Margaret Mallory - The Guardian

“What’s Ian done to get on your wrong side so soon?”

She couldn’t tell him that Ian had not seen fit to acknowledge her or their marriage—she had her pride—so she shared Ian’s latest offense.

“He’s no notion of what must be done with the crops and livestock,” she said, folding her arms. It was Ian’s responsibility now, and he would just have to learn.

“I raised Ian to be a warrior, not a farmer, lass. He has more important things to attend to,” Payton said, his expression turning stern. “I told him how that devil took Knock Castle.”

Sìleas said nothing, knowing that the loss of her castle was a festering wound to Payton’s pride—and to the whole clan. Her step-da had bided his time for five years, then struck in the wake of Flodden when the MacDonalds were weak.

Payton set his plate on the tray and sank back on the pillows, looking pale.

“If it’s any comfort to ye, I expect the Knock Castle ghost is haunting my step-da,” she said, giving him a wink. “I doubt the Green Lady has let Murdoc have a single good night’s sleep.”

“ ’Tis a shame your ghost doesn’t carry a dirk,” Payton said in a tired voice.

“Shall I tell ye how she warned me to leave that day?” she asked.

“Aye, lass.” Payton closed his eyes as she began and was asleep before she was halfway through the old story. It hurt her to see the great man so weakened.

The hands resting on the bedcovers were marked by battle scars that told a tale of their own. Yet she remembered how gently those big hands had encompassed hers the morning Payton had found her and Ian sleeping in the wood. Without waking him, Sìleas lifted the hand closest to her and held it.

Payton was getting stronger every day. She could leave soon. With Ian here, he would do just fine without her. They all would.

But she feared that when she left she would be like Payton, always missing a part of her that was gone.

CHAPTER 6

Ian stood in the doorway watching Sìleas. This was the new Sìleas again, all clean and combed in a moss-green gown—and so lovely he had to remind himself to breathe. She must have bathed in the tub in the kitchen, for her cheeks were pink and a damp curl was stuck to the side of her face.

He was surprised his father would let her hold his hand as if he were a child, until he realized his da was asleep. Though he was careful not to make a sound, she sensed his presence and turned. Today her eyes were the same dark mossy green as her gown, but touched with dew from tears that welled in her eyes.

“My mother said to tell ye dinner is ready,” he said in a hushed voice. “Are ye all right?”

Sìleas nodded and picked up the tray as she got up. When Ian stepped aside to let her pass, she said, “He’s not a well man. Ye shouldn’t have kept him up so late.”

Apparently, Sìleas had kindness in her heart for every member of his family but him.

“My father wanted to talk,” Ian said, “and I think it did him good.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said with a sigh. “But have a care with him.”

Ian followed the provocative sway of her hips until she disappeared into the kitchen.

He continued watching her as they ate their midday meal. With that full bottom lip, her mouth was made for kissing. Every time she puckered and blew on her stew, his heart did an odd little leap in his chest. And his heart was not the only part of him affected. His cock was standing to attention, stiff as an English soldier.

Likely, Sìleas was foul-tempered toward him for not making his intentions clear. He had trouble recalling his reasons for waiting as he watched her take a spoonful into her mouth, smile with pleasure at the taste, and run her pink tongue across her top lip.

Perhaps he should just take her to bed now and have done with it. If the price of following his desire was gaining a wife, well, it was time he had one anyway.

Alex, the devil, was sitting next to Sìleas and plying her with his legendary charm. She threw her head back laughing at something he said. It was a lovely laugh—full-throated and sensual.

“I don’t believe a word you’re saying, Alex Bàn MacDonald!” Sìleas pressed her hand to her bosom as if she couldn’t get her breath. “Five men, ye say? How did ye ever escape?”

“Ye mean, how did they get away?” Alex asked. “ ’Twas nothing, really. I told them they could run, or they could die.”

It irked Ian the way Sìleas leaned forward with her eyes fixed on Alex, as if she were swallowing Alex’s tale whole.

“There were only three of them, not five,” Ian corrected, his words sounding peevish to his own ears.

Sìleas turned to face him, her smile fading. Lord, but she had pretty eyes, even when they were dead serious, as they were now. The scent of summer heather tickled his nose. Did she use dried heather in her bath water? Ah, that meant every inch of her skin would have that lovely smell.

“Now that we’ve mucked out the byre,” Ian said, “Alex and I are going to go speak to some of the men on this side of the island.”

“And why do ye need to do that?” Sìleas asked.

Ian raised his eyebrows. “Not that ye need to know, mind ye, but we intend to find out how the men feel about the prospect of having Hugh as their chieftain.”

“I can tell ye the sentiment toward Hugh, as can Niall,” Sìleas said, slicing her meat with enough vigor to cut through the table. “But if ye must ask the men yourself, they’ll all be at the church tomorrow.”

“A priest is visiting the island,” his mother explained. “Father Brian will be baptizing all the children born since he was here a year ago.”

There was always a shortage of priests in the Highlands. Unlike in France, the church here was poor. Though Highland chieftains might allow God the use of their lands for churches and monasteries, they did not give their lands away. Because the church could provide little to support them, few men joined the priesthood, and a priest who married was not turned out. As with divorce and marriage, the rules of the church were not strictly followed in the Highlands.

“Waiting to see the men at the church seems a good plan,” Alex said, giving Sìleas a bright smile. “Wouldn’t ye agree, Ian?”

Ian nodded, though he would rather go now, if only to feel he was doing something.

“And don’t ignore the womenfolk,” his mother put in. “ Ná bac éinne ná bíonn buíochas na mban air. ” Pay no heed to anyone that the womenfolk do not respect.

“Sìleas,” Alex said, “what do ye say to you and me going out in the boat this afternoon?”

Alex was trying to taunt him; Ian glared at him to let him know he did not find it amusing.

“That sounds lovely,” Sìleas said with a soft smile for Alex. “But after I clean up the kitchen, I must have a word with Ian here.”

She said his name like she might say pig shite .

Then she turned to level a hard look at him. “When ye have finished your meal, can ye spare a wee bit of time to speak with me?”

Sìleas might not look the same, but she was as direct as when she was a lass running wild. Clearly, she wanted to know where she stood with him. Her sharp words reminded him that he would be wise to give himself time before deciding his fate.

“Do ye have no woman to help in the kitchen?” Ian asked, only partly because he wanted to divert her. They had always had one clanswoman or another who needed a home, living with them and helping his mother.

“Some of the men came to ask your da’s advice regarding the selection of a new chieftain,” his mother said. “He urged them to wait for Connor’s return—and Hugh Dubh has been punishing us ever since.”