Chapter Twenty-One
WE WERE WELCOMED BACK to a relieved, excitable clan Mackenzie.
My news, along with that of the king’s imminent arrival and our impending marriage, had the clan fairly buzzing.
And if I thought I’d been pampered and fussed over before, it was nothing compared to the insistent attention that now surrounded me.
I was the chosen wife-to-be of the desirable, respected Wilkie Mackenzie.
I was also the king’s daughter, and the king himself would arrive at Kinloch the very next day, to view me for himself.
So I must be readied to a suitable, highly presentable standard for the gathering tomorrow night, an event that would serve as not only a wedding and a king’s welcome, but also of Wilkie’s impending lairdship and the ensuing newly strengthened alliance and bond with the Stuart clan.
And I had returned from the Ogilvie battle in the disheveled, dusty, windblown state of a scantily clad and very weary traveler, so there was much work to be done.
The entire keep was being cleaned, spruced and decorated, and Wilkie’s chambers, especially, seemed overrun with attendants whose sole purpose was to heal, cleanse and preen us into—at least for this occasion—the jewel of the Mackenzie crown.
The Munros would remain for the gathering.
The Morrisons had taken their leave during our absence and would return in a fortnight, when the wedding of Kade and Stella Morrison would take place here at Kinloch, yet another event that had the clan energized with speculation.
And I couldn’t help but overhear many of the circulating questions.
Had Kade sacrificed himself so that Wilkie could marry me?
It was understood that the two of them had only met for the first time just days ago, at the Mackenzie festivities.
It was such a quick proposal, but after all, Stella was widely regarded as the most beautiful of the Morrison women.
Had it been love at first sight, or was it merely Kade’s split-second decision to take the lairdship on offer, one that had been all but refused by his brother?
I felt a nudge of remorse for Kade, and I hoped fervently that he hadn’t stepped up only to release Wilkie from his duty. I suspected all eyes would be on Kade and his fiancée in the coming weeks and especially at the marriage, in an attempt to answer those very questions.
Wilkie had told me that, depending on the king’s decision, we would remain at Kinloch until after Kade’s wedding, to prepare our travel party and then make our way to Ossian Lochs.
I’d considered the possibility that the king would see me and inspect my inked mark, then declare that I was not the child he searched for, or that my tattoo was falsified, or that he had changed his mind about my inheritance.
Truly, none of these scenarios filled me with dread.
I had what mattered most to me: my warrior, who needed me as desperately and deeply as I needed him.
If Ossian Lochs was not to be ours, I could have quite contentedly remained at Kinloch, at Wilkie’s side, to live out our days.
In fact it was an equally appealing outcome to me, so I couldn’t quite summon nervousness, nor apprehension.
Effie took charge of Wilkie’s injuries, muttering to him but mostly herself as she attended to his wounds as though miffed that he’d allowed such harm to come to his person, even after she’d taken such obvious care to heal his last batch of battle scars.
And Ismay attended to me, checking for bumps and bruises that may have gone unnoticed during the exhausting events of the past several days.
She found me to be fit and without injury, aside from a few sore muscles from the long days of riding.
Without discussing it, we both knew that she would accompany us to Ossian Lochs, if and when the time came, and I was profoundly glad of her company.
The fuse of Wilkie’s temper had been shortened by his lingering pain, which had now given way to annoyance as the endless parade of attendants swarmed around us.
We were treated, bathed—with the privacy screen barely dissuading our dedicated troops—fed, medicated and questioned, until finally Wilkie had had enough.
The intensity of past days, his own strung-out tiredness and our soon-to-be-wed status seemed to have heightened his protectiveness of me, and he refused to let me out of his sight. When Ailie tried to take me to the adjoining chambers, to try on my gown for the following evening, Wilkie snapped.
“I said Roses is not to leave my sight,” he warned viciously, and there was a hard edge to him that caused us both to pause and consider him.
He stood close to the fire, rebandaged and clad only in his undergarments.
His hair was still damp, and he held a goblet of ale in one hand, which he downed in one swig.
