Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
M axwell observed the pink flush creeping over Aileen’s cheeks and grinned. “Tonight, we forget the past and dinnae give a fig about the future.” He took the hand that was gently stroking his arm and looked into her eyes. “I’d kiss yer hand, if nae for these cursed gloves ye wear.”
She straightened. “Dinnae speak of the gloves, MacNeil.”
“I’m curious, Captain. What is it ye’re hiding?”
She withdrew her hand, shaking her head and glanced at him coldly. “Nae now, Maxwell. Ye said yerself tae forget the past.”
“Touché.” He squeezed the hand he was holding. “Me apologies.”
Now, she smiled. “Why I’d never have thought tae hear an apology from ye.”
“They are rare, indeed.” He grinned.
The level of rowdiness had increased, drowning out any possible response from Aileen. There was laughter, voices raised in anger, squeals from the wenches seated on men’s laps as hands raised skirts and lips ventured onto plump breasts.
Tam’s wife, Jennie, bustled out of the kitchen bearing a tray loaded with platters of food which she placed on their table.
“I’m sorry, all we have tonight is venison pie.”
Aileen laughed. “That sounds like something straight from heaven. All we’ve been eating fer these past weeks has been porridge, bannocks and nettle soup and, when we were lucky, a sliver of black pudding or haggis.”
That brought a smile to Jennie’s broad features.
“Well, to follow, I’ve a juicy blackberry crumble and some fresh cream. Never let it be said that at the Flying Fish ye dinnae eat like kings and queens.”
They all tucked into the food with great eagerness, making short work of the pie and the crumble and washing them down with another tankard of ale.
“Delicious.” Finn gave her stomach a satisfied rub as Jennie cleared their dishes from the table. “I’ll nae be hungry again fer another week.”
A comfortably replete Maxwell leaned back, looking around the tavern surveying the revelers. The crew members were certainly making the most of their freedom. Here and there he glimpsed one of his fellow oarsmen, entwined with one of the lasses draped across his knee, or straddling him, consuming him in a kiss.
Watching these blatant displays of lust, his blood was rising and his desire for Aileen was growing with every moment. He felt himself hardening under his kilt. He shifted, moving to hide his desire, even though, in this scene of revelry and seduction, there’d be few who would care if he displayed an unseemly bulge.
One of the sailors strolled to the end of the room and piped a tune on a tin whistle. Another took out an accordion and joined him. Their host, Tam, joined in with his fiddle. A cheer went up and within seconds the crowd was singing along with the familiar, well-loved tunes.
A crewman leaped to his feet, grabbed the hand of a serving lass and the two of them started dancing a merry jig. Soon they were joined by other dancing couples. One of the serving-lassies jumped on a chair and called out loudly. “C’mon ye lazy wretches. On yer feet and dance. Take yer partners fer a reel.”
Maxwell seized Aileen’s gloved hand and got to his feet, tugging her to join him. “Lass, I see yer feet tapping under yer chair. Dance wi’ me in and have some fun.”
She joined him and soon her skirt and hair were flying as Maxwell, holding her tight, twirled her in time with the rollicking music. Then they kept time again to the music, dancing a joyous, wild jig, and slowed their steps to a familiar strathspey tune. Finally, out of breath, laughing for the joy of it, they resumed their seats.
Another of the women rose – a trifle unsteadily – and began to sing in a sweet, high voice that captivated her audience’s attention.
For the next hours, Maxwell contented himself with the sight of Aileen’s enraptured face, glowing in the firelight. The crowd hushed as the air filled with lilting ballads of lost love, white roses climbing on gravestones, Thomas and his rhymes, and wicked songs of murder.
Those he enjoyed most were the lively, bawdy songs of lovers who, after overcoming every obstacle in their way, found their bliss in each other’s arms.
As the night wore on a combination of tiredness and an excess of ale took their toll on the those few crew members who had not retired with a lass or two on their arms. One or two slept snoring under tables, one slept propped up in a chair, while yet another was slumped face down on a table.
Finn and Séamus got to their feet. Finn yawned. “’Tis time we were abed, Captain. Will ye excuse our company now before I fall asleep?”
