Chapter 9

Ailis sighedin relief as she slid into the bath. A long day of riding, not to mention the fight in the woods, had made her sweaty and grimy, and the warm water was heaven to her tired muscles.

If only her mind could be easily soothed. But Laird Muir was proving to be a frustrating man to spend time around. She wasn't sure which was worse, those hours when he seemed determined to ignore her, or the moments when he leaned in enough to smile and tease her.

When he was cold and unapproachable, he made her want to shock him, just to see the emotion in his eyes. She imagined kissing him, teasing him, maybe even touching him—anything to gain a reaction from him. She found herself looking for any way to break the ice that seemed to hide behind his eyes.

When he was teasing, he took her breath away. The hot promise in his eyes, the way he seemed to effortlessly seduce her and tempt her, it was more intense than any fantasy or dream she'd ever had. He was handsome, and when he smiled, he was devastating to her self-control.

And yet every time she found the nerve to act on that temptation, to try and reciprocate, he would pull back, and return to that cold, dispassionate shell, determined to keep her at arm's length.

It was maddening because her heart told her they could make something wonderful together if he'd just stop shutting her out and refusing to allow himself to feel any emotions. She knew she could easily fall in love with him, but only if he could reciprocate. And only if he would let her love him.

The sound of the door opening brought her out of her thoughts as Kara entered the room with a supper tray. The maid set everything out with brisk efficiency, laid out her night clothes, and offered her a towel. Ailis took it gratefully.

"Thank ye." She wrapped the towel around her. "I believe if ye'll have the water taken away, I can manage by meself for the remainder of the evening."

"As ye will, Me Lady."

Five minutes later, the tub was gone, and Ailis took a moment to enjoy the sight and smell of the food the maid had brought. Roast venison, steamed vegetables, and fresh bread, with a beautiful-looking honey cake for dessert, and a choice of wine, juice or honey mead to accompany the meal.

She sighed in delight and turned away to put on the nightdress and nightrobe she would wear for the rest of the evening. She dressed quickly, brushed her hair out and braided it back up, and turned around to begin her supper, only to stop short.

The honey cake was missing from her tray. She ventured closer to see if her eyes were playing tricks on her, only to spin around as the water pitcher by her bed toppled over and crashed on the floor.

There was no sign of anyone. There was the missing cake, and the broken pitcher, but no sign of another person in the room. Ailis felt gooseflesh spread across her arms.

Does the Ghostly Laird have ghosts in his castle?

A second later, she gave herself a shake. Ghosts wouldn't break the pitcher, not unless they were intent on more dire mischief. Helping the maids raise Grace, she'd seen plenty of similar incidents.

She pursed her lips. A servant's child playing tricks, perhaps? It would be unusual for any youngling raised in service to cause trouble with a guest, but it wasn't impossible.

She made a show of searching and thought she heard the faint sounds of someone moving around, evading her. She stopped and raised her voice.

"If ye dinnae come out now, whoever and whatever ye are, then I shall scream, and the whole castle will be able to find ye."

She heard a small, childish giggle from the direction of the wardrobe. She stalked over and flung it open to reveal clothing… and a small girl, grinning shyly up at her, with honey and crumbs smeared around her lips.

"Well now, ye're nae a ghost or a wee faerie beastie, are ye?"

The child shook her head.

"Then ye'd best come out of there, for that's nae place for a bairn."

"'Tis a good place to hide." The little girl giggled again.

Ailis studied her.

She was small, dark-haired and blue-eyed, with a cherubic, round-cheeked face. She was wearing a skirt and shirt, but also leggings and small, light boots, and she was dressed in Muir tartan.

The little girl clambered out of her hiding space, then turned to regard Ailis appraisingly. She smiled shyly, gap-toothed where she'd begun to trade her baby teeth for adult ones. "Ye're bonny."

"Thank ye for the compliment. Though if we're to be frank with one another, little miss, I'd far rather be havin' me honey cake." Ailis raised an eyebrow. "And yer name."

The child blushed and looked down, scrubbing futilely at her face with a well-worn sleeve. "I'm sorry. Faither never lets me have more than one dessert at supper, nae unless it's feastin' days. And I like sweets." She looked up shyly. "I'm Lily."

Despite her irritation at losing her dessert and the fright she'd been given, Ailis's heart went out to the tiny child. "Well, Lily, I'm Ailis. And I'm wonderin' if ye can answer a few questions for me."

"Maybe? Faither says I cannae talk too much to strangers." Lily flushed. "But ye gave me yer name, and strangers never get rooms in this part of the castle."

