For his own preservation, he drew back. He’d always known he could woo this little pigeon away from her fear, but for the first time he wondered—what change would she bring to him?
Her lids drooped over her eyes. “Why did you follow me out here?”
Standing, he extended his hand, and when she took it, he pulled her to her feet. “It is your birthday, and time for you to remember. It’s time for you to marry me.”
She watched him as if she saw in him the pain of all the years. That would, he feared, make her draw back as nothing had, for if a man wasn’t strong enough to conquer pain, he wasn’t strong enough to command respect.
Instead, her mouth curved into a generous, satisfied smile. “Aye,” she said. “I’ll marry you.”
Disbelief trickled through him. Then hope awakened, stretched, gradually grew. Finally triumph was born in a blaze of purples and crimsons and golds. Incredible, dazzling triumph.
He should speak, should express his pleasure and reassure her of his good intentions. But the only word he could force from his mouth was, “Today.”
Chapter 22
“About time ye two got here. If ye’d been much longer, I’d have come after ye with a gun.”
Alanna didn’t appear to be surprised that Mr. Lewis waited for them outside the church door.
Ian was. The hat-clad minister and his precognitions spooked Ian.
The afternoon wind pushed at Mr. Lewis so hard Ian thought the frail old man might blow away. But nothing about the look he bent on Ian was weak. It reproved and upbraided, but Ian just returned his stare. Alanna was his, he’d seduced her fair and square, so let the old man scowl if he liked.
Clearly oblivious to the undercurrents, Alanna asked, “How’s my cat?”
Mr. Lewis shifted his attention to Alanna, then cupped his liver-spotted hand around his mouth and called, “Whisky! There’s someone here t’ see ye.”
They heard a plaintive yowl; then Whisky strolled out of the trees and headed right for Alanna. He meowed as he approached, and Mr. Lewis said, “He’s scolding ye. Wondering where ye’ve been.”
Alanna scooped up the cat. “I didn’t want to leave him, but with Damon at Fionnaway, I knew I had to.”
“I would back Whisky in any fight,” Mr. Lewis said.
“And Damon will not be a problem again.” Ian gazed possessively at the dainty woman holding the oversized brindle cat. “Bring him home.”
She smiled back at Ian as if she thought he could change the cycles of the moon. He liked having her smile like that, even when she said, “No one brings Whisky. He’ll come if he wishes.”
Mr. Lewis drew Ian’s attention. “So ye want t’ marry Lady Alanna, do ye?”
“I do.” The minister had better give him the chance to say those words inside the little church, because if he didn’t…well, if he didn’t, it would break Alanna’s heart to go elsewhere to be married.
Mr. Lewis settled himself in the middle of the bench. Whisky struggled out of Alanna’s arms and joined him. Both minister and cat surveyed them unblinkingly, and when Mr. Lewis gestured them over, Ian half expected to see Whisky do the same. Instead, the cat pressed himself against Mr. Lewis’s kilt, slowly sliding into a ball of flaccid fur. The cat blinked twice, then closed his eyes.
Ian urged Alanna forward with his hand on her waist, and when they stood right in front of Mr. Lewis, he smiled at the minister challengingly. “Marry us.”
Mr. Lewis paid him no heed. “Has Lady Alanna told ye all about the sacrifices ye will have t’ make t’ be a husband o’ the MacLeods?”
“Yes, yes, I know about the responsibilities of owning a large estate, and I understand there’ll have to be money spent—”
Alanna interrupted as if he were babbling. “I thought it would be best if we both told him, Mr. Lewis.”
Ian turned to her and stared. “You’ve told me everything.”
“Oh, nay.” She looked on him without her earliest scorn or her latest compassion. She wore no expression at all as she said, “It would be foolish to speak of the pact to anyone I doubted.”
He couldn’t believe she’d kept secrets from him. From the man she’d lain with. Yet at the same time, this meant she trusted him now. And about damned time. “Then you’re sure of me.”
“I am.”
She was. He could see it in the serenity of her eyes.
