Keeper of my Heart (15 page)

Màiri hugged a pillow to her breast and pondered the emotions roiling with such confusion. It was impossible for her to understand why she felt this way. Even though he’d taken her once more after that first time, she wanted him yet again. The raging desire churning deep within her seemed unquenchable.

Her cheeks turned blazing-hot at the thought. This should not be happening, but she could not stop the yearning. She wanted the man who had taken her to his bed last night as intently as she wanted the kind of life he could give her. She wanted the pleasure and peace she felt in his arms as desperately as she wanted the happiness and security she felt within his walls. And she could have them. She knew she could.

There was no need for Iain or any of the MacAlisters to discover she was different. She alone knew of her gift. She alone controlled her future.

A strange euphoria consumed her. She knew the mistake her mother had made. She’d let her husband find out about the gift. Màiri would not make the same mistake.

She pulled back the covers and wrapped the MacAlister tartan around her shoulders, then moved to the window seat to watch the MacAlister warriors train in the bailey below. Her gaze found her husband’s towering physique first. A burning heat spread through her veins, spiraling to the pit of her stomach. A tiny shiver of excitement shook her when she remembered the feel of his muscled body atop hers, his naked flesh against hers, warming and consuming and filling her.

She focused on the man responsible for this new awakening within her. His bare back and shoulders and arms glistened in the early morning sunshine as he sparred with Lochlan. The two impressive warriors battled each other as skillfully as any two warriors she’d ever seen. At first, they both appeared evenly matched, their sharp-edged claymores cutting through the air with a deadly swishing sound that whistled with every swipe, the mighty clash of steel echoing in the clear Scottish air.

Lochlan deflected Iain’s assaults with a well-aimed thrust of his own, countering each exchange. But the differences soon became obvious. As the sparring continued, the arch of Lochlan’s swings lessened, the speed of his counterattacks slowed. Iain’s final blow, if it had been in earnest, would have been fatal. Raising his hand in defeat, Lochlan fell to his knees.

Iain stood tall, his feet braced, his shoulders back, the satisfied look of victory evident on his face. Then he turned to face his next opponent. Hector waited at the side to challenge his laird. Iain motioned him forward.

Màiri tucked her legs closer to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees, preparing to watch the next mock battle.

“It is an impressive sight, isn’t it?” Janet said, standing beside her. “Our MacAlister men are truly the finest warriors in all of Scotland.”

Màiri hadn’t heard her maidservant enter the room. She turned around in surprise to see Janet with a basin of fresh water in one hand and clean clothing in the other.

“Aye. They are truly remarkable,” Màiri answered, watching Iain and Hector battle each other. Màiri noticed that a handsome face was not all that Hector possessed. His fighting skills were superb.

“Has Lochlan challenged his laird yet this morn?”

“Aye. You just missed him. He is a fine warrior.”

“But not excellent enough that he defeated your husband. Am I right?”

Màiri smiled. “Aye.”

Janet placed the basin on the side table and the clothes on the wooden chest at the foot of the bed then came back to watch. “Lochlan hoped that the laird’s many months away recuperating from his injuries might have weakened him enough to defeat him just this once, but I told him I did na think it was likely.” Janet watched the battle going on below with growing interest. “I see tonight I will have to be most understanding. Men do na take defeat well.”

Màiri studied Janet’s face. “Is it that important for Lochlan to defeat his laird?”

“Nay. He only wants to prove to his laird he is worthy to fight at his side.”

Màiri smiled. “I am sure the laird realizes Lochlan’s worth.”

“That is what I keep reminding Lochlan. But he knows he is not the only warrior with ambitions of fighting at the MacAlister’s side. Roderick is already there, along with Lochlan’s father, Donald, and Hector also aims for the right. See,” Janet said, pointing out the window to the two men sparing below. “It is obvious our laird will win in the end, but Hector has made a good show. This is what worries Lochlan.”

Màiri took a deep breath. “Tell Lochlan not to concern himself. His laird has more than one side that needs defending. He will rely on more than just one man to fight with him.”

“You are right, milady. I will remind him tonight when I have to rub his aching muscles with Yseult’s magic salve to ease the pain of too much practice.”

Màiri turned her head to look at Janet. “Lochlan does na mind that you go to Yseult?”

“She is our healer. Her talents are known throughout the clan. It is only the laird who…” Janet stopped, then clasped her hands together atop her protruding belly.

“Do you know what happened to Roderick’s wife?”

Janet shook her head. “I only know that Yseult could never do what the laird believes she did.”

“Iain thinks she killed Adele.”

“I know. He even accused her before the council of elders, but they dismissed the charges because the laird had na proof.”

Màiri studied the look on Janet’s face and knew there was something she was not telling. “Do you know why the laird thinks the way he does?”

“I could na say, milady. Only the laird knows why he believes so.” Dismissing any further talk on that subject, Janet walked to the big bed and looked at the red-stained bedclothes. “Come, mistress,” she said with a smile on her face, “you will want to hurry so you are ready when the laird comes in. All the warriors will gather in the great hall to eat when the practice session is over. It is proper that you are at the laird’s side at meals.”

“Who has been seeing to the planning of the meals, Janet?”

“The cooks have decided each day what they will prepare. They will be glad to be rid of the task.” She picked up the soiled bedclothes and placed them on the floor beside the door. “The running of the laird’s keep will now be your responsibility. Since Adele’s death, the keep has lacked a woman’s hand. Everyone agrees we have gone without a mistress far too long.”

