Highland Scandal (8 page)

“You have found me out. Lead me to it.”

Fate had taken pity on Rowen and Father Murray entered the great hall. Rain dripped from his holy garments and a puddle spread about his feet. The poor man resembled a sparrow after a bath. A twinge twisted Rowen’s chest. She wished for the kind man to be anywhere but within these stonewalls. His presence blared a reminder that she was to marry in days.

“Oh, Father, please warm yourself. I will see to your chamber.” Ailsa shoved Sioda in Rowen’s arms, and then hurried to see to his needs.

Father Murray stood before the fire. He rubbed his hands together, and then held them out so the warmth would return to his extremities. Rowen poured the man
usige beatha
and handed it to him.

He accepted it with a grateful nod and raised it to his mouth. He closed his eyes and sighed.

The kind priest smiled at her. His avuncular eyes landed on Rowen. “You appear happy.” Father Murray shook his arms, sending water flying off the wool.

“Aye, I do appear as such.”

He turned his benevolent face upon her. Rowen busied herself by bouncing Sioda on her knee. Sioda smiled, revealing her pink gums as drool spilled from her mouth.

“Then you shall be.”

Rowen nodded since he seemed to be waiting for a reply, or at the very least an acknowledgement. She lowered her head to hide her innermost thoughts, fearful Father Murray could see into her. He was not an ignorant man. He knew of the love between Lachlan and herself. And she was in no mood to hear another speak to her of duty. She knew her duty—wed, be fruitful, and raise the family’s position.

“Father,”—she glanced about the hall—“what if I am not happy? What if I do my duty and have no earthly reward?”

He set the empty cup down on a stool. “Rowen, it may seem as if you do not have a choice, but you do. You can make the most of your life and seek out those moments of happiness instead of spending your days pondering a life that is not what the Lord has set for you.”

“Do you truly believe it to be so simple?”

“Only you shall make it a hardship. Temptation makes life difficult, showing you another life, but if that choice was meant for you, then it would come to be.”

“If I were…”

“At the risk of many lives. You are not that selfish.”

Ailsa swept in. “Father, your chamber is ready.” She escorted him to the castle stairs. “A fire is roaring and I have some nice
usige beatha
to warm your bones.”

A gust of wind blew in from the opening of the great hall’s door. Laird MacLean and Murray came in, followed by Caelen and Eacharn. Their jovial voices rose as they spoke over each other, adding to the events of the hunt. Lachlan wasn’t there.

“How went the hunt?”

Eacharn hurried to her. Rain dripped from his hair and ran down his face, where it dripped off the tip of his nose. He hunched down and wagged a thick finger at Sioda. “It was a triumph. There is enough meat to have a dozen feasts. I wish you had joined us. How was your day?”

She caught the scent of blood, mud, and wet wool. “It was filled with excitement. I was captured and ransomed for apple tarts. It was that or a thousand rubies.”

“Rubies…hmm, are the apple tarts delicious?” His mouth twitched.

“Aye, there are the best on this earth.” For some reason, she fell under his easy spell. He was a kind man and she had an easy interaction with him. She hated it. It made her feel as if she were a liar and betrayer. To who? Both Lachlan and Eacharn.

“I would have chosen the tarts as well.”

“I commend you on your choice.”

He took Rowen’s hand. “It warmed me to arrive and see you before the fire with a bairn on your lap. I wish to come home to a scene such as this.”

“That sounds divine. I must warn you, the grains foretold that I would have five children.”

“Five. Good thing we shall be married within days. We must get started on that.”

Both looked up as Lachlan strolled in. Rain caught on the ends of his russet brown hair and beaded on his plaid. For across the hall, she saw the stiffening of his shoulders and the shallow rise and fall of his chest from his building anger.

She peeked at Eacharn. He wore a polite visage. He knew the truth and chose to ignore it, pretending what he witnessed, what hung thickly between them and blended with the smoke from the hearth, somehow did not exist.

Rowen swore to herself that he was a good man. That she was not hurting him since he bore her no tenderness. She chose to hold on to that falsehood. It eased her guilt. As she looked around, she noticed the others pretending not to notice, but each acutely aware of it, for it pulsed in the air.

Lachlan joined the men. Caelen raised his brows at Lachlan, sending him a silent message. One he chose to ignore as he turned away from it.

