The Laird's Right (10 page)

This was the first meal Alec partook as a husband, not much of one since the marriage wasn’t consummated. Avoiding Portia hadn’t solved his dilemma. When she joined him at the gathering, he compelled every part of his brain to remain set on the clan’s problems. Staying away only made his thoughts run to her. He had found himself wondering what she was doing, seeing her face in his mind’s eye but just not her face. Hell, his hand shook from the memory of her supple flesh, her milky skin that pinked at his touch. Aye, avoiding her was foolhardy. Worse, he knew it never would work. His hunger to be near her and for her so aroused him that he swore he cramped from the need.

Hurley hunched forward. “There is talk.” He planted his attention on Alec.

“About?” Quinlan kept his voice even.

“The lairdess.”

“I had not expected anything else. The clan has a new lairdess in almost twenty years and an English one.” If Portia forced his thoughts back to her, it was natural the clan gossip centered on her. “This talk is…” Alec quirked a brow.

“The clan isn’t happy about your Sassenach choice.” Hurley leaned his elbow on the table. “They worry about their plantings and cattle, especially with the harvest arriving soon.”

“They are worried about MacKintosh attacking?” Quinlan’s words dripped with disgust. “We are Camerons. Fear has no place for us.”

“It does when you must feed a family.”

Quinlan tossed up his arm and sat back in his chair.

“They know her sister is Lairdess MacKintosh and believe she will betray us.” Hurley jabbed his finger against the tabletop.

“None will try to harm the lairdess.”

“I wish I had your belief, Quinlan, but desperate folks do unacceptable acts.”

Portia stood across the hall. Torch light flickered over her golden hair, making her strands shine. Her face glowed with a beauty that still hurt him to look at. Alec never knew such a beautiful woman. She crossed the length of the hall. For a tall woman, she glided across the flagstone floor. Though she was English, Portia was still a woman unlike any he had interacted with. She stirred feelings in him. Too many to name and blended together that he felt hollow and solid. Both his commanders had spoken of love. His father had loved as well but Alec failed to believe in it. He had seen how love destroyed a man.

“Good eve,” Portia said as she climbed the dais. Her volume was low but the words carried through the hall.

Alec and his men rose. Once his wife sat and fiddled with her skirts, Alec lingered on his feet. Quinlan cocked a brow at him. Slowly, he settled back down and glanced her way. She wore a smile too bright to be true.

“I didn’t consult Cook on the meal this morn. But she has excellent control of the kitchen.”

“Since Ailsa’s departure, she had been left to prepare whatever she wished.” Alec sat back.

“I’ve enjoyed her meals,” Hurley said.

“I have too.”

Her gaze fluttered about, landing on anywhere but on Alec. She was aware of only him filling the space. The chair back dug into her head. The cushion felt more like a stone that a feather seat. She remained stiff, careful of her movements on the chance she brushed against him. Quinlan’s brows lowered over his eyes. At least, Hurley seemed friendlier even with his eyes opened wide with a little of shock and confusion. Hurley recovered first.

“This is your wedding feast. That in itself is a celebration.”

Quinlan snorted.

“I had not thought of it so.” The hall lacked a festive tone. Men sat awaiting the meal. With every sliver of her dignity, she faced Alec. “Alec?”

“It seems as any other meal to me.” The boredom of his voice stung her.

“It could be. Perhaps the lairdess can speak with Cook and have her prepare your favorite meals soon, even prepare a cake. All enjoy cake. What is your favorite meal, lairdess?” Hurley gave a pensive smile.

Poor Hurley struggling to save this conversation
. “I enjoy mutton in red wine with herbs and leeks,” Portia answered.

“Now is not the time to slaughter a sheep. That must wait,” Alec ordered in an even-tone voice.

“Tonight’s meal?” Hurley tried again.

“Salmon with herbs and wine sauce.” Thanks to Leah, she was able to answer Hurley.

“I enjoy salmon. Quinlan?”

He grunted. Hurley lifted his brows for him to speak. “I do too. A good thing since the supply is plentiful.”

The servants’ entrance halted the dragging conversation. For the first time, she struggled for a topic of conversation. A noble woman always knew the right words for every situation. This noble lady had forgotten that skill.

