Charming the Chieftain (14 page)

A few people nodded, although no one made an attempt to speak to her. The effects of the journey combined with little sleep the previous night lulled her into a state of semi-awareness.

She hailed a servant carrying a tray laden with cups. “Might I have a drink?”

The older man set down a goblet. The smell wafting up from the goblet brought tears to her eyes. What was in the foul concoction she couldn’t begin to contemplate.

From out of nowhere, a strong hand clamped on to her upper arm.

“Well, well, my English betrothed has finally arrived,” the thickset man sneered.

“Betrothed?” she repeated confused.

“Aye,” he confirmed and focused a leering eye on her breasts.

Distressed by his words and lecherous manner, she craned her neck to search for Aeden, while tugging to free her arm from the brute’s bruising grip.

He pulled her off balance and she slammed into his midriff. He latched onto the back of her neck with the other hand and swooped in for a kiss. He ground his teeth cruelly against her lips in an attempt to force her mouth open. Ready to faint from the acrid taste of spittle, she bit down hard on his lower lip drawing blood along with a howl of outrage from her attacker. He jerked upright, and tongued the gash on his lip.

“You bitch.”

Elisande cringed, the man appeared crazed. Unable to make her escape, she threw her hands up to protect her head and braced against an impending strike. Before he landed a blow, his body jerked backwards when Aeden latched onto the back of her attacker’s shirt. The man’s eyes bulged in desperation as he tried to wedge his fingers into the neckline of the shirt. He gurgled from lack of air and his legs scrabbled on the wood top for purchase as Aeden dragged him across table and stools. Aeden threw him on the floor. He loomed over the man and jabbed a finger in his face.

“Never place a hand on my wife again unless you wish to end your miserable existence,” he snarled, his eyes wild.

“Your wife?”

“Aye, my wife.” His voice was deadly soft.

The man staggered to his feet and made a wild swing at Aeden’s head, but Aeden deflected the blow and shoved the clansman over a trestle table, scattering goblets, trenchers and jugs of wine before he landed in a heap on the rushes. He tried to get up, but Aeden pushed him down.

“Stay down, Addis, or by all that’s holy, I’ll grind your face into the floor.”

“Addis? That man is your brother?” Elisande gaped at Aeden.

Aeden flicked a glance in her direction. “Aye.”

Snarling with rage, but wily enough to remove himself from his brother’s reach, Addis bounded to his feet.

“The woman is mine, pledged to me by my own father. You stole her, just like you stole the title of chief!” He gave a nearby stool a vicious kick.

Aeden’s personal guard drew their swords, but he waved them aside and leaned over Addis. “You will never so much as disturb the air in my wife’s presence.” He paused, allowing Addis time to absorb the impact of his words. “Heed me well brother, for your life depends upon my kindness.”

Addis heaved to his feet and Aeden shoved him toward the entrance, his eyes hard as he supervised his brother’s departure from the room.

Still reeling from the attack and the unwelcome news of her supposed betrothal to a madman, Elisande seized the goblet in front of her, and downed the strange liquid in one long swallow. Almost immediately, she began to cough, and her eyes popped open wide as the potent brew blazed a fiery path down her throat to settle in her stomach where it snapped and sizzled. Bile rose in the back of her throat. She covered her mouth with a tremulous hand.

Please do not let me retch in front of his people
, she entreated silently.

Spent, she slumped over the table and waited in vain for the room to quit whirling. After a moment or two, her head bobbed. It took a great amount of effort to keep her eyes open. The door to the keep slammed shut and she jolted awake. Her head still a-swim, she caught the eye of an elder, grinning like an addle-pate.

“Aeden’s wife, well, I’ll be,” the old man said to no one in particular.

A bubble of gas escaped Elisande’s lips. Her hand flew to her mouth and she stared into the bottom of the cup —
what in God’s name did I drink?
Embarrassed, she glanced over at the old man who continued to wear a deranged grin. Hmm, she thought the exaggerated expression might be a side effect of the drink so she squinted to peer at him to make certain.

“Congratulations, young woman.”

Elisande beamed. Finally, someone acknowledged the marriage.

“You hold your drink better than ten men.”

She furrowed her brow, not certain she understood his meaning.

