Her Highland Rogue: A Wild Highland Guardian Novel (7 page)

“You can’t neglect your duties,” Margot said, standing near Aileana’s bed. “The laird and priest will consider it a great transgression. Dry your eyes, lass, come break bread, then we’ll find something to occupy those idle hands.”

Aileana had sought sanctuary in her room after she finished speaking with Errol. Where else could she go? If she stayed in the great hall, people would only be reminded of what happened. If she went to the kitchens, where she was no longer permitted to work, Muriel and the rest of the maids would give her hateful looks and accuse her of wicked things. Rolling onto her side so she now faced her auntie, Aileana shook her head.

“Even if I wished to go with you, I am forbidden to work.”

“What?” Margot sat on the edge of her mattress.

Aileana rubbed her eyes. “Forgive me, I should have spoken to you sooner. So much has happened over the last couple of days. Things I’d sooner forget than accept. I doona like strangers deciding my fate, Auntie. And no matter how long I lie here trying to understand the laird’s logic, I can’t.”

“What are ye talking about, Aileana?” Margot cast a suspicious glance at her.

Aileana sat up and tucked her knees under her chin. “Laird MacRae will announce my engagement to Errol tomorrow evening.” She shivered at the thought—of touching him with intimate familiarity in public. If she didn’t, as he warned her, people would surely doubt their sincerity. She must prepare herself to make a great show of it.

Margot’s expression changed to one of shock. “Did I mishear you, child?”

“Nay.” Aileana smiled sadly. “I am to marry the future laird.”

Margot folded her hands on her lap, her gaze wandering over the sparse furnishings in the small room. “What really happened between you and Master Errol on the way home? Don’t lie to me, child. Haven’t I the right to know?”

Guilt washed over Aileana. She didn’t want to withhold the truth. But she couldn’t tell her everything. If she did, she risked exposing Sgùrr. “Aye,” she said. “I spoke honestly before. Please believe me. All of this is to protect me from Broc. I am certain Errol had other plans for his life. For some reason he feels obligated to marry me.”

Margot caught her hand and squeezed it affectionately. “Regardless of his reasoning, you will be the lady of this keep. And for that good fortune, you must go to the chapel and give thanks to the Almighty.”

She touched Margot’s cheek. “I doona wish to celebrate or give thanks. My heart doesna rejoice. I fear God will punish me if I give false praise for something I can’t accept.”

Margot stood up. “I’ve heard enough of your complaints. Before today, what hope did you have for a prosperous life? A husband who respected ye? Children that will be clothed and fed? A home to truly call your own?”

“I wish I could feel differently.”

“Make yourself.” She walked to the end of the bed and opened up the trunk.

“Wait!”

It was too late, Margot clicked her tongue as she lifted the fur-trimmed, blue dress from its hiding spot. “Where in God’s name did ye get something this lovely? Tell me.” She faced her. “Promise me you didn’t take it from one of the noble ladies visiting the laird.”

That was as painful as a blow to the chest. Aileana stumbled off the bed, heartbroken Margot would think her capable of theft. “ ’Twas a gift.”

“From Errol?”

“No.”

“Who? Broc? If so, we must burn it.”

Aileana refused to let anything happen to the beloved garment. She tugged it out of Margot’s hands and clutched it to her chest. “I canna tell you.”

Margot frowned. “What secrets are you hiding, child?”

Knowing it futile to stop her, Aileana watched helplessly as her auntie rummaged through the old chest that held all of her worldly possessions. It saddened her to think that everything that meant anything to her could be packed away in a dilapidated trunk she rescued from the fire pit. She’d enter into the bonds of marriage by having a servant deliver it to Errol’s bedchamber. And then he’d see what a careless mistake he’d made. For Aileana’s heart resembled that aged trunk, cracked and faded—and irretrievably broken.

“What is this?” Margot straightened, the piece of animal skin holding the last of the secret treasures in her hand.

She flinched at the deeper disappointment in Margot’s voice. Why explain, she wouldn’t believe anything now.

Margot unfolded the fur. “More gifts from an admirer?”

Aileana eyed the ornate silver bracelet. “Yes.”

“There’s a small fortune of silver coins in this pouch, lass.”

“Take it,” Aileana said. “I want you and Edme to have something for your future.”

Someone knocked on the door, and Aileana sighed with relief. Margot opened it and stepped aside as three women entered, carrying bolts of colorful material and baskets.

“Laird MacRae has ordered new gowns for the lass,” one of the women addressed Margot.

She nodded and hid the items in her hand behind her back. “I will sit quietly in the corner while ye take measurements. Aileana is the nervous sort, you may require an extra pair of hands to hold her down.”

The woman looked between Aileana and her auntie.

“She is only teasing,” Aileana said. “I am more than willing to stand still while you work.”

