Highland Hope (Wild Thistle Triology Book 1) (5 page)

The fight went on for what seemed a tortuous length of time. She’d cut her opponent once. Probably vengeance for the injury she’d received. Blood began to saturate her left sleeve. No matter how intensely she fought, the laird’s face was pale. Her breathing more labored with each moment.

Aidan stood rigid as he watched his betrothed execute a move that placed her opponent at the tip of the sword, on his knees before her.

The crowd, silent and edgy, broke out into roars of support and mockery for the fallen Highlander.

With steely determination Aidan watched her remove the sword, slightly quivering, and step back.

“That, my dear clansmen, is how you defeat your enemy.” Her voice rang through the bailey, confident, yet Aidan heard the strain of weariness.

The men who had captured him just a few days ago came forward and helped their comrade to his feet. The fallen man knocked their hands away and pushed through the crowd with nary a backward glance.

The crowd dispersed casting speculative glances in Aidan’s directions, leaving him and Laird MacAlister. She watched him with the intensity of a hawk bearing down on a field mouse. Her sword slipped from her grasp, clanking against a rock. Still, they observed each other. He opened his mouth to speak, yet remained silent as she wobbled. Aidan ran to her side and caught her before she collapsed onto the hard ground. She trembled in his arms as he lifted her and carried her toward the main hall. The laird averted her gaze, but he’d have given his horse to know what was on her mind.

“Lady Honor?” she said.

“Aye.”

“Too soft, that one.” She watched him. “Behave, MacKerry or I’ll send you back to the dungeon.”

Aidan held her tightly, enjoying the feel of her in his embrace. To his dismay, her blood now stained his shirt, wet his skin. What type of woman did he hold in his arms? She was so contrary to any other women he’d met. Strong and fierce, but a bit of softness now filled her gaze.

Clansmen scattered as they neared the steps leading to the bedchambers.

Nary a sound, save the growl of a wolfhound vibrated through the hall. As he mounted the stairs, Aidan’s footfalls echoed, reiterating the screeching silence of the bystanders. Laird MacAlister closed her eyes and leaned her head onto his chest; despite Aidan’s efforts to remain aloof, he couldn’t help but feel empathy for her. Entering the second floor, he said, “Where’s our chamber?”

Without opening her eyes, she responded, “At the end of the hall.” Pain echoed in the tightness of her tone and he felt her relax further into his chest.

He entered the chamber and without hesitation laid her on the bed. He ripped her sleeve from her shirt.

“Jaysus,” he muttered as he knelt by her side. A deep gash cut into her skin, its rough edges puckered over the round of her shoulder. He’d meet with the man who’d done this, the man who dare strike his betrothed. ‘Twould need to be sewn, but he doubted she would appreciate his awkward stitching.

“Nora and Lady Honor,” she whispered, her face blanched and her mouth tightened.

Aidan lifted from his knees and poked his head out the doorway. A lad stood near the stairwell.

“Fetch, Nora and Lady Honor.”

The boy hesitated, fear and uncertainty marking his wide eyes, then he scampered down the dimly lit corridor.

Aidan gripped the door latch. His heart beat rapidly, pounding against his chest as if it were trying to break through his skin. To complicate the situation further, his head swam with indecision.

He was here to redeem his birthright. He hadn’t planned on becoming part of Laird MacAlister’s life. Aiding her when she was injured nearly overwhelmed his pledge to seek vengeance.

A groan drew his attention to the figure on the bed. Her eyes were closed, yet he kenned she was awake since her jaw flexed in rhythm to the pulse in her neck. Aidan sighed and went back to her side. Sweat coated her brow and dampened her hair. He reached to brush a strand from her face then pulled back. Detached, uncaring. He must treat her with those ideas in mind.

“Och, lass.” A woman, stout and very old, bustled into the room with a wooden bucket. Water sloshed over the sides and soaked the front of her woolen skirt. She glanced at him, her dark eyes narrowed. She could only be Nora.

