Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

D arren groaned as he stretched the soreness out of his back and shoulders. Sleeping on a stone floor was hardly comfortable, even with the thick coverlet and the rug to cushion it. The fact that his ribs and stomach still ached from how hard he’d laughed the night before didn’t help at all.

Not even pleasuring himself so that he could leave his own mark on the sheets had provided enough relaxation to soothe the soreness of his muscles, especially the tension in his shoulders. He didn’t like the idea of lying to the king about the state of his marriage. Still, better the falsehood than to have forced his attentions on an unwilling and terrified woman. At least this way, his conscience slept easy, no matter how badly the rest of him fared.

He knew there was no way he could have managed the situation without compromising some facet of his morals, not in the time they might have. But this way he could be satisfied that he’d managed to allay some of Alayne’s fears of him - or at least, he hoped he’d managed that much.

At the very minimum, he’d looked in on her at one point, and seen that she was indeed sleeping in the bed. That was a small victory.

He finished stretching, then laced up his boots and the change of clothing he’d had a servant leave in the front room for him. A splash of frigid water on his face made him feel reasonably alert and ready for the day.

He was not, however, prepared for Bard to find him halfway to breakfast. “Me laird. The royal courier is here.”

Darren cursed. He’d hoped to at least get some food in him before he had to deal with any business, but it seemed it was not to be. “Where is he?”

“In the Great Hall, being served a meal tae break his fast. He came over on the dawn ferry.” Bard’s expression was troubled. “He doesnae look the best pleased, and I gather he’s heard some o’ the gossip around the town, here and across the firth.”

“O’ course he has.” Darren groaned. Naturally, people would have talked about the disaster of a wedding. It would likely be the talk of Scotland by the time the next Highland Gathering came around. Darren growled low in his throat in exasperation before he set the frustration aside for larger concerns.

The courier was here, which meant he needed the sheet that was still in his rooms, and a way to warn Alayne so they could attempt to present a reasonable depiction of a civil marriage, if not a particularly cordial or loving one. He took a deep breath.

“I’ll go tae greet the courier. Ye find a maid tae take a breakfast tray up tae Alayne, along with the message that the courier is here, and we’ll be up as soon as he’s finished his meal.”

“Aye, me laird,” Bard nodded and strode away, his steps quick as if he wanted to be as far away from the upcoming difficulties as possible. Darren didn’t blame him. Given a choice, he’d have made for the stables and been riding the bounds long before the courier arrived.

Another deep breath, then Darren squared his shoulders, ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to neaten it, and made his way to the Great Hall. The courier was seated at the high table, busily devouring cold breakfast meats, a bowl of hot porridge, and some fresh bread, with a cup of strong, mulled wine at his elbow to chase the winter chill from him.

The man looked up at Darren’s approach. “Laird MacLean.” He rose. “I am Conell MacGill, the king’s courier. I trust ye ken why I am here?”

“Aye. I ken. But there’s nae rush. Please, enjoy the hospitality o’ me clan this morn, and take as much time as ye need tae warm up. Crossing the firth’s a cold, hard journey at this time o’ year.”

“It is. Even so… I have been hearing some most concerning rumors about yer wedding.” The courier’s expression was more than a little displeased, though he did settle back into the chair and take another sip of the wine. “In point o’ fact, I hear ‘twas hardly a proper ceremony at all, and the bride was forced tae her vows at knife-point.”

“’Tis an exaggeration, Master MacGill.” Darren gave him a wry smile and a shake of his head, attempting to look slightly bemused and more than a little exasperated, the way his father had often looked in his early childhood, when he caught Darren in a falsehood or a bout of mischief. “I’ll grant the bride was a wee bit shy o’ speaking, and a fair bit out o’ temper, but…”

“I heard she came dressed as for a funeral, and even gave a speech along those lines at the banquet.” MacGill raised an eyebrow. “Is that an exaggeration as well, Laird MacLean?”

