Page 22 of The Laird’s Wicked Game (Highland Scandal #2)

THE RAIN HAMMERED against the curtain wall, the skies above the color of lead.

Squinting out at the misty landscape beyond, while water ran off the brim of his sealskin hood, Rae grimaced. The spring rains had started early this year. Usually, they didn’t get a deluge until April, but it was only the beginning of March, and the weather had turned. The last of the snow had melted with the end of February, the air had warmed—and heavy rain clouds had rolled in.

To the east, the Sound of Mull churned, white caps foaming. Unsurprisingly, no birlinns or cogs sailed between Mull and the mainland this morning.

Rae muttered a curse under his breath. He’d ordered a shipment of oats from Argyll—as a harsh winter had depleted their stores—but it would be delayed now. Turning from the view, he strode back along the walls, to the slippery steps that led back down to the barmkin. Large puddles had formed upon the cobbles, where two bairns splashed like waterfowl.

An instant later, their mother rushed out of the kitchen, her voice carrying through the pattering rain. “Look what ye have done … yer new trews are filthy!” she shouted, waving a wooden spoon. “Get indoors, the pair of ye!”

The two lads hurriedly obeyed, ducking out of the way of her spoon as she took a swipe at them.

“Remember when we used to do that?”

Rae turned from watching the bairns disappear to see Jack approach, his long legs eating up the space between them. Like his brother, the Captain of the Guard wore a hooded sealskin cloak.

“Aye,” he replied, with a half-smile. “Ma used to come after us with a wooden spoon too when we went back indoors, dripping and muddy.”

Jack smiled back, although the expression was wistful. Shona Maclean had possessed a fiery temper, but they’d adored her. She’d also been big-hearted and affectionate—and her laughter had filled the broch. Her death had been sudden, a tumble down the tower house stairs had broken her neck. Their father had loved his wife deeply, and he was never the same afterward, although Baird’s death had come little over a year later.

“We were trouble, weren’t we?” Jack said, halting before him.

Rae snorted. “ Ye were.” He glanced around him then, his focus shifting from the past to the present. “The barmkin is close to flooding, Jack … we will need to open the storm drain earlier than usual this year.” His attention rested for a moment on the iron door inset into the eastern wall. A drain ran around the edge of the yard, and a small gap at the bottom of the iron allowed some water to escape. Usually, once the spring rains be gan, they would open the storm drain for a few weeks, allowing the barmkin to drain properly. “Ye’d better get the lads to unlock it this morning.”

“I shall see it done.”

Rae glanced back at Jack, to find his brother scrutinizing him.

Ignoring his penetrating look, he cleared his throat. “Once the rain eases, I shall lead another patrol south. I don’t trust how quiet things have been of late.” He halted then before growling, “The Raiders will attack again … soon.”

“Maybe they won’t,” Jack suggested, cocking an eyebrow. “Have ye considered that?”

“They will … I feel it in my bones.”

Jack huffed a sigh. “Aye, well … a man should always trust his instincts.” His brow creased then. “Ye don’t have to lead the patrol though … that’s why ye have me, remember?”

“Don’t worry, ye won’t be sitting around on yer arse,” Rae shot back. In truth, he was desperate to get away from Dounarwyse for a while. Of late, he’d started to feel as if the walls were closing in. “I’ll send ye and the lads north again.”

Jack nodded slowly. He was still frowning, and remorse tugged at Rae. He’d just snapped his head off for no good reason—something he’d done with increasing frequency of late—but he needed Jack not to question him.

His brother’s gaze shadowed then, his lips parting, as if he was about to ask him something that Rae wouldn’t—and couldn’t—answer.

“I’ll see ye at the noon meal,” he said, stepping away from him abruptly. Then, before Jack could say anything else, he turned on his heel and stalked back inside the broch.

Storm was waiting for him, heavy tail thumping on the floor, inside the entrance hall. Usually, the sight of his dog roused a smile from him, yet not this morning. Fortunately, Storm didn’t care what mood he was in. The canny collie had remained inside this morning, having taken one look at the hammering rain and deciding it was more pleasant indoors. As always, he fell in behind him as Rae took the stairs up to his solar.

Stepping into a chamber that was often his refuge, his escape from the demands of running the fortress, Rae stripped off his cloak and hung it up by the fire. However, no sooner had he done so when his chest tightened and his breathing grew shallow—and suddenly, dizziness assailed him.

