Page 61 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

“That’s in two days,” Aileana croaked, shaking her head. “So my thieving gave ye opportunity to… All of this was, in sooth, an effort to gain my brother’s lands and put a Grant in yer marriage bed. For a purse of coin?”

“Aye—nay.” Nearly pleading, he came to her and pried her hand free to hold in his broad ones, though there was no mistaking his shaking fingers and tremoring lips. “At first, I was irritated that ye got the better of me, stealing from me, but I saw how scared ye were at Urquhart. I knew I couldnae trick ye the moment the demand left my lips. When yer brother requested that ye have the right to leave me, I knew my claim on the money would be foiled. But I agreed anyway.”

“And proceeded to sweeten me to ye this whole time so as to convince me to make it permanent? Make me like ye? Mayhap grow to l—” She cut herself short as a lump rose to her throat and thickened painfully. “Ye buttered me to ye so I’d agree to stay. So ye could get yer money.” She nodded. “’Tis grand ye’d get everything ye wanted, James. But that’s the MacDonald way, no? Reave what ye will, claim whatever and whoever ye want.”

“A lie,” he practically snarled, but she gave him no mercy.

“I’m sure ye saw giving up some paltry cows and home goods to my brother as a small price to pay for the coffer awaiting ye. Four hundred pound gained if ye give up three hundred pound of cattle? Why, that’s a one-hundred-pound profit—”

“It’s no’ like that, Allie—”

“My name is Aileana. Aileana Grant.” Her rising voice couldn’t be calmed. “’Tis a proud name, and one that isnae owned or used. My people got what they finally deserved from ye, and—” Blast it all, but tears were spilling down her cheeks as her words lodged in her throat. She brought her kerchief—dammit! The white kerchief of truce he’d gifted her upon a jest—to hold at her mouth. “I suppose my maidenhead was a small price to pay for that.”

He exhaled as if she’d gutted him. As if she’d accused him of high crimes and gouged him with a sword.

“Ye promised to return me home on Twelfth Night,” she whispered, catching the ridiculous cry with the back of her trembling hand before it could become a sob, turning away.

James loomed at her back, and she took a deep breath, pinching her cheeks and drying her eyes.

“I never anticipated wanting ye, but it’s the honest truth, lass. I need ye to believe me. I came to dread the thought of Twelfth Night, when ye’d leave.”

“How much was I worth?” she lifted her chin, turning back to him. “Is there more at stake than just yer four hundred pounds? How much more do ye gain from subduing a Grant abed?”

“Stop,” he growled, distaste so thick in his voice, it was nearly chewable.

“We had an accord, and I want to go home.”

“Lass, hear reason,” he croaked so gruffly, she almost believed his convincing charade.

“Ye’ve played me like a lute. I feel so foolish.” The tears flowed again, with no cork to stem them.

“God, lass—”

“Surely ye’ll complain to the king now over, what was it? A bundle of vegetables?”

She shook her head. He grabbed her hand, his voice so gruff. Aye, gruff, because he kens ye’re ruining his scheme.

“I beg ye, woman. I want this, with ye.”

“And I’ll believe that when the Loch Ness monster dances jigs at the faire.”

He stood up straight, his broad chest widening farther as he inhaled a deep, trembling breath. He dropped her icy fingers. The anguish on his face was soon schooled to impassivity. He backed up a step. Swallowed hard. Turned away to face his fire, which was leaping merrily, as if pleased that Aileana’s world was crumbling. Silence stretched, filled only with the sounds of crackling wood.

“I’ll see ye to Urquhart at first light,” he muttered, his voice gravelly, his chest once more rising and falling on a shaky breath as if he summoned strength, and his jaw muscles twitched. “Consider our handfast void. As promised.” He chewed his cheek, his brow drawn tight, his profile hard, stewing on thoughts he struggled to articulate. “Just say that ye’ll…” He shook his head, fighting for words.

Instead of finishing his sentiment, he strode across the floorboards, through the private door to his bedchamber. He shoved it shut with a hard thud, and as the moments stretched on—turning to minutes—and as the fire crackled, enhancing the deafening silence, she realized he wasn’t coming back.

…

5th of January; day before Twelfth Night

The sky was heavy with clouds prepared to dust the earth with more snow, matching James’s mood. They plodded along silently, and blast it, but each time he felt Aileana move behind him, shift against him, adjust her hold upon him, he bit back a desperate plea that she reconsider this severance. Losing her touch after barely acquainting himself with it ached so deeply, it was like a fist to the gut. Her unwillingness to hear him had left an acrid aftertaste in his mouth. But why would she believe him when their clans had never afforded each other a shred of trust before?

He took a deep breath and pounded his chest, recalling wee Maudie running to Aileana as she left amid the hall, stunned to silence, as if a funeral procession passed by. He recalled the child’s cry, begging to know if she’d done something wrong and given Aileana cause for displeasure. Bless the lass. And damn Aileana, winning the fledgling’s heart only to discard it so easily.

“We’ve arrived,” he finally muttered, stating the obvious as dusk darkened the sky further.

They rode toward Urquhart’s main gates, where Sir Donegal was upon the gatehouse, calling for the portcullis to be raised.