“They are my demons to conquer alone,” he said.
“I thought we were moving beyond that stubborn view,” she snapped, setting her hands on her hips. “When ye asked me to lay my soul bare for ye, but refused to do the same, I did nae like it, but I detest it now! Have we nae learned each other a great deal better on board this ship? I thought we had! Mayhap I’m a clot-heid! Or mayhap ye are the clot-heid, demanding my secrets while keeping yers!”
He clenched his teeth, knowing how unfair it sounded, but if she knew what haunted him, she’d not look at him the same, perchance not even feel protected by him. “I am sorry. I will give ye anything else ye ask but the darkest secrets I shield.”
“I would ask for yer heart,” she blurted, “as I think ye would want mine. But a heart given full of secrets is nae a heart given at all.”
She turned from him, but he caught her by the arms and tugged her back against his chest, even as he felt her stiffen. The wind caught her hair and blew it around his face as he brought his cheek closer to hers. “Let us not fight,” he said. “Tonight, there will be a feast in yer honor, and hopefully—” he turned her to face him, so he could see her eyes “—I will make ye my wife in truth tonight, if ye are ready?” He was ever aware that he’d likely receive word back from the Steward in no more than a fortnight, and Lena needed to be his wife fully before then. He would not demand it ever, though, in spite of the fact that it left her vulnerable and him yearning.
She sucked in her lower lip but nodded. “I believe I am, but I kinnae make any promises.” She turned in his arms once more toward his home.
“I will take that,” he replied, brushing back her hair and pressing a tender kiss to her neck. When she shivered, he wrapped his arms around her, and fit his body to her backside. Her bottom curved enticingly into his hard flesh, and he feared it would frighten her, but she did not attempt to move. “I must warn ye that my councilmen have been pestering me to take a wife for some time now. They are eager for me to have an heir. I fear they will start pestering ye immediately.”
A rosy blush spread up the side of her neck and stained the cheek that he could see. “What if I kinnae have bairns?” she blurted.
He frowned and turned her in his arms once more to see her expression. He glanced around, ensuring they were still alone. None of the men, nor her sister, were close enough to hear their conversation. “What makes ye fear ye kinnae have bairns?”
She shifted from foot to foot but held his gaze as she’d promised to do. “It’s just that—” She paused, her blush growing a deeper shade of red. “I have nae ever gotten with bairn, though I have, well, ye ken.”
“I ken,” he said, his voice husky from anger at Findlay and something else. Some strong emotion that plucked at the strings that bound his heart into a functioning thing. “I believe we will have a bairn,” he said, the words catching with the emotions of how much he wanted a family with her. A child of her image would be a splendid thing.
A troubled look settled over her face. “But if I kinnae?”
“Then ye kinnae,” he immediately replied. “That dunnae make ye less in my eyes, nor make me nae want ye as my wife.”
“Do ye want me as yer wife?” she said shyly.
“Aye, lass,” he said, placing a chaste kiss on her lips as a cheer went up from his clan, who clearly had seen their kiss. It was a frightening thing just how much he had grown to want her as his wife, to please her, in such a short amount of time. He was lucky he was not easily scared.
The MacLeans were just as boisterous and noisy as the MacLeods. Lena surveyed the clan from her seat on the dais beside Alex, and she smiled. This great hall reminded her of her home with its minstrels singing, men telling bawdy jokes, and women huddling at tables gossiping. The biggest difference between Duart’s great hall and Dunvegan’s was that she was not an object of pity here, only an object of curiosity. And she didn’t mind that since most of the curiosity likely pertained to simply what sort of mistress she would make as Alex’s wife.His wife.It was still difficult to believe that she was married again.
She stole a glance at her husband’s profile. He was turned to his left and speaking to one of his councilmen, who she thought must be telling him what had occurred at Duart in Alex’s absence. His thigh was pressed against hers, and his hand had come to rest on her leg in a protective hold. Her breath had caught in her chest when his strong fingers had first curled around her thigh, but she was more relaxed now and welcomed his reassuring touch.
The time from their arrival early this afternoon to supper had been a bevy of activity. A rather roundish lady named Lara MacLean with gray hair that curled around her face and warm brown eyes had taken a firm hold on Lena’s elbow, after Munroe had introduced Lena and Marsaili to Lara, who was his wife. Lara had presented them both to so many MacLeod clansmen that Lena could scarcely recall half their names. That reminded her…
She turned to Marsaili, determined to try to uncover what was ailing her. She’d hoped to talk to Marsaili onboard the ship, but her half sister had been struck with seasickness again, or so she said. Lena had a suspicion it had been a convenient excuse not to talk to her, especially since this time when Marsaili had been supposedly ill, she’d not lost her accounts once. And since they’d arrived at Alex’s home, Marsaili had been unusually quiet. Actually, now that Lena was thinking how Marsaili had acted on the birlinn, she realized she could recall her half sister being out of sorts at Dunvegan as well. In fact—Lena drummed her fingers as she concentrated—Marsaili had not been herself since receiving a letter from her wretched father, the Campbell laird, many sennights ago.
With everything that had happened since then, Lena had forgotten she had tried to speak to Marsaili twice before about the letter, but once Marsaili had rushed off, saying she had chores to tend to. And the one other time she had attempted to broach the subject again, Iain had interrupted them.
Lena pushed her food around her plate, thinking upon what to say. “Do ye wish ye did nae offer to come?” she asked Marsaili in hushed tones, so that Alex would not overhear. Yet, at that moment, Alex stood, his hand coming to her shoulder.
He glanced down at her with a smile. “I’m going to speak to some of the men. Will ye be comfortable here by yerself?”
His concern both warmed and frustrated her. She wanted him to see that she was growing stronger and that he need not worry so much over her. “I’m nae alone.” She motioned to Marsaili while noting the other men who had been sitting on the dais with them, Munroe and the council members, had all stood and left their seats on the dais.
Alex squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll nae be far. Just at that table.” He pointed to where a group of men sat, and she nodded.
Once he departed the dais, Marsaili looked sharply at her. “Why did ye ask me if I wished I had nae come?”
Lena frowned. It was unlike Marsaili to be so brusque. Something was definitely bothering her. “Well,” Lena said slowly, “the journey here made ye so sick, and now ye seem—” she shrugged, unsure how to say it “—unhappy.”
“I’m nae,” Marsaili assured her, but the misery in her voice belied her words.
Lena took a long drink of wine from her goblet as she watched the men and women move the tables and chairs toward the walls. She assumed they were making a space to dance. She recalled the one time she and Alex had danced, and her belly fluttered.
Forcing her concentration back to Marsaili, she said, “Ye’re nae really eating, either, and when Lara introduced us to the other clanswomen, ye barely spoke.”
“I was pleasant,” Marsaili defended.
