Chapter Twelve

The sun was beginning to set when Rosalyn and Keiran walked in silence back into the castle and headed up the stairs towards the great hall. The only sound along the stone hallway was their footsteps—his firm and regulated as he adjusted to her shorter stride. When they approached the doorway, the sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses came to them. Only then did Rosalyn’s nerves falter as her steps slowed. Keiran’s hand tightened on her elbow, steering her forward.

“Do not worry,” he said with a soft smile. “We MacLeods are a friendly bunch, and rarely if ever sacrifice our guests at the supper table.”

She knew his humour was an attempt to put her at ease, and she was grateful for it. “That is well. I was worried about the outcome of this meal with your family.” She allowed a small smile to come to her lips. She was not certain why she was so nervous, the MacLeods had been nothing but kind to her since her arrival. Which was very different from the reception she usually received while dining amongst the aristocracy in England.

She and Keiran entered a room full of glittering candlelight and splashes of brightly hued tartan. At their appearance, all conversation ground to a halt and heads swivelled and stared at the two of them in the doorway. Rosalyn felt heat rise to her cheeks, growing warmer as she imagined most eyes were on her, not because she was a visitor but because she was English.

Alastair and Gwendolyn stood and came to the door. “We are so happy that you will join us for supper tonight.” Gwendolyn offered her a welcoming smile, then took Rosalyn’s arm, and led her to the table on the dais at the front of the room. A cheery fire crackled in the hearth along the far wall, adding warmth to the chamber. “Sit here.” She motioned to the chair next to her own.

Keiran appeared beside her and pulled the chair out for her to sit, then took the seat next to her. “If we are both to learn about all things Scottish, then I had best remain close.”

Looking around the chamber, Rosalyn noted that the family sat on the dais while the warriors and their families sat at long tables clustered near them. All the men, including Keiran and his brothers, wore green and blue tartan. The women on the dais were elegantly gowned in silks and brocades that were the height of fashion even in England. She had always assumed that the women here were still stuck in the past when it came to fashion. Obviously, she had been very wrong in that regard.

“We hope we did not keep you waiting,” Keiran said to his brothers, lifting his glass of claret to his lips and taking a sip.

Alastair’s gaze passed between Rosalyn and Keiran. “We sent Graeme and Callum out looking for you about an hour ago, but they could not find you. Where were you two?” Alastair did not wait for an answer as he signalled the maids waiting against the wall to begin serving the meal.

“Rosalyn and I were exploring the estate. Our path must have just been opposite of Graeme and Callum’s.” The falsehood seemed to satisfy Alastair.

The maids carried platters of savoury-smelling meats to each table already laden with crisp potato scones browned in bacon fat, as well as fruit, cheese, and bottles of claret. Tender pink salmon on a bed of leeks was followed by sausages, and crispy pasty stuffed with ground venison. All those dishes were unfamiliar to her, but she enjoyed them greatly. Then came the roasted mutton and onions, scents that reminded Rosalyn of home and should have brought her comfort. Instead, her stomach tightened as the meal progressed.

She looked at those gathered around the table, as the realisation of how much she missed eating with others came upon her. Meals at home were often a solitary affair since her brother was always gone, dining with friends, or at engagements to which she had not been invited.

As the meal progressed, Keiran made certain that her wine glass was always full. And by the time she had sampled everything, she was grateful that Highland dress did not involve wearing a tight corset.

“So, you like our Highland victuals?” Keiran asked as he pushed his own plate away.

Rosalyn took a sip of her wine before answering. “I must admit that Highland food has a lot more flavour than English fare. It seems our cook can make but one sauce and pours it on everything.”

He laughed. “Mrs Honey, our cook, will be pleased to hear that you enjoyed your meal.” He pushed his chair away from the table, stood, then offered her his hand. “Our meals are usually followed by some kind of entertainment. Do you dance, my lady?”

There was a sound of laughter in his voice, and the way the words “my lady” were spoken with his soft brogue sent a shiver of excitement through her. She took his hand and allowed him to lead her into the centre of the room as the tables were pushed back and spirited strains of music sounded over the conversations and noise.

Keiran grasped Rosalyn’s hand and pulled her into a type of country dance with a forming circle, but the others thought differently and thrust them into the centre of the ring. Rosalyn held onto Keiran’s hands as he twirled her about. Laughter bubbled up in her throat, and she felt almost too breathless to release it. She could not remember the last time she had felt such unbridled joy.

