Mary Reed McCall (7 page)

Though she knew it wasn’t possible, she couldn’t resist that frightening, renegade thought. It was a dark image, full of shadow and enchantment, telling her that her hold on the amulet was slipping—and that if she didn’t take care, all of her work and sacrifice would be for naught, and it would vanish from her life forever.

The Northern Highlands

It was hot. The heat from the conjure fire rose in silky, undulating waves to caress Morgana’s naked body. She hunched motionless over the flames, murmuring the incantation, her gaze fixed as she concentrated on the image beginning to form from the depths of the glowing ash; a ball of blue light rolled to the surface and burst
forth, spinning and taking shape. For an instant it hung suspended there, a perfect replica of the amulet. Then it dropped back with a faint popping sound and a release of stinging, acrid smoke.

Shaking herself from the trance, Morgana uncurled her body from the cramped position of meditation and stood. She stretched, catlike, and reached for the silken robe she’d draped over the only chair in this ruined castle’s tower room. The fabric slid cool and smooth over her heated flesh, and she knotted the belt before summoning Iona. Only after the serving girl left did Morgana allow herself the briefest of smiles. Her visions were powerful and rarely wrong; the
Ealach
was vulnerable at last, outside of Dulhmeny’s walls for the first time since she’d been banished to this forsaken place. It was unprotected by a keeper and there for the taking.

The creaking door interrupted further musings. Colin strode into the room and grimaced. “How can you abide this heat? It’s like roasting in Hades.”

Morgana said nothing as she walked over to him, smoothing her hands up the powerful length of his arms and across his chest to weave in the golden tangle of hair at his nape. He gave a low growl and bent to kiss her neck, murmuring, “Iona didn’t tell me it was loving you were after.”

Arching her back, Morgana leaned into him and closed her eyes. If she kept them shut it was easier to pretend that it was Duncan who held her, that it was his strength supporting her, loving her…quenching the burning desires that beat with every pulse of her blood. For thirteen years she’d satisfied herself this way, with Colin none the wiser. But now was not the time. Pulling back, she pushed his groping hands away from her breasts.

Colin frowned, making the scar that disappeared beneath his eye patch whiten. She stared at the patch, remembering. Reliving the moment when Duncan had struck down his brother before he himself fell senseless on the altar during their attack on his wedding day.

Colin had lost his eye because of that blow.

Running her finger lightly above it, along his brow, Morgana let a slow, sweet smile curve her lips. Then she tilted her head to meet his gaze. “Finally, Colin. The needing, the waiting…it’s all over. The
Ealach
is to be ours once more.”

Raising herself on tiptoe, she pulled his head closer until her lips brushed against him, her breath whispering over his ear like a lover’s caress. “It’s time, my darling, for vengeance.”

A
ileana brushed the last bit of vegetable peelings out into the yard with vicious jabs of her broom. Two pigs and a goat thumped over on cloven hooves, snorting and rooting for the scraps as if their lives depended on it.

“We’ll be needing to gather more rosemary before the morrow, missy. See to it after breakfast,” Bridgid said as she passed by.

Aileana nodded, maintaining the virtual silence she’d taken up with everyone at the castle during the three weeks she’d been here. Her method seemed to be working. Except for the occasions when she caught some of the women whispering behind their hands, the insults and mocking had diminished. Even Duncan seemed to be complying with her unspoken wishes; he’d been busy leading raids on the neighboring clans that pestered them, but when he was at Eilean Donan, he maintained his distance.

And she was more miserable than she’d ever been in her life.

The fact that she couldn’t blame her gloom on him made it even worse. In truth, his behavior confused her. Although she’d always pretend to be asleep when he took her to his bed in the wee hours of each morning, she’d found it impossible to ignore the gentleness of his touch. He’d move quietly, so as not to disturb her rest, lifting her in the secure strength of his arms before tucking her under the blankets. Though he never laid a hand on her once they were under the covers, his body’s warmth but a palm’s breadth away made the hours till dawn creep. The vulnerable, open expression she caught on his face every now and again while he slept made it even more difficult.

Lately, she’d found herself struggling against the impulse to roll over and curl into the curve of his embrace. Desperately, she’d resorted to recalling every insult, every humiliation that he allowed to come her way during the day. She relived every time he’d commanded her and insisted that she wait upon him at table. But no matter what she tried, the other visions would eventually steal in to torment her. Visions of him standing next to her pallet, the dying embers of the fire casting his lean, muscular body in relief as he stripped off his tunic and his plaid…the quiet, somber expression in his eyes as he carried her to his bed.

Those moments in the middle of the night showed another side to Duncan MacRae. He befuddled her mind, and she felt at a loss about what to think of it—of him.

“I do not have to think of him at all,” she mumbled as she plunked her broom down behind the kitchen work-table.

“Talking to yourself, are you?”

Aileana turned to face the person who’d spoke so sarcastically. Nora MacKenzie leaned back against the table, her breasts straining against the fabric of her tunic. “Mayhap you’re coming down with one of them pestilences that be spreading up from Edinburgh. Feeling a bit delirious are you?”

