The Mackintosh Bride

“And you may call me Alena,” she shot back.

He halted his attack on the venison in midbite and looked at her with a kind of surprise. He started to speak but then changed his mind, his mouth opening and closing a few times—much like a trout.

Now was clearly not a good time to provoke him. They ate in silence for a while, then she thought to try again at conversation. “Your uncle is laird here?”

“Aye,” Iain said. “He is The Davidson.”

“Yet you sit at the head of his table.”

“In his absence I am responsible for his clan and his lands.”

This surprised her. “Has he no son—or daughter,” she couldn’t help adding, “to lead in his stead?”

Iain looked directly at her. “Nay. Alistair and Margaret have no issue. When Gilchrist is of age, he will be laird here.”

“But he is a Mackintosh. Surely the Davidsons will protest.”

Iain smiled—more to himself than to her, as if remembering something. “Gilchrist is a Davidson and a Mackintosh. He was raised here and is well loved by my mother’s clan. Nay, they will accept him. They already do.”

He nodded toward Gilchrist who was engaged in telling some bawdy joke to the Davidson clansmen at the other end of the table.

“I see what you mean. And what of you, Iain Mackintosh? Where lies your future?”

For the second time in as many days his eyes reached into her soul. “Elsewhere,” he breathed.

Jesu, but the man had a power over her she could not explain. In truth, he always had. She wet her lips as he held her in a gaze so intense, so personal, she felt both the strength and the will to break away slip from her.

The sounds of the diners faded from her perception as he leaned in close. His face hovered inches from hers. She tilted her chin toward him, her lips parting of their own accord in some dreamlike expectation.

A deafening hurrah shattered her momentary enchantment and she turned to see half a dozen clansmen on their feet, horns and goblets raised. They were toasting her, she realized, and quickly collected herself.

Her heart was still thrumming in her chest when Iain stood and let go her hand. Why, she hadn’t even realized he’d been holding it!

From the other end of the room, Duncan related in a loud and very drunken voice how she had tamed the wild stallion and saved Conall from certain death. The old stablemaster embellished the facts to the point Alena was embarrassed. But the warriors echoed Duncan’s pleasure, and she accepted their praise with as much grace as she could muster.

She glanced at Conall, who was fair beaming, and then at Hamish and Will, who lifted their ale cups to her. The room settled back into its normal state of chaos and she turned her attention to Iain, who promptly took his seat.

He fidgeted in his chair and would not look at her. Finally he said, “I didna thank ye, Lady, for saving my brother today.”

She felt a tightening in her chest. Never once when they were children had he thanked her for anything. “’Twas nothing, Laird, I assure you. I am well skilled with horses.”

“So ’twould seem. But ye must promise me you’ll ne’er take such a fool’s chance again.”

“Truly, Iain, there was no danger to me.”

His eyes clouded and she watched him swallow hard. He grasped her hand and squeezed it tight. Her heart was in her throat and, had she willed it, she couldn’t have spoken a word at that moment to save her life.

“Ye…ye could have been killed.” He squeezed her hand tighter, and she thought surely she would swoon from the tenderness in his eyes.

He did care. He did!

The realization was a bolt of white heat that shook her to the mettle. Her expression, she feared, betrayed her raw emotion, her desire, her love. All that she felt for him.

“Iain, I…” She leaned closer, then felt his hand slip away.

He drew back abruptly. His eyes, which only a moment ago brimmed with tenderness, grew cold. He fisted his hands and pressed them, white-knuckled, into the table.

A well-practiced scowl, the one she was beginning to think he reserved solely for her, etched his face. “Ye will no’ go near that stallion again, d’ye understand? ’Tis a valuable animal.”

It took a full second for his words to sink in.

“D’ye hear me, woman?”

Her anger rose faster than the galloping chestnut who’d thrown her into Iain Mackintosh’s cursed path. “A valuable animal? Is that all you care—”

“Enough! I’ll hear no more on it.”

