Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (170 page)

“It was good of Gerda to find my stone.”

His sigh was sharp enough to slice bread. He stood up and towered over her.

“Wife, you really must take care when practicing your rituals. I would ask you to cease all together.”

Taken aback by his decree, she frowned and watched him walk to the water’s edge.

A trace or wariness crept into her voice. “What rituals in particular?” Stone-faced, she waited for him to speak. God’s truth, she had no clue what prompted his stern demand. After their passionate encounter, his irritated tone confused her no end. Would she ever understand how her husband’s mind worked? She trailed after him, her manner composed.

“My Da and I would come here often when I were a wee lad.” He inhaled deep.

The remembrance transformed his irritation into one of sadness. Clearly, he had not meant to share the memory. Touched by the undercurrent of emotion he held in check, she waited for more, but he remained silent.

“You miss him.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“Aye. I miss his counsel most of all.”

Aeden rarely betrayed emotion to her, but this precious glimpse gave her hope. Perhaps one day she might break through the barriers erected around his heart.

Unwilling to shatter the tenuous bond, she divulged a recollection of her own. “The lake reminds me of one not far from Cadby Hall. Faldrich and I used to walk there each day after the noon meal.”

“Faldrich?”

She closed her mouth in reaction to his uncalled-for scowl.

“I want an answer, wife. Who is Faldrich?”

She watched the play of emotions on his face, and couldn’t decide if he was jealous, distrustful, hurt or all three. Whatever the reason for his outburst, she grew tired of his rapid mood changes.

“Well?” he demanded.

Mulish, she glared at him, refusing to budge.

He grabbed hold of her upper arms and swung her around to face him. “I will no’ have my wife pining for another man.”

“How dare you say such a thing to me when that redheaded she-devil has been spreading lies to anyone who will listen?” She yanked her arms from his grip. “What is she to you, anyway? Is she the reason you’re so well versed in women’s clothing?”

Aeden’s wild eyes bore into hers. Strain colored his features, and tense lines bracketed his mouth.

“I will no’ ask you again.”

Drained, she didn’t want to argue anymore. “Faldrich was my father’s Seneschal. He treated me as a father would a daughter. There, are you happy now?”

He released a sigh. “Aye.”

“Oh.”

His relieved admission knocked the fight from her. Was he jealous?

“Continue. I should like to know more about this man who treated you as a daughter.”

He led her over to a cluster of large boulders and she seated herself atop a sun-warmed stone.

“Faldrich accompanied me on my daily outing. It was part of his duties, unusual, I know. My father assigned him the task after mother’s death.”

Reaching out, he captured an errant curl between his thumb and forefinger, smoothing it behind her ear. “Did your father never walk with you then?”

“No,” she replied her voice wistful. “The resemblance to my mother was too much for father, and so he could not bear the sight of me.”

The pain of her father’s rejection then and now stung.

Aeden’s eyes shone with compassion.

“It was your Da’s loss then, and well my gain, lass. Do no’ doubt it.”

She leaned into the hand cupping her cheek and an unbearable longing seized her. To know the all-encompassing love of this man would be a rare gift indeed. The unbidden wish brought her up short and she severed the intimate contact by dropping her eyes to the sand.

Attempting to shake the somber mood, she forced a smile. “I also had the kind attentions of Father Fenton as well.”

“Elisande, you must have realized the priest taught you naught save superstitions.”

Frustrated, she bit back the retort dangling on her tongue when Ian approached, sweating and out of breath. She returned the soldier’s bow but managed to send Aeden a disgruntled glare.

“I am sorry for the intrusion, my lady. Chief, you are needed.”

Aeden rubbed his neck in agitation. “Needed for what? Can no’ Ronan handle the problem?”

Ian’s eyes shifted to Elisande. “I am not sure of the circumstances. Fergal sent me to you with those words.”

Exhaling heavily, he glanced at Elisande and responded, “I will come.”

She couldn’t tell if his look was one of regret or exasperation. Either way, Aeden motioned for Ian and her to precede him. She moved past him with the intent to stick her nose in the air, when he captured her hand and pulled her to his chest and before she could gather her wits about her, he stole a searing kiss from her that curled her toes. He broke the connection and gave her a sensuous smile before he spun her around and set her on the path.

