Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

A s soon as Adrian and Bard reported the courier was back at the harbor village, Darren took himself to his study, with orders to have a tray sent up to him, and further instruction that he was to be left alone for an hour. He’d already given the instructions for the maids to clean his quarters and draw up a bath for Alayne, and now he wanted some time to sort out his own thoughts.

On one hand, he was relieved that the courier’s visit had gone as smoothly as it had, especially given the gossip their wedding had caused, and the suspicions the man might have had based on those rumors. He was equally glad that Alayne had managed a plausible explanation for her behavior, and to support his own explanation without needing to be prompted.

On the other hand, seeing her interact with Conall MacGill had given him a glimpse at the type of relationship they could have, if she would stop being so afraid and angry around him. And that glimpse made his stomach clench. He hadn’t realized, until he saw her smile without bitterness or sarcasm, how much he truly did want an amiable relationship with his wife.

He wouldn’t demand love, he had no right to. But a cordial, polite relationship where they could exist together in the same space without sharp words or worried glances? That was something he thought might be possible, and he wanted it. He simply had no idea how to go about building such a relationship with a woman who had excellent reasons to hate him.

There was also the sense that she was keeping something from him. He respected her privacy as much as he could when they shared their lives and much of their rooms, but some instinct in the back of his mind whispered that her sudden clumsiness when the courier spoke her brother’s name had been no coincidence.

Though perhaps that had simply been a bout of nerves, given the deception involved. He’d certainly felt nervous as he handed the sheet over, and he wasn’t the one whose family would bear the brunt of the king’s anger if the lie were revealed.

And then, of course, there was her clear ignorance as to what was and was not involved in intimacy. Last night had showed him that she truly had been very sheltered, far more so than he had thought. Most lasses her age had some experience, or at least some education on such things, whether it was a mother’s teaching, a healer’s warnings, or even accidental spying on the servants who happened to be trysting. She’d looked so embarrassed at his laughter that he hadn’t had the heart to embarrass her further by trying to explain how such relations normally worked.

He wondered if he ought to suggest that Lyla talk to her, but that would mean explaining why he was asking, which in turn would mean revealing that Alayne had overheard Lyla and Daemon. That would rather embarrass everyone, he suspected. And even if he chose to ignore that, he’d already warned her that Lyla and Daemon had something of an unconventional approach to such matters.

Darren groaned and poured himself a half-glass of whiskey, then sipped it slowly. It was early for drinking, but between the soreness of sleeping on the floor and the way his head ached from worrying, he felt in need of the bracing heat of the liquor. It wouldn’t really help solve his problems, but at least it took the edge off his thoughts, and allowed some of the tension to leave his back and shoulders.

Breakfast came, and he ate heartily, filling a cup with a bracing tea when he’d finished the scotch. By the time he’d finished his meal, his thoughts had settled somewhat, enough for him to have come to at least one determination.

He had to speak to Alayne. They needed to have an honest, and preferably polite, discussion about how they would go forward. At the very least, he wanted to find terms they could agree to for a peaceful marriage, if not an overly loving or joyous one. There had to be some manner in which they could form a partnership, despite their differences.

She might not agree, but Darren thought he might be able to convince her to hear him out, for the sake of both their clans, if nothing else. Surely she understood that a comfortable relationship between them meant her clan would fare better while it was under his care.

With that in mind, he left the study and made his way to their bedroom. Mindful of the face that she might still be bathing, he knocked. “Alayne? May I speak tae ye?”

Silence greeted him. Darren knocked again, a little more forcefully. “Alayne? Are ye dressed? I need tae speak with ye, and it cannae wait.”

No answer. Anger rose in his gut, and Darren grabbed the handle and shoved the door open roughly before storming in. It was only as the panel slammed shut behind him that he registered the reason for the lack of response. The room was empty of any occupant.

There was no sign of Alayne, no sign of a servant to attend her bath - no indication of anyone at all, save that the tub stood steaming by the fire, and the mess of breakfast had been cleared away. Now uneasy rather than angry, Darren went to the bedroom door and opened it, to find that it too was devoid of any presence. Alayne wasn’t there.

If she’d already finished her bath, the servants would have cleared it away, surely. But in that case… Darren opened the door to the bedroom, only to stop short as he nearly collided with a maid carrying a steaming pitcher of water.

The maid blanched. “Me laird. My apologies. I didnae ken…”

“Never mind that.” Darren waved away the apology. “Have ye seen mey wife about? Dae ye ken where she’s gone?”

The maid winced and looked down, shoulders hunching. “I dinnae, me laird. I came on Master Bard’s order tae clean the room and fill the bath, but I never saw me lady. I dinnae think she’s been in the rooms since breaking her fast, me laird. Never made use o’ the bath supplies I brought her, at least.”

Worry spiked through him. Darren dismissed the maid with an absentminded order to clean up the bath, then hurried toward the front doors and the healer’s cottage, his mind seething with a level of fear he wouldn’t have expected to feel for his wife.

She said she wasnae hurt badly, but what if she lied because she didnae want tae look vulnerable in front o’ me or the courier? Or mayhap she didnae realize she was wounded worse than she thought? Or it could be that fall was a result o’ some illness that overset her - dizziness or some such? But then why did the healer nae send fer me?

