Charming the Chieftain (13 page)

“Dinna you worry, milady, you’re safe with us,” assured the warrior closest to her.

“Aye, safe as in yer mam’s arms, ye are,” piped up another.

“Does Lady Maxwell believe our chief would leave us open to attack by riding across an open field?” The incredulous question came from Ian, a smirking warrior who had joined their party at the cottage.

“Hold your tongue,” Ronan admonished. “Our lady is unfamiliar with the ways of warring men. She did not mean to insult our chief.”

Taken aback, Elisande skewered Ian with an affronted stare.

“Certainly not.”

Finally Aeden settled her mind.

“We’re safe, wife.”

Relieved, she nodded and applied both hands to the small of her back to stretch out the knotted muscles. Waiting patiently for her husband to speak, she noticed he glanced at her breasts when he thought she wasn’t aware of his eyes on her. The furtive perusal brought a small smile to her lips. So, he wasn’t immune to her charms as he liked to portray. Suddenly, a sharp whistle drew their attention and moments later, the edge of the forest came alive with a dozen men or more clad in green and brown plaids.

Amazed at the spectacle, she trained wide eyes on Aeden. He gifted her with a quick quirk of lips.

“We claim them as allies.”

Still suspicious she asked, “If they are friendly why did they lay in wait?”

He ignored her question saying instead, “When they near us, keep your head bowed, your eyes averted, and say naught.”

“What — why?”

“Just do as I command,” he snapped his attention on the other clan.

“Mayhap I should dismount and kiss the ground at your feet to show my subservience. Would that suit?”

He waited a beat and swung his gaze in her direction. “Your idea has appeal, wife.”

She gathered up her loose reins and urged her mount back a step.

“Of all the indignities I have suffered at your hands, this has to be the most humiliating.”

His expression ended her tirade and he focused on his allies. She reached over and poked his shoulder, he ignored her.

“I want it noted that I am not capitulating to your ridiculous demand — ”

That gained his attention. He spoke hard through clenched teeth, his expression so frosty it could freeze water.

“You dare to call my judgment into question?”

“No.”

Heat flooded her face. She supposed she should just keep her mouth shut and do his bidding since she was uncertain of Scottish customs. She noted one of the men from the other clan making his way over and wondered at Aeden’s desire to disregard the man’s presence. She found it rude. It also made her nervous and decided to give him what he wanted.

“I’m not calling your judgment into question, and yes, I will keep my head lowered. Are you happy now?”

“Aye.”

She wanted to smack him, but bowed her head instead and added another intolerable trait to her mental list — his need to win. While she listened to the men trading words in Gaelic, she noted that Aeden’s men pressed in on her when the allied clan became too curious. At least that’s what she surmised since she kept her eyes riveted to her folded hands. It required all her strength of character not to urge her mount forward and nudge Honeybush’s backside. The notion of dropping her husband to the ground like a sack of dirt, preferably on top his head, pleased her sense of justice immensely.

During the course of the conversation one bold man tried to sidle up, reached out and tried to touch her hair. Swift as a whiplash, Aeden grabbed the man’s wrist and squeezed until he whimpered in pain. His rapid-fire rebuke followed. Unfortunately, her understanding of Gaelic was limited to greetings, gender and days of the week. Throw in the varied dialects of the odd language, she might have been listening to the chittering of squirrels. She figured out the clan name only by Aeden’s address to the Mackenzie’s leader and sensed the man’s keen interest like a physical touch. The longer she was made to sit still and silent, the angrier she became.

How dare Aeden be ashamed of me?

She assumed she would be found lacking in beauty by a Scotsman’s standards, but she was certain she never caused anyone to retch in her presence either. All at once, the Gaelic word for woman was bandied about, and she knew for certain they spoke of her. Curious, she broke her vow of silence and leaned a little to her left.

“What is it they say?” she whispered to Fergal.

Fergal leaned in. “They want to know your name, milady.”

