Highland Hope (Wild Thistle Triology Book 1) (4 page)

“When’s the happy event?” Duncan broke into her musing.

“Now, Duncan,” she said attempting to soothe away his smirk. “’Tis time. You ken it as plainly as I.”

He leaned forward. His hot breath blew through his fiery whiskers. “All I ken, lass,” he pointed his finger at her, stern and unsettling, “is yer head is turned by a handsome man.”

“Out of my way,” she ordered. “I’ll not discuss this any further.”

He chuckled. “He is a bonny lad, I’ll give him that.”

Hope walked around the man, unwilling to waste the time with his teasing, but grinning at his last statement. He kenned she needed to wed. ’Twas no secret her father wanted all of his lasses wed when they were of age and if they were to continue to rule. And wanted them to rule together. An impossible feat in her mind and since they all had different interest it may never happen. Regardless, with Faith and Honor so young and truly uninterested, the responsibility rested solely on her shoulders. In the future, they’d each find a way to support the clan and offer their skills.

“Duncan, lad,” she heard Liam call, “come have a wee bit o’ celebration with us.”

His grunted reply was lost on Hope as she continued down the torch-lit corridor.

She needed to confer with MacKerry and make sure he understood what was expected of him. The way she ruled with her mother by her side had staved off attacks and kept their clan safe and prosperous. She needed MacKerry to understand her position and to be on board.

Aidan paced his cage. His breath ripped from his body. He grabbed at the impenetrable iron bars, loathing the prison. When would they come for him? He’d agreed to the marriage nearly a day past. Yet, at each passing moment regret invaded his mind.

How could he marry her? The Laird of Clan MacAlister, the enemy he’d vowed to replace. Resting his head on the cool iron, Aidan thought about his plan. After the visit he’d received from the man, there were things he’d never considered. He must devise a way to gain his birthright without marrying Laird MacAlister or bringing her harm. Physical harm at least. He doubted she could be hurt in the emotional sense. Her hard gaze and rigid commands did not win empathy from him. Truly, what kind of woman wore a tartan and led a clan?

He tipped his head and he watched as a mouse scurried across the damp mud flooring. With the tip of his foot, Aidan pushed the bowl of porridge, now congealed, through the space in the bars.

Eagerly, the mouse sped to the bowl and began devouring the crude breakfast.

“Hungry are you?” The rodent stilled, its beady eyes reflected whatever daylight seeped into the dungeon. Disregarding Aidan, the animal resumed its feast.

As he inspected the scavenger, realization struck him.

If Laird MacAlister ever found out his secret, she would surely view him in the same manner: a scavenger.

With all that Clan MacKerry had, he was often looked upon with disdain. Being brought in as they were, not everyone welcomed him as a MacKerry. Distrust of his father and mother never relented and was cast upon him as well.

The mouse stopped eating and began to wet its paws and pat its face.

No one had recognized him at Wild Thistle, and mayhap they never would. He was just a wee lad when they were banished. Yet, Aidan feared he’d made a deal with the devil, not only with Hope, but the blasted man who’d visited him. Marriage, he thought with a heavy sigh, how he cursed the union.

It had brought his father his doom and in effect, both he and Aidan had lost everything. He’d just have to make sure this marriage didn’t do the same. No longer the fool, Aidan had learned from his da’s mistakes. Trust would not be brought to the union. No romantic entanglements or promises, just a contract.

He owed one man and that was his da. For his memory and Aidan’s pride, Clan MacAlister would be ruled by him. As it was decreed before shame drove them from the protective palisade of Wild Thistle Keep when he was a lad.

The dungeon had lost its chill, allowing only a murky darkness to remain. Aidan paced, kicked at the mud floor, and swore vengeance. Even amongst the MacKerry’s he’d never experienced the total humiliation of imprisonment.

Where the devil was Laird MacAlister? Did she plan to keep him caged until the nuptials?

He itched his filthy skin. What he wouldn’t give for a swim or even a bucket of water to clean the hair matted to the back of his neck.

The more Aidan walked the breadth of the cell, the more his blood boiled.