“Let me pour you a drink to banish the chill and celebrate your kill.”

“Aye.” Eacharn took Sioda from her.

She went to the table and poured him a cup. She took great interest in the liquid swirling about the cup. She held it with two hands as she brought it to Eacharn. For a moment, she could fool herself into thinking she was with her family. But for the looming presence of Lachlan hovering behind her, ready to tap her on the shoulder and demand her attention. She hadn’t done her duty. Her maidenhead was meant for her husband.

Duncan’s shadow fell over her and jolted her. “Here is my bonny lass.” Sioda stretched out her pudgy arms and shook her dimpled hands at her father. Duncan took her and threw her into the air, earning her squeals of delight.

Mrs. MacBheath came in to hall. “I am in need of the Lairdess. One of the kitchen maids burned herself.”

“She is still seeing to Father Murray. I can help.” Rowen followed Mrs. MacBheath to the kitchen. She found the kitchen maid clutching her hand and tears on her lashes. Rowen quickly set to caring for the young lass. It was not the first time she had been burned, and working in the kitchen surely meant that it would not be the last. Rowen warned her to be more cautious after instructing her on how to care for her injury.

Rowen had stepped beyond the kitchen’s arched threshold and was snatched back. She swallowed her yelp of surprise as she looked upon Lachlan’s face. He jerked her to the shadows and far from the eyes of the kitchen servants.

He cupped her face. “How are you feeling?”

“Well.” The word was all she needed to speak.

“I do not regret last night. It was my greatest joy.” He sealed his mouth against hers. She couldn’t think of anything and lost herself in his embrace and the firm, heady feel of his kiss. He tasted of spicy wine and of something that was just him. She snaked her arms around him and moaned.

Lachlan jerked away. Ailsa stood in the center of the light. Her eyes were wide and her mouth gaped open. The little color she possessed had washed away. She looked away before she hurried into the kitchen.

* * * *

Lachlan stood at the paddock and watched the groom run the horse through its paces. “He has the traits of his sire.”

“Aye, he’s has his spirit, too. He’ll make a fine hunter.” The groom made a few clicking sounds and the horse trotted faster, tossing his mane.

Lachlan leaned on the fence rails, hanging his arms over the edge. He didn’t need to be here. He lingered far from the castle and the lairdess. He had seen her look—shock that changed to anger. He wasn’t up to hearing a reprimanding speech from her, the same one he had been having with himself since Rowen’s arrival. Of course, Duncan would see her riled and she would tell him because she told him everything. Then Duncan would come to him.

He pushed away from the fence. He had other duties. First, he gathered the men who watched the Murray men camped outside the walls. There had been a few quarrels between MacLeans and Murrays. Good thing the MacLeans won many of them.

His men spotted him coming out the castle gates and started toward him. Jock and Lunn were flushed from too much drink, but were steady on their feet. As long as their duty was seen to, Lachlan did not care if they shared a few toasts with the Murrays.

Jock crossed his arms. “I na heard such rot in my life. I ha’e heard more aboot the length of their members than any lass on Murray land.”

“I heard more aboot yer member than any lass on MacLean lands,” Lunn said.

“But the lasses ha’e seen it.”

“Ye the only one that talks aboot it.”

In the center of the Murray men milling about was Eacharn’s trusted man—Bran. He stared at Lachlan. Nay, he glared at Lachlan. His men surrounded him, shooting glances at Lachlan as Bran went on about something. Lachlan knew he was near to shouting, but the growing cold wind blew away his words. He chopped his arm in Lachlan’s direction.

“I dinna think he likes ye, Lachlan.”

Two men grabbed Bran by his shoulders. Bran shoved by them and stomped straight toward Lachlan.

“I dinna like ye.” Bran swung at Lachlan. He clipped Lachlan on his chin.

Lachlan swung off the blow with a shake of his head. His jaw throbbed. All he saw was Bran’s flaring nostrils. Lachlan punched him right on his nose. A snap sounded. Blood gushed.

Bran tottered back three steps, finally getting his stance on the fourth. “I’ll—”

Lachlan wasted no time. He punched him in the face again. His hard knuckles slammed against bones. Bran grunted but stayed on his feet. Lachlan chopped at his throat. His hand slammed into Bran’s thick forearm. With his other arm, Bran slammed his fist into Lachlan’s gut.

