Page 9

She knew what it was like to feel completely at the mercy of outside forces, especially the everlasting impulses and intrigues of men.

She remembered all too well days spent in seclusion, evenings passed restricted to the confines of her bedchamber because Father thought it best to keep her spirit pure and free from distraction.

Gavin and Robert had sometimes stolen into her chamber to entertain her, but their visits were brief.

Father had wanted her thoughts only on the amulet, and whenever he left for a journey or hunt, it was always with orders that she be kept confined to her rooms. It was at those times that she’d wished him dead.

And now he was.

The odd hurt lanced through her again, but she was given no time to nurse it.

Several of the men had already dismounted and disappeared into the keep, and Duncan was waiting for her to slide from Glendragon’s back.

She tried to ignore his hands at her waist as he helped her down, but their warmth seared through her tunic to brand her skin.

It reminded her of the inescapable fact that she was his possession now, property much the same as a goose, or sheep, or sow he’d purchased.

Except that those creatures were free to live in peace on the land.

She would be forced to share this man’s bed.

Gritting her teeth, Aileana stared straight ahead and walked into the castle with as much dignity as her boy’s garments would allow.

The interior of Eilean Donan wasn’t much better than its outward condition.

Her nose wrinkled at the stale smell as they came into the great hall.

The floor rushes looked as though they hadn’t been changed in months.

Only a few dogs lounged in the hall to collect the bits of meat, bread and other leavings that fell from the tables, ensuring that the rotted food would remain until someone removed it.

“Bridgid!” Duncan’s bellow shocked Aileana’s attention from the floor.

She hazarded a glance at him. Displeasure shone in the grim lines of his mouth, the hooded scowl of his brows.

When a red-faced, angry-looking woman burst into the hall, Duncan grasped Aileana’s arm and pushed her in that direction.

“Take her to the kitchens with you, Bridgid, and see that she has something to eat. Then set her to some tasks.” As he started up the stairway opposite Aileana, he yelled back, “And send up some water for my bath. I cannot stand this filth any longer.”

Aileana looked after Duncan in surprise.

Neither of her brothers or father had ever asked for a bath that she could remember.

And yet she recalled that Duncan had insisted they stop at one of the small lakes they saw on their journey.

She’d thought he wished to rest the horses, but when he’d returned to the fire, his golden brown hair and tunic were damp, and she’d realized that he’d taken time to bathe in the lake.

“You going to stand there all day, missy?”

Aileana snapped out of her thoughts. The woman Duncan had called Bridgid faced her, hands on her hips. Wisps of frizzy black hair stuck out around her face, and she glowered as if she’d just swallowed a swarm of bees.

“My name is Aileana MacDonell. And no, I don’t intend to stand here all day. I’d prefer not to be here at all.”

Bridgid grimaced. “I know very well who and what you are, missy, by the message sent here ahead of you. But I’m the bailie of this castle, and since the MacRae trusts me with the managing of it, I’m going to see that his wishes be obeyed.

So you’re coming with me, quick or slow, but you’re coming.

We’ve plenty of work to do.” With that, Bridgid turned on her heel and stalked back to the kitchens.

Aileana looked around her in distress, hoping to find even one ally among the men, women and children who filled the chamber.

Surely someone would understand and intervene on her behalf.

She was the keeper of the Ealach , and with the exception of Father and the MacRae, no one had ever treated her with such heavy-handed disrespect in all her life.

But when she gazed round the hall, she received reactions ranging from mild disinterest to barely concealed animosity. Blinking back the renewed prickling behind her eyes, Aileana squared her shoulders and started after Bridgid.

Quick or slow, Bridgid had said. Well she wasn’t going to be quick, but she’d not be slow either.

Duncan had ordered that she attend to some tasks after eating, and she kept her mind focused on that prospect as she walked into the cavernous, smoky kitchens at the end of the corridor.

The chores would be a welcome refuge from the fears that were beginning to consume her.

For far more quickly than slowly, night was coming, and when it did, there’d be no shelter left for her. She’d be forced to face Duncan MacRae—and become his leman in truth as she had in name.