Séamus shrugged, but there was an amorous glint in his eyes. “Seems the lass needs her sleep this night.”
Aileen laughed. “Sleep or nay lad, she’ll be snug and warm in yer arms.”
After the pair had departed, there were few revelers still awake. Maxwell turned to Aileen. “Will ye welcome me tae yer bed this night?”
She cocked a questioning eyebrow. “Would ye prefer me bed tae the barracks wi’ the other oarsmen?”
He laughed. “’Tis a question that needs nay answer, Captain. I think me preference is clear. But what d’ye wish?” He wanted to hear her say it. He wished for her invitation. Without her acquiescence, he would not insist. Bedding an unwilling lass was something he’d never done and tonight would not be the first time.
The planes of her face seemed to sharpen and, when she spoke, her voice was soft but her tone was serious.
“I will be honest wi’ ye, MacNeil. I desire yer presence in me bed. ‘Tis the truth and I’ll nae deny it. Yet I fear that ye and I becoming lovers would be an error that will imperil both our lives.”
He rubbed his chin, his gazed locked unblinking on hers. “Ye wish tae bed me, but ye will nae be me lover. Have I grasped what ye’re saying?”
She laid a hand on his arm. “’Tis nae fer nae wanting ye, never fear. But should we allow our passion tae swamp us, we would pay a heavy price.”
He pondered this, understanding at once that should they make love, she would bear the brunt of Sutherland’s wrath should he discover it.
“I would pay the price fer ye, lass, nae matter how harsh. Me wanting ye is fierce and strong and would wash over me like a high tide that I cannae resist. Yet I’ll abide by yer wishes Aileen, fer I dinnae wish tae place ye in jeopardy where ye may fear fer yer life.”
She sucked in a breath. “I’ll think of ye in the barracks this night wi’ the drunkards snoring around ye.”
After a long pause they both rose. “I’ll escort ye tae yer room. There are enough drunken reprobates abroad here that might accost ye under cover of darkness.”
As they moved toward the entrance, one of the sleepers who had been slumped across a table by the door, half woke, flinging his arms wide. A blade he’d been holding in a loose grip flew out of his hand, its pointed edge steering directly for Maxwell’s throat.
One of the serving-women screamed loudly.
In one swift move Aileen threw up her arm, deflecting the dirk. Maxwell was spared but the knife inflicted a deep cut on her own wrist.
Blood welled up and ran freely from the cut and down her arm. She gasped, reaching for her sleeve to staunch the blood. Maxwell grabbed her arm and ripped a strip of linen from his shirt quickly binding her wrist. “Hold it tight lass, tae stop the blood-flow.”
Tam appeared by the stairs with a lamp, looking around. “I heard a scream. Is someone hurt?”
The lass who had cried out pointed to Aileen and Tam rushed over as Maxwell was escorting her to the stairs.
“Are ye hurt, lass?” He raised he lantern shining light on the spreading bloodstain on her clothing. “By the holy saints,” he exclaimed, “Take her tae her room and I’ll bring clean water and cloth so she can be tended.”
He snapped his fingers at one of the lads who was standing by, gawping. “Make yerself useful, lad. Go to the kitchen and find me good wife. Tell her we require her ministrations tae treat a wound.” The boy stood, mouth ajar. “Hop tae it lad.” The young man jumped into action, disappearing through a door leading to the kitchen.
“Thank ye, Tam.” Aileen mumbled. Maxwell registered a quiver in her normally firm tone. Her face was ashen and her hands were trembling. It had all happened so quickly, even he was still gathering his wits.
Once they reached the room Maxwell piled up the pillows on the bed so she could recline, her back against the headboard. He stood, planning to open the door for Jennie, but Aileen held on to his hand.
“Stay. I’m enjoying yer company.”
“I wasnae intending tae leave ye.” His heart beat a little faster at her soft grasp of his hand. “I’ll be beside ye as long as ye wish it.”
She managed a smile with a hint of mischief. “Well, I wish it now.”
Moments later Jennie hurried in carrying a bowl of fresh water, several strips of linen for a bandage and a jar of healing tincture.
