Chapter Five
Though she spoke to him during the meal, ’twas only the formalities expected at the table. Aye. Nay. My thanks. By rote, she accepted his offer of food and drink as the servants circled them, holding out trays and pitchers.
He served her as a man of noble birth would have known to do. Stunned by what that revealed to him, phantom memories swirled through his thoughts and teased him to remember.
A table filled with people.
A powerful man at its center.
A hall filled with men and women, food and ale.
He tried to grab hold of them and peer into their murky depths to find. . . himself there, but they faded as the morning fog did when the sun appeared. Glancing around this table and this hall, Iain found no one who he’d seen in that vision. The only thing he discovered was that he didn’t belong here.
If that were true, then why had the lady at his side been in his dreams? Why had he seen Ailis there, her face contorted with fear or ethereal with love or glowing in passion? When his damaged body wished to give up its tenuous hold on life over the last months, she had been the only constant thing other than the pain.
The lad working in the stables this morn had let it slip that she’d changed after her mother passed and then again some months ago when she’d suffered some accident. The lad confided that accident was the reason she wore the leather gloves now. Like a madwoman she’d been, he’d offered with a shrug.
Iain pushed the small portion of food he’d placed on his plate around, preferring not to eat with others present. The left side of his face had sustained the worst of the damage and shifting the mask to eat could reveal some of it. Though, he realized, kissing Ailis had not caused it to move at all. With his mouth on hers, he could feel the warmth of her cheek through the fabric.
He tried to converse with Lady Davina, but found his attention drawn back to the woman sitting at his side. In the corridor, he thought she meant to slap him for his rude question about a bastard bairn. Instead, a stricken expression filled her eyes and he knew more than just the answer to his query. He knew that she had loved and lost a man. The loss in her eyes tore into him. He wanted to beg for pardon for his ill-advised, terrible words. Especially those about a bairn.
Just thinking on it made him feel ill. He lifted his cup and drank most of the ale down, hoping it would settle him and his stomach. Turning to the vigilant servants behind the table, he used that movement to lean closer to her so no one else would hear his words.
“I pray yer pardon, my lady,” he whispered as he held the cup out to the servant. “My words were ill-advised at best and my accusation was something I regret. I didna mean to cause ye pain.”
Her body stiffened as she heard his words of apology and then gave him the slightest nod of acceptance. The lady wouldn’t meet his gaze and he didn’t blame her. Still, she seemed a bit more at ease as the meal progressed.
Iain glanced at those gathered for this meal and saw the older man The MacKinnon was trying to betroth to his daughter. At ease, it seemed, at one of the other tables giving no sign of leaving. . . or giving up his claim on the lady. The chieftain’s plan became clear to him. Iain was simply his way of forcing his daughter to accept his choice of husband.
A wise and canny move on the man’s part, when Iain thought on it. Bring in a completely unacceptable choice and she would have to choose the one he wanted her to pick. Something his own father would have appreciated and done. Iain blinked as the image of an older man grew stronger and clearer in his mind. His father?
“Are ye well?” Her voice broke into his confusion. She touched his arm gently but lifted her hand as soon as he stared at it. “Ye stilled. I feared ye had stopped breathing.”
Iain drew in a ragged breath and nodded at her. “Aye, I am well, my lady. Just a momentary lapse of attention while thinking on something.”
“Did ye eat earlier?” she asked, leaning closer. “Ye dinna seem hungry and I ken ye prefer to take your meals alone.”
Iain stared at her face, searching her green eyes and placid expression for. . . something. “I didna.”
With a nod of her head, she called a servant and whispered some instructions to the girl. Once the girl had scampered off to the kitchens, Ailis turned back to him and smiled. Indeed, he could lose his breath at the sight of it.
She intrigued him. She certainly dazzled him. She confused him. But, the main feeling that filled him when he looked at her was a deep sense of connection. Of something lost and now found. And a need to protect her. He wanted to ask if she knew him, but could not reveal the worst of himself to her in order to find out. For, if he had been attacked and left for dead, being unknown was his best defense until he found his own identity and the one, or those, responsible for his condition.
“Food will be waiting in yer chamber,” she said.
