by Mary Wine
Bari glared at Gahan. “I did nae know what she was about.”
“Good,” Achaius said. “I would have been sad to let yer sister go. She’s a juicy treat.”
Achaius turned to face Gahan and licked his lips. Disappointment raked its claws across her gut, it was so intense. She thought she saw Gahan stiffen in anger, but she realized she was seeing only what she wanted to.
“Come, mistress.” Fann was tugging her up the stairs once more. Achaius was smirking at Gahan. The suggestive nature of his expression turned her stomach, so she relented and let Fann lead her away.
But she wrung her skirt all the way up the stairs.
Was Achaius so feeble-minded he didn’t realize he hadn’t consummated their union? Or was he playing a game with her brother?
Both options promised her grief. Bari would not have her back if Achaius turned her out, while Gahan’s offer had been an empty one. She needed to forget about him. No good could come of giving in to her desire for the man. Except that taking a lover would solve the problem of her still being a maiden. Achaius would have no trouble turning her out if a midwife testified she was still a virgin. She’d be accused of soiling the sheet too.
Gahan would make a fine lover…
The idea was intoxicating. It was balm for the fear burning through her. He’d hardly admit to their liaison.
She stiffened. Her thoughts disgraced her. Gahan had honor, and she was thinking of ways to tarnish that noble trait. Bari might have dictated the circumstances of her life, but he did not control her morality. No matter what happened, she’d face it.
Even if the idea of having a reason to let Gahan kiss her again was nearly impossible to resist.
***
“Mistress?”
Gahan’s captain stepped up beside her mare once she was mounted. He offered her something, and when she took it, she realized it was a leather gauntlet. Athena was perched on his forearm. Her hand shook as she pushed it into the thick leather glove.
Cam offered her the hawk, and she cooed softly to her. Athena fluttered her wings in greeting as she climbed onto her arm. Cam tugged on his bonnet, then strode away to mount his own horse.
The Sutherland retainers were an impressive sight, mounted and bristling in the morning sun. Each man wore a leather jerkin that was studded with brass for protection. She was used to seeing Gahan with his collar undone, but today he wore a stiff leather collar closed around his throat. Archers wouldn’t find it simple to pick him off his horse. Behind his left shoulder, the hilt of his sword gleamed, the heavy weapon strapped in place across his back.
All his men were dressed the same, a blunt reminder that Sutherland had the coin to ensure their retainers were well outfitted. The Matheson retainers did not have as much; neither did the Fraser ones. Many of them had doublets that were worn or patched. Not every man had a sword on his back either. Many of the younger ones had only knives. Bari might sneer at Gahan for his illegitimate birth, but there was no denying he had greater standing. Gahan guided his horse forward and raised his hand.
“MacLeod land!”
His men roared with approval, then followed their leader out of the raised gate. Most of the inhabitants of the castle had come out to watch them leave. The Matheson retainers kept Moira in their midst as they followed, leaving the Frasers to fall in behind them.
Horse hooves pounded the road, and Moira discovered herself smiling. If it was wrong, so be it. But she was happy to be leaving Matheson land.
Five
Gahan kept them at a hard pace. He was racing the sun and knew it. But he didn’t push the horses past their endurance. He was everything a noble son should be, everything a leader should be. Moira could see that his men followed not just because his blood was blue, but also because he knew how to lead them. As a result of his careful management, the miles fell behind them quickly. They crossed onto MacLeod land, and the tops of the keep came into sight.
The fields around MacLeod Keep were already being turned. Men were working the plows as the troop of men rode past. They looked up, most of them taking the opportunity to wipe their brows. The scent of newly broken earth tickled Moira’s nose, but it was a good smell, one that announced spring and new beginnings. Weddings normally gave her such a feeling, but hers hadn’t.
The sun was already hugging the horizon when they gained their first view of MacLeod Tower. Bells began to ring along the curtain wall of the stronghold. Gahan pulled them to a stop just beyond the range of the archers and waited for his standard to be recognized. Moments later, the gate was lifted. Gahan led them through, and soon the inner yard was full of horses and men dismounting.
