Mary Reed McCall (9 page)

As if shaken from a dream, Kinnon looked up. She saw the nightmare seep out of his eyes, leaving nothing behind but the hard, bitter truth. His jaw tightened. “Duncan doesn’t hate his music, lass; the English just made sure he could never have it again. Of all the tortures they put him through, it was one of the worst they could have conceived for a man of Duncan’s gift; they
broke every bone in his hand. It healed, but the scars took away his ability to play.”

Horror emptied a pit in Aileana’s stomach. “The gauntlets…?” she whispered.

“Aye,” Kinnon nodded. “He wears them to hide the ruin they made. In truth, he’s fortunate to still possess the ability of grasping his sword.” Walking to the darkest corner of the room, Kinnon began to unwrap a large, bulky object that leaned against the wall. “Duncan refused to bend to his keepers in the Tower, and because of it, they looked on him as a challenge.” His voice grated. “The bastards used the whole of thirteen long years to try out different ways of breaking him.”

Aileana shuddered. She knew little of what happened to those unfortunates captured by enemies, but she could imagine enough to make her want to forget that such places as the London Tower even existed.

Kinnon finished unwrapping the object and stood back. “This went the way of the old times too, thanks to the English. Once we returned home, he had it removed from his chamber and closeted here. Like his harp, he hasn’t used one since, as far as I know.”

Aileana stepped closer to get a better view. As with her first sight of the extraordinary instrument, this new discovery startled a gasp from her. The looking glass Kinnon had uncovered was of impressive size—almost as tall and twice as wide as she was. Stepping closer, she reached out and touched the costly object. Its surface felt cool and smooth against her fingertips. Though the elaborate silver frame looked tarnished from years of disuse, such a mirror was an unimaginable luxury.

“Your clan…how came you to own treasures like
these? My people claim prosperity, yet I’ve never seen the likes of this before.”

Kinnon’s mouth twisted in a half-mocking smile. “Though it may not appear so now, before your sister attacked us, the MacRaes had much wealth and power. Our overlords granted us with lands and estates, and we gained our other possessions in successful campaigns and wars.” One blond brow arched in surprise. “I cannot believe your kin neglected to tell you aught of that. Aside from wanting to steal the
Ealach
, a desire for our holdings was what incited your sister to attack us—that and her need for revenge after Duncan refused to marry her.”

“Marry her?”

“Aye. She desired the match; he did not. And even if he had wanted Morgana, he was already in love with Mairi by then and pledged to wed her.” Kinnon frowned. “They did not tell you that bit either?” When she shook her head in stunned silence, he made a scoffing noise. “You come from strange folk. Did you yourself never question the whys of the feud between our peoples, beyond the possession of the
Ealach
?”

Embarrassment made Aileana’s cheeks feel hot as she tried to explain. “I was but a child when Morgana waged her battle against you. When it was all over, Father brought me to my chamber, telling me that from that day on, I was to become the
Ealach
’s keeper. I was his only remaining daughter, and so it was fitting that I fill the role. He said that the amulet would bring prosperity back to our clan, as long as I remained confined there to protect it. A little while after, the council determined that Morgana had committed crimes against our clan, both in practicing the Black Arts and by consorting
with the English…but she saved herself from execution thanks to having retrieved the amulet for our people. They banished her to the far north instead, where she died a year later.”

Aileana swallowed and looked back to Kinnon for understanding. “It’s all I know—all I was ever allowed to know.”

An expression of disbelief had crept across Kinnon’s face as she spoke. Now he just stared. “Are you saying that until you came here you were kept locked in your chamber to watch over the
Ealach
for thirteen years?”

Aileana shrugged. “I was allowed to come down to the hall at certain times. It was the way it had to be. I was nearly eight when the
Ealach
came home. Morgana had been banished, and as the chieftain’s only remaining daughter, it became my charge. We had been without its good influence for nearly a century, and Father decided that dedicating me as keeper would aid in achieving a quicker reversal of our ill fortunes. My loss of freedom was a worthy price to pay.”