With a sigh, Aileana sank deeper into the round wooden tub.

It was the largest vessel of its kind that she’d ever seen, and the sheer volume of the warm water surrounding her was heavenly.

She wiggled her toes as she rinsed the soap from her hair.

This was the first rest she’d had all day; Bridgid had worked her to the point of exhaustion, taking pity, finally, when she saw her nodding to sleep over a bowl of apples she’d given her to pare.

But when she’d been led to this room at the top of the stone steps, her sleepiness vanished under a fresh onslaught of terror.

This was his room. It was his tub that Bridgid helped her fill.

At first she’d resisted, arguing that she’d rather wash from the basin near the window.

But Bridgid had just given her the annoyed, impatient look she was coming to recognize and stomped from the room.

Once she was alone, the lure of the tub proved too much to resist. Now she gazed around as she soaked, curiosity overcoming her fear.

Unlike the rest of the castle, Duncan’s chamber appeared spotlessly clean, though cramped with furniture.

More than a dozen candles filled the area with mellow, luxuriant light.

Such wanton waste astounded her; at home two or three tapers sufficed to brighten a chamber.

Aileana noticed other extravagances as well. Rich tapestry hangings covered the windows, though Aileana imagined that when they were tied back, the spill of sunlight would be breathtaking. On the floor were numerous woolen mats and furs, to help keep drafts away.

Finally her gaze shifted to the imposing, curtained bed, and a shiver ran up her spine.

Its framework was elaborately carved and solid, made to last through many generations.

The coverlet was thick, the mattress soft and inviting.

It was a massive bed. A bed made to be shared. A bed for begetting children…

Water splashed over the floor as Aileana lurched to her feet. She had to get dressed. Duncan would be walking through that door at any moment to claim his rights, and she’d spit pebbles if she was going to allow herself to be sitting here naked when he did.

With lightning speed, she dried herself and pulled on the long sleeved, white chemise that Bridgid had left for her.

It was too large—someone else’s clothing—but she didn’t mind.

More material meant more security, or at least the illusion of it.

Her breath came fast, and she trembled as she hurried to the fire.

By the blessed angels, how had she ended up in such a shameful position?

The ordeal ahead of her would be the worst she’d ever faced.

She knew little of what happened during the intimate act between men and women…

nothing more than bits of whispered stories she’d heard when the maidservants gossiped.

She gathered that coupling was painful for the female, unless the man was very gentle, and that a larger man meant more pain and perhaps even bleeding.

Bleeding from where she wasn’t certain, but she had an idea, and it made her stomach churn.

Duncan MacRae was a very large man, and she would wager her teeth that he wasn’t the gentle type.

A cold draft swept up Aileana’s back, making her stiffen. He was here. She felt his presence as surely as if he was running his hands over her naked flesh. Turning slowly from the wall, Aileana wrapped her arms round herself and faced the man who would take her innocence this night.

Duncan stood massive and imposing in the shadows of the doorway. His gold-flecked hair waved to his shoulders; the chiseled set of his face was unreadable. With slow, even steps, he walked closer to the fire, loosened his shirt, and sank into the chair perched before the blaze, still facing her.

Aileana’s gaze slipped to the expanse of sleekly muscled chest that showed through the parted edges of his shirt.

Firelight danced over his skin, honing powerful ridges and contours and illuminating several jagged scars that rippled from the top of his chest to the flat planes of his belly.

He looked casual and relaxed, his clothing impeccably clean and well crafted, and as unlike his war gear as this embroidered chemise was to her borrowed soldier garb.

“Come here.”

His soft command sliced the silence, and Aileana’s gaze jerked up to his face.

The jagged scar that ran along his cheek seemed faded in the shadows.

But his smoky gray eyes studied her in the firelight, making her heart beat in staccato and her breath catch.

Vaguely she noticed that he still wore his leather gloves; they matched a dark stripe in the swath of plaid draped in folds round his hips.

Forcing herself forward, she walked step by step until she stood in front of him, steeling herself for what would come next.