Chapter Seven
If her father thought that spending time with this man would make her more amenable to accepting Sir Duncan, he’d misjudged her badly. And if Davina thought her counsel would be welcomed, she had as well.
The woman who had been her closest friend breathed betrayal into every conversation with Ailis’ father. No matter that she’d managed to forestall a decision by imploring her father for a reprieve. No matter that Davina carried out the tasks that Ailis’ mother had and did it well. Or that she’d provided Finnan MacKinnon with the one thing he’d always sought and had never achieved, a son.
None of that mattered to Ailis as she sat through meals over the next days with her family, her father’s chosen husband and the stranger who’d walked unsuspectingly into their battle of wills. What interested her most right now was how effortlessly the stranger fit at the table and at her side.
They’d spent hours together each day since his arrival and she looked forward to their next encounter. A wry sense of humor revealed itself when they went to the stables to choose a horse for him to ride. His strength was clear in the way he fought during a few more training bouts in the yard. His kindness was shown when they visited the village and he was made to wait while she saw to the needs of those in her care.
His manners at table were no different from Sir Duncan’s and his ease at speaking to the chieftain or his servant hinted of experience. He also seemed well-educated, for he’d offered his opinion on several topics and her father accepted them easily.
He fought well, too.
Ailis had hidden behind the corner of the stables and watched as her father and three of his best warriors challenged Iain to fight. Thought not as strong as they were, Iain held them off well. She could tell when his clothing impeded his movements, but he took nothing off to make it easier for himself.
Oh, how she wanted to see beneath those garments and the mask he wore to the true man beneath! As though he understood her thoughts, he lifted his head and met her gaze.
“Curiosity again, my lady?” Could he read her thoughts? “I saw ye watching today. Did ye see what ye wished to?”
“Nay.” Why deny it? Everyone in the keep and village wondered about the man beneath the layers.
He laughed and she noticed his voice was smoother now than when he’d first arrived. Almost as if he’d not used it before and now it was warming up because he talked more. It remained hoarse and not more than a whisper, at that. But he didn’t struggle to get the words out as he had before.
“If ye would like to speak honestly, I would as well,” he said. He leaned in closer so only she would hear his words. “There are matters to settle between us before this situation escalates further.”
His words, which could have an ominous tone, thrilled her instead. Over these last days, they had spoken on many matters and Ailis always felt as though he considered her words in a way no one here ever did. Only Lachlan had.
“There now. Ye have that look in yer eyes,” he said. “What were ye thinking just then?”
Ailis swallowed down the tears and grief and shrugged at his question. “A memory, sir.”
“So that is what my face,” he began, “What my eyes look like when I remember something?”
She would have run away, uncomfortable at the thought of discussing Lachlan with this stranger, but he reached out and took her hand. Guiding it under the table, he entwined their fingers and squeezed her hand.
“Who was he?”
His question, stated softly and plainly, threatened to shatter her very being. Other than Davina, no one here knew about Lachlan or their love. The only word that ever arrived was that one of The MacLean’s sons had died in a fire. Since their clans were not in good standing with each other, barely a moment was wasted on that news. Her own injury in that fire had been hidden and blamed on something completely separate from that. Only she and Davina knew that truth as well. When he squeezed her hand, she decided to speak the name of the man she would never stop loving.
“His name was Lachlan. He died last year.”
In the few moments after her disclosure, Ailis waited for his reaction. Her previous words about the loss of her virtue, spoken in anger that first night, must be on his mind now. When she could no longer bear the heavy silence between them, she glanced at his face.
His gaze was empty. He stared over her head and didn’t seem to know she was there. He was remembering something!
“Does the name mean something to ye, Iain?” she whispered, tugging on their joined hands to gain his attention. “Do ye remember that name?”
Was he a MacLean? Had Lachlan been his kin? Mayhap there was some family resemblance that caused her to think of her lost love when he spoke. . . or when he kissed her? Another suspicion tickled her memory, but she pushed it away for its absurdity. Lachlan was dead, she was certain. She squeezed his hand harder and called his name once more.
“Iain? Did ye ken Lachlan MacLean?”
He blinked. She could see his eyes moving within the mask’s openings. His hand shook in her hold and she held her breath awaiting his disclosure.
“I thought for a moment that I did,” he admitted, his voice hoarse again. “But, like the other memories that have haunted my dreams and my mind, it flitted away.”
“But that doesna mean ye didna ken him.” He shook his head and released her hand.
“Alas, my lady,” he said, regret filling his voice. “I have no memory of anyone by that name. Or any MacLeans.”
Davina had chosen that moment to eavesdrop. Ailis heard her gasp at the name of their enemies.
“Ailis, I pray ye leave that subject,” she warned.
Ailis took in a breath and let it out before saying a word. Even that did not help curb the anger she felt.
“And I pray ye to stop interfering.”
Iain stopped any further exchanges when he stood between them. He asked her father’s leave to go before stepping back.
“I would speak to ye,” her father said, rising as well. “Come now.”
