Highlander's Sword (24 page)

   "Aye, she eats wi' the Lady Graham in their tower."

   "How often does she come for meals in the Great Hall?"

   "Ne'er that I ken. Now I must attend to the men." Warwick moved away from Chaumont, barking orders to the stable lads and the soldiers.

   "There now." Chaumont turned back to MacLaren. "Perhaps your
cherie
is more honest than you know. Fast, too. How did she come to ride so well?"

   "Taught by the best. Her brother was the fastest rider I've e'er seen." MacLaren caught Chaumont's eye, adding, "She's faster."

AILA THANKED RORY FOR HIS ESCORT TO HER TOWER entrance and dragged herself up the stairs. The siren call of her waiting bed beckoned her. She debated whether she wanted to bathe first or just go to sleep. Before she made it up to her room, her mother called for her.

   "Aila? Aila, is that ye, darling? They told me ye returned."

   Aila cringed. She did not want to see her mother. She did not have the energy to fight with her; she needed rest. She looked with longing up the stairs to her room but walked into her mother's quarters instead.

   "I am well, Mother."

   Lady Moira Graham sat in her usual chair, with Maggie bustling about, caring for her many needs. Both the maid and her mistress stared at Aila in shock. Aila knew her gown was beyond repair. She tried to smooth her hair and was dismayed to find leaves and bits of twig. She must look a sight.

   "What happened?" Lady Graham's face was white.

   "I was kidnapped by McNab, I escaped the next

day, MacLaren found me, we were attacked by McNab at night, and then we rode home."

   "Och, my poor darling. 'Tis a shame ye ne'er made it to the convent."

   Aila held her tongue.

   "I suppose we must now accept that MacLaren for yer husband, though he's hardly good enough for ye."

   "He's a good man, Mother," Aila said in a low voice.

   "He is what he is, and there's naught to be done about it now. How I wish ye could have joined the convent. 'Tis no' fair, but life ne'er is. If yer father had only consulted me, I would have made a better match for ye. A Campbell perhaps, or maybe a Douglas—now there would have been a good alliance."

   "I am content wi' the match made for me."

   "But no, he woud'na ask, and now ye're trapped in a loveless marriage wi' a grasping knave, concerned only wi' yer money— "

   "And the land, Mother," shouted Aila. "Dinna forget about the land. I ken well enough why he married me, but I dinna care. I will have him for my husband, him and no other, ye ken? And I winna tolerate ye berating him e'er again."

   Maggie gasped. Lady Graham's eyes went wide, and her face froze.

   No one spoke.

   Aila wondered what she had just said. She had never spoken to her mother like that.

   "Well said, my love."

   Behind her, MacLaren leaned against the door post. "Come now, ye must be tired after yer long ordeal. Time for rest. Maggie, can ye escort my wife upstairs and see that she gets a bath and some sleep? I wish to have an audience with Lady Graham."

   Aila wandered past him and up the stairs. He followed her progress with warm eyes. She gave him a groggy smile and continued to her room.
Love? Had he
called her love?
She was asleep before she could answer her own question.

MacLaren watched until his wife made it to her door, partly because he liked looking at her and partly because he wanted to make sure she didn't fall down the stairs. When she was safe in her room, he faced down the mother. MacLaren entered the room, shutting the door behind him. It wasn't quite proper, but he didn't care. It was time to have words with Lady Graham.

   "I ken ye feel I am an inadequate marriage partner for yer daughter," MacLaren began, "but as ye said, there is naught we can do about that now. I would ask for yer blessing on this union."

   Moira shifted in her chair and regarded MacLaren through shuttered eyes. "And what makes ye think I would e'er grant ye such a request?"

   "The happiness o' yer only child?"

   "I ken a bit more about caring for Aila than ye do," said Moira, her voice stinging with warning.

   MacLaren tried a new tactic. "Ye are verra correct about the reasons I married yer daughter, but that does no' mean I winna take care o' her. I swear to ye on my honor, I will protect her wi' my verra life if need be."

