Chapter 31 Ye Stole Upon Me
AILEAN WAS LAYING stones upon the wall on the top floor of his tower when he spied Fiona climbing the hill beneath him.
Stilling in his work, he watched her make her way up the path, her blonde curls bouncing. A smile tugged at his lips.
A pleasant surprise.
He’d enjoyed seeing her at the mill a few days earlier and had taken the opportunity to commission some work from her.
On the way back, they’d stopped at the tower, and he’d shown her through the chambers.
There, he’d used a measuring stick and marked it with a knife so she had the height and width of the windows right.
It had been a companionable morning, one he hadn’t wanted to end.
The tower had felt empty after she left.
And now, here she was.
His gaze tracked her. She wore a becoming dove-grey kirtle that hugged her curves. The morning was chill, a biting wind gusting over the hills and ruffling the surface of the Sound, and she pulled her woolen shawl tight about her.
But as she drew closer, he marked the hunch of her shoulders, the hard set of her jaw.
She was upset.
His brow furrowed. He didn’t like seeing Fiona out of sorts. The cautious hope in her eyes at the mill had warmed him. He wanted her smiling again. If something was wrong, he’d fix it.
He set down his trowel beside the mortar bucket, brushed off his hands, and hurried down the spiral stairwell to meet her.
They met in the courtyard by the well.
“Morning, Fiona,” he greeted her with an easy smile. “What brings ye—”
“Ye paid them,” she cut in. Her eyes were slits of fury, her cheeks flushed. “Diarmaid and the miller. Ye bought them with yer coin.”
His heart kicked hard against his ribs.
Shite.
He cursed under his breath. “I told Diarmaid not to tell ye.”
“He didn’t. Beth got it out of him and shouted it across the market. Now all of Ardnacross thinks I spread my legs for ye for favors.”
He flinched. “I never said—”
“Ye didn’t need to!” Her fists clenched at her sides. “People can imagine plenty on their own. In telling everyone, she painted a fine picture of how I seduced ye at Dounarwyse and ruined us both.”
A sick heaviness settled in his gut. He took a careful step toward her. “This is the last thing I wished for, Fi,” he said roughly. “I was only trying to help ye.”
“Why?” she cried. “To get back in my good graces so I’d tumble ye again? Ye bastard!”
Panic tightened his throat. “No.” He stepped closer, and she retreated at once. “Ye’ve been through enough because of me. I wanted to ease things for ye. To give ye a start.”
“Liar! Ye were trying to ensnare me!”
He swallowed. He was losing her. Every word only made it worse.
“Find someone else to make yer window sacking,” she snapped. “Hire Beth. She feels sorry enough for ye.”
His pulse thundered. This was it. She was leaving.
“Fiona.” His voice caught. Sweat prickled at his neck. Christ. “There was no trick. I did it because I couldn’t live with myself.”
She stilled, curls whipping in the wind.
“I’ll admit, back in Dounarwyse ye started as a conquest,” he said, the words tearing free. “A tumble. But after everything fell apart, I realized … too late … the truth.”
She stared at him as if he’d shed his skin and turned into one of the Sìth.
“I’m in love with ye,” he said. The admission hurt.
“Ye’re far too good for me. I never meant to say this …
but ye deserve the truth.” Nausea rolled through him.
Still, he pressed on. “Ye stole upon me. I was full of myself when we met. This”—he gestured at the rising tower—“stripped all that away. Rebuilding it, stone by stone, has been even harder than I thought. This place has humbled me … but it has also made me understand what really matters. Too late, I saw what I’d found the day ye walked into my life …
and what I lost. And I swore I’d never try to claim ye.
That I’d love ye from afar. That seeing ye happy would be enough. ”
“How dare ye tell me this?” she choked. Tears brightened her eyes. “Ye are lower than a worm.”
“I am,” he whispered. “But I do love ye.”
“No! Ye’re trying to twist me around yer finger!”
“No, Fiona. Not this time.” His chest burned. “I’ve never felt anything like this. No one tells ye loving someone is like having yer heart cut out.”
“Stop it!” she shouted. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I won’t hear another word!”
She turned and fled.
Ailean didn’t move. He stood rooted as she ran, as if she were escaping something monstrous.
Dizziness swept over him. “Ye stupid prick,” he whispered hoarsely, gripping the well for balance. “Couldn’t ye keep yer gob shut?”
She was never meant to know.
A better man would have stayed silent. A better man would have borne it.
He dropped his chin and dragged in a ragged breath, fighting to master himself. Tears burned behind his eyes.
He hadn’t hurt like this in many years—not since he’d lost his mother.
