She inclined her head in acknowledgement. She was Aila, the eldest Princess Devorgilla of Ce, and Bride was with her. Even if her head screamed she was insane to cross into Viking territory her heart knew she was right.
“You know why I am here.”
“Enlighten me.”
Was it her imagination or did he sound amused? What chance did she stand of securing Connor’s freedom if Olafsson found her amusing?
“You sent word to the King of Fidach that you would take the Scots hostage if it so pleased. I am here with the king’s response.”
Olafsson didn’t answer but neither did he break eye contact.
“The king,” she said, allowing no hint of her rising trepidation to color her voice, “requests the Scots be allowed to leave unhindered.”
“I’m not interested in what the King of Fidach wants,” Olafsson said and Aila’s heart thudded painfully. He was going to keep Connor hostage. “What do you want, Princess, for the warrior known as Connor MacKenzie?”
He had heard of their marriage. Of course he had. Spies were everywhere.
Should she pretend indifference? It was impossible to know what was behind the Viking’s question. Yet she wasn’t indifferent. And there was no guarantee that by pretending she was would be of any help to Connor’s situation.
There was nothing she could say but the truth.
“I want his freedom.”
There was a silence as Olafsson stared at her. He was a Viking, her enemy, and yet she did not find his scrutiny abhorrent.
Because he had once served justice on her behalf.
“Tell me,” he said. “What is MacKenzie’s freedom worth to you?”
Everything.
“I will give you my bride price.” Everything she had taken into Dal Riada had returned with her to Ce-eviot. It might diminish her status in Connor’s eyes, but what did that matter to her if it guaranteed his freedom?
Olafsson’s eyes glinted in obvious interest and for a moment she thought she had won. And then a regretful smile quirked his lips.
“I have no interest in your bride price. I asked you what your husband’s freedom is worth to you. What would you be willing to sacrifice?”
She was aware of the Ce warrior tensing by her side, clearly offended by the Viking’s words. But there was no lustful overtone in Olafsson’s question. And yet she knew that, for some reason, Connor’s future hung on her answer.
She would forever love Onuist. He was a part of her childhood, her girlhood; her first love. He would live on, in a tender corner of her heart, but she would not sacrifice Connor MacKenzie, the man she loved as she had loved no other, for the sake of misplaced guilt and old regrets.
“Nine years ago,” she pushed the words past the obstruction in her throat, hoped the Viking couldn’t see the way her fingers clutched at the folds of her gown, “you took a relic of Saint Columba. A casket.” Goddess, please let him remember. Please let him not have sold or discarded it during the intervening years. “In exchange for the freedom of my husband and his men, I will give you the cross that completes the artifact.”
With shaking fingers, she pulled the chain over her head and laid the cross on her palm to show him.
Olafsson appeared dumbstruck. A thread of panic inched through her. He had to accept. She had nothing else of worth to offer.
“Individually they are of great value. But together they are beyond price.”
She shouldn’t have said that. He was a Viking, he needed to know the price of everything. What use to him was something that could not be valued?
For a moment she didn’t think he was going to accept. Then he reached out and took the cross from her. Finally he looked up at her and there was an odd expression on his face. As if, at last, he was seeing her not as the girl he had once rescued but as the woman she had so recently become.
“I accept your exchange.” His fingers curled around his prize. To her confusion amusement now glinted in his eyes. “Although I would equally have accepted had you simply told me you would sacrifice anything for the man you loved.”
He would? Yet no regret speared through her at the knowledge she had given up her beloved cross. Olafsson turned to the warrior who had followed him into the room.
“Hakon, bring MacKenzie in.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Connor followed the Viking to the rear of the longhouse that had been divided into smaller rooms. Now that the exchange had been agreed to, he just wanted to conclude their business and return the casket to Aila.
But if Olafsson extended hospitality, he had no choice but to accept.
The door opened and his thoughts collided. Aila stood in the middle of the room, by the side of Olafsson.
“What the hell?” His hand went for his sword before he recalled the weapon had been confiscated. How had Olafsson abducted her? When had he abducted her? He’d left her safely in Ce only yesterday.
Olafsson gestured and only then did Connor realize the Viking who had brought him into the room had drawn his broadsword. With obvious reluctance, the Viking stepped back.
“What treachery is this?” He glared at Olafsson. Had his trust been so badly misplaced? Had he, by his actions, brought devastation to Aila?
But what the fuck was she doing there?
“Connor.” Aila’s voice dragged his attention back to her. Beside the massive Viking she looked vulnerable and fragile. And she was with child. She needed rest and stability, not undue stress.
“Are you unharmed?” If the bastards had laid one hand on her, they would pay with their lives. Weaponless or not, he would not allow his wife’s honor to go undefended.
“Of course I’m unharmed. Connor—”
A horrifying thought occurred to him. “Was Ce attacked after I left?” It was the only reasonable explanation. With so many warriors held in Dunadd, Ce was vulnerable. Had the remainder of Aila’s kin been slaughtered?
“Attacked?” Aila stared at him as if he was insane. “Why would you think such a thing? Pict and Scot are allies now.”
