Highland Hope (Wild Thistle Triology Book 1) (9 page)

“My father died ten years ago.” She swallowed to stop her voice from cracking. His death still lay so heavy on her heart. Would she ever stop missing him?

He nodded as need and pain coursed over his face. He quickly turned passive and settled his gaze upon her. “You have my sympathy.”

She glanced at him, watched him as he watched her. They’d have to come to an understanding, to be sure. But just what that understanding was, she didn’t ken. Despite herself, she asked him, “Tell me of your clan, MacKerry.”

He started at her question. Let his hands fall to his side. “’Tisn’t much to tell. I’m sure our clan is much like yours.”

Evasion was the game he was playing. She handed him his drink. His strong hands wrapped around the tumbler. He took a draw of whiskey. She pushed onward. “Did you have a lass back at your keep?”

He furrowed his brow. “If I had a lass, I wouldn’t have agreed to marry you, laird.”

She chuckled and lifted her tumbler toward him. “Fine answer. And one I’d expect for an
honorable
man.” She should put him in the dungeon. ‘Twould be safer for the clan, and for her mind and her heart.

He visibly bristled. “And you, laird. Did you have a sweetheart before you asked for my hand?”

The way he said the words grated on her nerves. Aye, ’twasn’t traditional, a lass asking for a lad’s hand, but ’twas necessary. “Nay.”

A smirk kicked up the corner of his mouth. “It appears as if we are well suited.”

His mocking tone wasn’t lost on her. If they were suited, was still to be determined. She kenned the opposite were the case. And the fact she was forced to wed in order to keep her lairdship may actually cause them to be at odds more often than not.

“That is to be seen, MacKerry.”

He tipped his tumbler toward her. “Aye.”

“You’ll remain in the keep. There will be guards at your door,” she warned.

“I expect no less of a leader such as you, laird.”

“Why I believe that was a compliment.”

A grin kicked up the corner of his mouth and a dimple winked at her. “’Twas.”

The way he watched her, like a cat after its prey, heated her middle, made her think of his kiss. She touched her mouth. His brow bolted upward.

Hope clasped her hands before her. She nearly rolled her eyes heavenward, but stopped herself. She was acting like an
eejit
. He was just a man. A man accused of murder. A murder she had to solve.

“Good night, MacKerry.”

He raised his tumbler toward her. “Sleep well, m’laird.” His husky tone sent shards of pleasure through her body.

Hope left the laird’s meeting chamber, trying to ignore the heat coursing through her veins and went directly to her room. Och, by Saint Valentine did she have a dilemma. Her mind urged her to be cautious yet her heart kept remembering the kiss that sent thunderous waves of panic and pleasure through her body. Aye, panic. Mostly because she didn’t quite know what to make of the physical and emotional yearnings for MacKerry. His touch made her want more and more. When he’d held her, his taut muscles brushed along her body, hugged her curves. She grimaced as she remembered her actions. She’d pulled her dirk on him. Och, threatened him if he dared kiss her again. Which was foolish considering they’d be wed. Just as foolish as her pledge they’d never share the wedding bed. She rubbed her brow. ‘Twould be impossible and she admitted, she was curious and frankly eager for more kisses and . . . and what came after.

She ordered a bath and paced the breadth of the chamber while awaiting the water. Trust was essential in order for her and MacKerry to work together. Essential, but elusive. With the evening’s events fresh and raw in her mind, Hope slipped into the tub after it was filled.

Heat seeped into her tired muscles, easing some of the pain and tension. On the morrow, she’d run through the paces with the men in order to stay limber and show her strength, despite her injury.

A knock on the door broke into her troubling thoughts. “Aye.”

“Hope? ’Tis me, Honor.”

She smiled and bade entry.

Her sister couldn’t stop staring at her wound.

“It doesn’t hurt.”

Honor scoffed and waved a hand at her. “’Tis me, Hope. You can tell me the truth of it.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “It looks like it is healing nicely.”

“It hurts a little.” She slipped into the water wetting her hair and resurfaced. “Come, lather my hair.”

“We haven’t done this in ages.”

Her sister was right. It had been awhile since they’d shared time together doing things she presumed sisters did. But Hope was busy with the clan and her sisters were busy with their own interest. “Where’s Faith?”