Lady Honor stood at the door with a basket in her hands, her face pale. Then she straightened her shoulders and strode directly to her sister.

Her gaze skittered to Aidan and he tipped his head.

Laird MacAlister tried to sit up. “I’ve a bit of a scratch.”

“Doona fash yerself,” the old woman scolded. She eased her patient back down. “Get me some rags, lad.” She tipped her head toward a large chest. “From over there.”

Relieved to be doing something besides standing there, Aidan opened the chest. Laundered scraps of cloth filled the freshly scented trunk. He picked up several and handed them to the woman.

“Here,” Lady Honor said as she handed Nora a bowl of water and herbs.

She dipped the cloth into the water and patted the laird’s arm, muttering beneath her breath as she did so. “Hurts, I ken, but keep still.” She tsked then continued, “I’m Nora, lad. Ye must be MacKerry.”

“Aidan,” he said, his voice oddly hoarse and gruff.

Nora raised her brow at him. “What do ye think o’ the laird?”

Lady Honor’s brow rose, then she started threading a needle.

He shifted his weight as he leaned against the wall. Most of his opinions he could never voice. They were either too personal or would appear too harsh.

“I think she’s an
amadon
, meself,” Nora confessed.

“Nora!” Lady Honor chastised.

Aidan suppressed a smile as his betrothed scoffed and glared at Nora.

“Och, Hope, ’tis very deep. I need more water to cleanse the wound.”

Laird MacAlister flinched as Lady Honor poked the needle through her skin. Deftly, she stitched the deep cut. The laird made nary a sound.

Aidan watched, then turned away as he began to feel sympathy, she was a braw lass, to be sure. He grudgingly respected her strength.
Bollocks
, no matter the pain etched sharply into the laird’s face, sympathy was for fools. And Aidan had learned by watching his da play the fool to his mother.

Instead of watching, he inspected the chamber. Large, most definitely the laird’s. Clean, with enough room for him and his betrothed. They certainly wouldn’t stumble over each other.

Aidan raked his fingers through his hair, not knowing what to do in the situation. “Do you spar often, Laird MacAlister?”

“Och, I mend her cuts more than the lads,” Lady Honor said then she gasped as Hope glared at her. “’Tis the truth of it.”

Hope turned toward him, her eyes narrowed as she watched him.

Annoyed, Nora threw him a disgruntled look. “Take a seat, lad. I need her still.”

“We’re betrothed. Call me Hope.”

Chapter 6

Hope.

Despite her grudging tone, he liked the sound of her name. The inspiration of it. He glanced down at the woman in the bed. Her mussed hair spread across the pillow in a deep amber wave. Her skin seemed a bit pallid, but smooth as it covered the graceful line of her jaw and high cheekbones.

A pulse beat at the base of her long neck in a fluttery movement. He clenched his hands, his fingers itching to trace the hollow at the apex where her neck joined her body. His gaze wandered further. A tear in the fabric revealed a linen chemise pulled tautly over a full breast. He imagined the creaminess of her skin and the rosy ripeness of the nipple peeking through the fabric.

A throat cleared. Aidan snapped his attention to Hope’s face. Her gaze was flushed with anger, she cocked a brow and said, “Now that you have sweet talked Lady Honor into releasing you, Nora will show you to your chamber. You’re in need of a bath.”

Embarrassed at his brashness and a little sheepish for being caught staring at her, Aidan ripped his gaze from the angry green of her eyes. He was certain thunderclouds raged in the dark depths as they pinned him with ire.

Lady Honor finished wrapping the wound and gathered her supplies. “I’ll have broth sent for the both of you.”

He turned to leave as Nora and Lady Honor came to his side to escort him. Aidan stopped and laid his hand upon Hope’s bed. “Soon, Hope. We’ll be sharing this chamber, soon.”

A smile tipped his lips as she leaned forward and practically growled, “On my terms, MacKerry. My terms.”

