A scream ripped through the great hall. Sword at the ready, he turned toward the sound. His wife stood at the hall’s entrance. Her face was pale, making her locks appear ablaze. She had screamed. He hurried to her. He gripped her upper arms and forced her to focus on him. Her trembling hand dabbed at the bloodstain. She yanked up his tunic and saw his unmarred flesh.
“I am unharmed.”
Her hand trembled before her opened mouth. She peeked around Duncan and stepped toward the table.
“Galvin is injured.” He explained no more but for the large stain. She grasped the severity of the wound.
Clansmen made way for her but Duncan waylaid her with a hand on her shoulder. “Go back to bed.”
“I can help.” She needed to.
Màiri was hunched over the grimacing young warrior. Galvin was unconscious, breathing shallow. Lachlan pinned Galvin down by his shoulders while Caelan held his legs.
“Màiri will care for him.” Lachlan and Caelan shared a dismayed look. Neither had hope for Galvin.
Ailsa went to her side. “Can I help?”
“Mix those herbs,” Màiri said as her needle pierced the ragged flesh on his left side. Ailsa began mixing the herbs together in one of the many bowls on the table.
“Use the wine,” Màiri instructed without looking up.
She added drops and stirred until the consistency of the paste was correct. Duncan looked over Màiri’s shoulder but wouldn’t look at Ailsa. She knew he worried about their kinsman but she yearned for a glance, just one to let her know all would be well.
The scent of blood, the faint groans that lost strength, the shallow breathing. Galvin had a chance, a slim one but one nonetheless.
Feeling guilty for thanking the Lord for Duncan’s health while a man hovered near death, she began ripping up linens to bind his gash.
She needed Duncan to send her one glance. Her mind cried out for it, rising in volume until she swore the plea sprang from her lips. He never glanced her way. His behavior was not that of the man she knew. He was aloof but only to her. From his distance, he could be in England. She was too fearful to reach out to him. She told herself it was his worry over Galvin and not her. She knew the lie she told herself.
“Duncan, what happened?”
Finally, his eyes landed on her. His warmth vanished, replaced by a frosty glare. Duncan spoke not a word and shifted his attention back to Galvin.
“A battle,” he replied after a long silence.
She stole glances at Duncan. He was aware of her regard. He never acknowledged it, pretending she wasn’t in the room.
Her declaration locked him from her. For a brief moment, she wanted to do nothing more than weep and wail against him. She took a chance and lost it. He rejected her love and ultimately rejected her.
Ailsa had a choice to make. Allow him to push her away and live the rest of her life alongside his cold indifference or lay siege to his walls surrounding his heart.
Duncan had better watch out because he was in for a battle unlike any other he had waged.
He was facing his wife.
Chapter Thirteen
Once Galvin rested in the chamber above the kitchen, Duncan dragged himself upstairs. All the possible wrongs occurred this night. Nevertheless, he knew he must make amends. So, he turned back and went in search of Caelan.
Braziers illuminated the courtyard. The steady footfalls of men guarding the walls sounded to him. The rustling of the winds blew across his face. Duncan heard every sound, even Phelan’s snoring coming from the stable. Caelan usually sought privacy in this place during the blackest hours of the night. He could be nowhere else.
A long shadow shifted and Caelan appeared in the firelight. Duncan stepped to him and Caelan stopped, waiting for him. From his wide stance and crossed arms, Caelan was incensed.
The two men, brothers not by blood but life, faced each other. “Caelan, please forgive me for what I spoke in anger. You are my foster brother.”
“You are my foster brother too and that is why I will forgive you but you angered me.”
“I know. This day has been one of my worst and I should have behaved as laird and not a spoiled child lashing out.”
“Shut up about it.” Caelan cuffed him on the shoulder. Duncan smiled, not bothered by the blow that might have fell another man, but seemed to him as soft as a fly’s wings.
“Niall is ill, Galvin might die, Ailsa professed her love to me and Cameron has betrayed me.”
