Highland Storm

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Swallowing the contents of his tankard whole, Aidan slammed his cup down on the table, and poured himself another, tears stinging his smoke-red eyes. “Lael, Cat and Keane must be told,” he said to no one in particular.

  “And Cameron,” Cailin added. “He may not realize his sister has wed our brother.”

  Another moment of excruciating silence.

  “We’ll send a messenger to Keppenach,” Lìli suggested. “The winter has been mild enough. The road is not yet unpassable.”

  “I’ll go,” Lachlann offered.

  “As will I,” Auld Fergus said.

  “Just the two of you,” Aidan agreed, his throat scarce allowing words to pass. “We will need every pair of hands to continue the search.”

  Lìli gave him a look filled with sorrow and tears spilled down her cheeks. “Aidan… we have heard not a sound from the caverns below. The tunnels are sealed, my love.”

  Sorcha said softly, raising her head, “She canna live without…” She swallowed the rest of her words.

  Auld Fergus stood and raised another toast. “What’s that she oft said?”

  May those who mùirn us mùirn us;

  And those who dinna mùirn us,

  May the Cailleach turn their hearts:

  And if She wadna turn their hearts

  May she turn their ankles,

  Sae we’ll know ’em by their gimp.

  “Here’s to us,” toasted Lachlann, with a throaty voice that sounded full of gravel.

  “Wha’s like us?” added Sorcha sadly, in the absence of her youngest brother, who would often say the words.

  And Aidan, with glassy eyes and a gruff voice, finished the toast for the rest, “Damned few,” he said. “And they’re all dead.”

  Auld Fergus sighed wearily. “Guess she weren’t no Cailleach, after all.”

  With the first light of morning, Keane rose from the chair he’d slept in and wandered close to the bed.

  She hadn’t had any true notion what to expect from the marriage bed, but this was not it. The look Keane had given her last night had turned her flesh to ice, and the tone of his voice engendered tears she’d refused to shed. Whilst he’d sat staring into the brazier during the long night, alone in the bone-chilling darkness, she’d lain in the bed they were meant to share, curled up as far away from the stain of his blood as she could possibly get.

  For a moment, Lianae could feel him standing there, a shadow behind her lids, but she daren’t open her eyes to see what he was doing. He lingered but a second before turning and walking out the door and in his absence, the room felt colder and more barren than before.

  Confused and uncertain how to proceed, she lay abed now, reluctant to rise—not the least for which she was still wearing her accursed wedding gown, never having bothered to undress. But she had no wish to wear it again today. She’d had enough of wedding gowns for an entire lifetime!

  Had she dared to hope for more? What could she expect? That he would simply overlook her many lies and find himself enamored enough to love her as his wife?

  Her fabrications might have sent him to the gallows; it was no wonder he loathed her so much. If any one thing had happened any differently, she might be laying here this instant, listening to the din outside her window as they waited for the executioner to appear.

  But nay. Somehow she had known it would not come to that… hadn’t she?

  She must have known.

  Remembering the way Keane had looked at her only two days past, standing beneath that precious whitebeam tree, she felt a pang in her heart and desperately wanted him to come back as he was.

  Would he never forgive her?

  The kisses they’d shared—every one—gave her reason to believe. Even the one he’d given her at the altar… it made her tremble merely at the thought.

  After a long while there came a knock on the door, and Lianae’s heart skipped a beat. She sat upright in the bed. “Come in,” she said.

  The door opened and a lovely young woman pushed her face into the crack of the door. “Good morn, Lianae. I am Kenna—Jaime’s sister.”

  Embarrassed to be caught in the state she was in—tear stained and fully dressed, Lianae scrambled from the bed. “Oh, please… come in.”

  The woman smiled and came into the room, and Lianae saw the resemblance nearly at once. Their eyes were the same as the laird of Keppenach’s, that odd steely blue.

  “The maids will be along soon,” the girl said. “In the meantime, I brought you these.”