“Vexed at you.” When Hope cocked her brow, her sister said, “She’s in the main hall, listening to all that is being said about MacKerry.”

Hope chuckled. “Tell her she can sleep in my chamber if she wishes.”

Honor’s eyes widened. “Me too?”

“Aye. Now rinse.”

Honor rinsed her hair and then handed her a towel. “Should we be frightened, then?”

No matter how their mother had protected her sisters, Hope wished she hadn’t. The coddling did nothing but promote fear. But a gentle soul such as Honor would be frightened. “You should be strong.”

Honor’s face twisted. “Och, Hope. ’Tis all you think of.”

She shrugged and dried off. “’Tis how I feel.” Or, she thought, ’twas the face she wore when not alone in her chamber. If others kenned of her fears, they’d scoff. But she owned them regardless—fear of losing her position, taking care of her sisters, and of her upcoming nuptials.

“I’ll go get Faith.” She raced to the door and swung it open. “Och, MacKerry.”

Hope cringed at the mention of his name. Her sister conversed with him for a few moments, thankfully allowing Hope time to dress.

Aidan stood in the doorway, watching her brush her dark hair before the fire wearing only a thin, white sleeping gown. Flickering light kissed her skin with an intimate glow and highlighted the body beneath the flimsy material. The arch of her back, the curve of her stomach, and the fleshy mounds of her breasts were all visible. Shaking the vision from his mind, he entered the room and busied himself by looking at the weapons displayed throughout the room.

Odd how the symbols of aggression mingled with tapestries, odder still how they suited the current laird who was a contradiction as well. He’d heard her talking to her sister with a soft tongue and good intentions. Yet, now Hope ignored him as she continued to brush her hair and he could sense the unspoken words thickening the air with tension.

“Did you have need of me?”

If you only knew
, he thought with a smirk. The sight of her before the fire sent desire straight to his cods. But he couldn’t allow emotion to play with his quest. “I wanted to see if you were well.”

“I’m well,” she said.

Liar
. Exhaustion laden her voice and her eyes looked as if they were about to close.  

Aidan sat in one of the chairs by the fire. Being so close to her was dangerous, but he needed to plead his case. Yet, he was at a loss for words, the devil chase him, with her barely clothed body just a pace away.

Remember, his mind prodded, remember your father’s shame at the hand of your mother. How you lost your clan and home. How your father was thrown from his home and forced to bring his wee lad and betraying wife to another keep to beg for shelter. The image of Anne and her quest to better her station with someone other than him flashed before his mind.

His father was banished. All because of his mother’s treachery, a mother bent on gaining power. If only she’d been patient. She’d betrayed them both, especially his father, who’d gained the support of the council. A council who wanted his father to be laird. What his mother had done, his father would never tell. No matter how much Aidan cajoled. But he trusted his father. Kenned he was a fine man who pledged to be loyal.

Aidan pulled up and directed a speculative glance at Laird MacAlister. She kept her face angled toward the fire, but he read the tension that tightened the muscles of her neck and flexed jaw.

Remember, she is just like them. Hope wants to keep you from your birthright.

He steeled himself against her beauty. To him beauty held too many thorns.

“What are your plans?”

Still, she held her back to him. “We have men searching for answers.”

He sighed. More than her beauty, he worried about her intelligence. He admired the way in which she led the clan. It took strength and insurmountable patience. And if he were in her position, Aidan would do as she had.

“Is that all, MacKerry?”

“Nay.” He hesitated, not certain he could verbalize what he felt and wanted. “I want you to know I had nothing to do with the lad’s death. I want you to trust me.”

Finally, she turned toward him, a look of disbelief set a scowl on her face. “Surely, you jest?”

Anger began to pitch his stomach. “You have a choice: trust me, or trust the council.”

She appeared to contemplate his words and weigh the options. A myriad of emotions flashed in her expressive eyes and Aidan didn’t know if it ’twas a good sign or not.

“You found my sister. For that I’m grateful.” She sighed. “We are to be wed, we will have to trust each other, but you have to earn my trust. And being accused of murder doesn’t help your case.” She stood.