“Ailsa told you what?”
“I tell all the rest and that’s what you deem important.”
“That was the one thing I didn’t know.” He cleared his throat. “Lachlan and I had a clue but—”
“And neither bothered to tell me. I cannot have my wife love me.”
“Why not?” Caelan stared down his nose at Duncan. “There are worse things in life.”
“Such as?”
“She could be your English wife.”
Duncan pressed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “She’s already the daughter of the man who betrayed me.”
“True but she’s hasn’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
* * * *
Caelan watched Duncan disappear into the donjon. The soft tread of footfalls had him looking over his shoulder. Lachlan stepped from the dark shadows of the smithy.
“She loves him,” Lachlan said, his voice never carrying on the slightly breezing air. “He loves her too but doesn’t trust her to bestow that power over him.”
Caelan shook his head. “He doesn’t trust himself.”
“He loved the wrong woman. Actually, he didn’t love her. She bewitched him.”
“Aye and he’s failed to distinguish the difference.”
Lachlan scratched his head. “He fears being weak.”
“Haven’t the bards said love makes you all powerful?” Caelan looked toward his friend when he remained silent. No quick counter came from his lips. His brow furrowed in deep thought as though he was pondering life’s mysteries.
Lachlan gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, clearing away his pensive thoughts. “So they say but when false or in vain it can weaken even the strongest of men. That’s what Duncan discovered.”
“He loved the wrong woman.”
Lachlan pressed his lips together. “And the right one pays for it.”
The two commanders nodded their farewells and went their separate ways. Caelan realizing he loved no woman except his mother and sister and surely, that didn’t count. And Lachlan thought of the woman he loved but could never have.
* * * *
Duncan halted at the top of the stairs, not ready to go into the chamber and lay beside his wife. He couldn’t face her. Rage, guilt, and confusion warred in his mind. For the first time, he didn’t know what to do.
He strolled down the passageway, away from his chamber toward Niall’s. He cracked open the door. Hector sprawled in the x-frame chair. His eyes cracked open.
“Will Galvin live?” Hector asked in a low voice.
Duncan shut the door behind him. “I think not.” He looked around the room. “Isn’t Moira supposed to be keeping vigil with you?”
Hector’s brows flew into his hair. His lips parted but no words came forth. His brother, who always knew the perfect word for every occasion and situation, was now at a loss.
“I believe she likes me.”
“We all know that.”
“No…I mean she is attracted to me.” He saw the confusion shadowing Duncan’s countenance. “She kissed me.” Hector leapt from the chair and began pacing the room.
Moira must have really confused him. Hector never paced because of the pain that wracked his body afterward. His musings must be more perplexed and his body must deal with the pain.
“I presume that is a bad thing.”
“I don’t know. At this moment, I can’t presume, assume, or suppose anything,” he grumbled on his
way by Duncan.
“Do you return her affections?” He inquired.
Hector spun around and threw up his hands. “That’s the problem. It’s Moira.”
“I understand.”
“This occasion calls for me to heed mother’s advice. Discover what your heart wants then follow it.”
“For God guides you,” The brothers uttered in unison. Duncan gave a sheepish laugh. He stopped listening to his heart countless seasons ago.
* * * *
When weariness demanded Duncan seek his bed, he crept into the chamber. Quietly, he undressed, avoiding a confrontation with his wife. What if she repeated her declaration? He had no response and he admitted he never wished to hurt her. Duncan fervently hoped her thoughts of love would fade but he knew that would never occur.
Standing at the edge of the bed, he stared down at her, curled into herself and her tresses plaited, overhanging the bed’s edge. Duncan yearned to have faith in her but he refused. He had no desire to be played false again.
His life changed since wedding Ailsa, much as it did when he believed himself in love with Ceara. He rarely went on raids and even found himself seeking out his wife. Thoughts of Ailsa consumed him. When Ceara was at his side, he never stopped his nightly activities and never thought of her until his return.