Ailis had to wonder how many strangers the child had seen, given how clear it was that Duncan didn't encourage visitors any more than he himself went traveling. "I dinnae think I'm a stranger. I'm a guest of Duncan—Laird Muir."

To her surprise, the child's face brightened with relief and delight. "Tha's all right, then! He's me faither!" She giggled again and scooted closer. "Why are ye visitin' me faither? Are ye his friend? Do ye have siblings?"

"I've reasons for visitin', but I suppose I am his friend." Ailis blinked at her and tried to remain calm as she realized what the youngster had said.

She wanted to say more, but she wasn't sure how much she was supposed to know about her new betrothed. He'd never mentioned a daughter, but perhaps he'd intended to introduce them and simply not managed it before the girl snuck away.

She decided to leave the matter for later and focus on the child in front of her. "And why do ye ask about siblings?"

"Because Sarah down in the kitchens has three, but I've never met them. I want a siblin'. ‘Tis kind of lonely around here, because almost nay one has time to play with me." Lily looked up at her. "Would ye have time to play with me?"

"I suppose so. But what about yer maither?" Ailis knew Duncan was looking for a bride, but she couldn't deny she was curious.

Was Duncan married before? What had happened to the mother of his child?

Lily's small face crumpled. "I dinnae have one. Faither said she died when I was a wee babe. And he willnae tell me anythin' else." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I asked and asked. Everyone else has a maither."

"Och, ye poor bairn." Ailis reached out and gently pulled the girl closer. "'Tis a hard thing to nae have a maither. I ken very well how hard, for me own maither passed when I was yer age."

"Ye dinnae have a maither?"

"Nae for years and years." Ailis rubbed Lily's back as she guided her to sit on the bed with her. "Ye asked if I had siblings. I have two younger sisters, but me faither didnae ken what to do with raisin' a daughter, much less three, so I had to care for them, and the servants had to raise me."

Lily nodded. "'Tis like here. Faither raises me, and me uncle and the scullery maids, they try. Martha in the kitchen has been teachin' me numbers, and Jenny in the laundry has been teachin' me a bit of sewin', and the steward tries to teach me how to read, but I like Faither's lessons better. And me uncle's."

"And what do yer faither and yer uncle teach ye?"

The child grinned again, her moods changing in that mercurial way characteristic of children. "Faither makes me practice me readin', but he also teaches me how to use a knife and a sling. And me uncle takes me ridin'. And last year, he made me a bow me own size!"

Of course, they would. Ailis barely suppressed the urge to laugh. Warriors all, and which one of them would think of addressing the things a young lass needed to know? It was fortunate that the maids had taken over some of her education, but Ailis was fairly certain they'd made very little progress if the child was averse to the lessons.

After all, she'd seen what Grace could get away with when she was feeling defiant or stubborn, and that was with her own interference to countermand the inevitable "Well, I'm the Laird's daughter, so there."

Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Ailis called out, and Jack entered the room.

"Beg yer pardon for disturbin' ye, Lady Ailis, but…." He paused at the sight of Lily seated beside her and leaning on her elbow. All the tension drained from his shoulders. "Och, there ye are, ye wee sprite. The maids were goin' nearly frantic lookin' for ye."

"I wasnae in trouble." Lily pouted.

"Well, ye might be now. Ye ken they hate it when ye hide and vex them that way." Jack shook his head. "And in any case, ye shouldnae be botherin' yer faither's guest. Ye ken better."

Lily folded her arms, her small jaw set in a manner Ailis recognized all too well. "I wasnae botherin' her!" She paused. "Well, she needs a fresh honey cake from the kitchens, but I wasnae botherin' her! We're friends!" She looked up at Ailis with a pleading expression.

Ailis smiled softly and stroked her soft dark hair. "Aye, that we are."

Another knock at the door, and Duncan strode in, a dark expression on his face. "Jack, did ye…"

"Faither!" Lily bolted off the bed in a whirlwind of small limbs and darted across the room to pounce on the tall Laird. "Ye were gone forever!"

Duncan caught her easily, and Ailis watched in amazement as his face softened, the harsh lines disappearing in a matter of moments as he smiled at the child in his arms. "'Twas only a few days."

"Ye're never gone that long." The youngster pouted and buried her face in her father's neck, clearly sulking a bit.

"Mayhap, but that's nay reason to be hidin' and givin' yer maids a fright. I can understand, and so do they, so ye're forgiven this time, but ye'll be in trouble if ye do it again."

Lily made a sound that could have been a giggle, or a whine.

Duncan's expression turned stern. "Look at me, Lily."