Though the words were spoken in an easy manner, they were an order and Iain nodded. She glanced over and saw Breac and another of his men rise, too. Strange that. Fear flooded her and she worried that her father had some ominous fate planned for Iain. She reached out and took his hand, pulling him back to her.
“Have a care, Iain,” she whispered. “If ye still wish to talk,” she said and then paused. At his nod, she continued, “I will await ye in yer chamber.”
Watching as the four men made their way out of the hall, Ailis was surprised when Davina slid across and sat in the chair at her side. Their usual practice was to go their own way once the meal was done.
“Is it wise to speak of the MacLeans with this stranger, Ailis?” Davina asked. “With tensions so high and the recent conflict so fresh?”
The MacKinnons and the MacLeans, and the MacLeods for that matter, all claimed different and changing portions of the Isle of Mull. Lands and cattle, moved from owner to owner every year, it seemed. The MacKinnons had lost their lands to the south and had been pushed to almost the very northern edge of Mull in the most recent feuding. And, the alliances with the king shifted at a furious pace, one clan or another in his good graces or outlawed as they met or refused his demands.
“Iain but asked a question, Davina. I answered him.”
“But ye swore never to speak his name,” she said in a softer voice and tone. “Yet ye told this stranger. Was that wise?”
“I promised him honesty and so I answered his question.”
“Honesty?” Davina leaned back against the chair. “Why would ye promise him such a thing? Ye dinna ken him. Ye dinna owe him.”
“He walked in seeking the hospitality of our hall, a refuge from the storm, and found himself in the middle of. . .a clan war of sorts. He will leave with a full stomach and a few nights’ rest and some coin if my father is feeling generous. But not the bride he has been promised. The least he deserves from me is honesty, Davina.”
Davina smiled now. Ailis recognized that smug, satisfied smile from their years as friends. It signified a task gone well or a prank enjoyed.
“So ye will marry Sir Duncan then?” Davina asked.
“I wish to marry no one,” Ailis admitted aloud. “I have no heart in me for a husband.”
Davina reached over and covered Ailis’ hand. She leaned forward and pressed against Ailis the way they used to when sharing secrets or plotting some mischief.
“Lachlan is gone, Lis,” Davina whispered. “Ye must go on with yer life.” The tears burned in her eyes. “Ye have lost so much in such a short time, but ye canna live in the past forever.”
This was the first time that Davina had advised her on any matter since she’d married Ailis’ father. The longing for such comradery shook Ailis to her bones. Ailis missed Davina almost as much as she missed Lachlan and her mother.
“I ken ye dinna understand why I accepted the offer of marriage to yer father, but ’twas not done to hurt ye or tarnish the memory of Lady Elisabet. I had so few choices to make a good marriage, Lis. Yer father—”
“Was a good match?” she asked. The bitterness couldn’t be held in after all. It burned in her gut like the fire that consumed Lachlan had. Hot. Strong. Corrosive.
“Aye, a better match than a lowly MacNab cousin could have or should have hoped for. Ye ken that. Ye kenned my circumstances.” Davina shrugged. “More than that, Lis, he makes me happy.”
“He is old enough—” she began.
“To be my father? Aye, he is that. I grieve for yer losses, Lis, but I refuse to beg forgiveness for seeking and finding my own happiness.”
Davina didn’t wait on her response. Truly, what could she say? As she watched in silence, Davina rose and stepped away from the table. Before she left, she leaned back down to Ailis.
“And, no matter what ye might think, I never once broke a confidence of yers. I havena told yer father anything about our time as friends.” She left the table, followed by a servant and the steward.
The other servants, who had clearly understood the private nature of the conversation between the lady of the keep and the chieftain’s daughter, now returned to clean up the dishes, plates and cups from the table. As she walked to Iain’s chamber, her thoughts turned back to Davina’s words. She could admit to herself that she had feared the exact thing that Davina denied, that she’d revealed private knowledge to Ailis’ father in the intimacy of their marriage.
If Ailis had been in her right mind and not driven nearly mad with grief, she wouldn’t have begrudged her friend’s happiness, no matter where she’d found it. Davina was a distant cousin to Ailis’ mother with few prospects. She had hoped to find a place in Ailis’ household on her marriage and never dreamed of anything higher than that.
She sighed as she approached the bedchamber at the end of the corridor. No sounds came from within, so she knew Iain was still with her father. With a warning knock before she lifted the latch, she spoke his name and opened the door. As she entered, she left the door ajar so he would be aware of her presence when he arrived.
The room was as she’d directed. A fire tended in the hearth, food on the table and jugs of ale and water waiting for him. She walked to the small chest along one wall and found two tunics and trews folded neatly on top of it. Ailis touched the unused garments.
’Twas almost as if he didn’t want to take anything offered him. As if he didn’t belong.
It amazed Iain how cold the chambers in a stone keep could be. If not for the well-set fire in the chieftain’s hearth, Iain would have been chilled. Standing naked, except for his boots, before The MacKinnon was not what he had planned to do, but the man would brook no refusal. Breac and the other man stood nearby in case he thought to naysay their laird, though their gazes were directed elsewhere throughout this inspection.
