Page 11 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

James swallowed. The leaden weight that dropped in his gut caught him off guard. Be damned, but he needed this marriage to be permanent. He should have opted for a kirk wedding and scrounged up a priest. For if she left him on Twelfth Night—as she undoubtedly would—he would miss his chance at the money. What was the point, then? And yet, if Seamus called him on his threat to lodge his complaint with the Crown, Twelfth Night would come and go before his grievance was even heard, making a quest for compensation moot. He huffed and eyed Aileana. He’d felt the stirring of lust for her each time they’d parried with words, and he knew he’d have no issue feeling passion for such a woman. But would she reciprocate in time? Could he achieve the ultimate conquest and convince her to stay?

Damn, but this was the only chance he had now. His plan had ricocheted back on him. He took a deep breath. He’d always loved a challenge. He had a mountain of one now.

“All right. I agree to yer terms, Grant. I’ll return Lady Aileana, the handfast revoked, with yer full rights as her laird to marry her to another as it pleases Clan Grant, by Twelfth Night”—his eyes cut to hers—“if she so chooses.”

“What of yer recompense for my thievery if I leave?” she asked, that haughty lift of her chin a tough expression on an increasingly fragile face; that voice, so barbed with words and yet so smoothly spoken. A defense, he realized. Aye. She wasn’t really so tough, and this handfast frightened her.

He nodded once. “I’ll consider it repaid, lass.”

His statement hung in the ensuing silence, until Peigi’s sniffling became too much for her to contain. She threw her arms around Aileana, who stood stone still like a tree trunk. “But my dearest sister! He’ll strip yer innocence!”

James frowned. Did they think he’d force Aileana to his bed? He wasn’t like his horrid brother-in-law, who now resided in the fiery pits of hell, where he belonged. He’d never stripped a woman of anything she didn’t want to be stripped of. And besides, a handfast was as legitimate as a wedding registered in a kirk. There was no shame in lying with one another if they’d handfasted with an agreed set of terms.

Seamus placed a hand on Peigi’s back but glared at him. “Do ye aim to punish me by putting one of my sisters in yer bed only to give her back when yer amusement abates?”

Peigi gasped at the lewdness of Seamus’s statement.

“I’m a compassionate man,” James replied.

“Sure. Ye attacked our walls when I and my strongest contingent were away and now play nice with neighborly alliances. Compassionate. And the Loch Ness Monster comes ashore to dance jigs at the faire. I smell a deeper motive for demanding a woman in exchange for a potful of vegetables, and I do nay doubt ye’d find pleasure in returning my sister at Christmastide’s end with her reputation in tatters.”

James took a deep breath, anger mounting at being so likened to Marjorie’s husband, and snarled, “Ye suggested terms, nay me. I merely agreed to them. I’d prefer any marriage I enter to be for life.”

“Ye do nay strike me as the type to have care for a lady’s honor,” Seamus taunted.

“Then ye ken nothing about me,” James muttered, so low and soft, he saw a flicker of surprise cross Grant’s face, as if he believed him.

Hope seemed to light Aileana’s face, too, but shrewd disbelief captured Seamus’s brow now.

“I ken what ye really want, James MacDonald: my lands. And this nay doubt is part of a scheme.”

James didn’t deny it. No one else knew about his inheritance, trapped in the care of Fearn Abbey thanks to his stepmother’s conditions that he earn it, first—a task she’d thought would be impossible, which was why she’d stipulated it. He shrugged.

“I can come home on Twelfth Night, brother, for there’s no circumstance under which I’d choose to remain,” Aileana said softly, taking her brother’s arm. “Laird MacDonald is simply like a hunter toying with his quarry, but I’ll be no victim. Fear no’ for me. I’m strong. I can withstand this and will return home. This, I vow. Even if I have to claw my way back.”

Peigi sobbed even harder now, clinging to her and drawing a kerchief to her nose. “But he’ll bed ye, and then ye’ll have shed yer maidenhood for naught.”

A blush captured Aileana’s cheeks—to have something so intimate discussed so openly—and she cast her hazel gaze askance. James inhaled long and slow. This pity was growing strength in his gut. He’d stolen all from these people in the name of conquest. True, they’d stolen from him, too. And back and forth the rivalry had seemed to always swing. But these people were suffering and might not last the winter, and now that he was catching a glimmer of the Grants at the supper board instead of at the point of a sword, he thought, Does this fighting need to persist? At some point, someone would need to cut their losses. Could he be the one to finally lay down his sword and wave a white flag of truce? In his older years, James’s sire had seemed to tire of fighting, and he had set aside his armor and sword. He’d been anxious to see his daughter marry an enemy man, in hopes it would bring peace between their clans.

Mayhap peace would have better results than warfare. Mayhap the terms of his inheritance had been put in place at his stepmother’s insistence, but his father had never crafted them to be about conquering at all.

He pushed to standing.

“I’ll add a further term, then, to put Lady Peigi’s heart at ease.” Peigi looked up at him with splotchy cheeks and a sniffle, though Aileana, still standing stone still, stared stoically at his chest as if he were a reaper come for her. “No consummation unless she chooses to remain.”

“How can I trust yer word?” Seamus growled.

Sakes, but this might be the only time he acquiesced to touching Seamus Grant without it being to drive a blade into the man’s ribs. He thrust out his hand to shake wrists. Seamus frowned but finally accepted the offering.

Aileana swallowed so hard, he heard the gulp, and she pushed back her wild wisps of hair that seemed determined to irritate her eyes. James watched the trail of her slender finger across her cheek, over her ears, a sweet gesture from an otherwise confounding creature. He withdrew his sgian achlais from beneath his shoulder where it was sheathed. Seamus tensed and whipped loose his blade at his hip once more.

“Ye invite trouble?” Seamus said. “Ye might overpower us with sheer numbers, but I’ll remind ye that right now, ye’re the one alone.”

His gaze never wavering from Grant’s, James fished up the hem of his mantle tucked through his belts and sliced away a strip of red MacDonald tartan, then sheathed his blade once more.

“Give me yer hand, lass,” he said to Aileana.

Her eyes dipped to her feet. Was it possible for this feisty woman to feel sheepish? Or was she merely reluctant? Still, unceremonious or nay, it was best to get on with the custom and ensure she’d promise herself to him for the next fortnight, even if the coercion now left distaste in his mouth. A maiden and lady deserved a celebration, with finery and a delicately beaded gown, with feasting and bards and dancing. Nay this.