Kinnon continued to gaze at her in silence, and she wrapped her arms around her waist, recalling the hours of loneliness and boredom, standing at her open shutter to catch a sniff of the air or watch the people of her clan living their lives. His obvious pity made her uncomfortable, though, so she added, “It wasn’t unbearable. I was allowed freer roam of the main keep on certain feast days and Sundays. And I got out of my chambers at other times as well, mostly when Father was gone; my brothers would sneak up then and steal me out to play.”

She thought for a moment. “Oh, and Father allowed me my herb beds for a while. During the space of two years, I was given leave to come down for an hour each day to tend them and learn what I could about plants
from an old woman who lived in the village; she was getting too frail to give much help to the sick, and so I begged for the chance to be trained to take her place, eventually—to have something more useful to do. That ended, though, when Father learned I was cultivating centaury; he feared I’d use it for practicing the Black Arts as Morgana had done.” Aileana spoke matter-of-factly. “It is true that if given in the right dosage centaury can cause delusion. I never considered using it in so sinister a way, but Father wanted to take no chance that I might be tempted to darkness as Morgana had been.”

Kinnon remained silent for a few moments more before saying in a somber voice, “You’ve been a virtual recluse, lass. No wonder you caused such a clamor when you came to live here.”

She looked at him in wounded denial. “If I did, it was wholly deserved. I’ve been treated with naught but disrespect and loathing since I arrived at Eilean Donan, though I’ve tried my best to fit in with the whole lot of you.”

Shaking his head, Kinnon spoke more kindly. “Hold, lass, I’ve no wish to kindle your anger. I’m just trying to make sense of it all so that perhaps I can find a way to help Duncan reach an understanding with you.”

“He doesn’t wish to reach any kind of reasonable understanding with me.” She gave an unladylike snort. “The only thing he’s interested in is badgering me into telling him where I’ve hidden the
Ealach
.”

Kinnon smiled enigmatically. “Perhaps…perhaps not. My cousin isn’t as blustery as he seems. There are many layers to Duncan MacRae; it might not be a bad thing for you to try to uncover a few of them.”

Flushing, Aileana stalked over to the shelves and took
down three pots, muttering, “Aye, well I doubt I could penetrate a single layer of that man’s stony hide, even if I was foolish enough to want to,” before adding more loudly for Kinnon’s benefit, “I’m afraid I’ve dallied here long enough. Would you consent to help me carry some of these pots into the keep?”

Smothering a grin, Kinnon gave her a feigned bow and murmured, “At your service, lass.”

As they trumped back to the kitchen with her booty, Aileana thought over what Kinnon had told her. She had difficulty imagining Duncan as anything but a harsh and unbending leader. Then again, people weren’t always as they seemed; she knew that better than most. Walking into the kitchen with Kinnon close behind her, she gazed boldly at the women who looked up, noticing that, for once, all conversation didn’t cease the moment she entered the room.

Aye, her plan to fit in with the MacRaes and make them like her was progressing well.

The future remained unknown, but one thing was certain. She was going to be using her new, commanding persona to full advantage from now on and as often as possible, practicing the skill until the moment the irascible, enigmatic leader of the wild MacRaes finally returned home…

Because she knew that when that time came, she’d be put to the test like never before—and she’d be damned if she was going to fail in it.

D
uncan raked his gloved hand through his hair and groaned as he dismounted Glendragon and led him toward the stables with the other men and their mounts. Sleeping on the ground each night after long days spent skirmishing with the MacLeods had left him aching. Some pains sprang from his old prison wounds, while others were signs of age, no doubt. But be it as it may, he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he wanted nothing more, right now, than a hot bath and the comfort of his bed.

After settling Glendragon with a double ration of oats, Duncan nodded to the men who were dispersing to find their families, and then trudged to the center yard and into the castle’s main keep. His sleep-deprived mind took foggy note of the area; it seemed quiet for this time of the afternoon. Almost deserted.

