Page 7 of The Laird's Unwanted Wife
Her pallid face turned beet red, her hands hiding her eyes as she managed to mumble out, “It’s … it’s Aileen, me Laird.”
Aileen. He was committed to burning the name into his memory. God, but she really weighed nothing at all. He was easily able to keep her steady with one hand as the other went to retrievehis sword. Then, with everything accounted for, Gerald left the study and headed back outside, Mollie trailing close behind as Bannock chased after her.
“Ah, Laird MacLiddel!” Rory’s sentence froze as he stared at the new company. The rest of the warriors remained stone-faced, though the rioting kinsfolk all let out a collective gasp. Murmuring whispers built through them like the fires to their clan’s banner, and as Gerald reached his horse proper, the guard from earlier dared to approach.
“Me Laird,” he managed to stammer out. “Ye found the Hughes sisters?”
Immediately, Gerald felt Aileen shift farther into his grasp, felt Mollie grasp his leg and cower behind him.
“This … this is perfect!” The guard exclaimed. “Now these bastards can finally do right by their clan and take the mantle of leadership.”
“What’s a bastard, Leelee?” Mollie asked, her eyes watery and her grasp tightening around Gerald’s leg.
“Here. We’ll be happy to take them off yer hand, me Laird.” The guard approached, arms outstretched toward Aileen. Instead, he found himself staring down at the point of Gerald’s sword, as well as the glimmering, sharp teeth of Bannock.
“Ye’ll nae speak such harsh words around the child,” Gerald stated, his tone frigid and sharp. “Nor will ye be takin’ them off me hands.”
The guard looked clearly taken aback. “Me Laird, we hardly expect ye to find her a betrothed. It’s as ye said. Our council should handle matters, and they’ll find a proper laird for her to stand beside.”
“Ye insult me, lad.”
The keep went deathly silent. Everyone’s eyes were on Gerald as they waited to see what would happen next. Uncertain if the guard would be struck down before them for speaking seemingly out of turn. Gerald gestured for Rory to draw close, kneeling as if to speak to Mollie face-to-face. “Ye’ll ride with me man-at-arms, wee one. I’ll have yer sister ride with me.”
Mollie nodded, though she looked up toward Rory with uncertainty.
“Daenae worry, wee one,” Gerald reassured, speaking loud enough for all to hear. “Yer sister is me betrothed now. I willnae let anything happen to her, or ye.”
4
Betrothed?Betrothed?Aileen blinked multiple times, wondering if her body had finally given up on her. She watched numbly as the Laird’s man-at-arms helped her sister up onto his horse, while Bannock stubbornly kept to the steed’s heel.
It felt as if she were floating, in part due to riding atop a horse herself, with only the Laird’s strong grasp keeping her from falling over, from drifting away. Bride. Hehadsaid that quite suddenly. Aileen once more found herself in the thralls of betrothal, and to a man she only knew by word of mouth.
“Ye … ye cannae do this!” The guard shouted behind her, followed soon after by the outcry of her kinsfolk. “Ye threw us to the wolves, and now ye take our only weapon?”
“She is nae a tool for ye to abuse,” Laird MacLiddel snapped. “And after what I’ve seen today, I’d happily force me rule over ye than let ye tear these lasses apart.”
“Ye daenae care for us!” Someone from the crowd shouted.
“Nor did yer previous laird,” Laird MacLiddel replied curtly. “So, it will be like nothing has changed.”
The sound of thundering hooves suddenly filled Aileen’s ear, and in an instant, she found herself passing beneath the keep’s main gate. The shrieking protest of people soon fell to the wayside, replaced with the steady rumble of riding warriors and the general ambiance of the forest surrounding them. “I’m … I’m yer what?”
It was obvious Laird MacLiddel couldn’t hear her. Or, perhaps, he refused to answer her question. He was a laird, after all. Just like Marcus, he had the strength and power to do as he wished. But it made little sense to Aileen whythiswas something he willingly chose. To save the unwanted children of the Hughes bloodline, to marry a woman whose brother had committed a terrible act against the greater lairds of the Highlands.
None of it made sense, and she barely had the strength to consider it any further. Her eyes fluttered shut, lulled by the shifting of the horse beneath her and the strong grasp of Laird MacLiddel, keeping her safe and secure against his chest.
Then, suddenly, she woke with a start, staring up at a sky dotted with starlight. She sat upright, her hands pressed against the ground as the world wobbled around her. A furred cape slid down the length of her body, the sudden rush of heat from a flickering campfire’s flame catching on her face. She blinked furiously, trying to push fatigue aside as she tried to stand.
“None of that, lass. Daenae want me bride to hit her head because her balance is gone.”
Aileen’s head swiveled to the voice—to Laird MacLiddel, sitting directly across from her with that same neutral expression she’d seen on him while talking to her kinsfolk. Bannock lay beside him, her head upright and alert, with Mollie curled up against her side, another fur cape keeping the nighttime cold at bay.
“I didnae think such a wee body could eat so much in one sittin’,” Laird MacLiddel remarked. “Her appetite doesnae seem affected by yer long stint of travel.”
Intentionally so, Aileen wanted to say. But she kept the fact to herself, pulling on her own cape as the cold nipped at her gaunt frame.
“As for ye …” Gerald reached for a small, wooden bowl nestled against a few of the less-smoldering coals, offering it out to Aileen. “I have a feelin’ ye’ll be on a strict broth diet for a while. At least until yer body recognizes ye’re nay longer starving.”