Hope grit her teeth as Aidan MacKerry left her chamber. His arrogant swagger incensed her further. If she wasn’t in such pain, she would have challenged him. Made sure he knew his place within the clan.

God in heaven, her shoulder hurt. Hot, searing pain radiated from the wound. Honor’s patient sewing was sure to diminish the scar, yet it would still stretch over the cup of her shoulder and would take too much time to heal.

There was too much to do. Too many to care for and certainly with MacKerry and the council, too many worries.

Hope shifted beneath the coverlet for a comfortable position. The large bed afforded her room, but she still wore her clothing and it proved bulky and dirty.

Rising so she leaned on the headboard, she paused a moment until her vision cleared and her heart stopped racing. She was going to kill Duncan for this wound. How many times had they’d sparred before without injury? And he chose the precise moment when MacKerry was watching?

Sweat trickled down her brow and back. Her entire body felt overheated by the indignation she suffered at the hands of men on this day. First the council, then her cousin, and the final insult of MacKerry’s intrusive gaze.

The way her betrothed looked at her . . . ’twas, ’twas something she didn’t want to entertain. Even though he hadn’t touched her, it felt as if the man had caressed her from head to toe, warming her skin with his touch. His intrusive inspection caused such an unexpected reaction. Heat deep in the pit of her stomach, a quiver even lower, and a tension throughout in which she’d never experienced.

Hope smoothed the counterpane with her uninjured arm. A patchwork of material stitched by her mother. Her parents shared this bed, and her father’s parents before them.

Soon
, she recalled the mellow, sensual tone of MacKerry’s voice, soon they’d be sharing the chamber. The message abundantly clear. A tingling of awareness shifted over her. Hope snatched her hand from the aged material of the coverlet, despising the train of her thoughts as her eyelids drifted downward. MacKerry’s intent eyes entered her dreams, probing, hazy with need. The strength of him, how he’d held her, carried her to the safety of her chamber, the way her body seemingly curled into his heat and muscles. He intruded on her thoughts until darkness overtook her into a painless sleep.

For a moment, Liam thought to call a council meeting. ‘Twould make things difficult if the laird heard of it, but he was troubled by the way MacKerry took care of her. Carried her through the bailey, up to the laird’s chamber as if he were king of the castle. ’Twas possessive, protective, and husbandly, all things Liam didna’ want to happen.

All the clan was in a dither about MacKerry bringing Hope to her chamber and helping Lady Honor and Nora with the laird’s injury. And he’d witnessed the look of the man’s face when he swept her up the stairs. A bit of softening and sympathy, blast his hide.

Liam struggled to rise from the chair, his old bones creaked and resisted, but finally he was on his way to Connor’s crofter. He’d visit each member of the council and determine if MacKerry could still be trusted.

They needed a man who had nothing to lose. They needed a man with the taste of revenge on his tongue. They needed a man strong enough to snatch the lairdship away from Hope.

Liam remembered MacKerry’s father. The poor man was cuckolded by his wife. Though, she had strived to better his position, she’d gone too far, trifling with men she had no business being with and in a sad twist of fate MacKerry’s father had lost any opportunity to claim his seat, worse still the clan had turned on them all.

Aye, Liam thought as he ventured toward Stephen’s crofter, they had to ensure MacKerry was still theirs before all the plans crumbled into a pile of dust. The fact a woman was still at the helm gnarled his insides. If only his own son hadn’t died so young. He’d be strong and want to expand the clan’s territories. Each time the council had pushed to take more land, conquer other clans, she’d fight them. And then with her sweet tone and gift of the gab, their laird would talk the council into being happy with what the clan had.

Weak. The woman was weak. And when he pointed that out, she’d look down on
him
, one of the best warriors the clan had ever known. It festered, deep within him, like a poison.

If it took until his dying breath, he’d see a man in the laird’s chair.

And that man would be Aidan MacKerry.

Chapter 7

Aidan planned to wait as long as he could before returning to the Laird’s bedchamber. He’d festered in his chamber until he saw men training in the yard. The day was ripe for training. The sun was high, the wind was a mere whisper. Aye, he could do with some sparring.