Tonight might be just any other night to the MacLeods with their delicious food, flowing wine, and dancing, but to Rosalyn it was special. These people were not her family, though that did not seem to matter. She had nothing to offer them, and still they treated her better than her own English relations had over the past few years.

“What are you thinking?” Keiran asked, his steps slowing.

She could not keep a smile from her lips. “That I have had more fun tonight than I have had in a very long time.”

“Are you ready to embrace being a Scot?” he challenged.

“I am not,” she countered.

“Then perhaps you had better come with me for the remainder of this evening’s entertainment. My brothers made certain I knew how to dance when I returned, even though we danced often in Fairyland. But what comes next might be a bit of a surprise as it was to me.” He pulled her with him towards the ring of dancers, and they ducked under Alastair and Gwendolyn’s raised hands. He did not explain what would happen next as he hurried along the hallway and down the stairs, still holding her hand tight.

At the rear door, he released her as he lifted a green and blue tartan shawl off a hook behind the door and set it about her shoulders. “You will need this. Stay here. I will be right back.”

He left her standing there as he disappeared into a chamber on the right. A few seconds later, he emerged with a brown bottle and two glasses. “Come with me,” he said as he moved past her and out the door, heading for the rear courtyard. Instead of heading for the mews as she expected, he led her down a path towards a sea gate. He opened it and let her pass and joined her before closing it again.

Since they had last been outside, the sun had set. Night had descended upon the loch like a velvet shroud punctuated only by the twinkling tapestry of the stars above. A sliver of moon hung high in the sky, bathing the shoreline in a silver glow.

Keiran offered her his arm as they made their way across the ragged rocks, until they reached more even terrain where he led her to a large boulder. He set the bottle and glasses down and before she could object, his hands came about her waist as he lifted her onto the rock. A moment later, he joined her and handed her one of the glasses.

“What is this?” she asked as he poured the liquid into her glass, the sound mimicking the waves as they quietly lapped at the shoreline not far from their feet.

“This is uisge beatha, which is Gaelic for the water of life,” he replied as he poured himself a splash, then set the bottle aside. He raised his glass in a toast. “To being Scottish.” He tossed down the liquor in a single swallow.

She pressed her lips together as she sniffed the contents of her glass. “This does not smell like water.”

“Because it is whisky.” He laughed. “Every good Scot knows how to distil grain, water, and yeast into this essential drink. Even when fairies come to the human realm, they try to leave with a bottle or two to savour back home, though I was never given any until my return two weeks ago.”

Rosalyn lifted the glass to her lips, and instead of throwing back the contents, she took a small sip. The initial taste was smoky and earthy on her tongue, but when the liquid hit her throat, it felt more like a fireball had plunged down her throat and temporarily sucked all the air from her lungs.

When she could draw a breath and the sensation returned to her tongue and mouth she choked out, “This must take some getting used to.”

Keiran laughed again, but the sound was cut off by what sounded like the screams of a tortured animal.

“What is that sound? I heard it last night but could not identify it.” Rosalyn shifted in the direction of the sound. By the time she located a man atop the tallest tower of the castle, the raw screeching had turned to a clean and distinct wailing that sounded more like music.

“Every night following supper, a piper appears on the Fairy Tower to signal the close of the day. He plays the fairy lullaby that was sung by the fairy princess, who centuries ago married Iain Cair MacLeod and was forced by Oberon to leave her child behind. When the child cried, the fairy princess swaddled him in what we now call the Fairy Flag and sang him this song.”

“Your family has many connections to Fairyland, doesn’t it? The Fairy Flag, Aria, and you.”

Even in the darkness she could see him nod. “I suppose that is why I was stolen from my family—to keep those connections alive even centuries later.”

“No matter how much it hurts the MacLeods,” she said as the sound of the bagpiper faded away, leaving a heavy silence.

Keiran set his glass aside and leaned back against the rock, staring up at the night sky. “Do you find it strange that both of us have family and yet we have lived much of our lives alone? You have been with family longer than you’ve been without, and I have been without longer than I have been with my family, yet we are in the same place.”

Rosalyn nodded more to herself than to him. She knew the feeling of loneliness well. Even in England, surrounded by people, she had often felt an emptiness that bordered on panic. She risked a glance sideways only to find Keiran looking at her and not the night sky.

