Juliette Miller - [Clan MacKenzie 02] Page 14

  “Mackenzie,” the second man replied.

  Both men regarded me with labored scrutiny, as though having trouble focusing. One of them swayed slightly on his feet. “Aye, that’s the one,” he said. “Gonna take over once the old man gives up the ghost.”

  “Aye,” I confirmed. “And he likes vegetables.”

  “Hear that, lad?” one of the men hollered over his shoulder, and it was only then that I noticed a boy sitting on the floor some distance from them. He might have been ten years old, or twelve. He was eating an apple, seeds and all. “Go and tell the laird that one of his lovely daughters has taken an interest in farming.”

  “Nay,” I said. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll help myself and be on my way.”

  “Go on, I said,” one of the men insisted, to the boy, who jumped up and ran out a back door.

  Their reaction to my simple request seemed excessive. Had my father given strict instructions to report to him if one of his daughters was ever spoken to or sighted outside our private chambers? Was my father so obsessed with his own dictatorship that any breach of protocol was to be messengered to him immediately? It occurred to me that the kitchen workers and these men, too, liked the routine of malaise that they’d become accustomed to. They had access to as much food as they could eat. Efficiency beyond their own scope was clearly not a priority.

  And now my father would know that I was interfering in a way I never had before.

  I reached into a nearby bin and grabbed as many carrots as I could carry. They were still covered in dirt. I thanked the men and backed toward the door, wondering as I did so how I was going to open the door with an armload of carrots. Before I could answer that question, the door opened, spearing the dimness with a sudden flood of light. Squinting, I could see that the young messenger had returned, and he was now feasting on another apple. And as he opened the door wider, I could see he was not alone. Looming as a black silhouette against the bright light of morning was a most unwelcome sight: the warrior Aleck.

  * * *

  “AH, MY FAVORITE of the Morrison daughters,” Aleck commented blithely. “Follow me.”

  “I’ll do no such thing,” I said defiantly, making a point to mask all signs of my panic. “I’ve done nothing wrong. All I’m doing is attempting to prepare a meal for a hunting party that’s providing food for our clan members. At the request of my husband. ’Tis hardly a crime, and I’m sick to death of being bullied by you. Leave me alone.”

  Aleck recoiled dramatically, pretending outrage and indignation. He was so large that when his hand reached out to grab my arm, despite my attempt to step back and evade him, he caught hold of me easily. His painful grip caused me to drop the carrots to the ground, where they rolled in all directions. The dirtied green velvet of my dress was the least of my worries.

  “Your father is already regretting his choice,” Aleck informed me. “Mackenzie has proven to be nothing but an annoyance since the moment he took your...hand. And the laird would like to illustrate a point to his new laird-in-waiting. So I encourage you to follow me now, and without the theatrics this time, if you please.” His grasp grew tight enough, I knew, to bruise me, and I had no choice but to walk along with him toward the training yards. “He’s thinking of having the marriage annulled, I suspect, and put me in place as his successor, as he nearly did to begin with.”

  Maybe it was my newly discovered rebellious streak, or the small taste of security I’d been given by my new husband—even if he was, at times, nearly as daunting as the rogue who was practically dragging me to my next scene of humiliation. Other crimes I’d committed had at least possibly warranted a reprimand of some kind. But this. This was gratuitous violence. It was violence that would lead to more violence: possibly enough of it to get someone killed. And it angered me to the point where I hardly recognized myself. I’d truly had enough.

  I tried to yank my arm from Aleck’s grasp, but I was not to get off so easily this time. He might have been expecting my struggle; he gripped me even tighter, and I had no choice but to walk along with him as he practically dragged me toward the barracks. I knew I’d wear the marks of his clenched fingers for days to come. “That little stunt you pulled last time you tried to evade me will not be tolerated again, lass,” he growled. “I have plans for you, which you’ll learn of soon enough.”

  “My husband already outranks you, soldier,” I said, more frantic now. His ominous threats turned my blood to ice. “And when he becomes laird, so will I. I’ll ask you once more—let me be.”

