Highland Moonlight (14 page)

a worrisome tooth. He did not need his father taking him to task for his

behavior. He sipped more of the wine allowing it to dull his temper.

“What is and has been between us is our own affair,” Alexander said,

his tone laced with resentment as his attention settled on his father’s

features.

Setting aside the stein, he struggled to rise from his seat. The room

spun in a sickening circle and he caught himself as he fell back into the

chair. The scabbard of his sword thumped against the wooden seat with a

loud hollow sound. He swore against the pain.

“You must not try to rise on your own, Alexander.” Mary rushed to his

side from the stairs. “You have lost much blood and will need to rest.”

His insides churning, he struggled to control the wave of sickness.

She bathed his face with a cool moist cloth, and the feeling eased.

“‘Twill pass after a moment,” she reassured him.

He hoped it would not if it encouraged her to continue touching him.

Once again, he thought of Duncan’s suggestion. It could do no harm.

****

complained as he and David negotiated the stairs, supporting most of

Alexander’s weight between them.

“Mayhap your excessive activity with the lasses has weakened you,”

Alexander retorted through gritted teeth.

“Are you jealous, brother, that you can not claim the same?” Duncan

snapped, his usual good-humor absent.

“Should you learn to speak with greater care, Alexander, mayhap

things would change,” David said as he glanced over his shoulder at Mary.

“I do not need more advice from you, David.”

Mary eyed the three large men with wary confusion. They had snapped

and snarled at each other all the way up the stairs. She wondered if their

aggressions would have taken a more physical turn if Alexander had been

able to fight.

Once they lifted him on the bed, Duncan and David removed

Alexander’s boots then beat a hasty retreat.

“Should you wish to heap revenge upon him while he is at your mercy,

Mary, we will turn a deaf ear to his cries for assistance,” Duncan quipped as

he reached the door.

She stifled the quick laughter inspired by the remark, but she could not

hide the smile. She hung the heavy sword, by the girdle, on the bedpost next

to Alexander, where he placed them each night, and fought the urge to

smile again.

She moved back to the bed after they had gone. “Do you wish to shed

your kilt , Alexander?”

“Aye,” he answered in a growl and unbuckled the girdle holding his kilt

in place.

Mary tugged the fabric from beneath him as he held himself up with

his arms. She studied the fabric already stiff with blood then folded the item

and set it aside to be washed and mended.

He didn’t attempt to cover himself, but rested back against the pillow

naked except for his stockings and the garters holding them in place just

beneath his knees. He flaunted his maleness like a challenge to her.

She calmly spread a tartan from the foot of the bed over his lap then

sat on the edge of the bed to untie his garters.

“I will not allow you to leave, Mary.”

Her eyes leaped to his face in surprise. His jaw clenched, his features

were set in a forbidding scowl.

“Why would you think that?” She rolled the bloody stockings together.

His expression relaxed somewhat. “You rode out alone. I could not

think of any other reason you would wish to see the lay of the land earlier.”

She rose to set aside the stockings.

“Your place is with me and my clan.” Alexander spoke in a quieter

tone, though it remained no less stern.

She returned to the bed with a basin filled with water and a cloth and

bathed away the blood on his legs. “Ordering me about is not the way to

convince me of that.”

His frown turned to a scowl and his jaw tensed as she met his gaze.

She understood how hard it was for such a proud man to bend. It was

proving more than difficult for her as well.

“We will talk of this later, Alexander. You must rest now.”

He tucked a curling tendril of hair behind her ear. “Will you lie beside

me for a time?”

She stared at him, surprised by the request. Now was the time to

follow her earlier decisions. She drew the layer of pelts over his legs to

insure his warmth then rose to set aside the damp cloth. Her heart beat an

unsteady rhythm as she moved around the end of the bed to the other side

and lay down beside him.

“‘Twould please me if you would stroke my cheek as you did before.”

Her limbs grew weak. Seeing him injured had frightened her badly.

For a short time, her defenses had been completely lowered, bringing out

something fiercely protective in her.

Her fingers grazed his forehead, smoothing back the thick auburn hair

that waved there. She traced the strong curve of his cheek and jaw.

Alexander closed his eyes. Deep auburn lashes fanned out against

his pale cheeks. Pain had left its mark on his face. Loss of blood had

weakened him. She smoothed the lines around his mouth and across his

forehead.

It seemed completely natural for him to draw her closer and rest his

cheek against her breasts. An unexpected rush of tenderness had her

cradling him against her and caressing the bruised slope of his shoulder.

For long sweet moments, she continued to hold him even after he had

fallen asleep. For the first time she allowed herself to know what it was for

her husband to hold her without strife between them, and for the first time

she felt like a wife.

Alexander watched Mary’s every movement. Too modest, or too wary,

to bathe in front of him, she had kept on her shift. Unlacing the garment to

the waist, she had managed to soap every inch of covered flesh without his

catching even a glimpse of what lay beneath. Each time she raised her arm

it pulled the fabric of the garment taut, outlining the curve of her buttocks.

The tantalizing distraction was a true test of his self-control. In fact, being

confined to the bed and the room with her was proving to be both a heaven

and a hell. The roiling need twisting in his gut each time she came near

proved almost painful. The only thing that held it in check was the trust he

was attempting to build between them.

A sigh of half pain-half relief, escaped him as she donned her kirtle.

“How does your leg fair, Alexander?” she asked as she turned to look

over her shoulder at him.

“‘Twould ease if I could rise and walk about a wee bit, lass.”

