Twelfth Knight's Bride

by E. Elizabeth Watson

  “They’re beautiful. But the seamstress just finished her measurements, and the blue gown requires assembly, and considering I was alone, I was in a quandary as to what to do so decided to put on my old gown.”

  “Why did yer maids nay assist?”

  A scowl turned down his lips, and he strode back to her. He took up her face in his hands once more, cupping her cheeks gently in his roughed palms.

  “Anag and the others are well into their meals. Have they ignored ye?”

  Aileana clamped her mouth. She would never tattle. How on earth could she expect women to wait on her hand and foot?

  “I’m sure they had many tasks to do, and I nay fault them,” she replied.

  Sunbursts of energy erupted on her skin beneath each point of his contact. It wasn’t the touch of a nàmhaid. And such gestures were beginning to feel comfortable. As if he was used to holding her so.

  But his jaw, clenched tightly, whitened his lips, and so suddenly Aileana knew he suspected what had happened.

  “I shall fetch them immediately—”

  “Please, do nay.”

  “I assigned them to ye,” he insisted.

  “Ye cannae possibly understand, Jamie. If ye fetch them, it will seem as if I complained. And they’ll only dislike me more. Ye cannae force them to like someone. How am I supposed to win any points of favor with them if ye demand they serve at my beck and call?” Her eyes held his, then she began lacing up her back again, determined to finish dressing, and turned to face the crackling hearth. “I do nay fault them for their anger.”

  “I do. It’s misplaced upon ye,” he retorted, his voice soft and low, and his hands coming to rest upon her shoulders.

  “Is it, though? I thieved from ye. They might no’ ken that, but I’m still guilty.”

  “Because ye were desperate,” he argued.

  She looked back up at him, her eyes widening; her lips parting once more, then closing as an ill-timed smile curved her lips. “Have we truly reversed positions? I justifying why I ought to be in trouble, ye justifying why I should nay be?”

  He grinned with resignation, then shook his head. “Confounding, is it nay? Here. I’ll help ye dress for supper,” he said, flicking her laces playfully.

  She froze. The fire popped and hissed, drawing her attention to the intrusive silence.

  “I can manage this dress myself, thank ye,” she croaked.

  “Nay, take that rag off so ye can don the blue one again. The one that makes yer hair look like it glows red and brightens yer fairy kisses.”

  “‘Fairy kisses’? Ye mean my freckles?”

  He grimaced at her flummoxed tone.

  “Aye, yer freckles. They’re fetching.”

  He wished her freckles to stand out more than they already did?

  “Jamie—”

  His hands touched hers at the base of her back, trying to sort her laces out, settling upon her trembling fingers, and pulled them down to her sides. Her pulse fluttered at her throat, rattling her good sense, for all afternoon she’d resolved herself to give him a piece of her mind, and now here she was, melting like butter upon warm bread.

  “Ye’re my wife. At least until Epiphany. You’ll dress the part.”

  He stepped back. His hands fell away. She peeked over her shoulder and watched James stride over to her bed to retrieve the kirtle and velvet overgown. Still trembling, Aileana inched her gown up her body, revealing her chemise beneath, catching James’s reflection in a bronze plaque upon the wall and knowing his eyes were upon her back, caressing every ounce of her chemise that she uncovered with roving curiosity. Did she want him to see her? After moments ago, being resolved to flee from him? She saw him inhale deeply, his chest rising, then heard him exhale. He turned away, finally.

  Each piece of the gown was then draped over her. Her whole body shook with heat and nerves at his proximity as his fingers skimmed her curling tresses over her shoulder and out of the way to tumble over her breasts while he deftly worked the laces on the garment. His hands tugged her skirts together to fasten them. His breath caressed the back of her exposed neck as his scent and heat filled her senses with desire to know what he was thinking and why he knew so well how to assemble a gown. And who knew a fire could crackle so loudly!

  “Nary a complaint ye’ve heard from the lasses, eh?” she teased.

