Page 27

K innon tossed back the remainder of his ale and wiped his mouth.

The sounds of the feasting going on around him in the great hall had risen until the din was almost deafening.

Now that the outbreak of plague seemed to have died down, the need to celebrate life had burned strong.

With that in mind, a contingent of MacKenzies had arrived three days ago, with a score of men and as many women, and the revelry had increased every night since.

Leaning back against the wall, he looked around the gathering before letting his gaze settle on Duncan.

Though his cousin mingled with the company, he seemed none too pleased at the attentions Nora MacKenzie had been lavishing on him all night.

The woman had survived her bout with plague, none the worse for wear.

Now she seemed intent on luring Duncan back to her bed…

something she’d been trying to accomplish ever since Aileana MacDonell had come to Eileen Donan.

Un fortunately for her, she hadn’t yet realized the futility of that effort.

Kinnon let his sights drift along the table, across the expansive stone floor to the corner near the massive fireplace.

Aileana sat curled on a chair there, a length of plaid draped over her legs.

Though she’d recovered from her own bout with the plague more than a fortnight ago, her face was pinched and wan.

He followed the track of her stare; it led back to Duncan, who continued to resist Nora, all the while glancing furtively at Aileana as if he both wanted her near and wished himself far away from her at the same time.

Kinnon sighed. The two of them were like to kill each other with coolness if someone didn’t step in soon.

They’d circled their shadows for days, and it was ruining them both.

Kinnon had pondered approaching Duncan, but he knew from experience that trying to talk to him about this would be tantamount to engaging him in battle.

Duncan resisted advice, especially about women.

But Aileana might be willing to listen. She’d talked freely in the storage chamber several weeks ago. Perhaps she’d welcome his counsel now.

Smiling, Kinnon weaved his way through the revelers. Before he reached Aileana’s side he secured two cups of honeyed wine, bowing as he offered her one of the fragrant drinks.

“May I tempt you with some refreshment, lady?”

Aileana gave him a startled glance. “You’ve no need to serve me.” But after a pause, she nodded in thanks and took the cup from him to sip. Her faint smile dispelled the gloom of her expression a bit. “It’s delicious, thank you.”

Kinnon swung himself onto a bench near her chair.

“Aye. A special brew to mark the arrival of our honored guests.” He inclined his head toward the many MacKenzies who celebrated at the banquet table.

When he sipped again, he glanced furtively at Aileana, hoping his comment encouraged her to notice the one MacKenzie in particular who was heaping attention on Duncan.

Aileana grimaced. Setting her cup aside, she leaned back again in her chair and pulled her plaid closer around her knees. “The festivities are quite too fervent for my tastes, I fear.”

“Perhaps you should retire for the evening what with being ill as you were,” Kinnon said shrewdly. “You might take sick again.”

“Nay.” Aileana shook her head, though her cheeks had paled. “I’m well enough.”

“It’s a different kind of ache, then, is it?” Kinnon murmured, casting her a sideways look.

Aileana threaded her fingers together, squeezing, he noticed, until the knuckles turned white. “I’ve never liked revelry.” She looked down at her lap to stare at the swath of plaid. “It is the consequence, I suppose, of spending so much time alone.”

“Ah, I see. It has nothing to do with Duncan over there, then.”

Aileana’s gaze snapped up. “Of course it doesn’t.”

Kinnon shrugged. “I only suggested as much since you seem more awkward with him than usual, of late.” He touched her hand. “It would be no crime to talk of your feelings, you know. They’d be safe with me; you’ve my word on it.”

Aileana stiffened and pulled her hand away under the guise of adjusting her plaid. “There’s no feeling about it, Kinnon MacRae. I’m Duncan’s leman. He’s the laird. It’s as simple as that.”

Her cheeks had heightened in color as she spoke, and Kinnon ran his hand through his hair as he looked away. Saints, but she was as stubborn as Duncan.

After a long silence, he murmured, “I am glad, then, for your peace of mind, lass. Would that I shared it.” Pushing himself from the bench, Kinnon bowed again.

“I’ll be taking my leave now.” He looked up long enough to fix his gaze on her, ensuring that she caught the import of his next words.