“I see two seats are empty.”

“For Leah and Cairine,” Hurley answered.

“Oh, where are they?” She heard the hope in her voice and glanced about for their presence.

“Leah is helping my sister. She gave birth a fortnight ago. And Cairine—”

“Not here,” Quinlan muttered without lifting his head from his trestle.

Hurley darted his attention between Portia and Alec then lowered his head and began eating.

Alec stabbed at the fish then grabbed his cup and downed his wine.

“My first duties as lairdess is to find a new wife for Brus.”

“There are other duties to attend to.” Alec cleared his throat after it sounded as if he yelled.

“I know my duties.” The stern tone turned everyone’s attention.

He fixed his stare on her. “As do I.” The tips of his ear turned red.

She must have been reddening as he was. She curled her hands into fists.

“Leah and Cairine will aid you.” Quinlan nodded at Hurley’s words.

“Wonderful.”

For the rest of the meal, Portia swallowed her food without tasting the meal. She chewed, hearing Alec do the same though it seemed his appetite hadn’t deserted him as her own had. She counted the times he reached for his cup, yet he rarely lifted it for a drink. The meal lingered. The farce of last night failed to be solved and seemed to continue to the next. Had fate saved her only to abandon her with a distant husband?

* * * *

Alec lingered in the great hall. He slumped in the seat before the hearth. His father had done the same, refusing to return to his empty chamber with the memories that haunted the room. Alec avoided it for the woman now living there. Thankfully, Portia retreated to the chamber hours ago.

Quinlan and Hurley were the only two who remained. He’d rather they depart, especially as they shared glances. Since childhood, Alec had seen those glances from Hurley. Hurley had remained silent when Quinlan sent stressed glances at Hurley, letting Alec know the topic was a personal one.

“Alec…” Hurley had that look when he planned to talk about something Alec might not want to hear but needed to be said.

“Speak and get it over with.” He leaned his fingers against his temple.

Hurley perched on the edge of the other seat. “The meal was torture. I have never seen the men move that swiftly without running. Look around you, usually men lingered to drink, talk or just lounge about.”

“The blame doesn’t lie with me.” He rubbed his finger to stop the pounding beneath his skull.

“It does,” Quinlan cut in. “We—hell—the clan knows you slept in your old chamber.”

Alec sat up. “I am laird. I can sleep on the floor if I so wished. The clan is not to question my actions.”

Quinlan snorted under his breath.

“Speak, Quinlan.” The command in Alec’s voice held a menacing quality.

“You sound like your father.”

Alec jumped to his feet. He drew his fist back to punch Quinlan in his face and break his nose again as he beat him to a bloody pulp.

Quinlan leapt forward and squared his shoulders. “You know I’m right. So hit me, but you can’t deny it.”

Hurley shoved his way between them and pushed them apart. “Enough. Let’s focus on the problem at hand. Alec, the clan has taken that as your rejection of her and will follow your lead.”

“Aye, you married her and you must be a husband to her.”

“Says the man whose wife has returned to her cottar,” he said as he threw his hands in the air.

Quinlan’s nostrils flared and his top lip twitched in a half-snarl. “My wife is behaving foolishly. And I am not the laird.”

“Yet, you leave her when she needs you the most,” Alec retorted, displeasure chilling his tone. “You should have taken your own advice and gone to her and begged for her forgiveness.”

“Are you saying I do not love my wife?” Quinlan’s craggy face reddened from his cresting anger. Good, Alec needed a good fight.

“Enough,” Hurley said. “Quinlan is dealing with a situation that is never easy for a woman and difficult for a husband to correct. This is about you and your duty. You have never been with a woman but it’s pleasurable.”

“I know, otherwise men wouldn’t be chasing after it.”
And I’m chasing.

“And you’re running,” Quinlan snapped.

Alec pushed at Hurley’s shoulders to get to Quinlan. “I never run.”

“Quinlan, depart,” Hurley said while he held back Alec. Once Quinlan left the hall, he said, “If the marriage isn’t consummated, Portia is still in danger, as well as the clan.”

Alec turned away and rested his hands on his head. He wasn’t the man to lead the clan and worse, he might be the one destroying it. Maybe, his father had been right. He didn’t have the fortitude to lead the clan.

