Highland Fire (Guardians of the Stone) (17 page)

Lil’s eyes widened in horror.

“It took us years to wash the bloodstains from our hall,” he said bitterly.

Of all the scenarios Lìli might have envisioned, that was not one. She had always pictured her father in the midst of battle with Aidan’s father, not supping at their table. When a man was invited into another man’s hall, it was to be considered sanctuary. Now she understood why Glenna had greeted her the way she had, with such venom.

And yet she could not bring herself to believe it without question. There
must
have been some treachery that had driven her father to it? Even Padruig would not betray such an ancient pact.

“It would serve ye best to recall I am no Scot,” he advised her. “Nor will I ever be one, and this is something you must accept to be my wife.” His eyes glittered with dark promise.

In that instant, Lìli could not believe the injuries committed by both parties could be so easily healed by their union... nor was it bound to, for her marriage to this man would only widen the rifts between the clans.

But if he repudiated her now, mayhap there was hope as yet?

“Aye, but I
am
a Scot,” she countered, “and you cannot fashion me into something I am not! Mayhap after all you should return me to my father?”

For the longest moment, he simply stared at her, and Lìli held her breath as she awaited his response. If he sent her back... even before the ceremony, mayhap then she would be freed from her burden? Or would David then blame her for sending his plans awry, and what then would happen to her son? She both wanted desperately to know the answer and feared to the depths of her soul that he would send her on her way.

His eyes burned with ire. “Did ye willingly choose this union, Lìleas?”

Lìli held her tongue, for nay, she had not chosen this. It was commanded of her, but she could not say so. Those hands he held at his sides—hands that only moments ago and borne in the peace offering that now sat upon the bed—could snap her neck only too easily were he to suspect her true reason for wedding him.

Something in her expression must have angered him for his eyes darkened yet more. “Did you choose to be my bride?” he persisted.

“Aye! Of course!” Lìli relented.

He unclasped his breacan quickly, with deft fingers and then hurled it at her. “This then is your cloak and none other. If I doubt you for an instant, Lìli, I will send you home with a message for your father. That is my promise. So then prepare yourself. Tonight we stand before your priest and mine and say the words you claim you wish to speak, and never again will you remind me of your Caimbeul blood, for tomorrow when you awaken, you will awaken as my wife, the lady of Dubhtolargg!” He turned suddenly and walked out the door, leaving her alone.

B
y all that was sacred, Aidan should have sent her home.

In that furious instant, he might have—especially considering Una’s words, that she might be the death of him yet. But something had prevented him—whether it was the look of fear on her face, or something else, he did not truly know, but there was no denying his decision had not been entirely unselfish or even sensible.

He wanted her.

It was pure insanity, given what he knew about her Da, and the risk he took in keeping her in his home, but he wanted Lìleas with an intensity that could not be denied. He told himself it was Una’s prophecy that compelled him.

But it wasn’t true.

He hadn’t a bloody clue how this one woman could save their clan, nor even what it was she was supposed to be saving them from, but he craved her with a madness not unlike a drunkard craved
uisge
—and with a lack of constraint that startled him. He was not a man who indulged in excesses, nor did he condone self-indulgence as a way of life. That roistering sense of avarice was the hallmark of the bloody English—and Scots like Caimbeul who loved their
Sassenach
riches more than they loved their honor.

Aidan was no monk, but that was precisely why he kept his dwelling simple, even stuck as they were between tribesmen at war—even with the precious treasure they harbored. There was more to life than simply filling ones coffers, and building walls to keep out pillaging hoards. Nay, but the way of his kinsmen was a communion with the land itself and the true treasure of the Highlands was its country.

Even the stone they guarded paled in comparison.

But he would never keep Lìleas against her will, for that would make him little better than those he strove not to be. All she would have had to say was that she did not wish this union, and he would have sent her on her way before nightfall, and with far more security than her father had delivered her with, for no one could ever say that Aidan did not value the gift of life, and a woman deserved no less than any man—even if Caimbeul blood coursed through her veins.

But she feared
something
...

Something
had drained the blood from her face more swiftly than a cold steel blade to her throat. Once she had challenged him to send her away, her skin had turned as pale as his tunic as she awaited his response.

For answers, he sought Lachlann, to see if the man had any insight after watching her companions last night. Whatever they were after, he would discover it, by God, and it would please him to no end to take out his frustrations on that weasel of a man who called himself her brother by law.

How does one prepare for a wedding one does not want?

Lìli enjoyed the meal Aidan brought her with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man with his final meal—not that it wasn’t delicious. He’d offered her a bit of everything, with boiled eggs that tasted as though they had been freshly picked this morn, bread that was still warm from the oven, and a handful of berries. It was more that her guilt weighed like a fat stone in her belly, and her self-condemnation multiplied with every bite. One thing was certain; his kinsmen knew how to eat, judging by the way they broke their fast. But the fact that he might have gone out of his way for her didn’t settle well, so while she gorged herself, the sour feeling in her belly only grew until it became an ache.