The insult of his neglect only made him want to throttle Laird MacAlister and the bloody council. The neglect added insult to injury. She demanded him to marriage, only to not partake in traditional marriage rituals, and she left him in this filthy cage to rot.

He shook the bars again. They rattled. He crouched down on his haunches and looked at the hinge of the door. ’Twas in wretched shape. With a tight grip, he held the door, lifted, and grinned.

Just as he was about to lift the door from the weak hinges, a light flickered in the distance.

Could it be Laird MacAlister ready to set him free?

The glow moved with trepidation. Stopping, then progressed again.

As the bearer came forward, Aidan chuckled. ’Twas a lass, curious, by the looks of her. She gazed shyly at him. Then tapped her chin and strode forward. Her attempt at bravery was only offset by the tremor of her lips.

“You’re to marry the MacAlister?” she accused as her gaze traveled from his head to his toes. “A bit dirty for my taste.”

Aidan grinned at her honesty. She looked older as she neared, mayhap ten and five, her eyes squinted in inspection. Dark hair haloed her and sparkled as torchlight reflected off the curly strands. She’d be a beauty, he thought as he took in her high cheekbones and dainty nose.

“Nothing a dousing in the stream won’t fix.”

She held the torch out toward him and traveled it down the length of his body.

Brazen chit. Smiling, he asked, “Do I meet with your inspection?”

She gasped. Even in the darkness he could see her skin pink.

“I’m Lady Honor MacAlister.”

Aidan tipped his fingers from his brow in salute. “Aidan MacKerry.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How auld are you?”

He cocked a brow and smirked. “A wee bit older than your sister.”

“But she’s so
auld
.”

Aidan laughed. It felt good despite his surroundings. “How did you get past the guard?”

She shrugged. “They’re in the yard watching the sparring. ’Tis all they talk about.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste.

“Aye, men like their weapons.”

“Aye,” she said with a heavy sigh. “And then I am stuck mending their injuries. I’ve stitched each of them at least once.”

Ah, a healer. A grand position for any woman.

“Listen, lass,” he said. She came forward, curiosity obviously nudging away her fear. “Where is the laird?”

Lady Honor tipped her head toward the stairs. “In the yard with the men.”

He could free himself or the lass could set him free. ‘Twould be easier to explain to Laird MacAlister if her own sister took pity on him. “Would you mind handing me the keys?”

She glanced at the nail which pierced the stone wall. A ring of keys hung a few feet away.

She shook her head, eyes brightened at the very prospect of freeing him. “Nay, my sister would tan my hide.”

Her voice played uncertain to his ears and he knew if he gently pushed the issue, she’d relent.

Aidan tried again. “I’m to marry Laird MacAlister. Surely, you can let me out so I can see her?” He’d purposely softened his brogue, acted like a concerned parent with a conciliatory tone. “Or kick the keys to me. I’ll let myself out.”

The young woman tipped her head to the left, thoughtful and serious. “You are to marry my sister.” Her brows beetled. “Why didn’t she let you out?”

“I believe she is waiting to meet with the council.”

Her gaze flitted to the keys once again and she sighed. “Now she’ll be in a wretched mood. They are forever trying to tell her what to do.”

He chuckled. He’d no doubt on that matter. “But as her betrothed, I am able to move about the keep. And mayhap in the eve you can see to my wounds.”

Lady Honor gripped her chest as her eyes widened. “You’re wounded? Why didn’t they tell me?”

Och, he hated lying to the lass. “I’m a prisoner.”

She scoffed. “Still, you’re a man in need. Where do you hurt?”

There were many places, none too severe, but he had her attention and sympathy. “’Tis some cuts on my back.”

Concern filled her eyes as she took a step forward. Several seconds of silence filled the dungeon. “If I put the keys right here,” she began as she tapped her foot on the dirt floor, “then you’d be picking them up and let yourself out?”

“Aye, lass.” He couldn’t help but smile at her seriousness. “’Tis a sound plan.”

She beamed under his praise and turned to leave.

She came back. The keys’ clinking echoed off the stone walls in rhythm to her gait and as the light of the torch in her tight grasp bobbled. Stepping back, Lady Honor MacAlister placed the torch in a sconce on the stone walls.