She emptied the washbasin then set it a side. “Mayhap ‘twould not

harm you to walk about the room,” she agreed, her attention directed at the

tiny row of buttons down each sleeve of the kirtle.

Alexander dragged his gaze away from her and swung his legs over

the side of the bed. He grabbed the pelts to cover the evidence of his

discomfort as she approached the bed. “A shirt would not be amiss, lass,

and a fresh kilt.”

Mary nodded, and moving to the trunk at the foot of the bed, retrieved

the items. She laid the shirt next to him, and stretching his girdle on the bed,

bent to spread the fabric of the kilt and fold the pleats.

Alexander watched her hands move with practiced skill, smoothing the

wool into place. “‘Tis well you do that, Mary?”

“‘Twas good practice folding the wee ones’ kilts at my aunt and

uncles.”

She so seldom spoke of her family, her words caught his interest

immediately. “How many of them did you speak of before?” he asked,

encouraging her to continue.

“Nine all together, six lads and three lasses. Anne and I made eleven.”

“Were they a hardy lot?”

“Aye.” She nodded. Sadness flickered across her features.

Alexander grasped her wrist to draw her between his legs. “Mayhap

your aunt may come for a visit at
Caisteal Sith
. Would that please you?”

She nodded, her eyes carefully averted. “Aye, very much.”

“Because you are wed within another clan, it does not mean you must

give up your affiliation to the clan you were raised in.”

“‘Tis not that I wish to do that.”

“Then what is it, lass?”

She ran an unsteady hand over the front of the kirtle. “I do not wish to

be shamed before my aunt as I have been before the others.”

Alexander felt as though he had received a kick to the belly. He drew a

deep breath. “You are wed now, Mary.”

Her eyes finally rose to his face. “T’was I who accepted you in my bed

that night. My aunt would not have approved.” She turned away to don her

surcoat.

Alexander bit back an oath. Just when he thought her anger toward

him seemed to be easing, her pain rose up to smite him with guilt. There

were times he wished she would scream at him or beat him with her fists,

just so her anger would be out in the open between them and not held so

deeply inside her.

“‘Twas I who accepted you” the words played through his mind. With

those words, she accepted partial responsibility for what had happened. He

wished she had no reason to regret that decision so thoroughly.

He donned his shirt and folded the kilt and girdle around his waist. His

nudity covered to put her more at ease, Alexander rose. Each movement of

his thigh brought him twinges of pain as he limped toward her.

“I must bind your wound more tightly, Alexander,” she cautioned.

“Nay, lass. ‘Twill do.” Though capable of standing alone, he rested an

arm across her shoulders as though depending on her support to retain his

balance. Together they paced about the room.

“Mayhap we may make our way downstairs together to break the fast,”

he suggested.

Mary looked up at him, her head barely reaching his shoulder. “I will

summon some servants to help you downstairs or mayhap Duncan and

David may assist you.”

“I must shave first.”

She wandered about the room putting the chamber to rights while he

lathered his whiskers. He watched her blurred image in the metal disk as

he shaved and cleaned his teeth. When he would have emptied the

washbasin himself, she was there to see to it for him.

She replaced the crockery bowl. Alexander placed his hands on either

side of her, his body pressing close against her from behind. He rubbed his

freshly shaven cheek against her smooth one in a playful caress.

She stiffened within the circle of his arms. He wondered if she would

ever welcome him being close. “‘Tis better without the beard, eh lass?”

He felt the obvious effort she made to relax. “Aye.” She turned to look

up at him, her gaze falling on his scarred cheek.

“Does this distress you, Mary?” He touched it.

“Nay. How…How did you come by it?”

It was the first time she had asked him anything about his life as a

warrior since their meeting in Lochlan. “‘Twas in one of the first battles I

fought with the Bruce. I was grazed by a sword and did not know I was cut

until the battle ended. Derrick’s tender care pricked me more than the

blade.”

She raised a hand to trace the smooth texture of the healed skin. “‘Tis

only a wee mark.”

Her touch as well as her attempt to spare his feelings gave him some

hope she might harbor some small affection for him. Mayhap if he told her

of her father’s plan at Lochlan, she would believe him.

“Mary, you know the Campbell and MacDonald clans are grave

enemies.”

“Aye.” She studied him attentively.

“Why do you suppose your father invited Bearach MacDonald to your

sister’s betrothal, knowing I would be there?”

“I do not know, Alexander. Collin oft did things I did not understand.”

“How long before we arrived was he there?”

“Mayhap a week.”

“Did Bearach attend you before my arrival?”

“Aye. Collin insisted I sit with him at the evening meal two nights. I did

not care for his manners at table or otherwise.” Her gaze probed his

expression.

A fist pounded on the door. He sighed in frustration as Mary slipped

away to answer the summons. He should have been more straightforward

with his questions instead of trying to lead up to them.

Duncan stood outside the door. “Do you mean to break the fast with

us, lass, or will you be eating in your chamber again this morn?” he asked

with a smile.

Mary’s smile, laced with warmth, flashed forth. “Alexander has decided

to venture below.”

“Good. It has been three days since your presence has graced our

table. Father grows vexed at your absence—and yours of course, Brother.”

Alexander experienced a twinge of jealous resentment toward his

brother. Duncan’s easy manner with Mary only pointed out the constraints

within his own behavior with her. She appeared withdrawn and careful

about him, fearful of provoking either his anger or his passion, and he

maintained a tight control over his own responses to her, to try to put her at