Of course, it didn’t help that she hadn’t eaten a true meal for more than a week now, and then last night she had gone to bed with little enough, save for a taste of the stew she had cooked for Glenna and her son.

She couldn’t get Kellen out of her mind this morning. Would they see that he ate well? Would they allow him to play in the sun at least once every day? Would they keep him away from the men at arms? He was a boy, after all, and curious, but she didn’t trust Rogan to keep him safe. In fact, aside from the one nursemaid, there was no one she felt she could trust at Keppenach, for they all vied for the new lord’s favor, and those who didn’t feared to incur his wrath. It was amazing how quickly alliances turned once the tide shifted in another direction. But of course, Stuart had never truly inspired loyalty—not the way Aidan seemed to command it from his people.

At the bonfire, Lìli had not missed the looks his kinfolk had cast in her direction—particularly once their laird had arrived. Only once it seemed Aidan would not strangle her where she stood had they relaxed enough to drink and be merry. And yet, none of them had approached her save Aidan.

How would they embrace her once she and Aidan were wed? Would they accept her? Would they trust her? Inasmuch as she hoped so, she also felt terrible for the way she would betray them.

But that was then, and this was now. The task she must see to this morning, if Aidan meant what he said, was to prepare herself for a wedding celebration—but how to begin, when even his sisters, save for the youngest all seemed to despise her?

She could ask Glenna for help, mayhap? Or Cailin? Lael, it seemed, would as soon see Lìli skewered by one of her many blades. And Aveline would be no help at all. Even if the woman did not have eyes solely for Rogan, Lìli still could not justify having a maid to carry out her every bidding, when it was perfectly clear the women here saw to themselves. Lìli had not even indulged herself with a maid at Keppenach, for she had not been accustomed to it. It was not the way of a Highlander.

Pacing the room, she eyed her coffers, wondering whether she should wear the velvet gown David had gifted her, or whether she should choose one of her own more modest dresses. These folk were far more practical, and she felt instinctively that wearing the lavish gown would undermine her purpose here. They would never embrace her if she set herself apart. She was better served by simply being herself. But what to wear?

She didn’t care what Aidan thought, she assured herself, though she did need his people to embrace her so that she could accomplish the task that had been set before her without a thousand eyes cast in her direction.

She couldn’t help but remember the way he had looked at her when he’d come into the room this morning—as though he'd coveted her. It was a look she'd recognized, for he was not the first man to gaze at her just so, and yet, nothing about his demeanor from the moment she had arrived had given her the first inkling he was pleased with her. To the contrary, it seemed he had looked her over and found her lacking and then he had taken his leave. And yet this morning... that look in his eyes... it gave her a quiver every time she thought of it. Not even Stuart had gazed at her so hungrily—like that open-mouthed wolf emblazoned upon his woolen tapestry.

Setting aside her tray of food, she went to her coffers, and nibbling at her lip, she opened the first one, pushing back the lid and then stood and stared at the velvet gown that lay folded on top. She would not wear that, she decided, but now she wished she were like most women, and had more to her name, for it was that dress, the one on her back, or another at the bottom of her chest that hardly seemed suited for a bride dress. She had nothing more.

Mayhap Glenna would have something she could borrow, although Glenna was far bigger boned than she.

Just when she thought she might have to unfold the purple velvet and iron out the wrinkles, or set out to find Glenna’s cottage, both Sorcha and Cailin came knocking at Aidan’s door.

“My brother sent us,” Cailin offered. But she lingered in the doorway, even once the door was open to admit them. In her hands she held a pale blue gown and a circlet of silver, adorned with intricate braids. She lifted the circlet and said, “This was our mother’s.” Only then did Lìli see the howling wolf head at its center, set in a crystal moon.

“Ye’ll be the first to wear it since,” Sorcha disclosed, her eyes full of admiration as she spoke of her mother. “She was a Pecht princess!”

Touched by the gesture, Lìli waved them inside. She would know of their traditions so she might honor them.

Aidan found Lachlann exactly where he had last encountered him, seated atop his boulder, only today, instead of whittling away at wood he sat carving from a wheel of cheese with his dirk. Aidan recognized auld Morag’s wheel at once. He had completely forgotten about it after yesterday’s tumble. He frowned.

“Want a piece?” Lachlann asked, noticing the direction of Aidan’s gaze. Aidan shook his head, and mistaking his dark look, Lachlann defended himself. “I found it lying right here on the ground—a faerie gift!” he swore. “You know I wadna take a wheel without asking!”