Authors: The Sweetest Sin
“But we cannot let him take Gavin to be murdered!”
“I confess I know not what to do,” Robert said, looking pale and suddenly ill-suited for the role of laird so recently vacated by their father. “Our men have been defeated on the field, and I—”
“I have an idea,” Aileana interrupted in desperation, her stomach twisting with the thought, even knowing as she did that there was little choice in the matter.
“What is it? Quickly, Aileana, tell me.”
She swallowed. “Perhaps we can establish a peace between our clans.”
“How? The MacRae rejected my offers of wealth and land.”
“It can be achieved through a marriage. A wedding between the MacRae and a MacDonell would go far in compelling him to be more reasonable about this.”
“Marriage?”
Robert looked at her as if she’d grown a third eye. “What self-respecting MacDonell woman would be fool enough to agree to marry with the leader of the wild Mac…” His voice trailed off as understanding hit him, and he pulled back as if she’d struck him. “Please, don’t say you’re thinking of
yourself
, Aileana. Bind yourself to the MacRae?” He was reacting as if she’d suggested he let her stretch her neck on the English king’s block—something she supposed might not prove to be all that much more awful than what she was proposing. “I’ll not allow it. It would be shameful—especially for you, the laird’s daughter and keeper of the amulet.”
“And yet our brother will die if you do not at least consider it.”
Aileana’s quiet reminder seemed to stifle Robert’s remaining protests. His mouth clamped shut, and he looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. “God, Aileana—marry the
MacRae?
” he echoed, as if he couldn’t believe she was truly considering the possibility.
She nodded, steeling herself to see this through. It was always the same; she would make a sacrifice for the sake of her family and clan, though even she had to admit that marrying the MacRae went beyond what she’d ever dreamed would be required of her. Her mind almost refused to grasp the concept. Yet if the clans declared peace, Gavin’s life would surely be spared.
She twisted to view the cursed subject of their conversation. He leaned against the table, his arms folded across his chest, an expression of annoyance darkening his features. He was a formidable man, tall and powerful-looking, with the gold-flecked hair and chiseled jaw that marked most of his kinsmen. From what she’d seen, the MacRae was a force to be reckoned with. Life would be nothing but misery with him, to be sure.
And yet their choices seemed few. If nothing was done, Gavin would suffer a terrible fate; married or no, she could at least survive. And there was a slim possibility that she might prosper as Duncan’s wife, if he could be convinced to take their bargain.
At that moment, the object of her thoughts clenched his fists and pushed away from the table’s edge. When he stalked toward them, she got the distinct impression of a thundercloud about to burst.
Her chance at prosperity suddenly seemed remote.
Before the MacRae could reach them, Aileana faced Robert again whispering her insistence that he accept her plan. Revulsion almost choked her, but she reminded herself that Gavin’s life hung in the balance. She would
survive as the MacRae’s wife if he agreed to have her. At least she hoped that she would.
When Duncan reached them he growled, “Enough. It’s time to finish this.”
“That you deserve repayment for the harm that was inflicted on you is clear, MacRae.”
Duncan’s gaze snapped to Robert, uncertainty and distrust written in every hard, sculpted line of his face. “You’re
agreeing
with my claim against your brother?”
Robert nodded. “I know you were wronged. But Morgana was a dark influence upon the youth that Gavin was those many years ago. Because of that, I’m asking you to have compassion, though I would not ask you to go empty handed. I have a proposition.”
“Explain,” Duncan said. Aileana saw a muscle jump in his cheek, and she would have sworn that his gaze grew several degrees colder.
“A peace between our clans would help to undo the wrongs that have been committed on both sides. You were attacked most unfairly those many years ago. Today, we mourn the death of our chieftain, my father, along with countless other loyal and true MacDonells.”
Duncan clenched his jaw again, but said nothing.
Aileana watched Robert’s fingers twisting behind his back. Sympathy filled her at the knowledge of how difficult this was for him; he was trying to forget his own concern for Gavin’s safety, while suffering the frustration of knowing that he was going to offer her as bait to their sworn enemy. Pride surged in her breast. Her brother displayed strength of spirit in front of the evil tyrant, and it helped her to stand bravely beside him.