She wanted to ask another question, but Aeden’s words stopped her short. Although she did not understand the word, his tone was clear, and not a tint of pride or satisfaction colored his voice. God’s truth, he might be speaking of the weather, or his horse. No, she corrected, his horse would have commanded a whole sentence at least. Bitter thoughts swam in her brain, and she supposed she should be grateful the man able enough to keep food in his belly when forced in her company. He put an abrupt end to the clan’s curiosity by nudging Honeybush forward to grab the reins of her gray. He urged the horses past the group and they almost clear the men when one of the Mackenzie men asked a question.

“My lady,” his stilted English caught her off guard and she swung around in the saddle to stare at the Mackenzie man.

“By what name are you called?”

The man’s impertinence caused a murmur of disapproval throughout the crowd, and she remembered too late her promise to Aeden. In an attempt to atone the lapse, she made a point to ignore the man’s question, pivoted back around, bowed her head and stared at her hands, but the man persisted.

“Woman, by what name are you known?”

Aeden’s composed expression transformed into one of fury. He skewered the man with a hostile stare and in a voice rife with ferocity proclaimed, “All anyone need know is that the woman is mine!”

Unprepared for the sight, she gaped as the village unfolded before her eyes. Neatly tended fieldstone cottages, ripe gardens alive with ripened vegetables, and freshly washed clothes pegged out on taut ropes greeted her. Barefoot children and their dogs ran through the streets to avoid the men, while others trailed after the horses. The rhythmic reverberations of the smithy’s hammer resonated all over the bustling village, as merchants hawked their wares.

“My goodness, Aeden, ’tis a flourishing village!” she exclaimed, delighted.

“Did you think we lived in mean little huts with naught save rags on our backs?” he countered.

She laughed a light-hearted lilt that turned heads her way. “If you were privy to the fireside tales told in England, ’twould stand your hair on end.”

He studied her for a moment. “Yet, you willingly left your home to live amongst people you believed to be poor?”

“Any fate proved more palatable than the one my father chose for me.”

“Do you think you might be content, here, with — ” he hesitated, “me?”

It was a serious question, one that deserved a serious answer. She held his guarded gaze, remembering the untamed passion of their lovemaking, and how tender he was afterwards. Whatever lay ahead, she knew she would always have a safe haven within his embrace.

“Yes, Aeden, I believe I shall be content.”

“Elisande — ”

“Riders approach!”

The guard’s voice from atop the barbican hailed their arrival, stopping Aeden short.

Her tension palpable, she held herself rigidly. Suddenly, she wanted Aeden’s arms around her as they entered the lower bailey where hundreds of his people awaited their arrival.

Securing the gray’s reins, he pulled Elisande close until his thigh rubbed against hers. Leaning in he stated, “Remember, you are my Lady, and my people are now your people.”

He watched her with an unmistakable pride in his eyes. She swallowed over the lump that formed in her throat. He was proud to call her wife. With his words reverberating in her head, she straightened her spine, held her head high, and vowed to be worthy of Aeden’s pride and the title he bestowed on her.

Shoving aside her fear, she nodded at the women despite their dour faces, and noticed a few tentative smiles in return. She watched and listened to people greet Aeden — not surprised by the esteem in which they held him.

Their party entered the main courtyard and a stable hand appeared by her side to help her dismount. She would have liked to find her aunt right away except Aeden seemed in deep discussion with a dark-eyed man called Ioan.

The onlooker’s curiosity was palpable, however, for the time being, her presence was neither explained, nor ignored. She began to wonder if he had forgotten about her. Another thought had her wondering if he planned to ignore her again, as he had on the journey here.

Disheartened by her morose imaginings she started to put some space between them, when his hand caught her waist and drew her in close. Without words, he staked his claim, hereby ending any speculation to which man she belonged.

Caught up in the happenings around her, she paid little heed to the topic at hand until one of the men mentioned Addis. Before she learned anything of significance, Aeden cut Ioan short with a quick shake of his head.

She might have questioned Aeden until the woman emerging from the keep doors caught her attention. The sun in her eyes obscured her to a degree.

“Elisande?”

Overjoyed, she wriggled free of Aeden’s loose grasp and started toward Onora’s voice.

“I wouldn’t mind being the one to catch her,” Ioan mused loud enough for her to hear. Yet it was Aeden’s comment that warmed her heart.