  “If he becomes laird,” Aleck countered, and I had no idea what he meant by that. Of course my husband would be laird. It was decreed by my father; that had been the whole point of our arranged marriage. “I don’t like him,” Aleck announced, taking a moment to survey the stains of dirt on my dress and the writhing of my body. “Not at all. And I have more power over your father than you might expect, lass. If I get my way, he may change his mind about his successor. Mackenzie’s served his purpose. The alliance is secure. But that detail doesn’t necessarily mean he must step up as laird. That point is negotiable. I’m much more loyal to your father’s agenda than Mackenzie will ever be. ’Tis me who would carry on his traditions and his leadership.”

  Aye, traditions of tyranny and decay.

  I stared at him, aghast. I knew Aleck loathed my husband; that had been clear enough the minute both men had entered the sparring ring when they’d faced off. But to attempt a coup against him? Did he really think he could pull off such a bold move? “Aleck,” I said, “you have no chance of becoming laird. The decision was part of the negotiation of our marriage. The lairdship was promised to him. ’Tis the reason he agreed to it.”

  “Nay, lass,” Aleck replied, and there was a glint of humor in his eyes that hardly seemed appropriate. “You are the reason he agreed to it. Any man offered your hand would die a thousand deaths before refusing you.”

  “What do you mean?” I whispered. The compliment was so overblown, so sincere and yet still so threatening that I was momentarily unsure what to make of it.

  “You have no idea what kind of effect you have on men, do you? You’re famous across the Highlands for your beauty and your spirited defiance, and you don’t even know of it. Your looks, to be sure, are spoken of. Yet it’s your feisty rebelliousness that intrigues most of all. You attempt to flee. You fight back. ’Tis only your reserved, aloof manner that kept your admirers at an arm’s length. Even the staunchest warrior fears rejection. But I know that only too well, do I not, Stella?”

  This was disturbing information indeed. And I knew what Aleck was referring to in his final question. Afraid of the hold he had on me, which was only increasing in pressure and intent, I said, “Aleck. I’m sorry that I refused your gift those many years ago. I never meant to reject you or give you any impression of that kind either way. And you’ve had your revenge upon me, more times than I can count. Let me go.” I tried not to give in to the tears as I thought of all the lashings I’d endured at his hand; but I couldn’t hold back my sadness and my dread, knowing I was in for more of it. “Please stop holding that one long-ago refusal against me. We were children, after all.”

  “Aye,” he said. “But we’re not children now.” He hulked over me, at least twice my size in bulk and weight. There was a distinct resentment in his black eyes that was far more disquieting than mere aggression. My tears had no effect on him. He’d become immune, perhaps.

  “I’m married, Aleck,” I pointed out to him, wildly relieved by that fact here and now, even if I’d been less than enthused upon many other occasions.

  “You don’t love him,” he said. It was more than odd, discussing love with this dirty, brawny soldier who still held me in a vicious grip.

  “Nay,” I said. “I—I don’t love him. I hardly know him. Now, please. Unhand me.”

  He gave me a look of light reproach. “You know I can’t do that, lass. We both know you’d run.” His hold loosened slightly, enough so it was at leas
t no longer painful. I could try to break free of him, but I knew he’d chase me and I doubted I could outrun him over such a distance to the manor. Strung to his belt was a thin, coiled whip, which I eyed uneasily; it was regrettably familiar to me.

  “’Tis clear enough he doesn’t love you, either,” Aleck said. “You were merely a conquest to him. Which he now has conquered.”

  I remained silent. Of course I would never admit that I hadn’t yet been entirely conquered.

  “I’ve seen him with one of your sisters,” Aleck said offhandedly, watching my reaction. After a pause, he added, “He has already strayed, and you might therefore feel inclined to, as well.”

  “What do you mean, ‘one of my sisters’?”

  “Aye. She visited him in one of the weapons sheds, only yesterday.”

  Of course I knew exactly which sister he was referring to. And as much as I’d fought against a marriage to Kade Mackenzie, the thought of my sister Maisie approaching him in any way whatsoever sent a vexing lurch through my stomach that I could neither name nor recognize. “That can’t be true.”