Iain marveled at the easy way she’d handled his quandary. And at the way she’d noticed it was a thing to be solved. “My thanks, lady.”
She was a woman used to handling the running of a keep such as this one. A woman like her would have been raised to do so from her childhood on, but she would be expected to run her husband’s household and not her father’s. Glancing at both women seated there, Iain thought he could guess at the reason for the discord between father and daughter: Lady Davina.
Ailis became prickly and irritated by everything the lady, her stepmother, suggested. Every encounter between them that he’d witnessed was the same. Iain sensed no ill will from the laird’s wife. Yet, The MacKinnon’s daughter responded as though her words were insults or unreasonable orders. Studying them, Iain realized they must be the same age.
Had Ailis taken a disliking to her new stepmother because of her age? Or because this young woman supplanted her own place within her father’s house? That seemed the most likely explanation. And now, the young woman ruled the household and her husband. Ailis disapproved heartily from the appearance of it all. Was it simple jealousy at the heart of her behavior?
But, there was another thing he must be missing, for Ailis wasn’t mean-spirited. If she were, she would have no care for his eating or starving. And, though she’d struck at him with words, he could see the regret in her eyes when she had.
Nay, Ailis was not a vicious, unfeeling person. As the chieftain rose, holding out his hand to his wife, Ailis’ expression betrayed the truth of the matter to him. From the briefest flash in her gaze, he recognized what she felt so intensely.
Pain. Loss. Betrayal.
As she rose, he did. With a nod at him, she walked off in the opposite direction her father had taken. Standing there, Iain knew he would have no place here once this confrontation between father and daughter settled. When the three days ended, Ailis MacKinnon would wed the stalwart Sir Duncan as The MacKinnon had arranged.
Iain nodded to no one in particular and walked where his feet took him. But his thoughts turned over as he tried to understand why this chieftain’s daughter should concern him at all. Oh, aye, he’d been drawn into their battle of wills. But something inside tugged at him to help her.
Especially since he should have left, with thanks to the chieftain for his overly magnanimous marriage offer, Iain remained. His purpose here, and at every other town, village and keep where he’d stopped over these weeks, was to find out his own truth. So, why did he want to put that aside and help this woman?
The dreams. It always came back to the dreams of her.
Had his pain-addled mind conjured her up to give him something to concentrate on during the tormented months? Had he truly seen Lady Ailis or just a pale-haired temptress?
Iain heard a shout and looked around. Without paying heed, he’d walked to the yard where the MacKinnon men trained. Watching them challenge each other with weapons, his own hands itched as though missing the feel of something strong and metallic.
“Come there!” a voice called out to him. “Come.”
An impossibly-large older man, garbed only in trews and covered in sweat, motioned to him. He’d been directing the training, ordering men about and assessing their movements, strengths and weaknesses while Iain had watched earlier. Before he could accept or reject the call, the man strode closer and tossed a sword, hilt-first, at him. Iain caught it without difficulty and adjusted his gloved grip around the hilt.
“Ye look like ye might need some work.”
Iain looked down at the weapon in his grasp and recognized the feel of it. Climbing over the fence, he waited as the man studied him, in a prelude to an attack Iain understood would come. Moving with a speed that belied his size, the man raised his sword and swung at Iain as he crossed the few paces between them.
Iain’s body reacted on its own, clearly experienced in this. From his ability to hold this huge warrior at bay, he was clearly skilled at it. Though his muscles protested from their too-long period of inactivity, his movements became smoother, more defined, stronger as they fought.
He stopped thinking and planning his next action and let his body remember what to do. Sometime later, his opponent finally knocked the sword from his grasp, ending their fight.
“Ye fight well with the sword, man.” As he picked up the blade from the dirt, the man nodded. “Verra well, indeed.”
“It has been a long time,” Iain explained.
“Well, ye havena lost any of yer skills.” The man held out his hand. “I am Breac, commander of The MacKinnon’s warriors.”
“I am called Iain,” he said, accepting the man’s strong grasp around his forearm and returning it. “And ye are his brother as well?”
“I am.” The man looked as startled by Iain’s declaration as he felt. He released his hold and stepped back. “Not many ken that and fewer speak of it. How do ye come by such?”