His steps slowed as he passed the place where the dogs slept. Gone was the pile of bones and refuse that used to
surround the animals. Clean rushes covered the floor, the hounds stretched out upon them, snoring in blissful oblivion. Duncan paused in surprise. It looked as though someone had taken a comb to the animals’ unruly coats.

Shaking his head, he continued toward the great hall; he must be more tired than he realized. The dogs were never brushed. They just romped in their natural state, happy to be left to their own play and none the worse for wear.

Duncan rubbed the back of his neck as he entered the passageway leading to the great hall. He saw with satisfaction that at least this one command had been obeyed, even in his absence. Every wall torch was lit, illuminating the narrow corridor as if midday sun shone through the stone. But like everywhere else, the hallway was empty, save for several large baskets filled to overflowing with tiny blossoms of purple heather.

Baskets of heather?

This time Duncan jerked to a stop, his stupefaction breaking all bounds as he absorbed the innocuous sight of the flower baskets set on the floor at regular intervals. Walking into the great hall, he peered around like a hawk searching for prey. Where the devil was Bridgid—and what was she thinking with all this feminine nonsense?

And then he began to notice it. The regular clamor of the hall was no more than a genteel murmur; he looked round and saw his men, huddled over cups of ale, staring belligerently ahead, but speaking nary a word; they sat nicely as schoolboys…boys with neatly trimmed beards and clean tunics and plaids.

Disbelief threatened to still Duncan’s heart. But then
the numbness faded under an onslaught of blistering rage.

“Bridgid!”

He roared his
bailie
’s name, and twenty pairs of eyes turned on him. If he hadn’t been convinced that he’d lost his mind, he might have believed he saw a gleam of desperate hope in more than one of the gazes his kinsmen fixed on him. Wordlessly, several of the men lifted their arms to point toward the kitchens, and Duncan stalked in that direction.

There was no one in the kitchen itself, but as he rounded the corner to the kitchen yard, he heard voices raised in anger. One was Bridgid’s, another was definitely male, and the third was unrecognizable, letting loose a string of commands that virtually drowned out the other two.

As his gaze took in the sight before him, his steps slowed before stopping all together. He’d not have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. Old Callum was squeezed into one of the wooden kitchen tubs, his bony arms and knees poking out the top, flailing and cursing as Aileana stood over him, trying to unwrap the plaid from his torso. Bridgid stood nearby, hands on her hips, managing to evade the water and soap that sprayed up in glistening droplets every time Aileana tugged the fighting Callum’s plaid.

“You’re going to let me take this from you and wash it, Callum Menzie,” Aileana grated, “or you’re not going to be allowed in the hall any more. You’ll be taking your meals in the stable with the rest of the animals!”

“That’s eno’ now!” Callum roared. “I got into a tub for ye—and I even let you take shears to me beard, but that’s as far as I go! Me plaid stays with me!”

“Has everyone lost their blessed minds?”

At Duncan’s exasperated bellow, all activity ceased; Aileana took two steps back, Bridgid whirled to face him, and Callum blinked up at him like a soapy, wet owl. They all stared, dumbfounded, and Duncan charged forward. “Someone had better answer me. I’m in no mood to be making guesses.”

“What is it you want to know, then?”

It was Bridgid who’d spoken, somewhat timidly, he noted, but facing her, he growled nonetheless, “Why don’t we start with something simple—like telling me why the dogs are combed like cats, why there are flowers in my hall, and why my men are sitting at the table, looking like they’re waiting for a sermon!”

At that, Bridgid’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Aileana stepped forward, chin upraised. “Don’t be badgering Bridgid, Duncan MacRae. It was none of her doing, but mine. I’ll be taking responsibility for it if you’ve anything to say.”

“You’re blasted right, I’ve got something to say. I cannot believe—” Duncan’s throat seized up as comprehension of Aileana’s admission hit home. His brows furrowed and he directed a hot glare at her. “
You?
You’re trying to tell me that
you’re
at the root of all this nonsense?”