Moira was grateful to be stopping. She made sure Athena was settled on the saddle perch before getting ready to slide off her mare. Cam caught her on her way down, ensuring that she touched down softly.
He offered her a nod, then resumed his post behind Gahan.
It should have been a Matheson retainer who saw to her, but none of them were anywhere near her. Somehow, she’d ended up surrounded by Sutherland men. She lifted her arm for Athena, and the moment the hawk was settled on her arm, a Sutherland man led her horse away.
Bari stopped to glare at her, but the men around her shifted, cutting him off. He snorted then made his way to the steps of the keep, where Saer MacLeod was welcoming Gahan.
Saer MacLeod was an imposing man. His dark hair hung to his shoulders. The cool evening breeze clearly didn’t bother him, given that his shirtsleeves were rolled up and tied at his shoulders. His arms were brown from the sun. His kilt was held in place by a worn belt that lacked any showy decoration, like the one Bari wore. Saer was hardened, the muscles of his arms clearly defined. He had a great deal in common with Gahan; both looked like men who earned everything they had, including respect.
Achaius made his way to where Saer stood. The MacLeod laird didn’t look at him. Instead Saer MacLeod turned to look at Moira, his unsettling gaze sweeping her from head to toe. Achaius gestured her forward.
She should have thought of him as her husband but just couldn’t. The label stuck in her thoughts, refusing to let her thoughts flow.
With Athena perched on her arm, she made her way up the steps and lowered herself in greeting. The new MacLeod laird wasn’t interested in her manners; his eyes were on Athena.
“The hawk trusts ye,” Saer MacLeod remarked.
“I raised her.”
“Yes, yes…me bride has many skills,” Achaius said.
Saer extended his bare forearm, but Athena let out a shrill warning. Her feathers ruffled, and she lowered her head to make sure he knew she had no liking for him.
“Calm the bird,” Achaius ordered, “and hand it to Laird MacLeod.”
Saer’s eyes narrowed. Moira bit her lip and said, “A hawk cannae be ordered into submission. They must be trained to do so.”
“Aye, the lass is right. Ye must earn its respect,” Saer said, nodding. He withdrew his arm. “Ye are welcome in me home.”
He turned and walked through the double-door entrance into the main tower. It was nowhere near as grand as Matheson Tower, but it felt more welcoming. Achaius and Bari followed him without a backward glance, while Gahan remained behind with Moira.
“Ye are less than dirt to the Matheson,” Gahan remarked. He kept his voice low, but there was rage in his eyes. “Did he hurt ye?”
It was a question he had no right to ask, an intimate one that sent heat to her cheeks. She seemed to be forever blushing in his presence, but instead of being irritated, she discovered she was pleased.
She would certainly never blush for Achaius.
Gahan pressed her. “Tell me the truth, Moira.”
“Ye should nae ask—”
His dark gaze cut into hers. “Answer me.”
“He didn’t…” She couldn’t finish the sentence because she knew she was lying—or at best, she was willfully deceiving him.
She lifted her foot to climb another step, but he moved in front
of her. The man was imposing enough without towering on a step above her. She felt gooseflesh prickle her skin in response. Behind her bodice, her nipples contracted into hard points, and her heart increased its pace. Time felt frozen. She was trapped between breaths, noticing all the details of his face. It felt as though he could read her thoughts as easily as a book.
“Ye are hiding something,” he stated.
Gahan’s accusation brought Moira back to the present, giving her such a start that she jostled Athena still perched on her arm. The hawk let out a shrill cry, and Cam came up the stairs at a run, managing to lift the hawk off her arm as Moira regained her balance.
“I’ll take Athena to the mews,” he said, and was gone with a swish of his kilt, leaving her to face the formidable glare of his master. There was some unnatural connection between them. She lowered herself and ducked around him.
