His? Someone’s. … A place he’d seen before.
Though those present had been quick to lower their gazes from his, he’d examined their faces, looking, always looking, for one that would be familiar to him. His sleep was haunted with faces, so surely he would see one of them sooner or later?
The mask, fashioned by the monks who’d cared for his injuries, chafed the skin of his neck and the upper half of his face. No matter what fabric they used, ‘twas always the same. The healer suggested leather, but the expense was something the poor monks could not afford. So, he trained himself not to scratch against the itch or it worsened. Tugging his hood down closer to his brow, he reached the steps that led to the high table and watched as the nobleman positioned himself there.
Before he could ask a question, the young woman, dressed in a gown the color of spring, wilted just like a flower too long in the sun. Her long, flowing blonde hair, free of anything but a circlet, swirled around her body like a cloud as the woman fainted.
He was up the steps, around the table and at her side before any of the others reacted to her condition. He slid his arm under her and eased her onto the chair. The other young woman aided him and, by the time the one he’d assisted was settled there, her eyes began to flutter open.
Eyes the color of the emeralds in his… father’s?…. mother’s? … Eyes so deep and green that he could lose himself in them gazed back at him. Now ‘twas his turn to be surprised.
It was her.
The one.
The woman who came to him in the dark of night and the light of day. He could always see her, but never once did she speak to him. He would reach out and call out to her, but she would fade even as daylight did at evening’s arrival.
Now, she was here. Alive. Real. Breathing.
“Who are ye?” she asked, giving a voice to all the imaginings he’d had these last months.
“I …” He released her and moved back. He glanced from her to the woman at her side and then to the chieftain standing across from them. “I ken not.”
“I dinna understand,” she said. “What are ye called?”
“Come now, tell us yer name,” the nobleman said as he beckoned him over. “Are ye kith or kin?”
“My lord, I ken not. The monks who cared for me didna recognize me when they found me.”
“Found ye?”
“Husband, let us take this to a private place,” the other young woman said, arriving at the laird’s side. She was the mighty man’s wife … second or third from the looks of her youthfulness.
The one who filled his dreams just stared wordlessly as he searched his memories for something to tell them. To tell her. He wanted to scream out in frustration and pain.
The weeks and weeks of searching for a place or a person who would be able to tell him his story wore heavily on him. The last hours spent walking in the wind-blown rain had sapped his strength. No one knew him. No one was missing from among them. And he’d not recognized anyone he’d met along the way.
Until now. Until this place and this woman.
From the way her face paled and those eyes filled with fear and something else, some great sadness, she didn’t know him. The laird nodded at his wife. He motioned to two servants who led the way for him out of this great hall and up a stairway to the next floor.
He stepped aside as the nobleman led his wife and daughter into the room. Allowing the women to sit, the laird motioned to his servants to bring cups and stoke the fire. When the flames flared, he found himself stepping back, even from the welcomed warmth of it.
“Who are ye and why are ye at my keep in this storm in the dark of night?” The laird drank deeply from his cup. “A few minutes more and my gates would have closed until morn.”
“The monks told me they found me unconscious and gravely injured some months ago,” he began explaining what he knew. “They expected me to die.” At the slight sound of distress, his gaze moved to the woman of his dreams.
“The mask?”
“The scars.” The laird nodded. “I beg yer pardon, my lord, but I dinna ken who ye are. I have been traveling for days. …”
“Were ye with the monks of Iona?” the laird’s wife asked.
“Nay, my lady,” he said. His throat labored to speak aloud after months of mostly silence. “A small community some days from here to the south.”
“I am MacKinnon and this is my wife, Lady Davina.” Then the man nodded at his daughter, the one he’d offered in marriage. “That is my eldest, Lady Ailis MacKinnon.”
Ailis MacKinnon.
Now, the beauty had a name. He let it roll through his thoughts, not struggling to find a connection, for that most often led to failure. Instead, as Brother Gavin had instructed him, he let it simply be there. Staring at her and repeating it again within himself, he waited on a revelation. ‘Twas simply a feeling when it finally happened. Joy. Joy and contentment. He closed his eyes and waited for more.
“Father,” she said. He opened his eyes and watched her speak. “I canna marry this … stranger.”
“If he will have ye, aye, ye will.”
The laird’s pronouncement shocked him. What in the name of the Almighty had he walked into?
“But, Father, we ken not his name or anything about him. Ye canna mean to give me to him.” Her voice was edged in fear and desperation. It sliced through him. He didn’t want her fearful. He didn’t want her to worry.
“What is yer name?” The MacKinnon asked again.
“When I couldna remember, the monks called me ‘Iain’, after their favorite of the blessed Apostles.”
The MacKinnon walked closer to him, examining him frankly and openly, from his boots to the plaid that covered the hood on his head. They were of a similar size and build it seemed.
