Unbreakable (Highlands Forever Book 1) Page 7

  “I am truly sorry for your loss.” The scholar looked up from a manuscript.

  “Thank ye for attending the funeral.”

  “Any family of yours…”

  “Is not a bloody friend,” Alex interrupted him.

  “The weight of the world is upon your shoulders?”

  “I wish it were so easily explained.”

  “Share the burden, then.”

  “Ye couldna possibly understand,” Alex said.

  “What exactly?”

  “The complications of a Highland clan.”

  Petro’s laughter filled the chamber. “Are you certain, my friend? I have three hundred and sixty-two cousins in Rome alone. Royal blood and the blood of traitors runs through my veins. My father outlived four wives, sired eighteen children, and calls himself king when he’s at home, though he’s a mere lord. And you claim I wouldn’t understand your life?”

  Alex grabbed a cup off the table and drank down the remaining ale in it. “I stand corrected, then. Did ye say eighteen children?” The very idea of siring so many bairns made his balls ache, and not in a good way. “How did he…”

  “I believe it involved food and wine, and lots of fucking.”

  Alex snorted. “Are all of yer people so vigorous?”

  A spark of mischievousness lighted Petro’s dark eyes. “Give me permission to mingle with your maids, and I will get an answer for your question.”

  “Nay,” Alex said. “We sail soon, and I’ll not have ye get a poor lass with child.”

  “Why would you leave this place?” His friend’s expression sobered. “If I never feel the oppressive heat of the east again, I will be a happy man.”

  “Ye wish to go home?”

  “I wish to serve you, here.”

  “Where?”

  “Scotland.”

  “My days are numbered here, my friend. But if ye wish to stay, I am sure my cousin would be grateful to gain a capable adviser.”

  “You’d recommend me?”

  “I’ll write ye a letter of recommendation now. One ye can take wherever ye go. But I must tell ye, a man of yer talents could find work in the king’s court. Ye’d be well compensated, maybe even gain a title in time.”

  “I’m the youngest child from a second wife, Alex. Wealth and titles mean little to me. Only my elder brothers received lands and money. There wasn’t enough to go around. My father kindly financed my education, then told me to make my own way in the world. Though I could return to Italy and find a wife and buy an estate of my own with the gold I’ve earned, I would get bored—and surely stray from my marriage bed. The daughters of Italy are too angelic for me.”

  “It seems Constantinople has ruined our chances at happiness.” In that part of the world, people existed without pretense. Everyone knew their purpose, their place. There was no shame in a man earning coin for killing or paying to enjoy the bed of a beautiful woman. In Scotland, such actions demanded explanation, penance, and sometimes death.

  “No,” Petro disagreed. “You deprive yourself of joy.”

  “What do ye mean?” He eyed the Italian. Everyone else had pecked at Alex, why shouldn’t his most devoted friend take a turn?

  “If God wished you to go back to Constantinople, then I am sure we’d be on the ship already. Every day you spend here, my friend, you get a little more entrenched in the politics at home.”

  “I’ve offered a logical solution.”

  “On your terms.”

  “There are no other terms.”

  “The council serves in absence of a leader, does it not?”

  “Aye.”

  “And you are an unwilling laird.”

  “A proxy laird,” Alex corrected.

  “But still laird.”

  “Yer point?”

  “When a man comes into power, whether he wishes it or not, he must examine his conscience, determine what keeps him from his true destiny.”

  “Ye know my reasons.”

  “I do.”

  “Is that not good enough?”

  Petro averted his eyes. “I think not.”

  “How so?”

  Petro turned back to him. “How many people have told you the answer already?’

  “It doesna matter what anyone else says. I asked ye.”

  The scholar closed the leather-bound manuscript, then stood. “I prefer to answer while standing in front of you.”

  “So I can punch ye if yer words offend?”

  Petro chuckled. “A risk I’m willing to take.”

  Though short, the Italian was muscular and confident. And when necessary, he could swing a sword. Alex waited for him to speak, though he could guess what would be said.

  “The woman,” Petro started. “She belongs to you. Not your cousin. Not her father. Not any other man.”

  Alex rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Keely.”

  “Lady Keely,” Petro repeated. “You have the only claim on her. I’ve read your sire’s journals, and your brother’s. Both acknowledged your right to her. Furthermore, you exchanged consents, which in the eyes of the law, means you are already married to the woman.”

  “This canna be true. We never…”

  “But the promise was made. Was it not?”

  “Aye—more than once. In every way possible without having carnal knowledge of her.” Memories burned bright and passionate in Alex’s mind now. The feel of Keely’s plush lips on his, the soft curves of her body, the way she squirmed and bucked underneath him when he nearly claimed her maidenhead—before reason took over. He’d wanted to marry her in the eyes of God before he made love to her. Honor demanded it. But his body disagreed on every level—burning for the dark-haired beauty still.

  “Unfortunately, Alex, it is the truth. Your brother’s marriage to Lady Keely was illegitimate. You are her husband.”

  “Annulment.”

  Petro shook his head. “The very thing you denied her. In order to keep peace with her clan, and to protect your people and assets, you must marry her again, only this time, do it with witnesses. Otherwise, according to the law, she must be returned to her family.”

