With Ailis at his side, Lachlan explained what he remembered about the fire, waking within it, the cellar and his near death. He had no memories from the time the roof fell on him until many, many days later after the brothers had found him. Only when he stopped did he notice the silence around him. Glancing up, he saw the expression of disbelief on his father’s rough features. And he noticed that his father now looked much older than the last time Lachlan had seen him.
Before he could say another word, The MacLean strode across the few paces separating them and took hold of Lachlan. Dragging him in, his father hugged him and didn’t let go.
“Thank the Almighty,” he whispered over and over so low that only Lachlan could hear his words. “My son. My son.”
Lachlan felt tears burning his eyes and throat at the expression of love and loss in his father’s gaze. That day, all those months ago, the man had lost two sons and his wife and he’d suffered for it.
His father released him and studied Ailis. Clearing his throat, he called out to her father.
“So, MacKinnon, will ye approve their marriage or do I call for the attack?”
From the nervous laughter through the hall, Lachlan knew that no one could tell if his father’s threat was serious or not. They all waited on their chieftain to say aye or nay.
“They spoke the words before witnesses, MacLean. They have a year to declare them before a priest.”
“Then give me some ale so I can raise a cup to my son and his wife!”
Lachlan took advantage of the confusion to wave Artair up to meet Ailis. Though Artair had accompanied him to the clearing a few times and had seen Ailis in the distance, they’d never been introduced. Lachlan had questions for his cousin. Taking her hand and kissing it, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders to keep her close. ‘Twould be some time before he let her out of his sight.
“Ailis, this is my cousin, Artair,” he said, nodding to his cousin. “Artair, Lady Ailis MacKinnon.”
After a few minutes of a polite exchange, Artair signaled that he would speak privately with Lachlan. When Davina called Ailis to her side, he had the chance.
“Did Wynda accompany ye here or is she back at Aros?” he asked. A strange expression filled Artair’s gaze and his cousin looked away before replying.
“Nay, Lachlan,” he said. “Lachlan, Wynda. …”
In that moment, he was back in the cottage waiting for Ailis to arrive. Watching out the window, he heard the steps behind him and wondered how she could have gotten in without him seeing her approach.
“Lachlan.”
He recognized her voice and began to turn. He caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye before she struck him.
Wynda.
“Wynda?” Lachlan stared at Artair. “Why would she do such a thing? Where is she?” he whispered, searching the crowd for the woman who had done that to him.
Looking back at his cousin, he saw the same strange expression that he’d seen those months ago when they both understood it would be Lachlan’s duty to marry The MacLeod’s daughter.
“She wasna right in the head, Lachlan,” Artair said, his voice filled with pity. “Something wasna right.” His cousin let out a breath. “She kenned about the two of ye and yer meeting place. When she was told that she wouldna be free and that her betrothal would now be to ye, she went a little mad, I think.”
“Artair, where is she now?”
“She told me what she’d done when we got to the cottage and found it burned to ashes. She confessed it to me,” he paused and shook his head. “Before she walked off the battlements of Aros into the sea.” Lachlan crossed himself at the thought of her unshriven soul, condemned for eternity.
“Artair, I am sorry. For ye, for her,” he said. He had never considered the woman’s wishes or Artair’s words of warning that day.
“I think yer bride wants ye, Lachlan. Ye are truly a lucky man.”
As Lachlan watched Ailis make her way back to him, he agreed with Artair, he was a very lucky man. He would spend the rest of his life with the woman he loved. She stared at him as he held out his hand.
“When did ye remember, Lachlan?” she asked, walking into his arms.
“I heard ye speak at the cottage and something came back to me. I kenned I was Lachlan but didna have the memories yet.”
“Ye were there?” She leaned back and looked at him.
“Aye. I saw ye sneaking out and followed ye. I heard yer confession but it confused me.”
“And then? The rest of the memories?”
“I’d heard ye speak some of them in my dreams. In my pain and in my head. But when I saw yer hair and it fell over ye, I remembered the last time we’d met at the cottage. The hours spent in yer arms. And all ye wore was yer hair.”
His body reacted as he knew it would. Better still, he could see the way her eyes darkened in arousal. And he felt the way she pressed against him, her soft curves against his hardness.
“All the days of our lives,” she whispered.
“Aye, my love,” he said as he kissed her. “All the days. … and all the nights, too.”
