Chapter Three
Ailis sat, silent with shock, as her father and this man bargained and bartered for her. How had this come to be? She feared she understood the truth but didn’t wish to accept it.
Davina flitted around, sometimes standing by her side and other times hovering over her father as he spoke to ‘Iain’. Ailis wanted to both shout at her to stop moving and hug her tightly as they used to do before. . . before all of this.
Should she refuse? Should she run away? Davina spoke just as Ailis was about to lose control and do something rash.
“Finnan, ye must listen to me.” In a voice and tone that Ailis had never heard before, her stepmother spoke again, “Finnan, ye must stop this and listen to me.”
Ailis had never heard Davina press herself forth in such a manner. Not in public. Unless this was their manner in private? She shook herself rather than contemplate that.
Her father faced Davina. One glance at her used-to-be-friend’s face and his gaze softened. He guided her into the alcove near the doorway to listen to her. Ailis could not look away from them. Since their marriage, he had changed. Though he had respected her mother, and loved her in his own way, Finnan MacKinnon never accepted her counsel the way he had Davina’s. He had never listened to Ailis either.
A sound from the man drew her attention. She watched him stretch his neck one direction and then the other. He reached inside his hood and tugged on the mask. A sigh not unlike the one she made when she removed her gloves at night echoed to her. The skin on her hands and arms itched then as though reminded of their discomfort.
What had happened to him? What did the mask and hood cover? Shouldn’t she know before they were man and wife? As though he’d felt her regard, he met her gaze and she thought his eyes might be blue. Mayhap like Lachlan’s were? The ever-present pain reared inside her and she looked away.
“Ailis,” Davina said. “Yer father wishes to give ye some time to acquaint yerself with this man before the marriage is held.”
Ailis stood quickly and nodded. “Several months?”
A strange grating sound drew her gaze to the man in question. If she didn’t know otherwise, she thought he might have just laughed. Why was his voice so rough?
“Nay,” Davina continued to speak for Ailis’ father. “Three days.” At her loud gasp, Davina waved her off. “If, after three days, ye have some specific objection, yer father will consider it.” Davina glanced at her husband and back to Ailis. “If there is no true objection, the marriage vows will be spoken on the fourth morning.”
Torn between thanking Davina for her intervention and screaming like a ban-sidhe, Ailis sat down in the chair nearest the fire and tried to concentrate on finding a way out of this predicament. The scraping of wood across the floor brought her from her reverie. Glancing up, she realized that only the stranger remained.
“So, my lady, tell me honestly why yer father does this?” Iain asked as he slid a chair across the chamber and placed it next to hers. “Is he kenned for fits of madness?”
She couldn’t help herself. She laughed at his candidness before taking a mouthful of ale from her cup.
“He is the most sober and methodical man I’ve ever seen,” she replied. “But none of us have been the same since my mother died last year.”
“Grief can change a person, I think,” he said. “Has his own pain made him wish this upon ye?”
“Why does it matter, sir?” she asked harshly. “Ye walk in here and find yerself marrying a noblewoman. A wealthy one at that. I would think a man like ye would thank the Almighty for such a change in fortune.” She jumped to her feet and strode away.
Grief can change a person, he’d said.
She put the cup down and realized she had nowhere to go. Ailis realized the truth in his words. Grief for her mother’s passing had colored her feelings for the way her father had remarried so quickly. ’Twas expected for a man of his position and age to continue to seek sons, but marrying her closest friend was a step too far.
And the worst blow of them all. . . Lachlan’s death.
Her conscience bothered her in a most disturbing way. This man, who had suffered grievous harm, didn’t deserve to be the target of her ire. He’d played no part in the events of this last year and shouldn’t be burdened by her rudeness.
“Sir,” she said without turning to face him. “I beg yer forgiveness for my rude behavior.” She let out a breath and turned. He stood before her, his height and breadth now apparent to her. She had to lean her head back to see his face, much like. . . . Ailis pushed the pain down once more and tried to make amends. “Ye played no part in what brought me and my father and his wife to this place.”