The day Donalda Maclean died, his howls had shaken the tower house. Lyle had been too young to understand, but Ailean had. He’d thought the pain would kill him. It hadn’t. He’d buried it instead and sworn never to feel that way again.
Somewhere along the road, he’d become a man he barely liked.
Pushing off the well, he stumbled inside. With shaking hands, he poured a cup of ale and drained it. It did nothing. His chest still felt crushed in a vice.
He needed a stronger drink. Diarmaid’s sloe wine.
Diarmaid.
A curse snarled out of him—then died.
No. This was his own doing. The truth was bound to surface.
He sank onto a stool by the cold hearth and buried his face in his hands. The pain wouldn’t recede.
A horse snorted outside.
“Ailean?” a voice called.
He staggered to the doorway.
Rae, Lyle, and Kylie Maclean sat mounted upon coursers in the courtyard.
“I never thought to see ye here.” Ailean poured his visitors cups of ale and handed them over. His father, brother, and stepmother had dismounted and followed him indoors.
“Didn’t ye?” Rae eyed him, his gaze roaming over Ailean’s face.
Ailean shook his head. “I thought the sight of me sickened ye.”
His father flinched. Kylie’s brow furrowed. Lyle shifted uneasily, his gaze flicking between them.
“We’ve both missed ye,” his stepmother said huskily. “Worried about ye.”
Ailean gave a short snort. “There was no need to fash yerself on my account,” he replied, adopting a hearty tone he didn’t feel. His encounter with Fiona had hollowed him out. He wanted nothing more than solitude—yet this visit had knocked the breath from him too.
“Ye are making a good job of the tower,” Rae admitted gruffly, glancing around. “It was a right mess before.”
“Aye,” Ailean said. “Progress is slow as I learn new skills … but I’ll get there.”
His gaze met his father’s. They held each other’s eyes for a heartbeat.
Then Rae surprised him by smiling. “Aye,” he murmured. “Ye will.”
Warmth stirred unexpectedly in Ailean’s chest.
“I swear yer shoulders are as broad as a smithy’s these days,” Lyle added. “I used to beat ye at wrestling. I’m not sure I would any longer.”
“Ye beat me once,” Ailean corrected, a ghost of a grin touching his mouth. “Let’s be honest about it.”
Lyle snorted.
“The locals have accepted ye as steward, I hope?” Rae asked.
Ailean nodded. His belly tightened at the memory of what Fiona had suffered at market this morning. “They’re good people,” he said. “I like it here.”
“Ye do?” Lyle looked genuinely surprised.
Ailean’s lips quirked. “Aye.”
Rae cleared his throat. Both sons turned to him.
“About that, Ailean …” His voice roughened. “I’m sorry for the things I said back at Dounarwyse. I wish I could call them back.”
Silence fell.
Ailean met his eye. His throat tightened. “Ye shouldn’t, Da. They were true. Ye gave me everything, yet I did nothing but throw it in yer face.” He swallowed hard. “I deserved worse.”
Pain flickered nakedly across Rae’s face.
For a moment, he looked older, the laird stripped away to reveal only a father.
“No,” he said hoarsely. “I was wrong. And I would mend it if I could. Ye have no obligation to wed Sorcha MacDougall … I shouldn’t have pushed ye.
” He drew a breath. “Ye are still my heir. When I go, the title is yers.”
Ailean’s breathing caught. He glanced at Lyle. His brother’s eyes shone—not with disappointment, but relief. He’d known what Rae intended. He’d wanted this for him.
Shame pricked Ailean then, sharp and humbling. How often had he misjudged Lyle? How often had he imagined rivalry where none existed?
“Yer words mean more than I can say,” Ailean managed. “But … I don’t want yer title. Not any longer.”
The air froze.
Rae stared at him. Lyle’s breath hitched. Kylie’s hand rose to her throat.
“I want ye to give it to Lyle,” Ailean continued steadily.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
“I’m happy here,” he said at last, the truth settling solid in his chest. “Happier than I ever thought I’d be.” He glanced around the tower—the stone, the tools, the life he’d carved out with his own hands. “I’ve found my place.”
Rae looked as if the ground had shifted beneath him. “Ye’d rather steward Ardnacross than rule Dounarwyse?”
“Aye.”
The silence that followed was heavy—but not hostile. Only stunned.
Ailean met Lyle’s gaze. His brother stepped forward and clasped his shoulder, squeezing once. No further words were needed. None could have said more.
Then Ailean turned to Kylie. Her brown eyes shimmered with tears. He smiled gently. He loved her as fiercely as blood, and he knew she’d fought for him in his absence.
There was one more truth he could not leave unspoken.
“Ye should know,” he said softly, “that Fiona’s here.”