Chapter 6

The next morningfound Ailis nursing a headache and a large amount of exasperation as she and Duncan loaded their bags onto a set of horses. She'd drunk more wine than what she was used to as part of her plan.

Despite the headache, her first action was to go straight to her desk. In the chaos of yesterday, she'd not taken the time to pen a letter to her friends regarding the events of the day before.

The letter was short. It had to be, since she needed to write out three copies.

Beloved friend,

You'll never know what has happened. It appears that, contrary to rumors and legend, Laird Muir is NOT dead, nor a moorland spirit, nor a Fae creature. He is, in fact, a flesh-and-blood man. And somehow, he received all the letters I wrote in jest.

As of yesterday afternoon, I am engaged to Laird Muir, and the wedding is being planned for a month from now. Today, I will be departing for his castle, wherever that is, to spend the month getting to know him better.

The reality of this Beastly Laird is difficult to understand. He is stern and stoic, but sometimes I think I see signs of something softer underneath. Whatever the truth of it, he's certainly handsome enough, and he has said he will give me the freedom to live me life.

I will write again after I'm settled, and I'll try to make arrangements to visit soon. Wish me well, for I think I might need it!

Ailis Anderson of Clan Clyde.

She'd just finished the third copy when twin knocks on her door made her look up.

Freya and Grace stood there, both wide-eyed with apprehension.

Grace looked uncharacteristically solemn. "We thought ye might need help." A brief spark of humor flickered in her eyes. "Otherwise, Freya thinks ye'll pack all yer books and forget that ye need clothin' too."

"Och, I wouldnae be so foolish. But I'd welcome the help, for I'll admit I'm a wee bit overwhelmed with how fast everythin' is happenin'."

"And ye look as if ye had too much to drink." Grace smirked.

"That too, ye little brat. But dinnae tell Faither." Ailis hugged her sister, and the three of them set out sorting what would be packed for the day's journey, and what would be left to send in after the wedding.

Fortunately, Freya had read some of the herbals she'd copied out for Isobel, and managed to produce a decent remedy for her headache. The taste was vile, but at least the headache faded and left Ailis clearer-headed.

A pity her sister couldn't do anything about the embarrassment she felt about her behavior, especially since it hadn't succeeded in persuading her new betrothed that he was better off finding another lass.

She was beginning to wonder if she might not have been better off accidentally "losing control of her bladder" on him during dessert instead of stumbling off in search of a chamber pot. But there was behaving a little bit poorly, and then there was being completely outrageous. She hadn't quite been able to bring herself to do the latter.

She consoled herself that there was still time if she got desperate closer to the end of the month. She could hold the option in reserve, along with talking openly about her moon cycles and finding a way to induce vomiting at inopportune times.

She could also seek out Maisie, Leona, and Isobel for suggestions if she had to.

There was also the option of using her favorite novels for ideas on seducing him. If he was only pretending to hate the idea of romance and love, she might convince him otherwise. If not, then perhaps her efforts would do what her less-than-subtle pretense of mannerlessness and clumsiness had not yet managed to do.

Duncan emerged from her home, carrying another bundle of travel satchels. He didn't look like he had a headache, she noted. What he did have, however, was an incredibly graceful gait and a smooth, steady stride that made his calves—or what she could see between his boots and his kilt—flex in ways that she wasn't comfortable contemplating for too long.

And that was her other problem. Laird Muir might be averse to romance, but he'd made it clear last night that he was no stranger to seduction, accidental or otherwise. Several times, she'd been sure he was teasing her.

Even if it hadn't been deliberate, the way he lowered his voice to speak to her, and the heat of the few touches they'd shared, had given her uncomfortable dreams.

Stars above, but I'd be half in love with him meself if I didnae realize he had nay care for or interest in me.

"Ready to leave?"

The gruff question startled her out of her thoughts. She turned to find the bags tied up to the horses, ready for the journey, and her father and sisters waiting near the door.

"A moment." She went to her sisters and her father and gave them each a hug. "I love ye all. Be well. I'll write to ye soon."

Grace nodded. "I ken. And I'll write to ye as well. Just let me ken if ye need a rescue. I have some tricks I've not yet pulled on Faither or the cooks."

"I dinnae think I'll need that, but ye're sweet for offerin', darlin'."

Freya's grip was tighter as she buried her head in Ailis's shoulder. "Willnae be the same while ye're gone."

"I'll nae be gone forever." Ailis stroked her sister's red hair. "And ye can still write to Isobel and the others for copies of their books while I'm away."

"Still nae the same." Freya looked up at her. "He promised me that ye'd be able to come home sometimes, after the weddin'. Do ye think he'll keep that promise?"

That much, Ailis felt sure of. "Aye."

"Ye're takin' me sister. Ye'd better protect her and treat her right, Laird Muir. If ye cannae do that, then ye dinnae deserve her, and I'll make sure ye ken it!"

Ailis whipped around, half mortified and half amused.