She isn’t worth answering.
Aileana swept her gaze up the length of Nora’s well-endowed frame before looking away in dismissal. But as she attempted to move past, Nora stepped away from the table to block her path.

“One thing I know for certain—poor sleep isn’t the cause of your trouble.”

Aileana scowled, but she refused to answer.

Nora seemed not to care, her smile widening. “I have eyes, you know and it’s clear that the MacRae isn’t keeping you up nights. He’s always in the hall with us…and then later in my chamber with me.” She raised her brow, taunting. “You must know very little about the ways a woman can help a man, so that he gets a good night’s rest.”

Stung, Aileana couldn’t help retorting, “I suppose such talents come naturally to a woman like you, Nora MacKenzie.”

Nora flushed, but the smile never faded from her face. “All that matters is that Duncan enjoys the satisfaction I give him. Every blessed night.” She pushed herself away from the table and grabbed a basket. “I should be thanking you for your lack of skill. It’s not often that a leman cannot hold her laird’s interest for even a few days.” She tossed her head and looked over her shoulder as she left. “So sleep well. I’ll be making sure Duncan does the same!”

Aileana watched her go, a strange ache working its way up her belly to settle in her heart. Nora had to be ly
ing; Duncan had no interest in her. She’d watched him ignore the woman’s overtures time and again at table. He’d even nudged her off of his lap, once, when she’d tried to get him to drink more ale.

But then what
had
he been doing until the wee hours each night? Aileana swallowed hard. She thought back over the past weeks, her mind racing, wanting to grasp some bit of truth that would prove Nora a liar. But her claims rang true. Everyone had left Aileana alone. Including Duncan.

And the women snickering behind their hands…

Anger swelled in Aileana’s chest. Dragon’s breath, what if it was true? What if Duncan was bedding Nora, and so openly that the rest of his clan couldn’t help but know it?

Aileana sank onto the bench that flanked the table. But why? Why would he deliberately compromise the ruse he’d created himself? He’d wanted everyone from both his clan and hers to think that she was his leman in truth. And she’d agreed to it. Agreed to remain here at this cursed castle in exchange for Gavin’s life. How dare he add insult to injury, then, by permitting the others to witness his distaste for sharing her bed?

Aileana lurched to her feet. Her heart beat wildly, and her nails bit into her palms and she tried to hold herself back, knowing she was spiraling into an abyss of raw emotion.
The wretch
. That he chose to slake his lusts on some other unfortunate woman was a blessing, but the way he was doing it gained nothing but further humiliation for her. Marching out of the kitchen, Aileana set off in search of the man who appeared bent on destroying her life. He wasn’t on the sparring ground or in the hall. She even worked up enough courage to ask Kinnon if Duncan had joined the day’s hunting party in the glen.

He hadn’t.

Finally, at a loss as to where else he might be, she stamped up to their bedchamber. Perhaps the fiend was fetching another pair of those cursed gauntlets he so loved to wear; along with his scowl, they seemed his favorite way of intimidating people. But she wouldn’t let him dominate her this time. Duncan MacRae was as accountable as the next man, and she would force him to admit that he’d nullified their agreement. That he’d broken his own rules concerning her appearance as his leman.

With a shove that sent the door slamming into the wall, Aileana strode into their bedchamber. Then she stopped with a gasp. Someone had pulled back all of the curtains, and sunlight spilled into the chamber like a glittering waterfall. It blinded her for a moment, but a splashing sound warned her, an instant before Duncan’s rich voice rang through the chamber.

“Hand me that cloth, will you?”

Aileana’s heart rolled in her chest as her vision adjusted enough to make out the form of the giant washtub. And Duncan was clearly sitting in it, submerged in bubbles up to his chest. His eyes were squeezed shut against the lather covering his head, and his left hand waved back and forth in the general vicinity of a folded linen towel that rested on the stool beside him.

By the time Aileana found her tongue, she could only stutter, “What did you say?”

Duncan’s hand ceased to wave. A slow grin split the bubbles on his face. “Ah, my loyal leman.” Eyes still closed, he tilted his head back. “It’s very simple. Either you can hand me that cloth over there,” he gestured again toward the stool, “or I’ll be needing to get up in all of my naked glory to fetch it for myself.”

Aileana felt the blood rush in her ears. The renewed splashing sound shook her from her stupor, and she lunged forward to shove the cloth into his hand before he managed to pull himself to a standing position in the tub.

“Thank you, lass,” he murmured as he wiped the soap away and smiled again. “I thought that my proposition might make your choice easier to make.”

Aileana clutched her arms round her middle and stepped back. Easier wasn’t the right word. Panicked had been more like it. There was something disconcerting about standing next to Duncan when he was in this…this state of undress. He’d shaven recently, and his smooth skin glowed so that she hardly noticed the scar on his cheek. His hair looked darker when wet, though the sun still lit the flecks and streaks of blond in it as if they were touched by a sorcerer’s wand.