* * * *

Unable to stay away any longer, Alec made his way to the chamber. With his hand on the handle, he glanced down the corridor toward his old chamber. He half-turned to go rest his head there. But he didn’t run.

Not wasting time, he swept into the chamber. The bed linens were undisturbed. Had she fled again? He glanced about the chamber and saw her sitting at the table, engrossed by the clock. His shoulders dropped from about his ears but never lost the coiled tension. She hadn’t even turned to see who entered.

Her hair hung in a loose braid tied with a strip of linen. Her back hunched over the clock, backbone curved like a turtle shell. Light blazed about her face, illuminated by the candles piled on the table. Before he realized, he stood behind Portia.

“At Fenwick Castle, the woodworker was teaching me about clocks. This one is beautiful.”

Peering over her, Alec stared at the gold and glass clock. Gold Celtic knots adorned the glass globe where the gold weights and gears churned. Rubies caught the light, making the rose appear as if it shone under the summer sun.

His brother, Connor, held no interest in the clock so it was Alec’s moment alone with her. His mother had always pulled it down and churned the lever.

“Come, Alec, and watch the mechanisms go about.”

Her delicate fingers had grasped the crank. The dreamy expression on her face had always awed him. The melting of her light blue eyes that matched the blue of the Cameron plaid, much like Portia’s and the fall of her light brown hair pulled off her face. Alec had settled on her lap, his head resting on her shoulder. She had stroked his hair. When he had become too big for her lap, he had stood by her, watching with her and experiencing the same awe. Not for the clock but for her, watching as her lashes fell and she moved her head to a song he yearned to hear. For that brief time, he had felt her love. Now, he understood what his father had lost and selfishly tried to keep to himself. “One day Alec you shall present this to your wife.”

“You wind it by one of the knots.” Alec knelt on one knee. Her hair was damp and her creamy skin was rosy from washing. Wildflowers filled his nostrils. He inhaled and caught her scent, a musky scent more spicy than feminine and it stirred his need for her. He faced the truth, he couldn’t get enough of her.

Alec pinched the knot at the bottom and cranked the lever.

Her quick inhale tickled his ear. “Ingenious.” Her eyes followed the mechanisms, widening with each churn. A ghost of a smile crossed his face. He recognized her emotion, the same he experienced with his mother. Then the truth dawned on him. His mother was right. He had to give this to his wife—his Portia. She was his.

“Cairine told me your father purchased this for your mother.”

“Aye…My father had traveled to France and commissioned it. He said that he measured the time he was away from her. The day he departed he said that every hour of the journey, he knew he was closer to his love.”

“They must have loved each other deeply.”

“And we have been punished for killing her.” He couldn’t kill the sneer curling his lip.

Alec rose to his feet, turning away from her shocked expression. He had to get out of this chamber. He couldn’t leave. He plopped down on a stool. He rested his elbows on his knees and let his hands dangle between his open legs. He swung his hands back and forth and glanced at the bed then back at Portia, who watched him.

He straightened. He checked his nails. With an exhale, he pushed himself to his feet and crossed the chamber. He checked the wooden shutters, making sure they were shut against the night chill. The winds had shifted from the southeasterly direction to the northwest, bringing a gust that rattled the wood and blew up the coverings.

He changed direction and threw more peat on the fire.

“This is the laird’s chamber and you are not…comfortable here.”

She was right. That she discerned the fact he had since his uncle forced him to claim his right. With his brother’s death, he knew he would be laird. Though he was meant to be chieftain to the Camerons of Dessary, the sept Ronan now led, he never wanted the position of laird. Alec possessed the smarts and skills to lead but one truth held him back. He didn’t want to be his father. And to sleep in this chamber where his father haunted each corner, the walls even the floorboards, demons haunted this chamber. He struggled to ignore them.

“Nothing has been changed.” He blinked. He hadn’t meant to confess such knowledge. He turned to the door.

“That is the problem.” She gave a weak smile when he faced her.

He shrugged, knocking aside her sympathy for him.

“Why did you leave me last night and this morn…” She lifted her chin, revealing the smooth column of her neck as a pink washed from her ears down to her chest. “Then tonight?”