Reclaimed (A Highland Historical Trilogy) (The MacKay Banshees 1-3) (11 page)

She went to him, her needs mirroring his. Folding herself into his embrace, she lay her cheek on his chest and clung to his waist, listening to the sure, strong beat of his heart. She did her best to not let her emotions spiral out of control. The injustice of it all galled her, frustrated her. She could drown in “only if” and “should have been.”

She raised her face and kissed him, her breath choked off by a lump of misery and loss.

Luckily, she didn’t need to breathe. She was already dead. An insurmountable barrier to a life with the man she wanted.

Rory pulled away and cupped her face with tender, roughened hands. “Let me make love to ye, Katriona. We’ve enough of pain and punishment and much more yet to come by our parting. Let me show ye with my hands and mouth how very much ye mean to me.”

And he did. Their tears sometimes turned their kisses salty. The slow, tender sweetness of his regard became its own kind of torture. And he did not release her until the stars began to disappear, succumbing to the silver light of dawn.

Rory smothered another yawn behind his hand, earning him a sharp jab with Lorne’s elbow. “If I was yer wife, I’d kill ye for yawning through the entire ceremony and now the bride’s dance.”

He turned to meet Lorne’s disapproving scowl. “If ye were my wife, I’d save ye the trouble and kill myself.”

Lorne harrumphed, and then shuddered. “What will ye do if one of the Banshees show during yer wedding night?”

Clearing his throat, Rory found the soft blue eyes of his wife as she pranced in a circle with the other lassies, and bared his teeth in what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

Her full lips lifted, as well, much to the cheers and pleasure of the MacKay clan, feasting upon meat her dowry had supplied.

“They won’t.” A sharp pang stabbed Rory in the chest where a dull ache had opened a gaping void he feared he would never be rid of. Maybe, in time, the ache would subside. Maybe he’d fill the emptiness with children and bounty and a successful rule of one of the Highlands’ largest clans.

But in every darkened corner, in every screaming wind, he’d search for Katriona’s eerie blue glow and mourn.

“How do ye know?” Lorne asked.

Because she promised I’d never see her again…

Doing his level best to show the assembly that his eyes were only for the lovely, light-footed Kathryn, Rory quelled the pain threatening to overwhelm him. For no pleasure followed this damage, only more torment.

He wondered how much he should convey to his Steward. “I’ve struck a bargain,” he admitted.

“With the
Banshees
?” Lorne’s astounded voice rose over the raucous music and Rory took his turn elbowing the man. “Doona ye ken that any bargain struck with a Fae creature is well nigh a curse?”

Rory frowned. He was cursed from birth. Cursed with a greedy, violent father. Cursed with a deviant, selfish brother. Cursed with dying herds and spreading plague, and bloody Banshees. Cursed to live forever without the love of his life. The worst curse of all would be pretending to love his wife, because she didn’t deserve to be married to a man who pined for another.

Why not add another curse to the pile?

Standing upon the dais in his great hall, Rory could see every cheery face alight with warmth and ruddy from the closeness of so many bodies. More than five hundred MacKay packed into Durness for the festivities, though not all of them could be contained in his hall alone. Rowdy pipes, strings, and drums lifted the pulse of dancing and laughter to deafening. Movement became more animated as Highland scotch and ale flowed from bottomless spouts. Bawdy calls and whoops kept rhythm with the dancing women as they lifted their skirts and kicked out their ankles, producing a feminine thunder upon the floor.

In the middle of it all, Kathryn spun and leapt, danced and clapped with the vitality of a happy bride. Her golden locks spilled down her back from intricate braids and her face glowed with unmatched beauty and youthful vigor.

“Ye’re the envy of every man in Durness, nay, of all that lays West of Strathnaver.” Lorne clapped him on the back.

Rory smirked and tugged at the cuffs of his shirt, trying not to choke on the irony.

As she whirled through a circle, Kathryn waved to the only other scowling shadow in the room.

Albert.

“I doona like the look of that man,” Lorne said darkly. “I’m confused as to why he didna depart with Fraser right after the ceremony to collect his men.”

Rory shrugged. His apathy on the subject couldn’t be greater.

“Though it was mighty unprecedented for the father of the bride not to at least stay for the feasting. Especially
that
one.” Lorne snorted. “Never pegged him to miss a meal.”

A chuckle escaped Rory in spite of himself. “Fraser has something up his sleeve with Albany and Stewart, though I doona ken what it is, nor do I want to. Albert is here to ensure that Kathryn settles in and plans to wander off within the week. ‘Tis common among such rushed marriages so the lass doesna feel abandoned.”

“No ladies’ maid or such attendants?” Lorne scratched his thick beard.

“None that I know of. She can pick from a number of lasses in her new clan.”

Lorne looked from Rory to Kathryn to the French-Scotsman and back. “Doona ye ever wonder if it’s not as simple as all that?”

Albert’s eyes burned at him from across the hall and Rory could feel a ripple of doubt wrinkle his brow. “Maybe neither of us come to this marriage with a free heart,” he conceded. “But look around ye. My clan is fed. There are crops to be planted. And, Gods willing, we’ll make it through this last of the frozen season with replenished coffers and hope of better years than the last have been.”

“Here. Here!” Lorne raised his tankard and drank deeply. Wiping his mouth on the cuff of his sleeve he heaved a great sigh. “Ye’re a good man, Rory MacKay. Ye’ll be a fine Laird. The finest this great clan has seen in ages.”