“Ye have the look of a warrior about ye. Have ye fought before?”
“Aye.” He did not remember when or why, but he knew, his body knew, he was a warrior. Even now, he shifted on his feet and slightly turned as the laird moved around him.
A warrior must be always in readiness for the fight when it came.
At first, Iain thought the laird spoke the words. Then he realized they were a memory, spoken by another. An older man. The man who trained him. The shadows wouldn’t part enough for him to see the man, so he brought his attention back to the laird.
“Are ye sworn to any man?” the laird asked.
“Aye.” Iain shook his head. “I dinna ken who, but I think I must be.”
“Are ye married then?”
“Nay.”
He glanced over at Ailis and watched as any remaining color drained from her lovely face. Those eyes widened in anticipation of the next words from her father.
“Before yer arrival, my disobedient daughter swore to marry the next man who entered our hall if I allowed her to refuse Lord Duncan.”
“The older man at the table?” he asked, his gaze still captured by hers. The slightest of nods gave her answer before her father confirmed it.
“Aye. Lord Duncan agreed to marry her after she refused others. I allowed her to refuse due to promises made in a moment of weakness. I realize now ‘twas a grievous error on my part in dealing with her.”
“Father,” Ailis whispered. “I pray ye. …”
“My lord husband,” his ladywife began.
“Nay, Ailis. Nay, Davina, my love,” the laird said.
If Iain had not been watching her so closely he would have missed the pain that shone in her eyes when her father spoke so to his wife. Only then did Iain realize that these two women were close in age.
“I stand by our agreement, Daughter. Ye promised to marry him and, if he will have ye, ye will.”
The MacKinnon meant it. He would give his daughter to Iain, if he but said the word. A complete and utter stranger, not only to them but to himself, who had nothing to offer in return. Had the whole world gone mad? Or was this one of those waking dreams he’d suffer
ed for weeks after the monks had found him?
It took but one more glance at her to know that there was some connection between them. How else could he explain her presence in his dreams? Now that he’d heard her voice, he could hear the words she spoke to him every night since the first one he could remember.
“All the days of our lives,” she whispered.
She stood before him, naked. Her hair formed a golden, shimmering curtain around her. Her pert nipples, seen as they parted the locks of hair, grew into tight rosettes, begging for his mouth. She moved and her hair moved with her, sliding across her rosy breasts and over the curves of her hips. The darker triangle of hair at the place above her thighs, beckoned to be touched. He reached out his hand and she waited with eyes closed for his caress.
“Iain?” The MacKinnon asked.
All the days of our lives.
Iain blinked to clear his thoughts of the erotic vision he’d remembered, or dreamt, and knew what his answer must be.
“Aye.”
Chapter Three
Ailis sat, silent with shock, as her father and this man bargained and bartered for her. How had this come to be? She feared she understood the truth but didn’t wish to accept it.
Davina flitted around, sometimes standing by her side and other times hovering over her father as he spoke to ‘Iain’. Ailis wanted to both shout at her to stop moving and hug her tightly as they used to do before … before all of this.
Should she refuse? Should she run away? Davina spoke just as Ailis was about to lose control and do something rash.
“Finnan, ye must listen to me.” In a voice and tone that Ailis had never heard before, her stepmother spoke again, “Finnan, ye must stop this and listen to me.”
Ailis had never heard Davina press herself forth in such a manner. Not in public. Unless this was their manner in private? She shook herself rather than contemplate that.
Her father faced Davina. One glance at her used-to-be-friend’s face and his gaze softened. He guided her into the alcove near the doorway to listen to her. Ailis could not look away from them. Since their marriage, he had changed. Though he had respected her mother, and loved her in his own way, Finnan MacKinnon never accepted her counsel the way he had Davina’s. He had never listened to Ailis either.
A sound from the man drew her attention. She watched him stretch his neck one direction and then the other. He reached inside his hood and tugged on the mask. A sigh not unlike the one she made when she removed her gloves at night echoed to her. The skin on her hands and arms itched then as though reminded of their discomfort.
What had happened to him? What did the mask and hood cover? Shouldn’t she know before they were man and wife? As though he’d felt her regard, he met her gaze and she thought his eyes might be blue. Mayhap like Lachlan’s were? The ever-present pain reared inside her and she looked away.
“Ailis,” Davina said. “Yer father wishes to give ye some time to acquaint yerself with this man before the marriage is held.”
Ailis stood quickly and nodded. “Several months?”
A strange grating sound drew her gaze to the man in question. If she didn’t know otherwise, she thought he might have just laughed. Why was his voice so rough?
“Nay,” Davina continued to speak for Ailis’ father. “Three days.” At her loud gasp, Davina waved her off. “If, after three days, ye have some specific objection, yer father will consider it.” Davina glanced at her husband and back to Ailis. “If there is no true objection, the marriage vows will be spoken on the fourth morning.”