  “I have thought this over—considered every possible argument.”

  “Except the finer details of the law. Even canon law.”

  How could Alex disagree with a scholar from Rome, the very place the pope lived? Petro had a strong mind, greater than his own. Alex raked his fingers through his hair. What of his desert stronghold? His soldiers? Concubines? Servants? His freedom? Surely this news dinna change anything. If Petro dinna share the information with anyone…

  “What will ye do with this knowledge?”

  “Tell the truth,” Petro said in a subdued voice.

  “To who?’

  “The council has requested a meeting with me.”

  What right did his captains have to speak with Petro? “Why?”

  “On the occasions I was present while you were debating with the council and stormed off, a couple of the members questioned me. I am many things, Alexander, but not a liar. Not if your life doesn’t hang in the balance.”

  “Ye’d lie to save my life?”

  Petro nodded.

  “Then lie for me now.”

  “No.”

  “This is such a moment.”

  “Am fear nach misnich, cha bhuannaich.”

  The familiar words made Alex freeze. His body began to quake with emotion. “Where did ye steal those words?”

  “From letters I discovered in your father’s belongings. Letters to you. You know this saying?”

  “The man who dares not, wins not,” Alex said. “Something my da often whispered to me as a boy when I feared anything.”

  “And do you fear something now?” Petro pressed.

  “I find peace among the heathens,” Alex said.

  “There are no unbelievers here except for you.”

  “I believe…”

  “In what?”

  “Myself.”

  “Is
that enough, Alexander?’

  He dinna know at this point. Thinking hurt too much right now. And there were letters, from his beloved father. Why hadn’t his brother told him right away? Sent them to him? Because John probably believed he dinna deserve such a rare gift. “Give me the letters.”

  Petro walked back to the table, picked up a pile of missives tied together with a leather chord, then offered them to Alex. “May God open your eyes, Alex.”

  He hugged the missives to his chest. “Dinna look for me, Petro. And tell anyone else who wishes to disturb me that I will punish them severely for such an offense.”

  Petro bowed, unable to hide the smile on his face.

  Alex ignored him. There were more important matters to tend to now. First the missives, then his wife. The idea of having a wife dinna bother Alex overmuch, only the fact of who that wife was—Keely Oliphant—the bane of his very existence in the Highlands.

  Chapter Ten

  Keely had spent the better part of two days in her chamber, avoiding Alex and everyone else in Clan MacKay. If she overheard another insult or caught another maid giving her a dirty look, she’d eventually snap and defend herself. It would only deepen the rift between her and Alex. His advice? Give people time to get used to her presence.

  She dinna have time to spare. Home called to her more than it ever had. To be honest, she missed her da and brothers, the games they’d play with her, and perhaps most of all, the hugs and kisses her sire freely gave. Tears filled her eyes and she let them fall. It had been a long time since she’d cried, purging the regret and sorrow she carried around. Another trait she’d gotten from her father, to keep all the pain inside. Eventually it would go away. But after five years of silence, Keely doubted it very much.

  Coming back to the MacKays had proven that theory wrong. Seeing Alex, finding John dead, and almost getting killed—it sucked the strength from her body. She sagged to the floor, the deep sobs wracking her body.

  “Dearest Father,” she cried. “I desperately wish ye were here…”

  A knock sounded and Keely dinna know what to do. There was no way to hide her grief. She forced herself to her feet, wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks, then took a deep breath. Maybe if she dinna answer, whoever it was would go away.

  Another light rap came, and she sighed.

  “Who is it?”

  The door opened and Jamie stuck his head inside. “Ye are summoned.”

  “By who?” Keely stared at Alex’s handsome cousin. “I am quite comfortable in this chamber.”

  Jamie entered the chamber, sure to leave the door open. He took a closer look at her. “Has something happened?”

  “Nay,” she said. “I-I doona know how to explain it.”

  “Ye’re scared of what’s to come, lass? Miss yer family?”

  It embarrassed her to admit it, but Jamie seemed genuinely concerned. “I never should have come back.”

  “Regrets canna fix anything, Keely. It will only make ye suffer. Alex is a reasonable man about most things.”

  Most things… “Not with me.” Alex’s cold and ugly smile when he ordered her locked in a cell had stuck in her mind like a bad dream.

  “The two of ye must come to terms, lass.”

  She wanted nothing else but doubted it would ever happen. “Do ye know what he wants to see me about?”

  Jamie shook his head. “He’s been unusually quiet.”

  When they were younger, if Alex had something on his mind, he’d disappear. Normally, she’d await his return. But on one occasion, she sought him out. The memory of his warning echoed around her. “Leave before ye discover the man I truly am.”

  She heeded his words. What he meant exactly, she cared not to find out. The ominous look on his face had been enough.

  And now, she imagined Alex the same way.

  “I prefer to stay here,” she said.

  “I understand. But I must take ye to him,” there was determination in his voice.

  “Ye have forgiven him, completely?”

  “Should I not?”

  “We are flawed creatures,” she responded. “Forgiveness doesna come easily to a Highlander, but holding a grudge does.”