“Come to me after you see Hope so I can see to your wounds.” With a wink and a flutter of her hand in goodbye, she was gone.

He smiled as the echoes of her footsteps sounded through the dungeon.

Aidan pushed his gillie-covered foot through the space of the bars. The keys slid easily through the space and he bent to grasp freedom. Relieved of the confines of the barren cell, he quickly left the cell. ’Twas too easy, to be sure. Would guards be waiting for him as he left the dungeon?

Aidan stayed close to the walls, slowly pacing himself in order to view the area without being detected by a guard.

Time to find Laird MacAlister. ’Twas time to show her, show them all, he wasn’t one to be ordered around.

At the top of the stairs, he paused, inhaled fresh air, and waited. Surely there was a guard milling about? It mattered not. He was going to marry the laird and, unbeknownst to the clan, he was going to be the laird.

After a moment, he stepped out of the dungeon and stretched. Sunlight pierced his eyes with brightness as he left the shadows. Spring struggled mightily to warm the air with a gentle wind and he soaked up the elements. Surmising he was fine to wander about, Aidan rounded the corner, ignoring the blatant appraisal of the clan’s men and women. Children ran from him, fear read like an open book across their faces.

“Call the guard, the prisoner has escaped,” an auld man called from his crofter. Clansmen moved toward Aidan, leery, yet with fierce scowls on their faces.

“Nay,” Aidan said as he held up his hands. “I was freed by Laird MacAlister, to be sure.” The lie slipped easily from his mouth. Well, ’twas a MacAlister who set him free.

“The laird set you free?” one of the women questioned. A few grumbled and nodded. After a few moments and he assumed consensus from the group blocking his way, the woman said, “Stand where you are. Ferg, go and ask m’laird if he’s to be wandering about.”

Several men paced toward him. Circled him.

He glanced at each of them. Cornered again.

“Connor,” one of them called. “He says he’s free of the dungeon.”

An auld man came toward them. His gaze summed Aidan up. He tipped his head. “MacKerry.”

“Aye.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “’Tis no harm in letting the lad wander about.” He came closer, leaned in close. “Leave or cause any harm and yer a dead man.”

Duly warned, Aidan nodded.

No matter, he was free. Aidan grinned toward the woman and mocked a salute to the rest of the onlookers.

The man watched him and women pulled their children close to their bosoms. Mayhap he should have stayed in the dungeon and not frightened the clansmen.

Behind him shouting started. He paced through the bailey and head long into a group of men, ready with their swords.

They crowded around two men in the center who were sparring with swords.

Aidan stood near, attempting to blend in with the other bodies. He recognized the red-haired Highlander, the man’s face awash with fury and his chest heaved. Sweat trickled down his face, drenched his
liene
. The man held his sword prone and ready to strike. The two men in the middle began to move, circle about.

The smaller man held his own, blocking each strike with strong, confident movements. Then he swung back, the red-haired giant backed away. Aidan was surprised at the strength of the smaller opponent, the bravado. He enjoyed the way he didn’t allow Duncan’s growling to distract from his mission.

The smaller opponent shifted, circled around the brawny Highlander, and came into view.

Bollocks
. What an
eejit
she was.

His wife-to-be raised her sword and lodged a flesh-connecting blow. Sweat sheened her brow as concentration narrowed her eyes. She wore a tartan still. Her luxurious hair was stuffed into the back of her linen shirt masking her identity from behind and keeping it confined. Aidan nearly tore through the men to reach her when he saw blood stained her shoulder.

How could they allow her to participate in such madness? This was a prime example as to why women shouldn’t be in such an exulted position. Yet, he held back, wary if he should voice objection he’d be thrown back into a cell. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and watched. Aidan marveled as Laird MacAlister parried with the man, each step calculated, strong. He admired as she fought off each blow that would fell a number of men he knew.

Bollocks
. Why did she take such risks? He’d never seen a woman partake in sparing before and he was certain this would be the last time he allowed her to do so. ’Twasn’t a woman’s place to be training the men and wielding weapons.