Sure of him. Not afraid of him, not suspicious of him, but sure of him. Right now, winning hovered so near he could almost taste it.
Winning. What a marvelous word.
Smoothing his hand along her cheek, he looked into her eyes. “Then I need no other wedding vows.”
“Ye’ll say them nevertheless,” Mr. Lewis said aggressively.
Taking Ian’s hand, Alanna kissed his fingers, then turned on Mr. Lewis. “He isn’t bound. Not until he knows everything. He has the right to withdraw even until the last moment.”
Irked, Mr. Lewis said, “Aye, aye, but he’d better na. I’ve seen enough o’ broken vows from the Fairchild family.”
“I am not my father,” Ian snapped. “I don’t break vows.”
Mr. Lewis’s mouth quirked. “Then we’d best tell ye so we can do this thing before the sun goes down.”
* * *
Ian had taken it surprisingly well, Alanna thought. He’d sworn to keep everything he heard secret, never revealing it to anyone regardless of the provocation. He had scooped up the cat, seated himself on the bench, and the hand that stroked Whiskey had never faltered while, in a low, quiet voice, Mr. Lewis told him the history of the pact.
Of course, it probably helped Ian to be half selkie and have memories of early days with his mother. More, it probably helped to have magical powers. Like the ability to bring storms. And to tame wild animals. And—she looked at his ring, then looked at the palm of her hand—to own a ring on which one could swear fidelity and that would leave a mark.
She touched the rippling oval imprint lightly. A mark that looked like a burn, but didn’t hurt.
But she’d been marked by more than the stone. Ian had marked her with his relentless pursuit, with his desire, and, more than anything, with his desperation. He wanted Fionnaway with a need that burned him, and he would do anything to possess her lands. He needed a place he could call his own, and Fionnaway was that place.
But, manlike, he didn’t comprehend how much he needed her.
Mr. Lewis absentmindedly petted the cat on Ian’s lap. “The humans provide a protected place for the selkies on the shore and in the water, and the selkies guarantee the continuation of the MacLeod family and provide a special stone as a tribute.” He pointed to Ian’s ring. “Those kinds o’ gems.”
Incredulously Ian looked at the silver-set stone. “I’ve never seen another like this.”
“They’re rare,” Mr. Lewis said, “found only in the deep waters. The selkies bring up a few at a time, and the MacLeods covertly sell them. We can’t afford for anyone t’ find the source. If one greedy person knew, treasure hunters would descend on us and destroy my seacoast.”
Ian looked at Alanna as if he needed confirmation of the crazy story, and she nodded. She wanted him to listen, to accept, to know what he faced and be willing to take the burdens.
For although he thought he had seduced her, taken her, so overwhelmed her with passion that she had no chance against him, she knew mere passion couldn’t force her to agree to marriage. Only love could do that.
Love. What did Ian know of love? He’d had none for years upon years and imagined that was how life should be. He didn’t understand; it wasn’t the land he wanted, but the affection he found with her people. When she married him, they would accept him fully into the fold and he would be happy.
She could give him that, and she would, just as she would keep her own love quiet. This man who had walked alone for so long would have to soften, to grow secure in his very existence, before he would be willing to accept that she loved him, all of him, selkie side and human sid
e, active side and quiet side, pleasant side and grumpy side…and, as with all men, the grumpy was more than half.
Regardless, she loved him, and at Fionnaway his bleak existence would be bleak no more.
She looked up from her musing to see Mr. Lewis smiling at her, reading her mind as always. Wryly she smiled back at him.
He turned to Ian. “Do ye have any questions?”
With a curious twist to his mouth, Ian asked, “Mr. Lewis, you’ve been here years upon years, haven’t you?”
The minister hesitated before admitting, “Aye, so I have.”
Ian sounded intent. “Do you know any selkies?”
“I’ve seen them.”
Alanna stared at Mr. Lewis. He had never disclosed that to her. He had listened when as a child she’d planned to capture one, encouraging her to seek them with amused indulgence. But he’d given the impression the creatures she’d seen in the waves were nothing but seals. “Mr. Lewis, you said selkies are not for mortal eyes.”
