Chapter 10
There wasn’t enough whiskey in the world to quell the disappointment in Killian’s chest. The kiss itself hadn’t been disappointing—far from it—but he was disappointed in himself for losing control like that.
All those years of discipline, and it crumbled in an instant…
He gulped down another mouthful of the peaty, smoky amber liquid and hissed as it burned all the way into his stomach.
He wasn’t an heir in training anymore; he was the Laird of Clan MacNairn, and he had allowed Ailis to distract him, like he was nothing more than a youth who had no restraint.
“She must be in her chambers, cursin’ me name,” he muttered as he took another long sip of his whiskey.
It wasn’t how he had intended for the proposal to go.
Of course, he had anticipated a discussion and uncertainty.
But instead of reassuring her with a calm explanation and a stern command, he had gone and kissed her.
Now, he doubted she would have faith in anything he said, believing him to be a trickster who was just using her.
But ye are, in a way. Would ye marry her if it wouldnae help yer cause?
He shook off the thought; it wasn’t relevant. He wouldn’t have met her under different circumstances, so he couldn’t dwell on what-ifs. Nevertheless, if he had met her somewhere else, in a different situation, he would still have thought her the most alluring lass he had ever encountered.
But right now, he couldn’t muddy the waters. There was too much at stake to inadvertently push Ailis to a point where she tried to escape, having decided her fate would be better at her family home than here.
He feared he had already nudged her toward that decision by kissing her just after she had accused him of being like her family, and he couldn’t risk doing that again. He couldn’t fail his father, his brother, or her by making a mistake.
I’m nae good at dealin’ with delicate matters, Faither. I daenae have the mind for it like ye did.
For the first time since he had buried his father—what felt like forever—Killian was struck by a fierce pang of loss.
He hadn’t allowed himself to grieve or dwell on the bereavement, but at that moment, he wished his father were still alive, sitting in the study with him.
His father would’ve known what to say to put his mind at ease.
“Bad day?” Peter’s cheery voice drew his attention away from the drink.
“Nae the best I’ve had,” Killian replied, gesturing to the decanter on the side table. “Help yerself and join me, as long as ye’re nae in a talkin’ mood.”
Peter pulled a face. “That bad, eh?”
He promptly poured himself a generous measure and sank into the armchair opposite Killian, the glow of the roaring fire dancing across the side of his face.
“I thought ye might be smilin’ for once in yer life,” he said, taking his first sip. “It’s nae encouragin’ when a groom isnae giddy about his weddin’.”
Killian grimaced. “Ye’re still unconvinced?”
“I think… yer plan is clever, and might work if we were feudin’ with someone else, but ye’re nae dealin’ with a sane man,” Peter replied hesitantly.
“It would be better to drop it. Fraser’s as good as dead in that castle.
Marryin’ the lass willnae change it. Ye cannae save him, as much as ye might nae want to hear it. ”
Ordinarily, Killian trusted his man-at-arms’ opinion and heeded his advice more often than not. But, in this, they were not in agreement.
He had already lost his father; he would not lose his brother, too. Nor would he give the wretched Ainsleys what they had demanded in their letter.
If he backed down now, if he did not do something they weren’t anticipating, it would display a weakness that they would jump on, and the MacNairns would lose this war. More than the war, they would lose territory and honor, disgracing the memory of those who had already fallen.
“It’s nae about savin’ him,” Killian said. “It’s about freein’ all of us from Laird Ainsley’s tyranny and thirst for blood. Me braither is just a part of it.”
“And if it doesnae work?” Peter pressed.
Killian shot him a dark glare. “It must.” He drained his glass and took a deep breath. “Send an invitation to Ainsley. The weddin’ will take place in a week at the chapel by the river. Tell him that I expect to see me braither there. Otherwise, I’ll claim his lands as a dowry.”
Peter knocked back his whiskey and refilled their glasses before asking in a strained voice, “Are ye sure?”
