Page 5 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

“Mayhap I ought complain to the king myself. That Seamus Grant’s sister is a thief and ought to be named an outlaw if she cannae be controlled.”

Aileana’s jaw dropped, but it was Peigi who found the quickest words. “Then yer cruelty kens no bounds.”

James’s eyes only flitted to Peigi for a moment before settling back on her, and the twinkle lighting them sent a nervous pulse kicking through her blood. He released the reins and scoured a palm over his face, looking away as if to hide his expression, as if suddenly hot. Curious.

“One moment,” Seamus said to James, then gripped Aileana by her upper arm and marched her away, not stopping until they stood across the yard from the gate.

She wrenched her arm free and pushed his hand away as she fought to secure her tartan again while the midwinter wind whipped mercilessly through the bailey.

“Why, sister?” he finally demanded. “Why take such a risk as to steal from the MacDonalds? Of all the people, ye chose him? What were ye thinking? Or were ye even thinking at all?”

“Aye,” she said, seething. “I was thinking that our people surely willnae make it through the winter unless the MacDonalds pay restitution soon. Our pantries are barren—”

“I’m aware,” Seamus ground out through clenched teeth. “But right when the king is positioned to rule in my favor and grant us our justice is nay the time for ye to diminish our reputation. God above, lassie, I’m this close to achieving my desires the diplomatic way.” He held up his finger and thumb to indicate just how little time they had left to wait. “My messenger arrived yesterday to inform me that the king has decided and sends his writ to me within the next fortnight. But James, the bastard, kens ye’re guilty now, and if he makes a royal complaint of his own, the king is likely to dismiss us all as warring clans who retaliate back and forth, therefore giving us naught!”

She flinched at his anger. Seamus was typically a gentle soul, and he’d never treated her to the deep, rumbling voice he used when intimidating his foes. He pinched the bridge of his nose again, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. Her eyes flitted to James afar, who was poised in his saddle and, this time, wore concern on his face. Concern for her? Her brother would never raise a hand to her, but James didn’t know that.

Weariness sagged her brother’s shoulders, catching her off guard, causing sadness to lodge in her chest. The corners of his eyes were crinkled, his brow pleated with the burden of responsibility on his shoulders. No doubt he was also worried about his wife, Elizabeth, who was due to deliver their first child in the spring. A lean winter might cause the lady to miscarry. Such a loss would devastate her, and thus, devastate Seamus, too.

“I’m sorry to shout,” he amended after a moment’s thought, then dragged her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his waist, belted in thick leather, resting her cheek against his tartan mantle. “I try to balance many needs, Aileana. We have no Yuletide celebration. No feast. The castle wears no evergreen boughs, for there simply hasnae been the will to decorate. I ken yer heart was in the right place today, but what ye did was dangerous and impulsive. I now need to settle a compensation with Laird MacDonald, as much as it sickens me to barter with him. I must appear honest in every regard, for my royal recompense will be the equivalent of three hundred head of livestock, and I cannae risk having it rescinded.”

“Barter with him?” Aileana knew what Seamus meant, yet it still left a rancid taste in her mouth. “How can ye lower yerself to do such a thing—”

“Wheesht,” he said, silencing her. He stepped back and cupped her cheeks paternally, for he was years older than her. “What’s done is done. Now, we must sort it out. Come.”

He escorted her back to the gates, though each step she took sent trepidation through her core. How would this be sorted?

“Laird Grant,” MacDonald said as they approached. “I’ve decided. I leave ye to yer Yuletide celebrations and will go to the king to complain.” He glanced around at their drab walls, slowly chipping with disrepair. An obvious sign that the Grants hadn’t rebounded. “A victim of a brash woman.”

Victim. The jest made Aileana want to vomit, for the MacDonalds were rich and powerful.

“There’s no need for that. Ye were obviously hard-pressed for yer vegetables,” Seamus said, with sarcasm dripping from each word.

“I am. The winter is thin to us all,” James said.

“Then suppose we come within to discuss what I can do to recompense ye.”

“I do nay believe it,” Aileana gasped under her breath. “He’s coercing ye, Seamus—”

Her brother clenched her elbow to silence her.

James nodded once. His eyes caught hers again and held the stare, as he’d been doing since his arrival, as if assessing her for something…more. Though his expression remained unreadable. “’Tis agreeable to me.”

Seamus sighed, then called up to Sir Donegal. “Raise the portcullis, man.”

“Raise it?” the head guard questioned, and a murmur swept through the servants who had gathered in the bailey.

“Indeed,” Seamus replied. “Only for Laird MacDonald. If ye have other men lurking, James, tell them to stand down.”

MacDonald shook his head. “They packed camp and returned to Tioram Castle. ’Tis only me.”

“Raise the gates!” Donegal called. “By order of the laird!”

The winches began churning again, and slowly, the gate was lifted as servants gaped at the welcoming of the enemy wolf among the flock.

MacDonald trotted boldly into the yard as if he owned it, glaring down at her as he passed. Aileana straightened, felt her pulse quicken at the strength he exuded. He might try to intimidate with his imposing presence, but she would not be cowed, no matter how handsome his features or how hard his stare.

The groom hastened to the laird, holding his horse at the bit. Still, MacDonald’s gaze remained fastened to hers. Blast it, but her fingers felt as if they trembled. Snow landed upon her skin, stinging with the initial bite of coldness before melting. Could it not chill her mounting nerves?