“She’s already caught.”

• • •

Elisande could scarce believe the woman before her, hair unbound, and wrapped in a faded plaid was her once painfully prim, and fashionably turned out aunt. Never a hair out of place, let alone a wrinkle in her skirt. The transformation was a bit difficult to reconcile.

“I have changed for the better, have I not, niece?”

Beaming through her tears, Elisande disagreed. “Your loving heart could not be denied. I remember your kind words for everyone.”

Onora cradled Elisande’s face. “You must know, the day I married Gavin, I petitioned my brother to send you to me. I could not bear the idea of leaving you to an indifferent father in such a cold, unloving home,” she whispered fiercely.

Covering her aunt’s hands with her own, she reassured her, “I do know. I had been listening at the door of the library when father received you.”

Surprised by her pronouncement, Onora laughed. “What else did you overhear, you naughty child?”

“I heard father threaten Chief Maxwell’s life, when you told him flat out you would marry with or without his blessing. And then I hid while the guards locked you in your chamber.”

“He barred the door? I had no idea. Wait, if the door was bolted from the outside, how in the world did I manage to walk out? Where were the guards?”

Elisande arched an eyebrow.

Onora laughed. “What did you do?”

“’Twas a simple solution, I sent Maeve to entice them,” she confessed, hastening a glance in Aeden’s direction. Surely he guessed Maeve’s status.

“Aye, well, it makes sense. Maeve was a dear, but never concealed her penchant for men.”

Aware Aeden’s attention focused on her she admitted, “I had come across her weeks earlier in the hayloft with the stable master.”

Aeden threw his head back and roared with laughter, causing more than a few heads to turn in amazement. She dropped her gaze, embarrassed.

“Oh niece, you were ever the resourceful child, even at the tender age of ten.”

Elisande wondered at the curious expression on Aeden’s face as he looked at her. It was the same one he wore prior to kissing her.

“Come, come. Let us go inside and celebrate.” She led the way in.

Despite the urge to blurt out the news of her marriage, Elisande stayed silent. The custom of relaying any announcements would be made first to his uncle and stepmother as a show of respect for the familial tie. She longed to be recognized as his wife, especially after she noticed a fiery redhead push through the crowd to get to Aeden. She didn’t care for the possessive looks the woman gave him, and wondered just what she meant to him. Her annoyance increased when she watched the redhead laid a hand on his forearm and lean in so Aeden might catch an eyeful of her breasts squeezed into her dresses tight bodice. Hot, tired and dirty from weeks of travel she knew she looked a fright compared to the woman. Still, she would not stand by like a dolt while another assumed the role of wife. Indignation straightened her spine and she pushed back through the crowd and took her place next to her husband.

The men who traveled with her acknowledged her with short nods. One of the men spoke in low tones to Aeden, who immediately pivoted to face her.

“Come.”

Relieved he didn’t intend to remain in the lower bailey forever, she chose to overlook his rude command. Dragging a bit, she fell into step behind him. To her surprise, he scooped up her hand, tucked it into his elbow, and escorted her to the keep. She couldn’t deny the smile and snuck a peek at the mysterious woman. Hatred emanated from the redhead’s eyes, and Elisande’s spine tingled under the weight of her malevolent stare. It was clear this woman looked upon Elisande as a usurper, and since she appeared to be the only female to approach Aeden with such a confident manner, she surmised they had been intimate. Now the question remained — would Aeden continue the liaison?

• • •

The sharp aroma of rosemary and cloves assailed Elisande’s senses. While her eyes adjusted to the keep’s gloomy interior, her stomach growled in protest when she spied barley bannocks cooling on a low table beneath an open window. Their entrance disturbed the easy atmosphere of the public chamber and a few gasps were heard followed by rapid mutterings.

“My niece,” Onora proclaimed without preamble.

The announcement quelled some of the more hostile and impertinent glares as was the intent, Elisande surmised. The relation alone commanded respect. Aeden remained alert, searching the room for something, or perhaps someone. He crossed the room to speak with Ronan, and since she wasn’t certain what everyone expected of her, she took a seat on a vacated stool.