“If we want this war to end, there’s nay other way,” Killian replied, his resolve hardening.
As he sipped his whiskey more slowly and fixed his gaze on the flickering flames, he allowed his mind to wander back to that kiss—an island of peace amidst a sea of chaos.
Ailis hadn’t moved in hours. She had returned to her chambers in a daze, only meaning to perch on the chaise longue for a moment to catch her breath and gather her thoughts. Instead, she had stayed there, staring at the fire, until it seemed she might have become part of the chaise.
The maids had been in and out to clear away the dishes, and had returned with dinner, which they had also cleared away, untouched. There was no room for hunger when her stomach had been taken over by a pit of writhing snakes… and a few fervent butterflies.
A crackle of the fire snapped her out of her trance, a spark landing on the protective flagstones that surrounded the fireplace.
“What are ye doin’?” she mumbled to herself, her head turning toward the window.
Sometime between returning to her room and seeing that spark, it had gotten dark. Stars twinkled in an inky sky, the moon offering little illumination.
“Was I asleep?” she whispered, touching her fingertips to her lips. “Was that a dream?”
It might have been easier if it had been a dream, swiftly dismissed as a foolish imagination.
But her lips were still somewhat tender where Killian had kissed her fiercely, and she had kissed him back with equal fervor.
Meanwhile, her body’s reaction to the memory—a tingling rush of warmth, a quickening of her breath and heart—made certain that she knew it was real.
“I shouldnae have done that, lest ye mistake me intentions.”
His parting words circled in her mind like vultures, eager to pick at the carrion of her confusion.
What was she supposed to think about Killian kissing her suddenly?
What was she supposed to think about the fact that she had kissed him back, and not shyly?
What did he mean by those words? Did he mean that he didn’t want her to think that his proposal was anything more than a means to an end?
Did he mean that he didn’t want her to think that?
Her head felt like it might explode.
Her awareness of the volatile sea crashing against the cliffs in an unnerving drumbeat did nothing to help matters. The waves sounded like distant voices whispering together, growing louder and dipping softer, each undulation sending a shudder down her back.
“I cannae marry him,” she said thickly. “I willnae marry him.”
In a way, it didn’t matter what he had meant. She couldn’t do as he had commanded, not with Skye still trapped at Castle Ainsley. Murdock knew how much Ailis cared for that sweet girl, and though he might not be wicked enough to use his daughter as a sacrifice, their father wouldn’t hesitate.
Ailis got up, her legs stiff from sitting in the same position for hours.
Killian thinks he’s solved this, but he’ll only make things worse. He doesnae ken me faither as I do.
She began to pace in her room. She hoped it would soothe her overwrought mind. Instead, it had the opposite effect. The more she paced, the more laps she made of the room, the more her stress soared, reaching heights that stifled her and squeezed her heart.
I have to leave. I cannae stay here. There might still be time to smooth this over.
Her pacing lengthened into a run, straight across her bedchamber and out the door. She didn’t know how she planned to escape the castle, but if she didn’t keep running, she felt she might crumble under the pressure of her own thoughts.
The hallways were barely lit by torchlight, the sconces spaced too far apart, so she found herself racing through darkness. She couldn’t see anything ahead and had to trust her feet, praying she wouldn’t trip over a random rug or uneven flagstone.
Veering around a corner, she let out a pained yelp as she slammed straight into a wall. A breathing wall that moved as she staggered backward, hands curling around her upper arms to steady her.
“Me bride is already runnin’ away from me?” Killian’s deep, resonant voice drawled. “Och, I cannae have that.”
She shoved him in the chest… and succeeded in doing nothing but hurting her wrists a little. He was too solid, his chest as hard as granite, his feet planted like a majestic oak amidst a storm. Immoveable.
Shaking out her sore wrists, she glared up at him, unable to make out much of his face in the gloom of the hallway. But the gleam in his eyes let her know where to direct her glare.
