Page 11 of The Highlander’s Hellion Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #1)

11

D uncan walked through the corridors, leading the way to his favorite sitting room. He was glad that his memories had not failed him as he rounded the final corner and found the familiar doorway across from him.

He waved his hand, motioning for Alison to enter the room first. And so she did, sweeping around him in a ruffle of skirts, her scent wafting up and tickling his nostrils.

She smelled sweet, like honey, flowers, and summertime, and he wanted to lose himself in her scent. He immediately struck the thought from his mind as she took a seat on one of the overstuffed chairs and he locked the door behind them.

Now that they were alone, he gave himself a second to admire the room. The boar’s head above the mantelpiece, the plush red rug, and the bookshelves filled to the point of bursting were all the same. But the reading chairs were new, as was the large oak desk that stood in the corner of the room.

“What do ye have to say to me, husband?” Alison asked, drawing his attention back to the conversation at hand. “Why did ye lead me here?”

“I didnae want the staff to overhear us,” he explained, crossing the room to sit near her.

He paused as he sank into the chair across from her, allowing himself to relax into its cushions. The chair, large as it was, creaked under his weight, but he never once took his eyes off his wife.

“Why did ye tell her I was only goin’ to be here for a few days?” Duncan asked, keeping his voice hard and even-keeled.

“Is that nae how long ye’re here for?” Alison’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

Duncan shook his head. “Nay,” he answered. “I told ye afore, lass. I’m here to stay.”

A muscle ticked in Alison’s jaw. “I thought that was a joke.”

“Why would I need to joke about returning to me castle?”

Satisfaction rushed through him as the jab hit the target. He recalled how she had claimed Rosie as her own earlier that day, right before she sauntered into the castle, barking out orders to the servants.

He had chafed at it ever since, unable to let go of the way everyone who resided in the halls of his castle seemed to be at her beck and call.

There was some part of him that had been glad about it, that knew it was for the best that they loved her. However, since he had been a child, his father had always instilled in him that to be a good laird, one needed the respect and loyalty of every member of the clan, not just the soldiers.

He had always thought that by being away, by fighting in the wars, his servants and those who stayed behind would know and admire that he was doing it for them. But after conversing with Malina and observing the way everyone treated his wife, he realized that he had been very, very wrong.

“Do ye nae have a war to return to?” Alison asked, her eyes narrowing as she glared at him.

Duncan shook his head. “Nay, did ye nae hear? I offered the MacKimmons a truce. I expect they’ll accept it.”

Alison blanched, her hand rising to her mouth as it dropped open in shock. “Truly? Ye think they’ll just roll over after all the fightin’?”

He nodded. “I do. We’ve all lost too many men. If one of us doesnae bend, it’ll wipe out both our clans. ‘Tis nae a risk that I’m willin’ to take. And I think MacKimmon will feel the same. I expect his acceptance to arrive any day now.”

Alison continued to stare as silence fell between the two of them. The sound of footsteps on stone sounded outside the door, indicating that servants were walking by as they went about their nightly chores.

“So, MacKimmon will accept the peace deal,” Alison eventually said, her voice still laced with skepticism. “Then what? Surely there is another war ye need to race off to? Another conquest?”

“What will it take for ye to understand what I’ve been sayin’?” Duncan growled.

Alison was infuriating. He had spelled it out for her in every way he knew how. Why was she so adamant that he run off? That he leave her all over again?

“I’m here for good,” he continued.

Too frustrated to remain seated, Duncan pushed himself out of the chair and began agitatedly pacing the room.

“This is me castle. Ye’re me wife. Rosie is me daughter. Why is it so hard to believe that I’ve returned and dinnae intend to leave? Ye saw what happened after I left. Ye went and got yerself kidnapped!”

Alison snorted, rising indignantly out of her chair. “Aye, and whose fault was that? Why did they kidnap me? ‘Twas because of ye!”

Each word struck him like a blow. Had he not thought the same thing a thousand times as he raced to save her?

“Well, they wouldnae have been able to get to ye if I had been here,” Duncan argued back, unwilling to let his wife know just how closely the words she’d thrown at him echoed his thoughts. “So, I’ll be stayin’ here for as long as I like. I’ll be stayin’ here to protect ye.”

“Just like ye protected yer first wife?”

Duncan’s steps halted as he turned to stare at Alison. Her chest was heaving as she glowered at him.

“If ye truly wanted to protect me and Rosie, why did ye nae offer the truce at the beginnin’? Why did ye rush off without a word and leave us behind to pick up the pieces?”

With every sentence and each piercing question, Alison approached him.

Duncan stood still, allowing his wife to hurl at him every hateful thought he had ever had about himself and the decisions he had made all those years ago.

I still did the right thing . I had kenned how much worse it would have been if I had stayed here and nae done anythin’. I ken exactly what would have happened.

“Ye ken why I did what I did,” he hissed.

Alison had stopped a few inches from him, glaring at him with more anger than he would have thought possible.

“MacKimmon blamed me for me first wife’s death. ‘Tis why he attacked. There would have been nay peace, nae then.”

“Right,” Alison said with a sharp nod of her head.

She had calmed down, but her anger still bubbled beneath the surface. Duncan could see it in the way she stared at him and could feel it churning and radiating from her body.

“And why would he nae have accepted without a fight, I wonder?”

Sensing a trap, he let her question linger in the air.

Duncan intuitively knew what she would say next and readied himself for the blow, just as he would when facing an opponent wielding a sword.

But what Alison said next cut him deeper than any blade could.

“That’s right,” she said, her voice now a menacing whisper. “Yer wife was his sister. Why would he nae blame ye after she was found stabbed to death in yer bed? It makes sense that MacKimmon would wage war against the man who killed his flesh and blood.”

Even though Duncan had readied himself for the onslaught, the force of her accusation clobbered him all the same.

A fierce and brutal anger detonated within him, but before he could retort or act on his fiery rage, Alison smirked, turned on her heel, and made for the door.

“Say that again.”