As he approached, the redheaded giant paced toward him. Others followed suit.

“Do ye mean to train with us?” he asked with a chuckle and glanced at the men around him.

“Aye.”

The man blocked his way.

Aidan glared at him. “Are you afraid I may retaliate for the injury my betrothed sustained.”

Some of the men chuckled, shuffled to get a look at the giant’s face.

The man tipped his head back and laughed. “Och, a man as small as you?” He leaned closer so Aidan could see each pore on his face. “Never.”

Aidan took a step back and slipped his sword from its sheath. “Never?”

Bets were placed and two sides were drawn.

“Duncan will squash the man.”

“Nay, he’s gone soft.”

Aidan smiled and pointed his sword at the lad who just spoken. “Well, Duncan. Would you like to prove him wrong?”

Duncan pushed the lad to the side. “Aye.”

The crowd moved back, gave room for them to spar.

“Are ye ready, MacKerry?”

He grinned. “Aye.”

Duncan bellowed, then charged. Aidan tsked and merely stepped out of the way. Duncan ran past him, turned and growled.

“Och, he showed ye!”

“Yer like a rutting bull, Duncan,” a lad name Logan yelled.

The crowd laughed and Duncan glared at them. “
Wheesht yer hood
.”

Damn if the man didn’t charge him once again. Aidan feinted to the side and jutted his foot. The giant tripped, but quickly righted himself.

He pointed his sword at Aidan. “Yer a cheat.”

“Nay, Duncan,” Logan said. “’Twas fair.”

Duncan barreled toward the young lad. He gripped him from his shirt and lifted him up.

Bloody hell. Aidan strode to the man. “Let him go. Your fight is with me.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “M’laird would have me head if I hurt ye.” He released the lad and he crumpled to the ground. Other clansmen helped him to his feet.

“Och, Duncan,” the lad sputtered.

Duncan ruffled the Logan’s hair. “You’ll live.”

Then the man surprised him and rested his arm over Aidan’s shoulder. “How about a wee dram to quench our thirst.”

’Twas the last thing he expected to hear from the man. A man he’d wanted to throttle for hurting Hope. Mayhap their differences could be settled later-in the training ring.

“Aye.”

The man tipped back his head and laughed. “’Tis a grand answer, MacKerry. Ye may not be so bad.”

He’d let the man think such for now, but he’d quickly ken how adept Aidan was with a sword.

No matter how he tried, from sparring in the practice ring to downing too many drams of whiskey, his train of thought went back to Hope and the injury she’s sustained. After finishing drinking with Duncan and the other men, he left their company, deciding enough time had passed.

He silently opened the door and peeked in. Nora stood over Hope clucking her tongue.

“Enter, MacKerry before you wake the lass.”

Chastised, Aidan entered. He watched as Nora gently bathed Hope’s shoulder.

“Fever’s setting in,” she said grimly.

Bollocks
. ’Twas always the fear with injuries and the cut had been deep. “Go,” he said to Nora. “I’ll watch her.” Why he volunteered for such a task was beyond him. But her vulnerability as she lay there pale and injured drew him. Mayhap, just mayhap she wasn’t the harridan he thought.

The auld maid peered at him with a mix of distrust and gratitude in her rheumy gaze. “Aye, I’m needed in the kitchen. Lady Honor will bring another tisane in a wee bit.”

The woman drooped with fatigue. “Rest is what you are needing. Can’t someone else oversee the kitchen?”

She chuckled and quickly glanced at Hope as she stirred. “The women of the keep want me to lead in the kitchen. Our laird expects much and lets her ire show when they fail.”

So Lady Hope was tough on everyone.

Aidan pulled a chair toward the bed. “Regardless, you need rest. Assign the role to someone else.”

