Forgiving Hearts: Duncurra 1-3 (62 page)

Bodie’s ears perked a moment before she heard the sound of the chamber door opening. Fingal stepped in quietly. She sat up and pulled Bodie onto her lap. “Nay, lass, stay resting. I didn’t mean to wake ye. I heard ye still weren’t feeling well and I just wanted to check on ye.”

“Ye didn’t wake me. I’m fine.”

Fingal crossed the room and sat on the bed beside her. “Does yer head still ache?”

“Ever so slightly, but it is much better.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I was worried.”

“I almost never get headaches. I’m sure it was just from the smoke last night.”

“Aye, probably.”

His expression held nothing but genuine concern for her and once again she was struck by how kind and considerate he was to her, even in the face of her obstinacy. She also allowed herself to enjoy how very handsome he was. She reached out to caress the strong line of his jaw, the shadow of his beard coarse against her fingers. Before she knew what she was doing she leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t a long kiss, but she poured her heart into it. When she pulled away he looked befuddled by her boldness. Perhaps this is what she looked like to him when he kissed her, and all conscious thought fled. She felt a little surge of feminine power and grinned. Apparently two could play this game.

“Thank ye, Fingal.”

He continued to look confused. “For what?”

She laughed. “Do I need to list everything? For being so very considerate of me, for working so hard to care for this clan, for saving my life, but most of all for this wee beast.” She scratched behind Bodie’s ears.

“I’m glad ye like him.”

“I adore him.” She leaned forward and kissed her husband again. Before he recovered from his surprise she climbed off the bed and smiled sweetly. “It is probably time for the evening meal. Shall we go down?”

Gillian decided she would proceed cautiously. The Easter Triduum was upon them so she focused on the reverent holy days. Besides, she had been so rigid and unyielding that she wanted him to know it was not vulnerability she felt, but rather rising affection. After the feast of Easter, she put her whole heart into convincing Fingal of this. Although she wasn’t quite sure how to do this, over the next few days she tried the same things on him which had left her feeling so unbalanced. She focused her attention on him, touched him casually, inclined her head and spoke softly to him during meals—forcing him to lean close and listen. Although initially her changed attitude seemed to confuse him, he recovered quickly and restarted his own efforts to charm her in return.

She was stunned to realize they were actively wooing each other. For several days the friendly banter and casual show of affection continued, culminating each evening in a chaste good-night kiss before they slept. Each morning they woke in each other’s arms but started their day as they had for weeks now, with nothing more than a friendly “Good morning.”

Initially Gillian found this more than pleasant. She began to welcome the fluttering in her stomach that these interactions stirred. However, after a few days, the fluttering became more of a gnawing need. She wanted more from him; she
needed
something more, but didn’t quite know what it was. Their bedchamber had finally been completely put to rights and they were going to sleep in it again that night. In a way it was a new beginning, so she promised herself she would become his wife in every way.

She wasn’t quite sure what she should do. The whole clan thought they were fully married well over a month ago. She had even suggested to her mother that she might already be carrying a child so she couldn’t very well ask her. Well, Jeanne had guessed the truth but she had also already told Gillian:
It is the simplest thing in the world; just let it happen
.

When they retired to their chamber that evening, Fingal started to remove his belt and plaid as he usually did. Bodie had already curled up to sleep by the hearth as had become his habit.

Gillian unfastened her brooch and belt, removing her plaid. “Do ye mind if we don’t play chess tonight?”

“Nay, of course not. I am a bit tired myself.”

She pulled the kertch from her head, releasing the thick silky mass of hair over her shoulders. “Fingal, could ye help me a moment. I am having trouble untying the ribbons of my
léine
.” She turned her back and lifted her hair out of the way.

“Certainly, my love.” She felt his long warm fingers on the back of her neck as he worked to untie the fastenings. “There ye are.”

Before he removed his hands from her, she turned and slipped her arms around his neck. “Thank ye,” she whispered. Heat smoldered in his eyes. She gave him a quick kiss. With her hands still around his neck she grinned slyly. “I’ll untie yers for ye.”

