Her Savage Scot: 1 (Highland Warriors) (17 page)

“So I was just a convenient body to satisfy your
long-neglected desires, is that it?” What the hell was he saying? He knew he
was more to Aila than that. But the truth was stark. She was of royal blood and
he was not.

She had always been a princess, even when he thought them
equal. And no matter what she may or may not feel for him, she had always been
aware of the difference in their status.

For one torturous moment, all his original reasons as to why
he shouldn’t embark in a liaison with Aila taunted him.
She was a widow. She
may expect more from him than he was willing to give.

Aye, she was a widow. But not once would she have expected
more from him than he was willing to give. An elder princess did not marry a
commoner, even if love was part of the equation.

And now, when he wanted to give her everything that he was,
everything that he possessed, she wasn’t even in the position to reject him.
Because she had already accepted the proposition from his king.

“No.” She sounded as if tears choked her throat. “You were
never only that.”

“Then what was I?” He wanted to damn her for concealing her
true identity. Damn her for slipping so effortlessly beneath the armor that had
shielded his heart for four long years.

But even as his fingers itched to shake sense into her, his
arms ached to hold her. To never let her go. To somehow persuade her that
despite the great gulf between them, they could find a future together.

Her hand reached toward him then fell back to clutch her
shawl. “You were—”

“Aila.” Elise’s breathless voice interrupted as she hurried
down the slope toward them. Connor clenched his jaw and somehow managed to hang
on to the unraveling threads of his temper. “The royal guard approaches.”

“Huh.” The word was bitter. “So now you have a royal guard
to protect your person, Princess Devorgilla. How did I manage to miss them for
this last week?”

“A royal guard?” Aila sounded faint, as if this was news to
her also.

Elise glanced between them, an agonized look on her face.
“Things are different now. You—you’re betrothed to a prince of Dal Riada.”

When Aila said nothing, only looked more fragile and
untouchable than ever, the last thread snapped. He hissed out a breath and
glared into her pale, lovely face.

“Aye, a prince of Dal Riada. My half brother, Fergus.”

Aila sat on the edge of her bed, a paralyzing numbness
seeping through her limbs. Connor’s face, carved into a mask of furious
disbelief as he had caught sight of her in the war chamber, haunted her
fractured mind. She hadn’t expected his reaction to be so…primitive.

She dug her fingernails into her palm and tried to ignore
the crushing pain in her heart. Her heart that ached with every ragged beat,
every shallow breath, every anguished thought.

When she had seen him waiting for her by the stream, it had
taken every last shred of resolve she possessed to stop from rushing into his
arms. He’d been enraged and she’d said—God, she had said the stupidest things.
She didn’t mean them. Everything had become twisted and instead of improving an
impossible situation, she’d made things worse.

But nothing she had said could compare to Connor’s brutal
parting shot.

Her betrothed was his half brother.

Connor had mentioned his brother, during one of their many
conversations. And while his anecdotes had made her giggle, as she knew had
been his intention, she had also been aware of words left unsaid. Of the thread
of cruelty in the older brother toward his younger half sibling.

She’d dreaded the marriage before. But now it revolted the fundamental
core of her soul, as though by taking Connor’s brother as her husband she was
somehow committing an act of incest.

“But why does Aila have to move so far away?” Finella’s
plaintive voice penetrated her thoughts and she dragged her attention back to
the present. As Floradh and a couple of other servants went through her clothes
and the personal effects she would be taking with her to Dal Riada, her
grandmother and Elise sat with her on her bed, while her mother sat on a stool
beside Finella, who curled around Drun on the floor.

“Because,” their mother said, showing no signs of her true
feelings on the matter, “that is where the Scot prince lives. Just imagine.
Your sister will help civilize their savage ways.”

Her grandmother leaned toward her, clearly not wishing
Finella to overhear. “This feels wrong, Aila. Something is terribly amiss. But
I cannot fathom what.”

Aila stared at their entwined hands. She, her grandmother
and Elise. “You said yourself I was a founding stone.” The words mocked her. What
a different meaning she had placed upon them earlier that day. “It seems you
were right.”

