Highland Hope (Wild Thistle Triology Book 1) (11 page)

Chapter 10

The entire time Aidan strode from the laird’s chamber to his chamber, he stewed about Laird MacAlister’s plan. He’d agreed to the ridiculous rouse and still, she mocked him with an imperious attitude. A contest to win her trust. Nay, the clan’s trust and prove him worthy of her hand. He knew ’twas tradition with many clans to hold games prior to a wedding. Did he truly want to accept the bait and participate in the folly? Because he didn’t believe it was just about tradition, it was about Hope keeping control.

And if he won, would she determine he’d killed the lad and toss him on his arse regardless?

When he arrived at his chamber, he glanced around and scoffed. He wanted to be outside, away from the keep and the enticing laird within.

He paced from his chamber and stopped just short of the keep’s door waiting to take a step outside, into the midst of the clan working in the bailey. Flashes of his time with MacKerrys reminded him he was still an outsider with no one to confide in or even to spend time with even though he’d spent all but six years of his life with the MacKerrys.

He breached the bailey and glanced about. Hope’s sister Lady Faith brooded near the well. When he’d seen her in Hope’s chamber, she was sleeping, but deep down, Aidan knew she was listening to every word spoken. She must have raced from the room and changed to be here in the bailey so quickly. She fingered the edges of the apron covering her gown and kicked the dirt with a toe. So forlorn, Aidan felt an immediate kinship.

“And how are you this fair morn?”

She glanced at him then grunted. “She sent me to the
kitchen
.”

He chuckled at the scornful way she said kitchen. Not one to make a fancy meal himself, he could empathize with the lass. Aidan tipped up her chin. “Not such a bad punishment for your adventures.”

“Aye, ’tis easy for you to say.” A wicked gleam highlighted her green eyes. “You’ll see when you wed her. Hope knows nothing but work, work, work.”

He nudged her aside and leaned against the well. “And you don’t like work?”

“Oh, nay. I don’t mind a wee bit of work. But Hope would have us working from dawn far into the wee hours of the night.” She threw up her arms in indignation. “She works harder than anyone else in the clan. And expects Honor and I to do the same. And when we want to do the tasks we enjoy, she has us doing others.” She looked at him pointedly. “I don’t want to be fixing your meals; I want to be catching them. My father trusted me to hunt, but she wants me to remain in the keep.”

Aidan grinned as he envisioned the beautiful young woman wielding a weapon against an animal. He didn’t doubt she had the courage. “Pride, lass. ’Tis pride in her home and family that makes her so.”

“Nay, ’tis—” She narrowed her eyes and fisted her hands at her waist. If she didn’t have golden yellow hair, she’d surely be a twin of her sister. But she’d yet to cross the barrier between lass and woman.

Aidan cocked a brow. “Aye?” Uncertainty and a bit of fear overtook her features. “Did you have anything else to tell me?” He was a patient man, ’twas obvious from the number of years he’d waited to claim his right, but he needed a morsel of insight, something he could relate to, to draw him to his bride-to-be.

“Aren’t you a tricky one? I’ll be telling you no more, MacKerry.” She turned on heal and left the bailey headed, he assumed, to her sister’s side.

Mayhap ’twould be good for her to tell Hope of his questions. Then she’d see he desired to learn of her or at the very least had an enough interest to question her sister.

He remained near the well, watched a few men scramble with dirks and practice with swords. Several chatty women beat cloth over rocks and others scrubbed lengths of tartan in buckets. They appeared to take pleasure in their tasks.

Someone always played music in the hall, singing could be heard from various quarters and even now old men scuffled what he recognized as the Highland Reel near the palisade. A well-oiled wheel, he thought as he glanced at the changing of guards as well as the gathering of food stocks.

Such opposites they were from the MacKerrys. During his time with the MacKerry clan, he’d found they were more apt to grouse than enjoy the evening. The men were competitive to the extreme and he was often forced to spar or fend off a challenge to go a few rounds in the training yard. The laird didn’t care if the keep was filled with dogs, even in the main hall. Food was unpalatable and often strewn about the floor.

Clouds shifted, allowing the sun to freckle everything it touched with a speck of gold. If he didn’t know better, Aidan would have thought he’d died and gone to heaven, the perfect keep and the perfect clan. Now all he needed was to be a worthy laird.