“I propose an offering for peace.” Robert paused, and then spoke each remaining word as if it was a precious
pearl. “I will give you our Aileana’s hand in marriage in exchange for Gavin’s life.”
There, it was said.
Aileana lifted her chin higher, her even expression calculated to show that she knew full well her bride-value. A man like Duncan MacRae would need to search far and wide for a willing woman with bloodlines more noble than her own.
The MacRae remained silent, his face immovable granite, his eyes deepening from gray to icy flint. The only sign that he’d heard came in the twitch of a muscle near his temple. For a moment, Aileana thought that he would ignore Robert’s offer and add to the insult by walking from the hall without another word. But then she watched in fascinated horror as his expression changed—to what, she wasn’t certain. Perhaps sharpened was the best way to describe it.
With careful, measured steps he approached her and cradled her chin in his firm grip. His leather glove felt warm and smooth against her skin, making a tingle of raw sensation sweep through her. Her gaze fixed to his sensual lips as they edged upward. But instead of relief, his smile made her feel captured. Frozen in place.
Wordlessly, his hand drifted from her cheek to her shoulder; he raised a tendril of her hair and rubbed it between his finger and thumb. Through the numbness, a dark thought began to edge its way into the recesses of her mind. It wriggled and twisted, forcing itself into her consciousness until it became too strong to ignore. Then it burst upon her with the turbulence of an impending storm.
The bastard was inspecting her like a sow at market.
Aileana gasped and her cheeks burned. But before she could react, his hands slid down her sides to her hips, his
touch bold, testing her flesh with unmistakable meaning. It was a show put on for the others, she knew; he had already seen her unclothed in the glen, and that made it all the worse.
With a guttural cry, Aileana shoved at him and stepped back. He didn’t move. His eyes glinted with laughter, a deeper smile quirking his arrogant mouth…and her temper snapped. She whipped her arm upward, intending to slap him hard enough to make him see stars, but he reached out and grabbed her hand, stopping her.
“Not a very docile sacrifice, are you, lassie?” Duncan murmured for her ears alone, though his deliberate movements could be seen by all as he pressed her arm to her side again firmly.
Robert looked ready to throttle him, clearly struggling to hold himself in control for Gavin’s sake as he paused before muttering again, “So what say you, MacRae? Will you be taking my sister to wife or not?”
So great was Aileana’s fury that she almost didn’t hear Duncan’s response. But his answer gradually seeped through, making the blood in her veins congeal.
“Your sister is attractive enough. My own eyes told me as much earlier today in the glen. And it’s true I need a woman to warm my bed.”
With a nod of decision, he leaned forward and directed a glare at Robert. “Agreed, MacDonell. I’ll spare your brother’s life in exchange for taking possession of your sister. But I’ll not take her as wife.” He flicked his silver gaze to her. “I’ll take her as leman.”
Robert’s stupefaction matched hers, it seemed, though his lasted but an instant. With a bellow of rage, he lunged at Duncan, only to be yanked to a stop by three MacRaes who’d been standing behind him. Aileana watched the struggle as if in a dream; she shifted her
gaze and saw Duncan shrug, saw him nod for his men to drag Gavin from the castle, saw him move toward the huge, arched portal at the end of the great hall…
Her palms felt clammy. The image flashed through her mind of what her life would be like as a social outcast, reviled and scorned, isolated by walls more impenetrable than those erected around her as the
Ealach
’s keeper. Yet she knew she must speak before the MacRae vanished through the door, taking Gavin with him. Swallowing the dry ball in her throat, she took two steps forward.
“Wait,” she whispered.
The MacRae didn’t hear her. He kept walking, his stride inexorable, his hands clenched into fists of violence and hate.
“Wait, I said!” Her command bounced from the stone walls of the hall, its echo fading to utter silence.
Duncan had stopped at the authority in her voice. Now he turned with slow deliberation. His head tilted slightly down and to the side, and she felt a sharp piercing sensation in the area of her heart when his gaze locked with hers.