The child looked up at him, and her expression turned woebegone. "I'm sorry, Faither, I just missed ye. ‘Tis nae the same without ye sayin' good night to me."

"Well, go with yer uncle and go to bed, and I'll be there in a wee bit to hear how ye've been doin' while I was gone, and I'll tell ye good night, then."

Lily nodded and held out her arms to her uncle obediently.

As Jack turned to leave the room, Lily smiled over his shoulder and waved. "Good night, Ailis!"

"Good night, Lily. I'll see ye in the morn."

The door clicked shut, and Duncan whirled around to face Ailis. All traces of amusement and softness were gone from his expression, and his tone was nearly the same as the one he'd used with the bandits when he asked her, "And what exactly did ye think ye were doin' with me daughter?"

* * *

Duncan's head and heart were both pounding. They always did when Lily took it upon herself to hide. He knew, logically, that she was only playing, or upset with him and showing her displeasure in the only way she knew how. That didn't make it any easier.

And now… he'd sworn to himself that he'd not let Ailis near his daughter until she was less of a stranger to him. And yet not even a full night had passed, and already she'd made herself comfortable with Lily, to the point where his daughter had said, "We're friends!"

Lily was a child, and she couldn't know how dangerous or untrustworthy people could be.

He stalked closer to Ailis, heedless of the color rising to her cheeks and the slight fear in her eyes. "Well? Who gave ye permission to approach me daughter?"

At that, her eyes flashed with irritation, and her tongue loosened. "I didnae approach her! She came here to hide and happened to find me!"

He scowled, his ire fueled by her temper. "Ye're nae to be around me daughter alone, or without tellin' me or Jack that she's with ye."

That irritation became anger, and she glared hotly at him. "First of all, I said it afore, and I'll say it again, since ye seem to be too hot-tempered to understand me words. I didnae approach her. She came to me. Second of all, the child's fairly lonely. Would ye have rather I turned her away into the dark halls?"

"And third… how was I supposed to ken she was yer daughter, when I didnae even ken ye had a daughter until she told me who her faither was? How was I supposed to ken ye'd not want me to watch over her, when ye never bothered to mention she existed?"

The words stung, and she wasn't finished yet.

"And there's another thing, Laird Muir. I ken ye never wrote back to me, but with all this farce of betrothal and arrangements and words between us, ye didnae think I might need to ken somethin' as important as the fact that ye've evidently been wed afore and have a bairn ye're raisin'? Did ye love yer first wife so much, and think so little of me, that ye didnae consider that's somethin' I ought to ken about, afore I came here?"

Duncan fought back the snarl bubbling up his throat. "That's nae the issue here. And ye shouldnae talk of things ye dinnae understand."

"Well, ‘tis hard to understand when the only person who does refuses to tell me aught, is it nae?" she spat, her eyes filled with anger and hurt.

Duncan made an effort to rein in his temper. He knew he was being unfair, and she raised some very real issues. "I didnae see how any of this was relevant to the betrothal."

"Yer life, and yer family, werenae relevant? Well, if that's the way ye feel, why bother with demandin' I wed ye at all?"

"I told ye, I need an alliance, and the council was demandin' I marry."

Her lips pressed together into a thin line, and the spark of hurt and anger flared. "Ye demand a wife, but ye dinnae want one. Ye're determined to shut me out and make a stranger out of me, and yet demand I marry ye, in spite of kenning it's nae what I want."

She turned away from him. "Ye dinnae care about me, and mayhap I should expect it, since it's clear ye loved someone afore me. But if ye're still so in love with yer dead wife that ye cannae give me anythin', then why should ye nae just marry some empty-headed lass who doesnae care that her husband's as cold and distant as a winter cliff?"

He grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him, unwilling to speak to her back. "Ye keep speakin' of a wife. What the devil are ye on about?"

She blinked at him. "Ye have a bairn. I would think a wife would be a part of that."

"Ye ken nothin' about it."

"And how would I? Clearly, I'm nae meant to ken anythin' about ye, or share anythin' with ye." She yanked her arm free.

He hated to see the anger, hurt, and dismissal in her eyes. Hated the feeling that he was losing the argument and that he deserved to lose it. His anger was doused with the realization that, once again, he was being unfair to her.

He sought to ease the tension in the room by reaching out to cup her chin with one hand. "And here I thought ye liked me enough to kiss me, at least."

A blush crept up her cheeks, and she leaned toward him, as if asking him for the promised kiss.

He could oblige her with that, at least. He started to lean in, only to stop as she suddenly pulled away, her eyes sparkling with uncertainty and unhappiness.

