Page 13 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

She left the hall alone, her shoulders back, her head high, and her heart sick with regret and…confusion. So far, James Moidartach MacDonald hadn’t been nearly the beast she’d thought. And the way he gazed at her, so intently, sent shivers of traitorous curiosity over her skin. It was as if he liked what he saw. She ought to be frightened. But his surprising gentleness had eased her distress. Would an alliance with the MacDonalds, even if she was the tribute to be exchanged, be so bad? Or would it maybe, blessedly, bring this warring clan to heel?

…

It was nearly dark by the time James stowed his claymore on his saddle and hoisted Aileana up pillion behind him. Her arms slid instinctively around him, sending a shiver across his skin at the intimacy of the contact, to be so held by her, even if it was purely to keep herself aloft. They set out through the gates, rocking together with Devil’s lumbering, making use of what midwinter light was left.

They traversed the countryside in silence, save the creaking of leather, shrouded in wintry white. The snowdrifts made their surroundings bright enough to decipher, in spite of the cloudy night settling upon them. But Aileana was shivering against him, and her grip about his waist, tight, felt as if her arms had frozen. A warm fire and a night beneath his heavy fur might do her well.

“Up there. We’ll stop to make camp,” he finally said, breaking the quietude.

Aileana said not a word as he steered his horse through the glen where a cluster of boulders had long ago tumbled down the surrounding hills. They would make a good shelter. Her stomach rumbled so loudly, she resituated herself. She was hungry, and come to think of it, he didn’t recall seeing her eat a bite at supper when her fate had been sealed. When had her last meal been before that?

He pushed Devil onward until they reached the boulders next to a frozen burn meandering down the glen. He dismounted and reached up to help Aileana down, but she swung her leg over and slid down Devil’s rump on her own, glanced at him silently, and then bypassed him without a word. He inhaled deeply, exhaled. He deserved her anger.

Instead, he removed his packs and unfurled a bedroll, hauling them within the boulders, and dropped to his knees to scoop out the snow to make an embankment around them when he felt Aileana come up beside him. She knelt next to him and began scooping out snow. He took in her slender arms shoveling the snow, the torque of her waist as she did exactly as Peigi had said—helped with the labor to get the job done. Okay. Perhaps he could make this the first step toward a truce betwixt them.

She glanced up at his staring, crinkling her brow questioningly.

He severed his gaze and returned to work. “Thank ye for helping.”

“It’s what I do best,” she retorted.

He ignored the displeasure in her voice and continued working.

“We’ll make an embankment around the entry,” he said. “Such will insulate us whilst we sleep.”

She nodded her understanding, and the two of them finished the task silently. Too silently. He wanted her spitfire tongue to lash him so he could lash back and feel the sparks flying between them again.

“Aileana,” he finally said, resting back on his haunches. “I propose a truce. At least, for now.”

“A white flag? From ye? I didnae ken ye owned one,” she said as her body jolted with each thrust of snow. “But I suppose ye’ve gotten all ye want, including my dignity. ’Tis easy to sue for peace when ye walk away the winner.”

The softness he’d begun to feel grew brittle, and his lips thinned. All right, so her spitfire tongue was lashing again, just as he’d wanted, which was daft of him because arguing with her would surely become damned exhausting. “And apparently ye forgot yer white flag at Urquhart,” he grumbled.

She smiled sweetly at him, a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “We have none. They were stolen, along with all our other goods…” She tapped her chin. “By ye, I believe.”

He took a slow, long breath and restarted, for she seemed to have this strange ability to bring out his brash side. “This union is a chance to reunite olden MacDonald lands. I seek to gain my inherit—” He cut himself short. Be damned and hold yer tongue, his conscience chastised him. If he spilled about his inheritance, she really would leave him—just to spite him. “And I’ve won nothing.”

“Won nothing? Is yer memory so poorly that ye can nay remember—”

“Remain here,” he ordered, interrupting her stream of venom. “I go to collect kindling.”

He shoved to his feet and stalked off, needing space to think. He trudged to the edge of the glen where the tree line started upon the hillside, and rummaged through the snow to pile sticks in his arms. She hated him—and yet she thought him handsome. He’d seen her rake her eyes curiously over his form, his shoulders, and his braids, her hazel gaze wide. And how could he help but stare at her beauty? But physical attraction alone would not a marriage make. If she continued to harbor anger for him, their union would remain poisoned with bad opinions and resentment. Perhaps he ought to return her and agree to a voided union now—his reputation as a warlord be damned—to spare her a fortnight of misery, which was pointless anyway, for whether he returned her now or on Twelfth Night, dear old Stepmother had still cozened him out of his inheritance. Besides, would his people be accepting of a Grant woman?

“Just what my stepmither wanted: For me to fail. For the lairdship and all its benefits to pass to anyone but me.”

His mind made up to take her home, he turned back toward camp. But as he crunched near their shelter with his arms full, it was empty. He peered within the rocks.

“Lady Aileana?”

He dropped the sticks with a clatter and walked around the boulders. No one.

“Dammit,” he cursed, turning in all directions. Had she fled?

No, his horse was still there, and she no doubt had common sense enough not to run off in the middle of a freezing night. Unless she knew shortcuts to reach home that he didn’t.

“Aileana?” he boomed, though the surrounding snow dampened the echo.

Silence answered him. Nerves pulsed in his gut.