Chapter Eight
Finnan MacKinnon watched the young man leave and poured himself another half-cup of the potent spirit before sitting down. He’d seen many things in his life, many injuries in battle and accidents, but nothing compared to the damage wrought on this man.
Like he’d survived Hell’s fires on earth was how his men said the brothers had described his condition when they’d found him. Burned over half of his body, the back of his head and the side of his face and neck. From his own inspection just now, Finnan couldn’t imagine the amount of pain and suffering the man had endured to survive.
Yet, he had. Not only had he survived but he was recovering and regaining his strength. The training bout with him, Breac and the others demonstrated that this man made it this far back into living by sheer force of will. He drank another mouthful and thought on the other information his men had brought back.
Finnan had asked him if he lived for revenge. ’Twas a powerful emotion, nay a need, and one that could give purpose and focus when everything seemed hopeless. And this man had lived in the constant torment of his injuries for months. So only something as powerful as vengeance could drive him back from the edge of death.
Or. . . .
The brothers had also told his men something else. That this man’s dreaming and waking hours were filled with visions of a woman. He’d spoken to her in his delirium, called out to her for help and declared his love for her countless times. He screamed for her in the worst of his pain so much that the brothers feared he’d damaged his already-burned throat and voice.
He’d never spoken and said he didn’t know her name or her identity. Iain, as they called him, could describe every single feature of the woman, some of it shocking in its intimacy and, yet, couldn’t recall her name.
Long, flowing, blonde hair that reached below her hips.
Deep, emerald-green eyes surrounded by long lashes.
Full lips, creamy skin and a lithe figure.
In other words, Finnan’s own daughter, Ailis.
He tossed back the rest of the uisge beatha and was tempted to fill his cup again. That report had forced his hand. He took the distasteful action of making the man undress before him.
He needed to discover if he recognized this man. Had he some connection to their clan? Finnan needed to know what the injuries did to him. He needed to know. . . . if this man knew his Ailis.
But what bothered Finnan most were the bits of other details he was now remembering that might be linked to this man.
Though Ailis might not believe it, he had and still grieved the loss of Elisabet. The last year since her passing had been a jumble of loss and grief and life moving on. If it wasn’t something critical to his rule of Clan MacKinnon, Finnan would admit that he paid little heed in the confusion of the times.
His precipitous marriage to Davina had seemed harsh and unfeeling to his daughter, but he’d had his reasons for doing so. Good reasons, too, in his mind, for the lass’ father had a much different fate in mind for her. The only way Finnan could stop it was by offering marriage. That it had brought the intelligent, kind and passionate woman into his bed and his heart and given him a son were results he wouldn’t argue about. Best of all, she was safe. . . and she was his.
He’d watched as Ailis sank into the clutches of grief and almost madness after her own injuries that left her marred. Now, considering the timing of this man’s injuries and his daughter’s, Finnan wondered if they were linked. Had there been a fire in a place where they’d both been?
Something struck him, a memory of word coming from the MacLeans in the south. A son. Lost in a fire. When had it happened? Could Ailis have been involved?
Could this man truly be a MacLean? Could he be the MacLean son his family believed had perished in that fire? It would explain the man’s skills with the sword, ease on horseback and other small details that had shown in his behavior.
Since his daughter had not a civil word for him, Finnan knew there was only one person he could ask such things. One person who would know if his daughter had been injured with the MacLean son. Involved with the MacLean son.
And she would return to this chamber after seeing to their son’s needs in a short while.
Davina knew more about Ailis than anyone, living or dead. She’d been closer to his daughter than even Elisabet had been. Though he had poked and prodded, his wife had never spoken of his daughter except in general terms. She’d offered her opinion and advice, made suggestions about how to deal with Ailis, but had never revealed anything of their time spent as friends.
It had frustrated him. It angered him sometimes when trying to manage her. But Davina wouldn’t speak against her friend no matter what he asked of her.
Would she speak now? Would she tell him the truth of Ailis and any involvement with this man?
Remembering the day of Ailis’ injury, Finnan realized there had been no actual explanation of the burns. Just a lot of crying and tears and calling the healer from the village. Once she’d been seen to and as she healed, Finnan had brushed the incident aside. He paid heed more to his then-pregnant wife than his stubborn, strong-willed daughter who refused his wishes at every turn.
And now?
The possibilities of the truth shocked him as he connected seemingly unrelated events.
Well, no matter what his wife would tell him or not, on the morrow, whether a MacLean or from some other clan, Iain would be on the road away from Dun Ara. When Iain was gone, Finnan would think on whether he should send word to The MacLean to speak to the man. After all, if Kennan had been in a situation such as this, he would sell his soul for word of his survival. Enemies or not, The MacLean deserved that consideration.
Since, by the end of the day, Ailis would be married to Duncan and his responsibility to bear, ’twould do no harm.
Iain pushed the door open and found Ailis sitting on the bed. He stepped inside. With a glance at the guard that now dogged his steps, he closed the door. She jumped up as though embarrassed to be found sitting there.
“That took longer than I expected,” she said, walking towards him. “What did he say?”
“His men returned from speaking with the brothers. He wanted me to ken what they told him.” He could see the interest in her lovely eyes as he spoke. She wanted to know and knew her father wouldn’t speak to her of it.