He most definitely lusted over Ceara, believing himself in love and only to learn a lesson that might have destroyed the MacLean clan. He rubbed his thumb against his chest, right over his heart. He still felt cut. Duncan couldn’t jeopardize the clan again because he might love his wife. Highlanders never forgot whom they came from and Ailsa surely would be no different. He would harden his heart to her and plan his attack against Cameron.
Climbing into bed, he hooked his arm over his eyes. His body demanded sleep yet his mind never permitted it. He needed to hold her. Duncan pulled Ailsa into his arms. Her slight frame snuggled against him. She tucked her feet between his legs and threw her arm over his chest. Her dainty hand rested over his heart. Finally, slumber overtook him.
* * * *
Morning sun shone into the chamber from the opened shutters. Ailsa cracked her eyes. She wished to stay in the warm bed. Her body was drained and exhaustion was trying to lure her back to sleep. Blinking herself awake, she felt the heavy weight of her husband’s arm wrapped around her waist, holding her to him. His heat seeped into her that she felt toasty even though the fire had died down.
She smoothed down the fine dusting of hairs on his arm, feeling the healed scars earned protecting his clan. Ailsa smiled to herself, her body gripped by her love for him.
Languorously twisting her head to look upon him, she met his gaze. She gave him a smile he didn’t return. He rolled over and rose from the warm bed.
Through his morning ablutions, he neither glanced her way nor spoke a word. With his every movement, Ailsa felt the sting grow.
The soft click of the door shutting sounded like a deafening boom that broke her. A couple of tears fell onto her pillow then her anger exploded.
“I refuse to live as I did most of my life.”
She tossed aside the linens and dressed, stomping through the whole event. She fumed and cursed her way to Niall’s room.
She sailed in, her anger at a boil. Hector slept on a pallet by the fire. His nut-brown hair stuck straight up and his left cheek creased from the blankets. His tunic wrinkled and twisted around his chest. His fisted hands rubbed sleep from his eyes like a child.
He slowly staggered to his feet and groaned with every movement. “I’m too old to sleep on the floor.”
Ailsa stepped out of his way as he groggily walked from the room.
Without delay, she placed her hand on Niall’s brow and gasped. He was cool. His breath was deep and steady, not like the sickly rattle it had been these past days.
Her cry of joy turned into a screech when she tried to swallow it, only to wake Niall. His eyelids fluttered before they popped open, wide, and clear.
“You are awake.” She kneeled next to the bed. Niall smacked his dry, cracked lips. “Would you like some water?”
He flopped his head in agreement. She grabbed the ewer and filled half the goblet. In her haste, she spilled some over the rim and onto her hand.
She eased beside him and supported his head as he drank.
“How are you feeling?” Ailsa set the empty goblet on the floor.
Niall thought about it for a second then croaked, “I’m hungry.”
He would be just fine.
She hugged him. “I will get you something to fill your empty belly. Rest until I return.” Tenderly, she placed his head back down and before she even reached the door, he fell asleep but that didn’t stop her from getting him food.
Dashing down the stairs with her braid flying out behind her, she never stopped until she burst into the kitchen. Màiri held her chest in shock.
“Niall is hungry,” she cheered.
Màiri bowed her head, giving a silent thanks to the Lord. “I will send him a meal to fill his belly.”
Ailsa waved to the kitchen staff as she darted out of the kitchen door. Lifting her skirts, she picked up speed on her way to Duncan as he trained men. The clash of metal striking metal had her ears buzzing and not wanting to be cut down, Ailsa jumped up and down, waving her arm. She screamed out for him but he never looked her way. The soldiers standing on the outskirts stopped. Duncan pushed his way through then came to a standstill when he spotted Ailsa jumping for joy.
Her braid flapped around her, bumping the top of her head before falling back down. Her antics brought a smile to his face. Duncan pressed his lips together to prevent him for laughing at her. It would be improper for the laird to laugh at his Lairdess.