“I nivver known a woman to stand the stuff, especially an Englishwoman, well, exceptin’ your aunt Onora.” He raised his cup in a silent toast of admiration.

“Oh, thank you,” she mumbled and dropped her head on the warped wood.

• • •

Aeden grappled with his anger in an effort to regain control. The sight of his dissolute brother’s raised fist over Elisande’s cowering form unleashed a lethal combination of fury and terror. He couldn’t get to her side fast enough, and cut a swath through the crowded hall. The thought of tearing Addis apart until nothing was left except scraps for the hounds filled him with glee. He scrubbed his hands down his face and noticed Tam made his way over to her, while he dealt with his brother. If Elisande had been harmed in any way, Tam would certainly have shouted out a warning by now. Still, he needed to see for himself how she fared. He eyed the faces at the table until he spotted her and seized with terror. Face down on the trestle table she lay there, motionless.

With a roar that surprised most everyone into silence, he charged across the hall as people scurried out of his path. Unaware of anyone else in the room, his eyes never strayed from her inert form. Fear, stark and vivid gripped him. He should never have left her. His primary duty was to see to her protection and he failed.

“What’s happened?” he bellowed.

He grabbed Tam by the shoulder and all but lifted him out of his way.

“Och, calm yourself, she’s a fine strong lass, boy, nothing to worry about.”

Still unconvinced, Aeden laid a hand on her back and located a strong heartbeat. He breathed a bit easier.

“Is she in a faint? Why have you no’ tried to revive her?”

Tam pruned his lips and thought about the question. “Nay, I wouldn’t call it a faint.”

“Well what, then?” Aeden pressed as he knelt at her side. “Elisande?” he whispered his voice gentle yet firm.

When she didn’t respond, he gently scraped the hair obscuring her face, and lifted her head. The fumes almost knocked him over.

“Christ on the cross. She’s soused.”

Relief swept through him and he released a shaky chuckle.

Tam laughed. “It seems
uisge beatha
exacted a higher toll than Addis.”

An overpowering need to hold her washed over him. In one graceful motion, Aeden swung her into his arms walked past his astounded clansmen and headed for the stairs, and their bedchamber. It wasn’t until he rounded the corridor out of sight of the clan that he was able to take a deep breath, and then settle her more fully into his arms. She stayed pliant, a seductive bundle of curves, softness and womanliness. He pressed his cheek to her head.

Roused from her stupor, she jerked and her head lolled back on her shoulders. She fixed half-shut eyes on him.

“’Lo hoosbund, I seemed to haf ’runk an eensy bit of sumshing.”

This bit of information was delivered at a volume loud enough to wake her criminal king.

“Have you now.”

“Don’ tell anyone. Tha’ woul’ make me un-n-lathy uhm, bad.”

He bit back a laugh. “I will no’ tell anyone anything they have no’ already heard, lass,” he promised nuzzling her hair.

“Ooh, thash lovarly,” she sighed and snuggled into his arms. “You make me shafe.”

Sadly, he shook his head. The woman had been in his home for all of five seconds before being abused by Addis, struck, and dumped on the floor, and then inadvertently disabled by Tam’s toxic brew. The lass was mad. Yet, mad or no, she was his woman and he had taken a vow to protect her. And he would, even if it killed him.

The Spanish Inquisition had nothing on his uncle. The dark thought pulled Aeden’s mouth into a sour grin.

“You still haven’t told us your reason for marrying Elisande.”

“Aeden,” Onora cut in, “if you would rather keep your reasons to yourself, we will respect that.” She pointedly leveled a frown at Tam.

“The truth will out, boy,” nodded Tam.

Aeden slammed his palms atop the round table’s copper inlay. “Enough. I grow weary of your hounding.”

Tam bristled. “Well, now, you don’t need to get surly.”

Aeden concentrated on the decorative treatment of the ashlar to distract him from reaching over and choking his uncle.

“I believe you care for her.”

Aeden lowered steely eyes to Tam. “As my kin you are entitled to know my mind, but as your chief my actions need no explaining … to anyone.”

“All right then, chief,” the old warrior countered, “You know Addis is hell bent on vengeance, so why aggravate the situation by marrying his intended.”

