Page 47 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

“Unless my sister has shamed ye enough to feel remorse or…” Surprise seemed to capture his brow. His eyes widened. “Or unless ye actually like her.”

Christ. Was he so easy to read? Or had Aileana torn down his natural defenses? Liking Aileana was too benign a statement. Besotted was more a fitting term. Regardless, he said nothing to refute or validate the statement, and blast it, but Seamus’s mouth was curling into a knowing smile.

“Aye, that’s it, is it nay? Ye like her, and ye wish to make peace to impress her, in hopes that she might like ye in return.”

Nay, on this account, Seamus was wrong. James didn’t do this to impress her. He’d resolved himself to do this, to make his soul right with the maker again. He’d done it for Aileana, too, but nay in hopes it might score him points and make her love him. Whether she stayed or returned home, James had needed to do this for his conscience.

He pulled the reins around and nudged his horse into a trot, leaving Seamus behind, calling, “Ye’ll have Aileana back as promised!”

“Unless she decides to remain with a bastard like ye!” Seamus shouted at his retreating back. “She’s always loved a challenge!”

James stopped at Seamus’s now-friendly taunt, Devil dancing at the bit for his master to make up his mind. Sakes, he’d always loved one, too. “I’ve conquered much in my life! But she’s a conquest I fear I’ll never claim!”

He rode off, certain he could hear Seamus chuckling at his expense. And Seamus calls me a bastard. But the truth hurt. Aileana had softened to him since he’d first packed her away from Urquhart. But she would never forgive him enough to stay with him and perhaps, someday, love him. Would she?

Chapter Eleven

2nd of January, 1546

Aileana frowned, walking along the frozen bank of Loch Moidart, gazing at the MacDonald horses rooting lazily through the snow for hidden grasses. James had been gone two nights, a third day had approached, and confusion had gnawed at her the entire time. What would she say to him when he returned? Surely he’d arrive home soon, wouldn’t he?

Home. Such a strange way to think of Tioram, and yet the idea was growing strength in her heart. She meandered among the currachs and stacks of dormant fishing traps as her new burgundy damask gown swished around her. Such luxury. Such skilled tailoring. The seamstress had worked a piece of art in this beautiful dress. She was smoothing her mitten over the rich fabric when a disturbance along the walls caught her attention. She shielded her eyes against the sun to look at guardsmen blinking between the merlons.

“My lady!” Angus called down to her. “Come within! Make haste!”

She furrowed her brow, pulling her cloak tight, and watched the soldiers gathering for orders.

“Now, lady! MacLeod balingers!” Angus shouted. “On the loch! ’Tis no longer safe to be outside!”

Aileana squinted onto the water. In the distance, several boats ran fast toward the castle, their sails filled with air. She dashed across the frozen ground as grooms hastened outside to round up the horses and herd them back around the castle through the portcullis.

“Run, lady! This isnae the place to be with MacLeods approaching!” a groom shouted to her. “They always assail us from these waters!”

She lifted her skirts, running, slipping upon the icy bank and collapsing to her knees. The boats were gaining on them. She shoved back to her feet, disentangling her legs from the infernal gown, when she saw movement in the copse that strung along the shore.

An arrow sailed past her.

Jesu! They were already among the trees. Had they feigned a water approach to distract the guards from spotting them taking position?

She hoisted up her skirts once more to run, screaming, “They’re in the trees!”

Another arrow whirled near, and she dropped down again, shielding her head.

“Drop the portcullis! The horses are within!” a sentry announced.

“We have to retrieve the lady!” Angus shouted from above as the chains released and the portcullis jarred the earth with a bone-rattling pound.

“They’ll use her as bait!” another cried.

More arrows followed. So many, she feared standing, for it seemed as if they missed her on purpose. Heart racing, she sucked in hard, trying to clear her mind, and scrambled on hands and knees behind the hull of a currach. If they weren’t going to shoot her—on purpose—were they trying to lure MacDonald men outside the walls to aid her so they could strike them instead? Sakes, the Grants fought like gentlemen at a May faire compared to these MacLeods. She eased out from her hiding place, curling back upon herself as another volley of arrows sought to hold her in place.

“I’m coming, lady!”

Upon Angus’s new plea from another direction, she looked up to see him outside the walls, withdrawn around the corner of the curtain wall. He inched out, making a dash with his targe shield guarding him, when the shooting kicked up once more, forcing him to retreat.

“Go back, Sir Angus!” she called. “They aim for ye!”

“James will have my bollocks if I do nay come for ye, lady!” he replied, peering back around the corner. “He charged me with yer safety in his absence!”