Page 48 of Sweet Home Highlander
Aisla gaped at him. “How so?”
“By refusing, yet again, a marriage to align the two clans,” Dougal said, letting his eyes rest on her again. He paused before saying, “’Twas an insult, ye ken? A matter ofhonor.”
Dougal kept his gaze on her, and seemed to be waiting for a reply. Aisla frowned. “I suppose it would be, but shouldn’t Ronan be allowed to choose whom he aligns with? And that doesn’t imply dishonor.”
He didn’t reply for a moment, then looked away again. “It does if there’s an understanding. Alliances are made for the good of the clans, for the good of Scotland.Thisfamily”—he spat on the ground—“spits in the face of tradition. And now, the recent altercation in Edinburgh has only made the Campbell more convinced that these Maclarens need to be taught a lesson in humility.”
Aisla bristled at the low threat in Dougal’s tone. She couldn’t help but think to what Niall had said at the mines that time, about accidents that might not have been true accidents. Taking a look around the festivities, she noticed a number of Ronan’s warriors fully armed and looking fierce in their observation of the crowds.
“Are there any Campbells in attendance today?” she asked, wondering why Dougal had bothered to come if he despised the Maclarens so deeply.
“Oh, aye. A few of Rose’s cousins. The Campbells were only extended an invitation to the games out of politeness, I assume. Though I dunnae ken if Ronan expected them to accept.” Dougal’s smile was thin and forced. “Or me for that matter, considering my connection.”
As far as she knew, the Buchanans had remained in good standing with the Maclarens, even after Aisla had snubbed marriage to Dougal and married Niall instead. But that had been long ago, and Dougal was betrothed now. He’d make a good alliance for his clan with the Campbells, and was intelligent enough to know turning down the Maclaren invitation would have been an insult.
“I’m only sorry your Rose could not attend.”
“Dunnae fash,” he said with a shrug of his broad shoulders. Dougal took a cup of ale from a passing maid and inspected Aisla with a piercing look. “And how have ye been? I’ve heard ye’ve been gone from yer husband’s side for quite a time.”
A rush of heat crept up Aisla’s neck, but she tamped it down and drained her wine. She had nothing to be embarrassed about. Dougal would have heard about her lengthy stay in France, and why shouldn’t he be curious? Everyone was. At least he was being plain spoken about it.
“Yes, I’ve been in Paris.”
He took a long draught of his ale, and then wiped his lips, a scowl transforming his expression. “I shouldnae ask, but considering I once pined over ye, I feel a duty. Why’d ye leave? Was he a bastard to ye?”
Something about sharing what had happened with Niall felt wrong…like a betrayal. Odd that she would still be so protective over a man who hadn’t wanted her, but she didn’t have it in her to malign him. Cursing her own weakness, she shook her head. “No. It’s a long, complicated story, but I’d rather hear how your family is faring. It’s been some time since I heard news of the Buchanans.”
It was enough to steer the conversation away from her and her presence at Maclaren. Dougal briefly told her about his brothers’ marriages and alliances with some lowland clans, and his mother’s death a handful of years back as they strolled the courtyard.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “How has your father been?”
“As unyielding as ever. He remarried within the year, ye ken. Has a new bairn, and what with my brothers’ wives all begetting bairns now, he’s nearly choking on all his pride.”
Aisla listened with an equal measure of curiosity and disappointment. It wasn’t so uncommon for a laird to take another wife after being widowed, but within the year of mourning? It seemed fast. And she must have been young to produce a bairn. But she did not know the Buchanan laird well at all, and couldn’t judge. Perhaps all he wanted was a loving spouse. Children to raise. A jolt of sorrow lanced through her. Julien wouldn’t give her children. They weren’t part of their agreement. And for the first time in a very long time, Aisla allowed herself to think about what might have been had she not miscarried. She would have remained at Maclaren. She might have seen Niall transform into a driven businessman and laird. She would have a young child racing about. Perhaps more than one.
Then again, perhaps none of those things would have happened.
Dougal must have sensed her distraction because he stopped walking. “Aisla? Are ye no’ well?”
She realized she was leaning heavily against him, matching the weight in her chest. Quickly, she straightened up and blinked away the haze of her morose thoughts. “I’m sorry, I was only thinking about how time passes, I suppose. But I’m happy for your father and brothers. And you. I truly am.”
He nodded and seemed to accept her excuse. “And I’m glad ye’re here. Come, let’s have a toast.”
He took two goblets from a table, where maids were busy filling and refilling ale, and handed one to Aisla. She’d had a few sips of ale here and there since she’d been at Tarbendale, but after years of champagne and wine and sherry, she rather enjoyed the bitterness of the ale. She also tasted memories, of Montgomery and her life before she’d gone away.
“To yer return, and to time passing more slowly,” he said, clinking his goblet against hers.
She took a sip, and felt the ale push down the knot that had built up in the center of her throat. Another sip and the knot loosened a bit more. Compared to her own melancholy thoughts, the ale wasn’t bitter at all. It was chilled, from the casks’ time in the cellars she assumed, and with every sip, the ale seemed to battle the constriction in her throat and the sting of tears at the backs of her eyes.
She and Dougal continued their stroll, stopping to watch a braemer stone toss, a dancing competition among several of the clan children, and then a bit later, to listen to a trio of pipers and a man playing the bagpipes. Aisla closed her eyes and let the music fill her. It wasn’t hard to do, especially when the blare of the bagpipes reverberated through her, straight to her bones. She took a few more draughts of ale, surprised at the warmth flowing through her arms and legs. And as she tapped her foot to the tune of the music, felt relief that the melancholy swamping her not a half an hour before had been completely consumed by a hazy kind of joy. The music, the laughter, the smiling faces all around her, and then Dougal’s solid and friendly arm underneath hers…she couldn’t help but grin. For the first time in days she didn’t feel a speck of tension under her skin. She didn’t overlook the fact that Niall wasn’t anywhere in sight.
Aisla accepted a second goblet of ale as the bagpiper took a rest and the pipers continued on with a faster tune.
“Do ye still dance?” Dougal asked, his own foot tapping to the music. “I remember how ye used to jig ’til ye were flushed and sweaty.”
Aisla nearly choked on her mouthful. “Dougal! It isn’t kind to mention a lady’s sweat.”
“Oh, aye, I suppose it isnae,” he said, a slow smile creeping over his lips as he leaned closer to her ear. “Then again, I have seen ye naked.”