A bit bemused, she touched her hand to her lips. The man took great pains to profess no deeper attachment to her than a strong sense of duty — nonetheless, if he ever deigned to admit he harbored soft emotions, she knew in his own way, he cared. And although he wasn’t happy about it one bit the revelation thrilled her. It would take bucketsful of determination to break through the thick shell that encased his heart, but today she witnessed the first crack.

Chapter Nineteen

A somber atmosphere greeted them in the great chamber. Servants and soldiers alike gathered around the nearest trestle table. Aeden pushed through the crowd commanding the clan’s attention. People stepped back to allow their chief through and everyone started chattering at once and she caught a glimpse of a man sitting on the planks. Elisande tried to follow, but they closed the gap, effectively shutting her out.

“Silence! Magnus, give me an accounting.” Aeden demanded.

Too far back behind the crowd, Elisande gleaned disjointed snatches of the soldier’s explanation. The clan’s visible upset worried her.

“What is it?”

An excited woman with a peaked nose hurried to spread the news. “It seems Ronan met up with the wrong end of a broad sword.”

“Oh dear God, no.”

She needed to get to him. There had to be something she could do. With those thoughts careening around her mind, she dove into the crowd and forced her way in.

“Let me through, please,” she pleaded, but her words fell on deaf ears.

“Wife, you are needed here,” Aeden barked the order.

Like Moses parted the Red Sea, the clan created a clear path. She noted a few people crossed themselves when she passed by, though she kept her eyes straight ahead and pretended their actions went unnoticed. Aeden’s lips thinned at the slight, but he took his cue from her and let the offense pass.

“How bad is he?”

When she reached Aeden’s side, he placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her to the table. Blood poured from a deep slice in the fleshy part of Ronan’s shoulder. She laid her hand on his forehead in search of fever. Relieved, she rolled up her sleeves and probed the outer edges of the wound. He flinched, but said nothing.

She tsked. “Dear God, Ronan, how did this happen?”

A faint smile curved his lips. “You should see the other man.”

Pursing her lips, she squelched a smile. He grimaced as she continued to prod his tender flesh. A striation occurred from the point of entry and she gave him a sharp look.

“Any more time wasted and I would have a terrible decision to make,” she scolded him.

“Get out of me way!”

Suddenly, a rotund, bald man with the demeanor of an injured bore pushed through the crowd, past her, yet not before he dismissed her with a contemptuous snort. The well-padded, stocky man dug into the sack he brought and thumped a cutting tool on the table beside Ronan’s thigh and stared at him with keen expectancy.

“Don’t be shy, you know that arm has to come off,” he instructed gleefully.

In turn, Ronan shot the man an incredulous stare. “If you think you’re going to lop my arm off, you’re madder than you look, butcher.”

Elisande blanched and looked from one man to the other. “This man is the butcher?”

“Aye, and no’ a very good one at that,” Ronan remarked.

The crowd laughed.

“Watch yer tongue, or, I’ll cut that out next.”

Ronan lunged for the big man who was surprisingly fast on his feet and feinted left just as Aeden went right. Elisande joined the fray, placed a hand on Aeden’s chest and made an appeal.

“Husband, please see that your friend doesn’t injure himself further.”

Aeden covered her hand with his and gave it a squeeze before he prodded Ronan to sit down. Warmed by his sweet gesture, she waited until Ronan was settled on the table, and then confronted the butcher.

“You, sir, are not removing a perfectly good arm.”

He shoved his face into hers. “Now you listen here, missy. I’ll not take orders from a woman.”

Aeden moved in, but she stayed him with a hand on his forearm. Although he and Ronan set the events in motion, he never expected word to travel fast enough to alert the self-proclaimed healer. He stared at Elisande. Her beautiful face was alive with strength of purpose. He communicated his assent and allowed her to handle the situation … for now.

Not in the least intimidated, Elisande thrust her hands on her hips and almost went nose to nose with the stout man.

“You’ll not only take orders, you will follow them to my satisfaction or you shall find yourself escorted from the premises.”

His face had gone such a peculiar shade of red, she thought he might have an apoplectic fit.