The hall went deadly quiet. All eyes were on the laird. Iain stood, shoved back his chair hard enough to send it sprawling, and stormed from the hall.

She sat there wondering what on earth had just happened. His disposition was more changeable than the weather! One minute he was concerned for her safety, and the next…

Her head spinning, she turned to Gilchrist and shot him a questioning look.

A stupefying grin bloomed on the young warrior’s face. “I’ll be damned. He’s in love.”

Chapter Five

’Twas time to find out just how much he knew.

At dawn Alena splashed some water on her face, quickly dressed, and went to the stable in search of Duncan. She found him repairing a bridle in one of the connecting buildings that housed the Davidson livery.

“Good morrow, Duncan,” she said brightly.

The old man looked up and smiled. “Ah, Alena, lass. Ye’re about early. Did ye sleep well?”

“Aye, I did. And you?” she asked mischievously, recalling his drunken state the previous evening.

“Weel, it’s no’ the lack o’ sleep, but the bluidy headache the next day that can do an old man in.”

She laughed at that, then turned her thoughts to more serious matters. “You are stablemaster here, Duncan?”

“I am,” he said, his eyes on his work.

He’d worn the Mackintosh plaid the day they’d arrived at Braedûn, but today he was dressed in leather breeches and a russet shirt. She studied the clan badge pinned to his bonnet: a cat reared up on hind legs. “But you are a Mackintosh.”

Duncan looked up from his work. “Aye, that, too.” He stared at her for a few moments, then said, “I came here with Lady Ellen and the lads—after Iain’s da was killed.”

“So you’ve known Iain since he was a boy.”

Duncan sheathed his dirk and tossed the bridle over a post. He gestured to a stool next to the one on which he was perched. “Sit here, lass.”

She obeyed and Duncan settled in, resting his leathered forearms on his thighs. “Ye see, Colum Mackintosh and I grew up together. My own da was stablemaster to his da. And when Colum and Ellen had those boys, weel, they were like my own sons.”

“I see.”

“And after…the trouble, the Davidsons took us in. I’ve been stablemaster here since. And I watch over the laddies,” he added, smiling.

’Twas now or never. She leaned forward and met his gaze. “Duncan, when we arrived, what made you call me by that name? Alena…Todd?”

He chuckled. “Are ye tellin’ me, lass, that ye are no’ Alena Todd, Rob and Maddy’s daughter?”

She nearly fell off the stool.”

You know my father? And my—”

“Aye, that I do. Rob and I raised trouble together before ye were e’en a twinklin’ in his eye.” Duncan laughed. His bright blue eyes seemed focused on things far away.

He continued in a soothing voice, as if he were telling a bedtime story to a child too anxious to sleep. “Back before ye were born, when the old lairds, the Mackintosh and the Grant, were allies, yer da and I traveled together in search o’ breedin’ stock. Och, we was green as sticks, but what a time we had. England, Spain, France…”

“France was where he met my mother!”

“Aye, and a bonnier lass there ne’er was—until now.” He looked her over with a sort of paternal approval.

“Oh,” she said, and felt her cheeks warm. “I’m afraid I was not blessed with my mother’s fair looks. She is small and delicate, and I’m…well, I’m—” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Ye are like a sorrel filly in high summer. A beauty, ye are, and many a man’s took notice.” A mischievous grin creased his wrinkled face. “Some more than others, I’d say.”

She felt her blush deepen, then remembered why she’d come. “But, Duncan, how did you know it was me? We’ve never met.”

“Och, I used to see ye in the forest playin’ with the lad.”

Her eyes widened. “It was you! I knew someone was watching us.”

“Aye, I was there.” He grinned, but then his expression sobered. “D’ye think The Mackintosh would ha’ let his son run wild about the wood wi’ nary a soul to protect him?”

“Nay, I expect he wouldn’t have.” She’d never really considered that.

