Highland Hope (Wild Thistle Triology Book 1) (10 page)

BOOK: Highland Hope (Wild Thistle Triology Book 1)
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Aidan leaned toward the old man. “If other clans thought you so weak because of her rule, why haven’t they attacked?”

“Diplomacy.” He spat the word as his face contorted into a look of scorn and disgust.

Diplomacy? Did Laird MacAlister talk her way out of skirmishes? ’Twas interesting, to be sure. But he knew some men of the clan would fight before they talked. “If I were laird, what would you wish me to do?”

“Ah, now ye understand. We canna be weak,” he nearly shouted. Inching closer, the old man glanced about as if checking to ensure others weren’t listening as he continued, “Mungo has taken more land than he needs. Our land.” He flashed a sinister smile. “Ye’ll be leading us when we take it back.”

Aidan highly doubted that. His goal was to be laird, but not for the sake of following the orders of the council. If they fought, ’twould be on his command, not Liam’s.

Disgusted with the entire discussion, he left the dais without another word to Liam. Damn the old man was troublesome. Even worse, Aidan now felt sympathy for Laird MacAlister. Did she have any inkling as to what the council planned? Aye, she was a smart one, but perhaps they have never let on to their ambitions.

No matter. To speak to her about it would surely lead her to harm.

As much as she was trying to keep him from his rightful position, Aidan didn’t want to see her dead.

Chapter 9

Hope stewed in her chamber. How did she expect this to ever work? MacKerry was too handsome, too arrogant, and was quickly slipping inside her thoughts unbidden and not unwelcome. When she should be incensed at his hot gaze upon her, she’d felt thrilled. It was rare that the men of the clan looked at her as a woman. As laird, their leader, ’twas even rarer in which she behaved like the typical lass seeking flattery.

Before MacKerry, she’d thought of protecting those who relied on her. Providing what they needed, and being there for her sisters. Now he played into her thoughts as if he’d been part of the clan, part of her life.

Aye, she thought of him. The strong line of his jaw, the sheer magnitude of his muscular body, and the sharp edges of his features, as if he were carved of the very rock Wild Thistle sat upon. More so, he’d carried her after she’d been injured. Stayed by her side when Honor stitched the deep cut. He’d helped find her sister. And she’d seen him. Talking with the clansmen, training with the men. Mayhap that is what angered her the most, he was becoming one of the clan.

She mindlessly brushed her hair before the fire. Flames lapped up the chimney, hues of crimson, ginger, and gold. As Hope focused on the dancing fire, scenes of the past played in her mind.

MacKerry dumped on her feet, kissing her. Och, why did the man plague her so?

There had to be a way to not think upon him, she thought as she rubbed her shoulder. The stitches itched, ’twas a good sign Honor said, but Hope loathed another annoyance. She’d be useless on the training field for quite a while and that nipped at the back of her mind as well. Would MacKerry attempt to usurp her power and influence over the men? She’d have to watch carefully and be ready to intercede should the occasion arise.

Perhaps he needed to be preoccupied with other matters besides her men. A competition? Aye, ’twould work. There was a sense of competition about the man and she had a feeling he’d jump at any and all challenges.

She watched the fire lose its luster as she planned the competition. Strategy was her edge and she believed for now, she held the upper hand in regards to MacKerry.

Hope grinned as she peeled back the counterpane and slipped between cool sheets. The bed felt massive and loneliness snuck upon her despite being surrounded by the clan and those she knew loved her. Even though she’d told Honor to fetch Faith to sleep in her chamber, her sisters hadn’t arrived to sneak in beside her. She’d try to remain awake in case they wanted to talk so she could ease any fears. Tucking the blanket beneath her chin, Hope shifted toward the now docile fire and watched. The crackling eased some of her worry with is rhythmic cadence and the loamy ash fragrance was familiar, comfortable.

She’d make him prove his worthiness through the competition. ’Twasn’t unusually for games to precede a wedding. In fact, ’twas a tradition. Her mother used to go on and on about the games in which her father proved himself worthy of her hand. The clan and the Sept clans would gather and MacKerry would prove his worth as a groom. With the speculation about his arrival, the poor dead lad, winning the competition would do well to quell any uncertainty the clan had about the man. And her. Mayhap if he proved worthy, ’twould make it easier for her to accept they’d be wed. She kenned she asked him to wed her, but ever since that moment, she regretted the rash action, her father’s stipulation be damned.