“Thank ye, Jennie. Can ye please leave those on the table. I prefer tae tend me own wound.”
Jennie frowned. “Are ye sure, lass? I’m well used tae tending tae cuts and bruises.” She chuckled. “I see enough of them when the sailors are in.”
“’Tis kind of ye, but I’ll be all right.”
Once the door had closed behind Jennie, Aileen released Maxwell’s hand. “Ye must leave me tae me healing practice.”
He looked at her askance. Blood was still oozing from the bandage and she was gritting her teeth against the pain.
“Ye cannae tend yerself wi’ only one hand. ‘The wound is deep, and blood still flows. “
She shook her head, causing her hair to fly in all directions. He reached out, smoothing it down, tucking it behind her ears.
“Nay. I’ll manage.”
It occurred to him that she wanted him gone so she could attempt to remove her gloves. Rather than reveal what lay beneath the kidskin she was prepared to risk causing further injury to herself.
He took the bowl and crouched beside the bed, taking her wounded arm in his strong grasp.
“Ye saved me life. And in doing so, ye could have well lost yer own. Even if I didnae care fer ye, ‘tis me duty now tae look out fer ye; tae dae whatever is in me power to keep ye safe.”
She shook her head. “I did what anyone would dae.”
“Nay lass, few would risk themselves. I dinnae care if ye’re determined tae hide yerself wi’ yer gloves. There’s nay sense in it.” She lay back and he saw a glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. He spoke more gently still. “I dinnae give two figs fer what scars or deformities ye may be hiding. Ye need care.”
“Ask Finn tae come.”
“I’ll nae disturb those two on the one night they can be together. I dinnae think ye’d dae that tae them.”
She sighed loudly and sniffed. “Ye’re right. I’m sorry, it was pure selfishness of me tae think of asking Finn fer help.”
Still keeping hold of her arm, he undid the rough bandage he’d made with his shirt and began to peel the long glove from her arm. She groaned and closed her eyes.
His eyes widened at what he saw. Her entire arm was scarred from her elbow to her wrist with what must have been deep, crisscrossing gashes. At once he understood what she meant when she said she could attend her own wound. Whoever had sliced her arm would have left her to tend herself. And that someone had inflicted a cruel and dire punishment that could have cost her life.
After removing the last of the glove, he gently washed the blood from her arm and, once the bleeding had ceased, gently smoothed Jennie’s healing balm over the wound. Then he bound her wrist with a long strip of clean linen.
When he looked up, he saw that her eyes were still closed and her cheeks were awash with silent tears. He felt her sadness in his bones, wanting only to soothe, to comfort.
There was a knock at the door and he got up and walked over, opening the door no more than a few inches. Tam was there with two hot whisky toddies on a tray. “The missus thought this might help the captain tae feel a little more like herself. And she sent one fer ye as well.”
Maxwell took the tray, thanking Tam for his kindness.
“If ye give me the captain’s kirtle, Jennie will sponge them clean and dry them by the fire overnight.”
“I thank ye, Tam, fer yer kindness. If ye can return in a short while, I’ll give them over.”
“Aye. I’ll come back soon.”
Maxwell placed the drinks on the table. “All right, Aileen. D’ye wish me tae help ye wi’ yer skirt?”
He assisted her to her feet and she raised her arms for him to slip off her kirtle, leaving her in her shirt and helped her step out of her skirt. He took the bloodstained garments to the door and placed them outside. Then he helped cover her with her warm cloak while she snuggled under the bedding.
He chuckled as he passed her the hot drink. “That was never the way I thought I’d be helping ye out of yer clothes.”
She had dried her tears and was able to give him a hint of a smile. “I’d nay thought of it at all, MacNeil.”
He pshawed in disbelief. “May I sit?” He gestured to the bed beside her and she nodded briefly.
He sipped the concoction of whisky, honey and lemon, savoring the warm, sweet-sour and smoky-mellow taste. The whisky was excellent. No doubt Tam had access to the finest drop the smugglers could provide.
