Bound to the Highlander(3)

Her insides fluttered. It was necessary, but her life was changing faster than she ever thought possible. Entering into this new stage without her uncle to guide and encourage her was unfathomable, but it was her duty. “I shall marry Sir Gawain and he will be our new chief. I am certain ’tis what Uncle intended.”

Gwen’s grip on Aileana’s hand tightened.

“Gwen, what is it? You realize that while he and I are not yet betrothed, the ceremony would no doubt have occurred after my birthday.”

“But Gawain—”

“Must I always remind you? He is a knight and deserves our respect.” Aileana retrieved her hand from Gwen’s grasp. “We do so by addressing him as he is due. I’m uncertain why you find that impossible to remember.” Why did Gwen react so? She trusted the woman’s judgment under normal circumstances. On the subject of Gawain, their opinions differed.

Aileana had known Gawain most of her life and considered him a decent man, even if his thoughts and feelings were a mystery. Six months ago he’d arrived at Chattan Castle, newly knighted and, at her uncle’s bidding, took up the constable’s post. It was beneath his status as her intended, but they were shorthanded and Uncle Iain posted him because he required someone he could trust. Who better than family? Gawain had endured the post without complaint.

Since his return, Gwen had treated him with a bare minimum of respect to his face and expressed her dislike in private. Her primary objection was his reserved demeanour. Suspicious, she called it. Aileana had no clue how his countenance could be considered criminal.

Gwen inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth. “My lady—” A soft knock at the door interrupted her. Gwen’s expression was apologetic as she crossed the room. A moment later, Father Addison entered.

Despite his years at Chattan Castle, this marked the first occasion he’d ever entered Aileana’s private domain. He scanned her room, almost bold in his perusal. She watched his gaze trail over the crimson velvet curtains accenting her canopied bed. Similar draperies hung above the shuttered windows, illuminating the winding staircase to the right. He lingered on this detail. It led to the east tower and overlooked the loch. Why would he care about that?

“Lady Aileana, how do you fare? Is there anything I may do for you?” Father Addison wrung his hands together. His brow was drawn tight and his gaze flicked around the room instead of looking at her. What did he seek?

“Has my uncle been blessed?”

“Aye, m’lady, he has. Andrews can speak with you about the arrangements if you wish.”

“Can that not wait until the morn?” Gwen asked.

“Aye, of course.” His gaze rested on Aileana at last. He smiled; his expression full of the warmth she was used to. Curious.

“Father, might I have a word with you?” Gwen asked. She crossed her arms and grazed her fingers along her sleeves.

“Is something amiss, Gwen?” Aileana asked.

“Not at all. Just a question I have about tomorrow’s service, my lady.”

Aileana was so tired and her bed held the promise of respite from the horrific day behind her. The one ahead would be no easier, but rest would help. “I’ll see myself to bed, Gwen. You may leave with Father Addison.”

She just had the words out when Gwen ushered the priest through the door.

Aileana removed her girdle, the one her uncle had ordered from Edinburgh last year. She folded the gold stitched piece and placed it on the edge of her bed. She untied the sleeves and sides of her gown and scooped the thick garment over her head, laying it across a chair.

Her limbs were heavy and her head pounded. She blew out the candles and crawled into her down-filled bed. The quilt’s weight was more effective than Gwen’s valeria, soothing her body and pulling her toward sweet slumber.

Aileana arose at sunrise the next morning, climbed the stairs to the tower, and gazed out beyond the palisades to the loch beyond. On a morning like this, Uncle Iain would point out the mirror image of the mountains and water. She closed her eyes and drank in the fresh air, willing her anguish to settle.

Many clansmen would come to mourn today. She must face these men her uncle was honour bound to protect for they were more than that to him—they were brothers. She linked her fingers together. Before this day was over, her grief would surely coil around her heart and consume her. She breathed in the cool air as deep as she could, as if that one act alone would give her the courage she needed.

After breaking her fast, she tried stitching bluebells onto a lace handkerchief while she waited for Andrews near the great hall’s stone hearth. She’d welcome any task to refocus her mind for the next few hours. After she clipped the threads and reworked the pattern several times, she threw it down and reached for her manuscript.