Her gaze drifted to his tawny chest, and then down his abdomen to where bubbles obstructed her view. But as she stared, she realized that the shiny spheres were vanishing one by one, leaving patches of clear water in their wake. And if she let her gaze drift down a little farther under the water she could just barely see…

Skittering back another three steps, Aileana began to pace. “Perhaps you’d better be getting dressed now. I’ve something of importance to discuss with you.”

“Aye, the water’s taking on a bit of a chill—though the room seems warmer, somehow, since you came in to see me.”

His eyes sparkled quicksilver, and the lilting quality of his voice sent a tingle up her spine. If she didn’t know better, she’d guess that Duncan MacRae was dallying with her.

Heat rose in her cheeks.
Ridiculous.
She heard him get out of the tub behind her. Careful to keep her gaze
averted, she walked toward the windows and began to unloose the ties that held the curtains back, intending to let them fall shut and give him some privacy.

“Do not do that.”

His piercing tone made her jump. She whirled to face him, surprised to see that his usual hard expression had returned. He’d wrapped the linen towel round his waist, though water still dripped down his chest and from the ends of his fingers. His right hand was hidden beneath the plaid and tunic he held in obvious preparation to don.

“Why not? Do you prefer that the entire clan watch you dress in front of your extravagant display of glass?”

“Just let it be.”

Impatience shoved at the already tattered remnants of her composure. She stared at him. Why would he take issue with something so simple? Throwing up her hands, she walked over to the one open window and prepared to close it, so that he at least wouldn’t freeze from the chill air as he dressed.

“Nay!”

She snapped her gaze to him again, incredulous. “Now you wish to catch your death of cold as well as lose all modesty?”

Though his eyes hardened further, Duncan didn’t answer; he turned from her to pull his long-sleeved tunic over his head. The linen towel slid from beneath the garment to fall damply on the floor. He didn’t respond to her question until he’d knotted his plaid and slipped on his familiar, leather gloves.

Then his voice was quiet, full of some emotion Aileana couldn’t identify. “I like the light. I like the fresh air.” His expression darkened, and he glanced away. “There is much that I could command as laird of the MacRaes that I do not ask for. But this I need. Leave it at that.”

He turned to gather his leather bag of provisions, along with his claymore.
He was going to go away again, curse him!

Aileana snapped her mouth shut and stalked over to him. “I do not wish to talk with you about your privileges as laird. I came here for another reason entirely, and you’ll hear me out before you go off on another one of your endless excursions to raid the other clans.”

Duncan swung slowly around, weariness and something else—was it acceptance?—weighing down every inch of his taut, muscular frame. “Get on with it, then, Aileana. I’ve much to attend to before we set out against the MacLeods this eve.”

“I’m sure you do, though in matters not related to
fighting,
I’d wager.” Facing him with hands on her hips, she fired a look at him that would melt iron. “I’m here to tell you one thing, Duncan MacRae. I’ll put up with your crass treatment of me in front of your clan and your bitter silence behind closed doors, but I will not allow you to humiliate me by bedding Nora MacKenzie every night that I’m forced to live in your accursed holding as your leman.”

Fingers of shock threaded from the top of Duncan’s skull down the rest of his body.
Bed Nora MacKenzie
? The last time he’d lain with her or any woman had been at least a fortnight before his attack on Aileana’s clan. Why would she think otherwise? He narrowed his gaze.

“My bedding Nora or not has nothing to do with you.”

“Aye, it does.” She glared at him. “Even without considering the shame you hope to bring on me by openly favoring her over me, we cannot very well convince both my clan and yours that I’m your leman in truth, as you
insisted we must, if you’re spending every night with her.”

Slowly, Duncan set down his bag and his claymore, and the blade made a clattering sound against the floor. He straightened again, thinking all the while. Aileana believed that he’d taken another woman to his bed, and it angered her.

The thought sent a strange tingle of pleasure through him.
She was jealous.
He forced himself to push the thought aside, trying to focus instead on the matter at hand. Of course her argument held no logic. He spent enough time with her in the early hours of each morning to make intimacy between them not only possible but also likely to anyone who cared to notice. Still, nettling her sense of fairness might work to his advantage. He could use it to prod her into telling him where she’d hidden the
Ealach
.

Leaning back against an oak table that had been in his clan’s possession for five generations, he said, “Bedding Nora MacKenzie or anyone else does not nullify your position as my leman. I’m fully capable of satisfying other women and still taking my pleasure with you.” He raised his brow, nodding. “Any of my kin, and likely yours as well, are aware of that fact.”

Aileana gasped, but Duncan continued, “I told you when you came to Eilean Donan that I wanted the
Ealach
back. You’re hiding it. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make you tell me where it is—including shaming you by openly seeking my pleasure with other women, if need be.”

He shifted his gaze so that he wouldn’t see her reaction, forcing himself to keep talking and staring into the flames of the fire to distract himself. “We’re locked in a game you cannot win, Aileana MacDonell. Just tell me
where you’ve hid the amulet and be done with it. Then you can leave in peace, and this humiliation will be over.”