“You dare to forestall me longer?”
“I stopped you because I—” she faltered, twisting her fingers in her plaid, “—because I wish to accept your terms of agreement.”
Duncan stiffened, staring at her in silence, while Robert clamored protests. Aileana simply shook her head and held firm.
Shifting his weight forward, Duncan bridged the distance between them. When they stood less than two paces apart, he came to a halt. “The agreement is for you to come with me as
leman
. You will hold none of the privileges of wife, though I will be taking a wife later. You will still be required to remain with me, to use or
discard as I see fit.” He knew his words were harsh, but he wanted them to be, to ensure no misunderstanding in their bargain.
Aileana didn’t answer right away. She was looking at a point above his shoulder, and as he waited, he saw the color of her cheeks intensify. Finally, she nodded. “I understand.”
Duncan stood still, unable to pull his gaze from her; shock swept through him, mingled with disbelief, hostility, and desire. He’d never thought she would be so bold as to accept the offer. A tiny flicker of respect for her courage filled him, but he quenched it. This was revenge, pure and simple, though it meant he’d have to forego the pleasure of killing Gavin MacDonell. But Gavin would suffer endless agonies over his sister’s humiliation, and that kind of living hell would be almost as good as the death he’d planned to inflict on him.
“Very well.” Looking over his shoulder, he called to the men holding Gavin, “Release him.” Then he gestured Robert toward Aileana. “Say your farewells. We’re leaving.”
As he waited, Duncan struggled to control the warring emotions that besieged him. He didn’t like the turn the day had taken. It created a host of new problems. But Aileana MacDonell had called his bluff on the challenge he’d been so reckless to throw at her, and honor demanded that he go through with the deal.
Her proximity to him would have one added benefit, though; she would be under his power, making it easier for him to force her to reveal the
Ealach
’s location. Images of the methods open to him, of her beauty and the pleasures she could provide, drove lancets of desire through him. But then thoughts of her kinship to Morgana doused the flames in a shower of ice.
Facing her again, he issued the order to leave. He forced himself to remain impervious to the wrenching loss painted across her delicate features, trying to ignore the worry so obvious in Robert’s eyes. It was what they’d agreed to, damn it. And there wasn’t another instant to waste. It was time to go.
“Come. We’ve miles to cover before sundown.”
Aileana fixed her grief-stricken face forward, refusing to meet his gaze. As he took her arm and led her through the door, Duncan closed his ears to the soft sounds she made as she clearly struggled to hold back tears. But at the portal she twisted round in his grasp, craning her neck to see her brothers for as long as possible until the solid wall of stone blocked their view. Still he led her on, pushing ahead until they reached his stallion.
He hoisted her in front of him astride Glendragon’s saddle. As they began to ride, a coppery wave of her hair slid across his face, and, annoyed, he brushed it aside. But not before its fragrance wafted to him, sweet honey and clove. The pure simplicity of it twisted a knot in his gut and played havoc with his senses.
As if she somehow discerned his reaction, Aileana stiffened. Duncan watched the signs of grief fade from her face as if by the stroke of a wand, masked by that bland expression she seemed to wear so often. Even her tears dried quickly under the snap of the wind.
Gritting his teeth, Duncan urged Glendragon to a gallop. Aye, sure as the sun rose, he’d taken trouble for a ride today. But he would tame Aileana MacDonell once they reached home. She could rail and rant, or shroud herself in silence; either way he would bend her to his will.
And yet somehow, he couldn’t rid himself of the persistent voice deep in his mind. The voice that churned a
dire omen with every beat of Glendragon’s hoofs, urging him to take heed and prepare before it was too late…
Because, it warned, his lion’s share of tribulation had only just begun.
A
ileana stretched her aching muscles and inched closer to the fire. The night spent huddled on the ground, protected by nothing but two thin plaids, had confirmed one of her long-held beliefs.
Men were senseless idiots.
The idea that they could wage war on each other after sleeping in such conditions seemed addle-minded at best. If they thought to gather piles of leaves or nice, thick pine boughs to lay beneath their plaids, they’d be much more comfortable and agile in the morning. At the very least, it would warm them while they slept.