  His reflection in the bronze plaque grinned smugly, then he leaned into her ear. “Did I get under yer skin, lass? Because I dare say, the moment I met ye glaring at me through Urquhart’s portcullis, ye crawled right under mine, and I’m pleased to finally return the torment.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Ye have to work harder to torment me, man.”

  “Is that a challenge?” He chuckled before continuing, “Ah, but we’ve a truce betwixt us, woman, and I’ve no wish to think on past exploits when I’ve already got a fine challenge at my fingertips now,” he murmured, his breath warm upon her lobe. She shivered. “No need to start another skirmish when I’ve already thrown down my flag of truce.”

  She took a ragged breath as he slid a sleeve up her arm and tied it at her shoulder, then did the same with the other. Fickle heart, indeed. He was working his seduction upon her again, and her whole body was craving more.

  “Why do ye nay wear yer pearls?” he rumbled softly, as a finger rose to touch the amber bobbles she’d donned that morn, pushing on her ear.

  The heat simmering within her chilled like feverous skin doused with ice. She stepped away from him, shaking her head, as thoughts of her and Peigi’s pillaged dowries churned up that old hurt she couldn’t seem to forgive.

  “And appear in front of everyone, wearing the jewelry confiscated from yer sister to give to yer bargain bride?”

  “They were yers,” he replied, ignoring her tasteless comment, as if he knew her needling remarks were a blatant attempt to push him away.

  “The castle folk do nay ken that—my hair! I already took it down.”

  She grabbed at the loose curls to hurry them into some semblance of a style, but James took her fingers in his and settled them at her stomach. He lifted the ends of her curls to rub them between his thumb and finger.

  “Leave it. It looks spirited like this, hanging free. It’s bonny.”

  Heat stained her cheeks at his soft compliment.

  “Besides,” he added, a cheeky grin contorting his lips upward in determination to regain their flirting from moments ago, “’twill look as if I thoroughly disheveled ye.”

  “Ach!” she exclaimed at his unexpected debauchery and smacked his arm, eyes widening, though he only chuckled, dodging her playfully.

  “There’s that feisty lass.” His eyes, twinkling, gentled, though his smile lingered. “I much prefer the upstart to the meek lady who runs and hides.”

  She shook her head and hurried to retrieve her Grant mantle, draping it over her shoulders, and finally turned her gaze upon him. His eyes roved over her blue enemy tartan, as if a million thoughts competed for dominance in his mind, yet he was unable to focus upon one. Finally, he offered his arm, eyes still twinkling.

  “Come, nàmhaid. Supper is well underway by now, and the people expect their bean cakes, whether a Grant dines among us or no… Give them time, Aileana.”

  Aileana slipped her fingers around his elbow, and they walked through her door. Facing the MacDonald folks seemed more manageable when she had James’s strong arm to hold. “Time…the one thing we have too little of.”

  …

  Aileana’s remark hung in James’s mind, and a furrow creased his forehead. Time. The end to their handfast didn’t have to be so final. They could have all the time they needed to turn his people’s hearts toward her, if she would only give it, but still, his people needed to give an inch, too. Why would she give their marriage an honest try if everywhere she turned, she was shunned? He knew his people wer
e loyal and good folk to him. He’d hoped they would be willing to give Aileana a chance, based on their respect for him, at the very least.

  The din of the hall echoed loudly into the gallery as he escorted Aileana to supper. The rich smells of succulent meats and the savory bean cakes wafted to his nose, and clanking, laughter, and benches scooting bounced off the walls in their typical cacophony—a sound that normally gave him pleasure, to know his people were well fortified with food and warmth. Not tonight. Not after today. Not after he’d watched his people quietly spurn Aileana, from the morning Yule log hunt to this evening, finding her in her chambers, unable to avoid embarrassment. Never had he felt such disappointment in the MacDonalds of Clanranald, as he did right now.

  But bad blood was apparently too thick and deep to simply wash away like suds off hands. His people had suffered because of Seamus Grant and his Fraser conspirators. Wives had lost husbands. Property had been destroyed. He might have delivered the same retribution to the Grants, but the score clearly wasn’t considered even, by either clan. He’d put Aileana in a grave position, bringing her here for the sake of his inheritance and not considering these deeper ramifications.