By the time he reached the door of the healer’s home, his heart was pounding, and every scenario from a sprained ankle, to a lethal wound, was playing through his mind. It was all he could do to knock on the door, rather than slam his way through it.

The healer answered within seconds. “Me laird? What is wrong?”

“Ye tell me. What’s wrong with me wife? The servants say she didnae return tae the rooms fer her bath after she visited ye. What happened tae her? Is she well?”

The healer blinked, a look of such honest surprise on her face that it stopped him from shoving her aside to storm into the dwelling to look for Alayne. “Yer wife, me laird? She’s well enough. ‘Twas only a bruise or two she suffered, naething serious. I gave her a salve, and she said she was going tae go fer a ride, tae sort her thoughts. She was well enough, so I gave her me winter cloak tae wear, so she didnae take a chill.”

Darren stared at her, unable to form words as her explanation sank in. Alayne was well. Not wounded, not ill. She’d just gone for a ride.

Without telling him. Without sending a message to let him know what she intended. And, as near as he could tell, unescorted. He swallowed back a rising tide of anger. “Did she take a guard or anyone with her, even a maid or a boy tae aid her?”

“I didnae see anyone at her side.”

She’d ridden out alone then. Alone in the chill weather, with snow and ice still in places on the ground to make the footing treacherous. Alone, though she had to be aware he had enemies, and she could be kidnapped, as others had been. Or killed.

Rage flooded through him, displacing worry entirely. Darren clenched his fists, offered the healer a curt nod, then turned on his heel and strode toward the stables, the heat of his ire so great he was surprised he wasn’t leaving a trail of steam in his footsteps.

O’ all the stupid, mule-headed things tae be doing! When I find ye wife, I guarantee I’ll teach ye a lesson tae be sure ye’re nae so foolish again!

The air was cold, but no longer held the biting chill of a few days prior, and the sun actually lent a semblance of warmth. After a few minutes spent wondering if the guards were going to rush after her and drag her back, Alayne began to relax and truly enjoy the ride.

Riding was something she’d come to take great enjoyment in after her father’s death. Before that, the elderly laird had never let her ride. Donall, however, had encouraged her to learn, and she’d come to love the feel of the saddle underneath her, the wind in her face, and the motions of the different gaits. If nothing else, she took pleasure in the freedom of it.

She’d been stuck in MacLean Keep for so long, she’d almost forgotten the feeling of free air, and what it was like to be able to see the world, instead of the stone walls of a cage that she was meant to call a home. As if it could ever be that. No place could be home where her brother was unwelcome.

It was tempting, very tempting, to ride for Ranald Keep. If she could reach it, she could lock herself inside until Donall returned, and together, they could force Darren MacLean to give up his claim to her. The marriage could be annulled, and life could go back to what she remembered. Or perhaps, it could be better than that, if she could convince Donall to keep the peace her wedding was meant to have forged.

It was a wonderful dream, but she knew it would never work. Darren MacLean and his family were quite capable of invading her home and dragging her back. Besides, the guards and warriors had been told there was now an alliance, and Darren MacLean was the acting laird until their own returned. If he rode up to the gate, they’d likely let him in and let him do as he pleased, without a sword being drawn. And if Donall was there, he’d likely get himself killed trying to defend her.

No, much as she wished it, she couldn’t simply ride for home and hope to escape her fate that way. As little as she liked it, Darren MacLean was her lawfully wedded husband. They also couldn’t annul the marriage without revealing the lie they’d given the courier. And worse, nothing said that the king couldn’t reimprison Donall if the marriage was annulled or otherwise broken.

Eventually, she would have to talk to her new laird. Her husband. It was simply too exhausting to keep up the effort of despising him all the time, especially when he continued to respond with such calm courtesy. She still hated him, hated what he’d done to her family, but the withering scorn she’d thought would last forever had been quenched by his consideration of her over the past two days.

Alayne sighed and guided her horse to a stop as the path she’d been following came to an end at a small loch, surrounded by trees. After a moment, she slipped out of the saddle. It was far too chilly to think of entering the water, but the serenity of the spot appealed to her. It was a good place to sit and mull over her situation.

The thought of being intimate with Darren MacLean still made her insides squirm, but it was no longer entirely with revulsion. That troubled her a little.

There was also the issue of her brother. Provided the king believed the lie Darren had created for them, her brother would be released to return home soon. She wanted, more than anything, to return to his side. But at the same time, she was at a loss for what to tell Darren, or even if she should tell him.

A part of her wanted to simply wait until Donall returned, and then have her brother come to take her away. Another part of her felt uneasy. What if they attacked each other and started another feud? Or if something happened to Donall?

And even if she could be assured that nothing happened to Donall, she felt as if she owed Darren some consideration in return for how he’d treated her the past few days. It didn’t sit well with her to repay his patience and courtesy with deceit.

But how could she even think like that, knowing all he’d done to her? He hadn’t even paid wereguild for the way his brother had murdered her father. Nor had he ever apologized for shaming her in the first place, or sending Donall to prison, just for trying to avenge their honor.

She felt trapped, caught between the honor of her clan, her pride, her love for her brother, and her newfound lack of hatred for the man she’d married. She couldn’t see any way out of the tangle she found herself in, and that knowledge made her head ache.

The turmoil was so great, she never heard the footsteps behind her. She did, however, hear the snarling words that broke her reverie and sent her scrambling to her feet. “So this is where ye decided tae run off tae, wife .”