She glanced beneath hooded eyes, studying the lean, muscular grace, the golden, scarred skin and chiseled features of the tyrant sitting before her. Bitterness rose hot and full in her throat. Because of him she would never savor the pleasures of home or hearth or the joy of her own children playing round her feet. She’d be scorned by all who saw her as Duncan’s cast-off whore. The issue was moot; even if he allowed her to remain pure in body, no one would believe it. It would seem impossible that this bold, virile animal had denied himself full use of his leman. And because of that, no self-respecting man would ever again consider her for a wife.
Aileana straightened and clenched her jaw. Her dreams of a normal life, of companionship and family, fluttered away like ash up the chimney. But if she stayed at Eilean Donan, she could at least ensure that her suffering had purpose. The amulet would remain safe.
It was settled, then. Duncan MacRae could chew nettles; she’d not tell him where she’d secured theEalach. He’d drawn the battle lines against her with his cruel treachery, and now he’d pay the consequences. He’d pay dearly.
“I’ve made my decision, MacRae. I’ll be staying.” With a flap of her chemise, she scuffed toward her pallet, adding, “May your sleep be full of ghosties and evil fairies for the bargain you struck with me tonight.”
Refusing to look at him again or react to the weight of the silence billowing at her from where he sat, Aileana stretched out on the soft ticking and burrowed deep. Prickling heat stung her eyes, but she blinked it away. This was no time for tears. She needed to make plans. Duncan MacRae would get his fair reward for this, by heaven. And now she had all the days for the rest of her life to enact every plot she could envision against him.
With that comforting thought, Aileana squeezed her eyes shut and tried to let her mind drift into dreams of satisfying revenge.
Duncan rolled over and tried to find a comfortable position. Sleep had eluded him for several hours. He’d watched the fire burn down to glowing embers, watched his remaining candle melt to nothing. And more often than he cared to admit he’d sat up to look at the fiery-haired, stubborn wench curled into a sleeping ball on the corner pallet.
Aileana MacDonell surprised him at every turn. He’d been certain that, granted the possibility of going home, she’d give him the amulet without clamor. He’d ordered Bridgid to work her hard this day to add to the enticement of leaving. But she’d stood her ground. And now he was faced with a prospect he’d not allowed himself to truly consider. She would be living here for the devil knew how long. Every day he’d have to contend with her chattering tongue, her annoying female ways, her pointed stares…and a constant view of her creamy-skinned beauty.
With a groan Duncan punched a lump on his bed. Comely or not, he couldn’t take her. Morgana’s blood ran in her veins. Her clan had slaughtered his people.Slaughtered Mairi.
Cold seeped into his chest. He didn’t want to see the picture in his mind again, didn’t want to remember. But it was there. It would always be there—the sight of the woman he’d loved, still and lifeless at his feet.
Closing his eyes, he rolled onto his side. No further reminder was needed. Aileana MacDonell was a forbidden temptation, his opponent in this battle of wills. And if he had to work like hell, he’d get her to tell him where theEalachwas. Soon. But he had a sinking feeling that until he did, he’d be spending much of his time immersing himself in the distractions he might find in the great hall.
Or anywhere else that the accusing, seductive gaze of one honey-eyed, flame-haired temptress might not be able to reach him.
Chapter 5
The smell of warm oatmeal pulled Aileana out of sleep, making her smile with satisfaction an instant before she remembered where she was. At first, she stiffened under the covers, her mind blurry with images of the horrible day that had changed her life. Pictures of the battle, of Gavin wounded and bleeding, of hiding the amulet in Morgana’s secret grove. Then she remembered last night and Duncan’s casual, infuriating comments.You will sleep in my chamber on that pallet over there, except in the wee hours, when you will come to my bed so that Bridgid won’t suspect anything amiss…
Satan’s fire, she was in Duncan MacRae’s bed.
She gasped and peeped from beneath the thick blanket, cheeks burning as she realized that he must have carried her from the pallet while she slept. Her gaze darted around his chamber. Thank the saints, but he’d left already. Relaxing again, Aileana scrunched down, pulling the covers up to hide the tip of her nose. Then she froze.