“You are. But this doesn’t sit well with me. The
goddess—retreats.”

Elise also leaned forward. “Grandmamma, I feel this too.”
She sounded relieved. “I thought it was only because of—of the circumstances.”
She shot Aila an anxious glance. “But the darkness has returned. It hovers over
the Scots and now Aila too—yet doesn’t touch any of them.”

Eerie shivers prickled over Aila’s arms and she snatched her
hands free from her cousin and grandmother.

“Of course there is darkness,” she hissed, glancing at
Finella to ensure she was still occupied with both Drun and arguing with their
mother. “A political marriage is the last thing I desire. Mamma is incensed,
Father wearied. And Talargan wishes only to murder every Scot in Ce.” She
glared at her beloved kin. Kin she would soon be leaving. Perhaps, after her
marriage, she would never see them again. The knowledge squeezed her heart. “It
would be more extraordinary if darkness didn’t linger over Ce-eviot this day.”

“I look forward to seeing Dal Riada,” Finella said, looking
at Aila. “But I don’t want to leave you there all alone, Aila.”

Finella’s sweet face faded as an ethereal mist swirled,
obscuring her features. And then the chamber darkened, as if storm clouds
hugged the sun, and from the shadows loomed bloodied warriors, their presence
permeating the air with the stench of battle, the reek of decay.

She hitched in a sharp breath and dug her fingernails into
her palms. Instantly the memory vanished. Because that was all it was. A memory
from nine years ago.

Except it wasn’t a memory from nine years ago.

She knew it, yet refused to face the truth.
She no longer
had visions
.

It was her exhausted mind playing tricks with the shadows in
her chamber. It meant nothing. Yet despite the logic of her argument, an
overpowering conviction gripped her. Without attempting to analyze it, she held
out her hand and waited for Finella to come to her.

“No, my love,” she said as gently as she could, hoping the
irrational panic stampeding through her was not evident in her voice. “You must
stay here, in Ce-eviot.”

“No, I won’t.” Finella looked outraged. “I will come with
you. Mamma said I should.”

Another wave of panic flooded her. “No, Mamma will stay here
also. I must—”

“Of course I shall accompany you.” Her mother sounded as
outraged as Finella. “How you can think I would allow you to make such a
journey—such a sacrifice—without me by your side—”

“Devorgilla.” Her grandmother’s voice was low but vibrated
with leashed power. “This journey is for Aila alone.”

Her mother’s lip trembled. She looked from the dowager to
Aila and finally Elise. “Is that your opinion also?” Her voice was chilly.

“Yes, madam.” Elise sounded as if she wished otherwise.

“How odd,” her mother said and now there was a trace of
bitterness in her tone. “That finally the three of you are in accordance.”

“Mamma, it’s not like that.” Aila tried to shake free of the
sensation of devastation that continued to dig relentless claws into her soul.
“I just—I think—” She caught sight of the confusion on Finella’s face and
desperately searched for a rational explanation for her behavior. “Drun needs
you here, Finella. His heart will break if we both leave him.” As her heart
would break when she left him behind. But Drun was too old for such a journey.
Better he stay with those who loved him than face an uncertain future in a
strange land simply because his familiar presence would make her feel better.

Her mother gave a mirthless laugh. “Pray do not patronize me
in such a manner. For fifteen years until your marriage to Onuist I was privy
to your insights. Just as, when I was a girl, I was used to my mother’s.”

“This is not an insight.” Aila fought against the renewed
wave of panic that threatened to swamp her. This was not an unwelcome message
from an unwanted goddess. It was just a…feeling.

“My sister Clodrah and I both dearly wished the goddess had
blessed us so. But not one of our cousins received the gift either. Our entire
generation was ignored.”

“The world is changing, Devorgilla.” Her grandmother sounded
wistful. “I remember my own great-grandmother telling me how three of her
sisters and two brothers were so blessed, as well as countless cousins. But
now…” Aila felt her face burn at the unspoken reproach.