Aye, ’twas a brilliant idea altogether. With a smug smile, Hope fell into a healing slumber.

Her arm throbbed when she woke. Sometime during the night, Hope had rolled onto it and her body weight had been too much. It didn’t help her sisters took up most of the bed, their bodies at different angles and the look of peace on their slumbering faces.

At what time they’d snuck in, she wasn’t certain, but she was glad they did.

Shaking out some of the tenseness, she rose and began preparing for a meeting with her intended. Truly, ’twas taking too much of her time, this betrothal. She had important matters to attend to, a clan to protect, and a lairdship to keep.

And certainly Nora would say a wedding to plan.

By Saint Coletti she could feel her father turning over in his grave and the loss of her parents rubbed like a raw wound. She imagined his growl would rattle the rafters if he’d live to see her lose the lairdship.

Hope summoned Nora to help her flesh out her plan. Then, she summoned MacKerry.

Surprised he bowed to her wish to come to her chamber; MacKerry entered the room with impatience creasing his brow. He’d just bathed, if his glossy black hair had any say. Wet, slicked back and tied with a length of leather. He was even more formidable and handsome then she thought possible, his face seemingly cut from hard edges and smooth plains. Her breath hitched as she tried to breathe in his presence.

“You asked for me?” he asked with a low, albeit threatening voice. He strode toward her, then stopped, the muscles along his bare arms bunched and tightened.

“Quiet,” she said as she indicated toward the bed.

His gaze shifted to the bed where her sisters lay sleeping and he scowled. “You asked for me?” he repeated.

“I wanted to keep you informed,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “I’ll be investigating the lad’s death today.” She shrugged, trying to temper the urge to openly stare at him. “When I’m done, you’ll hear my findings.”

His eyes narrowed and turned as stormy as a thundercloud. “You had me summoned like an errant lad to tell what I already kenned?” he said with harsh anger in his tone as he threw his hands up with exasperation.

Although she expected hostility, she was still surprised at the vehemence of his words. “You spoke of trust yesterday, did you not? I thought if I kept you informed, you’d ken I was trying to trust you.”

MacKerry frowned and Hope felt foolish. She didn’t think he knew her plan, but suspicion cocked his brow as he continued to inspect her. “I don’t think you trust me. ’Tis plain as the nose on your face. You are threatened by me, mayhap even fear me.”

The man had more than courage if he thought she’d allow him to get away with such a slight. Hope paced toward him and pounded a fist on his apparently resilient chest. “Don’t test me, MacKerry. I still hold your fate in my hands.” She eased away from him. Never had a man provoked her so. Not even Duncan with his constant childish prodding.

“Aye, I can see you trust me, laird.”

She ignored the cold, sardonic edge to his voice and strode toward the hearth. After she twisted her hair into a bun, a habit which helped her think, Hope turned toward her betrothed and offered a wager. “What say you, MacKerry, to a contest?”

He shifted his weight as suspicion lit his eyes and they narrowed forming tight lines in the corners. “What type of contest?”

Hope tipped her head to the side and pretended to contemplate the question, as uncertainty warred within her. It had to work, or else she may lose more than the lairdship. “A contest to prove your worthiness of my hand. The truth of it is, you’re not a MacAlister.” She wondered at the spike of fury which flared in his gaze before he quickly masked it. “Others have questions about your origins, and at times, I’ve wondered too.”

He held up a hand to stop her. “I’ve told you I’m a MacKerry. Mayhap you should ask Liam or Duncan where the missive went. I’m certain they ken.” After he released a heavy sigh, he continued, “But I’ll agree to your contest. That is after I’ve heard the details, of course.”

He’d almost come to her without argument, progress, she thought with a bit of amusement. “Sit, MacKerry.” When he folded himself into her mother’s chair, she continued, “’Tis easy enough for a bairn. Test of strength, agility, and prowess with a bow.”