“And you. Do ye think yer da ne’er missed the fact ye were gone long hours from the Grant stable?”

“I did wonder how it was he never found out. I always thought ’twas because I was so clever.”

“Clever?” Duncan laughed.

“But how did you recognize me? I was but a child when last I met Iain at the copse.”

“Och, lass, who else could ye ha’ been? There was only the one lassie who could vex Iain so.”

She opened her mouth in wonder at this admission.

“One look at the both o’ ye perched atop that stallion like a pair o’ snarlin’ wildcats, and I knew ye. And that wild mop o’ gold atop yer head was another clue.” He took her hand in both of his and squeezed it. “Aye,” he said, warmth and affection shining from his eyes. “I knew ye, girl.”

Alena wiped at her eyes, then stood and looked out a small window at the rising sun, a fireball in the east. Somewhere under its roving eye Glenmore Castle slept, and in it the man who would mold her future to his will.

“You won’t tell Iain—about who I am?”

“He doesna know?” Duncan sat up straight.

“Nay.”

The old man stroked his white-silver beard and looked hard at her. “Ye would keep the truth from him?”

“I…I plan to tell him, but not just yet,” she lied.

“All know of how he saved ye from the Grant. And he’s mad as a hornet that ye willna make plain what ye were about.”

Alena knew this all too well. She recalled Iain’s barely controlled anger at her refusal to explain her circumstances.

“Can ye tell me, lass?”

She paced the straw-strewn floor and wouldn’t meet the stablemaster’s eyes. “Nay. Nay, I cannot.”

They were silent for a moment and Alena heard the warbling of a lark and the comforting clatter of the waking estate.

“Weel,” Duncan said, drawing out the word. “I willna press ye—but I willna lie to the laird, neither. If he asks me, I’ll tell him what I know.”

“Oh, please—let me tell him. In my own way.”

“And what of yer parents? They canna know ye’re here?”

“Nay, they do not.” Guilt and fear knotted her stomach. “They must be worried sick.” She knelt before Duncan. “I must get word to them. Can you help me?”

The old man stroked his beard again, his eyes far away. “Weel,” he began, and Alena knew he’d hatched a plan. “There’s a travelin’ priest makes the Highland circuit amongst all the old Chattan clans. He’s no’ due here for more than a fortnight yet, but he’ll pass through Davidson land on the forest road—tomorrow, methinks—headed north past Glenmore to Inverness.”

“Father Ambrose! I know him!”

“Aye, he’s the one.”

“Can he be trusted?” she asked.

“Och, lassie, he’s a priest.” Duncan stood abruptly and Alena heard his bones creak. She rose and followed him to the door. “I’ll send Gavin out on the morrow to meet him. Ambrose will get word to yer da that ye’re safe and here with us.”

Relief washed over her. Each night she prayed that they were safe, as well. “Thank you, Duncan.”

They walked out into the stable yard and were bathed in sunlight. Alena shook off a chill and raised her face to its warmth.

“And now, lassie, perhaps ye can do something for me?”

“Aye, anything.”

“Ye’ve a talent with horses— ’tis plain to see. Rob taught ye well. We’ve a new group of Percherons to break before high summer.” Duncan indicated the enclosure that lay at the end of the stable yard farthest from the lodge.

A small herd of horses grazed in the wild grass that grew, untrammeled, at the edges of the corral.

“Gavin’s a good lad—does the work o’ two men, but we could use another pair o’ skilled hands.” The stable-master looked at her, gauging her ability, it seemed. “Are ye game, lass?”

“Oh, aye. I’d be pleased to help.” And relieved to have something to occupy her hands whilst she considered her next move.

“Weel, then, ye willna be much use to me in that.” He nodded at her attire, the too tight woolen gown. He then pointed at the stable lads newly arrived from their beds to work, still rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. “See if young Jamie or Fergus has a pair o’ breeches that will accommodate ye.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.