Inside, her husband waited. She looked at Achaius, insisting that she focus on him. With a determined step, she closed the distance between them.
It was time to act like a woman.
And a wife.
***
Moira sat at the end of the high table. It was a place of honor, one she’d often wondered about as the half sister of the laird. The reality didn’t fit the image she’d created in her girlhood fantasies. She didn’t feel honored. Instead, all she noticed were the looks of pity being cast toward her from the women of the MacLeod. They were no fools. Her union was a cruel joke, and they narrowed their eyes when they gazed at Bari for arranging the match.
The fare set out on the high table of MacLeod Tower was simple. The surprising fact was that every table was served the same meal. Saer MacLeod seemed completely at ease and content with the common fare, as did Gahan. Only Bari and Achaius occasionally looked longingly toward the kitchens to see if something more might be coming.
“I hear yer land was raided after Sauchieburn,” Bari remarked at last. “Little wonder yer table is light.”
Saer turned to look at his guest. “The fare is filling, which is more than some must make do with. The land I inherited is fertile. I am used to earning what I have.”
“I suppose it is better than what ye had living on the isles.”
“Among the savages?” Saer inquired. “I found them more trustworthy than some of me fellow Highland lairds. The men of the isles will fight ye face-to-face, nae slip poison in yer drink.”
Bari’s face reddened. “That was me sister’s doing.” He reached for his mug and took a large swallow before nodding. “I’m off to set it straight with the earl.”
Saer didn’t respond. Bari finished his meal and departed for his chamber. Achaius remained, entertaining those willing to listen with tales of his youth. Moira sat by his side, determined to begin acting like a wife. To leave before her new husband would set tongues to wagging about the validity of her marriage. The candles burned low before he finally stood up.
“Forgive me for retiring so early, but I’ve a new bride to enjoy.”
No one corrected him on the time, and Moira found herself worrying her lower lip as she stood to follow her husband. Her reprieve might be over. But there was nowhere else to go. She followed Achaius up two flights of stairs to a chamber. Someone had made sure it was ready. A fire crackled in the hearth, and candles cast their yellow light over the bed.
The linens were turned down, and Moira felt her throat tighten. A young gillie helped Achaius strip off his clothing until he wore only his shirt. The young lad laid everything neatly aside then tugged on his bonnet and left. A lump began to form in her throat, but she forced it down. She reached for the button that held her sleeve closed at her wrist.
“Still in yer dress, lass?” Achaius crawled into bed, propped himself up on the plump pillows, and smirked at her. “Well then, take yerself back to the kitchens and have the cook mull me some cider.”
“Cider?” Her fingers froze on the button.
“Aye, aye.” He waved her toward the door. “Me belly is troubled.”
“Of course.”
She might have spoken too quickly, but he didn’t seem to notice. Moira forgot to lower herself before spinning around and heading toward the door. Her determination was no match for the flood of relief that swept through her.
“Ye are a dutiful lass to hurry so.”
She was already out the door when his words reached her ears. She was in fact running, but she seemed unable to control the urge to flee. It was only a reprieve…and a short one at that.
She walked down the stairs to the kitchens like a woman on the way to her execution. All too quickly, steam rose from the small copper pot the cook used to warm the cider. The cook unlocked the spice cabinet, taking only a small piece of cinnamon and a single clove before locking it again. When it was added to the cider, she leaned over and inhaled deeply.
“It’s been a long time since I used any of the spices. We have little left. I adore cinnamon, but there are more essential things to be buying this season. Our new laird does nae waste coin on comforts. That is a blessing, for there are many needs here since we were raided.”
She smiled, blissfully ignorant of the turmoil filling Moira. For a moment, Moira was jealous of the other woman, envious of the fact that she was not dreading the coming night. Then she chided herself for being childish. Everyone had their duties, both pleasant and not. She’d not go hungry on Matheson land.