"Nay. I dinnae want a kiss from a man who doesnae want me in his life."

He didn't know what to do. "Ailis… I ken ye're angry with me. But ye'll see. I'm nae the most demonstrative man, I ken, but I'll be a fair husband. Ye'll have everythin' ye could need or want, for as long as I live."

She didn't seem to want to yield, and Lily was waiting. He waited a moment more, then dipped his head. "Good night. I'll see ye in the morn."

He was halfway to the door when he heard her soft response, filled with heartache and bitterness. "Everythin' I want, aye… save for a lovin' marriage or a place in yer family or yer heart."

The thud of the door closing behind him was painfully loud, and he winced.

Lily was waiting.

He set his guilty feelings aside and strode down the hall to his daughter's rooms. She was already dressed for bed, half buried beneath the coverlets and pillows, but she smiled and held out her arms for a hug when he entered her room.

"Faither!" She cuddled into his chest. "I was afraid ye might nae come."

He shook his head. "I'll always come to tell ye good night, lass, if I'm home. I just had some things to discuss with Ailis."

"I like Ailis. She's nice." Blue eyes met his own. "Is she really goin' to be me friend? Is she yer friend?"

"Aye. I think she'll be a good friend to both of us." When and if she managed to forgive him for his latest blunders.

"Good. I like her." Lily frowned at him. "Ye had yer stern face on when Uncle Jack left. Ye werenae mean to Ailis, were ye? Ye shouldnae be. She's very nice."

He'd been a proper bear to Ailis, but he couldn't say that to his daughter. "But enough of that. What have ye been up to while I've been away?"

That earned him a monologue about helping the cook and working with the steward and lessons with Jack that he listened to with half an ear. He nodded and smiled at the right moments, answered her quick questions, and waited for her to run out of words.

When her eyes started to droop and her sentences started to repeat, he bent forward and kissed her on the brow. "Enough, Lily-love. Ye can tell me the rest in the mornin'. For now, ‘tis time for ye to sleep."

She nodded and snuggled down into the blankets, half-asleep already. He softly blew out the candle on her bedside table, kissed her once more, and left the room.

Out in the hall, he shook his head once, then turned to go back to his study. Time and paperwork waited for no one, and he had things that he needed to do. Reports to be signed, requests to be considered, and letters to write to the village leaders were just a few of the duties his absence had forced him to neglect.

He sat down at the desk and was just about to start writing when he glanced down and noticed that his desk drawer was the tiniest bit open. The drawer that held Ailis's letters.

He let out a curse as he slumped back in his chair. He'd been trying not to think of her, but one glimpse of those letters, or the place he'd stored them, brought her right back to the forefront of his mind.

She wanted love, and he knew he was doing her a disservice by insisting that she stay in a loveless relationship that was more an alliance than anything else. She was right that, if he truly wanted such a marriage, he would do better to find a meek, quiet lass who needed to marry but was more inclined to be a nun.

The problem was that, in spite of his firm conviction that love was a fool's dream and that any form of affection to anyone other than Jack and Lily was folly, he had come to like her.

She had wit and spirit. He'd known that from the first letter he'd received. She was also kind and generous, and given half a chance, he knew she'd be everything Lily might want in a mother as she grew older. And she was growing older, to the point where she would need a woman's direction and advice.

Ailis was… Well, in the days when he'd been foolish enough to hope for a loving marriage, she was everything he might have dreamed of. And the ways she could so innocently make his blood sing and make him ache for her was like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

And then, there were the things she'd written in those letters… those deep, intriguing fantasies…

Duncan groaned and shoved away from his desk, then went to the cabinet to grab the strongest scotch he could find. He already knew that any attempt to do some work was a lost cause. His mind was too full of other things.

God above, why had the lass chosen him to write to, of all the men in the Highlands? And why had he felt the need to pursue the matter? She'd never needed to know he'd received the letters, or read them. Life would have been so much simpler if he'd just thrown them in the fire when he got them.

Eventually, she would have stopped writing, and he could have lived in peace, save for the nagging of his council. Now he was here, with a woman in his castle who gave every sign of wanting him, and who was certainly desirable. And all he'd managed to do was upset her and confuse both of them.

Duncan let out an obscenity he'd learned from his father years ago and filled his glass to the brim. He downed it, then refilled it and downed it again.

If he wasn't going to get any work done, and he wasn't going to address the object of his frustrations, then he'd be sure to get drunk enough that no dreams of Ailis Anderson managed to haunt his night and disturb his rest.

And if he had to resolutely ignore the fact that he slept better when her fantasies replaced his nightmares… well, what was one more thing to brush aside?