“May I ask again, what did?”
His voice was softer when he whispered, the hoarseness almost gone and she could understand his words clearly. Though he had dropped the plaid down onto his shoulders, the hood still covered his hair and the mask his face. Ailis should be afraid of this man who would lay claim to her in four days. Yet, she was not.
Mayhap the truth would make him reconsider this madness? Mayhap if he knew how vicious and mean she could be to those she cared about, he would refuse this devil’s bargain or be willing to be paid off to walk away?
“I pushed him into this fit of madness, as ye called it. I did it,” she said while gazing at the ties on his tunic. “I drove him to marry Davina and force me out of my home.”
It took a few uncomfortable moments for her look up to see his reaction. With his head tilted down and the hood low over his brow, it was difficult to see his eyes. For some reason, it felt better not to be able to see the certain censure in this stranger’s gaze.
After several moments, he canted his head as though studying her even more closely. Still wordless, she heard his breathing grow shallow until he leaned down and kissed her.
Everything around her, even her wits, faded as he pressed his mouth to hers. Whatever she’d expected to feel was not what she did. The rough material covering most of his face did not stop his mouth from touching hers, even as it rubbed against her cheek. The lips that touched hers were strong and smooth and undamaged. Worse, or better, she did not mind the kiss.
That made her pull free and step away. She scrambled back so quickly that she stumbled and fell. Before she touched the floor, his hands encircled her waist and he lifted her up. Held there, her back to his front, Ailis could not help but compare him to the last, and only, man who had kissed her and touched her body.
Lachlan.
Pain pierced her heart as it always did at the thought of him and Ailis shrugged off this man’s hold. This time, she took two measured steps back from him. He’d not spoken a word, not about her accepting the blame for this debacle or the kiss he’d pressed on her.
“I fear I should beg yer pardon for that,” he whispered. “But, I canna.” His hand moved towards that mask again, but he dropped it to his side before he touched it. “Will ye explain how ye are to blame for this. . . situation in which we find ourselves?”
Any words she might have spoken wouldn’t come out. The kiss sent her thoughts and memories flailing. He nodded then.
“This is happening quickly and ye have no reason to trust me.” She could almost hear a smile in his voice. “I dinna remember much about myself, but I willna harm ye.” He reached out, crossing the distance between them, and caressed her cheek with the back of his gloved hand.
Whatever she’d planned to ask or say was halted when the door to the chamber swung open and her father stood there.
“A chamber is readied for ye,” The MacKinnon announced.
Ailis jumped back as though burned by his glove. That was Iain’s first thought but he realized she was reacting to her father’s arrival. He was too familiar with the reaction most people had to his appearance. His hood and mask caused fear in many. The reaction would be much worse if they saw him without it.
“Have ye eaten supper?” Ailis asked him. Her gaze fell to his mouth. From the blush that rose into her pale cheeks, he suspected she was thinking on that kiss. Thoughts of that kiss led to more of the vision he’d seen of her naked before him.
“Nay, I havena,” he finally remembered to say.
“Come, I will take you to the kitchen for. . .” she began.
“Nay.”
From the way they both startled, Iain realized his tone had been too forceful. “Yer pardon,” he said, nodding to each one. “I find it better to eat alone.” From the way their eyes darted from his gloves to his hood and then to his mask, they were trying to figure out his injuries. “Just so.”
“Here now,” Lord MacKinnon said. “The maid will take ye to yer chamber and send for food.”
“My thanks for yer hospitality, my lord.”
He had not included being gifted with the man’s daughter, but the thought made Iain want to laugh. His throat tightened, making laughter impossible.
The lady stepped away and watched him leave to follow the servant. She averted those lovely blue eyes as he walked to the doorway.
“My lady.” He waited for her to raise her gaze to him. When she did not, he nodded and moved on to the corridor, behind the girl waiting next to the laird.
The young servant glanced nervously over her shoulder as he walked behind her. By the time they reached the stairway, her pace quickened and he couldn’t keep up. The day had been long, he was hungry and he ached. He turned into the stairwell and found her several steps up waiting for him. Soon, they stood before a chamber. She lifted the latch to open it.