She sniffed, scowling in concentration. It was a pleasant scent, light and clean. With a start she’d realized that it washisfragrance coming from the bedclothes…the same sharply sweet smell as the square of hard soap Bridgid had taken from the tub last night before she’d tossed her a pot of soft lye soap from the kitchen. The realization was enough to propel her out of bed and into a chemise and kirtle that she found draped across one of the room’s carved chairs. The garments were of serviceable weave, coarse but well crafted. Aileana felt a twinge of regret for her own gowns back home; they were of fine fabric and woven in colors to suit her.
Home. She had to stop thinking of Dulhmeny like that. This was home to her now, whether she liked it or not. And today was the first full day of her new life here. Her usual good nature tried valiantly to reassert itself and failed. Her mind kept straying to the revenges she’d conjured up last night to play against Duncan. How could she feign a peaceful demeanor? Life as theEalach’s keeper had been difficult enough with its isolation and loneliness. But she’d only traded one kind of captivity for another, and this one was decidedly less tolerable.
Biting back a scowl, Aileana tried to ignore the growling of her stomach as she finished dressing and walked down the stairs to the great hall. Several tables jutted at odd angles round the room; they were full of men, some standing hunched over trenchers of steaming oatmeal, others sitting on the benches and ripping off hunks of dark bread and stuffing them in their mouths. Many of them looked unkempt, their flowing hair and beards snarled, their bare legs dirty beneath wrinkled plaids and tunics. Aileana sniffed at the vulgar display; it was becoming ever more apparent why everyone called this clan the wild MacRaes.
A prickle of apprehension slid down her spine an instant before she saw him. He sat at the far end of the hall, his silver gaze fixed on her, penetrating. Unlike his clansmen, Duncan exuded a sense of clean, calm orderliness. He looked refreshed from his night’s rest, though she thought she saw a glint of annoyance in his eyes before he turned to Kinnon, sitting next to him.
At that moment Bridgid huffed up to Aileana and dropped a heavy iron pot into her hands; it was empty, smeared with the jellied remnants of cold oatmeal.
“It’s about time you showed your face this morning, missy. Here. Take it back to the kitchens and have it filled again.” Bridgid shook her red face at Aileana, muttering, “There’s no time to dawdle with a room of hungry men. Get about it.” She stalked away, charging at whirlwind speed toward a table whose occupants were banging their fists in a rising crescendo of complaint.
Aileana gaped at Bridgid’s retreating back.Servethese animals? But Bridgid had already turned away, waving her toward the kitchens. With a sigh, Aileana let the pot dangle from her grip and did as she was bid. The sound of women’s voices spilled from the warm chamber beyond the hall, rising and falling, punctuated with laughter. But as soon as she stepped into the chamber, the chatter tapered off and fell to silence by the time she’d reached the middle of the room.
“Bridgid told me to have this refilled,” she murmured, holding out the empty pot. The only sound to break the quiet came from the bannock cakes hissing on the hearth-fire.
Finally, one of the women sauntered forward. She was tall and dark-haired, her ample curves filling a kirtle that was a shade too tight. She reached out and grasped the pot between her finger and her thumb, clearly being careful not to touch Aileana’s hand.
“Here, Maggie,” she said to the small, blond girl behind her, though she kept her gaze only on Aileana. “Wash this out before you fill it again.” She fixed her with an insolent expression. “We don’t want our men catching anything from the MacRae’s new whore, now, do we?”
Aileana stood her ground, but a sick, hollow feeling unfurled in her belly. Someone jostled into her and pushed her roughly aside.
“That’s enough out of you, Nora MacKenzie.” Bridgid jabbed her finger into the woman’s shoulder. “If you want to spend the day wailing about being misplaced from the MacRae’s bed, then do it on your own time. That, or I can send you out to the pig trough, to muck and mumble by yourself.” Bridgid glared. “Make your decision.”
Nora’s gaze sliced across Aileana once more before she grumbled under her breath and moved back to the cook pots. One by one, the other women went back to their tasks, their sideways glances leaving Aileana little doubt about the meaning of their whispers.
Pursing her lips, Bridgid took a pot of fresh, hot oatmeal from the fire and wrapped the handle in a cloth before handing it to Aileana. “Take this to the MacRae’s table. His was running low.”