“Does it yet pain ye?” The MacKinnon asked as he nodded his permission for Iain to dress.
Iain shook his head as he turned his back and tugged the trews up, tying the laces at his waist. The hooded tunic followed, but he left the hood gathered at his neck as he placed the fabric mask over his face and tied it behind his head. When he eased the hood into place, Iain felt more secure. Facing the others as he slid on the gloves, he looked for their reaction to his disfigurement and was surprised by the lack of it.
“I’d sent men to the brothers to confirm yer story,” The MacKinnon said as he offered Iain an empty cup.
The older man reached up on a shelf and took down a precious glass bottle. Opening it himself, the laird poured a good amount of the golden liquid into Iain’s cup before pouring some for himself. Breac and the other two were dismissed with another nod before the powerful man directed him to sit.
Iain waited for him to take a drink of the uisge beatha first and then sipped from his cup. This was a powerful brew and he waited as it moved over his tongue and down his throat. ’Twas a smooth, deep, intense and rich flavor of a skillfully-distilled spirit. He paused before drinking more and looked at the chieftain.
“Did ye find what ye were seeking?” he asked. Iain had questioned the brothers for days trying to find out more about himself.
“Gold has a way of loosening men’s tongues,” The MacKinnon began. “Much like this does.”
He held up his cup of uisge beatha between them and drank more of it. Did the man think Iain held back some secret that spirits would free? If only it was that simple. Iain took a deep swallow and waited for the rest of The MacKinnon’s disclosures. The warmth of the golden liquid spread from his stomach to his limbs, removing any lingering discomfort. But it didn’t ease the sense of warning in his blood.
The chieftain’s gaze revealed not a glimmer of recognition. No sign that the man saw anything in his features, those that had not been burned, that were familiar to him. Iain let out a breath and waited for what the chieftain would say, now that Iain understood his identity was yet unknown.
“They told me exactly what ye had said. Injured and left for dead. Ye spent the last several months in their care.” The laird drank another mouthful and then nodded at Iain. “They said that ye are lucky, blessed, to be alive at all. That ye should have died ten times over but ye are a stubborn one and wouldna give in.” Another deep draw on his cup. “They pray that ’tis not vengeance that drives ye so.”
“Someone tried to kill me.”
He’d thought on it in the long hours filled with pain and torment. Someone wanted him dead. Did they know they hadn’t succeeded? Were they watching him as he sought out his past? Or had they thought themselves safe?
“Aye. From the look of ye, they almost succeeded. That ye stand before me speaks to yer strength and courage. Admirable traits in a man.”
Iain could hear the hesitation and the coming word.
But. . . .
“Ye will be on yer way on the morrow.”
Iain smiled as the chieftain confirmed what he’d suspected. The man would never let this stranger marry his daughter. His instincts had been proven correct. No man as powerful and intelligent as this one would let some stranger walk in and take his daughter in marriage.
“I was a convenient weapon to force her to yer will.”
He stated the words without rancor. ’Twas what his own father would have done. Though he didn’t know who his father was, he knew to his marrow that he was as canny and strong as the man who stared at him over cups of uisge beatha.
“Just so,” the man said, finishing his spirits and rising to his feet. “I dinna wish ill of ye,” he said. Iain drank the last drops from his cup and placed it on the table. “But my daughter will marry Duncan MacNeil.”
Iain almost asked if his daughter understood that, but he held the words behind his teeth. He walked across the chamber to the door and would have left without another word exchanged, if the laird hadn’t called out.
“She may not wish to, but she kens her place and her duty.” The man paused as though waiting for the conviction of his own words to make him believe them. “When ye sort things out or if ye canna, I could find ye a place if ye have need of one.”
He understood that by the time that happened, Ailis would be safely married and sent off across the sea to Barra, one of the MacNeils’ lands.
“I will think on yer offer, my lord,” he said before lifting the latch.
“Iain? One more thing.” The man crossed the chamber and stood in front of him. “The brothers said that ye were found elsewhere before they brought ye to their community.”
“I was?” He’d not been told that before. “Did they say where? When?”
“Only that two of their number were traveling back from Iona and found ye closer to the coast in the south. Once they thought ye might survive, they took ye to the settlement and cared for ye there.”
When he met the laird’s gaze, the gleam told Iain that The MacKinnon knew or suspected more than he was saying. The coast to the south of Mull belonged to the MacLeans, from just below Tobermory, around past Craignure and towards Iona, the Holy Isle.
The MacLeans were enemies of the MacKinnons.
The man’s green eyes, the same as his daughter had, narrowed ever so slightly. Iain might have missed it if he hadn’t been looking at just that moment.
“See yerself gone by the noon meal. Breac will see to ye if ye dawdle.”
Iain walked out, passing Breac in the corridor as he waited on his brother’s orders. The chieftain had things in hand, but Iain wondered if Ailis understood her father’s plan.
But right now, all Iain could think about was the woman waiting in his chamber and getting to her.