   Moira seemed to relax a bit and nodded for him to continue.

"I also am concerned for yer welfare, Lady Graham."

"And why would ye be concerning yerself wi' me?"

   "As ye said, I am a grasping knave, Lady Graham. I want my children to inherit Dundaff. Therefore, I am determined ye shall be Graham's only wife." MacLaren paused to let the implications of his state ment be understood. "I want peace between us. I ask that ye support this marriage, and in return, I will do all in my power to see to yer welfare."

   Moira's eyes gleamed, and a slow smile spread on her face. MacLaren knew his proposal had been accepted and they were down to negotiations.

   "I want Aila to remain at Dundaff," said Moira.

   "Nay, she must live at Creag an Turic, but we can visit."

   "Twice a week."

   "Once a quarter."

   "Once a week."

   "Once a month."

   "Done!" she said, smiling in a calculating sort of way. "And I want regular visits from any children ye may have."

   "Done," said MacLaren.

   "And I want ye to be faithful to her. If I hear ye have been sowing yer seed around, I will withdraw my support."

   "That is none o' yer concern," said MacLaren, his eyes narrowing, "but done."

   "Sir Padyn MacLaren," she said with a radiant smile, "ye have my blessing. Welcome to the family. Now go and bathe yerself before ye come into my presence again."

   MacLaren bowed and quit the room. One dragon slayed. He wondered how many more this marriage would require of him.

AFTER HIS NEGOTIATIONS WITH LADY GRAHAM, MacLaren spent a long afternoon with Laird Graham, discussing all the new information he had discov ered. MacLaren kept his meeting with Graham small, including only Chaumont. Graham had wished Warwick and Pitcairn present, but MacLaren respect fully requested they not come. All the men on the journey were suspect, even Graham's top men, as unlikely as that seemed.

   At first Graham argued and raged at all MacLaren had to say, but he calmed down soon enough and got down to the business of planning their next move. For all his bluster, Graham was a practical and thoughtful man, one MacLaren found he could respect. His reasoning was sound, even if his body was broken. He reminded MacLaren of his own father, and MacLaren felt an odd twinge when speaking with him, feeling that beyond his material profit, he had gained other more intangible but no less valuable things through this alliance with the Graham clan.

   Graham railed against the idea that there was a traitor amongst his men or that any of them would have signaled the location of the camp to McNab, allowing a slaughter. Yet the truth was plain. They compiled a list of the men who had gone with MacLaren and examined each one as a potential traitor, but none appeared to be a likely candidate. MacLaren found Graham to be a fair but generous master, his soldiers were well treated and their needs tended, so he could find little cause for grievance.

   Yet someone was trying to help McNab, but why? How could anyone amongst Graham's own clan benefit from having Aila and the substantial inheri tance of Dundaff pass to another clan? There were more questions than answers. And yet, though he was loathe to admit it, Aila's little adventure had caused their enemies to reveal more than they intended. They now knew for sure McNab was their enemy and one of Graham's men was a traitor. As they ended their council to give the men time to prepare for supper, MacLaren felt a keen sense of apprehension.

   "Be watchful," he said to the Graham laird before he left. "To inherit yer land, ye must first be dead. I fear for ye."

   "And I for ye, my lad, since by marrying my daughter ye put yerself at the same risk." The men clasped hands and clapped each other on the back. "Take care o' her, my son, she's all I've got left."

   "I will," replied MacLaren softly, feeling tears well up in his eyes at being called "son." He broke from Graham and marched to his quarters, trying to get hold of himself. Must be lack of sleep playing with his emotions. He would not let it get the better of him. Crying was such an unmanly thing to do.

