Page 13

By the time he reached his chamber, he’d decided on how he would approach Aileana and what he would say to her.

He wasn’t a heartless man, and that was going to make this conversation unpleasant for him as well as for her.

But she was too upsetting to the balance of his life, and if getting her to admit where she’d hidden the Ealach meant that he’d have to appear unfeeling, then so be it.

He gritted his teeth and nudged open his door, prepared for a confrontation. Yet the sight that greeted him almost took his breath away. Aileana sat curled before the evening fire, a needle in her hand; her arm moved in rhythmic motion as she darned one of his tunics.

Duncan’s throat constricted at the utter serenity, the picture of domestic tranquility she embodied.

The firelight caught her hair, setting her cinnamon tresses to gold, and he watched in fascination as she nibbled her lower lip.

For the briefest moment he allowed himself to revel in the vision and to imagine what it would be like if she were truly his woman… if she were his wife.

Then she looked up and dropped her needle with a gasp. Her cheeks paled. And he saw it, the cursed whisper of fear—or was it revulsion?—shadowing her expression.

Pain wrenched through him, and he strode into the room, muttering, “What do you think you’re doing in here?”

“I—I’m mending your clothes.” Aileana retrieved the tunic she’d dropped, her gaze shifting nervously between him and the small mound of his clothes that she’d already repaired.

“Why?”

“I thought it my responsibility, and I’m skilled with the needle.

” She set the work aside, curling her hands on her lap.

He’d noticed that she fell to it often, that anxious, twisting of her hands.

Another twinge rippled through Duncan’s gut, and he realized suddenly that her constant, fearful reaction to him bothered him more than anything else did.

Anything except the knowledge that he’d done nothing to prevent her from feeling it.

Striding to her, he scooped up the garments she’d stitched and shoved them in a basket. When he spoke, he tried to sound normal, as if he hadn’t just allowed another MacDonell to twist the knife deeper in his belly.

“Your efforts to appear biddable are wasted when none but I can see them. In future you will confine your domestic work to the hall or other areas where the clan can bear witness.”

He thought she might argue, but at the last moment she held back. Her cheeks reddened to a furious blush, and he couldn’t help but think that she looked like a woman drowning, too frightened to reach for the branch that would save her.

The nagging pain jabbed him again, and he surprised himself by asking suddenly, “Well, what is it? Do you wish to say something to me?”

Aileana swallowed, and, amazed, Duncan watched her demeanor change. She unclasped her hands and sat up straighter, as if his question had unlocked some magical door.

“Aye, I do have something to say. I have reason for wanting to remain in here,” she said. “And it’s ill-mannered of you to bar me from it without first knowing why.”

“Heaven forbid that I be ill-mannered,” Duncan answered, folding his arms across his chest. “What is it, then?”

Aileana blushed again, only this time the coral dusting of her cheeks banished the last traces of that awful frightened look.

She stared directly at him, and her accusing eyes pierced him to the heart.

“I know you heard what your men were saying to me while you were breaking your fast. But you did not see what happened in the kitchen just before that.”

He raised his brow. “You’re right, I did not. Tell me.”

“The details are of no matter. But it made clear to me that your clan despises me. And while it’s true that I’ve agreed to endure your spite because of the agreement between us, I will not be the object of all the mistreatment and hatred your people decide to heap upon me.

” She nodded. “That is my reason for wishing to keep to this chamber when I’m not needed below, and a good one it is. ”

“It’s not acceptable,” he argued, shaking his head. “You must learn to get along with the others if you’re going to be living here.” He shrugged. “Of course, if you want to return to Dulhmeny, just tell me where you’ve hidden the Ealach and off you’ll go without another word from me.”

“So you’re still resolved to use cruel bribery, then?”

“I’m not trying to be cruel, lass, just realistic,” he said, steeling himself to drive the lance home.

“If you’re going to stay, you must keep in mind why the others resent you.

It’s because of all that your kin did to us.

We’re still suffering the effects now. There’s a chance that if you work at it, you might win them over—but you cannot be doing that hiding in this chamber. ”

“Win them over?” Aileana’s hand clenched in her skirts and her eyes narrowed. “I’ve no care what that barbarous lot you call clansmen think of me!”

Duncan turned away from her. “Have it your way, then, Aileana MacDonell. But I’ll not be taking steps to make your stay here easier.

” He took up the basket of clothes as he swung open the chamber door, calling over his shoulder, “You know what needs to be done if you want to leave. Until then, you’d be wise to follow me down to the hall to continue your work.

I’ll give you a few moments to comply—but there’ll be no more retreating to this chamber from now on. ”

Duncan heard her gasp as he left the room.

Slamming the door behind him, he set off down the hall.

That hadn’t been easy. The woman was sharp as a blade and soft as butter all at once.

She left him at odds, no matter what the outcome of their infrequent discussions.

Yet he’d done what he intended to, hadn’t he?

She would come out of his chamber, as he’d bid her—she hadn’t argued further. But the unsettled feeling remained.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw something peeking over the edge of the basket he carried. Something that swung with every step that he took. It was the tunic that Aileana had been mending when he came into their chamber.

Emptiness unfurled with sudden ferocity in his stomach.

He stopped in the middle of the hall, setting his burden down on the floor.

Temptation came over him, too powerful to resist, and slowly, he stripped the gloves from his hands to touch the tunic, to feel the quality of her stitching with his fingers.

Her work was fine and even. Worthy of a noble lady.

Or a loving wife.

A tingle of longing shot up his arm to lodge in the area near his heart. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, willing his resolve to remain intact as he tucked his tunic back into the basket. But the hollow feeling gnawed deeper.

He clenched his jaw and kept walking. Damn Aileana MacDonell.