But when she’d suggested as much to the MacRae last night, he’d leveled such a look of masculine disgust at her that she’d clamped her mouth shut. The beast had even denied her the privilege of gathering her own makeshift mattress, snapping an order for Kinnon to keep her under control and near the fire when she ventured toward the copse of pines at camp’s edge.
Aileana supposed she should be grateful that the MacRae had chosen to remain aloof. Yesterday, after the first, grief-numbed hour of riding, the realization of what she’d actually done began to sink in. She’d agreed to a life of virtual slavery, sure to be ostracized and rejected for her status as the MacRae’s leman. And being his leman meant more than just helping to serve his meals and clean his castle keep.
It meant sharing his bed.
A shudder slithered down Aileana’s spine. She’d not allowed herself to fully contemplate that part of the bargain yesterday. Now that the prospect faced her in the clear light of morning, she had to purse her lips to keep her teeth from chattering. All kinds of images danced through her mind, making her think. Making her feel. It was enough to make her stomach ache.
With a start, Aileana stopped herself from imagining any further. The pain was too great. Gone forever was the wedding night she’d dreamed of her whole life. Duncan MacRae wouldn’t attempt to satisfy her maiden curiosity with tender touches and exciting, whispered words of love. Tonight when they reached Eilean Donan, he would bed her, pure and simple; he would slake his lust on her body and then leave her until the next time he felt the need. She’d be his leman, nothing more…an outcast to his clan. Reviled.
Scorned
.
Swallowing the ball of fear in her throat, Aileana stood and adjusted the plaid at her shoulder. Instantly, seven suspicious male gazes trained on her. She went still, having almost forgotten that her every move was now watched and studied. Except for the few moments of privacy allowed to her earlier for tending to her personal needs, her life was no longer her own.
She almost laughed at the irony of it all. She’d gone
from being a solitary, virtual recluse as the
Ealach
’s keeper to being surrounded by enemies under order to note the slightest change in her breathing. She fought a sudden, unthinkable impulse to shake her hair into wild disarray, dance in crazed abandon, and keen to the rising sun.
But then she caught sight of Duncan across the clearing. He’d turned from a discussion with his men to fix his gaze on her. His silver eyes held a feral gleam, an unmistakable glimmer that made her look down and cross her arms over her chest.
It was apparent that, just like Father, the MacRae was a man used to being feared and obeyed. With him watching her there’d be no chance of disobedience. She turned her back on him. Then, secretly making a face that mimicked his glower, Aileana twisted her hair into a makeshift braid and crouched again near the fire. Let him stare all he wanted. Right now, she was hungry. Picking up the crusty bannock and hunk of hard cheese Kinnon had left her, she broke her fast with relish.
All too soon, the call came to mount up and continue the ride to Eilean Donan. Aileana breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the MacRae ride out of the clearing with a group of his men. She would be allowed to walk with the others, away from him. Bending down to retrieve the trailing end of her plaid, she tucked it into her belt and draped it into acceptable pleats. It would be good to get back into her women’s clothing, she thought, as she started toward the men traveling on foot.
When she passed the last, doused cook-fire, she sent up silent thanks that she wouldn’t be made to ride with Duncan again, to bear his impossible closeness or feel the warm pressure of his thighs on her hips. It had been a terrible burden, remaining impassive in that position
yesterday. Each jolting movement had made her more aware of him and his claim on her. His nearness had made her want to grit her teeth. It made her stomach clench. It made her want to scream—
“Give me your hand.”
Aileana jumped. She snapped her gaze up to see Duncan astride his steed, one gloved hand extended to her. His other gripped the reins, keeping the stallion’s powerful energy contained enough for her to approach.
Even so, the breath seemed to leave her lungs, though she refused to appear weak in front of the MacRae. “Nay, I’d rather walk.” She eyed the stallion’s massive hooves as they gouged the sodden earth near her feet. His nostrils flared, and he snorted as Duncan reined him into tighter control.