Fits of laughter averted his attention. A gaggle of children tossed wee tabers and a precocious lad chased after lasses then pulled a face once he gained their attention.

Instinct warned him to tread lightly, but he also knew he must infiltrate the tightly-knit clan in order to be laird.

Aidan crouched down and retrieved a small toy that had been tossed in his direction. He smoothed a rough hand over the well-loved lamb. ’Twas strange he’d never had a favorite toy or childhood game. His parents had been forced to flee with naught but the clothing on their backs and the MacKerry clan did little to comfort a lonely lad like himself. Nay, Aidan had never held something so precious.

“Can me sister have her toy?” asked a tall lad with a healthy dose of freckles covering his face.

Aidan nodded and silently handed the lamb to the boy. His sister came and placed her pudgy hand on his arm, lightly, and with a startling tenderness. “Here,” she said with a lisp, “you can have Mary.” She handed the lamb back to him.

He chuckled and accepted the gift. The lass rewarded him with a smile that brightened the day. He lowered down on his haunches so he’d be at eye level with the lass. “And what is your name?”

“Emma,” she responded with a firm nod of her head. “Me mam runs the hall.”

Aidan tousled her tawny hair. “And a fine job she does of it.”

Pride flashed across her impish face as she grabbed his hand and led him into the center of young lasses playing with dolls. “’Tis the MacKerry,” she announced as if he were the king. “Make room.”

The other girls, with nervousness pinching their faces, moved to make room for him. They quickly glanced at one another before offering their toys as well. Emma may be the weeist of them, but she obviously held their esteem.

“’Twill do,” she said as she patted the dirt beside her.

Aidan bowed to the group and sat beside his new friend. As quickly as he sat, the girls began chatting and playing with the various animal and doll toys.

Humbling, is what he thought as he accepted a new toy to supposedly play with. To be welcomed to such an innocent group of people without an ounce of guile amongst them, was incredibly humbling.

“Would you like to have me doll?” a cherub-faced lass asked him. She held out a doll with torn clothing and a dirt-streaked face. Half of the hair was missing and one arm dangled precariously by a few threads.

“Aye,” he said with a grin. “’Tis a fine dolly you have here.” He mentally noted the quizzical glance she gave him, one that read he’d lost his mind if he thought the tattered doll held any value. But to say otherwise may have wounded this girl and he couldn’t bear to hurt a child’s feelings.

An adult called to the children to complete their chores and they scattered like deer fleeing the sight of a hunter. With the doll still clutched in his hand, Aidan rose and went into the keep. First things first, he’d find a suitable doll for the lass. He headed toward the kitchen to find a woman to direct him to the sewing room. He ignored their quizzical glances at his inquiry and fetched a handful of tartan, linen, and rough yarn.

Perhaps he was recalling the years he’d spent without playmates or toys. Too many years ago, but the fact still smarted. Indeed, it still irked him beyond measure. Why did his father allow the blatant disregard, actual abuse until Aidan grew to an intimidating height and learned to level the playing field? All because of his mother, he kenned. She’d started the pattern of distrust from other clans, refusing to accept blame and then continued to wreak havoc until the day she fled and he assumed until they lowered her body into the ground.

Forsaking his past wasn’t an option, and Aidan knew he’d only find peace when he’d reclaimed his rightful place in Clan MacAlister. Yet, his thoughts retreated to a decidedly lovelier place, that of Hope MacAlister’s spirit, a flash of uncertainty and disquiet tightened his stomach. In a matter of days, she’d slithered into his thoughts at an alarming rate. It worried him, to be sure, Aidan thought as he slipped into his chamber and set down the sewing supplies.

Sewing wasn’t his strong suit and the thought of stitches reminded him of Hope’s injury and he wondered just how much it still troubled her. Well used to such injuries from various scrapes with other lads, Aidan knew the stitches would hurt like the devil as the skin puckered and healed.

Aidan sat on his bed and attempted to fashion a tartan for the doll as well as new hair. The arm still needed mending and perhaps a face could be made of scraps or what not.

The knock on the door interrupted his mission. “Aye,” Aidan called, “you may enter.”

Laird MacAlister as bold as she pleased pushed the door open and entered his chamber. Aidan stood, scattering the bits of fabric onto the floor. He whipped the doll behind his back and waited for her to speak.

