Page 62 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

“Lady Aileana is returned!” he called, and a general echoing of cheers arose from within the walls.

Devil lumbered across the drawbridge, but as he reached the portcullis, he couldn’t bear to go farther, stopping just short of the thick stone wall and grate. His lungs burned as he heaved in air, and he was certain his hands hadn’t stopped trembling since the night before and his ruse had been exposed in all its crude glory. The urge to pound his chest again and clear his throat was overpowering, yet he managed by a thread to remain stoic.

Looking within, he could see the castle folk had paused their tasks, their happier faces not so gaunt from hunger as before. Evergreen sprigs decorated the doors. Smoke rose from the castle chimneys. His repayment of goods had done this, given Aileana’s people back their sense of worth and their smiles. The door to the keep opened, and blast it! He couldn’t face Seamus Grant, now striding into the bailey, followed by a fretting Lady Peigi. He reached behind him, grasped Aileana beneath her arms and hoisted her down. She gasped, caught her footing, and gaped up at his unceremonious severance.

“Allie,” he managed to croak. “It stopped being about the money the moment I woke up to ye in my arms by the fireside. It stopped being about the lands as soon as I caught ye when ye fell ill. And ever since then, this handfast… It started becoming something much more, when I realized I was falling—” He caught his pathetic admission. What man of worth spouted such poetics? And yet the gruff edge to his voice turned thick, and he could feel his blasted eyes rimming red. “I’d rather give ye up to make ye happy than make ye miserable with me. I just beg one thing. I thought ye were mine when I bedded with ye, and if a bairn comes of our union—” His voice cracked, and he cleared it angrily. “I beg ye have sympathy for its bastardy. The stigma of such is a shame I’d no’ wish on anyone, least of all my seed.” Damnation, were his eyes now misting? “My inheritance will be past the point of claiming by then, but I’ll gladly take ye back.”

He dragged the reins around and tapped Devil into a canter, then as hard a gallop as his weary horse could muster. Relief and hopelessness twined themselves together in a tangled bundle of regret. At least it was over and he could get on with life. He never thought this severance would be so painful. Surely it was only his pride wounded. Surely he hadn’t been about to declare that he’d fallen in love. But it was too damn late. He knew he had. And his heart had just bled out like a sword thrust through it.

…

“What did that bastard do to ye?” Seamus demanded, racing to Aileana’s side as tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks. “Christ, wee sister. He didnae even provide ye with a wardrobe. Look at ye—ye return to us in the same rags ye left in.”

He wrapped her in his arms, and the strange need to defend James overcame her.

“He did provide for me, but I refused to keep anything—”

“I fed ye to a wolf who would dump ye back at home like a rejected sack of grain,” Seamus continued, too consumed to hear her.

Bless him, she thought, resisting the urge to look heavenward. He knew exactly the wrong thing to say as he squeezed her in his protective embrace.

“My thanks, brother, for likening me to such a commodity; it makes me feel much better about my situation.”

“I’m sorry, I’m forever guilt-stricken about the decision I had to make. But I thought that he might fancy ye. I began to think he was taken with ye.”

She looked up at him, dabbing futilely at her puffy eyes. “Why would ye think that?”

Seamus tightened his hold. “When he delivered the cattle and the home goods, he could barely answer my questions about why he’d done it, and when I guessed that it was because he liked ye, he turned beet red, like some lovesick lad.”

A tingling of wariness lodged in her stomach. Had James been telling her the truth about his feelings? Nay, preposterous. He’d already admitted his motives for forcing the handfast.

“And when Seamus suggested to him that ye might actually be happy in that brute’s house with him,” Peigi chimed in, petting her hair back, “our brother said the MacDonald felt certain ye would never be happy there, and the sound of James’s voice was…”

“Forlorn,” Seamus clarified. “I could tell he was smitten. Or at least I thought he was.”

Aileana pulled back, suddenly aware of all the eyes peering onto the drawbridge, watching her. She was never so weak as to break down crying, but now their people, who were used to her strength, were watching her whimper like a pup. Peigi turned her around, taking her hands.

“But these tears, sister, can only mean a few things. Was he cruel to ye?”

She shook her head. “On the contrary. He was kind and protective.”

Peigi’s voice went soft so no one else would hear the personal question. “Did he force ye to his bed?” She eyed Seamus stiffening at her side, his knuckles whitened on the hilt of his dirk perched in his belt, as if prepared to chase down James and administer justice if she even hinted at impropriety.

Again, she shook her head. James hadn’t forced her to do anything. She’d chosen to lie with him, encouraged him to do so when he’d shown restraint. “Nay. He was honorable, nay the devil we all ken him to be…”

Peigi smiled fondly and squeezed her hands. “Then is it possible, sister, that ye’ve become smitten, too, and these tears are from heartbreak?”

Aileana froze. Indeed, she had grown fond of him. She’d taken a risk and opened her heart. She’d let down her defenses, begun to care for his people, especially Maudie. When he’d given back her earrings, shame sagging his brow, she’d known there was good at his core, even if conflict had shaped him into the warrior he was. When he’d fed foxes, held wee lassies on his arm with such comfort, and sat beside a feverish woman’s bedside through the night, she’d known he was gentle at heart—someone she could love. When she’d learned of his tragic upbringing, she’d sympathized with a lad who’d had to fight for his legitimate title in ways no other heir would have been required. How would she have survived if she’d been born of her father’s indiscretions and raised by a stepmother who’d sabotaged her at every opportunity?

“He only married me to gain his inheritance, for the conditions upon him were such that he needed to marry a Grant before Twelfth Night of this year in order to be given the coin,” she said begrudgingly. “I thought he meant it when he said he wanted to give this marriage an honest try, but in sooth, I was nothing more than the key to his wealth.”

She looked askance, explaining the conditions to her siblings’ shocked faces, and continued to dab her splotchy eyes. Sakes, the truce kerchief. She suddenly sobbed at the sight of it, burying her eyes within it.

“And yet he brought ye home,” Peigi finally said. “He’s given up his money for ye. Did he reject ye?”

Oh, her foolish, foolish pride! He’d done the opposite—he’d begged her to stay.

“I insisted on being returned. He’s simply honoring my wishes.”