“Give me your hand and get up now.” He gave her a look that would wilt a daisy. “Unless you’re telling me that MacDonell wenches need footstools to get their dainty arses up into a saddle.”
Heat rose to Aileana’s cheeks and with it a fear-numbing burst of animosity. Grabbing his outstretched arm, she leaped up, landing sideways on the stallion’s back. As she wriggled astride, she accidentally kicked Duncan’s shin.
When he growled in irritation, she snapped, “So sorry, milord, but my dainty arse needed adjusting.”
Aileana thought she heard a choking sound behind her, but when she hazarded a glimpse over her shoulder, she saw nothing but the tight, grim line of Duncan’s mouth. Perhaps he’d missed her comment, she reasoned. But then the low-pitched timbre of his voice filled her ear, quiet and cutting.
“You will confine your prattling tongue and your way
ward feet, or I’ll be forced to truss you up and carry you gagged and bound into the castle yard of Eilean Donan.”
She remained silent, and so he did nothing—until she clenched her fingers in his steed’s mane so hard that she made the beast toss his head and let out a snorting whinny.
“Damnation, woman, he’ll throw us if you don’t stop clinging like that. He’s a stallion, not a bed sheet!”
Aileana stilled. She waited, tension building, before working up enough courage to twist around and look at Duncan’s face. He was scowling and his eyes were steely gray, but he didn’t seem in the midst of any preparations to tie or beat her. Relief spread in a blessed flow to the ends of her fingertips, and she turned forward again. Taking a deep breath, she thanked God for the reprieve she’d been granted. All of her life she’d struggled to curb her tongue and hide her emotions. Father had tried to punish it out of her, but it hadn’t worked. Now it was more important than ever that she concentrate on controlling herself.
For Duncan MacRae was an unknown entity, and that made him all the more frightening. And more dangerous.
This couldn’t be her new home. It couldn’t.
Aileana sat straight as a claymore as she viewed the castle; it was nestled at the merging of the three lochs opposite the Isle of Skye, a dark, square structure, reflected ominously in the waters. She swallowed hard as Duncan pulled Glendragon to a stop on the bluff overlooking the sight; all of his men rode into formation behind him.
“What…what happened to it?” she murmured without thinking. The castle looked as if animals and wild things had inhabited it for a long time. Her gaze
took in the crumbling tiles of the roof, the uneven window openings in the main tower, and the gaping holes in the wall where piles of stones had fallen to the ground.
A tense silence followed her question, and from the corner of her gaze she saw Kinnon shift uncomfortably, while Ewen and the others darted uneasy glances at their laird. Aileana didn’t need to see Duncan to know that his eyes bored shafts of gray flint into her back. She swallowed again.
“Thirteen years happened.” His voice was dangerously soft. “Thirteen years spent living in hell, courtesy of that bitch you called sister.”
Aileana felt his arms tense when he gripped Glendragon’s bridle as if he wanted to strangle the thin strips of leather…or her neck. Then without another word, he pressed his knees into the stallion’s sides, and they continued on, down the sloping path toward the ruined castle. Aileana’s heart thudded in her chest, seemingly in time with the thumping cadence of the horses’ hooves, as each man followed Duncan in solemn procession.
Soon they entered the courtyard. No cheers of villagers greeted them, no smiles or shouts of happy wives and children. Several bedraggled waifs and a few women gathered in the yard to meet their men. Their expressions of grim relief struck a chord in Aileana, and she felt an answering swell of sympathy.
She knew what it was like to feel completely at the mercy of outside forces, especially the everlasting impulses and intrigues of men. She remembered all too well days spent in seclusion, evenings passed restricted to the confines of her bedchamber because Father thought it best to keep her spirit pure and free from distraction. Gavin and Robert had sometimes stolen into her chamber to entertain her, but their visits were brief. Father
had wanted her thoughts only on the amulet, and whenever he left for a journey or hunt, it was always with orders that she be kept confined to her rooms. It was at those times that she’d wished him dead.
And now he was.
The odd hurt lanced through her again, but she was given no time to nurse it. Several of the men had already dismounted and disappeared into the keep, and Duncan was waiting for her to slide from Glendragon’s back. She tried to ignore his hands at her waist as he helped her down, but their warmth seared through her tunic to brand her skin.