Aeden gave a derisive snort. “My brother has planned vengeance since the hour my mother bore me. My wife has nothing to do with this. But,” he emphasized, his voice deadly, “if he touches her again, I will kill him.”

Inquiry at an end, he shoved back his chair and strode from the room.

• • •

A diminutive linen square wrapped around loose oats hung inside the window. It was the last touch put in the room and meant to ensure a harmonious union. Thus far it hadn’t worked.

“Mayhap ’tis the wrong variety of oat,” she mused aloud.

She flicked the bag and set it in motion. Marriage proved a bit more complicated than she had imagined. After certain discoveries, settling into Aeden’s household was a bit more difficult than Elisande anticipated. Though clan members were cordial, they remained distant. Of course that could be due to divided loyalties. Concerned, she brought the matter to her aunt during the morning meal.

“It was the same in my time. It’s just their way. They’ll warm to you soon enough.”

Elisande absorbed the words as she dropped a dollop of fresh butter in the dense porridge. Although she preferred black treacle, Lowlanders viewed the sweetener as sacrilege. Disheartened, her appetite waned. She fiddled with the oversized, silver spoon, letting it sink into the oatmeal. The handle stuck straight up.

“Is there nothing I might do to hasten their approval?” she insisted. “I thought the idea behind marrying a Maxwell was to gain immediate acceptance? I’ve barely gained acceptance from my own husband.”

Onora set her platter aside. “My dear, I know what it is you are going through.”

Frustrated, she lashed out. “Do you, aunt? Because, I’m not certain even I understand what it is I’m going through.” She shook her head. “What in me is so lacking that I am unable to inspire love?”

Troubled, her hand slid into the small pouch sewn into the right side of her arasaid and sought the comfort-stone nestled there. Her thumb smoothed over the rock’s flat surface, and in an instant, her anxiety eased. She pushed away from the table and stood up.

“Niece — ” Onora protested.

“No, ’tis fine. Forgive me, aunt. You’ve been so very good to me, and this is how I repay you. I’m sorry to have been unkind.”

“Not unkind, my dear, never unkind.”

Sympathy radiated from her aunt’s eyes as she moved into the seat next to her.

“You need to know that Aeden’s father all but fell apart when his first wife died.”

“I don’t understand.”

Onora squeezed her hand.

“Gavin could not function for almost year. He was immobilized by grief, and relied on Aeden for almost everything, until he finally put his sorrow aside. The lesson Aeden took away from that experience was that love disables the strongest of men.”

Elisande stayed quiet for a time and absorbed the information and then a seed of hope took root.

“I shall have to be patient,” she accorded and offered a rueful smile.

“After years of living under father’s roof, one would think I should be accustomed to the virtue by now.”

After a few more words of encouragement, she left the hall and wandered into her private solar. There was not much in the way of organizing that required attention. The housekeeper ran Caeverlark with a determined hand. She wondered where Aeden spent his days. She hadn’t seen much of him except during meals, and when he sought their bed late at night, he had yet to reach for her and she’d little idea how to close the breech between them. On the other hand, he seemed in no hurry to repair their estrangement. She supposed this was another instance where she needed patience. Nevertheless, she wanted to be a mother, and he required an heir. She often wondered if he regretted marrying an outsider. He must see she didn’t fit in.

She sighed and cut off the disconsolate thoughts. Wallowing in one’s misery benefited no one. Unsettled, she drifted over to a low sidetable. Her instructional tome lay illuminated in a sunbeam pouring through the narrow lancet. It called to her, and a kernel of an idea began to take shape. She flipped through the discolored pages until she found a specific prayer. Her finger underlined the title.

“
Composed Remunerations for Spectral Presences
,” she recited. Filled with purpose, she hurried from the solar to collect items for the cleansing ritual. Eager to take on the mission, she followed the aroma of fresh baked bread to the kitchen.

“Good gracious, you scared the wits from me — oh, milady, please forgive me words.”

Elisande dashed over to help collect the onions dumped onto the floor. “I apologize for frightening you. I should have called out first.”

“Oh, weel, no harm done.”

The trim, middle-aged woman wiped flour-covered hands on her stained apron. “Beggin’ your pardon, milady. Are you lost?”

“Not really — at least, not yet. I came to have a word with you.”