Highland Rake (15 page)

"Do…do your people talk about her? About the ghost, I mean?" She was optimistic that his people were more enlightened than her own.

"No' out loud. Whispered mutterings. A screech, and then…" Dougald smiled at Alana in a warm way. "…a claim that a maid has seen a rat."

She smiled at him then. "'Tis possible, you know."

"Aye. Do you ever help ghosts find peace?"

"I…dinna know if I do or if they find their own way."

"Aye." Dougald drew taller and asked, "Were you betrothed at an early age?"

She was surprised at the question and hesitated to speak. "To a MacIverson, aye."

"What happened? Why did you no' marry the man?"

She bit her lower lip, trying to recall what had happened so long ago. She was not exactly privy to the goings on back then, though she'd heard some rumors. "My uncle hadna wished it."

"But your da had?"

"Aye, but I was only nine at the time when he died."

Dougald pondered that. "Your uncle would have been obligated to still marry you off to the MacIverson, even if he hadna wished it. Do you know why he didna?"

She shook her head and took a piece of the quail he offered.

"Did you meet the lad?"

She raised her brows at that. "Aye, but he was no' a lad. MacIverson was old."

"Older than your da?"

"Mayhap younger than that. But he was old to me."

"As old as you are now?"

It was hard to tell about ages, but he was older than she was now. "Nay, older."

"Did MacIverson wed someone else then?"

"I dinna know. I was only nine. Think you my da or my uncle talked to me about such matters?"

Dougald nodded in agreement that they wouldn't. "Did MacIverson know about your gift? You said you met him. When did you meet him, how old were you, and how did he act toward you?"

A chill raced up her spine as Alana stared at Dougald. "What are you thinking? That my uncle believed MacIverson had something to do with my da's death?"

"I am only trying to learn what might have been a reason that your uncle didna wish to marry you to the man when your da had already made an agreement with him."

Alana took a deep breath and let it out. "'Twas a chilly day, verra much like today, and I was nine summers. And aye, it was only a short while before my da and his men were murdered on the hunt. I dinna know if my da had arranged the marriage earlier. I had met the man already but I was too young to remember much except I did recall the castle. It was darker than ours, smaller. Mayhap my da had taken me there for the MacIverson to decide if he wanted me as a bride or no'."

"Oft times the bride is of no consequence," Dougald said, plainly. "Still, he may have wished to see your temperament even at an early age."

"Aye. I would have been just—a bargain between clans. I played with some kittens while I was there."

The corner of Dougald's mouth lifted a little.

"And…" She fingered her bread, "I did see a ghost girl, but I was verra careful not to let anyone see me speaking with her."

"Can you no' ignore them?" Dougald asked.

"If someone spoke to you and he or she was standing there as plain as day, could you ignore him or her?"

"Mayhap not. 'Tis hard for me to imagine. But they are very real to you then? Not just some misty version of themselves?"

"They are real." She reached out and rested her hand on Dougald's arm and felt the warmth there, the muscle, the strength. "As real as you are, though I couldna touch them." Dougald's eyes took on a decidedly hungry look, and she quickly released his arm. She cleared her throat. "MacIverson was a big man and though he pretended disinterest in me at times as he drank his ale and joked with his clansmen, he watched me like he was a falcon eying his prey whenever we shared meals. My maid kept telling me to sit up taller, to raise my chin, to lower my eyes when he looked my way. I wasna used to being stared at, so I just stared right back at him."

Dougald chuckled. She was glad he found humor in it. Her da had not. As evidenced by his dour looks, he agreed with her maid.

"I didna care anything about him. I had hoped to see kittens again when I returned, but there were none. The ghost girl was gone as well. I was more interested in the herbs and plants that grew on his lands than I was in him."

Dougald furrowed his brow at that.

"What are you thinking?"

"I have heard it rumored that your uncle wished you to reside at his castle."

"Aye. My brother still lived when my da made the arrangement for my betrothal. He wouldna have needed me to stay with our people. He would have wished to use me for an alliance with a clan. My brother would have taken over the Cameron clan, should the men have felt he was a strong enough leader when my da was ready to step down."

"Your uncle made no other arrangement for you to marry in the meantime? Between the time the one marriage was called off and this new one was being planned?"

"Nay. No' that I am aware."

"Did MacIverson act in any way that he was not satisfied with the marriage arrangement?"

She shrugged. "I was a young lass. I didna have any…"

She felt her whole body heat as she thought about how she'd only had the very beginning of a hint of breasts and her legs and arms had been scrawny. She recalled what one of his men had said to him—that she did not have wide enough hips either. Though at the time she didn't understand what he meant by that and only later learned that it had to do with child bearing.

Some loved her long pale golden hair. Some did not, so she didn't know which way he had viewed her tresses.

"I wasna a woman fully grown." She was thankful Dougald did not rake his gaze over her womanly assets that she very much now had and instead just gave her a wolfish smile.

He'd touched way too much of her womanly attributes on the long ride here. She shouldn't have mentioned it as she swore he blushed a little, and he had to be thinking about what she was thinking, and she was certain
she
was blushing a lot.

She cleared her throat again. "Mayhap my uncle did believe MacIverson had something to do with my da's death."

"Do you know why MacIverson might have wanted your da murdered, if that was the case?"

She shook her head.

"Did your uncle battle against any clan after that?"

She raised her brows. "Aye."

"The MacIverson?"