Satan’s cods, what’s wrong with me?

Even being alone in here, with the roaring fire warming the damp air, didn’t make him feel better. The sacking on the two windows had been rolled down, to keep the rain out. Unfortunately, it also kept the smoky air in. He felt as if he were being suffocated.

Crossing to the nearest window, he rolled up the sacking. He then placed his hands on the stone still and leaned forward, sucking the fresh air into his lungs. Eventually, the tightness in his chest eased, as did the lightheadedness.

Meanwhile, Storm pressed up against his leg and gave a low whine. The collie had noted that something was amiss, after all. Rousing himself, he reached down and stroked the dog’s head. “I’m better now, lad,” he murmured. “Don’t fash yerself.”

But, even as he spoke, something deep inside his chest twisted.

He wasn’t any better. Not really.

Three long weeks had passed since his final night with Kylie, and with each day, he’d started to feel worse. How he missed her .

It was torture living under the same roof, seeing her at mealtimes, or watching from the window as she went out on her regular stroll with his sons, and not being able to talk to her frankly. Numerous times since that night, he’d been about to invite her to supper or to take a cup of wine with him in his solar in the evening.

But on each occasion, he’d choked the words back.

His hand still resting upon the window ledge curled into a fist.

He’d thought he’d handle things better than this. He’d lived long enough to know what disappointment was, what loss and loneliness felt like, but he’d been unprepared for this. Kylie had warmed his soul, and her absence made him feel as if winter had returned.

Storm gave another whine and pushed his nose insistently against his master’s thigh, and in response, Rae huffed a bitter laugh. “Ye know I’m lying, don’t ye?” He pulled a face then. “I’m not hiding this well.”

No, Jack wasn’t the only one in his household who’d noticed something was amiss. Both his sons had been unusually quiet at mealtimes, watching their ill-tempered father with worried gazes. No doubt, they thought they’d done something to make him that way. His grumpiness had also made the servants jittery, and he’d caught Kylie giving him a probing look once or twice.

He was miserable—and yet she appeared unmoved. She was different these days though, a little withdrawn.

Rae swallowed and pushed himself off the window ledge. He then moved to the sideboard and poured himself a large cup of plum wine. He never drank this early in the day, but today, he’d make an exception.

Things couldn’t stay as they were .

Something had to be done.

“I must speak to ye, Lady Grant.” The rumble of the laird’s voice made Kylie glance up as she rose from the table. The noon meal had just ended, and around her, the hall was emptying out. Tara had just gotten to her feet and was struggling with wee Grace, who squalled unhappily in her arms. The bairn was getting her first teeth and wasn’t herself.

Meeting Rae’s gaze squarely for what felt like the first time in weeks, she forced a smile, even as her pulse took off. “Aye, Maclean?”

He nodded, his mouth compressing into a stern line. “Join me in my solar shortly.”

And with that, before she could say a word, he moved away from the chieftain’s table and left the hall.

Kylie watched him go, marking the tense set of his shoulders, even as her belly sank.

She’d been waiting for this—the moment that the laird would realize he didn’t want her residing in his broch any longer—but even so, nausea washed over her.

“I won’t join ye in the solar this afternoon, I’m afraid.” Tara cast Kylie an apologetic look as she carried her squalling daughter away. “Grace needs me.”

“It’s no bother,” Kylie called after her. “I might take a rest in my chamber instead.”

The women had fallen into a pleasant routine over the winter, where Tara would leave her daughters with a maid for an hour or two while she and Kylie embroidered, wove, or sewed in the lady’s solar. It was something they both looked forward to—although Tara’s distraction today was a blessing. Kylie wagered that after her meeting with the taciturn laird, she wouldn’t be in the mood.

Instead, she’d be packing her bags.

Heart in her throat, she made her way from the hall, past where the men were donning their sealskin cloaks to venture out into the driving rain once more. The air inside the hall was musty with the odor of wet wool and leather, and despite the rise and fall of voices, Kylie could hear the hiss of rain against the walls.

But it was difficult to pay attention to her surroundings, not when Rae awaited her upstairs.

She climbed the stairs slowly, prolonging the inevitable, and found the solar door ajar when she arrived on the landing. It was clear she was to enter.