Màiri rose to her feet, ignoring the soreness between her legs as she stepped behind the screen and dropped the cover from her shoulders. “I will need your help with the running of the keep, Janet,” she said, dipping her cloth in the tepid water and rubbing her body with soapy water. “I have na had much experience, but I am a fast learner. If you will but show me, I vow to keep our laird’s home clean and fragrant, and his tables laden with nourishing food.” She didn’t tell Janet of her third vow to warm his bed at night.

“I would be happy to help. My mother served the laird’s mother before she died. I will be honored to serve you as faithfully.”

Màiri breathed a sigh of relief, determined to be the perfect mistress of the MacAlister’s home. She would make a place for herself here that no one would ever question.

When she’d dried her skin with a soft woolen cloth, Janet handed her a clean shift and helped her pin the MacAlister plaid across her shoulder.

“Come,” Janet said. “After you have shared a meal with your husband I will take you to the kitchens. The cooks will be most anxious to have you tell them what to prepare for the evening meal.”

Màiri plaited her hair and smoothed the errant wisps that framed her face, then turned toward the door when she heard the warriors returning from their practice. Her place was at Iain’s side.

She ran down the stairs with a light skip in her step. She was not sure what she was in a greater hurry to do. Satisfy her empty stomach or satisfy the desire to be near her husband.

She stepped through the wide doorway that led to the great hall and stopped when she saw him. A more noble warrior she could not imagine. Tall and bronzed, he stood at the front of the room, his indomitable presence a force of its own. He’d rolled the sleeves of his shirt, revealing the muscled forearms she remembered having held her last night. His thick hair, still damp from washing in the stream after his practice, curled against his neck. The tickle of it remained on her fingers that had raked it feverishly the night before.

He lifted his gaze and held out his hand to bid her come to him. She walked across the room and placed her hand in his. She remembered the way his callused fingers had touched her bare flesh last night.

There was no doubt what was more important. All thought of food vanished.

. . .

Everything at her new home was perfect, every day a more wondrous experience. Every night perfection. For two weeks she had spent every hour marveling at her happiness, how comfortable, how right it felt to be Iain’s wife. With Janet at her side, she’d toured every inch of her new home, learning in vivid detail the responsibilities she had as mistress of Iain’s keep.

She’d toured the keep first, then had gone to the kitchens to speak with the cooks. They’d listed several items from which to choose and promised to prepare only the laird’s favorite dishes until she learned his likes and dislikes.

With a smile on their faces, she was informed that the laird had already ordered that a plate of candied fruits be placed before their mistress’s chair each night without fail. Màiri tried to hide the blush she knew covered her face and thanked them for their extra consideration.

Each day, Janet took her to another area of the castle. One day they went to the storerooms where Màiri carefully checked their supplies. Once she had assured herself there was a large enough food supply to last until the fall harvest, she checked the supply of mead and ale in the brewery, and the ground wheat and rye and oats in the granary. She was impressed with everything she saw. Even though Iain’s castle had gone without a mistress for more than a year, Màiri could see there had been a competent eye watching over its day to day running. She knew Janet and her mother were responsible for the orderliness and efficiency at MacAlister Castle.

Today, Màiri followed Janet as they visited the tanner’s workshop and the blacksmith. When they finished, Màiri noticed the tired look on her servant’s face. “I think I would like to walk by myself for a while,” Màiri said. “We can finish tomorrow.”

“Are you sure, mistress?” Janet asked, absently rubbing her back. “We’ve na seen the stables or the lower level cellars or the orchards behind the curtain wall.”

“We will save those things for another day. I have met more MacAlisters again today than I can keep straight and heard more names than I will ever remember. Now, I need time to try to put each to memory.”

“You did very well, milady. You even made old Eustis smile when you left. I canna remember the last time I saw him so happy. At first, I feared his face would crack from disuse.”

Màiri’s thoughts returned to the man called Eustis. He’d lost his wife a number of months ago and still was not over the loss. Loneliness was the only reason he could find little over which to smile. Màiri knew what it meant to know such loneliness. Her mother had lived every day of her life feeling the same.

When they reached the wide stone steps to the keep, Màiri thanked Janet for her help and made her promise she would rest before Lochlan came in for his evening meal. She gave Kenneth a nod to follow to make sure she made it safely home, then opened the door to the keep.

The second she closed the thick wooden door, her footsteps came to a halt. Iain’s angry voice echoed inside the great hall. She quietly stepped through the doorway, slipping unnoticed down the three steps to sit on a stool in the corner.

Roderick sat at the table, holding a parchment in his hands, while Donald, Lochlan, and the warrior Hector stood behind him, watching as their laird paced back and forth in front of them. She wondered if they noticed the knot clenching in his jaw, or the fists doubled at his side. From the serious looks on their faces she was sure they did.

“Where exactly did the Cochran’s last attack MacAlister holdings?”

Iain looked down at the spot where Roderick held his finger then followed when his finger moved again. “And the place before that?”

Roderick pointed a third time. “And here is William’s field of wheat they burned before that.” Roderick placed his finger in a different spot.

Iain slammed his fist on the top of the table and shouted an oath that made Màiri’s ears burn. “By the saints, why? Why have they decided to make war? We have done nothing to antagonize them.”

“They say it is in retaliation for the attacks made by the MacAlisters.”

“What attacks?” Iain spun to face Roderick and waited.

“The Cochran’s accuse the MacAlister warriors of three night raids. Two fields have been burned and cattle were stolen. They claim that less than a sennight ago a band of Scots wearing the MacAlister plaid burned Fergus Cochran’s cottage near our borders.”

Iain glared at each warrior in the room, the deadly look in his eyes a warning with which to be reckoned. “What do you know of this?”

The three men facing their laird shook their heads. “Nothing, Iain,” Roderick answered for all of them.

“Then how can there be such a misunderstanding?”