  In her hands there was a stack of folded garments—a generous pile. Only belatedly did the girl seem to realize that Lianae was still wearing her wedding dress. Surprised perhaps, she averted her gaze from the bed, blushing profusely. “The lady Lael would have you keep your wedding gown,” she explained. “And these…” She pointed a chin at the stack of garments she held, all without meeting Lianae’s gaze. “They once belonged to a lady she once knew. She said to tell you that Aveline would have wished to share them with you.”

  “Who is Aveline?”

  Kenna shrugged. “I barely knew her,” she said. And Lianae didn’t press, because there was something in the girl’s expression that didn’t welcome anymore discussion along that vein. Coming forward a little nervously, Kenna dropped the stack of clothing on the edge of the bed, her gaze automatically scanning the bedding, and discovering the blood, she appeared confused, once more averting her gaze, to peer over at the chair by the brazier.

  If it were possible, Lianae sensed Keane’s warmth in the chair, ready to decry her a failure as a bride.

  Watching the girl, Lianae considering the emotions that flitted across the woman’s face. Relief perhaps? “I trust you slept well?”

  “Quite well, thank you.”

  A knowing smile touched the woman’s lips. “I must say, there’s nae been a lass belowstairs who dinna swoon over that kiss.”

  The one at the altar, Lianae realized and tried to smile. Somehow the thought did seem to improve her mood. He could scarce loathe her so much if his lips spoke a different tale.

  “You’re a lucky woman,” the girl said, and her ensuing smile was genuine.

  “You admire him?” It was perhaps a fortunate guess on Lianae’s part, and the girl’s answer might have given her dread, save that there was little in her tone or expression to give Lianae pause.

  Kenna’s cheeks bloomed with color. “I do… er did,” she confessed. “But that is neither here nor there. Alas, but Keane never once looked my way, and certainly not the way he looks at you.”

  “Me?” Lianae asked. Her fingers plied through the stack of garments Kenna had placed upon the bed. After all, she chose the one on top, a soft, golden-yellow wool dress without embellishments.

  “I would give my legs and my arms for a single heartfelt glance like that,” the girl confessed. And when she sighed, it came from the very depths of her soul.

  Lianae hid a tiny smile—not for Kenna’s heartbreak, but for her own burgeoning sense of hope. After all was said and done, there must be something between them. And for the manner of their marriage she would beg his forgiveness evermore, but before she could do that, she must win his favor again. She would make Keane a good wife, she vowed, or the effort would kill her. One way or another, she would make it up to him. And even despite everything that had occurred, she had more hope for the future than just a few days before.

  Aye, then—unfurling the dress, she decided it was time to win back her new husband. Whether or not she ever found her brothers, her place was now by Keane’s side. She held the dress up to her breast, testing the length of the hem. “’Tis pretty,” she said, and looked to Kenna for confirmation.

  “That one will be lovely,” the girl said. “It matches your eyes. But ’tis too long!” She came forward then and chose another—one from the bottom of the pile. This one was pale green, made of wool as well, but with a golden girdle. “Try this,” she said. “It will fit you best, and we’ll mend the others together.”r />
  Chapter 20

  Keane spent the entirety of the next few days in council with the king—a welcome distraction despite the matters to be discussed.

  In Aidan’s absence, he was asked to represent the dún Scoti clan—a fact that he might have told them was entirely pointless. Aidan would never agree to aught that was discussed here. His brother would not acknowledge Scotia as his sovereign nation, nor would he kneel before David as his king. And yet, the more Keane heard, the more he found wisdom in David mac Maíl Chaluim’s words, and he was becoming conflicted—a dilemma that did not bode well for his relationship with his brother. Little by little he was beginning to understand why Lael had embraced the man, and although he himself struggled to honor his vows, one day in witness to the king’s counsel and he could no longer view the man as a raging madman. He was civil, fair minded and held the wellbeing of his people in every word he spoke. Even the sentence he’d given Keane—a seat in Moray and a bride—was far more generous than he might have deserved were Lianae’s accusations even remotely true. Alas, but it was her word against Keane’s, and Keane counted himself fortunate that he had witnesses enough to vouch for his character. Elsewise, his head might now be adorning a pike, and Lianae would be…