Darren cursed in his head, even as he attempted to show an expression of chagrin. “Would I could say it wasnae, but ‘tis true. However, I’ve spoken tae me wife, as has Lady MacMillan, and we’re in agreement that it was merely her nerves and her distress getting the better o’ her. After all, she was alone, with nae kin nor friends tae stand beside her at the altar, nae even a well-liked lady’s maid. All that, and being forced tae wed the man who saw her braither put in prison… well, ‘tis a hard thing fer any lass’s sensibilities. She was overwrought and nae thinking clearly. Women can be fair foolish in such a state.”

Conell’s expression gave no sign of whether he believed Darren or not. When he next spoke, his tone was thoughtful, and very carefully devoid of any emotion. “And yet, the lady didnae join ye tae break yer fast?”

“She’s nae slept well these past nights. I ken ‘tis the newness o’ the situation, and her worries about bein’ a proper wife, and mayhap some concern over her braither. She finally fell asleep, and I didnae have the heart tae wake her when I rose tae go about me business. I didnae ken ye’d arrived, or I would have chosen differently, but I thought tae be courteous tae her, given the circumstances.”

“Admirable.” Conell finished his last bite of porridge and drained the contents of his cup, then rose. “However, I have a duty to perform, and I dinnae wish tae be detained. The days are short, and the weather is far from pleasant. I wish to be back across the firth as soon as possible.”

“As ye will. I had a lass sent tae wake me wife, so she should be roused by now, but if nae, I ken where the item ye seek is set aside fer ye.” Darren rose as well and gestured for the courier to follow him, praying as he did so that Alayne would be awake and at least somewhat presentable.

At the door to his rooms, he knocked carefully. “Alayne?”

“Come in, me laird.” her voice was calm, even, and gave him a small measure of hope that they might come out of this without any more unpleasantness.

Alayne was seated by the fire when he entered with the courier, and a bundle of cloth was conspicuously set on the opposite edge of the table. Darren bowed, then held out a hand. He was surprised when she took it with barely noticeable hesitation. Still, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Me wife, I present tae ye Master Conell MacGill, the king’s courier. Master MacGill, me wife, Lady Alayne MacLean.”

“Me lady.” Conell bowed over her hand in turn. “I trust ye are well?”

“I am well enough.” She smiled, an expression so different from the looks she’d given Darren thus far that he would have choked if he’d been drinking anything. As it was, he had to cough to mask his surprise. “I am pleased tae see ye here.”

“’Tis good tae hear ye say so, especially since I was given tae believe, from the talk o’ the village, that the wedding wasnae as smooth as might be hoped?”

Alayne blushed and lowered her eyes. “Och, aye. I can admit that I behaved poorly. I was overwrought, and - well, I didnae tell anyone, but I had a bottle o’ wine in me trunk, and I…” She trailed off, her voice soft and shy. “Well, ye ken now why me faither and braither never let me drink more than half a goblet o’ wine with a meal.”

“I see. Yer laird didnae mention that.”

The look Alayne gave the courier could rival honey for the sweetness. “Och, well, Laird Mac - Darren, I mean - has been fair kind tae me. Fer all I behaved poorly, I ken he’s done his best tae see tae me comfort, and avoid causing me further grief.”

Darren could hardly believe what he was hearing. If he hadn’t been standing there, listening to every word and watching every movement, he’d have sworn his wife had been replaced by a changeling - or that his wits had been addled. As it was, a part of him wondered if he was still asleep, or ill and caught in a fever dream.

Still, however amiable Alayne was being, best to take care of business and see Conell MacGill off before one or both of them said or did something to reveal the ruse. It was only good fortune that he’d hidden away the ‘preparations’ Alayne had made last night. One wrong word, and MacGill might get suspicious again.

Darren went and collected the sheet from the table, and brought it over to the courier. He’d made an effort to fold it so that the bloodstain was visible, though hopefully not positioned so the courier, or the king, would come in accidental contact with it.