Iain could not explain the knowledge that filled his thoughts. This man was the chieftain’s natural half-brother though he was acknowledged as cousin. A bastard born from the old laird’s loins sired on a servant girl. A fact known by very few. More importantly, he was considered a worthy contender for the high seat if not for his illegitimacy.
“I dinna ken,” he said, shaking his head.
If Breac felt threatened by Iain’s knowledge, it didn’t show. The large man shrugged and, with a quick warning about keeping that to himself, Breac strode off, calling out orders. Iain walked to the fence to climb out, but Breac called him once more.
“Ye should come back and work with us. Yer sword arm is weak,” he said. Others who’d watched them fight called out other opinions, both rude and helpful, about Iain’s weak sword. . . arm and he laughed.
“I will.” His stomach grumbled, reminding Iain he had not eaten all morning.
He rolled his shoulders as he found his way to the kitchen, stretching to loosen the muscles that were not used to such work. It had felt good though. The sword felt as if it belonged in his grasp. The gloves did not slow him down, but his hand ached for the feel of the hilt against its palm. Mayhap he would remove them the next time?
Iain sought out a servant and asked for a bucket of heated water. Sweat poured down him now, making the layers he wore unpleasant and sticky. He needed to find a way to wash and not just quickly from a bucket. The man he asked promised to bring it to his chamber, so Iain went there to wait.
He dropped the bar to block the door once the water arrived. He took his time, removing every piece of clothing. The hood and mask hadn’t impeded his ability to swing a sword. But he found the heat they held in would tire him quickly in a real fight. The mask would also impede his vision in a true battle.
After he’d washed, and while allowing his garments dry a bit, he walked around the chamber and ate the food that was waiting, as promised, for him. He considered the choices that faced him now and how he could best reclaim his own identity and life, wherever that might be.
Now that he comprehended the chieftain’s plan to bait his daughter with him as an unworthy choice to push her where he wanted her to be, Iain thought about leaving. There was truly nothing to keep him here. He owed no allegiance to this lord or this place. Aye, he’d sworn his oath to someone, but here they knew him not.
He could bide his time this day and slip out just before the gates locked for the night or just after they opened in the morn. That was when many slipped in or out with little notice, returning to their houses in the village or coming to their work in the keep. One more man would gain little notice.
By this time on the morrow, he could be well away from here and the spectacle between The MacKinnon and his headstrong daughter. And back to his task of finding his own life. He finished the bread and cheese, content that he’d chosen his path.
The soft knock at the door brought him to a halt.
“Iain?” Her voice, clear and strong, called out his name.
As quickly as he’d made the decision to leave, this woman changed it. There was some reason he could not walk away from here, from her. She was somehow connected to his past and his present. He must find that link.
“Lady,” he said, approaching the door. He grabbed up his trews and hooded tunic and tugged them on as he walked.
“Would ye like to see the village?” she asked. “The day is fair and I thought. . . . Well,” she said. “I thought ye might like to see more than just the keep.”
He pulled the hood down to cover his face and lifted the bar, careful not to face the opening door. Though, if he were honest with himself, he wanted to stare at her and never look away. “I would like that, my lady.” He shifted back. “I will join ye in the hall shortly.”
The lady walked away and he allowed himself to watch her as she did. When she’d turned down the stairway, he closed his door and got dressed. Iain rushed and arrived downstairs before the lady had time to reach the other end of the hall. When she turned at someone’s call, Iain felt as though he was in his dreams again.
It was the first one of the many different times when he saw her in his dreams. Whether ’twas in this hall or another, it mattered not. Someone called her name and she turned and saw him. Her eyes brightened as she saw him and the green of them deepened in arousal and in love. She nodded with the slightest bowing of her head. Then she winked. A secret. Their secret. And he’d kept it, knowing she was his.
All the days of our lives.
The strangeness of the moment faded and the lady stood waiting for him with a question in her gaze. ’Twas more than likely the same question he was thinking.
Who was he?
But that begged a further one. If he knew her, did she him?
With that next step toward her, Iain decided to stay and discover the truth, no matter the cost. And he had no doubt there would be a cost.
To him. To her. To them.