Hope stood at the threshold and surveyed the room before her. ’Twas neater than she expected, save the MacKerry tartan hanging on a chair and puddling onto the floor. He’d need a MacAlister tartan. Ignoring the sizable bed in the middle of the room, she strode toward him, suspicious at his silence and the furrow of his brow.

“What is it you hide, MacKerry?” Her stomach clenched. Was he indeed a spy sent to thwart all she had done? He wouldn’t be the first. Other clans tended to want what the council did, branch out, over take, which ever it was, they wanted to fight and steal MacAlister territory. They’d survived, were peaceful and Hope loathed trifling with success, no matter what the council felt. She reached behind his back, shivered a bit at the breadth of his shoulders and the heat and masculine scent emanating from him. Careful not to brush against him, Hope grabbed what he hid.

She cocked a brow and inspected him. He was hiding a doll? No matter how she tried, Hope couldn’t suppress the grin tugging at her mouth. A flicker of amusement lit his normally stormy eyes as well, then as quickly as it arrived, it fled. “You were sewing a doll?”

If she wasn’t mistaken, a tint of red blushed his cheeks. “What I do in my chamber is my own business.”

“True,” she said as she tapped her foot on the floor. “Yet, I’m still laird and I can do as I please as well, no matter where I be.”

He slipped the doll from her hands. “Did you have need of me then?” he asked with a husky voice. One which slid over her like the splash of warm bath water.

She tipped up her head as she regarded him. The question held more than innuendo, ’twas laden with sensuality in a rough sort of way. Not nearly as naive as he may have thought her to be, Hope held her chin high and watched him with the same intensity as MacKerry granted her. She’d give him not an inch until he told her why he had a doll. “Tell me, MacKerry. Did your clan kick you out? Is that why you claim to have been summoned?”

His eyes darkened to nearly black. Tight lines rimmed his broad mouth. Apparently, Hope had riled the man with her question. “Did they tire of your sweet temperament?”

She’d scoured the keep in order to find evidence of treachery on his behalf. None seemed to exist, to be sure. Even Duncan had come up empty handed. But she had him asking more questions, looking into the area around the keep, anything to prove MacKerry guilty, or innocent if that were the case, and blast if it didn’t appear he was innocent.

Which she wanted, truly. But her mind forced her to be leery of the man and who he was to become. As her betrothed, she still had control. As her husband, och, she didn’t ken what would happen. She wanted harmony. Peace within the keep and within her marriage. But she’d fought so hard to retain her position as laird, ’twas hard to relinquish any control.

Aidan held out a hand and she dropped the doll into it. She knew how he came by the toy. She’d watched from her chamber. The entire scene replayed through her mind. Aidan speaking with Faith. Her sister was vexed with her, to be sure. But the lass needed to help in all areas of the keep, not just the hunting. True, Faith was the best huntress Hope had ever seen, but she was young and rash. Hope wanted her safe and the kitchens seemed to be the best place for the lass.

When her sister had stomped off, and the wee lasses turned their attention to MacKerry, Hope couldn’t help but grip her chest. The tender way in which he spoke with dear Emma, a wee one who held a special place in Hope’s heart. The dear girl nearly died at birth and Hope and Honor had stayed up for days tending to both babe and mother. The welcoming way in which the children allowed him to play with them told her something of his character, even if she’d rather not believe it. Aye, a guilty man wouldn’t have taken the time with the lasses, to be sure.

There he sat, large, overwhelming with a crooked grin plastered on his face. Bemused is what she thought as she spied from her room. Everything about him softened from the rigid line of his shoulders to the intense furrow of his brow.

She’d laughed aloud when all of the lasses started sharing their toys and then she’d quickly glanced about to ensure no one saw her.

Was it the children that had triggered the reaction? Or was he beginning to feel relaxed within Wild Thistle Keep? Warning spiked along her spine and Hope knew she had to keep MacKerry guarded. If he wormed his way into the clan, ’twould be harder to keep him from the position she knew he coveted. Och, not that he’d told her, but what else would a man of his ilk wish for and agree to marry a woman he barely kenned? He was a leader, the type of man to take charge and barrel through whatever situation with strength and honor. To be laird would be a boon.