Mary Reed McCall (20 page)

“What is it?” she couldn’t resist asking.

“You’ll be seeing soon enough.”

Aileana’s curiosity spiked. “Aye? And why is it such a secret, then?”

“It’s not so much a secret, really.” He slid closer, and she felt a delicious tingle when his naked thigh brushed against hers. “At least not one meant to be kept. It’s meant to be given,” he said, grabbing her hand under the blanket.

Then, pulling it above the covers, he dropped something heavy into her open palm. Something round that
had warmed in his grip. She stared at it, gasping. It was a ruby ring, delicately made, with a smooth band of gold that glinted in a shaft of afternoon sun. And it was very old by the looks of the black edging on the heavy gilded pattern near the gem. She took it between her fingers and turned it this way and that to examine it more closely.

“This cannot be your ring, Duncan. It is too small.”

He nodded. “You’re right. It would never fit my finger. It belonged to my mother, given to her by my Da. I remember her wearing it when I was a child, as she stroked my brow till I fell asleep.” Then his voice quieted. “Only one other besides her has worn it since, and then but for a single day.”

A bubble seemed to rise in Aileana’s chest, preventing any air from coming in or escaping. She just looked at Duncan, questioning, uncertain.

He gave her a look that was almost pained with its intensity. “It is my betrothal ring, Aileana. It has been in my family for generations, and I’m giving it to you now because I’m asking you to be my bride.”

She felt almost incapable of speaking, but she managed to stutter, “You—you want me to
marry
you?”

“Aye, if you’ll have me. You once offered that very choice to me several months ago, and though I know much has changed since then, I am hoping that you’ll still consider it.”

She sat silent, frozen in the cascade of emotion that overwhelmed her. It was what she’d secretly longed for, and yet…

Her hand, cradling his ring, began to tremble, and she lowered it to her lap.

“Why do you not answer?”

She shook her head, struggling to find her voice. “I—I don’t know what to say. It is so sudden…”

“What’s happened today is sudden, perhaps, but not the possibility of a union between us.” His expression looked serious, as if he were steeling himself for something more. “I want you to know that I do—that is I—” He shifted his gaze away from her for a moment before glancing back to finish, “The truth, Aileana, is that I care about you, deeply. More than I have for any woman since Mairi. Tell me that you’ll be mine in name as we are in body.”

Aileana swallowed the sudden rush of pain; he hadn’t—he couldn’t say he loved her. That didn’t seem too much to want, did it? He’d loved Mairi, she knew that. Dragon’s breath, it seemed she’d suffered the sin of the woman’s death a thousand times over. But could Duncan ever allow himself to love again—and could she live as his wife if he didn’t?

“What of the feud between our clans?” she settled on asking him hoarsely.

“A marriage between us is the solution your own brother proposed that day at Dulhmeny. He will support this as a means of mending the rift. My overlord, the MacKenzie, will as well. You have nothing to fear from that quarter.”

She nodded but remained silent. His assertion was undoubtedly true, but there remained another dark shadow over them, still. A stumbling point even greater, perhaps, than his love for Mairi or their clans’ feuding, and she couldn’t accept his proposal until she’d acknowledged it.

“And what of the
Ealach
?” she whispered, her throat tight. “Will you still wish to take me to wife if I continue in my refusal to give it over to you?”

For a moment she wasn’t sure that he would answer, and her heart plummeted anew when he averted his
gaze. A muscle near his temple twitched before he breathed in and exhaled in a deep sigh.

“Aye, Aileana, I intend to marry you even so,” he said firmly at last. “I want to be with you, lass, with no more anger or bitterness or contention between us. I want to be with you under the law, as your husband. You deserve no less. We’ll find a way through this last trouble as well, and we’ll do it together.”

Heat rose behind her eyes. His offer of marriage didn’t depend on getting back the
Ealach
. He cared for her; he’d said the words earlier, but this proved it. And it was enough for now. More marriages than not were based upon friendship respect, affection…and if the couple was fortunate, physical attraction. They had that aplenty—this afternoon had made that very clear. The caring he felt might deepen to love in time. Until then, she’d just have to love him enough for both of them.