  He stepped into the hall as Aileana’s hand stiffened in his elbow crook, yet he led her onward without faltering. A hush muted the din at the sight of her on his arm in her contemptible tartan, and for the first time, he felt her embarrassment. Considered how their piercing gazes infused her with discomfort. Instead, he wrapped his other hand over hers, cupping her gripping fingers, and glanced askance at her, noticing her look up at him.

  He smiled. She took a deep breath.

  She righted her gaze as the chattering intensified once more, but James glanced over her head and caught the eye of the maid Anag upon a bench along the wall with the other maids, clustered together and chattering happily. Anag looked up at them, double taking his dark expression. Her grin fell. Frustration bloomed in his chest, his gaze boring into hers as her eyes widened and redness crept up her neck to her cheeks at her laird’s displeasure, until she had enough shame to look down at her lap.

  “There ye are, Lady Aileana,” Brighde chirped merrily as they arrived upon the dais. “I was beginning to worry that ye still felt unwell, though I needn’t have done so, for James worried enough for the both of us.”

  Bless his sister. She’d been a kind face to Aileana since her arrival, and after he’d confessed to her about the earrings, he’d felt such shame because Brighde had not only insisted he return them but admonished him, too, as only an older sister could. Seeing Aileana seated beside his sister, James took his seat on Aileana’s other side, at the helm and forked a pile of meats and vegetables upon her empty trencher, as if heaping food at her would somehow make up for the awful feeling churning in his gut about what had happened.

  “Are ye excited?” Brighde bubbled to Aileana.

  “Excited?” Aileana asked.

  “The bean cakes,” his sister replied.

  “Oh, aye, the bread smells delicious,” Aileana replied, pasting a smile upon her face.

  Wee Maudie, Anag’s young sister, slipped by beneath them, flashing Aileana a bright smile. As if the frost of his people’s disdain melted, a warm smile tipped Aileana’s lips up, and she gave the child a tiny wave. The girl beamed at the treat of her lady’s attention and scampered away. That single gesture warmed the tight lines of Aileana’s face.

  “Such a sweet lassie…” she murmured under her breath.

  “I’ve never gotten the bean, except for once as a little girl,” his sister continued, and slowly, Aileana seemed to relax.

  Yet James’s eyes continued to rove over the hall while Brighde prattled on and Aileana blessedly began to warm to conversation, taking in his people, how they looked upon Aileana, catching their gazes from time to time but letting them go so that he didn’t spiral into glaring. He leaned back and slung an arm over the back of his chair, imbibing slow draughts off his tankard and occasional bites of fish from his eating dagger. Aileana was right. He couldn’t bark at them to respect someone they only knew of as an enemy, for his displeasure might make them obey, but it would only make them disdain him in their hearts, too, and he’d always had a strong relationship with his clan—

  “James? Brother, are ye hearing me?”

  Brighde’s voice cut through the haze of his pensiveness. Sakes, had she been speaking to him? He leaned forward to look around Aileana to his sister.

  “Aye?”

  “Lost in thought, are ye?”

  “Ye could say that.”

  His sister offered him a suspicious smile, as if she knew he’d been thinking about Aileana.

  “The kitchens wish to bring out the bean cakes. Are ye going to announce them? It’s the first festivity of the season.”

  God’s blood, how his mind was wandering. The head cook stood before him, awaiting his permission, and he hadn’t even noticed her arrival. He pushed to standing, straightened his belts, and glanced at his guardsmen, the serving women, the maids. And forced a pleasant look onto his face.

  “We’ve much to celebrate this year!” he boomed. “Prosperity, hard work, and a people who are loyal to each other above all others.” A truth he was realizing more deeply than he’d ever thought before. “I shan’t preamble much, for that is saved for tomorrow night.”

  He tried to grin, and his people groaned with good humor, as if enduring a speech from him was akin to their ears bleeding. But the mood was still tense. Beneath the expectant brightness upon the surrounding faces, there lingered curious muttering under their breaths, some glances at him, as if they could tell he was uneasy.