Before she joined the women, she stashed the gown in her trunk, then closed the lid. Obviously the conversation with Margot wasn’t over, just put off until this next step toward her marriage was completed.

For what seemed like hours, Aileana stood in her linen shift while the women poked and prodded her all over. Five dresses were to be made, two wool, two silk, and one of linen. But even as Aileana admired the rich colors the women had selected for her, she couldn’t find happiness or peace. She’d rather wear rags and retain her freedom than prance about the keep in silk. Margot was afraid Aileana was lying to her. Well, marrying Errol in the absence of love seemed more of an abomination to her than lying.

But no one would agree or sympathize with her, so she remained silent.

Once the seamstresses left, Margot stirred to life in the wooden chair in the corner. “I am happy for you, lass.”

“I still feel empty inside.”

Margot sighed and stood up. “It is my turn to beg your forgiveness, Aileana. You’ve never given me reason to doubt you.” She offered the bracelet and pouch to her.

Aileana accepted them. “Please keep the silver, I have no use for it.”

Tears welled up in Margot’s eyes. “Do you remember your first day working in the kitchens with me?”

“Aye,” Aileana said fondly.

“Wherever ye came from, no one had taught you how to make bread. So we patiently went through all the steps, teaching you how to measure out the ingredients first, then how to mix them, finishing with how to work with dough. You pounded your little fists into it over and over again.”

Aileana laughed. “How many times did we start over?”

“Three or four.”

“After I burned the first two loaves.”

“Yes.” Margot’s eyes twinkled. “But the important thing was patience. In time you learned. The same lesson can be applied to a husband, lass.”

Aileana appreciated the heartfelt illustration, but her aunties were spinsters. “But you never married.”

“Do ye think I never loved a man?”

Aileana bit her lip, worried she’d insulted her. Even now, Margot was young and attractive enough to find a husband. “Who was he?”

“A brawny warrior who served the MacKenzies. Callum.”

“What happened?”

Margot’s shoulders drooped and she dabbed at her eyes. “He died in battle long ago. We were betrothed only weeks before.”

Knots formed in Aileana’s stomach. All this time she assumed no man had won Margot’s heart. But the sorrow on her face proved how wrong she’d been. “God rest his soul.” She hugged her auntie.

“Thank you.” Margot pulled away. “Now do ye understand why it’s so important to accept your future with Errol? I’ll not have you mourn the loss of a man for the rest of your life the way I do. As laird, Errol will lead his men into battle. His chance of being killed on the field of war should make you cherish every moment at his side. Embrace this betrothal, Aileana. Love will come in time.”

She stared at the floor. “What if it doesna?”

“Respect and mutual tolerance are a better fate than loneliness.”

She wanted to believe it would be enough to extinguish the fire inside her heart that meeting Sgùrr had ignited. Loneliness didn’t seem bad in the absence of love. The seer’s solitary life might not appeal to most, but it promised more to Aileana than being tied to a man who didn’t love her. One she wasn’t sure she desired enough to marry, either. Best to hold her tongue and agree to whatever her auntie wanted. Seeing Margot cry again would destroy what little control she maintained over her emotions.

“I will try.”

Margot smiled. “That is all I expect, sweet Aileana. Now rest for a while, then I will send a tub and hot water up so you can bathe before you see Errol again.”

As Margot shut her door, Aileana wondered if she could really be Errol’s wife. Would the women who’d hated her for so long receive her as the new Lady MacRae? Then she pictured Errol, remembering his gray eyes and chiseled face. All too easily she could convince herself to surrender to the pleasure his soft lips promised to deliver, but it was the morning after she questioned. Did she possess the perseverance to let love take root between them like her auntie suggested?

Miracles happened if one exercised faith. That’s what Errol had done over the last four hours, pacing the length of the solar and kneeling at his da’s bedside, praying for a sign his father would improve. As he usually did after he recovered from a collapse, the old man demanded help out of bed the second his eyes opened.

“The MacKenzies will be here soon,” he complained.

Errol swallowed his joy. He couldn’t let his father see how relieved he was to see him awake, or it would only encourage him to get up. “The healer gave specific instructions. Remain abed for a sennight, until you’ve cleared some of the fluids from your lungs and your color improves.”

“My color?” His eyebrows shot up. “Am I a lass concerned with rosy cheeks, or Laird MacRae?”

“Whatever you wish discussed with our distinguished guests, I assure you, it will be done.”

His father winced as he repositioned himself.

“Are you in pain?”

He nodded. “It feels like my ribs are bruised.”

“Pressure in your chest?” Errol pointed to his sternum.

“Aye.”

“Here.” Errol picked up the cup on the bed stand. “A mixture of herbs and ale to make the medicine palatable.” Supporting the back of his sire’s head, Errol helped him sit up.

Laird MacRae drank greedily, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Bring me some meat and bread.” He looked at Cameron standing in the shadows. “Have one of the lasses deliver the tray, I’m tired of staring at your solemn face.”