“I should have said this before... I am sorry about what happened to you with your betrothed.”

Rosalyn stared down into her tankard. “You have nothing to be sorry about. Lieutenant Long might have been my betrothed when I came to Scotland, but as far as I am concerned, whether the courts approve my petition or not, that relationship is now severed.” Unsettled by her own thoughts, she quickly raised her tankard to her lips and quickly tossed back the contents, hoping it would help her forget about the man who’d tried to kill her.

When the fire in her throat eased, she set her own tankard down and leaned back against the rock, gazing at the stars overhead. It did not take long for the warmth of the whisky to flow through her blood, dulling her senses. “Though I am not quite ready to declare myself a Scot, I must admit that I have had more fun tonight with you than any night I can ever remember.”

She could not see, but she sensed his smile in the darkness. Silence once again fell between them. They reclined there, staring up at the night sky as two companions might. Keiran’s presence was welcome, even comforting if she were honest. She’d had little time for comfort and friendship in her life, and she had found both this day amongst the MacLeods.

Rosalyn tried to read Keiran’s features for some clue about his emotions, but his face was wrapped in a veil of moonlight and shadow. She had only known this man for two days and yet she had never been happier.

He shifted beside her, and for a moment she tensed, fearing he was preparing to leave. Not wanting him to slip away she tried to think of something to say, anything to keep him here, just the two of them, side by side. When he settled back against the rock, putting his hands behind his head, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Can I ask you something?” she finally said, as the whisky dulled her senses even more.

“Anything,” he replied, turning his head towards her.

“If you had the power to change one thing, what would that be?” The moment she asked the question, she longed to take it back. How many times had her brother reprimanded her for being a dreamer?

“I am certain you wish to hear me say that I had never been stolen by the fairies. But that is not what I would wish because if I had not, the two of us would not be here right now, and you would be dead. Because of that, I feel a sense of obligation to protect you from further harm.”

Her chest tightened as she sat up. “You are not responsible for my safety or well-being.”

He sat up and turned to her. “I was born a warrior, Rosalyn. In Fairyland and here in the human realm, I was never able to turn away from that part of myself. In Fairyland, I protected the people who had wronged me with just as much ferocity as I protect my family now, and that includes you.” He took her hand and laced his fingers with hers. “I cannot deny that I feel responsible for you. Though I do not own you. You are your own person and can decide your own fate.”

He reached for her with his free hand and drew her head down to his shoulder until her hair rested against the warmth of his plaid draped across to his left arm. “I would like to help you bear your burdens for a while, Rosalyn. Together we can figure out how your life can move forward.”

“I was always taught that I had to figure things out on my own, to survive on my own, with no help from anyone,” she said, her voice tight.

“Whether you like it or not you are part of the MacLeod clan now. All of us are here to help you.”

“You all have been nothing but kind to me despite who I am.” Rosalyn stared down at their intertwined fingers and tried to ignore the comforting thrill of his touch.

He gently rested his chin against the top of her head. “Do you not see that we have a mutual enemy? It is only a matter of time before the English attack the Scots and try to change our way of life here in the Highlands. Lieutenant James Long is as much a threat to us as he is to you.”

Giving in to the moment, Rosalyn brushed her thumb against the top of Keiran’s hand. Then realising what she had done, she shifted her gaze from their joined hands to the moonlight shimmering on the water of the loch. “If I could change one thing about my life it would be that I had been born male. Then I would not be in this situation at all.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “I, for one, am glad you are not male.” He reached up and removed the pin that secured his tartan at his shoulder. A moment later, he pulled her more closely against him, then spread the tail of the fabric across their legs and bodies, enveloping them both in a cocoon of warmth against the encroaching night. “Tell me about your past,” he asked in a sincere tone. “You know about my past in Fairyland, I would like to know more about you.”

“It is not an extraordinary tale. You know about my parents, but what you do not know is that my father’s parents never accepted my mother as his wife. They went out of their way to make life difficult for her in London society. My father never seemed to notice. His love for my mother overshadowed everything. When my brother and I came along, our grandparents were not cruel to us, but they never accepted us.” Rosalyn’s hand involuntarily tightened on Keiran’s. “My mother died one morning when she was taking a carriage to the market. She thought she might be pregnant with her third child and wanted to prepare a few things.” Rosalyn swallowed roughly. “I have no proof, but I always suspected that my grandparents had something to do with her accident, as the fasteners on the carriage wheels had been loosened.”