With a bittersweet smile, she cupped his jaw, brushing her hand back into his hair before settling her palm gently on the back of his neck. “I accept your proposal, then, Duncan MacRae. I can think of nothing that would make me happier than to become your wife.” She tipped her face up, sweeping her lips across his, tasting…loving him as no words could.

With a murmured endearment, Duncan returned her passion, easing her back against the pillow. Her hair fanned out beneath them, releasing her sweet scent, and he buried his face in her neck.

Suddenly, his kisses stopped. “Wait,” he murmured against her, his voice husky with desire. He pulled back, and from his expression she deemed that whatever had intruded on the seductive magic he’d been weaving was something very important.

“What is it?”

“There is still one thing left to do.”

Aileana felt his hand close over hers again, felt him slip the ring over her finger. Its contours were heavy and smooth. As solid and strong as Duncan himself, she thought, her heart giving a little twist.

“We’ll speak the words before a priest later, but as of this moment, I consider myself yours, Aileana MacDonell.”

Tears threatened to choke her again, and she swallowed hard. Her smile was tremulous as she whispered, “I am yours as well, Duncan MacRae. I belong to you and no other, from this day forward.”

When he smiled and leaned over to take her mouth in another kiss, spiraling them into renewed passion, Aileana knew that whether or not Duncan realized it yet for himself, she’d finally found the answer to what she’d been seeking all of her life. She knew, suddenly, that the desolation, the emptiness, the hurt—all of the pain she’d felt in her lonely childhood was part of her past, now. She’d found a comfort and sense of belonging far more wonderful than any she’d ever dared to imagine…

For she knew that in Duncan’s arms she’d finally come home.

The Northern Highlands

T
he wind blew its chill breath through the ruined keep. It sent tingles of pleasure down Morgana’s back as she lay on the fur-covered bed next to Colin. She’d always loved the wild shriek of the storms that battered round the old stone walls. It reminded her of her own powers, wild, fierce, and strong.

Colin chose that moment to exhale a loud snore, and Morgana grimaced. She rolled away from him, restless and impatient. It seemed like an eternity before morning. Tucking the silken bolster more comfortably beneath her cheek, she stared into the coals of the dying fire. Sleep was out of the question. The events looming ahead of her tomorrow were far too exciting for her mind to rest.

With a sigh, she looked round her chamber, soaking in the extravagance of her surroundings. Beauty had always been important to her. Being surrounded by perfec
tion of sight and sensation had been one of her driving needs since she was a child. It was why Father had spoiled her as he did. He’d indulged her every whim. Expensive tapestries, velvet and fur-lined gowns, a tiny golden knife for her meals…complete freedom to do as she willed.

Father had been surprised when she’d taken up with old Biddy Ferguson. Yet he’d turned a blind eye, never realizing that she was practicing the Black Arts in the crone’s smoky hovel at the edge of the glen. But Morgana had known from an early age that power bought what goodness could never hope to gain—and that sorcery was the most potent power in the world.

Narrowing her eyes, Morgana played a little game with the last tiny flames in the hearth, changing her view of the shadows as they jumped and danced. And she remembered. Remembered how eager Biddy Ferguson had been to teach her, how eager she herself had been to learn. But Biddy had tried to control her, keeping some of her spells and magic back to insure that Morgana would always need her. So Morgana had watched in secret to learn the rest. When the old woman discovered her duplicity, she’d flown into a rage and threatened to tell Father.

The choice, then, had been clear, though not easy that first time. Morgana had simply silenced her.

Biddy’s death was the start of it, but when Duncan had betrayed her, she’d found the real joy of her new powers. A feeling like none she’d ever experienced had flowed through her the day she had shattered his future and decimated his clan.

And Mairi. Fair, delicate, accursed Mairi. Remembered bitterness washed through Morgana, and she dug her nails into her pillow. She never would have needed to
attack Duncan’s clan, if not for Mairi. Duncan should have been hers, not Mairi’s.
Her
husband, her man. She’d set her sights on him from the first time she’d seen him in the woods. And he’d wanted her, too, she
knew
he had; she’d almost enticed him to kiss her that day—she’d been closer still in the days that followed, when she’d sought him out in the forest…until he’d learned who she was.