It reminded her of the inescapable fact that she was his possession now, property much the same as a goose, or sheep, or sow he’d purchased. Except that those creatures were free to live in peace on the land. She would be forced to share this man’s bed. Gritting her teeth, Aileana stared straight ahead and walked into the castle with as much dignity as her boy’s garments would allow.
The interior of Eilean Donan wasn’t much better than its outward condition. Her nose wrinkled at the stale smell as they came into the great hall. The floor rushes looked as though they hadn’t been changed in months. Only a few dogs lounged in the hall to collect the bits of meat, bread and other leavings that fell from the tables, ensuring that the rotted food would remain until someone removed it.
“Bridgid!” Duncan’s bellow shocked Aileana’s attention from the floor. She hazarded a glance at him. Displeasure shone in the grim lines of his mouth, the hooded scowl of his brows. When a red-faced, angry-looking woman burst into the hall, Duncan grasped Aileana’s arm and pushed her in that direction.
“Take her to the kitchens with you, Bridgid, and see
that she has something to eat. Then set her to some tasks.” As he started up the stairway opposite Aileana, he yelled back, “And send up some water for my bath. I cannot stand this filth any longer.”
Aileana looked after Duncan in surprise. Neither of her brothers or father had ever asked for a bath that she could remember. And yet she recalled that Duncan had insisted they stop at one of the small lakes they saw on their journey. She’d thought he wished to rest the horses, but when he’d returned to the fire, his golden brown hair and tunic were damp, and she’d realized that he’d taken time to bathe in the lake.
“You going to stand there all day, missy?”
Aileana snapped out of her thoughts. The woman Duncan had called Bridgid faced her, hands on her hips. Wisps of frizzy black hair stuck out around her face, and she glowered as if she’d just swallowed a swarm of bees.
“My name is Aileana MacDonell. And no, I don’t intend to stand here all day. I’d prefer not to be here at all.”
Bridgid grimaced. “I know very well who and what you are, missy, by the message sent here ahead of you. But I’m the
bailie
of this castle, and since the MacRae trusts me with the managing of it, I’m going to see that his wishes be obeyed. So you’re coming with me, quick or slow, but you’re coming. We’ve plenty of work to do.” With that, Bridgid turned on her heel and stalked back to the kitchens.
Aileana looked around her in distress, hoping to find even one ally among the men, women and children who filled the chamber. Surely someone would understand and intervene on her behalf. She was the keeper of the
Ealach
, and with the exception of Father and the MacRae, no one had ever treated her with such heavy-handed disrespect in all her life.
But when she gazed round the hall, she received reactions ranging from mild disinterest to barely concealed animosity. Blinking back the renewed prickling behind her eyes, Aileana squared her shoulders and started after Bridgid.
Quick or slow,
Bridgid had said. Well she wasn’t going to be quick, but she’d not be slow either. Duncan had ordered that she attend to some tasks after eating, and she kept her mind focused on that prospect as she walked into the cavernous, smoky kitchens at the end of the corridor. The chores would be a welcome refuge from the fears that were beginning to consume her.
For far more quickly than slowly, night was coming, and when it did, there’d be no shelter left for her. She’d be forced to face Duncan MacRae—and become his leman in truth as she had in name.
With a sigh, Aileana sank deeper into the round wooden tub. It was the largest vessel of its kind that she’d ever seen, and the sheer volume of the warm water surrounding her was heavenly. She wiggled her toes as she rinsed the soap from her hair. This was the first rest she’d had all day; Bridgid had worked her to the point of exhaustion, taking pity, finally, when she saw her nodding to sleep over a bowl of apples she’d given her to pare.
But when she’d been led to this room at the top of the stone steps, her sleepiness vanished under a fresh onslaught of terror. This was
his
room. It was
his
tub that Bridgid helped her fill. At first she’d resisted, arguing that she’d rather wash from the basin near the window. But Bridgid had just given her the annoyed, impatient look she was coming to recognize and stomped from the room.