The secretary bowed and left the solar.

“You shouldna be so hard on him,” Errol offered in the man’s defense. “He hasn’t left your side.”

With a gruff sigh, Laird MacRae replied, “He hasn’t the strength to pick me up off the floor. If it weren’t for you, I’d have bled to death.” He rubbed the side of his skull where the deep gash had been bandaged. “He’s grown soft tending to my needs inside, so I’ll treat him like a woman until he proves himself worthy again.”

This time Errol chuckled openly. “Some men aren’t blessed with brawn
and
brains.”

“Are you suggesting you are?”

“Aye.” Errol beamed with boyish pride.

His father waved his hand dismissively. “Arrogant fool.”

Errol leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “I’m happy to see you awake. Is there anything else I can do to make you comfortable?”

“Get me out of this bed.” Laird MacRae pulled the fur back, his body shaking.

“Nay.” Errol covered his sire’s hand with his. If the laird exerted himself too much, he might die. And if Errol had anything to say about it, his father would live for a number of years. “The healer is certain you will survive, but only if you follow her instructions.”

“I want to stand on my two feet,” he insisted.

“Please.” Fear stabbed Errol’s gut as he imagined his father dying because he wouldn’t yield to reason. He gently forced his father flat on the mattress. “Rest. You’ll catch a chill. The winds are whipping across the loch.”

Turning to the maid sitting quietly in the corner, he signaled her to join them. “I expect ye to watch over my father. Keep him covered.” Errol returned the discarded fur to its proper place. “Speak with him. Feed him. But send for me if he tries to get out of this bed.”

She curtsied and retrieved a stool from the far wall. Once she sat down, Errol turned back to his sire. “I must prepare for the MacKenzies.”

His father gave him an assessing look. “Did you share the news with Aileana?”

“Aye.”

He nodded. “And how did the lass take it?”

“She made it very clear she dinna want a husband.”

A chuckle-cough escaped his father’s throat. “Spirited. The perfect match for my obstinate son.”

“If I could only convince her of that.”

“Give her time,” he said. “I’m proud of you for demonstrating such compassion and honor. Before you left to recover the lass, I feared you’d never learn. But it seems I am wrong.”

“I’m grateful to ye for trusting me again.”

“Doona think I’ll stay abed tomorrow. I intend on announcing the betrothal tomorrow night, as planned. The sooner you marry, the better it is for the clan. I want grandchildren, Errol. Heirs to assure our lands will stay where they belong. The king is making a bad habit of stripping titles and lands anytime he smells the slightest weakness.”

Though the MacRaes were sworn enemies to the MacDonalds, he understood why their enemy clansmen were seething for blood. The MacKenzies were growing more powerful by the day…unfortunately at the cost of MacRae assets. “Is this what you wish me to tell the MacKenzies?”

“Say nothing. Just listen. Let them get comfortable—drink our ale and fuck our women. And by eventide tomorrow, when their hard heads are still swimming from overindulging tonight, I’ll break the news that my only son willna be marrying one of their daughters.”

His father’s words caught Errol by surprise. “Is that the purpose of their visit?”

Laird MacRae wheezed and gestured for the maid to hand him the copper pot on the floor by the bed. Once in hand, he coughed violently, then spit in it. The fitful nature of his coughing attacks left him breathless. He sank back against the pillows.

“Yes,” he answered. “An important part of it.”

“Why didn’t ye tell me?”

His father grinned. “And give you another reason to challenge my authority?”

“Sweet Jesus,” Errol said. He raked his fingers through his hair. “You’ve avoided other chieftains and their daughters until now.”

“On the promise that I’d given my word to let you choose your own bride. My generosity with time has ended. Since the day Murdoch MacKenzie of Kintail made an alliance with our clan, they’ve aspired to join our families through more than treaties. It seems the Wild MacRaes have their own ideas about marriage though. John MacKenzie is no fool, he’s a capable chieftain with four daughters. And if it weren’t for Aileana, I would have agreed to send you home with him.”

More news that made Errol want to sit down. “And did you arrange for me to have an ample bridal purse?”

“If that’s what it takes to get you in front of a priest.”

To succeed in their mission, Errol understood shedding blood for the MacKenzies was necessary. But marrying one of the chieftain’s daughters…He’d met the eldest two before, Mary and Odara, both as frigid as Loch Duich in the dead of winter. “So you willna consider handfasting with Aileana?”

Laird MacRae scowled. “You’ll take proper vows before God.”

The question was more for Aileana’s benefit than his own. He knew how troubled the lass was. And the fear that she’d run away again to avoid marriage grew every hour he spent away from her. “As you wish, Father.” He turned to go.

“Wait.”

Errol faced him, afraid his worried expression would betray him.

“Ye have feelings for the girl?”