Torn between thanking Davina for her intervention and screaming like a ban-sidhe, Ailis sat down in the chair nearest the fire and tried to concentrate on finding a way out of this predicament. The scraping of wood across the floor brought her from her reverie. Glancing up, she realized that only the stranger remained.
“So, my lady, tell me honestly why yer father does this?” Iain asked as he slid a chair across the chamber and placed it next to hers. “Is he kenned for fits of madness?”
She couldn’t help herself. She laughed at his candidness before taking a mouthful of ale from her cup.
“He is the most sober and methodical man I’ve ever seen,” she replied. “But none of us have been the same since my mother died last year.”
“Grief can change a person, I think,” he said. “Has his own pain made him wish this upon ye?”
“Why does it matter, sir?” she asked harshly. “Ye walk in here and find yerself marrying a noblewoman. A wealthy one at that. I would think a man like ye would thank the Almighty for such a change in fortune.” She jumped to her feet and strode away.
Grief can change a person, he’d said.
She put the cup down and realized she had nowhere to go. Ailis realized the truth in his words. Grief for her mother’s passing had colored her feelings for the way her father had remarried so quickly. ‘Twas expected for a man of his position and age to continue to seek sons, but marrying her closest friend was a step too far.
And the worst blow of them all … Lachlan’s death.
Her conscience bothered her in a most disturbing way. This man, who had suffered grievous harm, didn’t deserve to be the target of her ire. He’d played no part in the events of this last year and shouldn’t be burdened by her rudeness.
“Sir,” she said without turning to face him. “I beg yer forgiveness for my rude behavior.” She let out a breath and turned. He stood before her, his height and breadth now apparent to her. She had to lean her head back to see his face, much like. … Ailis pushed the pain down once more and tried to make amends. “Ye played no part in what brought me and my father and his wife to this place.”
“May I ask again, what did?”
His voice was softer when he whispered, the hoarseness almost gone and she could understand his words clearly. Though he had dropped the plaid down onto his shoulders, the hood still covered his hair and the mask his face. Ailis should be afraid of this man who would lay claim to her in four days. Yet, she was not.
Mayhap the truth would make him reconsider this madness? Mayhap if he knew how vicious and mean she could be to those she cared about, he would refuse this devil’s bargain or be willing to be paid off to walk away?
“I pushed him into this fit of madness, as ye called it. I did it,” she said while gazing at the ties on his tunic. “I drove him to marry Davina and force me out of my home.”
It took a few uncomfortable moments for her look up to see his reaction. With his head tilted down and the hood low over his brow, it was difficult to see his eyes. For some reason, it felt better not to be able to see the certain censure in this stranger’s gaze.
After several moments, he canted his head as though studying her even more closely. Still wordless, she heard his breathing grow shallow until he leaned down and kissed her.
Everything around her, even her wits, faded as he pressed his mouth to hers. Whatever she’d expected to feel was not what she did. The rough material covering most of his face did not stop his mouth from touching hers, even as it rubbed against her cheek. The lips that touched hers were strong and smooth and undamaged. Worse, or better, she did not mind the kiss.
That made her pull free and step away. She scrambled back so quickly that she stumbled and fell. Before she touched the floor, his hands encircled her waist and he lifted her up. Held there, her back to his front, Ailis could not help but compare him to the last, and only, man who had kissed her and touched her body.
Lachlan.
Pain pierced her heart as it always did at the thought of him and Ailis shrugged off this man’s hold. This time, she took two measured steps back from him. He’d not spoken a word, not about her accepting the blame for this debacle or the kiss he’d pressed on her.
“I fear I should beg yer pardon for that,” he whispered. “But, I canna.” His hand moved towards that mask again, but he dropped it to his side before he touched it. “Will ye explain ho
w ye are to blame for this … situation in which we find ourselves?”
Any words she might have spoken wouldn’t come out. The kiss sent her thoughts and memories flailing. He nodded then.
“This is happening quickly and ye have no reason to trust me.” She could almost hear a smile in his voice. “I dinna remember much about myself, but I willna harm ye.” He reached out, crossing the distance between them, and caressed her cheek with the back of his gloved hand.
Whatever she’d planned to ask or say was halted when the door to the chamber swung open and her father stood there.
“A chamber is readied for ye,” The MacKinnon announced.
Ailis jumped back as though burned by his glove. That was Iain’s first thought but he realized she was reacting to her father’s arrival. He was too familiar with the reaction most people had to his appearance. His hood and mask caused fear in many. The reaction would be much worse if they saw him without it.
“Have ye eaten supper?” Ailis asked him. Her gaze fell to his mouth. From the blush that rose into her pale cheeks, he suspected she was thinking on that kiss. Thoughts of that kiss led to more of the vision he’d seen of her naked before him.
“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.
Across a Windswept Isle Page 2