  “And so, enjoy the bread. And whosoever finds the bean must make their wish known for all to hear. Bear in mind, it must be a wish I can fulfill—Angus.”

  He leveled a knowing glare at his cousin, who laughed at the memory of the previous year, when he’d found the bean and made preposterous wishes for amusement’s sake.

  “No wishing for piles of gold this time, laird? Or the MacLeod’s head upon a platter?” Angus shouted, cupping his hand around his mouth, and chuckles rippled through the hall.

  James waved him off and sat, slinging his arm back over his chairback and sprawling lazily while picking up his tankard once more. The bread, stacked on trays, was delivered to tables, and excited folk grabbed the small loaves, tearing them open, looking for the bean. Brighde, too, claimed a loaf from the tray laid before them. James eyed Aileana, who had yet to take her helping.

  “Well, go on, lady,” Brighde encouraged her. “Aren’t ye going to take one?”

  Aileana smiled but shook her head. “I think no.’ I’m growing full as we speak from the fish.”

  “Posh, ye mustn’t do that. What if yer loaf is the one with the bean?”

  “I do nay think yer people would be pleased if I found the bean,” Aileana replied. James frowned again as he eavesdropped on their conversation. “It’s probably best if I forgo the tradition this year—”

  “Here. Ye have this one.”

  Brighde placed her loaf on Aileana’s trencher as if she hadn’t heard one word from Aileana’s lips and snagged the other from the tray, leaving none for James, though James never had one. The treat was for his people, not him. Aileana’s chest rose and fell on a deep breath, an imperceptible sign of frustration, but unwilling to disappoint Brighde, she flashed his sister a smile.

  “My thanks, Lady Brighde.”

  Aileana tore off a small piece of the loaf and ate the morsel, hesitating, before tearing another piece, then another. Sweat had broken out on her brow, glistening beads collecting at her temples. She swallowed hard enough for him to see the shift in her throat, though there was no need for her to worry so. The likelihood of her finding the bean among so many loaves was such a small one—

  Nay…

  The tiny bean fell out of the bread onto Aileana’s tren
cher. She stared at it, freezing. James glanced at her face, impassivity capturing her brow, so impassive, it was obvious she was trying to be. Her gaze met his. He eyed her trencher, then her once more, then nodded almost imperceptibly and sipped his tankard as if nothing was amiss. He’d keep her secret. The day had already been a strain on her.

  She furtively tried to hide it, nudging it toward her fish to push it underneath, when Brighde, after tearing her bread into crumbs and frowning playfully, glanced over Aileana’s arm to peer at her bread.

  “Ye found it!” she squealed, clasping her hands together. The hall hushed as faces looked around.

  “Who found it?” muttered voices.

  “Sakes, what are the odds,” Aileana whispered through barely moving lips, then inhaled shakily.

  Blast it, Brighde! James took Aileana’s hand in his. Aileana’s terrified eyes widened upon him. James nodded, took a gulp, swallowed, and wiped his tunic cuff across his mouth. “It appears ye have, lady, though ye needn’t—”

  “Oh, delightful.” Brighde stood, announcing, “The bean has been found! The laird’s new bride is the lucky finder!”

  Aileana froze as utterances echoed, then silence fell. Brighde sat back down, clasping Aileana’s arm. All eyes turned toward her, some frowns, some jaws slackened in disbelief. Her back straightened, and her chin lifted in that strong, unyielding manner. James set down his tankard and leaned forward to bring her hand to his lips and press a reassuring kiss upon her knuckles.

  Sakes, had he just done that? Kissed her hand so naturally?

  “I wasnae going to say a word, lass,” he muttered, though her fingers felt like ice against his mouth.

  She smiled, strained.

  “Ye must make a wish, of course,” his sister bubbled on.

  “Brighde,” he began. “I nay think—”

  “What will it be?” his sister continued, waving him off as the silence stretched.

  Aileana cleared her throat, smiling.

  “Lady Brighde, why no’ ye take the bean and take my wish. I ken how ye wanted so much to find it.” Aileana held out the bean to Brighde.