“You’d have to be blind to not see how beautiful she is. I remember how scrawny she was when she first arrived. The flame-haired lass no one wanted to get close to because they thought her a bad omen. Superstitious fools.”

“Including you?”

Errol’s reasons for avoiding her were entirely different. He’d liked her from the first time they’d met. Those big eyes followed him wherever he went, and when he visited the kitchens for supplies before leaving for a hunting trip or clan business, she’d rush to gather what he needed. As they matured, her curiosity grew into something more tangible. So did his undeclared feelings. But he never dreamt his father would approve of such a match, so Errol acted disinterested, to protect her
and
himself.

Someday he’d share that secret with her.

“Aye,” he admitted. “But it seems my silence has cost me more than I ever imagined.”

“Go, then,” his father said. “Woo her gently. And never be afraid to speak from the heart, lad. ’Tis the way I won your mother’s love.”

Aileana gazed in the handheld mirror Margot had delivered to her room along with the tub. Wearing the dress Sgùrr had given her, with her hair braided on the sides, the rest hanging loose down her back, she dared to believe she might make a suitable lady. Until she lifted the hem of the gown and stared down at her well-worn, leather boots. A bitter reminder of her place in this household. Only noblewomen wore silk slippers. She sighed and turned away from her reflection.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Aileana once again found herself alone with Errol. His mouth dropped open, and her body prickled with awareness. She tried to ignore his shameless gaze by focusing on his clothes. His trews clung to his muscular legs, his linen shirt hung just below his hips, a leather belt pulled tight showed off his narrow waist, and his plaid was draped neatly over his left shoulder, pinned in place by a silver bodkin with a square-cut ruby. He’d dressed as his father would, the ancient MacRae claymore with the jeweled handle sheathed at his side.

Nervous he’d catch her staring, she jerked her head upward. “Is your father well?”

He rubbed his chin, slowly meeting her gaze. “Aye. I apologize for not coming to you sooner, I’ve been with him all this time. It took holy orders from the Pope himself to keep the man abed.”

Aileana laughed gently behind her raised hand.

“Why did you do that, lass?” He captured her hand and massaged her knuckles.

“What, milord?”

“Never deprive me of that beautiful smile.”

His praise made breathing difficult. Everything about him provoked her, challenged her to deeply consider what path she’d choose for her life. Countless times she’d hoped as a girl he’d take notice of her. Now that he had, Aileana feared she’d say or do something wrong. Though she’d observed the polished manners of noblewomen over the years, emanating that kind of grace seemed hopeless. Her hands were meant for the kitchens, meant to pound and knead dough, meant to refill the laird’s cup, not to take repast at the high table.

“Word about the laird reached me by way of the boys who brought the tub abovestairs,” she explained. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“You did right by waiting here,” he assured her. “Did Margot and Edme wish you a happy life with me?”

“I only spoke with Margot.” She averted her eyes. “She thinks well of you, especially after saving me from Broc.”

“Do
you
think well of me, Aileana?” His brilliant smile bathed her in warmth. And when he reached for a strand of her hair, she stepped closer.

“I think ye do,” he continued, twirling her hair around his finger. “But are too proud to admit it.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, once again trying to picture herself as Lady MacRae. Errol could have chosen anyone. All her life she’d craved answers and never got them. She wanted warmth. Happiness. A family. A clan. She sucked in a breath and opened her eyes. The man before her offered all those things. They weren’t strangers. Surely she could consent to the marriage and try her hardest to be a good wife. Then if it didn’t suit, she’d leave.

“Aileana?”

“Pride is the only thing I have,” she said. “Look about this small space. What do you see?”

His gaze swept the room. “A bed, chairs, dressing table, and a trunk. Everything is orderly and clean. Even that fur…” He gestured at the cover on her bed. “ ’Tis not a wrinkle in it. So I see many things beyond the physical objects that occupy this space. Much can be learned from the way a man or woman lives.”

She considered his words for a long moment. “So what does your father’s cluttered desk suggest?”

He chuckled. “Clever, lass,” he said. “The man is as wild and chaotic as a winter storm, I admit. But underneath, he’s as loveable as I am.”

“Loveable?” she repeated; it was the last quality she’d associate with the laird or his incredibly handsome son.

“Do you not find me so?”

Now he was teasing her. “I will wait to answer that question.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “So let me show ye something else.” He held the small mirror up, standing behind her. “Take a long look at yourself, lass. I know a man is judged by his wealth or fighting skills, or by his bloodline or whether he’s the firstborn son. It matters not. For the only thing of import is whether you can face yourself. Can you hold your head up high every day and find peace in knowing you’ve led an honorable life?”

“Y-yes,” she whispered, deeply moved by his profound thoughts.

“Good.” He spun her around to face him. “Then doona fear me, lass. Marry me, and we’ll find our futures together.”