As Aileen sipped, he said nothing. He was not going to press her for information. She knew he’d seen her scars and now it was her decision as to whether she would say more, or tell him how she’d acquired the awful gashes that could have produced such terrible scarring.
They sat in silence until they’d finished their drinks. He took their two sturdy mugs to the table and returned to her side.
She sniffed again, meeting his penetrating gaze. Her green cat’s eyes were clouded with more tears. He reached up with one of the linen strips and dabbed away the moisture.
“It was Sutherland. Ye would have guessed it by now.” She ground out the words.
She was right. He’d guessed as much but hearing it from her mouth filled him with a murderous rage. A fierce, red, killing, fury. “Ye dinnae have to tell me.”
She turned away, her expression bleak. “I want tae tell ye. I said that only when I could trust ye would I reveal my secrets. I trust ye now.”
He took a long, hard, breath, soothing his deep anger, allowing his gentle side to take hold. He would bide his time before he gave his rage full sway. But that time would come.
“Tomorrow night, if the weather is with us, we’ll be at Dunrobin Castle. Ye will meet the Laird Andrew Sutherland and I will be with ye.”
“I will meet the devil who did this tae ye and I will kill him.” His voice was cold with resolve.
She scoffed, shaking her head. “He’ll be guarded by his coterie of warriors. Ye’ll have nay chance tae get near him.”
“I’ll kill the cowardly knave. If nae tomorrow, then another day. I care nae fer when it comes, but I swear tae ye, the man who crushed your heart and soul and tore your spirit, will die at me hand. That was me plan anyway, given he wants tae murder me braither.”
One of the candles guttered and went out, leaving them in a dim light. He could scarcely make out her face but he met her gaze, the candlelight reflecting in her eyes. He saw trust there and a softness she’d hidden from him until now.
“I was yet young when Sutherland took me.”
“Aileen,” he interrupted. “I dinnae wish ye tae tell me anything if it causes ye pain.”
She shook her head and went on. “He trained me in obedience. I was a willful girl, used to getting me own way, nae ready tae dae his bidding.” She gestured to her exposed arm. “Each one of these was a punishment. Only when I accepted him as my master did the punishment cease.”
She raised her head with a defiant jutting of her chin, as if bracing herself for his criticism.
Instead of disdain, he met her gaze with gentleness in his blue eyes, sensing her hurt. He had no words that could express what he felt. There was rage. That was certain. But it was not rage directed at Aileen. For her he had only compassion, the urge to take her in his arms and protect her from the cruelties of the world. Yet, that was not possible. For the first time since he’d come aboard her ship, he wished fervently he was at home in the castle at Barra, surrounded by his loved ones. It was there he wanted to take her so that she’d be enveloped in the strength of his family and their warmth and protection.
He took her other arm and slowly peeled away the kidskin. What was revealed was another devastated limb. Only on this one, along with the same scarring as her left arm, there was puckered skin that had once blistered and was still an angry red.
The bastard had burned her.
He bent and pressed his lips to her skin, layering a series of featherlight kisses along the ridges and furrows. He turned her hand palm upwards and did the same with the same lightness of touch along her inner arm. When he’d reached her wrist, he took her wounded arm and treated it as he’d done with the other, with the softest of kisses. Even if he didn’t look at her face he could feel her crying.
He picked up the gloves, one of which had been cut by the knife blade that had wounded her. Maxwell put out a hand. “Give those to me, lass. I never wish to see your arms covered by these torturous things again.
She passed them to him. Without gloves, her arms felt lighter and free.
“But me scars have made me hideous.”
“Nay, lass.” He tossed the offending gloves across the room. “The scars will fade in time. Ye’re a true beauty and those scars willnae change that. Ye mustnae fash so.”
She stepped across the room and picked up the gloves. But instead of putting them back onto her arms again, as he feared she might, she walked to the fire and flung them into the heart of the flames.
“There!” She returned to him smiling. A wan smile to be sure, but a smile where before there had been tears.
With her good hand she reached up and smoothed his hair back from his forehead. He joined her on the bed and enfolded her in his arms.
“If ye’ve any kisses left now, may I please have one on me lips?”