Her brows drew up as a chuckle rasped past her lips. “Aye, acting like laird already, are you?” She handed him a bucket of cool water and a cloth. “Hope’ll have something to say about that when she awakes.” But she smiled, one that Aidan felt was full of mischief, as if she were looking forward to the inevitable clash between Aidan and the current laird.

“She most certainly will.” He nodded to Nora and sat as she left the chamber.

Nora had somehow managed to rid Hope of the dirty and bloodstained clothing and had replaced her clothing with a makeshift shirt that exposed her injured shoulder.

Aidan leaned forward to inspect the wound. It puckered around the stitches with angry red skin. Feverish, Nora had said.

He touched her brow with the back of his hand and swore at the heat. He dipped the cloth into the cool water and bathed her forehead, face, and neck. He repeated the gesture until she felt cooler to the touch.

It was going to be a battle, he thought, ridding her of the fever and keeping her abed until her wound healed. She was too strong for her own good and she needed an even stronger husband to make sure she kept her place.

A wry grin tipped his mouth. The strong husband would be him.

“Aye, laird,” Aidan said to the sleeping Hope, “I’ll be the one to lead. I’ll be the one to keep you in line.”

Surely, if she were awake, she’d blast him with her sharp tongue. But for now, Aidan thought, he’d have the last word.

She stirred and Aidan bathed her skin once again. A grimace crossed her face as she shifted in the bed. If she didn’t lie still, her stitches would tear.

“Shhh, lass,” he whispered. “You’ll be back to leading the men in no time.”

Aidan crooned a few more words until Hope settled down and seemed to rest peacefully. He watched her, still perplexed as to why a woman desired to be laird.

Talk about the keep told him more about her father’s decree. And how she’d led with honor and pride. ’Twas a fine keep, and she’d every right to be proud of her duty to the clan and her people.

She had strength, to be sure. Yet, he refused to allow any more admiration toward her to emerge, ‘twould sway him from his goal. But, she was lovely. Even in her current state, with her rich, auburn hair spread around her and her creamy skin that stretched over her slim column of a neck and her bare shoulder. Skin that begged a caress.

Aidan reached forward and trailed his finger along her jaw, down her neck to resting above her fluttering pulse. Soft, so soft. He shook his head and whipped back his hand.

Aye, a comely lass. But he’d learned one too many times that a comely lass was bent on making his life hell. Add her exulted position and desire to keep him from that position had him rethinking her beauty.

’Twas a shell she’d used to bewitch any who tried to thwart her efforts, he’d bet.

He stood to pace before the fireplace. He absently tossed in a log, a little peat, and stoked the flames. Leaning against the mantel, he glanced at the huge shield hanging above. A gash in the metal spoke volumes as to the intensity of the fight. And if the talk of the keep had the right of it, the shield was Hope’s father’s, the very one he held during his last battle. The battle resulting in his death.

And resulted in Hope leading the clan with the help of her mother. Curiosity had urged him to ask more questions, but none were forthcoming from the council or the few clan members who’d spoken to him.

The tie was his family. The tie was the council. And of course Hope and her mother.

“Mother,” Hope moaned from the bed.

Aidan turned toward her. He raced to her as she thrashed against the bed.

“Nay, lass,” he drawled. “You need to keep still.” He lifted her up and shifted beside her on the bed. “Be still, lass.”

She settled and curled into his side with a comfort that surprised him. Her heat seeped into him and he reached for the cloth without disturbing her.

Aidan held the cloth to her head as he tried to ignore the warmth of her body and her soft, womanly curves. It had been a while since he’d lain with a woman and his body was swift to react. Aidan gently moved Hope away from him.

“Nay,” she groaned and pulled at him with her good arm.

His cock hardened and he shifted uncomfortably, but nothing he supposed compared to Hope’s discomfort with her wound.

Gritting his teeth, he continued to hold her until she fell into a deep slumber, her soft breaths upon his neck and the rise and fall of her breasts tempting him as they would any man. But he was better than that.

He cooled her brow a few more times until the steady rhythm of her breathing lulled him to sleep.