What? She was defending their alliance for the sake of appearances—he knew that. But she had also misunderstood his concern. It wasn’t the Scots he had accused of such attack.
“Then what are you doing here?” Now his initial shock was subsiding, he realized Aila wasn’t behaving like a woman abducted. But then Aila was no ordinary woman. She could hide her feelings from the world. Hell, she could hide them from him.
But still things did not strike true.
“I followed you.”
He heard her words. Yet they were incomprehensible. She could not have followed him.
He knew his disbelief clearly showed on his face as she stepped toward him and reached out her hand. Only for her arm to drop to her side before she made contact.
“I left Ce-eviot yesterday morning, arrived at Fi-eviot earlier today and discovered you had continued north. And so I followed you.”
Olafsson faded from view as Connor’s entire focus arrowed on the woman standing in front of him. The woman who had just calmly announced she had followed him into the land of her bitterest enemy.
“What the hell for?” Disbelief twisted into horror that she had knowingly placed herself in such danger. There was something she wasn’t telling him. Had to be. If she hadn’t been physically abducted, then somehow she had been coerced.
“To negotiate your freedom.”
There was a roaring in his ears, a pounding inside his head. His heart hammered as if it sought escape, and it took a second for him to recognize the source.
Fear. Terror. That Aila had undertaken such an unnecessary, foolhardy journey.
“My freedom?” He gripped her arms, wanting to shake her for taking such a risk, but mostly just wanting to touch her, to reassure himself she was here and safe. “There was no need for such negotiation. My safety was never in any doubt.”
“There was.” She flattened her hands against his chest and heat seeped into his heart. God, h
ow could he bear to leave her at Ce-eviot and return to Dal Riada without her? “Thorstein Olafsson sent word to the King of Fidach that he would keep you hostage if they so desired. I was the only chance you had for escaping that fate.”
He wasn’t much concerned by the possibility of the Viking keeping him hostage. Once their agreement had been struck, it was a matter of honor for them both to keep their word.
But that was irrelevant.
“The Fidach king allowed you to leave?” Wait until he saw that fucking idiot. He’d ensure the king would never repeat such an error.
“No.” Was that a touch of irritation in her voice? “I did not require his permission to leave. But yes, he gave me his blessing.” Her fingers tightened on his shirt. “They didn’t know why you traveled into Viking territory.”
Her words were loaded with meaning. Aila was telling him the Fidach king wouldn’t have cared if the Vikings held him hostage, because they suspected his king of further treachery.
Was that what Aila thought? That he sought an alliance on behalf of his king with the Vikings to undermine the alliance with the Picts?
It had never occurred to him she would think such a thing. Then again, it had never occurred to him she would discover where he’d gone after leaving Ce, until he returned and presented her with her beloved casket.
Heat seared through him. To give her the casket was one thing. To stand here, before two Vikings and a Ce warrior and explain his reasoning was another. He ignored the third Viking who entered the room and focused all his suppressed anger and relief onto Aila.
“What I do and where I go is none of Fidach’s concern. But you—how dare you put yourself at risk by undertaking such a perilous journey?” Anything could have happened to her. He couldn’t stand to think of it.
“If anything had happened to me,” she said, sounding not incensed that he’d spoken to her in such a manner but, incomprehensibly, satisfied, “then you would be free again, Connor. Would that not please you?”
Had her condition addled her brain? He glared at her, because he couldn’t tell her the bleak horror that crouched on his horizon at the very real thought of losing her.
“MacKenzie,” Olafsson said, turning from the newcomer. With a rising sense of disbelief Connor saw a small, intricately carved casket in the Viking’s hand. “My part of our bargain is fulfilled. I await the return of what is rightfully mine.”
He heard Aila’s sharp, indrawn breath and instinctively loosened his grip on her and dragged her roughly into his arms. He wasn’t going to give her the opportunity to retreat. Shooting the smirking Olafsson a black glare, he took the casket and held it awkwardly before Aila’s shocked gaze.
“This is the reason I came north.” He sounded feral. He couldn’t help it. Not only did he need to explain himself to Aila, he needed to do it in front of a fucking audience. “To reclaim your casket.”
She didn’t take it. When he pushed it toward her, she recoiled, pressing her body so tightly against his he feared she might well feel his erection even through the thickness of his plaid.
Finally she looked at him. He didn’t know what he had expected. Tears of joy, perhaps? Gratitude? A promise in her eyes that, in spite of everything, they did have a chance of happiness together?
Fury glinted in her beautiful green eyes. She shoved at his chest with both hands and jerked herself free.
“You risked your life,” she said. Spat might more accurately describe her delivery. “For that?”
He stiffened with affront and was humiliatingly aware of the avid interest of the other men in the room. He was a noble, a warrior and had no need to explain himself to anyone but his king. Certainly not to a woman.
Least of all his wife.
But God help him. Aila was his wife.
“No.” He growled the word at her. “For you.”
“This,” Olafsson said, “is the stuff of sagas but my honor decrees we should give you some privacy for a few moments.” He turned to Aila. “Thank you, Princess. And MacKenzie, I expect my broadsword as soon as this domestic dispute is resolved.” As he turned to Connor, he grinned and opened his palm to display Aila’s cross. Before Connor could comprehend, the four other warriors left, leaving him alone with his wife who looked as speechless as he felt.