Then everything had changed. By the time she was able to meet with him privately again, he’d found his precious Mairi—become
betrothed
to her. And nothing Morgana could say would convince him that a marriage between the two of them would be far better—a way to unite their warring clans.
A way to bring the
Ealach
finally into her grasp
.

She’d gone to Mairi then, hoping to warn her off, telling her not to interfere. But the stupid chit had just cast those big, soft eyes at her, murmuring something about Duncan having already spoken his pledge in front of the Council. And she’d begged Morgana to leave them alone, claiming that she couldn’t give him up, because she loved him more than her own life.

Morgana smiled. Mairi had kept true to her word, she’d grant her that. She’d forfeited her life when she’d crossed Morgana and tried to keep Duncan for her own. All of it had seemed so logical and crystal clear to her. But Father hadn’t felt the same. He hadn’t looked the other way, then. Even without Mairi, the dead had been too many. Scores of her own clan were lost in the bloody attack she’d led against the MacRaes on Duncan’s wedding day.

Morgana squeezed her eyes shut, hoping not to see Father’s face as she last remembered it, red with fury, his eyes cold and condemning. He’d turned on her. He’d al
lowed them to banish her—
her
—his pet and his favorite. Even after she explained how Duncan had betrayed her. How he’d deserved what had happened, and how the Tower was too good for him after the way he’d rejected her.

But Father hadn’t listened. He’d told her that the only thing preventing the clan leaders from hanging her for consorting with the English was that she’d reclaimed the
Ealach
. He told her to feel fortunate in keeping her life…

Right before he’d slapped the back of her horse and sent her into the oblivion of exile and near-certain death.

Shoving herself to a sitting position, Morgana ground her teeth and knocked her pillow to the floor. Satan’s bones, she knew better than to let such memories consume her. It should be enough to know that she’d had her revenge.

Colin made a snuffling sound and stretched his arm to the empty place on the mattress. “What’s wrong?” he mumbled, still half asleep. “Why are you getting up?”

“What difference does it make?” Morgana snapped, standing up in one fluid motion. “Just go back to sleep.”

Colin grumbled under his breath, something about needing a spell to tame her wicked tongue, but he didn’t argue. With a curse, he rolled himself over and was soon snoring again.

Morgana wrinkled her nose at him and paced to the hearth.
Ungrateful wretch
. It was only because of her that they lived in opulence, with none the wiser. From outside, the old keep looked as it always had, ruined and crumbling. An abode fit for beasts and rooks. But thanks to her means of persuasion, she’d filled the central rooms with treasures.

Like the pearl within a shell, she liked to think.

She breathed deep of the scented air, calming her nerves. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would begin the journey that would increase her wealth and powers twenty-fold. It had taken weeks to lay her plans after she’d learned that the
Ealach
was finally unprotected. Ages, it seemed, to summon the power that had finally revealed what Colin hadn’t been able to discover when he rode south with his men…days of invoking spells, of sweating and toiling, seeking that last grain of truth in the contorting flames of her conjure fire to show her just where the amulet rested. And tonight she’d found success. She’d seen a vision of the
Ealach
, bright and glowing in its little den. In the secret grotto. Safe and sheltered from the eyes of men.

But not from the eyes of a witch. Nay, not from that.

Laughter began to bubble up in her, rich and full of spite, dissolving the painful memories. Covering her mouth with her hand, she slipped into a robe she’d left warming near the fire. Only when she’d let the heavy weight of the door close behind her did she allow her mirth full rein. It started as a chuckle and then built to a full-blown shriek of laughter. When it was over she wiped her eyes, relishing the hard, dark feeling that remained in its wake.

Morgana pulled her robe tighter round herself and started down the hall to gather her provisions. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough, for tomorrow she’d begin her journey to revenge.

They’d pay. All of them. She’d make them rue the day they’d banished her to this place of cold nothingness. The day they’d hoped for her death. When she finished with them, they’d be begging for an end to their misery, and her power would reign supreme. As she imagined the moment, her heart beat faster and her breath came shallow.

Thirteen years. She’d waited thirteen long years to taste this vengeance. Nothing could stop the wheels of destruction now. Only one last piece still needed to be gathered, and with it secured, her powers would be complete; the true and final cycle would begin.

Success was a foregone conclusion.

For in a few days, the precious
Ealach
would be hers again.