, “Are you sore?”

  “My ankle pains me a bit and my back where you—but otherwise I’m well.” She pressed her lips together, stifling her smile.

  He counted to ten for patience. “Are you sore from last night?”

  "No longer�
�—her voice dropped to a whisper—“other pains are demanding my attention.”

  He wrung the cloth and began cleaning her forehead. “You will feel better.”

  She patted his arm. “Very well, though it's not yet happened.”

  “Change out of those clothes before you catch a fever.”

  “I will not." She notched up her stubborn chin. "I am made of sterner stuff.”

  He stood up and dropped the cloth in the basin, splashing water over Ailsa’s legs. “Aye, you are.” Duncan leaned over and planted a kiss on her lips.

  “Duncan, do you know what this is?” She swept her legs under her and climbed to her knees.

  “Comfort.”

  “Nay, this is a marriage.” She gloated, a smile beaming up to him. “I am the wife of Duncan MacLean.”

  He chuckled. “You belong to me.”

  “You may leave now.”

  “Do not order me about.”

  Ailsa cocked her head to the side. “Husband, you order me about. It’s only proper.”

  He bent over until his nose touched hers. “I am your husband and laird. Only I order.”

  “I am your wife and lairdess.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When we married, did I stand beside you or behind you?”

  “Beside me.”

  “And when I sit at the laird’s table, where do I sit?”

  “Beside me.”

  “Exactly, I’m beside you.” She tapped him on the nose. Then did it again.

  “Ailsa, I can put your chair behind me.”

  She sat back on her heels and crossed her arms. “Duncan, you were supposed to comfort me, not yell.”

  “I did until you started making demands.” Grabbing her by the arms, he picked her up and claimed her mouth with a hard, demanding kiss.

  He set her back down on the bed. “I like kissing you. It keeps you quiet.”

  As his words dawned on her, she choked on her dreamy exhale.

  “I like your kisses too. It keeps you quiet,” she retorted and glared as Duncan laughed his way from the room. Even after he descended those deadly stairs, his booming laughter bounced off the walls and back to him.