“But know that if you ever wish my advice or support, I’ll be more than willing to give it. ”

After he left, Aileana sat stone still. Dragon’s breath, she must be as transparent as water.

Kinnon had known her dilemma just by looking at her.

The sorry truth was that ever since she’d recovered from the plague, she’d pined after Duncan, and jealousy had been gnawing at her with every additional moment she’d been forced to watch Nora MacKenzie fawn over him.

It was enough to make her almost regret having nursed the woman through her illness.

Worse still, the wretch was lapping up Nora’s attention like a kitten with a dish of milk.

Pulling her gaze from that disturbing scene across the hall, Aileana stared into the roiling flames on the hearthstone.

Their twisting gyrations matched her emotions perfectly.

Hot, angry, and uncontrolled. She couldn’t continue this way much longer, else before long her mood swings would reveal her feelings to every inhabitant of the castle.

She needed to distance herself from Duncan and this unexpected hold he seemed to have on her emotions. Now, before it got any worse.

But how?

Running away from Eilean Donan was out of the question.

Though that kind of separation was sure to ease her suffering in time, she couldn’t risk the damage she might cause to her clan or to Gavin if Duncan chose to retaliate for her breach of their bargain.

She tipped her head to the side, leaning the weight of her chin onto her hand.

She could try to force Duncan to admit he’d kissed her when she was sick.

By using every feminine wile she possessed, she might be able to make him forget the existence of any other woman save her.

She could tempt him and tease him until…

Aileana’s cheeks burned hotter than the flames on the hearth as she brushed the wild notion aside.

Even if she wished it, she knew in her soul that she could never be so bold when it came to such things.

She knew nothing about seduction. Those kinds of triumphs were reserved for a few select women.

Women with more obvious physical charms, and the ability to carry on suggestive repartee and exchange flirtatious gestures.

Women like Nora MacKenzie .

Branding her rival with a stare sharp enough to draw blood, Aileana sagged backward.

She snuggled her plaid tighter around herself.

Self-pity was useless. She’d learned that long ago in the bitter solitude of her bedchamber at Dulhmeny.

When Father imposed especially harsh dictates on her, she’d avoided wailing and tears, instead waiting for Gavin or Robert to sneak to her window or door. Then she’d sprung into action.

Action …

That was it. She needed to do something. Something she knew that she could do well.

She swept her gaze over Duncan once again, her eyes narrowing as she saw where his large, gloved hands rested.

Something clicked inside her, then, propelling her to her feet and across the hall.

She spared barely a glance at the revelers, escaping under the wide, stone arch to climb the stairs to her bedchamber.

Once there, she stretched out on her pallet, letting her mind drift toward the thoughts she’d had on her first night at Eilean Donan so many weeks ago.

Thoughts of revenge.

At first, dredging up those memories stung like a handful of salt on an open wound.

But as each inspiration returned full force, a heady lightness filled her.

She wasn’t powerless. She could do something to ease the suffering she endured thanks to Duncan MacRae and his insensitivity.

And the first revenge she took against him would give balm to this most recent wound.

Or to be exact, the wound he’d allowed Nora MacKenzie to help inflict on her.

In an instant Aileana leaped out of bed and splashed water on her face.

There was no time to waste. Supper was almost over.

With a last pat to tuck several unruly waves of hair into place, she raced down the stairs.

No one saw her as she ducked into the kitchen; holding her breath in a prayer that her luck held, she slipped into the pantry.

Cool dark surrounded her, thick with the tangy scent of herbs she’d put up for the coming winter.

Squinting to see the earthen jars, Aileana fumbled and stood on tiptoe, almost knocking the marjoram to the floor before she found the correct pot.

Her hand closed around the vessel, exploring its cool contours, and she suffered a moment’s hesitation about using its contents.

Never before had she called upon her knowledge of herbs for anything other than aiding the ill.

A woman’s laughter rose above the din in the great hall, drifting to Aileana’s ears. She stepped into the light of the kitchen and peeked through the archway at the festivities still raging across the threshold. What she saw made her eyes sting, and her fingers tighten round the pot.