He swallowed. Firelight highlighted the silhouette of her body. All talk of trust fled his mind. Full breasts, a narrow waist, the curve of her hips leading to long legs. The image was stunning.

“I want to trust you. ’Tis why you aren’t in the dungeon. But I’ve a clan to think of and I believe their trust of you is not solid.” She shrugged and her thin gown moved along her curves, danced about her ankles, pulled against her full breasts. “But, I am inclined to believe you, I don’t ken why.”

He found his tongue, tore his gaze from her haloed body and said, “’Tis called trust.”

She flushed and looked down. As if it just dawned on her, she crossed her arms before her chest and moved away from the fire.

“I’ll leave you for now, but think on this Laird MacAlister.” He paused. “At any moment I could have felled any of your men or you. ’Twas I who carried you to your chamber after your injury, not one of your clansmen.”

She canted her head to the side and remained silent for a few moments. “You make a good point, MacKerry. But do not think I trust you fully.”

With a humorless chuckle, Aidan said, “’Twill be a trying time of it if we don’t trust each other, laird.” He’d talked enough for now. Laird MacAlister was not going to suddenly trust him in the next hour.

“Good night, MacKerry,” Hope called as he left the room, her tone slightly mocking.

Aidan went to the main hall and bore the weight of the clan’s curious inspection. Attempting to ignore them, he went to the dais and sat in the Laird’s chair. The position gave him full view of the hall, those who inhabited it, and the broad doors that led to the bailey. Aye, a fine choice for its placement. He rose and moved about the hall. ’Twouldn’t do for Hope to hear he was sitting in her chair.

The main hall was the largest room in the keep. Tall stone walls, a huge fireplace that could roast a large buck, and trestle tables lined the walls and filled the middle since there wasn’t dancing or singing at the moment. Clan members completed their daily task. Women laid fresh rugs, serving lasses followed behind and tossed sprigs of lavender and wild rose petals. Men swept and repaired weapons and leather goods. Contentment, nay a sense of pride, filled him even though none knew his true identity.

He sat in the Laird’s chair once again.

“Trying it on for size, are ye?”

He recognized the voice behind him and true to his suspicion, ’twas Liam who’d approached him in the dungeon. The elder man sat beside him and tugged at his chin. “Ye made a dire mistake, lad. You’ll be lucky if the council doesna throw ye out of the keep. Again.”

Aidan nearly hit the gloating man. “You forget I’m innocent and I think you ken who’s responsible.”

“Mayhap.” Liam raised a tumbler. A red-haired lass quickly filled it with ale, then she lingered and glanced at Aidan as a cat would contemplate devouring a mouse. “But ye ken we can’t be letting the laird ken.”

He didn’t like the train of Liam’s thoughts. “If you allow me to be imprisoned again, you will not obtain your goal.”

Liam shrugged and took a prolong sip of ale. “Mayhap.”

’Twas infuriating, the smug look on his face, the relaxed manner of his actions. Aidan raised a tumbler for ale. Two could play at this game, of that he was certain. And he’d bet his horse he’d outlast the old man in a contest of wills. He’d waited too long for justice.

The serving lass filled the tumbler.

“I’ll have more, lass,” Liam quipped as he winked at her.

Aidan quelled the hatred he felt for the man. A man his father had spoken of frequently and a man who’d been integral in the quest to banish the family. Liam MacAlister had agreed to rip his childhood from him, take Aidan’s home away, and made him clanless. “We’ll stay with the current plan, man. Or I’ll be forced to speak privately with Laird MacAlister,” Aidan warned quietly.

“Ah,” the man said with a genial tip of his head. “Ye want to see her dead then?”

Rage fisted his hands as his muscles longed to throttle the man. Aidan banked the fury, knowing the act would force it to fester and be called upon later. “You’d kill her to achieve your gain?” What kind of man would kill a lass?

Liam’s intent gaze bore into him, sending dread through him. “There’s more to this than ye ken.” The old man twisted in the chair to fully face Aidan. “Years and years have gone by without gain. Our clan used to be strong and cause fear from those near and far.” He pounded on the table, rattling the tumblers and gained the attention of those still in the hall. Liam waved off Connor, who was making his way toward the dais. “A woman has led our clan for the last ten years. Do ye ken what that makes us?”