Authors: Allison Butler
‘You have done well then.’ The small noise she made was a scoff rather than a laugh. ‘He received two score for sacrificing my sister, Jeanne.’
The sister now on offer again. By the father who’d forgotten he had another daughter and then was slow to acknowledge her after he’d been reminded.
Lachlan’s mouth tightened as he looked at his wife and saw the hurt she was trying to hide. Taking her cool, slender hand in his, he looked into her eyes. ‘I wanted to wed you, Kenzie. The price was ten head of cattle.’
‘You married me to strengthen your clan’s position in the Borders.’
‘For another kiss I’d part with ten more.’ Her lovely mouth fell open and her cheeks flamed red. ‘You’re blushing again,’ he said with a pleased smile.
‘I do not blush. ‘Tis obvious I’m too close to the fire.’ She turned to the flames and sipped wine from her goblet.
His wife was stubborn, sharp-tongued and quick witted. He’d discovered these things about her in the last few days, but he knew little about her life up until then. Were Jeanne and Kenzie close? How would she take the news of her sister’s husband’s death?
‘There is more. I know it.’ Her quiet words broke into his thoughts.
‘What makes you think there is more?’
She half turned from the fire, shoulders erect, chin high. ‘Your thoughts are heavy, and Parlan would not have been sent to bring my father’s thanks alone.’ She met his gaze. ‘I am surprised he sent them at all.’
Perceptive, too. She could sense his mood far better than he expected, or hoped.
‘Are you and your sister close?’
‘Jeanne? Why, has something happened?’ Despite her efforts to appear unaffected, the same sense of fragility he’d noticed earlier returned.
‘Nothing has happened to Jeanne, Kenzie, though the news Parlan brought does concern her.’
She stared at him a moment more as if to gauge whether he spoke the truth, then said, ‘Nae, Jeanne and I lived in different worlds. It is difficult to believe we are sisters.’ A sigh slipped free. ‘But I spied her often, and sometimes wondered if she was as happy as she wanted everyone to believe. That was before she married and moved to her husband’s keep.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘I am told he is older and was besotted with her. I also heard she had many suitors and enchanted them all.’
Lachlan had seen Jeanne’s self-centred ways and had escaped any enchantment. He had believed her to be an ideal choice for his bride, for there would never be any risk of him losing his heart to a woman who cared for no one but herself. He’d viewed her as a means to fulfil the promises he’d made to his father.
He’d married Kenzie. She’d suffered enough hurt this day and didn’t need to know he’d petitioned for Jeanne’s hand.
‘Jeanne is very beautiful.’ She glimpsed down at the goblet she held before looking back up into his eyes. ‘But nae, we are not as close as sisters should be.’ Regret dulled her voice. ‘Now, will you tell me of the news concerning her?’
There was no way of softening the news, so he softened his voice instead. ‘Jeanne’s husband is dead.’
She stared at him. Her face paled. ‘Dear God,’ she whispered.
‘I know nothing more.’
Her gaze slid from him to the fire. ‘Poor Jeanne.’
Clenching his fists against the feeling of helplessness tearing through him, Lachlan remained by her side as she absorbed the news. In those silent moments he wished Parlan had never come. He also added compassion to his wife’s growing list of virtues.
Despite her proximity to the fire, Kenzie shivered and pulled her cloak more firmly around her. Death was a part of life, but it was so … final.
She hadn’t known Jeanne’s husband, only glimpsed him once from the shadowed stairwell after he’d secured her sister’s hand. Now he was gone, dead.
He? She didn’t even know his name. Her fingers tightened about her goblet. ‘The old Johnstone laird’ or ‘Jeanne’s husband’ were the only titles she’d known him by. It hadn’t seemed important to enquire about his name, but now she wished she had.
She hadn’t attended the ceremony. She hadn’t been invited. Despite sharing her parents’ and sister’s blood, she’d led a very different and separate life from theirs. She’d forged her own. She’d had no choice.
‘Are you all right?’
She searched Lachlan’s face, his eyes. His full lips were pressed in a flat, grim line, and not a flicker of twinkling mischief showed in the blue depths. She wanted to believe he did care, but powerful men used whatever means were at their disposal to get what they wanted. She wasn’t prepared to take the risk that his concern wasn’t real.