Grace had taken the opportunity to face off with Duncan, and the challenge in her eyes boded ill if he didn't give her the answer she wanted.

Their father looked scandalized. "Grace!"

Duncan shook his head, his expression stern but not angry, so far as Ailis could tell. "Yer loyalty to yer sister does ye credit, little lass. I look forward to seein' what ye'll try to do, should I fail me duties as a properly attentive husband."

Ailis and her father breathed near identical sighs of relief. Freya released Ailis to stalk forward and drag her sister back with an apologetic expression. And Ailis turned to hug the last member of her family.

Her father wrapped her in his arms, warm and loving as always, and kissed her brow. "Remember, me daughter, that ye're a brave and beautiful lass. And remember too that I love ye, and I wish ye all the blessings a faither could ask for his daughter, especially when he entrusts her to the care of another man. And dinnae fret, for I ken ye'll do as well with Laird Muir as ye did with yer sisters and me."

She couldn't answer, her throat clogged with tears she didn't want to shed. Freya and Grace both took the opportunity for a final hug and squeezed her tightly in a twin embrace.

There was no more to be said, and no words that could convey the sense of anticipation and loss in her heart. Once they released her, she turned to her companion. "I'm ready."

Duncan helped her into the saddle, then swung up onto his horse, and together they nudged their horses into a walk. Ailis swallowed back tears as they left her home behind.

For the first hour of travel, she was grateful for the silence. It was the second time she'd left home for a potential marriage, but the first time, her family had come with her. This was different.

Then the heaviness of the silence became suffocating, and she found herself wanting to speak with him. She was traveling through the forest with a man whom she knew practically nothing about. Travel was an excellent opportunity to change that.

She turned to face her betrothed, who was riding quietly beside her. "Are ye feelin' well this mornin', Me Laird?"

"Aye."

She blinked at the abrupt response. But then she recalled that her father never liked to admit it when he had a headache from too much mead or scotch, and even less if he'd had a poor night's sleep.

"Did ye sleep poorly, bein' away from home?"

Duncan hadn't traveled away from his lands in a long time, according to Keith. She had always had difficulty sleeping during her first visits to Maisie.

"Slept well enough."

The words were barely more than a grumble. She thought that his reticence might well be proof enough that she was right, so she tried for another topic.

"Is yer surname Muir?"

Her father was Laird Clyde, but his family name was Anderson.

"Wallace."

That was interesting. "Are ye kin to The Wallace who fought for our freedom?"

There was no record of William Wallace, the legendary soldier, having children, but there was no whisper that he'd ever been clanless. For all she knew of the matter, there might have been cousins and cadet families who had never claimed the fame of their kinsman.

"Nay."

She wondered if he truly was no kin to Warrior William Wallace, or if he simply didn't know whether he was related to the famed Highlander. It had been centuries, and not all connections were well-documented.

If rumors and legends were correct, then Duncan Wallace certainly possessed rugged good looks on par with the legend that shared his surname. She blushed and chased away those thoughts as fast as she could.

"What sort of things do ye like to do in yer spare time?"

As a laird, he wouldn't have much spare time, but every laird had to have some sort of hobby.

"Hunt. Ride."

She waited, but he said nothing more, and she began to feel irritated.

She was trying to have a conversation. Couldn't he at least make an effort to speak with her? Even if he was a man of few words, there was no need for him to be so rude.

A thought made her pause. If he was a man of few words and preferred silence to chatter, then perhaps she had another way to prove to him that they were poorly matched.

Keith had always said she was capable of talking a donkey into a stupor if she was of a mind. And it wasn't as if she didn't have plenty to talk about.

She smiled brightly at him, headache forgotten. "Well, ye ken, I have a number of hobbies. Some of them I'm sure I mentioned in me letters. Truth be told, what I love most is to read and write, and me friends and I have formed a book club of sorts—me friend Maisie's husband calls us the Highland Hellions, mostly because of how he met his wife… But that's their story to tell."

A sip of water from the waterskin at her side, and she continued. "Now, ye might be surprised, but we all read very different things. Maisie and I both love our stories, and Leona will read anythin', but Isobel is the type to like more practical tomes, like recipe books and herbals and…"

Duncan didn't answer, but his silence no longer bothered her. After all, it meant she could say whatever came to mind, and talk about whatever caught her fancy.

She wondered how keen he'd be on marriage once he realized she could literally talk for hours on end about nothing of importance to anyone save herself.

* * *

Duncan wasn't sure whether the chattering was a natural behavior of Ailis's, or another ploy to irritate him into releasing her from their agreement. He also didn't care enough to think about the matter too much.

The faint headache he'd woken up with was almost completely gone after an hour on the road. Such issues were usually banished by breathing in the fresh spring air. He wasn't interested in talking, but he was quite content to listen to Ailis as she expounded on her hobbies, herbs, gardening, her visits with her friends, and the different books she'd read.

He wondered if she realized how much she was revealing about herself. And how much it contrasted with her previous attempts to coax information out of him.

