Page 19 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

James shrugged. “I never thought I’d marry. No sense in setting aside a plot for a wife when I assumed I’d die a bachelor.”

“Why did ye assume you’d no’ marry?”

He digested the question. He’d assumed he’d never gain a Grant woman’s hand, to be more specific, and since claiming his inheritance had been the only thing consuming him—a quest he was certain he would never conquer—he hadn’t seen any value in the institution of marriage. Aileana had serendipitously put herself in a bad position for her and a good position for him when she’d chosen to thieve from him.

“It looks overgrown,” she muttered sadly, as if to herself.

“I do nay visit it often, nor do I spare staff to come tend it,” he bit out.

“Why no’?”

“Why?” he countered.

As if she could sense his unwillingness to say more, she let the subject die. A blessing that she did, for each time he looked at the cemetery, overlooking the joining of the sparkling western waters upon which Tioram sat, with a heavenly view for which to spend eternity, he remembered the cold, rainy day he and his father had lowered Marjorie into her grave, bound in white cloth with a thistle laid upon her breast, feeling such helplessness… That helplessness threatened to wrap its talons around his heart and squeeze once more, as it always did when he dwelled too long on Marjorie’s sad lot.

Hunger plaguing Aileana’s stomach rumbled against his back, and as they neared the castle, he felt her stiffen, further distracting him from the sting pricking his eyes at the memory of Brighde sobbing, his stepmother’s contemptuous glares of hurt at his father for contracting their older daughter to a fated marriage that had left her wasted.

Aileana’s grip tightened as if she held herself aloft, and her breathing seemed to grow uneven. “They’re going to hate me,” she murmured.

And here he was, bringing an enemy bride into his fold to face the displeasure of his people, as no doubt Marjorie had been forced to do. He dragged back on the reins upon hearing the waver in her voice and glanced at her, eyes narrowing to examine her distress. She was sweating again, a sheen of illness having moistened her brow. Had her shivering finally turned feverous? No good?

“They’ll be wary, aye,” he said. “Ye’re Laird Grant’s sister. And there’s bad blood there.”

Best not to deny the truth. His people wouldn’t understand at first. But mayhap, if she showed them her kinder, understanding side as she’d shown him last night, they would eventually warm to her, for a marriage to an enemy was where her lot ceased being similar to Marjorie’s. Had Seamus Grant made this handfast permanent, Aileana’s future would have looked much different, with a man who would never strike her, humiliate her, or degrade her, no matter the champion’s effort she thrust into arguing, needling, and debating him.

“I should have accepted yer offer to return me,” she whispered.

Vulnerable. Just as he’d thought. Her hardened facade was merely a veneer upon a fragile soul.

“Ye havenae a choice, now. Come,” he encouraged. “Ye’ll do fine.”

Chapter Five

Guardsmen patrolling Tioram Castle’s parapets winched up the portcullis, like the opening jaw of a hungry lion. James trotted Devil onto the promontory leading across the peninsula, passing rows of balingers and smaller currachs tipped on their sides with snow pillows atop their hulls. A wan smile tugged at Aileana’s mouth as she imagined James at the helm of a watercraft, dragging the sheets against the wind and dominating the cresting waves. So long of leg and blond like his Norse ancestors, he would probably look magnificent.

Lively with folk, noise arose from within Tioram’s portcullis as servants went about their jobs, making Aileana’s fate real.

“Jesu…” she whispered, sucking in air as if it were drink and she, thirsty.

In truth, she was. Her mouth was chalky, her body racked with shivers, her skin clammy.

James’s broad hand squeezed her trembling ones. Goodness! The gesture was brief. But much like it had been during their handfast, it was reassuring now, and she rested her cheek between his shoulder blades to steady what she feared was becoming a feverous mind.

“I train warriors who fight at my bidding,” he said. “But my people will harm ye none. Fret no’.”

The knot in her gut eased an increment.

“The laird has returned!” called a sentry atop the curtain wall, and a general clattering of people preparing for their laird’s arrival ensued.

The knot tightened again. James raised a hand in greeting to them.

“Good afternoon, my laird!” shouted another as they rode under the archway. “We wondered when ye’d arrive back! Sir Angus is preparing a search party. Did ye catch the thief?”

“Who’s the lass?” asked another.

“I did indeed catch the thief!” James replied, his voice booming. “And the woman is Lady Aileana Grant!”

God in heaven, he was going to oust her to his people! After the moments of gentleness that had passed betwixt them?