“Ailie,” I said, giving her a light hug, celebrating her embrace very briefly, as we had several times throughout the afternoon, as sisters. “I think Wilkie needs his rest now. It might be best if you helped me with my dress in the morning.”
Ailie nodded. “Aye. I think you’re right, Roses. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She ushered the remainder of our helpers out and smiled as she pulled the door closed behind her.
I didn’t go to Wilkie right away—I sensed he was feeling stormy and needed a moment to himself.
I sat on the bed and began to brush the still-damp strands of my hair, to make it glossy.
Sometimes Wilkie liked to brush my hair, in his gentler moments, but he was miles away from that particular state of mind now.
He tipped the pitcher of ale to his goblet, to pour himself another drink, and cursed quietly when he discovered that the pitcher was empty.
“Would you like me to fetch you some more ale, warrior?”
“Nay,” he said shortly. “I’ll do it.” Without looking at me, he put on his trews, leaving his shirt off, and grabbed the pitcher. He began walking toward the door. As he left he said, “Get into bed and wait for me.”
The door closed forcefully.
I could hardly blame him for being tired and irritable or thirsty. I would do as he asked, and wait for him. And when he returned to me I would help him relax and ease away his tension with my kisses.
But it would take him some time to walk to the kitchens.
While he was gone, I could take a quick peek at the dress Ailie had laid out for me in the adjoining chambers.
She’d fashioned a wedding dress, she’d told me, out of crinkled white velvet.
It was understated, she said, but one of her best pieces of work to date.
It was this dress she’d hoped I would try on tonight, to see my reaction, and so she could adjust the fit if need be.
My curiosity got the better of me, and I crawled out of bed and went to the door of the adjoining chambers, opening it cautiously to make sure no one occupied the room. It was clear.
I closed the door quietly behind me.
The dress had been laid over a chair, and when I held it up I could tell that it was, in fact, one of the finest I had yet seen. The soft material of the bodice had been inlaid with woven silk, and a delicate veil of lace rimmed the neckline.
I thought I had time. I would briefly try it on now—Wilkie would be many minutes away. Already I knew it would be the perfect choice for tomorrow night, an occasion like no other, when I would celebrate all that my life had become.
The feel of the dress’s material was simply divine. And it matched the color of the end strands of my hair, which lay against it now. It fit me well, and I didn’t think Ailie would need to make many adjustments.
But I mustn’t linger. Wilkie might return any minute.
And he would be alarmed to find me gone from his bed.
He was already agitated from battle, injury and travel and also the effects of the ale he had already consumed.
To find me gone would certainly upset him further and might even drive him to rash behavior.
In fact, I decided my whim had been foolhardy, and I worried that Wilkie’s recklessness, if he discovered me absent, would cause him pain or drive him further than his own safety.
Before I could undress, I heard his voice. He was searching for me. He burst with a violent rush of activity through the door, his muscles tensed and his sword raised. Such was the extent of his alarm that his sword was held only inches from my face.
His wildness held, his eyes crazed and feral as he searched the room for aggressors.
And then his raging haze dissipated. He began to see me, and he beheld the dress I wore, taking some time with his observation, catching his breath as his chest rose and fell in rapid bursts, then slowly, more calmly.
He laid his sword down on the floor. And his rashness was suddenly and entirely gone. He picked me up in his strong arms and carried me to his bed, where he placed me with infinite care under his furs, lying next to me, on his stomach, so as not to pain his lashed back.
“I will spend my life forever searching for you, Roses,” he said quietly, tracing one of my eyebrows with his fingertip. “You are my angel. My sun. And soon, my wife. You’ve been stolen from me, threatened and hurt. I die a thousand deaths each time I think of it.”
“Hush now, warrior,” I crooned to him, cushioning his head to the softness of my breasts, to calm him.
“I’m here with you. I’ll never leave you.
I’m safe, with you, always.” I stroked his hair and repeated gentle words, lulling him and quieting him.
I cradled him against the beat of my heart all through the night.
I dreamed of Wilkie’s touch and woke to the succulent lapping waves of his beauty.
* * *