Stripping off the wool gown, she laid it over the back of a nearby chair, then sat on the edge of the mattress, drawing her knees to her chest. In a fairer world, she’d have the freedom to go where she wished. But such a life dinna exist. She could only fantasize about fulfilling her girlhood dream of travelling—visiting Italy and France, perhaps to the exotic places where Alex had lived for so long—where the sun kissed the sand.
Just then, she heard a bell ring from outdoors and rushed to the single, narrow window in her room. It was wide enough to see down to the bailey where a small crowd had gathered as a man dressed in a black tunic and breeches called out the name of her departed husband as he rang the hand bell.
“Our kindly Laird John Simon Alexander MacKay was taken too soon,” the man said. “On the morn, he will be laid to rest in the kirk…”
Keely backed away from the window, disliking what the mort bell represented. Evil spirits were warded off by its sound. Keely remembered the same ritual from her mother’s funeral. The bell used in her ma’s procession had been baptized by the priest. The bell ringer headed the long line of mourners that would walk the three miles to where her mother wished to be buried.
Returning to the bed, she crawled to the center, tired but unable to keep bittersweet memories from flooding her mind. The very night Laird John had been told Keely had accepted his offer for marriage. He requested an audience with her in the women’s solar, with only an elderly, deaf maid serving as chaperone.
“Why?” he’d asked. “Ye belong to Alex.”
“If ye think so,” Keely countered, “then why did ye ask me to marry ye?”
John rubbed his noble chin. Unlike his brother, John’s features were softer, his eyes deep set and compassionate. Aye, warmth radiated from his strong body, but not the heat of passion that affected Keely whenever she stood in front of Alex. This wouldna be a marriage built on lust or love, it would be one of respect and appreciation. She could live with that only if she dinna have to see Alex every day.
“Do ye always answer questions with questions?” he asked.
“Only if I seek my own answers.”
John chuckled. “Alexander failed to claim ye. How could any man resist ye, Keely?”
As she’d been told by John’s father, her future husband had no idea that his sire had arranged for Keely to marry his eldest son, not Alex. The MacKays and Oliphants wished to unite in blood—and power. They’d been at peace for generations, so it seemed the natural thing to do. Keely’s sire had sent a missive, demanding her obedience and absolute silence.
Alexander is young, her father had written, he’ll recover, as will ye once a bairn grows inside yer belly. Make me proud, daughter, and I’ll reward ye and yer husband.
There’d been no recourse, she was an only daughter with six brothers. It would serve her family best if she married the heir to the MacKay clan, not the second son.
“May I kiss ye, Keely?” John asked. “To seal our betrothal.”
Keely gazed at the old woman who had fallen asleep on the stool in the corner. “Aye,” she said, appreciative of John’s gentle demeanor.
Expecting him to tug her into his arms, she closed her eyes, waiting impatiently to discover if he’d heat her blood the way Alex did. Much to her disappointment, John planted a kiss on her forehead first. And after she opened her eyes, staring up at him in complete disappointment, he gave her a chaste kiss on the lips.
“I look forward to our future life, Lady Keely.” He bowed, then left the solar.
Keely didn’t move for a long time. She touched her lips, regretful that nothing had sparked between them. John’s touch dinna awaken any feelings inside her, dinna raise gooseflesh on her arms. Tears formed in her eyes, but she quickly palmed them away. Feelings dinna matter. Keely would do her duty, solidify the alliance between her family and the MacKays, and hopefully, provide an heir. She’d focus on that to help get her through the hard times she knew she’d face concerning Alex. She loved him, completely. Wanted him. It would take time to forget him…
Keely returned to the present.
In five long years she hadn’t forgotten Alex. Not one night had passed without him invading her thoughts or dreams. Some of those dreams were disturbingly real and involved rigorous lovemaking, though she’d never seen Alexander naked, or ever been naked with him. Her fertile imagination made up for her lack of carnal knowledge of her beloved, for she could envision every inch of his muscle-graced body, the spark in his green eyes, even feel his strong fingertips tracing the contours of her own form.
Like most women, she craved passion. And there was no lack of talk from the married women or wanton maids that served in the Sutherland household. They described bedsport with as much enthusiasm as any man. But with Alex, she dinna need all the wooing—just him.
“Just him,” she repeated out loud.
What was wrong with her? Alex dinna like her—in fact, if she knew anything about the man she once loved, he might even hate her, which was hard to accept. “Tomorrow,” she whispered, “while the funeral is going on, I will leave this place—forever.”
Chapter Nine
Once the lastwarrior left the kirk, Alex sat down on one of the rough-hewn benches in the back. He’d suffered through the funeral mass, neither embracing or rejecting the words the priest had spoken in honor of his brother. Faith in anything but himself exposed Alex to weakness, and made it necessary for him to live within the boundaries of the church and law. He preferred owing allegiance to no one. It would make it easier to leave this place.
“Laird Alex,” Father Michael approached.
“I wish ye wouldna call me laird.”
“Why?” the priest asked. “Tis yer rightful title.”
Alex shook his head. “Mathe…” he said sourly. “The old man has been nipping at yer ear.”