"Nay, the MacNeill."

Looking as though he was fighting a smile, Dougald shook his head. "Nay, no' us. Others?"

"Aye. We were always having trouble of one kind or another. Just like you have, I am certain. What do you think, Dougald? You probably know more about something like this than I would since I am no' privy to much that goes on with regard to a man's way of thinking."

He leaned back and studied her. "'Tis difficult to say without knowing more of the facts. Why did your da want an alliance with MacIverson? Clan ties? Aye, most likely. Why did your uncle no' want MacIverson's part in it? Did he feel differently before your da was murdered? If so, then mayhap he did feel that MacIverson had perpetrated the murder. But for what reason? To get out of a marriage arrangement? He wouldna have had to murder your da for that. Something more personal?"

"I dinna know."

"All right. If MacIverson wasna responsible for your da's murder, why would he have no' insisted that you still be his wife?"

"He found someone else who appealed more?"

Dougald shook his head. "Clan ties are all too important."

She felt the cold seep into her bones. She had not considered her father's death for many years as the clan continued to move forward. Now, Dougald was dredging up memories she wasn't sure she wished to relive. Had she truly seen her father's murderers?

If so, could she dig them up, and see the men receive their just rewards without getting herself and others killed in the process?

When Alana had put her hand on his sleeved arm, Dougald felt the heat sizzle between them. He had to keep reminding himself the lass was not wily in the ways of men, and that her touch was not tantamount to telling him she wanted his touch back. He was used to women pulling on him, wanting him in a carnal way, though he oft teased them and flirted just as much as they did with him, but it did not mean he followed through with even half of the suggestive flirtations.

Yet he was almost certain that the ladies who witnessed such frivolity between him and the lasses were intrigued or resigned that he would never settle down. He had no intentions in that regard anytime soon.

And the men? Well, they smiled wistfully, some shaking their heads, most, he assumed believed Dougald had had his way with every woman he chanced to speak to. Except mayhap Eilis, his brother's wife who was as devoted to his brother as he hoped a woman would be to him someday, when he chose a wife.

Alana was different. She was not a maid looking for a quick tumble. She was a lady who had an important position within her clan. She didn't know the ways of men in an intimate way. She was an innocent. Yet the way she had touched him made him want her more than ever.

He wanted to pull her tight against his chest, to kiss her, to make her see the pleasure that could erupt between a man and woman. But he was not the one meant to awaken such needs, he kept reminding himself.

For a brief moment, while he glanced Alana's way as she supped on her boar soup, he considered what it would be like to share wedded bliss with a lady like her. To see her playing with kittens in the inner bailey. To see her bent over herbs in the gardens taking snippings.

That made his groin instantly tighten, and he quickly thought of something else. Of watching her on the hilltop as she took in every bit of his naked body and God's knees, his staff was rising to the occasion.

Bedding her in the heather, or on his plaid on a misty morn near a loch, in his bed, in hers…all of it instantly came to mind.

He groaned.

She glanced at him. "Are you all right? You are no' feeling ill, are you?"

She had that healer look about her—one of worry and concern and a readiness to make him well. He wanted to take her hand and press it against his groin, to show her what was making him groan.

She would be shocked. Any other lassie he was interested in who was equally interested in him would lift his plaid and her own and sit on his lap, joining with him, grinding against his body as he thrust into hers. Alana would be mortified at the notion.

He quickly shook his head with regard to his feeling ill and considered the situation with her further. He should not worry about what would happen to her, but he did. Had he not spent time with her, not known anything about her, just another bonny lass, he would not have been as concerned. What he didn't like was that her father's murderers had never been identified. The mystery about MacIverson not marrying her, her uncle's changing the marriage arrangement but not making another one for years, even the circumstances concerning his rise to power and her brother's death all troubled him.

Yet it was not any of his business. He had no say in any of it. There was naught he could do about it. Unless he took the lass to be his wife.

"You look a wee bit pale, Dougald. Are you sure you are no' ill?" She furrowed her brow and lifted her hand to his forehead.

Her warm hand on his skin made him want her all over again. He couldn't even stand and attempt to leave the room without her noticing just how much she had aroused him.

She turned her head sharply to the door, and he looked, too, ready to stand and unsheathe his sword, to protect her from anyone who meant her harm, but no one was there.

Quizzically, he looked back at Alana, and she was staring at his lap, then her gaze shot up to his, and her face turned a lovely shade of crimson.

"I am done, thank you," she said quickly and nearly fell trying to move away from him as if he was so needy he'd ravish the lady without her wishing him to.

"Alana," he said, wanting her to know he was not going to attack her, "you have no' reason to fear me."

She glanced again at the door, and Dougald couldn't help himself, though he assumed he would see nothing amiss, but he looked that way also. Sure enough, there was no one there. Turning back to Alana, he said, "Is your brother here?"

She nodded, eyes round. "You can leave now…if you are through eating."

He couldn't move unless he had to do battle, or…love a lassie. "If you dinna mind, I will finish my dinner. 'Tis foolish to let a good meal go to waste. No' to mention paying good money for good food that one doesna consume."

"You could take it with you," she said hopefully.

He looked over at her then as she stood near the bed, hands clenched at her sides, and he considered the mattress. He couldn't help himself! She was standing too close to the bed for him not to be thinking of her
in
the bed. And him in it with her. On top of her. Inside of her.

This was not helping.