  “But it is, lass,” he said with undue compassion. “I saw her with my own eyes. Buttoning up her dress, she was.”

  I stared at Aleck, desperately attempting to read the lie in his eyes. But there was none to be found. I wanted to run, to find my damn husband and confront him. Could it be true? And why did my throat feel so choked with not only rage but sadness? I’d just admitted I didn’t love my husband. I’d known of his tendencies before our marriage, as so thoroughly discussed by the very sister, among others, who had just betrayed me.

  Before I could make a move of any kind, Aleck pulled me along with him, more gently now but no less forcibly. His expression had changed from one of aggression to one of conflicted remorse. “’Tis your father who insists that I be the one to enforce your punishments, Stella. It always was. I never wanted to hurt you. I was just following orders. But no longer. Let me show you what kind of influence I have over your father. And over the clan as a whole. ’Tis me who requested for you to be followed. I have asked to be alerted to any and every move you make.”

  “Why would you do that?” I said, protesting both his pronouncement and his continued hold on me.

  “Let’s just say I have a vested interest in your well-being,” he said, as though this might be favorable news to me.

  “Aleck, nay—please.”

  But he was already leading me into one of the buildings of the barracks, pulling me inside. For a panicked moment, I thought he might be intending more than a reprimand, but I could see that we were in a meeting room and my father was seated on a high-backed chair. The sight of him gave me little comfort, however. His appearance, in fact, instilled me with a distinct sense of foreboding. He looked unkempt, his wrinkled hand wrapped around his ever-present silver flask. Aside from a small, vicious glow in his clouded eyes, he was completely devoid of vitality, shrouded instead by an aura of bitterness and regret.

  “Grace,” he murmured, so low I couldn’t be sure I understood him correctly. My mother’s name.

  “Look who I found raiding the storage sheds,” Aleck said smugly.

  I began my defense. “My husband requested—”

  But I was promptly interrupted by Aleck. “Your husband’s usefulness ends at the tip of his sword. Isn’t it so, Laird Morrison?”

  “Aye,” my father agreed, his voice gravelly with age. “He is a pest rather than the asset we had hoped for.” My father’s words were slightly slurred at the edges, and I wondered if his illness might be progressing. “He was chosen for his skills with his weapons, and only his skills with his weapons. His arrogance will get him nowhere. I’m not interested in his plans to overhaul our army and our keep. Glenlochie is fine the way she is.” My father was not only mean, abusive, ill and drunk; he was also deluded. As we might all have been. It seemed my own veil was lifting, and with my new vision I could see that my father was not only wrong but quite possibly half-mad. As though to prove that his state of mind was far worse than I thought, he said to me weakly, “I’ve never forgiven you for leaving me.”

  “Father,” I whispered, fearful to my bones, “’tis me. Stella.”

  “Stella,” he said, recognition returning somewhere amid the bitterness and the madness. “What is your complaint now? Must you continually taunt me like this, with her memory? Go to your chambers! Leave me in peace.” To his men: “Get her out of my sight. Out! I can’t bear it. Leave me.” He slumped back in his chair, as though fatigue, vengefulness and heartbreak had finally overcome him.

  I moved to obey my father, hoping fervently that Aleck would allow me to. His hand still clasped my arm. So many times, at every turn, every attempt to live or to thrive on my own terms, I had been cut down. By the very whip that hung at his hip. In a reflexive entreaty, I fell to my knees before him, to beg him for mercy. My fingers found the corded rope, holding it, waiting for it to be yanked from my grasp and used upon my inlaid scars. Not on my skin; care had been taken to keep me appealing enough to wed. These scars went deeper.

  Aleck waited, as though taking a moment to savor my pathetic subservience. I hated myself for this, for allowing myself to be so thoroughly broken.

  For the first time, Aleck did not reach for his whip. Instead, he pulled me to my feet, resting me against his huge, rigid body. I was so defeated, so conditioned to his orchestrated threats that I did not struggle, only pulling back when he allowed it. His black hair was a blurry shape through my tears, which I wiped away with the back of my hand.

