Chapter 12
I’ve seen lads this way after a battle, but I’ve never seen a lass like this.
Killian was in front of her in an instant, frustration pulling his thoughts too tight. He didn’t know what to do to help her, and he couldn’t bear the feeling.
The moment he had met her, she had put an invisible shield in his hand and unconsciously tasked him with keeping her safe. But a shield was no good here. Neither was a sword. There was no tangible enemy for him to fight off, no visible threat to eliminate.
He crouched down to her eye level. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
With her head against the wall and her eyes squeezed shut, her hand rubbing frantic circles on her chest, she looked to be in immense pain.
Through gritted teeth, she managed to whisper, “The… sea.”
But we’re nae near the sea. I mean, it doesnae take long to get there, but ye cannae even see it from here.
Killian hadn’t forgotten her visceral reaction on the cliff path or while crossing the river or during luncheon. But how could the sea be troubling her in this gallery, with the windows so high up and thick stone to block out any sound of it?
He glanced up and understood. Partially understood, at least.
Even a painting can trigger such fear?
“Leave, Paisley,” he commanded.
The healer hesitated. “Shall I make somethin’, me Laird? A tea or a tonic?”
“It wouldnae hurt,” he replied.
It might not help either.
With a worried frown, Paisley hurried out of the gallery. The thud of the door closing made Ailis flinch, and Killian’s hand shot out instinctively to take hold of hers.
“Keep yer eyes closed and stand up,” he said, an idea coming to him.
A terrible one, perhaps, but he wasn’t going to allow himself to feel helpless. One bad idea was better than none, better than doing nothing and just crouching there while Ailis trembled and gasped like she couldn’t draw a full breath.
“What?” she rasped.
He repeated himself and began to stand, slowly pulling her up with him.
She resisted at first, making herself a dead weight.
It would have taken no effort whatsoever to just yank her to her feet, but he didn’t want to hurt her or alarm her more.
For this first step, he just needed her to want to stand.
“Ye can punch a powerful laird in the back, but ye cannae get to yer feet?” he taunted.
A beautiful green eye cracked open. “I was defendin’ meself.”
“Aye, so defend yerself against that painting of the sea, and get to yer feet,” he said.
Her other eye opened, surprise softening the fear on her face. Some color bloomed across her cheeks, though he hadn’t meant to embarrass her. He meant what he had said; if she was going to overcome her fear of the sea, then she needed to fight it.
Muttering words he couldn’t quite hear and likely didn’t want to, Ailis used his hand to pull herself up. She kept her back to the painting of the sea, but her eyes were open and narrowed on him. A good sign.
Better to be annoyed with him than so terrified she couldn’t move, so overcome with fear that it mimicked pain.
“Aye, good,” he said, weaving her arm through his. “Now, come with me, lass.”
Ailis eyed him warily. “Where are we goin’?”
“Away from this room,” he replied, and began leading her toward the door.
As they walked out of the gallery and down the hallway, Killian felt her relax at his side. Her shoulders dropped, her grip on his arm loosened slightly, her breathing slowed, and that wild look faded from her eyes.
Aye, well, that’s nae goin’ to last.
But he mentioned nothing of his idea as they continued on, figuring it would be easier to explain when they were closer than giving her the opportunity to let her fear build up again. Anticipation only had merit when it was of the good kind.
Even when they stepped out into the brisk autumn air, honeyed late-morning light bathing the courtyard in gold, Ailis didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. Then again, she had enough stares to contend with to wonder where Killian was taking her.
“Ignore them,” he said quietly.
News must have spread by now about the possibility of a wedding, for once the maids knew something, everyone knew that something. Killian was prepared to bear the weight of his clan’s disapproval and sense of betrayal, but he wouldn’t let them punish Ailis for it.
She swallowed loudly. “I wish I could. They must hate me.”
“They hate yer faither,” he corrected. “They hate this war.”
She peered up at him. “Ye still believe a marriage can bring an end to it?”
“I do.”
“And… did ye mean what Paisley told me?” She hesitated. “About savin’ Skye from that awful place?”
Killian was pleased that the healer had passed on the message.
He had assumed as much when he had seen her and Ailis in the gallery.
But considering the state Ailis had been in just minutes ago, he hadn’t thought it appropriate to launch into a barrage of, “So, is this an agreement to the marriage?”
“I daenae say things I daenae mean,” he replied. “Me man-at-arms will take his finest men on our weddin’ day, and while everyone is distracted, they’ll rescue her and bring her to the castle. She’ll be waitin’ for ye when ye return as me wife.”
Ailis pulled back slightly. “Return? From where?”
Killian mentioned the chapel on the MacNairn side of the river and explained how the day was supposed to unfold while he kept her walking.
If she wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings, then she might not realize that they were heading toward the thing she feared the most. More than her father, probably.
“Me faither and braither are goin’ to be there?” She blanched, her grip on his arm tightening again, her breath quickening as though she had just glimpsed another painting of the sea.
“Both. One or the other. We’ll have to wait and see, but I’ve instructed both to be there,” he answered. “Either way, Skye will be retrieved.”
She shook her head. “What if they expect an attack? What if yer man-at-arms gets there and finds the castle heavily guarded?”