He grinned back. “Will ye now?” He stroked her back gently as she released the laces of his
léine
. When she was finished he leaned down and kissed her. His kiss was slower and deeper than hers had been. She was breathless by the time he broke the kiss. “Thank ye,” he whispered, just as she had.

She looked into his beautiful green eyes and was lost. “Fingal, I...”

“Gillian, I won’t push ye. I made ye a promise. I said I would wait until ye were ready—until ye asked me to be yer husband.”

Dear God, Gillian wanted this kind, beautiful man to love her. “I know ye did, and now I’m ready. I’m asking. Fingal, please, make me yer wife.”

Fingal woke the next morning blanketed by Gillian. Her head rested on his chest, her silky hair spread over them both. Her long slender legs were entwined with his, one thigh nestled snuggly against his groin. He chuckled, remembering the first morning they had awoken together, when thinking he was asleep she tried unsuccessfully to extricate herself. She opened her eyes at the sound. Still half asleep, she looked so young and untroubled this morning. He needed to see her like this more often. “Good morning, my love.”

She smiled a drowsy smile. “Good morning.”

He brushed the hair from her face, cupped her cheek, and gave her a deep, languorous kiss. She stretched her long lithe body like a cat, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him back. When he broke the kiss, she sighed heavily and nuzzled her face against his chest, closing her eyes again. Aye she was even more beautiful when worry lines didn’t mar her face. Fingal only had a moment to admire her however, because as she woke more fully she stiffened suddenly, bumping her head into his chin. “Dear God, the day is already bright and we are still abed. What will people think?”

Fingal laughed. “Don’t worry so, love. It isn’t that late and ye have been working yerself ragged. Everyone will think ye needed a bit of extra rest.” He gently rubbed her back. When she relaxed into his embrace he winked at her. “Either that or ye decided to stay locked away for the day to do wicked things with yer husband.”

She chuckled. “Fingal, stop teasing. We can’t stay abed any longer. There is too much to do.”

Even as she said the words, he heard the longing in her voice. But as much as he would like to stay closeted away with her today, he knew she might be sorry later. “Aye, my precious lass, ye are right, there is work to be done. However, I promise ye, someday we will stay locked away and spend a day, maybe a week, in each other’s arms. Someday soon.” He kissed her again.

“Someday soon,” she echoed when he broke the kiss. Then she popped out of bed. “But not today.” She dressed quickly and as much as he would have liked to simply watch her, he too rose and dressed. Once dressed, she dug through the contents of a chest, clearly having trouble finding something.

“What are ye looking for?”

“I had a small packet of herbs that Rhiannon gave me the day after the wedding.”

“What do ye need them for?”

She sat back on her heel to look up at him. “She says it is a marvelous tonic to help with all manner of things.” She gave him a saucy grin. “It is apparently especially good at helping one conceive fine strong sons.”

Fingal laughed and pulled her to her feet, kissing her again. “I’d like that very much.”

~ * ~

As Fingal began another day of exhausting physical labor it was with renewed purpose. In spite of his misgivings about the marriage forced on him over a month ago he was happier than he ever imagined possible. He also was beginning to see the fruits of all the clan’s hard work. There had been no more raids on their land. The weakest portions of the wall had been torn down and rebuilt. Only minor repairs were left. He had already received word from Niall. Rowan MacKenzie’s wedding was to be held several days after Roodmas. If everything continued to go well, he and Gillian would attend the wedding and return afterward with Turcuil and several other men. Then the real work of training his men could begin. He had also received word from Laird MacBain, telling him Bran and his family would also come to Brathanead in a few weeks.

That afternoon during the midday meal a messenger arrived from Laird MacKay. Fingal’s brow furrowed as he read it.

“What is the matter? Is he opposed to sending his nephew to us?” Gillian asked.

“Not exactly. He is just cautious. He is concerned about the stability of clan MacLennan and therefore the safety of his nephew. He doesn’t wish to send Dougal to me to train as a squire just yet.”

Eadoin too looked troubled by that news.

Gillian looked confused. “I don’t understand why ye both seem so upset. Can ye not seek a squire from another clan? Doesn’t Laird Sutherland have several young sons?”

Fingal clarified, “It isn’t just that I need a squire. I do, and one of Laird Sutherland’s sons would also be a good choice. What worries me is exactly what worried King David in the first place. Other clans see us as weak and vulnerable.”