“Clodrah was beside herself when it became clear Aila had
inherited the gift.” Her mother sighed. “She was the elder sister and already
had four daughters.” Her gaze shifted to Elise. “And then you were born. My
eldest and her youngest.” She looked back at Aila. “The three of you warn me
not to travel to Dal Riada, and you think it has nothing to do with Bride?”

“Aila.” Finella’s fearful whisper intruded into the taut
silence. “Is something bad going to happen at Dal Riada?”

With clear impatience, her mother beckoned over a servant.
“Take Princess Finella into the royal garden. I’ll join you shortly.”

Despite her protests, Finella went. And only then did her
mother once more face Aila.

“Well? Is that true?” Her glance swept from the dowager to
Elise and back again. “Is that why you don’t want your sister or mother to
accompany you?”

Unnamed fear clogged her throat. She surged to her feet and
then didn’t know where she wished to go. Only that Dal Riada, whether she
wanted it or not, was her destination.

“I don’t know.” The admission tore from her against her
will. “I just don’t want you and Finella to see me joined to a stranger. A man
I have never even met before in my life.”

But that was a lie. She did want her mother there. And yet a
terrible foreboding knotted her stomach at the thought of the queen entering
Dal Riada.

Her mother stood, took her hands. The familiar touch did
nothing to soothe Aila’s jagged nerves. “What else do you see, Aila?” It was a
demand, yet so much anguish threaded each word it was a plea for reassurance.
But she had no reassurance, for she saw nothing.

Why wouldn’t her mother believe her?

“Devorgilla.” The dowager queen also stood and curled her
fingers around their joined hands. “There is nothing else, my daughter. Only
the knowledge Aila must make this journey alone, despite our personal
objections. That from this darkness that clouds our view, a new alliance will
be born. But like all births, pain is inevitable.”

The Vikings would be defeated. Her heart was a small price
to pay. And while she would pledge her loyalty to her unknown husband, she knew
it would never stop her longing for what could never be hers.

* * * * *

Uuen swung a casket onto the desk she used to teach her
students. He had been uncharacteristically silent since she’d informed him of
her imminent departure, and yet she also had the impression he wasn’t surprised
by the reason that had brought the Scots to Ce.

They packed vellum, her paints and the unfinished
illuminated history of her people. Would Prince Fergus allow her to continue
with her artistic passion? The Scots were not Picts. She’d heard the status of
a wife in Dal Riada was little above that of a slave.

But then, she had also once thought all Scots were savages.
And then she had met Connor. Perhaps her people misjudged the Scots. Perhaps
there was not so much difference between them at all.

The possibility didn’t make her feel any better.

“I hope,” Uuen said, finally turning to look at her, “that
one day I will have the honor of seeing the finished manuscript, my lady. And
that you’ll be able to place it in our library with your own hands.”

Aila closed the casket and placed her palm on the carved
lid. “So do I.” And then she couldn’t help herself. “Will I ever return to Ce,
Uuen?” But why was she asking him? He was a servant of God, but this God did
not send obscure messages by way of incomprehensible visions to those who
worshipped at his feet.

“That’s not for me to know.” There was no trace of Uuen’s
usual joviality. “I confess, my princess, I had hoped for a different outcome
for you this week. But the ways of God are mysterious and not for us to
question.” His gaze locked with hers. “Have faith in Him, my child. He’ll show
you the way.”

His words, intended to comfort, stabbed through her heart.
Never
lose faith in him
.
She’d imagined, foolishly, her grandmother was
referring to Connor. But that was before she’d been given the ultimatum of
marriage or the possible annihilation of her people. When she had still
harbored, in the secret core of her heart, the impossible dream of a future
with her Scot.

But her grandmother hadn’t been speaking of Connor at all.
It had been a timely rebuke from the God she now followed, a reminder she was
no longer beholden to the goddesses of old.

Only when one of the royal guards took the casket from her
did the incongruity strike her. No matter that she no longer listened to the
ancient ones. Her grandmother believed. Her grandmother was still a conduit.

Why would her grandmother urge such a thing?