‘I’m fine.’ She inhaled deeply and released it slowly. ‘I did not know Jeanne’s husband. Not even his name.’ She frowned into her wine and placed the cup on the bench beside her.
Even though she’d never been close to Jeanne, she was still concerned for her. Was Jeanne with her husband when he died? Jeanne loved being doted upon and praised, almost as though the honeyed words others bestowed on her fed a desperate need. Had her husband’s death snuffed out her light? Did she miss him?
A rush of cold air swept through the chamber, flattening the flames in the sconces high on the walls. Lachlan stood and turned toward the Great Hall’s entrance.
Kenzie’s gaze roamed the length of her husband from the leather boots encasing his lower legs to the plaid draping his lean hips. His linen shirt stretched tight to accommodate the wide expanse of his back, and his wheat-coloured hair skimmed his broad, powerful shoulders. He exuded a potent vibrancy not every man possessed. Would she mourn his death, this husband she never wanted?
She was very much afraid she would. She didn’t want to care for Lachlan, she didn’t even want to like him, but despite her best efforts, he’d started to mean something to her.
She should leave, run as far as possible from Castle Redheugh and its laird. Those she aided needed her, depended on her. She couldn’t let Lachlan distract her from her responsibilities.
‘My men have returned from Irvine,’ Lachlan said turning back at her.
‘Then you must go.’
Concern etched his features. ‘Know I am here if you wish to talk.’
Curse the worry stealing the light from his eyes, the troubled expression robbing the world of his smile. Curse his kindness, even if it was an act, and curse his mind-numbing kiss. Curse her eyes and ears and lips for seeing, hearing and feeling it all.
‘Is there anything you need?’
Certainly not his compassion.
‘An annulment.’
A flash of steel brightened his eyes. ‘Nae.’
Kenzie rose slowly to her feet. ‘Then I will settle for a promise from a man whom I know keeps them.’
He faced her. ‘I only make promises I am able to honour.’
‘I see nae reason why you won’t be able to honour mine.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘That depends on what you expect from me.’ He folded his arms across his chest.
She lifted her chin. ‘I want the freedom to go about without being questioned and without you hovering over me.’
He cocked one brow high. ‘I heard nae complaints regarding my earlier
hovering
in the stable.’
Fire flared in her cheeks at the memory of his kiss and the wicked thoughts she’d suffered soon after. She glanced around the chamber, hoping no one was close enough to hear their conversation. They stood alone. She swallowed her relief and looked back at her husband, to find him watching her closely.
‘Do I have your promise?’
Moments dragged by as she withstood his intense scrutiny. Every nerve ending twitched in protest at her enforced stillness. The urge to lower her eyes from his grew powerful but she could not give in. She needed this promise for those she aided.
‘Unless you give me reason to believe otherwise, I will not—’ his gaze dropped to her mouth, ‘—hover over you.’
Her lips tingled. She sealed them tight to prevent her tongue from moistening them.
‘This is your home, Kenzie. As long as there is nae danger to you or my people, you are free to go about as you choose.’ His voice deepened. ‘You have my word.’
A feeling of pure warmth unfurled in her heart as he made his promise. A promise for her alone. A promise she knew he would keep. She stared at him in wonder, then turned to the hall’s entrance where four of his men waited.
‘I’ll leave you to speak with your men.’ She started forward, only to have Lachlan’s hand come to rest on her shoulder. She stopped and fought to ignore the sensation of strength and security his simple touch evoked.
‘You don’t have to go. I’ll not be long.’
Angling her head, she could see his tanned fingers upon her. Could feel the heat of him through the layers she wore. Could sense herself wanting to give in, to stay. ‘I’d appreciate some time alone.’ Time to remind herself of the reasons why she didn’t want a husband.
‘Very well, but remember, I am here if needed.’
Inclining her head, she moved forward, suffering the slide of his hand over her shoulder and down her back. Out of his reach, she quickened her pace and ascended the stairs.
She’d told him she was fine, but she wasn’t. She’d never wanted a husband, had vowed never to wed. The thought of a family of her own tugged at her heart. She pushed it aside and stumbled up the last step. She entered the chamber at the top of the stairs. His chamber. Hers.