A knock at the door had him slipping from her hold.

“MacKerry,” Lady Honor said as she entered. “I’ve a tisane for Hope and I’ll be checking the wound.”

He moved from the bed and nodded for her to come forward. “She’s been restless.”

A wry smile pulled on the lass’s mouth. “She’s not used to be laying abed all day.” She frowned when she peered at the wound. “Bring me more water, please.”

He nodded, needing to do something, anything to keep his thoughts from the woman in the bed. She’d bewitch him if he gave the chance. Between her beauty and her dedication to the clan, his admiration may be his downfall.

He gathered more water and headed back to the Laird’s chamber.

Hope was still asleep and Lady Honor was washing the wound.

“How is she?” His gruff voice surprised him. She was his betrothed, but also a means to him becoming laird. He needed her. She needed him. Aye, ’twas why he was so concerned.

Worry furrowed the lady’s brow. “I’m hoping her fever will break soon.”

He set his hands at his waist. “And if it doesn’t?” Although he kenned the answer.

Tears swam in her eyes. “We have to pray that it does.” She gathered dirty rags and added something to Hope’s cup. “Make sure you force her to drink this on the hour.”

He nodded and glanced from Hope to Lady Honor. Sisters. A kinship he knew nothing about. Her worry made him fearful. Fearful of losing the lairdship, fearful for the strong woman lying in her sickbed.

“Call me if she worsens.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. A weariness filled him. He’d pledged to reclaim his right. And now, it seemed as if it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was Hope recovering. He wanted to see the flash of anger in her gaze, even if it was directed toward him. And when she set her fists at her waist and tipped up her chin in challenge, aye, it had vexed him, but it had also set his blood afire with desire.

She began to thrash. He quickly removed his
liene
and lay beside her. “Easy, Hope,” he crooned. He washed her brow and began telling her stories of his youth. None she’d remember, but it seemed to lull her into a deeper sleep.

He continued to whisper, share his fears and his goals. And as he spoke, his eyelids began to close.

The last thought on Aidan’s mind was how he liked the feel of her against him, her flesh against his, in their bed.

“Lass,” a voice crooned.

Hope stirred, loathed to wake and leave the warm cocoon of her dreams.

The shaking became more insistent. “Here’s yer chocolate. Yer sister has gone missing.”

She bolted awake only to be instantly reminded of her injury as pain ricocheted through her arm. After she steadied, she grabbed the tumbler of steaming chocolate. “When? Which one?”

Nora visually shuddered in relief. “Faith.”

Confusion fuddled her thoughts. “What day is it?”

“Ye’ve been abed five days.”

“Five days! How long has Faith been missing?” She vaguely remembered Nora forcing her to drink some brew or another. She glanced at the chocolate. “What am I drinking?” She had to find her sister and couldn’t be addle minded.

The maid avoided looking in her direction. “Tis only chocolate. Yer on the mend.”

“Nora,” Hope said in a warning tone.

With a protesting swish of her hips and a stern glare, Nora reassured Hope. “Aye, lass, ’tis chocolate.”

“How long has Faith been gone?”

Nora’s gaze slid to the floor. “Three days, m’laird.”

Dear God. If she was going to gone that many days for a hunt, Faith always took other men with her. Something had to be wrong.

“What is being done about Faith?” She had to get out of bed and look for her sister. Faith loved slipping away from the keep to either hunt or just find some time to herself. But to be gone so many days, och, what if men from Clan Mungo took her or worse?

“The men started looking for her. I didn’t want to disturb you since Faith is wont to wander about.”

The woman was determined to drive her to distraction. She should have been told immediately. “’Tis my duty, Nora. You ken this, aye?”

Nora tossed up her hands. “Och, what isn’t your duty? You’ll work yourself to death you will.”

Hope set the cup aside and pushed the covers back, sucking in her breath at the cold air that the warm morning drink didn’t protect her from. One glance at the hearth confirmed the fire had smoldered into cool ashes.