Conall examined the sheet for a moment. “All looks tae be in order. I will take this tae the king straight away.” He transferred his gaze to Darren. “Expect tae receive a royal letter of acceptance, and assurance that the terms o’ the contract have been fulfilled. As for Laird Ranald…”

He was interrupted by a surprised yelp and a crash, as Alayne tripped, staggered, and fell - right into the table holding the remains of her breakfast.

Alayne grimaced as tea soaked her skirt, and foodstuffs went everywhere. She hadn’t meant to cause such a mess, but when she’d heard Conell speak of her brother, she’d panicked. She couldn’t let Darren know that she’d bargained to have Donall set free after she was wed. Neither could she afford for Master MacGill to know that she’d been keeping information from her husband.

Darren was at her side in an instant, offering her a hand to help her sit up. “Are ye hurt?”

“Nay, or at least, I dinnae think so, beyond mayhap a bruise or two.” She saw Conell hovering over her husband’s shoulder, and managed a wan smile. “Yer pardon, Master MacGill. I cannae think why I’m so clumsy this morn. I meant tae offer ye refreshment, but…” She blushed.

“’Tis nae issue, me lady. Accidents will happen. I trust ye’ve taken nae harm from yer fall?”

Alayne allowed Darren to help her to her feet. She ached a little where her side had impacted the table, and her knee had hit the floor, but she’d certainly had worse injuries. She allowed herself an abashed look. “Naught but a few bruises and a loss o’ me dignity.”

“Even so, perhaps yer husband should see ye tae the healer.” The words were polite, but it was very clearly not a suggestion.

“O’ course.” Darren nodded, an arm around her shoulders as if to steady her. “If there’s aught else ye need, I can have a man take ye tae me study…”

“I have everything I require. I would prefer tae be on mw way.” Alayne was a little surprised by the sudden brusqueness of his tone, but Darren seemed to expect the answer, from the expression on his face.

“As ye will. The healer’s cottage is in the courtyard, if ye’ll allow us tae escort ye so far.”

“That will dae.” MacGill turned to her once again. “That is, if ye feel up tae the walk, me lady?”

“I’m certain I can manage it.” She leaned slightly into Darren’s side. “Especially with me husband tae support me.”

Darren made a sound that might have been agreement, but she could see the questions in his eyes. Still, he was wise enough to say nothing aside from a softly spoken “Careful here” or “Let me assist ye” as they made their way from their chambers to the doors of the main hall.

The weather outside was clear but cold, and Alayne shivered as they crossed the courtyard, glad to have Darren blocking some of the wind.

Once they’d reached the healer’s hut, Alayne watched the courier walk away while Darren called for the healer to attend her. She breathed a sigh of relief when the man disappeared through the gate. Her secret was safe.

She shrugged out of Darren’s hold. “I dinnae need any more help.”

“Ye’re sure?”

“Aye.” She glanced at the healer, then at him. It wouldn’t do to drop their charade too early. “I’ll get some salve, and mayhap a potion from the healer, then a hot bath. I’m sure ‘twill be enough tae see me mended.”

“If ye say so. I’ll send a lass tae clean up the mess and start drawing the bath fer ye then.” With one last lingering look, Darren turned and walked away.

Alayne watched until he entered the keep proper, then turned to the healer. “I dinnae need the potion, just a salve fer bruises and an extra cloak or blanket if ye’ve one tae spare.”

“A cloak or blanket, me lady?” The healer raised an eyebrow.

“Aye.” Alayne swallowed. “I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll be going fer a ride, tae soothe me nerves after dealing with the royal courier’s questions. ‘Twas more difficult than I expected, and I could use the freedom and a breath o’ fresh air.”

The healer nodded sympathetically. “Men dinnae have an idea how stressful questions about private matters can be. If ye’ll come in, I’ll get ye the salve, and me winter gathering cloak. ‘Tis mayhap nae as fine as ye’re used tae, but ‘tis thick and warm, which I’ll wager ye’ll find welcome, especially if the winds come up again.”

“Aye.” Alayne smiled in relief. “I’d like that just fine.”