“But we aren’t. Not really. We are rebuilding and much stronger than we were before ye arrived.”

“Aye, we are, sweetling, but while things are getting better, we have quite a way to go yet. The fact that other clans see us as potentially weak is a problem.”

Eadoin nodded and spoke softly, “It means that anyone who might want to attack is likely to try. Even if we were as strong as ever the fact that others think we aren’t makes us a target. That is probably what emboldened the Grants.”

“We need other clans to see not only are we strong, but that we have strong allies so they will think twice about attacking,” Diarmad added.

“What can we do?”

Fingal hated the concern he saw reflected now in Gillian’s expression. “We are doing much of what we need to do. Bran MacBain will be here in a few weeks and several of Niall’s men will come after Roodmas. I have never prayed for bitter weather, but as long as April stays blustery and cold it may afford us some protection. After that we will have the clear support of Clan MacIan, MacBain, and perhaps even Clan MacKenzie.”

“And ye don’t think that is enough?”

“It is a start. But honestly, if Laird MacKay will send his nephew here, other clan leaders will see that as a good sign.”

“How can we convince him?”

“Dougal’s father is Laird MacKay’s brother. Perhaps if we invite Tasgall and his wife for a visit at midsummer, they can see for themselves that we have both rebuilt our clan and reestablished strong allies.”

“Aye, Laird,” agreed Diarmad, “The MacKay’s are well connected in the northern Highlands. If they believe it is safe for Dougal to train here, that will go a long way to convincing other clans that the MacLennans are strong and stable.”

“But what if they won’t come?”

Although generally seated at the laird’s table, the normally quiet Father Stephen rarely joined in the table conversation. However this afternoon he cleared his throat, before saying, “My Lady, I may be able to help there. Lady MacKay is my cousin, more like a sister really. We grew up together. I will send her a letter and assure her that things are well here.”

Fingal was dumbfounded. “Father Stephen, if ye are a cousin to Lady Mackay, that makes ye either a MacDonnell or a MacNicol.”

“A MacNicol, aye. Bhaltair MacNicol was my father, God rest his soul. I am Laird MacNicol’s cousin too.”

“That surprises me,” Fingal said.

“That I’m a MacNicol?” Father Stephen asked.

“Nay, that ye are Bhaltair MacNicol’s son and yet ye became a priest. He had a fearsome reputation.”

Father Stephen gave a rare laugh. “I’m sure my father wanted me to be a warrior, but I was hopeless. Still he mellowed a bit in his later years. As he grew older, it became clear that he loved my mother and would deny her nothing. She knew I was never meant to be a warrior. Eventually he saw the wisdom in letting me study and pursue the priesthood. Still, I am not uneducated in what is required to keep a clan safe and whole. Ye are accomplishing that here. I wouldn’t ask for Laird MacKay’s support if I felt otherwise.”

“Thank ye, Father. I appreciate hearing that.”

Fingal knew Father Stephen’s letter might go a long way toward helping convince Tasgall MacKay and his wife to come for a visit but he still worried.

As if the news from Laird MacKay wasn’t enough, Lana finally cornered him immediately after the meal to raise the issue of a betrothal for Fallon. “Laird, I have wanted to talk to ye about something for days and haven’t had the opportunity.”

“Lana, this isn’t a good time.”

“It never seems to be a good time for ye,” she snapped, “but this is important and it cannot wait any longer.”

Fingal had trouble not showing his frustration. “What is more important than seeing to our clan’s defenses?” Fingal hoped his question would shame her into silence for a bit longer, but that hope was in vain.

“A betrothal for Fallon.”

“Ye can’t be serious.”

“Of course I’m serious. She will be eighteen in a few weeks. This can wait no longer.”

Just as he had promised Gillian he would, Fingal replied, “Lana, with all of the recent changes, I think it’s better to wait a few months before discussing this.”

“That isn’t acceptable, and there is really nothing to discuss anyway. I know who Fallon should marry and simply need yer blessing. I think yer guardsman Coby would be perfect for her. We can post the banns and have the wedding in a few weeks.”