Rosalyn closed her eyes as the aching memories swelled inside her. “My father was devastated. He never recovered from her loss. He had nothing to do with Hugh or myself from the time of her death, until he himself passed from a broken heart.”

In the silvery darkness Keiran raised his head and searched her face. “How old were you?”

“My brother had only just reached his majority, and I was only twelve.”

“That must have been terribly hard for both of you. Did your grandparents help you at all?”

“No. My brother somehow figured out how to move forward with our father’s estate and as the new Lord of Thomond. I was only an obstacle in his way. He made it clear from the very first day that he could not wait for me to grow up so that he might be rid of me.”

“Which is why he sent you to Scotland.”

She was stunned into meekness by the warm and sensual look in his eyes. The rest of the story about her own poor choices would remain her secret.

Keiran’s arms tightened around her. “Your brother might not have protected you, but I will. You asked the one thing I would change if I could. It would be that I was betrothed to you and not Lieutenant Long.”

“Be serious,” Rosalyn said, keeping her voice light despite the sudden tension that tightened her chest.

Keiran leaned even closer, so only fragments of his features were clear to her in the silver moonlight. “I am being serious.”

The sincerity of his voice snatched her breath away. She could not allow herself to fall into that trap again. She pulled her hands from his. “Men only say such things to further their own goals.”

“I am not like most men. You know that. Even in the two days we have been together, you sensed that I am different.” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it, forcing her to meet his steady gaze. He was close enough for her to see him clearly in the moonlight. “I am sincere in my determination to protect you. Please hear me out before you turn against my idea.”

She had no choice but to stare into the dark intensity of his gaze. She saw no deception there, only an earnest desire for her to listen. “You have been poorly treated by the men in your life. And I can understand your hesitancy to put yourself in a situation where yet another man has control over your life. But I do not want to control you. You are perfect the way you are—strong, brave, and determined. I respect that.”

Rosalyn swallowed roughly. No one had ever said such things to her before.

“My desire to protect you is not born of obligation. It is because since the moment I first saw you in the woods, I have not been the same. Your desperate situation brought something deep inside me back to life, something that I kept hidden all the time I was away from my family.”

He looked away briefly before returning his gaze to hers. “I have held myself apart from anyone, both fairy and human, for so many years that it became habit. And if I am honest, it was a way to keep from being hurt.”

She frowned. “I do not understand. What are you saying?”

“I have as much to lose as you do with what I am about to ask. Lieutenant James Long does not deserve you. The one way we can keep him from hurting you is for you to bind yourself to me. Handfast with me for a year and a day. A secondary, even though it is temporary, commitment to another would have to be resolved in the courts and would keep you from having to honour any prior obligations.”

“What if a child comes from such a union?” she asked, needing clarification and a moment to absorb what he asked.

“Then I would care for you both whether you stayed with me or not.”

Her frown deepened. “Why would you want to sacrifice yourself like that for me and any possible child?” He released her chin, and she mourned the loss of his warmth. Even so she leaned back, putting some distance between the two of them.

“Because that is what warriors do—we sacrifice ourselves for others. And if I saved your life, it is up to me to protect that life. If the courts do not approve your disillusion of betrothal, the man who tried to kill you may succeed next time.”

Rosalyn’s body began to tremble. He did not speak of love, only obligation and sacrifice. But what he proposed had merit in that it would keep her safe, for as he said a year and a day. It would also mean putting his life on hold. Could she ask that of him? “Might I have time to consider your offer?”

“That you would consider my offer and not reject it out of hand gives me hope.” He smiled as he gathered up the tail of his tartan and secured it at his shoulder once more. “As for tonight, did the food, the dancing, or feeling connected to the land around you convince you in any way to claim your own Scottish heritage as it did me?”

Her thoughts were still a tangled mass of confusion from what he had proposed. Even so she managed to smile. “I need more time for that as well.” He had no idea how close she had come to claiming that part of herself this evening when she had been dancing with him. Yet now, here in the open air, sanity had pulled her back to her more cautious self. She needed more time to think not only about his proposal, but about what would be best for her heart. For she was certain if she gave herself to Keiran, even for a year and a day, that she would never be able to move forward without him. She was very much like her father in that respect. Once she gave her heart, it would be forever. But did he even want her heart? Was forever what he offered her, or only a temporary solution to her troubles?