She seemed to favor romance novels, in contrast to her friend's more practical preferences. He had to admit, it explained many things about the letters she'd written to him and her addressing him by "Laird Imaginary."

I wonder how much experience she truly has with some of the suggestions she made in her letters. She blushes like she's a maiden, but her letters were far from innocent.

For a moment, he lost himself in a daydream of that soft, enthusiastic voice of hers crying out his name and begging for more of his touch, while he showed her exactly how well he could offer her pleasure. He was certain he could fulfill most of the fantasies she'd described.

He also had a fleeting thought that he'd not be averse to exploring new fantasies and ideas with her.

He could just imagine her, laid out on his bed, her voice high and whimpering his name while he showed her everything his hands and mouth were capable of…

He winced as the daydream made his manhood stiffen and strain against his kilt. He shifted discreetly, glad she was so lost in her talking that she hadn't noticed his discomfort. He could hardly afford to let her realize he wasn't as immune to her as he was trying to pretend.

She continued talking as they passed from woods to moorland meadows. He listened to her point at flowers, describing their properties and how, at home, she and her sisters would pick them for various uses, including using them to brighten the castle and sweeten the air.

Och, lass, if I had a choice, I'd lay ye out among those flowers, and coax yer petal-soft mouth open, along with yer womanhood. Ye'd be the most beautiful thing in the meadow, and I'd take me time in breakin' yer maidenhead and coaxin' ye to sing me name in yer pleasure.

He winced and pushed that thought away as well.

What the devil is the matter with me? I ken well enough I dinnae have time or interest in bein' in a relationship with the lass. This is to be a marriage alliance. Nothin' more!

In an effort to school his wayward thoughts, he focused on the conversation.

"Yer friend writes novels? About herself and her husband?"

"Aye. She's written two. She changes the names, of course, or Caelan would never show his face in the Highland gatherings, but we all ken who she's writin' about when she describes her ‘dark, brooding hero with moods like a midwinter ice storm…'" She giggled.

Oh God.

"Ye're nae of a mind to do the same, are ye?"

He didn't think he'd be able to tolerate it if she started writing stories about him. Aside from despising the idea of his lost privacy, there were certain things he simply couldn't let her talk about, let alone write about. Like Lily.

To his relief, she blushed and shook her head. "Och, nae. I'm nae so bold as Leona. I couldnae ever write somethin' like that, much less share it. Even if only me friends saw it, I'd be too embarrassed to show me face for seasons!"

He relaxed at those words and leaned in enough to tease her. "I dinnae ken… those letters of yers…"

"Ye ken very well that nay one was supposed to be readin' them!" She blushed hotly and looked away. "If I kenned they'd be found, I'd have never penned half those things."

"Then I'm glad ye didnae ken I was readin' them. I quite enjoyed everythin' ye wrote." He smirked, and her face reddened further.

She opened her mouth to retort, then snapped it shut, as if she'd realized he was teasing her. Then she shook her head and continued, "Well, that's different. But in truth, ‘tis Maisie and Leona who are the bold ones in our group. Isobel and I love them dearly, but neither of us would dare do half the mischief they've gotten up to…"

They rode into another section of wooded area, and he found himself distracted by watching the way the sunlight and shadow dappled her hair, and contemplating how she'd look surrounded by starlight in his gardens or firelight on the thick rug of his study.

God above, I'm thinkin' like a lad in his first blush of manhood, when he's nae in control of himself. I'm old enough to ken better, and I should be more wary than most, given what happened to me kinfolk seven years ago.

He knew he was being a fool, but it didn't stop the thoughts from intruding, or from making him very uncomfortable as the desire he'd thought long faded teased his mind and made his groin ache.

If they continued this game, he wasn't going to be able to ride or dismount without being in real pain. To say nothing of his embarrassment at being caught in such a state. The girl might act flighty, but he doubted she'd fail to notice his interest. Nor was she likely to forget it.

He took the opportunity of a break in her talking to indicate they should pause. "Rest a moment."

He managed to dismount his horse on the side facing away from her, which meant she couldn't see the prominent bulge under his kilt. He was trying to decide if he was desperate enough to soak his head in the stream when he realized her flow of words hadn't resumed. He looked over to see her staring off into the distance, her brow furrowed in confusion.

He frowned. "Somethin' wrong?"

Her leaf-green gaze flicked to him. "Can ye nae hear that?" She cocked her head.

He strained his ears and heard a faint sound, like a newborn animal or a small child crying. His shoulders tensed. He knew very well that there were no villages nearby or crofter's families with children.

"There's a child. In the woods, that way." She pointed.

The sound was coming from the deeper woods, away from the path, and his foreboding feeling intensified.

"Ailis, wait a moment…"

His warning was too late, or she simply didn't heed him. Without a second thought or even a moment of hesitation, the girl turned and vanished into the woods in the direction of the faint sound.

"God above, save me from witless women and their lack of sense or caution…"

With a snarl, Duncan grabbed his long blade and followed her.