Did the woman think him daft? Not only was she a leman in the eyes of his clan, but she was a MacDonell besides; she could no more order his men to bathe and shave and be obeyed in it than she could breathe under water. They’d throw her in the loch if she tried. Barking a laugh, he rounded on her, standing between her and the others. “It is my experience that wee mousies squeak, Aileana MacDonell, they do not roar. Now I’ll be knowing the truth of all this before I step a foot from this yard.”

“Then you can grow roots and plant yourself if it
pleases you, but the truth is staring you in the face. I ordered the changes you see, and if you do not like them, then you can address your complaints to me.” Aileana dug her fists into her hips and looked him square in the eye.

Nonplussed, Duncan swung his gaze to Bridgid. His
bailie
gazed back at him with a level expression that bespoke agreement with Aileana. Doubt fell beneath the hooves of swiftly rising anger. It seemed his meek, timid leman hid more than one surprise for him behind that face of angelic innocence; perhaps she
had
created these disturbances. How and why remained a mystery. But it wouldn’t be for long.

“You,” he said, pointing at Aileana, “will meet me in my chamber in exactly one hour.”

She quirked one dainty brow, and her voice lilted to his ears, as sweet now as it had been shrill before. “If I’m free, aye, I’ll come. Otherwise I’ll be there when I can make the time.” He saw a glimpse of pearly teeth before she swept past him and back toward the kitchens.

So great was his surprise at her answer that he felt like he had indeed grown roots, fixing him to the spot. But when Old Callum coughed, he started from the spell Aileana had cast on him. Callum shivered in the tub, his lips tinged blue and his teeth beginning to chatter. “Are you through, MacRae? I’m thinking I’ll be needing a glass of spirits afore I catch my death of cold.”

At Duncan’s nod, Callum surged from the water and grabbed at the length of dry plaid that Bridgid held for him. With a sniff of tattered dignity, he dried his arms and legs and then draped the plaid round himself; but as he wobbled toward the kitchen, Duncan heard him muttering and cursing under his breath.

Callum was right. They’d all been bested by a wee
MacDonell lass. And as chieftain of the clan, Duncan decided, it was his duty to put a stop to it.

Gritting his teeth, he trudged through the yard to the kitchen, and from there across the hall and up the steps to his chamber; he looked neither right nor left, uttering not a word in response to the wide-eyed gazes his people gave him. His mind twisted with thoughts, alternating between bafflement at the apparent change Aileana had made in both her demeanor and his castle, and anger that she’d done either without asking his permission.

When he finally reached his room, it was with grim resolution. He needed to prepare for his bath—and for the reckoning his unpredictable, red-haired leman had earned this day.

Exactly an hour and a quarter later, Aileana stood at the portal to Duncan’s bedchamber. Clenching her fingers, she breathed a prayer for strength. Duncan would be her greatest challenge yet, and she knew that she’d be fortunate to escape this meeting unscathed. Still, these past days of practice gave her confidence. She’d learned many things in the process of overcoming his clan, not the least of which was that to get a desired result, she had to interpret each individual she faced with careful scrutiny.

Where some of Duncan’s kin responded to her snapping and blustering, she sensed the chieftain himself needed a more subtle approach. Mild antagonism—such as her deliberate lateness—would serve to show her independence. And though she was certain that he would shout and attempt to cow her into submission as Father had done when she was disobedient, she vowed to remain firm once she stood face-to-face with him.

Aileana looked down at her green overskirt, examin
ing it with a critical eye; it still bore a smudge from the rasher of bacon that Nora had tipped into her this morning as they served breakfast. She rubbed the spot to no avail. It would have to do. Her hand trembled as she smoothed her unruly hair back one last time. Then, pushing open the door, she strode into the bedchamber.

Duncan stood with his hands linked behind his back, gazing out at the sun setting over the loch below. Clearing her throat lightly, Aileana waited for him to acknowledge her presence; she knew he was aware of her by the way he’d stiffened when she came into the room. But he remained silent.