Rory squeezed the shoulder of his friend. Judging from the past few Lairds, the standard wasn’t so hard to surpass.

“Aye, ‘tis a rare husband I’ve found.” Kathryn’s small hand wound into Rory’s and he looked down into her smiling blue eyes.

Her beauty impressed him once more and, objectively, he was still a little stunned at the ease in which this advantageous marriage had come to pass.

All it has cost him was his heart.

Another yawn seized him with such intensity, his jaw cracked. “Ye’ll haveta forgive me, my dear.” He took Lorne’s warning into account. “I’m afraid I didna sleep well last night.”

A pang of guilt followed his admission, tingeing his cheeks with heat.

“Not to worry,” Kathryn patted his hand. “You’re certain to get enough sleep tonight to make up for the lack.”

Lorne choked on his drink, some of it dribbling from the sides of his lip. He tried to catch it with his sleeve as he dissolved into a fit of uncontrollable coughing.

Rory clapped him soundly on the back. A knot of dread forming in his belly as he studied his dainty bride, shimmering in a gown the color of heather fields in August. What an odd thing to say on one’s wedding night. Perhaps she truly was sheltered and completely ignorant of what was expected of her.

Puffing his cheeks out on a beleaguered breath, Rory realized the night would likely be longer and more taxing than even he had anticipated.

Katriona had thought Rory was the glutton for punishment, but she called that notion into doubt whilst lurking in the corner of his chamber. The music drifting from below shook the stones with merriment. And each burst of laughter drove black daggers into her still and silent heart.

For once she wasn’t where she
should
be, at home to greet the Fae queen as summoned by her mother. She’d already bade farewell to her mother and sisters, after delivering the news of the bargain she’d struck with Rory. He’d provide a safe and warm home for Elspeth and her Banshee daughters for all the rest of her days. He’d make known the deeds of his brother against her family and publically clear her of any heresy or witchcraft. The washhouse would be rebuilt into a smithy and some other braw MacKay would work it.

In return, none of the Banshee sisters would harm an innocent MacKay. They would move along, searching for peace and finality in the afterlife.

And Katriona planned to do just that. Which was why, at this moment, Elspeth worked a spell to call Cliodnah to Katriona’s side. So, upon the stroke of the witching hour, Katriona would pledge her soul to the Fae queen, giving her sisters a better chance of at least one of them breaking the curse and reclaiming a life.

Because life wasn’t worth fighting for anymore, not without the man she loved. Drifting over to the bed, she floated into it, unable to touch it without touching Rory. She morosely wondered if he would be plagued with visions of their night together while he made love to his new bride upon it.

“You mortals are prone to such morbid thoughts.”

Katriona started and turned to find Cliodnah by the fireplace, soaking in the warmth. The dancing crystals of frost winked and sparkled in the light of the flames turning silver to gold.

“Do the Fae not ever fall in love?” Katriona asked.

A brief flash of intensity sliced through the Queen’s silver eyes before vanishing. “We avoid it,” she droned. “Love and hate are too often used as excuses for stupidity and are corrosive to the superior immortal psyche.”

Katriona couldn’t think of an argument or an agreement, so she silently drifted to the Queen’s side. “You’re here to collect me, I gather, but would you grant me leave to abide until the witching hour?”

“I suppose that’s only a handful of minutes.” Cliodnah’s gossamer gown rippled as she attempted a shrug, which still seemed too unsettling a movement for someone so inhuman.

“Thank yo—”

The door opened, and Katriona shrank back, too startled to cloak herself in magic.

Kathryn preceded Rory into the chamber, though both of their gazes skipped right past her and the Faerie Queen.

“My presence shields us from their notice. They will not see either of us unless I will it,” Cliodnah explained. “This is your mark. The
An Dioladh.
”

Katriona nodded, her words choked off by emotion as her eyes devoured the sight of his grim face.

“You turned your hatred to love in such a short time.” The Queen conveyed mild amusement in her cold voice.

“Aye,” Katriona whispered.

“Such is more common among your kind than you’d believe.”

Katriona ignored the wry mockery of the Queen as she studied Rory’s new wife. Her fair Anglo coloring must have come from a Teutonic mother, though the dainty sharpness of her beauty was decidedly Gallic. Thick lashes splayed from such lovely cat-like eyes and brushed the sweeping line of her cheek bone every time she gave a coy blink.

“Shall I undress you, my Laird?” She clasped her hands in front of her, watching Rory expectantly.

He blanched, then turned to stare at the fire.

At Katriona.

Or through her, rather. She wondered if he could feel the presence of her soul. If he could sense the pain and the love emanating from her.

Gods, this was torture. She should leave. This wasn’t a memory she wanted to taint her eternity with. Rory with another woman in his arms.

In his bed.

“Kathryn,” Rory hesitated, his big hands balled at his side. “I know coming here has to be a shock to ye. A new home, a new clan, a stranger for a husband. I’m amenable to letting ye adjust to yer life as mistress of this clan before…” He gestured to the bed and a deep red hue crept beneath his bronzed skin.

Aye! Not tonight. Not when his bed was still warm from their own love-making.

“That’s kind of ye, husband, but in truth, ye have what I want and I’d like it tonight.” Kathryn smiled shyly, which enhanced her unnatural beauty.

Katriona wanted to rearrange the features of her face, if only a little.

Rory’s eyes flew wide and all the new color drained from his face and he sputtered for words but was ultimately unable to find any.

Katriona’s eyes narrowed. Perhaps more than a little. Perhaps a great deal.