“His broadsword?” she said, regaining the use of her tongue while he still floundered with the knowledge that Olafsson now possessed her beloved cross. “Why are you returning his broadsword? You won it in battle. It’s yours.”
Fuck the broadsword.
“You gave him your cross?” Even though he’d seen it with his own eyes, he still couldn’t believe. “The cross you haven’t taken off since the day your husband gave it to you?”
He thought she was going to argue with him. But then she appeared to reconsider. “Indeed, my lord, your memory is faulty. I removed my cross every night we spent together.”
Once again words failed him as he recalled their nights of passion. No cross had come between them.
“Now, answer me.” She sounded as regal as a queen issuing a demand to a peasant. “Why does Olafsson expect his broadsword returned?”
She had given Olafsson her cross. Somehow, with that revelation thundering through his mind, it was not so difficult to admit the truth.
“Because I owed him a debt of honor for how he defended you nine years ago. And because I needed something priceless with which to bargain for your casket.”
She looked at him and this time her beautiful eyes shimmered with tears unshed. He battled the urge to go to her and take her in his arms, because there was something he needed to know. Was desperate to know. And only hearing Aila say the words would calm the storm raging in his heart.
“Aila.” His voice was raw with need. What would he do if he was wrong? “Why did you give Olafsson your cross?”
Her bottom lip trembled. Don’t let him be wrong.
“You know why.” Her voice was low, oddly resigned. “I loved Onuist. But you are my husband. You are the man I love. Giving up my cross was a small sacrifice compared to what I might have lost otherwise.”
She still loved him. In spite of everything she had gone through. Bone-deep relief flooded him and he went to her, intending to hold her close. And this time never let her go.
Chapter Forty
She held him off by raising one hand, her fingertips grazing his chest and branding his heart.
Without taking his gaze from her, he put her casket on the desk and covered her hand that cradled his heart.
“I’m sorry you were forced into marriage with me.”
Her words shattered his sense of wellbeing, the feeling of completeness, his rising desire.
“Forced?” Had he misunderstood? She was the one who had been forced. But surely, as she loved him, she couldn’t regret they were wed?
“I know MacAlpin,” her voice dripped derision as she said the name, “gave you no choice. I know you never intended to remarry.”
How could she think that for even a second?
“Aila, I went to MacAlpin the day we arrived in Dunadd and tried to stop the marriage with Fergus.” He saw her eyes widen at the knowledge he had gone behind her back, but he wasn’t going to apologize for it. “Because I wanted to marry you myself. And before my brother’s body was even cold I intended to fight MacAlpin for the right to claim your hand. But he had already decided your fate. I know you were coerced and for that, I beg your forgiveness. But I can’t regret the outcome of that day.”
“You wanted to marry me?” She sounded astonished.
“Aye.” Damn, did he really have to remind her? “I told you. The night before I discovered who you were.” The night he realized just how much she meant to him.
Her frown intensified. “You meant everything you said that night?”
He resisted the urge to shuffle his feet, and cast a surreptitious glance at the door. Just to ensure it was fully closed with no chance of them being overheard.
“Aye
.” It came out as a growl.
“I thought…” She hesitated, bit her lip. “I thought they were only words uttered in the heat of passion and meant nothing more.”
He stared at her in disbelief, secretly offended by her confession. He’d told her she was his for all time. How much clearer did a man have to be?
“No.” What else could he say?
A small smile tilted her lips. Lips he wanted to taste and tease and he could do neither while they remained in Viking territory. The sooner they returned to Ce the better. At least now he knew he would truly be welcomed in her bedchamber.
“Perhaps,” she said, sounding oddly unsure, “one day you might grow to love me, Connor.”
He laughed. And then saw the stricken look on her face, as though he’d just dealt her a mortal blow. Insane realization smashed through him. Had she been serious?
“What?” He sounded like a fool.
“Nothing.” She pulled her hand free, gave him a brittle smile. “It doesn’t matter.”
He snatched her hand back, crushed her fingers. A deadly certainty snaked through him. “Aila, you do know how I feel about you, don’t you?” He’d told her enough times. Hadn’t he?
“Of course.” She offered him another brittle smile but her eyes gleamed. “I understand Fearchara will always be first in your heart.”
What the fuck? Fearchara had nothing to do with how he felt about Aila. He had loved his first wife, she would always be a part of him. But Aila was—Christ, she was Aila. He couldn’t imagine not sharing his life with her. Didn’t want to imagine it.
Wouldn’t think of it.
He stared into his beloved wife’s eyes. Eyes that glistened with tears, and incomprehension warred within his soul. How could she think she was not first in his heart? How could she think he did not love her with everything he was?
Sometimes things have to be said, no matter how unnecessary we believe them to be.
Unease inched along his spine as his mother’s words haunted his mind. Even though it was blindingly obvious to him, did Aila not know how he felt because he had not told her?
Her Savage Scot: 1 (Highland Warriors) Page 31