  With William fitz Duncan… who, by the by, was suspiciously absent from the king’s council. But he was not the only one yet to come. Broc Ceannfhionn remained at Chreagach Mhor, along with MacKinnon. But although Broc would join David without question by virtue of his sworn vows, MacKinnon had sent word that he would support David’s campaign in Northumbria, only so long as David acknowledged his son as Aldridge’s rightful heir. It was agreed. And by the end of the day, despite the last failed attempt by King Duncan to take Northumbria, David had garnered support from all the barons present, with assurances that he had more allies in the north.

  Along with Carlisle, they now intended to secure Wark, Alnwick and Norham as well, and they would engage within the fortnight—as swiftly as they could gather the necessary troops and make the journey south. Stephen would be too pre-occupied with securing his throne. It would be months before he could turn his attentions to the North. By then, David would have secured the entirety of Northumbria.

  By the time they were finished detailing the entire campaign, Keane was more than ready for respite. And yet, the tensions awaiting him in his chamber were far greater than in the place he left—if one could believe it. He climbed the tower steps, hoping Lianae was otherwise occupied, for he sorely longed to stretch in the bed. Even as comfortable as it was, the chair was a poor substitute.

  Kenna and Lael had kept his wife pre-occupied, and he was grateful to them both, and still, he longed to see her—if only for an instant. Why he had no clue. She was a cunning little vixen who had wormed her way into his thoughts. He rued the day he ever met her.

  To his surprise, he found the room cozy and warm, with a brazier burning and a steaming, herb-filled bath in the center of the room.

  Lianae met him at the door, with a sweating flagon in her hands. “Ale?” she asked, raising the tin. “Or would ye prefer warm spiced mead?” She waved a hand toward the small table by his chair, the look in her eyes filled with apprehension.

  Keane would have liked to say neither, but at the moment, a cup of ale was precisely what he needed. And the bath was more than he could have hoped for.

  “Ale will be fine,” he said, peeling off his gloves and setting them down upon the table, his eyes scanning the treats she had gathered: crispels, tiny pastries basted in honey, along with herbs and spices.

  Without a word, Lianae poured him a cup of ale. She handed it to him. Keane took the cup, his shoulders tense, and his body aching with repressed desire.

  She was as beautiful as she was treacherous, he decided. Simply because he shouldn’t want her didn’t mean he didn’t…

  “Would that I bathe you?” Lianae asked sweetly as though she would serve him with a willing heart, and he had to remind himself that she was a very, very good liar. If she would woo him, it was because she wanted something from him. What it was, he couldn’t fathom and didn’t care. He would not play her fool.

  “Nay,” he said, but there was less resolve in his tone than he would have hoped.

  She came forward anyway, stubborn as she was. “I would aid you if you’d but let me, Keane.”

  She was dressed today in plainer clothes—a soft green wool that clung to her curves, outlining the high rise of her ample breasts. His eyes hungrily devoured her, famished for the sight of her after two days of coming and going, in the dark, whilst she slept.

  Keane struggled to deny her. He took a final sip of his ale and set the cup down in silence, stripping himself before the brazier. He shrugged out of his gambeson and tunic and then began unlacing his trews, not daring to acknowledge the other occupant of the room. Without the barrier of clothes between them, it would be his undoing, because even now, he found himself stirring at the thought of them together in this room… their room… in which he had been expected to bed the woman he’d taken to be his wife.

  The warmth he felt now as he undressed had little to do with the fire burning in the brazier, and he could almost imagine that his skin was steaming not unlike what emanated from that tub.

