Chapter Seven
If her father thought that spending time with this man would make her more amenable to accepting Sir Duncan, he’d misjudged her badly. And if Davina thought her counsel would be welcomed, she had as well.
The woman who had been her closest friend breathed betrayal into every conversation with Ailis’ father. No matter that she’d managed to forestall a decision by imploring her father for a reprieve. No matter that Davina carried out the tasks that Ailis’ mother had and did it well. Or that she’d provided Finnan MacKinnon with the one thing he’d always sought and had never achieved, a son.
None of that mattered to Ailis as she sat through meals over the next days with her family, her father’s chosen husband and the stranger who’d walked unsuspectingly into their battle of wills. What interested her most right now was how effortlessly the stranger fit at the table and at her side.
They’d spent hours together each day since his arrival and she looked forward to their next encounter. A wry sense of humor revealed itself when they went to the stables to choose a horse for him to ride. His strength was clear in the way he fought during a few more training bouts in the yard. His kindness was shown when they visited the village and he was made to wait while she saw to the needs of those in her care.
His manners at table were no different from Sir Duncan’s and his ease at speaking to the chieftain or his servant hinted of experience. He also seemed well-educated, for he’d offered his opinion on several topics and her father accepted them easily.
He fought well, too.
Ailis had hidden behind the corner of the stables and watched as her father and three of his best warriors challenged Iain to fight. Thought not as strong as they were, Iain held them off well. She could tell when his clothing impeded his movements, but he took nothing off to make it easier for himself.
Oh, how she wanted to see beneath those garments and the mask he wore to the true man beneath! As though he understood her thoughts, he lifted his head and met her gaze.
“Curiosity again, my lady?” Could he read her thoughts? “I saw ye watching today. Did ye see what ye wished to?”
“Nay.” Why deny it? Everyone in the keep and village wondered about the man beneath the layers.
He laughed and she noticed his voice was smoother now than when he’d first arrived. Almost as if he’d not used it before and now it was warming up because he talked more. It remained hoarse and not more than a whisper, at that. But he didn’t struggle to get the words out as he had before.
“If ye would like to speak honestly, I would as well,” he said. He leaned in closer so only she would hear his words. “There are matters to settle between us before this situation escalates further.”
His words, which could have an ominous tone, thrilled her instead. Over these last days, they had spoken on many matters and Ailis always felt as though he considered her words in a way no one here ever did. Only Lachlan had.
“There now. Ye have that look in yer eyes,” he said. “What were ye thinking just then?”
Ailis swallowed down the tears and grief and shrugged at his question. “A memory, sir.”
“So that is what my face,” he began, “What my eyes look like when I remember something?”
She would have run away, uncomfortable at the thought of discussing Lachlan with this stranger, but he reached out and took her hand. Guiding it under the table, he entwined their fingers and squeezed her hand.
“Who was he?”
His question, stated softly and plainly, threatened to shatter her very being. Other than Davina, no one here knew about Lachlan or their love. The only word that ever arrived was that one of The MacLean’s sons had died in a fire. Since their clans were not in good standing with each other, barely a moment was wasted on that news. Her own injury in that fire had been hidden and blamed on something completely separate from that. Only she and Davina knew that truth as well. When he squeezed her hand, she decided to speak the name of the man she would never stop loving.
“His name was Lachlan. He died last year.”
In the few moments after her disclosure, Ailis waited for his reaction. Her previous words about the loss of her virtue, spoken in anger that first night, must be on his mind now. When she could no longer bear the heavy silence between them, she glanced at his face.
His gaze was empty. He stared over her head and didn’t seem to know she was there. He was remembering something!
“Does the name mean something to ye, Iain?” she whispered, tugging on their joined hands to gain his attention. “Do ye remember that name?”
Was he a MacLean? Had Lachlan been his kin? Mayhap there was some family resemblance that caused her to think of her lost love when he spoke … or when he kissed her? Another suspicion tickled her memory, but she pushed it away for its absurdity. Lachlan was dead, she was certain. She squeezed his hand harder and called his name once more.
“Iain? Did ye ken Lachlan MacLean?”
He blinked. She could see his eyes moving within the mask’s openings. His hand shook in her hold and she held her breath awaiting his disclosure.
“I thought for a moment that I did,” he admitted, his voice hoarse again. “But, like the other memories that have haunted my dreams and my mind, it flitted away.”
“But that doesna mean ye didna ken him.” He shook his head and released her hand.
“Alas, my lady,” he said, regret filling his voice. “I have no memory of anyone by that name. Or any MacLeans.”