“Coby? Is this a marriage that Fallon wants?”

“What Fallon
wants
is not the issue. She will do as she is told. It is a good match and good for the clan.”

Fingal had intended to be more sympathetic for Gillian’s sake, but his patience was sorely tested. “Good for the clan? I’m sorry, Lana, I disagree. Even if it were Fallon’s fondest wish to marry Coby, I would not agree to it. Not now. We need to do everything we can to rebuild strong ties with other clans. Forging an alliance through marriage is one of the best ways to do that.”

“Ye can’t mean to use Fallon as a pawn.”

“Not immediately, nay. However, when things have truly settled down and Fallon has had time to adjust to all of the recent changes, I will consider a political marriage for her. That is truly in the best interest of the clan.”

“But Laird—”

“Lana, ye have my decision. I will hear no more discussion of Fallon marrying Coby or anyone else.” Lana was dumbstruck, which pleased Fingal more than it should have. Although he had no intention of forcing Fallon into a marriage that she didn’t want, perhaps if Lana believed he would, she would stop pushing the issue.

~ * ~

If the news that arrived at the midday meal was distressing, the discussion with his mother-in-law that followed was more so. However, to Fingal’s pleasure and relief, Quinn MacKenzie arrived with six other MacKenzie warriors and ten Matheson men just before dark.

Fingal met them in the courtyard after the watch announced their approach. “Ye are a welcome sight indeed, Quinn, and so are the men ye brought. Join me in the great hall. The evening meal will be served soon. Afterwards, I will have my steward see to quarters for ye and yer men. Frankly, I’m a little surprised to see ye before yer brother’s wedding.”

“I’m glad ye asked me to join yer guard, Fingal, but I can’t say the same for Da. He’s still angry about Niall luring Rowan away, but he realizes that peace is best maintained with a show of strength. I thought it better to leave while he was open to the idea. However, I will need to go to Duncurra for the wedding in a few weeks.”

Fingal laughed. “I understand. If possible, Gillian and I will go too.”

“I’ll warn ye, Da will make certain ye know once the MacLennans are strong and stable. There will be no reason for me to stay any longer.”

Fingal’s brows drew together as they walked toward the head table. “I had hoped ye’d stay on for good. I need a strong guard.”

Quinn laughed. “Ye know that, and I know that, but I haven’t quite broken that to Da yet.”

Fingal shook his head. “Yer Da may declare war on me himself when he finds out.”

“Nay, he won’t. He’ll bluster over it every time he sees ye for the next decade or so, but he’ll come around.”

“Has he found ye a bride yet?”

“Thankfully, nay. Right now he is focused on Rowan’s wedding to Eara Fraser. It is good that ye’re planning to go. Ye may have the opportunity to solidify ties with some of the clans in attendance.”

“Aye, that is an opportunity I wouldn’t like to miss.” As they entered the hall, Fingal spotted Gillian, with Bodie at her heels. “Ah, here is my bride now. Gillian, I would like for ye to meet our newest guardsman, Quinn MacKenzie. Quinn, my wife, Lady Gillian MacLennan.”

Gillian smiled. “It is a pleasure to meet ye, sir. We are most grateful that ye have come.”

Quinn took her hand, bowing low. “My lady, the pleasure is mine. Please, call me Quinn.” Quinn offered his hand to Bodie to sniff before scratching him behind the ears. “And who is this beastie?”

Gillian grinned and crouched beside the dog to rub him and give him a cuddle. “This is Bodie, although ‘Shadow’ might have been a better name as he is never farther away from me than that.” Standing again she said, “The evening meal is ready. Please join us at the head table.

If Fingal had been worried about Quinn, an outsider, being accepted by the clan, his worries were laid to rest during the meal. Quinn was outgoing and friendly, but had an unassuming manner that naturally drew people to him. Fingal wasn’t surprised by the attention paid to Quinn by Brathanead’s serving maids. Tall, blond, and muscular, with crystal blue eyes and a charming smile, he was extremely attractive and had always turned the head of any lass in his vicinity. Gillian’s sisters practically fell over themselves when they met him. Not even Ailsa, at two and ten, was immune to his charms. She drew his attention and peppered him with questions at every opportunity.