“Not only will I not take orders from a woman, but I certainly won’t take orders from an English wench.”

Astounded gasps filled the air. Swift as a lash, Aeden gripped the man by his neck and lifted him off the floor.

“You will apologize to my wife, or, I will detach your head from your neck with one squeeze.”

Elisande crossed her arms and watched as the odious man paled eight shades of white.

“She’s your wife?” he squeaked.

In answer, Aeden shook him until his teeth clattered. “You will show Lady Maxwell the respect due her. Now, apologize!”

The butcher focused his bulging eyes on her. Sweat poured off of him in rivulets and his mouth opened and closed like a landed fish. “For-forgive me, m-my lady.” His fingers clawed at Aeden’s hand.

“And, I’ll not have you speaking to any woman in this clan the way you spoke to me, is that clear?”

The fat man nodded and a few of the woman around him crossed their arms and nodded too. The unexpected show of support made her smile just as Ronan slumped back on the table letting loose with a low groan.

“Thank you, husband,” she said, with the intent of halting Aeden’s fun before his friend bled to death.

She craned her neck and glanced around. “Gerda, where are you?”

A voice piped up, “Here, milady.”

“Go to my solar and fetch my satchel — and don’t pretend you don’t know where I keep it,” she said when the other woman would have protested. She fixed her with a no-nonsense stare. “I don’t have time for games.” When Gerda bobbed acquiescence, Elisande continued, “Once you collect my bag, I shall also need a bowl of hot water and clean linens.”

“Aeden, do set the butcher down and have one of the men escort him from the keep. His sweat is creating a puddle and I wouldn’t want anyone to slip.”

She caught his wink moments after he handed off the man to Thomas, who lifted him by the seat of his pants and tossed him out the door. Fiona chose that moment to shove her way in to snug up against Aeden. Infuriated by the woman’s audacious behavior, Elisande treated her to a ferocious glower until Fiona’s confident smile faded and dropped the hand ready to latch onto Aeden’s arm. She noted Aeden’s surprised expression and wished she knew what his thoughts were.

Nearby, Fiona sneered, “And who are you to replace our healer?”

Elisande chose to ignore her and rifled through her bag. Although she methodically cleaned the dirt and blood from Ronan’s arm, she had not lost sight of her tormentor.

“Leave us,” Aeden commanded Fiona.

Elisande’s head snapped up. Murmurs rippled through the crowd and Fiona flinched as if hit. Her nostrils flared, yet she ignored Aeden. Reckless, she thrust a finger in Elisande’s direction. “You would allow her to usurp our healer’s authority?”

Elisande lowered her head and concentrated on Ronan’s wound. She didn’t want to witness people nodding in agreement with the redheaded she-beast.

“It is already done — ” Aeden began when another voice interrupted him.

“Och, Donald is no more a healer than I am.”

Elisande recognized Morag’s voice and stole a glance at the woman, who nodded and gave her a kindly smile. Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she managed to keep them in check.

“I might have kept me thumb if’n milady had seen to it afore the butcher,” a man chimed in.

But Fiona wasn’t finished. “Can you not see she has cast a spell over you? She’s a witch and I can prove it, I tell you!”

Stunned by the malicious words, Elisande shared an incredulous stare with Ronan.

“She’s a woman spurned, my lady, take no notice.”

That Fiona dared to cast aspersions upon her character attested to the depth of her anger. She chanced a peek at Aeden, but his eyes were locked on Fiona. His frigid look of contempt could have formed icicles. To be so desperate for a title that she resorted to such shameful measures almost made her bear sympathy for the misguided woman.

“Fiona, you have caused my wife distress for the last time.”

“Aeden — ”

He cut her off. “I will no’ allow such spiteful conduct to continue. You will cease venting your spleen and treat my wife with respect, or, I will have you removed from Maxwell land, ’tis your choice.” He cast an inflexible scowl around the silent chamber. “That goes for everyone here. When you insult or denigrate my wife you do the same to me.”

Astonished, Elisande stared at Aeden. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod, and a ghost of a smile warmed her lips as she bent her head to the task. After she packed the wound with cobwebs, yarrow paste and honey she picked up a slender sewing needle. Ronan had gone white.