Page 63 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

Peigi smiled, then shook her head with the closest thing to incredulity Aileana could remember gracing her sister’s porcelain face. “Then are ye so blind as to nay see what I see? He cared enough to let ye go. To let all of it go. Because he couldnae have yer honest heart.”

“Damnation, I hate to give that nàmhaid any berth for sympathy, but such actions only speak of”—Seamus cleared his throat to force something distasteful from his lips—“love. And if all of this is true, then I’d say ye took the best revenge a Grant could ever take on a MacDonald. Ye stole his heart, then ye broke it. And for some reason I’ll never comprehend, I feel sorry for the bastard.”

The statement spiraled through her mind again and again as Peigi led her inside, where Aileana glanced around the great hall and took in the festive evergreens, the rich smells coming from the kitchens. These people’s lives had been made full again, thanks to James making amends, regardless of how the feud had once started. And yet while the castle folk sang and laid out food for the evening board, Aileana swallowed at the hollowness in her stomach, like an empty cavern, envisioning the redness that had rimmed his eyelids as he’d departed. Had she made a mistake?

I have. Oh, I have! And just as suddenly as she’d demanded to be brought home, she bolted to her feet and abandoned the dais, dashing to her chamber to change. She had to go to James, and her clothing was still damp and cold from the snowy journey home. He would stop for the night somewhere soon, and if she were quick, she’d be able to follow his tracks.

…

Of course, the only place to stop for the night was the rocks under which James had first slept with Aileana. But if James pressed on, there would be no other shelter for leagues, and blast this winter, but it was already dumping more snow upon him. Continuing in such a downfall could prove folly for poor Devil.

He dismounted with a reluctant sigh and blotted out the images of Aileana sleeping so soundly upon his chest by this very firepit. He unsaddled Devil and rubbed him down. Blessedly, the remains of their first fire and stack of unused wood still lay untouched.

He heaved his packs within and rummaged through a pouch for his flint, cracking it upon the striker to make sparks. At last, one spark took hold on a dried leaf still clinging to a twig. He nurtured the flame until an ember took hold and eventually, a blaze.

Drawing his mantle over himself, he sat back against a rock and stared at the dancing fire, recalling Marjorie’s humiliating deliverance home, recalling the years of his youth when his stepmother had snubbed her nose at him. He hadn’t mourned his stepmother’s passing—it was because of her he’d lured Aileana into the handfast. But if Aileana carried his seed, would his bairn be raised by a stepfather someday who detested his child as much as his stepmother had detested him? Could he claim paternity and usurp her custody? The thoughts did nothing but cause his stomach to roil, for such a legal course would only stoke the fires of rivalry betwixt their clans and make her hate him more.

As he closed his eyes and swigged his flagon of whiskybae, trying desperately to doze so he wouldn’t have to think anymore, he heard Devil grunt. His eyes popped open. Devil was hard to see in the darkness and downfall of snow, but from the firelight’s weak reach, he could determine the horse’s ears pricked forward.

He stood, slipping his claymore from its sheath beside him, and rose, stepping out of the rocks. Two shadows on horseback approached, cantering out of the darkness. He patted his waist, ensuring his daggers were secure, felt his sgian dubh in his boot, sgian achlais in his armpit. If these travelers meant trouble, he would need every blade to fight himself free.

Except one shape was much smaller than the other, and long fabric flowed from…her.

Aileana. His heart leaped into his throat with hope at the same time that it seemed to drop to his feet in wariness. Did she want to come back to him? Or had she come to add further insult to injury? Had she brought her brother to accuse him of forcing her to his will or taking liberties?

His body, charged for a confrontation while his heart squeezed, sent an ill feeling swirling in his gut. But as they neared the firelight, his confusion mounted, for Seamus wore a humored, patronizing smirk, as if the bastard were about to make a jab, and James couldn’t help but think it would be at his expense.

Aileana fanned her skirts over the saddle and dismounted before James could consider assisting her, and when she turned toward him, her eyes looked sore. He wanted to brush his thumb across them to push away the moisture but refrained, for she was no longer his to touch.

“Jamie, I…”

Jamie. How he loved the moniker. How it brought back fond memories of both his childhood and the affection he craved from this woman before him.

“Were ye really going to walk away from all that money?” she asked.

He twisted away from them, tossing down his sword with a clatter and heaving a sigh, perching his hands at his waist.

“Lass…” He turned and eyed her over his shoulder. “When I chased a lad back to Urquhart, I had anger in my heart. I intended to make ye pay for stealing and saw an opportunity to fulfill the conditions put upon me.” He turned away again. “But the moment the demand for a bride left my lips, I knew I was embarking on something bigger. I knew, when I saw the fear on yer face, that I didnae want to hurt ye.” He shrugged. “I need the money, aye, but I want ye. And if I cannae have my Allie”—he shook his head—“well, what’s a purse of coin in this short life we lead?” He shrugged again. “I never had it to begin with.”

A hand settled on his arm. His heart skipped a beat to feel her touch.

He glanced down at the gloved fingers, so slender and delicate, it was a wonder that they’d helped her people push ploughs and heal injuries. “Jamie? When I overheard ye and Brighde talking, I thought the worst. It seemed like something the Devil MacDonald, who’d raided us, would do, and I didnae honor our truce and give ye a chance to explain, nor did I account for all the fine things ye’ve done for me since the moment we handfasted but saw them as ploys to win me into staying. And when ye left me this afternoon, I couldnae make sense of why I felt so sick until my brother and sister…”

“She loves yer ugly face, man, is what that stew of words means,” Seamus said with brotherly ribbing, to which Aileana scowled back at him.

James glanced to Seamus. Odd, he was never off his guard, but for a moment, he’d forgotten about the enemy laird nearby.

“We told her she belonged with ye,” Seamus continued, “for it’s clear as day ye’re smitten with her like a wee milksop for a mistress, and obviously she’s gone and turned traitor on us all.”

The anger that would normally spike at such insults didn’t this time. Aileana was in love with him? Sakes, but aye, he was smitten like a wee milksop, and he didn’t care who saw it. He turned to face her, his eyes searching hers as his hands unconsciously migrated to hers to interlock with her fingers. His brow furrowed questioningly, awaiting her elaboration.

She took a deep breath. “I want ye to give me another chance, if ye’ll have me. Ye proved to me today that I matter more—”

Somehow, she was in his arms, and he was bent over her, his lips crushed to hers. Relief loosened the noose that had been suffocating his heart. Her fingers snaked around his nape, her body snug against his as he encompassed her in his arms. He lifted her up, uncaring of Seamus watching him maul his wee sister, and was carrying her toward his fire when Seamus cleared his throat like a church warden.

“I handfasted the lass,” James retorted over his shoulder.

“Aye, and ye severed that agreement. If ye want my sister, then new terms and agreements are in order.”