Killian wasn’t at all surprised by her sharp mind, spotting the pitfalls before anyone tripped into them. Although he was a little insulted that she hadn’t considered that he had already thought of all that.
“I need ye to draw me a map,” he said. “Ways of gettin’ in that might nae be common knowledge. But I ken somethin’ of yer faither’s tactics. He’s more likely to march his army to his side of the riverbank than order it to protect a castle. We’re prepared for every possibility; I assure ye of that.”
Chewing her lip in consternation, Ailis wasn’t at all focused on where they were going.
She followed blindly, lost in her thoughts, as they came to the steep steps that were cut into the hill where the castle perched.
Even then, she descended as if she were in a trance, moving carefully but unconsciously downward.
“Does this mean ye agree to be me bride?” Killian finally asked, once they had reached the bottom.
Ahead, beautiful ancient woodland in all its colorful autumn plumage didn’t yet offer a glimpse of the glittering sea. Like a veil between worlds, it hid that stretch of mercurial water, but it would soon appear. Killian could already hear its comforting music.
A sudden tug on his arm made him react, locking his muscles to keep Ailis upright. She had stumbled over a stone, her green eyes fixed on him, not looking where she was going.
Is that yer way of sayin’ aye?
Or had she seen the sea and realized where they were headed?
“I… agree,” she replied, her voice as unsteady as her feet. “For Skye, for… the hope that all of this comes to an end, I agree.”
Killian gave a slight nod of his head and, satisfied that she hadn’t twisted her ankle or hurt herself, he led her onward through the trees.
Golden sunshine streamed through the canopy of oaks and alders and rowans, casting lines of hazy, heavenly light on the forest floor.
Dappled pools that caught the hues of Ailis’s fiery mane of hair as she walked through: streaks of honeyed amber; filaments of the richest, reddest browns; strands that were almost blonde; undertones of russet and bright locks of the most vivid copper.
A whole autumn palette, echoing the woodland.
“It’s beautiful here,” she whispered as they followed a well-worn trail through the trees, merry birdsong accompanying them.
“Aye, it is,” Killian agreed, wondering when she would notice.
It happened as the crowded trees began to shun one another, the space between them growing wider.
The youngest trees sprouted up on the edge of the forest—their forbears had been torn down by vicious winter winds and one too many storms battering their ancient bark and brittle trunks—having not yet learned to share the soil as well as their ancestors.
Ailis came to a dead stop. “What are ye doin’?”
“What do ye mean?” Killian replied innocently.
“Why have ye brought me here?” Her voice wavered, those beautiful green eyes wide to the whites, like a warhorse that had finally seen too much of death and destruction.
He threaded his fingers through hers, a tight grip but not a commanding one.
“Me bride cannae be afraid of the sea,” he said.
“The sea is as much a part of Clan MacNairn as the stones that built the castle, the oaks we just walked through, the banners we fly when we ride. As ye ken, the sound of it is ever-present in the castle, and I cannae have ye tremblin’ every time ye hear it. ”
With a firm pull, he guided her across a small slip of coarse shrubland to where the earth dropped away and the wide, majestic sea spread out endlessly.
A cliff that overlooked a peaceful cove, where children went crabbing in the summer, women dived for oysters and mussels, and men set out to fish in rough seas.
In the autumn, however, there was no one down there. The fishermen set sail from further down the coast in the colder months, straight off the beach.
Ailis began to panic, desperately tugging against his arm, trying to break free. “Please, me Laird!” she begged, wild-eyed and pale-faced. “Please, daenae do this!”
“I have nay choice,” he murmured, tightening his grip on her hand to hold her steady, at the very least.
He needed her to look, needed her to gaze out at the sea until it no longer had that devastating effect on her.
It didn’t work on the men he knew, who had been scarred by war and couldn’t hear so much as the crack of a log in the fire or the scrape of a sword being sharpened without crumbling, but he was certain it would work on her.
“Please!” she croaked, tears glistening in her eyes. “Please, daenae throw me off the cliff! Daenae throw me in the sea, I beg ye!”
Horror struck him like an arrow through the chest. At once, his grip slackened, while his other hand came up to cradle her face.
He turned to face her, gazing deeply into her eyes, a thick lump forming in his throat as she peered up at him with such terror that he nearly threw her over his shoulder and carried her back to the castle.
“Why would I do such a thing?” he asked thickly.
She blinked. “I… daenae ken. Ye just said ye couldnae have… a bride who’s afraid of the sea. Ye just said ye didnae have a choice.”
“Aye, but I didnae mean I was goin’ to get rid of ye,” he sighed. “Do ye trust me, lass?”
Ailis bit her lip, her eyes glazing over as she contemplated her answer. He tried not to be insulted that it was taking her so long, reminding himself of how they had met and the lingering shock of his proposal. She was right to be wary, even if he knew that he meant her no harm.
At last, she gave the smallest of nods.
“Then will ye let me help ye?” he prompted.
A deep, shaky breath inflated her chest, her palm clammy against his. She opened her mouth to reply, but it seemed the fear still had too fierce a grip on her, as no sound emerged.
So she swallowed loudly and dipped her head in a second, more decisive nod.