“Yer name, girl?”
“Agneis, my. . . sir,” she said with a curtsy.
“My thanks, Agneis,” he said as he entered the chamber. “Will the food take long?”
“Nay, sir, I will fetch it quickly.” She curtsied before darting away.
Iain glanced around and saw a small but clean bedchamber. A fire burned in the hearth, bringing warmth to the room. He left the door ajar so the servant bringing food could enter. Iain tugged the wet plaid from his shoulders and tossed it over one of the chairs near the fire so it would dry. Feeling exhaustion overtaking him, Iain slumped into another chair to wait for food.
If not for his stomach rumbling, he’d have fallen onto the bed and given in to the growing fatigue. Lord MacKinnon’s servants were quick. Only minutes later, he heard heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. A burly lad carried a tray laden with bowls, plates and a large pitcher.
Iain stood while the lad placed the tray on the table. Fragrant aromas surrounded him and his stomach answered. The lad laughed and lowered his head in a polite nod before leaving.
Not long after the stew, bread, cheese and a fair amount of the strong ale filled his stomach, Iain felt himself drifting to sleep. Without enough strength to walk the four or five paces across to the bed, he tugged the mask free of his head and laid it on the table. Leaning his head on his arms, he fell asleep.
Iain didn’t know how much later, but he woke with the knowledge that someone else was in the chamber. The soft scent of a woman revealed the intruder’s gender and he guessed it was Ailis. If she’d wanted him to know she was there, she would have knocked so she must want to catch him unaware. Now that his hood rested on his neck, the candle’s light on the table would reveal his appearance if she walked to his side. Was that her intent?
He blew at the candle softly and watched as the flame wavered and then went out. A soft gasp told him she knew she’d been caught. Iain waited for her to pull the door closed before he moved. The soft glow of the fire gave him enough light to see. He dropped the bar next to the door into its brackets and listened. Soft footsteps padded away and he let out the breath he’d been holding.
Truly alone and secure, he tugged the hooded tunic over his head. He sighed with relief at its removal. The gloves came next, but they were harder to take off. The skin on his forearms remained sensitive. Once the gloves were in place, it felt more comfortable. He’d been unable to undress for almost a sennight. The air around him hurt and soothed at the same time.
Sliding his breeches down after pulling his boots off, his legs felt the same, both torment and respite. The thin shirt was the last piece of fabric off. Iain stood naked, waiting for the inevitable wave of sensation. He hissed through clenched teeth as his body recovered from the shock of exposure to the cooling bedchamber.
He quickly mixed cold water from the jug with some water heating near the fire and washed as much as he could. Then he cleaned his shirt, placing it over a chair to dry. He needed to stretch or his skin would tighten while he slept.
Checking the bar, he moved as close to the fire as he could before the terror overtook him. Burned, the monks said. His back, legs, arms and hands. Part of his face and the back of his neck. All marked with fire’s touch.
He clasped his hands and leaned over, reaching down to touch the floor. Then, up towards the ceiling. Iain moved as Brother Isiah had shown him. Similar to how he’d trained. . . .
Another shard of memory caught his attention. He had trained as a warrior, wielding sword and staff in battles against. . . .
And that quickly, the opening in the haze of his mind closed, leaving him with another frustrating glimmer of his past.
Barely making it through the entire series of stretching motions he did before sleeping, Iain crawled into the clean bed and sank into its comfortable layers. The ropes beneath him groaned as loudly as he did.
He’d arrived here a stranger, hoping for a meal and shelter from the storm. He ended this day, betrothed to the laird’s daughter, to be married within days unless she could find a true objection to him. Would she? Was his damaged body enough to form an impediment?
The reaction of certain parts of him at the memory of her naked before him proved there would be no impairment of that kind.
The strange events of the day plagued him. His thoughts blended with phantom bits of sounds and images, all moving around in his thoughts. His restless mind sought truths and proofs for hours before he found sleep.