  “I am capable of mercy and much more,” Aleck said close to my ear. “And I intend to show you all that I’m capable of as soon as I’ve tied up a few loose ends.”

  I didn’t understand his comment, nor did I care to consider his meaning. To my wild relief, he let me go, and I took my first opportunity to escape him.

  Watching my retreat, Aleck issued a disconcerting warning. “I’ve got my eye on you, lass,” he said, and his words echoed in my ears as I exited the barracks and walked quickly away.

  Instead of returning to my sisters, I headed in a different direction, to a place I hadn’t been in a long time. I skirted the withered gardens, finding a back entrance to the manor that I seldom used. I climbed a curved stone staircase, passing two servants, who eyed my distress and dishevelment with mute curiosity. I found the door I was looking for, entering the silent, empty chambers and closing the door securely behind me.

  My mother’s favorite place: the turret. My father had forbidden anyone to enter these chambers since her death, preferring to keep it as a silent shrine to her memory. As far as I knew, he’d never entered it since. I had, first, as a child.

  “I told you never to go in there.” The lash of the belt, and again. “Leave your mother’s memory in peace.”

  It was the very first time I’d been beaten.

  Even so, it was a place I secretly went to when I most needed solace.

  The chambers were eerily silent, the air cold. A dusty, feeble ray of sunlight shone through a diamond-shaped window, painting a perfect replica onto the stone floor. The only furniture in the room was a large four-poster bed whose faded cloth covering was filmed with dust. I walked to the small stone staircase at the far end of the room that led to an upper level: a tiny lookout, a single small elevated room strewn with her old cushions. From the circular windows I could see across the villages of the keep to the gardens and the fields beyond. The dark, glassy surface of the loch, the multihued forests, and the impressive, rising landscape of the Highlands.

  I could understand why this had been my mother’s favorite place. I felt removed from them all.

  And in this cozy enclosure, I could feel her. This place was infused with her, as though the sunlight itself shone from her faraway memory. The warm glide of tears wet my cheeks. I wasn’t sure why. I’d been so young when she died. I had only vague, shadowy recollections of her face, which might have been shaped less by actual memory and more by th
e often-made comment that I was the daughter who looked most like her—so much like her, in fact, that older people of our clan occasionally gasped at the likeness, as though they thought I was a vision or a ghost when I passed by. I cried more for the loss her death had created: a hole and a hatred in my father that had festered and eaten away at our clan like a disease.

  My arms were sore from the bruises Aleck had made, and I rubbed at them, glad for the long sleeves of my gown. The salt of my tears dried on my cheeks in the sunlight. I took in the picturesque landscape, following the rolling line of the hills, the smooth surface of the shining loch. The small turret was so warm from the contained rays of the sun, I felt mildly overheated. I removed my cape and unbuttoned the top of my dress. It didn’t matter—no one would see me up here, and I was reveling in the sumptuous heat of my haven and my isolation. I never wanted to leave this place.

  Lulled by the silence and the warmth, I dozed off for a time.

  I awoke with a start, jarred by the sound of heavy footsteps down below, ascending rapidly.

  My heart lurched in my chest. Had my father found me once again? Was Aleck on my trail?

  But it was Kade who appeared, windblown and wearing an expression of fierce concern. My awareness was still murky at the edges and was difficult to shake off, as though I had slept for many hours. But I was panicked by the possibility of being pursued and also by the suddenness of his arrival. I shrank back from the sight of him, still in his full hunting regalia, bloodied from his kills, almost blinding with gleaming gold and silver light. Like that very first time I’d ever seen him, I remembered well, he caught all the light of a room, whether it was a grand hall or a tiny enclave like this one.

  His gaze slid from my face to my breasts, half revealed, rounded and rosy from the heat. He made a small sound, like a strangled sigh that might have been the words Holy God in heaven.

  I clutched the fabric of my gown together and glared up at him with wide eyes.