“I’m here as you bid,” she murmured. “And I’m waiting to hear what you have to say to me.”

“Aye, you are waiting,” he answered quietly. He swung around to look at her, adding, “And if I wanted to be true to the point, I’d be making you do so for the full quarter hour as you did me.”

Aileana felt herself flush; his controlled dignity made her almost ashamed that she’d used such a ploy against him. Almost, but not quite.

She stood straighter. “I came when I was free, as I told you I would. You seem to be forgetting that I’m no fee post, paid to do your bidding at a moment’s notice.”

“Nay, you’re my
leman
, which under normal circumstances requires much, much more.”

She felt herself flushing a deeper hue, though she managed to retort, “It is by your command alone that we live a lie.”

Duncan’s gray eyes warmed to quicksilver. “Then you’re saying that you’d be in favor of a true joining between us?”

An image, hot and explicit, raced through Aileana’s mind, making her turn away from him. She retreated to
the relative safety of the hearth, trying to gather her thoughts, to remind herself of the new personality she’d vowed to project. But the strange feeling that his suggestion had unfurled inside her continued to wind its way through her. It was all she could do to slow her breathing to a normal pace.

Without looking at him she answered. “I’m not saying anything of the kind. I was just reminding you that your complaint about my service holds no weight, since it was you who dictated our terms.”

She heard the tread of his boots as he crossed the stone floor. When he brushed by her to sit in the chair opposite the hearth, she shivered. The tingle of awareness she felt was the result of her animosity toward him, she told herself, nothing more.

“Turn around.”

His command, uttered in a soft, authoritative tone, spurred her to compliance. But when she faced him, another jolt of sensation swirled through her belly. Duncan leaned back in the chair, studying her, his expression a mix of vulnerability and intensity. The sun’s dying glow cast the room in warm shades, accenting the perfection of his scarred beauty.

His golden brown hair fell in waves, to shoulders that were draped with a length of colorful plaid on one side. The setting sun combined with the flicker of firelight to dance across his powerfully muscled forearms, and Aileana resisted the urge to smooth her fingers over his skin.

“You’re a sorceress, lass,” he murmured. “Different from your cursed sister, but a sorceress nonetheless.”

Uncertainty took Aileana’s breath away. Did he seek to mock her by invoking Morgana’s memory? Was he trying to trap her into saying something to damn herself
and expose the
Ealach
? Biting her lip to keep from trembling, she answered, “I—I do not understand what you mean.”

Duncan’s generous mouth tilted up on one side, heightening her impression of utter, sensual masculinity. “I’m saying that you must have cast a spell on me when you came into this room, Aileana MacDonell, because until then I was ready to wring your neck with my bare hands. And now…very different kinds of thoughts are filling my imagination.”

Looking down, Aileana twined her fingers together and squeezed tight. Her heart thudded in a heavy cadence. What game did Duncan play? He couldn’t be in earnest. Mayhap she misread his intent altogether; perhaps her naiveté kept her from seeing the true meaning behind his enigmatic words.

Either way, it seemed best to withdraw to another, if more dangerous topic of conversation. Glancing back up at him, she stiffened her shoulders and asked, “What think you, then, of the changes I made at the castle while you were away?”

Duncan’s gaze cooled slightly, and he sat up from his relaxed position to rest his forearms on his thighs. “I think that you acted with rash disregard. It’s the hows and whys of it I cannot figure.”

“I assure you, I undertook every change with fore-thought. None of it was acted upon with disregard.”

“Then mayhap you’ll explain to me why you felt the need to do anything at all.”

Duncan sat composed, quite unlike the obdurate tyrant she’d expected he’d be. She looked down again, toying with the answer she’d planned to give as reason for instigating the changes, and remembering the insults she’d intended to drop on him concerning the sloth and
disorder of his clan. But she found that those excuses sounded petty now, even in her own mind.