He grunted. Bent over, he saw Bran’s knee coming for his face. Lachlan grabbed his leg and tossed the bastard aside.

Bran rolled and sprang to his feet. He rammed into Lachlan and lifted him off his feet. Lachlan brought his fists down on his back. He hit him again. Bran’s grunts fueled him. He struck him again, roaring his rage with each strike. Then he was slammed against a building. His bones rattled and a sharp pain shot through his back. His breath went out in a gust. Bran dropped him.

Dust and dirt from the thatched roof rained down. Bran gave him the chance to recover. Fool closed his eyes against the debris. Lachlan kicked him in the knee. Bran fell to one knee and looked up at Lachlan.

He drew back his hand. With a war cry, he rammed his fist on Bran’s chin. Blood, spit, and teeth flew out as Bran toppled into the dirt and a nice size pile of manure.

He shook out his hand. Eacharn came to his man’s side. Behind him, before the onlookers, MacLean and Caelen stood. The onlookers parted for him. No one followed him as he made his way into the great hall. He needed a damn drink.

On the table was a flagon. He went straight for it and snatched it up. He drank deeply. Hell, he drank it all. He slammed it down on the table. The clang of pottery striking wood was drowned by a sharp inhale. He turned toward it.

Rowen hurried to his side. He held out his hand, motioning her to halt. “Go away, Rowen and stay away.”

He turned from her. His rage gave him the will to end it. Much like the pains and possible bruises he’d have later, he’d have to deal with the heartbreak, too.

“Come Rowen. Someone will care for Lachlan,” the Lairdess said.

He couldn’t hear if she had departed over his roaring heartbeat drumming in his ear. When he started to the kitchen, he saw that he was alone in the hall.

It matched his mood.

* * * *

Rowen hid in the chamber. She thought she would be alone here to feel pity for herself. She stiffened when the wind rushed through the chamber from the opening door. Ailsa closed the door behind her. She ambled over to the window and Rowen.

She kept her gaze aimed out on the mountainous vista. Ailsa said nothing when Rowen felt the tension from her.

“He turned away from me. He had never done that before.”

Ailsa leaned a hip on the windowsill. “It is what is proper. Now, you must do the same.”

“But he is hurt. He needs someone to care for him.”

“That is not you, Rowen. I do not know what you two were playing at. Imagine if your brother or my husband or worse, Laird Murray or Eacharn had come across you two stealing kisses. I can see that you did not.”

Rowen crossed her arms and curled up her shoulder to ward off Ailsa’s words. “I am doing my duty.”

“Nay, you are not. Your duty is to wed Eacharn yet you sneak about with another man. Do you know what you play at?”

Rowen cringed inwardly at her sharp tone.

“I love Lachlan. I only wished to have some happiness for myself.”

Ailsa snorted. “You play at war. I shall not have my husband ride off to slay or be slain because you wish to be selfish.”

“I am not selfish. And there is no reason for MacLeans to go to war.”

“Rowen, you are not that ignorant. Lachlan is a MacLean man, his foster brother. He’s a tacksman. Murray will war against us and against your clan. You shall lose your reputation and most likely spend your remaining days in a nunnery.”

She shook her head at her exaggeration. “Oh Ailsa, you are stretching out the tale. It shall not come to that. Once I am married I shall not see him again.”

“Stretching—I am not speaking of fairies or my prowess with a dirk. If any insult is given, which it has been, then there can be nothing else. Another thing you have chosen to disregard is how can you find happiness in your marriage if you haven’t let him go.”

“I have already vowed to do that.”

“After the marriage or when you leave these lands?”

Rowen clamped her lips close.

“Do it now. For yourself and for Lachlan. I know you love him, so love him enough to let him have a chance for something.”

She hung her head. “I do not want to.”

Ailsa hugged her. “I understand. To give up the man you love…that was one thing I did not need to do, but whenever Duncan leaves, I feel myself physically torn apart. If I feel a sliver of your pain, then I know you are hurting, nay wounded.”

“I love him. I love him.” She shook her head. “He loves me. How can I live knowing he is so near? How can I live just hearing about him? To hear him wage war or marry, have children even die. I lied to myself. I lied so well that I believed I could leave him.”