A smug smile tipped his mouth. A mouth that had invaded her thoughts numerous times. How can a man so hard and unyielding have such soft, pliant lips?

“And who will I challenge in this competition?”

She shrugged and glanced to the side. “Some of the lads. I’ve watched you train. You’re more than capable.”

Aidan crossed his arms before his chest and leaned against the back of the chair. “Some of the lads? Would one of those lads be Duncan?”

Hope laughed. “’Tis a tradition in which our Sept clans join us for the merriment and games. And aye, one of the competitors will be my cousin. Duncan is a braw fighter and may be the last man standing.”

He crossed his leg over the other and cocked his brow. “Aye, I saw how well the man stood against you, laird.”

She shrugged. MacKerry hadn’t seen the hundreds of fights in which Duncan came close to besting her and then held back. She wasn’t foolish enough to think she was physically stronger than a man, just smarter.

“Did you train with the men of your clan?”

He frowned and then nodded. “At times.”

“Oh, come now, MacKerry,” she said with a exasperated sigh. “If we are to be wed, we need to know each other.”

He sighed and dragged his hand over his face. “Aye. I trained with my clansmen.” He shifted forward. “Did you think I was a coward?”

She pulled back. “Nay, of course not,” Hope said quickly. In fact, she kenned a man such as him would be willing to fight for those he wanted to protect. She couldn’t say why she believed so, ’twas just a feeling she had. And his actions when she’d been hurt and Faith was missing spoke to his character. “Never.”

Something shifted in his face, surprise at her vehemence, mayhap. Regardless, he nodded and said, “I agree.”

Ah, as she had planned. Of course she had yet to name the terms. “And can you agree that if you lose, we’ll see you no more?” She’d easily find another to marry, someone willing to do her bidding without argument, right? No matter how much it vexed her to admit, she kenned she had to wed. Her father’s decree mandated such. And while she knew she’d have to wed, there was never a man from her clan who made her want to make the pledge. None. But when MacKerry dropped on her feet, something deep within her came to life. A hum of excitement, the thrill of the awareness of a man and his awareness of her.

Aye, when MacKerry had arrived it seemed as if God had sent him her way to solve her problem with the council. Yet, she thought as she watched him, he’d become vested in the clan and in her. Some grumbled about the dead lad and the council seemed to be a different opinion when she spoke with them. In the end, Hope wanted to be the one in control, just as she’d been for the last ten years. And MacKerry wasn’t the type of man to allow her total control, she kenned this.

While she was thinking, he’d stood and moved over the mantel. He leaned against it and watched her. Aidan rested his hands on the pommel of his sword. A hint of humor lifted his brow and quirked his mouth. “I think your council would argue the point, laird.”

The intensity of his gaze nearly had her stammering, but she held fast and retained control. “I’m laird. Don’t be forgetting, MacKerry.”

Hope felt he wanted to say more, but he remained silent. Pity, trading words with him was invigorating. He’d a sharp wit and intelligence. MacKerry watched everything around him with a detached interest, but she would stake her life on the fact nothing slipped by his observation.

Hope was used to winning or at least being the leader behind the conquest. And something akin to triumph settled around her, cloaked her with pleasure.

Yet, the faint awareness of MacKerry’s displeasure stifled her glee. Not certain why, Hope ignored the soft chiding she knew she’d earn if Catriona MacAlister were still alive. Aye, her mother would wax endlessly of manners and femininity. And honey soothed a beast better than spoiled ale. When she heard those words, she kenned she was more like her father, than her gentle mother.

Still, ’twas piercing, the loss of her mother so fresh and raw. Hope felt her mother’s presence in every nook and cranny of the keep, but that made her death worse. Hope couldn’t speak to her, hug her, or just see her mingling with the clansmen. Such a steady character to them all and now Hope was floundering.

What she wouldn’t give for a chiding from her mother.

The thought humbled her more than she wanted to admit. She’d try it her mother’s way, it couldn’t hurt, could it? Add a bit of sweetness to her tongue when she spoke to MacKerry.

Yet, even by dealing with MacKerry with a softer edge, she must remain strong.

Through Hope, Faith, and Honor . . .

BOOK: Highland Hope (Wild Thistle Triology Book 1)
9.76Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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