“Did I?” Mr. Lewis said vaguely.
With a combination of reluctance and urgency, Ian asked, “Did you know…about me?”
“Ah.” Mr. Lewis stroked his chin. “Yer father announced it, didn’t he?”
“But that’s not why you know. You know because you remember from before.”
Mr. Lewis nodded reluctantly.
“Did you know my mother?” Ian demanded. “When she lived on land, did you know her?”
“I did.”
Ian stood as if he couldn’t bear to sit, and the disgruntled Whisky tumbled to the ground. “Did you know me?”
“I gazed on ye in the cradle—and after,” Mr. Lewis confessed.
Stunned, Alanna whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mr. Lewis heard her. Despite the wind and the waves and her soft voice, he heard. Picking up the cat, he replaced him on the bench, and as he settled, Mr. Lewis replied, “Ach, lass, d’ye think I relate everything I know? Some minister I would be if I told others’ secrets.”
“Is she still alive?” The ring on Ian’s hand changed from olive green to a sparkling blue. “Is my mother still alive?”
“That would be telling her secret,” Mr. Lewis replied. “Nevertheless, I think ye know the answer.”
Ian walked toward the edge of the cliff and looked out at the sea. The westering sun caught the blue lights in his midnight hair and the wind ruffled it as Alanna longed to do. He’d never looked stronger—or more lonely.
She started toward him.
“Dunna.” Mr. Lewis’s voice held a note of command she dared not ignore. “Ye’ll cure him, I think, but for all that ye are, ye canna hurry it.”
Ian turned back as if he heard him, and his tread was firm as he returned. He caught Alanna’s hand, swung it in his, and said seriously, “Nothing about these conditions has so far changed my mind. I doubt anything will.”
She found herself believing him, and smiling at him with the proprietary air of a wife long wed.
Mr. Lewis linked his hands and rocked back and forth with the rhythm of the waves. His Scottish accent had grown strong. “There’s been a MacLeod in Fionnaway long before ye, and if ye’re willing, young Ian, there’ll be a MacLeod after ye.”
“Not a MacLeod,” Ian said. “If Alanna marries me, our children will be Fairchilds.”
A shiver of trepidation shook Alanna. “Not…exactly.”
Ian’s eyes contained those silver sparks she associated with his greater emotions. “Either it is exactly, or it isn’t.”
“Since the first MacLeod,” she explained, “it’s a tradition that the male take the MacLeod name.”
“So the first MacLeod was…”
“A woman.” She nodded at him. “As was the selkie laird.”
“A female laird.” He seemed only mildly astonished. Perhaps all he had heard had blunted his capacity for amazement.
“Selkies know that women keep the homes, and so are the more important. And after all, that is what Fionnaway is to both human and selkie—our home.”
A grin developed on Ian’s face. “So to wed you, I have to give up surname of Fairchild? Give up the name which is a shame and fetter on my spirit?” Throwing out his arms, he laughed aloud. “I take the name of MacLeod, and gladly.” Flinging his outstretched arms around her, he lifted her off her feet. “Did you truly think that would be a difficulty?”
She laughed, too, as he swung her around, and when he put her down, she said, “It is frequently the stumbling block for MacLeod husbands. They fear it indicates they’ll not be the man of the house. But I assure you, all MacLeod marriages are traditional, subject to the laws of Scotland. The husband is in charge. The wife is his chattel. He can do as he wishes and the wife cannot stop him.” Our marriage will be the same as the marriage of my father and my mother.
The thought remained in her mind, but he must have read her thoughts, for he said gently, “Then I must make sure I am honorable in all things.”
She was glad she had agreed to marry him. For the security of her people. For the continuation of her line. Yet she couldn’t lie. She was glad for herself, too.
“Fine talk,” Mr. Lewis said. “But unless a man holds something sacred upon which he can swear, I deem his vows o’ little import.” He challenged Ian with his gaze. “What do ye hold sacred, lad?”