Clearing her throat, she pushed open the door. “Maclean?”

Rae turned from where he’d been standing by the hearth, while Storm rushed to her, tail wagging.

“Close the door,” the laird said softly.

Patting Storm’s head with one hand, Kylie pushed the door closed behind her with the other. “Ye wished to talk to me?”

He nodded, his face the most severe she’d ever seen it.

Mother Mary, he was going to dismiss her.

Her heart started to kick against her ribs then, panic bubbling up. Curse her, she’d really made a mess of her new start. Dounarwyse felt like home these days, but it wouldn’t for much longer—and she only had herself to blame. She’d let lust addle her wits and cloud her judgment. Rae had enjoyed their game, but now her presence here clearly chafed him. He didn’t like that she hadn’t wished to continue. Like most men, he liked to be the one in charge .

“I can’t go on like this.”

She started to sweat, even as her mouth went dry. “Excuse me?”

He moved toward her, halting when they stood around three feet apart. Meanwhile, Storm sat down between them. The dog had gone still; he’d even stopped wagging his tail, as if he sensed the gathering tension in the solar.

“I’m miserable,” he said roughly. “Every morning, when I wake up, I have a blessed moment of relief before it feels as if a mule has just kicked me in the guts. I then force myself to go about my day … but all I can think about … is ye . We’re worse than strangers now, lass, and I hate it. This longing is killing me. I—”

Kylie exhaled sharply. “Rae, I don’t think—”

“Let me finish.”

She clenched her jaw, swallowing down panic and the words that now burned on her tongue. She didn’t want to allow him to continue. They’d made an agreement, and he was ruining everything. Even so, she remained silent as he’d asked.

“It started as a game … a way to make up for everything we’d both missed out on … but it became much more to me,” he said huskily, his gaze never leaving hers. “I’m sick with love for ye, lass … and it’s become unbearable.”

Fear washed over her at these words, cold and prickly. “Then I should go,” she gasped, even as her blood started to roar in her ears. God’s troth, she felt like fleeing right this moment—picking up her skirts and running from Dounarwyse, never to return.

“No.” Rae stepped closer, nudging Storm out of the way with his knee. He then placed his hands upon her shoulders .

Kylie’s breathing hitched. It was the first time they’d touched since their last night together. The heat of his palms through her clothing, and the gentleness and strength of his fingers, made it difficult to concentrate. But she had to.

“I don’t want ye to go,” he said, his voice urgent now. “I want ye to stay … to be my wife. We are right together. We fit . Like a lock and key. Let me love ye, Kylie. Please.”

She stared back at him, even as fear hammered against her ribs. “But ye told me ye never wanted to wed again?” She couldn’t help but let an accusing edge creep into her voice, for in truth, she felt betrayed.

He swallowed. “I did. But that was before I spent time with ye .” His gaze searched her face. “Donalda and I were never right for each other … but ye and I are.”

“Ye don’t know that,” she burst out. “We spent a few months enjoying each other’s bodies … that doesn’t mean we’d be happy together.”

“That’s just an excuse, and ye know it,” he shot back, his grip on her shoulders tensing a little. “We did far more than lie with each other. We talked. We learned of each other’s pasts. We got to know each other. We grew to trust each other.”

Shaking her head, she gently extracted herself from his grasp and stepped back, creating much-needed space between them.

A nerve ticked in Rae’s cheek. “Ye are afraid,” he said roughly. “And ye believe clenching yer heart like a fist will keep ye safe from harm … but it won’t. All it will do is drain the joy from yer life. A clenched fist can hold nothing.”

Her chest started to ache. “I’ve made my choice, Rae … please accept it.”

“So, ye don’t love me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper .

“No.” Dizziness assailed her then, but she held fast.

He flinched at that. She’d wounded him, and the knowledge made her feel sick. But the fear was greater.

He moved back farther from her, and cold air rushed in between them. Storm tried to push his master back toward her, but Rae ignored the collie. “Ye want to leave then?” His voice was flat and his expression had veiled now, as he too shored up his defenses.

Kylie swallowed hard to loosen her painfully tight throat. Curse it, she’d entered the solar fearing that he’d send her away. But now he’d made it her decision. She didn’t want to leave Dounarwyse and the life she’d made for herself, yet after this conversation, she couldn’t remain here. “Aye,” she replied roughly. “As soon as possible.”