Damn her sweet, innocent gaze and her bursts of temper.

And damn the effect her presence here was having on him.

He’d planned to put her in her place just now.

Planned to show her who was in control. But it seemed that she’d gotten the better of him once more, and simply by gazing up at him with those wide, honey-brown eyes as she sat mending his clothes.

For in that instant, she’d made him thirst for something that he’d been allowed to taste for one, brief moment in his life, but could never have again.

He stalked into the great hall, tossing the basket of clothes on the floor before continuing through the huge chamber and out the door to the yard.

He didn’t pause to acknowledge any of his people.

He needed to get some air, needed to get away from his thoughts and his tumultuous feelings.

And yet he knew that no amount of walking would help him to escape the knowledge that was burning a hole in his chest—the sad truth that pummeled him from the inside out.

Nay, he couldn’t deny it. He’d been defeated once, years ago, by a MacDonell woman, and though he’d vowed never to let it happen again, in this latest battle of wills with Aileana, he couldn’t deny that it felt like he was losing once more…

only this time the forfeit seemed to be a tiny piece of his already ravaged heart.

Aileana stared at the unyielding panels of the door, sure that the wooden beams were no more hard and dark than the soul inhabiting Duncan MacRae’s human form. Whirling away from the reminder, she felt her knees give way, and she sank down, struggling to resist the urge to dissolve into tears.

Ever since she’d first set eyes on the leader of the wild MacRaes, she’d felt in a constant state of turbulence.

It was unsettling, especially after all of the years spent schooling herself to appear calm no matter what her inner feelings, even in the face of Father’s most humbling wrath.

But Duncan seemed to have the ability to strike at the most vulnerable part of her, to make her feel exposed and raw.

Wrapping her arms round her stomach, Aileana tried to focus on something—anything—to keep her from sliding into the morass of feeling that meant losing control.

The Ealach .

Aye; she’d concentrate on the amulet and the good that would come from protecting it.

If only the opalescent pendant were here with her.

If only she could feel its weight and warmth in her palm and sense the reassuring power that throbbed through her when she touched it.

But it wasn’t here, and it never could be.

She needed to keep it safe, keep it hidden.

Until when?

The question ragged at her, but she refused to answer. She couldn’t. Not now. Not yet.

After a time, her breathing began to slow, and she felt her heart ease its pounding. But for all her trying, she couldn’t summon the vision she needed. The Ealach , mercurial as always, refused to appear in her mind’s eye. And it troubled her. Rarely did the amulet refuse to respond to her call.

Opening her eyes, Aileana sighed and stared into the flames that glowed and popped in the hearth. She knew she shouldn’t let it disturb her; her failure was probably due to the devilish MacRae’s constant goading.

When I’m more calm, the image will come.

Sitting back on her heels, Aileana let the fire’s warmth soak into her skin, feeling it bathe her face and arms. The dancing flames were hypnotic, but her uneasiness remained. It was almost as if she’d lost the Ealach , somehow.

Though she knew it wasn’t possible, she couldn’t resist that frightening, renegade thought.

It was a dark image, full of shadow and enchantment, telling her that her hold on the amulet was slipping—and that if she didn’t take care, all of her work and sacrifice would be for naught, and it would vanish from her life forever.

The Northern Highlands

It was hot. The heat from the conjure fire rose in silky, undulating waves to caress Morgana’s naked body.

She hunched motionless over the flames, murmuring the incantation, her gaze fixed as she concentrated on the image beginning to form from the depths of the glowing ash; a ball of blue light rolled to the surface and burst forth, spinning and taking shape.

For an instant it hung suspended there, a perfect replica of the amulet.

Then it dropped back with a faint popping sound and a release of stinging, acrid smoke.

Shaking herself from the trance, Morgana uncurled her body from the cramped position of meditation and stood.

She stretched, catlike, and reached for the silken robe she’d draped over the only chair in this ruined castle’s tower room.

The fabric slid cool and smooth over her heated flesh, and she knotted the belt before summoning Iona.

Only after the serving girl left did Morgana allow herself the briefest of smiles.

Her visions were powerful and rarely wrong; the Ealach was vulnerable at last, outside of Dulhmeny’s walls for the first time since she’d been banished to this forsaken place.

It was unprotected by a keeper and there for the taking.

The creaking door interrupted further musings. Colin strode into the room and grimaced. “How can you abide this heat? It’s like roasting in Hades.”

Morgana said nothing as she walked over to him, smoothing her hands up the powerful length of his arms and across his chest to weave in the golden tangle of hair at his nape. He gave a low growl and bent to kiss her neck, murmuring, “Iona didn’t tell me it was loving you were after.”

Arching her back, Morgana leaned into him and closed her eyes.

If she kept them shut it was easier to pretend that it was Duncan who held her, that it was his strength supporting her, loving her…

quenching the burning desires that beat with every pulse of her blood.

For thirteen years she’d satisfied herself this way, with Colin none the wiser.

But now was not the time. Pulling back, she pushed his groping hands away from her breasts.

Colin frowned, making the scar that disappeared beneath his eye patch whiten. She stared at the patch, remembering. Reliving the moment when Duncan had struck down his brother before he himself fell senseless on the altar during their attack on his wedding day.

Colin had lost his eye because of that blow.

Running her finger lightly above it, along his brow, Morgana let a slow, sweet smile curve her lips. Then she tilted her head to meet his gaze. “Finally, Colin. The needing, the waiting…it’s all over. The Ealach is to be ours once more.”

Raising herself on tiptoe, she pulled his head closer until her lips brushed against him, her breath whispering over his ear like a lover’s caress. “It’s time, my darling, for vengeance.”