“Myself.” Ian laughed bitterly. “My objectives.”
Alanna jerked in shock. Did he truly mean that? She glanced at God’s church, which had stood forever, and at the minister who had performed God’s work for as long as she could remember. “There’s a greater power over us all. Do you never pray?”
Ian didn’t lie. “Never.”
“Do you not believe in the Lord?”
Gently Ian released her from his grip. “I believe in the Lord for you. You’re human. God is not for creatures such as me.”
“There’s only one God, and He is over us all.” Mr. Lewis smiled with a flash of white teeth.
“Not beasts,” Ian said.
“Especially beasts,” Mr. Lewis said.
How dare Ian talk about himself in such a manner? And how dare Mr. Lewis act as if Ian knew himself well? In a flash of anger, she tugged at Ian’s jacket until he looked at her. “You are not a beast!”
Ian’s hand lifted, hesitated, then tenderly touched her cheek. “You’re the only one who believes that, and I thank you for that.”
She caught her breath at his expression; he looked at her almost with reverence. The breeze slid between them, but did not separate them. The sun shone on them, but that didn’t explain her warmth. Hope rose in her, a hope that had nothing to do with Fionnaway.
“Well.” The minister cleared his throat and stood. “I dunna know that I believe ye have no faith, young Ian, despite yer cynical claims.”
Alanna’s gaze lingered on Ian, then shifted to Mr. Lewis.
He pulled a prayer book from his pocket. “So let’s get ye wed here and now.”
The cat stood, too, and went to stand beside Mr. Lewis as if his blessing were equally important.
Performed on the steps of the church, in the slanting light of the sun, the ceremony was both holy and austere, and, as Alanna well knew, completely, absolutely binding. She was taking the greatest risk of her life, yet when she looked at Ian, when she thought about his wholehearted acceptance of the conditions of their marriage, she could banish her doubts. She spoke her vows without a pause, and when Mr. Lewis declared them man and wife and called them “Mr. And Mrs. Ian MacLeod,” and Ian nodded as if he relished his new moniker, something moved in her heart. She felt a sweet displacement. The beginning of a change that would never stop.
When Mr. Lewis shut his book, Ian kissed her modestly, only a brushing of lips, but Alanna cherished his promise of more. And she sent a fervent prayer winging skyward that blessing would come to them both.
From the church, Mr. Lewis brought forth the thin parish record, kept for this year only, and had them sign their names. He
signed his own to complete the record, and the legalities were done with.
“To marry on yer birthing day, m’lady, ’tis good luck for the union,” he said. “Shall we pick a rune stone for the coming year?” He brought out the leather sack, cracked with age and heavy with stones.
Alanna closed her eyes and plunged her hand within. She brought out a buff-colored rock and offered it to Mr. Lewis.
Mr. Lewis looked at the lines that slashed the granite, and his smile faded. Then he plucked it from her hand. “Ah, m’lady, ’tis a mistake ye’ve made. That’s my stone.”
Alanna opened her eyes and stood with her mouth agape as the minister pocketed it. “But, Mr. Lewis!”
“The privilege o’ age.” Mr. Lewis closed the leather sack. “The wedding and yer birthday will have t’ be recorded and placed with the pact.”
Alanna touched her necklace, heavy around her neck. He didn’t wish to speak of the runes, or of his odd behavior, and Alanna didn’t understand why. But neither did she want to create a scene. Not today. Not on her wedding day.
Apparently neither did Ian, for he took her hand and asked idly, “Where is this pact kept?”
“In a cave along the seashore.”
His eyebrows rose, and he took a small step back. “You’ve seen it?”
“I am the lady of Fionnaway.” She thought he understood this, but obviously they’d not made it clear. “I’m one of the two keepers of the pact. Of course I’ve seen it.”
“Who is the other keeper?” He wasn’t questioning her. He was interrogating her.
“The selkie laird.”
“How does she get into a cave along the seashore? Does she don her human form?”
“I’ve never seen her, but nay, I would say not. She can swim in—”
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