Chapter 2 #3
“I truly thank ye fer yer guardianship of me lady,” Samuel continued, his voice firm but measured. “However, as me betrothed, I believe it is me responsibility tae see tae her care from this moment forward. Please, tend tae yer men. I shall see tae the lady’s comfort.”
Alistair did not move at once. Instead, he turned to Maureen. “Are ye in agreement with this, Lady Maureen?”
She gave a brief nod, still perplexed by how swiftly her world had shifted. “Aye. It is fine. Ye have men who depend upon ye Alistair, and I believe that Laird Samuel MacLeay will dae his duty and attend tae me well-being.”
Alistair bowed. “Certainly, me lady. If that is yer wish, I shall obey.”
He turned back to Samuel, his brow still furrowed. “I place the lady’s safety and welfare in yer hands, Laird MacLeay. I trust that ye will guard her with even greater resolve and heart than I might meself.”
With that, he snapped his boots together, turned sharply, and strode away to where his men had gathered, kneeling beside one of their own who lay wounded upon the floor.
Maureen watched Alasdair walk away, the weight of all that remained pressing down upon her chest, and wondered – not for the first time that night – how much more her heart would be asked to bear?
She drew a careful breath, steadying herself as the room seemed tae tilt once more. She lifted her chin.
“I thank ye fer yer courtesy, Laird MacLeay.”
Samuel met her gaze. “Courtesy has naught tae dae with it.”
She blinked. “Then what daes?”
“Duty,” he said without hesitation. “And truth.”
He paused, then added, more quietly, “Ye are me betrothed. That binds me tae ye with more than words. I am sworn tae see that nay harm comes tae ye – by me hand, or any other.”
The weight of that settled heavily between them.
She nodded once. “Then I will accept yer aid.”
He extended his arm. “May I assist ye tae yer chamber?”
“Aye,” she said.
She placed her hand upon his arm, startled by the solid warmth beneath her fingers. He adjusted instantly, shortening his stride to match hers as he guided her towards the stairs. Voices rose behind them – men calling for him, hands reaching – but he did not turn.
“Laird MacLeay,” someone called. “We need—”
“Nae now,” Samuel said sharply. He glanced down at Maureen. “Ye are first.”
She said nothing, but her grip tightened ever so slightly.
At the top of the stairs she faltered, her foot slipping. His hand closed at her waist without ceremony, steady and unyielding.
“I have ye,” he said.
“I ken that,” she replied, her voice quieter than before.
He did not release her at once and her already ragged heart gave an unwonted jolt at his touch.
The chamber he guided her to was small but clean, the narrow window framing the dark sweep of the shore. Once inside, he led her across to the bed.
“Sit.”
She obeyed, her breathing shallow as she pressed her palms to the mattress.
“I am nae made of glass,” she said faintly.
“Nay,” he replied, lifting the ewer from the small washstand by the bed. “But even steel must cool after the fire.”
He soaked a linen cloth and stepped close. When he pressed it to her face, she startled.
“I can manage—”
“Be still,” he said, not unkindly.
She fell silent.
The cloth was cool and his touch was restrained, but the nearness of him made her acutely aware of every breath he took. He worked carefully, lifting the cloth, replacing it, his focus wholly on her.
“Drink.” He offered her a cup. “Slowly.”
As she reached for it, their fingers brushed and a frisson of strange heat coursed through her.
“Was that an order?” she murmured.
“Nay,” he said. “A suggestion.”
She drank slowly, as he’d instructed. When her hand trembled, his closed around the cup, steadying it without comment.
She exhaled. “Ye are accustomed tae command.”
“And ye,” he replied, “are accustomed tae standing.”
Her gaze lifted sharply to meet his.
He stepped back, as though aware he had said more than he’d intended. “Now it would be wise fer ye tae rest. Tomorrow ye’ll ride beside me.” he said. “Dinnae fash lass, I will remain nearby.”
She shook her head. “Ye need nae—”
“I dae,” he interrupted. Then, more quietly, “Rest, Lady Maureen.”
He turned and walked with soft steps from the room.
Alone, at last, she allowed herself to flop onto the pillow. The events of the day came crashing in and she closed her eyes. It already seemed years since that morning when she’d embarked from the landing at Duntulm and bade farewell to her dear brother Kenneth and her sister-in-law Selene.
If she had known what the day had in store would she have boarded the birlinn? But, regardless of what had already come tae pass, she felt a tremor of anticipation about what was to come on the morrow.
She smiled to herself as she drifted into sleep.
Sometime in the night she wakened and shrugged out of her clothes, donning her nightshift before returning to bed. There was movement beyond the door – the faint shift of boots, the low murmur of voices. Despite the disturbance, she was not afraid. She did not rise. She did not call out.
She simply lay there, listening, knowing without being told he was there.
When she finally slept, she dreamed of a tall figure standing before a glowing fireplace, the word “Eilean” on his lips.