MacLaren sat at the high table next to Graham, waiting impatiently for his bride to arrive. He had once more left room for Aila to sit next to him and hoped she would not embarrass him again. He had accepted her explanation with some distrust and was hoping to find her true. This time he had sent Rory to escort her to the table. He had been forced to send him twice, since the first time Rory returned with word that the maids insisted she was not quite ready. What was there to do? He bathed and dressed in ten minutes at most. He clenched his fists, fearing this may be the start of another very disappointing night.

   Leaning over to talk to Chaumont, he heard Aila's arrival before he saw her. The collective gasps in the room silenced all conversation. He looked up and gasped too, his jaw dropping open. Lady Aila had entered the Great Hall. The assembly stood, and people bowed as she passed. Her gold gown shimmering in the candlelight, she indeed resembled royalty. Her auburn hair hung in long ringlets, and her face was framed with a gossamer chaplet veil. She was the most beautiful creature MacLaren had ever seen. He stood transfixed, watching her approach. All eyes were on her. Her eyes scanned the crowd until they found his. A small smile played on her lips. She approached, her eyes for MacLaren alone.

   She walked up to the head table and first greeted her father, as was proper.

   "I'm sorry, Father, for…"

   "Enough, child, 'tis all forgiven." He gave her a warm embrace. "Ye look much like yer mother." It was quite a compliment. He smiled down proudly at his daughter and then motioned for her to take her seat by her husband. MacLaren had to fight the urge to grab her and steal her away, back to their chambers, or perhaps even a dimly lit passageway would do.

   "A toast to the marriage of the Lady Aila and Sir Padyn MacLaren!" Chaumont was first to find his voice, and the rest of the assembly joined in the toast, cheering the happy couple.

   Aila smiled at the crowd, looking around with delight. MacLaren glared back at the clamoring men, wishing they would all stop looking at his wife. After the initial shock of her beauty passed, he felt a pulsing mix of pride, possessiveness, and suspicion. He feared his lovely bride would use her beauty to manipulate him, as another lovely lady had done to him once before. But no, he remembered, he was not supposed to judge her using another woman's measure. MacLaren scowled. Aila was forever getting him to make promises that were wretchedly hard to keep.

   "Ye look much improved," MacLaren told her and internally groaned. That hadn't come out quite right.

   "A bath and a clean gown does help," said Aila, grinning as if he wasn't the biggest oaf in the world.

   "What I meant is I've ne'er seen any woman as beautiful as ye are tonight." There, that sounded better. Aila's smile faded. What had he said wrong?

   "I ken ye have little love for beautiful women."

   "Ah, well," he stammered. She had a point there. "I find I may need to revise my opinion to say that perhaps I can tolerate beautiful women who are Scots." He leaned in closer. "Particularly, beautiful women I somehow had the good fortune to marry."

   Aila's smile returned, and her eyes twinkled in the candlelight. "I find I may be able to tolerate a verra braw Highlander I happen to have married."

   "Good to know you two have moved to the level of tolerance," said Chaumont, who was sitting on the other side of Aila and listening shamelessly to their private conversation. Both MacLaren and Aila glared at him, and he laughed with enthusiasm.

   "Ignore him," said MacLaren. "Dinna ken why I tolerate the bastard." He pulled from his sporran an emerald necklace. "This is for ye. 'Twas my mother's." He awkwardly struggled with the clasp but managed to get it around her neck.

   "'Tis beautiful," Aila murmured. "Thank ye. I will cherish it." She gazed at him happily. Oh, so happily.

   He kissed her. Far in the distance, he could hear people cheering and knew he was becoming a spec tacle. He didn't care. He kissed her again and would have gone on kissing her had not Aila realized people were watching and pulled away, embarrassed. He could hardly wait to have her alone.

   The musicians struck up a lively tune, and the meal proceeded as normal, though MacLaren noted warily the addition of a taster for the food at the head table. Graham was indeed taking the threat to both their lives seriously. MacLaren also learned that Graham had "rewarded" the soldiers who participated on the recent mission by giving them some leave from their duties, thus reducing their opportunities for being in places where mischief may be done.