She stood in her unwanted husband’s chamber in her unwanted husband’s keep. The trouble, and what terrified her most was that there was no other place she wanted to be at this moment.
‘God help me.’ Pushing away from the door, she walked around the enormous bed to the far corner of the room and stared down at the sacks Ailsa had left for her—a solid reminder of who she was and what she had to do.
Her boots sat beside the bundle. With a murmured, ‘God bless Ailsa,’ she removed her borrowed slippers and donned her sturdy boots.
She didn’t need a family of her own. She already had one in the neglected women and unwanted children residing in the cottages on the fringes of Irvine lands.
Lachlan had made a mockery of her vow never to wed. He’d stomped on her beliefs about men of his ilk with his understanding and kindness. She needed distance between them before he had her breaking her oath to never bring a child into an uncaring world.
***
After his bride all but ran from him up the stairs, Lachlan waved Duff, Lundy, Cal and Dair outside and left the hall.
‘Keep me company.’ His men fell in beside him as he headed toward the rear of the keep. ‘Any troubles?’ he asked, despite knowing full well the cattle delivery had gone smoothly. Hearing it from those he trusted eased his mind, while the telling reminded him of his sense of control in certain matters. Matters, he now discovered, that did not include his wilful bride.
An annulment!
Damn Parlan’s ill-timed visit. How in Christ’s merciful name could she ask for annulment after the kiss they’d shared in the stables? A kiss that had fired his blood and left him aching. A kiss he knew had affected his wife in the same way. And then to accuse him of hovering.
God Almighty. He did not hover. He …
‘Trouble, Lachlan?’ Duff’s enquiry broke into his frustrated thoughts.
He glanced at his companions, saw the concern in his men’s faces and inwardly cursed. ‘Nae. You’ve done well.’ Drawing a deep breath laced with mid-morning dampness, he tunnelled stiff fingers through his hair. ‘But there is something I ask of you all.’
‘Name it, laird,’ Lundy said.
‘I ask the four of you to guard my wife in my absence.’ Lachlan looked at each of his men. ‘But you must be discreet.’
‘Your lady wife will never know we’re anywhere near her,’ Dair said with a grin.
‘We’ll keep her safe, laird,’ Cal added.
Lachlan did not doubt it. He dispatched them beyond Castle Redheugh’s walls, on one last errand before the darkening clouds overhead opened again and drove everyone indoors.
Relief trickled through him as he stood and watched them round the corner to do his bidding. His gaze wandered up the pale stones of the keep to where his chamber was located, to where his bride was now hiding. He wanted to go above and see how she was faring, but her request for time alone held him still.
A heavy tread announced someone’s arrival and drew Lachlan’s attention to the exact spot where his men had disappeared around the keep.
Muir, Elliot’s armourer, lumbered into view, looking the worse for wear from the past night’s festivities. Lachlan exchanged greetings and joined the ox of a man in the armoury where he worked his magic with steel. They conversed about swords and appraised those used for practicing their skills. Muir discussed his ideas for altering the way he made each weapon to favour those who would use them. Lachlan absorbed the conversation, a welcome distraction from his frustration regarding his wife.
He finally took his leave and stepped outside. The sky now resembled night, though it was just past noon. As he strode to the front of the keep, he decided Kenzie had had enough time alone.
The Great Hall teemed with servants readying all for the delayed noon meal. Smoked meat scented the air as he walked the hall’s length to the staircase and ascended. Reaching the landing above, he wondered how she’d spent her time. He pushed open the door and looked straight at his bed—his neatly made, empty bed. Lips thinning in disappointment, he entered the room and walked around the chairs. Unoccupied. He frowned and turned full circle, searching the chamber and finding no sign to prove his wayward wife had been here at all.
Clenching his fists, he left the room. His ability to reason slowly began to return as he descended the stairs. He might have missed seeing her among the busy horde in the hall. She could also have been in the kitchens—he had found her there early this morning.
His muscles relaxing, he’d no sooner taken the last step down into the hall when Duff entered the hall, alone.
‘Where are the others?’ Lachlan asked the moment Duff reached his side.
‘Doing your bidding, laird.’ Duff glanced about the room. ‘I’ve some news about your wife.’
‘My wife?’ Lachlan looked at Duff’s grim expression. ‘Come by the hearth.’