“And?” she blurted out as she wrung her hands together. He had offered to speak candidly with her and he would.
“It mattered not, for yer father has no intention of allowing me to marry ye, lady.”
From her reaction, or lack of one, it had surprised her as little as it had him. She nodded and it made her hair ripple over her shoulders and down her back. He’d only just noticed that it was loose. . . as in his dreams.
“So it surprises ye not?”
She shook her head, a slight sadness in her green gaze. “I ken his ways,” she admitted. “I had hoped. . . .”
Iain watched her as she smiled, but it was not like the smiles he’d seen these last days. Instead, it was one filled with the wistfulness and wanting of a woman who would never be permitted to marry as she chose. Surely not a man without a memory, without kith or kin.
“He has ordered me gone by midday on the morrow.”
Her gasp echoed across the chamber. He stood by the door, believing the distance between them would keep him from doing anything foolish before he departed Dun Ara. Like taking her in his arms and kissing her breathless until she melted in his embrace. And peeling off her garments and finding out if he did, indeed, know every inch of her body as he thought. He would finally know if her place in his dreams was just the machinations of a disturbed mind or something else.
He would discover if she had a birthmark on the inside of her right thigh or if he’d only dreamt it. And if she had a weakness to being tickled in the curve of her buttocks that made her sigh and laugh. He would kiss her there and lick a path between her. . . . He shook at the intensity of the wanting that flooded him.
So lost in his lustful thoughts was he that he never heard her approach. She stood inches away from him. He fought the urge to grab her, take her and mark her in some way as his.
“I have felt both a comfort and a desire in yer embrace that I never thought to feel again, Iain,” she whispered.
The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her pink lips. His control frayed with every second that passed and with every movement she made toward him.
“Ye shouldna speak of such things, lady,” he warned. Iain tried to step back and found the wood of the door in his way. “I leave in the morn and. . . .”
“Aye, ye leave on the morrow and I face marrying a man I dinna wish to marry.”
“Lady –”
“Ailis.” She took the final step between them and he felt her soft curves against his body. “I pray ye, say my name.”
Iain understood the dangers of letting her name free on his tongue. Desire filled her eyes and flushed her cheeks. Her breathing grew shallow and quick. His body reacted to the signs of her arousal.
“Ailis.”
He reached out, slid his gloved hands into her hair and pulled her face to his. For once, he hated the mask and hood that usually gave him comfort and security. He wanted to touch her skin to skin, but he couldn’t bear to see the disgust in her gaze if she saw the disfigurement her father had just witnessed.
“Iain,” she said on a sigh.
He ached for her touch, her kiss and her love. Since he could never lay claim to that, he would take her desire and passion instead and give her pleasure in return. He searched her eyes for any sign of hesitation before taking her mouth. Now he would kiss her breathless.
And he did, plunging his tongue in to taste and feel hers. She opened to him, even leaned into his embrace, and he delved deeply into the heat he found there. He heard the moan she made as he suckled on her tongue. He stilled when he felt her hands, her bare hands, cover his gloved ones.
Ailis slid her hands down, over his wrists and into the sleeves of his tunic until she reached the edges of the leather. He released his hold and allowed her to remove the gloves, knowing what she would behold there. Would it stop her? Iain held his breath for her reaction.
His right hand and arm bore some damage, but the left was worse by far. The brothers had surmised that he’d landed on his right side, protecting that part of his body from the fire that had burned him so badly. His left hand and arm had few places on them where the skin was intact and not melted in ridges, either while it burned or when it healed.
Her soft caresses on his skin caused a series of bursts to move along his arms. Not painful, exactly. But not the pleasure such a touch should elicit. That he’d felt there. . . before. If she was repulsed by the feeling of it, neither her gaze nor her continued caress revealed it.
Iain leaned in and kissed her again, as she gently slid her hands over his arms. He caught her sighs and tugged her closer so their bodies pressed against each other. Against her quiet protest, he moved his arm free of her grasp and reached up to loosen her hair. He wanted to see the curtain of silky tresses hanging around her. Only the silky tresses, if he had his way.
As though she’d heard is thoughts, Ailis began to loosen the ties of her gown and the shift that lay beneath it. ’Twas what he wanted, but he wouldn’t take her standing up fully dressed like a whore. She was a lady who deserved better treatment. She deserved pleasure and love.
“Ailis,” he whispered as he moved her one very small step back from him. “Ye should go.” Every fiber of his body and soul and heart waited on her next words.
“Do ye want me to leave, Iain?”
“Nay, Ailis. I want ye to stay. But I think mayhap the best thing for ye would be to leave me now.”
He could hear his breathing, shallow and quick. He listened to hers match his in the few seconds that seemed an eternity of waiting. Iain closed his eyes behind the damned mask and steeled himself for the inevitable disappointment that must come from such a lady.
“I want to stay, Iain. For this night. To discover what truly lies between us.”
His eyes opened to witness a smile that must have been like the one that Eve gave Adam to tempt him to sin. And, damn his soul and his desire for her, he would fall into that temptation. Iain spent only one moment finding and dropping the bar to secure the door before he turned back to her.
“Get on the bed,” he said in a voice thick with desire and need. His hands itched now as they had as they’d healed but, this time, it was for her. “And take off yer gown.”