“Nay, and yet, Alexander has no love for women and a temper that can burn hot.”
“Aye, I ken that. If ye wish to do something for me, have some wine sent to my bedchamber.”
“Och, nay, Ailis. If ye are thinking of drinking yourself into senselessness, dinna do it. ‘Twill enrage Alexander.”
“Ye mistake me,” she said in a gentle voice and smiled faintly. “I ken that I might yet try to resist my fate. I shall fight your brother as I have fought many over the years, if only because his arrogance will irritate me. I speak eloquently of resignation and turning matters to suit myself, but I am not the meek submissive sort. I want to chain both fist and tongue with the numbing effects of wine so that I will not bring more pain upon myself by word or deed.”
Impulsively Barra gave her a quick hug. It was somewhat fumbling, but his genuine concern touched her. As he left he muttered that her wine would be delivered presently, then strode off, leaving Ailis feeling decidedly confused. She shrugged over the vagaries of men, which she was beginning to think were as plentiful as any woman’s, and went to her room.
One quick glance as she entered her bedchamber told her that she had been sent to the laird’s chambers, and she cursed softly. It was very clear that the laird of Rathmor was not planning to waste any time in claiming his prize. As she studied her surroundings more carefully, she angrily mused that she should probably consider herself lucky that he had not taken her right there in the great hall.
The room was sparsely furnished, as was common, but it was also warm. What drew her attention the most was the massive bed. She found it difficult to look away from the ornately carved piece of furniture.
Hot water had been provided for her in a large earthenware bowl. Ailis briefly considered the thought that it would serve Sir Alexander MacDubh right if she stank of horses and a hard ride, then she shrugged and began to wash. A little dirt would not stop the laird of Rathmor from collecting his vengeance.
The robe provided for her was much too large, so she put her chemise and undertunic back on, finishing just as her wine was delivered. Ailis poured herself a full goblet, sat on a chest beneath the narrow window, and stared out at the moonlit bailey of Rathmor. Thoughts tumbled through her mind, a mind too active and aware for her liking. Ailis decided to seriously consider what her next step should be.
As had many another young maid, Ailis had occasionally dreamt about the legendary handsome Sir Alexander MacDubh. It was disappointing to discover that he was not terribly different from other men except in his abundance of good looks. Those fine looks, however, could prove a great help to her. It would be very easy to imagine Sir Alexander as a lover, as a man who was bedding her out of need instead of vengeance. Her own earlier reaction to him, the feelings he had stirred within her as he had held her wrist and had gently caressed her with his long elegant fingers for a moment, told her that the man could easily catch her interest. And very firmly, too, she mused.
She refilled her goblet and thought that over for a minute. Instinct told her that the man was no rapist, not when he had looked so shocked about striking her in a response to her insults. There was no doubt in her mind that he would get what he wanted, however, through coercion, through skillful seduction, or even through patience. She could save them all a lot of trouble and just let him bed her. There was so little she could do to strike out at Donald MacCordy that it truly appealed to her just to give her maidenhead away to his bitterest enemy. What she would guard against was giving away her passion or any other, deeper emotion. She would strike at Donald by the act and defeat Sir Alexander by not allowing him to cause her any pain. That decided, she drank her wine and idly mused that it might not hurt to also pray that Sir Alexander became insensibly drunk while toasting his easy success of the day.
* * *
Alexander thought of Ailis and savored the shiver of anticipation that went through him. So intense was the feeling that he barely noticed the other people in the great hall who were drinking with him. It had been a very long time since he had felt eager to bed a woman. He could almost wish that the taint of vengeance did not hang over them all, but it did, and there was no way of shaking it. Neither could he fully shake a sense of guilt, even of distaste, over his plans. It was right there mingling with the anticipation. He had never forced himself on a woman, not even after his emotions had soured. As he tried to convince himself that he had every right to treat a MacFarlane in any way he chose, Alexander noticed that Barra’s glances his way were less than filial.
“Something troubling ye, Barra?” he asked his brother. “Ye dinna look much like a man who has just had his lost bairns returned to him. I begin to suspect that what gnaws at ye has naught to do with the children.”
“Ye are right to suspect that, brother. Curse it, Alex, canna ye leave the lass alone?” Barra demanded.