  Without a word, he climbed into the large wooden tub, turned his back to his wife, and sank down into the the water, grateful for the cleansing warmth. But no sooner had he settled his head against the rim, when he suddenly felt Lianae’s fingers in his hair.

  “I will help you,” she offered stubbornly.

  Closing his eyes, swallowing his protests, Keane laid his head back and prayed for strength. When he said nothing, she took it as an invitation to continue, and Keane felt the blood begin to simmer through his veins. He pulled the washcloth over his lap.

  Without a word, she took an empty cup from the table and dipped it into the water, bidding him to close his eyes so she could lave his hair. But they were already closed, and she knew they were, so he adjusted himself a little so she could wet his head without soaking the entire room. If she was so determined to help, he might as well allow it.

  But his heart beat a little faster as she worked her fingers through the long strands of his hair, wetting it fully, before lifting up the soap and lathering his hair. The feel of her fingers massaging his scalp felt heavenly. He could hear her breathing behind him—panting softly and he monitored his own breath, trying not to think of her lovely breasts rising and falling with each and every breath...

  He was beautiful.

  His body was firm, his belly tight. And his bare arms—they were nearly as wide as his thighs. God save her, Lianae had no thought but to stare.

  She wanted so desperately to make Keane understand. She had never meant to bring him any harm. He, more than anyone had been kind to her and she wanted desperately to prove she could be a loving wife—if only he would allow it. She wanted to tell him she was still untouched, but the words simply wouldn’t emerge on her tongue.

  Instead of feeling joyful over the truth, would he consider it more of her lies? For that, in truth, was what it was. She had lied about nearly everything from the moment she’d met him, and now the truth came more difficult than her lies.

  Spilling through her hands, his long hair was… soft, like ebony silk. She had visions of him turning to see her—truly see her. As she was. Merely a wife, wanting her husband to love and forgive her, though for now, his silence was enough.

  Resting in the tub, he appeared for the instant as though he hadn’t a care in the world and Lianae wanted to forever smooth his worried brow and brush her fingers against his shadowed jaw. Lathering the soap in his hair, she poured her heart into the task, wanting him to feel her remorse with every caress of her fingers. And once she was done with his hair, and still he hadn’t protested, she moved to his shoulders, working the soap into his flesh. His skin was dark, a color achieved through a lifetime that could scarce be faded by the passing of months.

  Re
alizing that he had pulled the washcloth down to drape over his lap, she reached over to grab it and Keane stilled her hand.

  “Nay,” he said.

  “But…”

  “I will finish on my own.”

  Her cheeks burning with chagrin, Lianae released the cloth and stood, moving away from the tub. “I-I am sorry,” she said, and swallowing her tears, she hurried out of the room.

  Keane heard the door close and only once Lianae was gone, he removed the cloth from his lap, snarling at his traitorous cock. He was prepared to raise her child as his own, but he would not allow himself to mingle his seed with that of William fitz Duncan.

  However, the last thing he needed was to leave his old chap unattended. The tension was insufferable. As hard as he was, as long as he’d been denied, he didn’t need much coaxing to find his release… and in the moment when he did, it was Lianae’s face he saw.

  Nothing she did seemed to please him.

  For the remainder of the week, whilst her husband avoided her, Lianae occupied herself with Kenna and Lael, learning from each woman. Having been raised on a farm in the bitter north, where men and women both tended their duties together, Lianae was only now learning how to sit and sew, beginning with the adjustment of her new gowns. A few were too short. A few too tight. All, save one, had belonged to a young lady from the border lands—a daughter of the laird of Teviotdale, who’d perished some years past, although none of the women present seemed overly inclined to reveal how.

  From Kenna, Lianae gleaned everything there was to be known about Lael’s mysterious brother. It was curious to hear the girl speak of Keane, because Lianae had met a very different man—one who was not so aloof and who had taken Lianae under his wing from the instant they’d met. She longed to see that man returned.