  “He is my kinsman.”

  “Aye. Laird John was his brother and couldna forgive him for leaving.”

  “And now ye fear Alex willna forgive ye for doing the same?”

  “Can ye blame me? Look what he has done to me already, Jamie. For the sake of the happy memories we share, please let me go. Turn yer back and I will slip away.”

  “Holy mother of Christ.”

  “I’ve offended ye?”

  “Ye put me in an awkward position, lass. Isna my sympathy enough? Now ye ask me to deceive my laird?”

  “I am desperate and very much alone here. What purpose could he possibly have for keeping me?”

  “Ye are not alone. I am here, and there are others who understand why ye abandoned John. Some who respect yer fidelity to Alex over yer duty to yer sire.”

  “Then why havena they made themselves known?”

  “And risk losing their place in Clan MacKay? Come now, lass. Ye know better.”

  “We were friends, Jamie.”

  “Aye. As far as I am concerned, we still are.”

  “May I ask a favor?”

  “If it is within my power to give.”

  Keely walked to the table and poured herself a cup of water. She took a sip, then offered Jamie a drink. He refused. “Make up an excuse for why I canna see Alex.”

  He frowned at her request. “Nay.”

  “Please.”

  “Begging for the impossible is below ye, Keely. Ye’re a brave lass. Face him with courage and speak yer mind. He respects honesty more than cunning.”

  She snorted. “Alex doesna wish me to think, only to obey.”

  Understanding flashed in his eyes. “Coming home has reopened his old wounds. Show him that a future here is better than going back to Constantinople.”

  “From what I hear, the council has tried over and over again and failed. Maybe he belongs there.”

  Jamie immediately straightened. “Never say that again.”

  “But he left. At least I stayed in the Highlands.”

  “If ye consider Dunrobin Castle part of Scotland. Many believe it belongs to England.”

  She threw her hands up in frustration. “I yield.”

  “Then grab yer cloak and let us go to Laird Alex.”

  Keely wrapped the length of brown wool around her shoulders. What did Alex want? They’d made their opinions of each other clear, and their intentions. She followed Jamie belowstairs, through the great hall where the few men and servants gathered stared at her in revilement but dinna utter a sound, then outside and through the bailey.

  “Where is he,” Keely asked.

  “He’s waiting at the loch.”

  “Is that where the laird conducts clan affairs now?”

  Jamie stopped. “If ye wish to soothe Alex, keep yer biting remarks to yerself. Remember, ye’re a constant reminder of the past, a past we want him to forget.”

  “Perhaps it would have been better if Angus killed me.”

  “Nay. Alex saved ye for a reason.”

  Aye, which only confused Keely, because she was sure Alex wanted her dead and gone.

  They arrived at the loch, finding Alex sitting close to the water’s edge, his back to them.

  “Thank ye for bringing her, Jamie.”

  “Aye. Do ye want me to stay close?”

  “Nay.”

  “All right.” Jamie gestured for her to move closer to Alex.

  She did, standing quietly beside him.

  “This place holds so many memories,” Alex observed.

  “Happy ones?” she asked.

  He turned and looked at her. “I learned to swim here. Caught my first fish here. Kissed my first lass here. Found my first love here.”

  His dark gaze lingered on her, and Keely knew exactly who he was talking ab
out—her. “I remember,” she whispered.

  “What happened to us?” he asked.

  “Fate had different plans.”

  “Fate is nothing. Men control their own destinies.”

  “And women’s,” she added sourly.

  “Keely…” He started to get up.

  “Nay.” She backed away, too afraid to let him touch her, too scared to touch him.

  He stayed seated. “One word from ye would have prevented yer marriage to John.”

  “At what cost, Alex?”

  “Everything, if it meant we stayed together. Remember our promise?”

  “Which one? We made so many.”

  “Aye,” he agreed sadly. “They turned out to be empty promises.”

  “Again, I tell ye, we were young and foolish. Innocent.”

  He smiled wickedly. “There was nothing innocent about ye, lass.”

  “Is that what ye really think of me?”

  He rubbed his chin. “I try not to think of ye anymore, Keely.”

  “How many insults will ye sling at me?”

  “As many as it takes to rid my soul of ye,” he said.

  His comeback ripped a gaping hole in her chest. Those were the words of a man in love—a man who had been shattered and never found a way to put himself back together again.

  “Let me go, Alex. Tis a fair solution. Ye’ll be happier. Yer people will be grateful. And Lord knows, I may find my own bit of joy once I return home.”

  He held up his hand. “Stop.”

  “But…”

  He shook his head and moved his attention to the water. “My father isna buried in the kirk.”

  Why speak of his sire now? Out of respect for the man she knew and loved, she decided to indulge Alex. “Why not?”

  “The northern clans embrace their Viking roots. It is easy for a warrior to gaze across the sea and imagine his kinsmen sailing here on a longship in ancient times.”

  “Aye,” she said. “My father did the same. The tall tales he told at feasts about the Northmen, their brutality and fearlessness, filled by childhood dreams. How many cups of ale have been raised to honor one of England’s worst enemies?”

  “Enough to inspire my sire to demand a burial like one of those bloody Northmen.”