“Nay.” Alexander’s reply was succinct, but then he sat up straighter and leaned closer to Barra. “Have ye forgotten that the lass is a MacFarlane?”
“Nay, and neither do I forget that she is the beloved sister of my lover Mairi and the aunt of my bairns.”
“A fact that I would sorely like to forget. Ye had best keep an eye on that lass, and on your bairns. Or she will soon have the children turned against ye.”
“She has already had the chance to do so,” Barra said in a solemn, quiet voice. “She turned from it. Ye judge this lass wrong, Alexander.”
Barra’s words angered Alexander for reasons he knew he could not begin to understand, and that annoyed him even more. “I dinna judge this one at all save to see that she is a fetching wee piece for which every inch of me is afire.” He finished his ale and refilled his tankard, staring moodily into his drink.
“If ye are feeling amorous, why canna ye take one of the willing lasses scattered about Rathmor? Ye have made certain that there are more than enough of them.” Barra muttered a curse. “The lass is a virgin, for the love of God.”
“Love of God had naught to do with it. ‘Twas swift unladylike fists and skillfully wielded knives.” Alexander could not restrain a faint smile as he thought about how his enemy, Donald MacCordy, had had his wants thwarted by the young girl. “I would wager that he was planning to avenge her slights and insults in their wedding-night chamber. ‘Tis the way MacCordy would think, I am certain of it. ‘Twill enrage MacCordy to ken that I have had what should have been his, that a MacDubh sword will be the one to pierce her maidenhead. Aye, and he will ken that I enjoyed it.”
A few men were near enough to overhear Alexander’s words, and they laughed crudely. Barra glared at them before turning toward his brother and snarling, “Dinna speak of her as if she were some whore.”
“Ye are concerned about a MacFarlane wench? Do ye forget . . . ?”
“Nay, Alex, I dinna forget, curse ye. But dinnayeforget that the lass ye plan to wreak vengeance on was but a child when her uncle treacherously murdered our father. Do ye think a wee lass not much older than my sons is guilty of that crime? Mayhaps she honed the knife her uncle used? Mayhaps ye think she planned the crime?”
Alexander was somewhat taken aback by Barra’s sarcasm, then he frowned. There was going to be trouble between himself and Barra over his treatment of the MacFarlane wench. That did not change Alexander’s plans, but he recognized the danger of it. Barra had some good arguments and good reasons to take the girl’s side, but none of that mattered compared to how strongly Alexander desired the young woman. The strength of Barra’s defense, however, was unusual if only because Barra was doing it with clear-eyed sobriety. That was something Barra had lacked for far too long. For that reason alone Alexander decided not to simply brush aside Barra’s arguments.
“She carries the name MacFarlane,” Alexander said. “ ‘Tis all that matters.” A mutter of agreement amongst the men echoed his words. “I dinna care if Mistress MacFarlane was naught but an itch in her father’s loins at the time her uncle began to strike against us. She is that murdering bastard Colin’s niece, his only heir for now.”
When Barra started to speak again, Alexander snapped, “Enough! I will concede that ye are right in all ye say, but it doesna matter. From what little I have seen of the lass, she holds all that used to be good in the MacFarlanes before that adder Colin tainted the strain. That also matters naught.” A few of the men sharing the head table nodded thoughtfully. “Through Mistress MacFarlane I may strike at both MacFarlane and MacCordy. ‘Tis too sweet a chance to ignore. They would think the same if they held a MacDubh woman. Aye, and ere ye say it, I run hot for the wench. I willna even try to deny that. That alone is reason enough to bed her. Have done with it, Barra.”
After a measuring look at Barra’s compressed lips, Alexander turned his attention to where a comely maid named Kate was collecting the remnants of Jaime’s hearty meal. They had placed the huge man in the far corner of the great hall, but Alexander knew that everyone still keenly felt the man’s presence. “I want that brute watched closely even though he has vowed to stay his hand. The bond between him and the lass is a strong one. ‘Twas certain death to face us alone and unarmed as he did. I could have cut him down in a winking. Aye, but stand firm he did. That sort of loyalty may prove stronger than his word.” Alexander studied Jaime and saw how the man’s gaze was fixed upon him and how Jaime’s massive hands clenched. “Aye, I ken that it is.”
“Jaime loves his mistress,” Barra murmured.