Then his misgivings slammed into him, reminding him of last night. He mustn’t fall under her spell. She wouldn’t have the power to weaken and destroy him.
“Woman, calm yourself.”
She clutched his arm and beamed up at him. Pure joy lit up her face. Her eyes gleamed with the purest light and a rosy flush pinked her cheeks.
“Niall is awake and hungry. The fever broke.”
The men cheered then Caelan roared for them to get back to training.
“Aren’t you overjoyed?”
“I am but I’m not going to jump around like I’m daft.”
She stilled and her hand dropped from his arm. “Of course, you’re not daft. You’re a fool.” With that, she raced away.
She hurried up the stairs, fury giving her stamina she never thought she possessed. For a brief moment when he spotted her at the edge of the training field, she noticed his joy. Although he acted abrupt with her, she sensed his caring then noticed his tangible defense erecting. He was pushing her away, spurning her love.
His rejection stung deeper than her father’s ever managed. With her father, she received no warm feelings expressing a sliver of caring or compassion but with her husband, she had those sweet moments when she foolishly allowed herself to hope for that one thing she missed in her life. Then he yanked it from her so cruelly that she realized the rest of her days would not include it.
She wished she had been blissfully unaware of the joys love could bring since one never missed the unknown.
Ailsa stood before Niall’s chamber door and straightened her appearance. She refused to permit anyone to glimpse the heartbreak ravaging her. She placed her hand over her heart and swore she felt it breaking into smaller fragments. Shaking those thoughts away, she planted a grin on her face and entered the room, only to find Moira spooning food into Niall’s mouth.
“Can I have meat?” Niall propped up on pillows, glared at the spoon hovering in front of him. Moira slipped the spoon into his mouth before he could grumble.
“Nay.” She dipped the spoon into the steamy broth.
“Can I get fish?” He opened for another swallow. His eyes dipped, showing the sleepiness he was struggling against.
“You can get broth.”
“Ailsa, I’
m hungry. I’m a growing lad and need meat.” He yawned so widely he revealed his back teeth.
“Sorry, Moira’s right.” Moira nodded her head triumphantly. “You get broth.”
Niall’s thin shoulders slumped, sinking him deeper into the mattress. “Fine, but you’re lucky I love you.”
Ailsa blinked back the tears. Even though it was a grumbled declaration of love, her whole being was consumed with joy. Someone loved her. Niall freely granted his love while the feared Black Duncan ran from it.
“I love you too, Niall.” And not able to help herself, she planted a kiss on his cheek.
When he devoured the last spoonful, he lost the fight and slept. As Ailsa tucked the sheets around him, Duncan came in without a sound. Ailsa stifled her squeak of surprise.
While he crossed toward the bed, Ailsa wanted to run from the chamber as Moira did. Ailsa glimpsed Moira’s flaming cheeks as she escaped.
The pain of his rejection flared. She sensed the walls she erected to protect against the angst of her father’s indifferent and harsh behavior, preparing herself for the attack Duncan’s distance caused. She beheld him, a warm smile for Niall, and knew in the deepest part of her soul that she never wanted that life with him. There was warmth and caring in him that had sparked her hope.
“He has eaten,” her voice sounded loud in the still room. Even Duncan’s eyes snapped toward her. Niall rolled to his side, knocking the covers down to his waist.
Duncan righted the blankets and pushed sweaty hair from his brow. He stood frozen for a moment, then shifted his regard to Ailsa. She never questioned him about the thoughts raging in his mind. Truthfully, she didn’t know if she wished to hear them.
His gaze roved over her face. Exhaustion shadowed her face but jubilation radiated from her, but not for him. It was for Niall. If Ceara stood before him as his Lairdess and wife, she would have never cared as devoutly for him as Ailsa did. Ceara would have left this duty to Màiri or Moira or anyone else. But Ailsa remained fixed at his side even though this small child treated her with insouciance.
The Marriage Alliance Page 18