Moira carried the cider up the stairs, her steps echoing in the now-quiet tower. Only a single lantern was left glowing in the hallway, the light making its way through slots in its tin sides. A torch would have provided more light, but the fire risk was much greater. The MacLeod land had been raided, but the tower had not been breached, or the lanterns would have been carried away. A castle and its grounds were expensive to maintain. Her dowry would no doubt go toward improvements of Matheson Castle. Gahan would be expected to increase Sutherland holdings when he wed.
She sighed and climbed the last step. The dread was beginning to annoy her. So she lifted her chin and entered the chamber with a determined stride. Once it was done, she would not worry about it any longer.
But the chamber was filled with snoring.
Achaius had the coverlet pulled up to his chin and his eyes closed. He was so deeply asleep, his snoring bounced off the stone walls. The scent of cinnamon filled her nose, and she turned around.
The cook was in luck, it seemed, for she would be getting a taste of the cider after all. There was no reason to let it go to waste.
***
Gahan lingered at the high table.
“Yer brother suffered from the same affliction,” Saer remarked.
“And what might that be?”
His host wasn’t offended by his sharp tone. Saer chuckled and leaned against the side of his chair so he might look straight at Gahan. There was a devilish look in his dark eyes and a grin on his lips. Gahan laughed.
“Being in the company of Bari Fraser has soured me sense of humor.”
“Laird Fraser does have a stench about him.” Saer’s expression became pensive. “One I do nae trust.”
“Nor do I.”
“It makes the fascination ye have with his sister a bit complicated. Nae that I would allow that to stop me from taking what I wanted,” Saer said suggestively.
“I do nae have a fascination with her.”
Saer picked up the knife he’d used to carve his dinner and slid it back into the top of his boot. When he looked back at Gahan, his dark brows were raised.
“Ye are correct,” Gahan relented. “But she’s wed now, and that is nae a line I intend to cross.” Disappointment left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he didn’t reach for his mug of ale. The drink held no appeal for him. All he craved was Moira, and he could not have her.
“She is nae that wed,” Saer replied. “Standing at the church door for the blessing is nae wed. Nae to my way of thinking. Insincere words do nae make a bond. A Highlander is a man of his words and actions.”
Gahan frowned, earning another chuckle from his host.
“Look at her, man. She’s still a maiden. I’d bet me last coin on that. She still looks at ye like sweet kisses are the only thing lovers share. There was also the look of impending doom on her face when her husband called her above stairs. Her fear was of the unknown.”
Her words rose in his memory.
“He didn’t…”
“Christ,” Gahan swore. “She still flew a soiled sheet.”
Saer cocked his head. “Did she, or did that old man have a hand in it? Laird Matheson doesn’t seem the type to admit time has stolen anything from him. Her brother should be lashed for wedding her to such a creature. Have ye noticed how little interest the Matheson retainers have in her? They do nae care if she ends up dead. Her usefulness was in bringing them her dowry.”
“I have noticed.” Gahan curled his fingers into a fist. “It does nae surprise me. Bari Fraser had a hand in his sister’s attempt to poison me father. I’m sure of that and will nae rest until it’s proven. Wedding his sister to an old man is exactly what I expect of him.”
“But ye are taking the man to yer home?” Saer asked.
It was Gahan’s turn to grin at Saer, but it wasn’t a pleasant expression. “If Bari is fool enough to enter Dunrobin, I’ll be happy to let him through the gates. I make no promise he’ll ever leave as anything but a ghost.”
Sear shook his head slowly, distaste showing in his eyes. “I admit I’d rather fight a man and be done with it.”
“Yer new position will force ye to temper that impulse and face the fact that many do nae share yer preference,” Gahan said. “I’ve listened to me father say such over and over, yet I still want to balk. Bari Fraser has forced me to see the truth of me father’s teachings.”
Something moved to their right. Both men turned to look, because the hall was quiet. There was a flip of skirt and a glimpse of Moira as she passed by the opening to the hall on her way to the kitchen. Gahan lost interest in the conversation. It was annoying how fast his thoughts returned to how much he wanted another taste of her.