“I was… runnin’ to tire meself,” she lied, badly. “And I’m nae yer bride.”
“Somethin’ on yer mind?” he asked silkily, ignoring the latter part.
She gulped. “Aye, actually. Me niece.”
Certainly nae ye holding me against ye, crushin’ yer lips against mine, makin’ me feel…
She couldn’t begin to describe what his kiss had made her feel. It had been like… freedom, like gamboling giddily through the Ainsley labyrinth where she knew no one could harm her, like the first warm day after a long and brutal winter.
“What are ye doin’ here anyway?” she huffed. “Should ye nae be in yer chambers, or… doin’ whatever it is that lairds do in the evening?”
“I havenae been sleepin’ much lately,” he said, his wide coming forward.
She backed away until a torch cast its molten glow on his handsome face. Looking upon him was always a surprise; he was so beautiful that he could have been a sculptor’s masterpiece.
“Ye’re nae helpin’,” he said.
For a moment, she wasn’t sure what he was referring to. “I’m nae helpin’ ye sleep? I didnae realize I was meant to. Ye’re a mighty laird; can ye nae fall asleep by yerself?”
He laughed gruffly. Perhaps she still hadn’t understood what he meant.
I’m nae keepin’ him awake. I’m nae noisy. I daenae even think his bedchamber is near mine.
Surely, he didn’t mean that thoughts of her were keeping him awake?
His cool blue eyes slid over her appreciatively, then dipped downward. She was wearing the same ill-fitting dress she had been wearing at luncheon, but the way he looked at her… it was as if she were dressed in the most opulent gown, or nothing at all.
Her throat bobbed at the intensity of his gaze, feeling as if he were peeling away the layers of fabric, and liking the feeling a little more than she cared to admit.
His hands clenched into fists. “If ye werenae runnin’ from me, bride of mine, then return to yer chambers.” He stepped closer. “Let’s test yer obedience.”
Ailis narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “I’ll say it again—I’m nae yer bride. And I’m nae tired yet.”
“Then go to yer chambers,” he repeated, stepping ever closer.
She didn’t budge. “Why would I, when I’ve already tried and failed to fall asleep there? I need to wander. And if I’m yer guest, as ye keep claimin’, then ye’ll let me.”
“Nae when ye’re lyin’ about the reason,” he replied. “I’ll tell ye one last time—go to yer chambers.”
“And if I daenae?” she challenged.
He was right where he had been just before he had kissed her earlier, so close to her that she couldn’t catch her breath, as if his mere presence was sucking the air from the hallway. That hunger flashed in his eyes again, igniting her own.
Nay! Nay, daenae start… swoonin’! Stop that, at once!
If she gave in and let him kiss her again, then her resolve to leave would shatter. Skye was counting on her to fix this mess; Ailis wouldn’t let her down.
“Do ye really want to find out?” Killian murmured.
Aye.
“Nay,” she replied. “But I want to be treated like a guest. I want freedom to roam where I please until I feel like retirin’ to me chambers.”
Killian’s clenched fists had whitened at the knuckles, as if it was taking all of his willpower not to throw her over his shoulder again. She was getting under his skin; she could see it in his tight jaw.
Would a kiss soothe ye?
Her mind flashed back to that moment. If she were to grab his shirt and rise on her tiptoes, would he kiss her? Would he pull away, as he had done before? If she asked him to come to her chambers, would he follow?
She shook her head as if getting rid of an irksome insect. She had no time to be thinking of such things when it would come to naught. She couldn’t indulge such dangerous desires when there were others in need.
“Actually,” she said, feigning a sarcastic yawn, “I am tired now. This conversation has exhausted me.”
His eyes flashed.
“Good night.”
Turning on her heel, she walked as casually as she could in the direction of her room, keenly aware of his gaze burning into her back.
Beneath the crackle of the torches and the whistle of the wind down the corridor and the ever-present whisper of the sea, she could have sworn she heard him say, “It willnae be.”