supposed Aleck’s attraction to Mary made sense. After all, he was a large man.
Hastening ahead, she berated herself for always rationalizing everything. Blessed be the saints, Helen was Aleck MacIain’s wife, and now that he had returned, she would do everything in her power to win his favor. She would never give up. He would visit her bed, and by God’s grace, she would conceive immediately and bear a son. Then everything at Mingary would be pleasant.
Perhaps for the first time since she’d married him, Aleck would shed his gruff demeanor and be agreeable as well. There’s always hope.
As she made her way to the sea gate, men and women followed, an excited hum rising from the crowd. Aleck’s galley had sailed ashore and the guards were heaving her onto the beach. The boat behind was following suit, the crewmen hopping into the shallows, tugging the ship’s ropes. None of the visiting Highlanders sported a royal surcoat, but they all wore hauberks and bits of armor. By the swords strapped to their backs, Helen had no doubt they were fighting men.
Wringing her hands, she watched Aleck jump over his galley’s bow onto dry land—he’d stood at the stern of the boat while his men heaved it ashore.
With squeals grating in Helen’s ears, Mary dashed up to him and threw her arms around his neck. Aleck kissed the widow on the mouth. It wasn’t a peck. It was a vulgar clamping of the lips, their bodies crushed together in an obscene embrace.
Mortified, Helen covered her eyes, fearing they’d never pull away.
Her cheeks burned. Her throat ached like someone had taken a rasp to it. There go my hopes of winning his favor. I wish I never had to speak to him again.
Aleck slung his arm around Mary’s waist and led her forward—straight toward Helen. She blinked. If only she could dash around the corner of the keep and hide. Helen glanced over her shoulder and considered a swift getaway. Blast, she would look the fool if she ran. Standing tall, she faced Aleck, unable to affect her usual serene smile.
But her husband grinned broadly. “You’ve forty hungry men to feed, wife,” he bellowed. “You’d best go see to the preparations.”
Mary leaned into him, grinning as if she were drunk. Helen had heard about whores in alehouses—Mary would blend right in to such a disreputable establishment.
Swallowing her urge to issue a dour retort, Helen refused to allow Aleck’s behavior to degrade her in front of the clansmen. She regarded her husband with feigned indifference. “Who are your guests, m’laird?”
“The Chieftain of Clan Gregor and his band of upstarts. They’ll be with us for a time.” Aleck threw his thumb over his shoulder with a smirk. “King’s business.”
“The MacGregors? They are close allies with the Campbells of Glenorchy. It will be a pleasure to see to their comfort.” Helen bowed her head. “Peter’s making preparations for your nooning. I’ll greet our guests and then oversee the kitchens.”
Aleck didn’t appear to have heard a word she’d said. He proceeded into the courtyard with that disgraceful widow still on his arm.
Helen cleared her throat and looked to the shore. She would act the proper lady. Never in her life would she demean herself by showing her revulsion at Aleck’s behavior or letting on that it bothered her. Many great men took lemans. She would find a way to accept it.
With her resolution, she clasped her hands and focused on a sturdy man approaching from the stony shore. Water dripped from the quilted arming doublet beneath his hauberk and streamed down his well-muscled calves.
Recognition sparked deep in her stomach. Then her heart nearly thumped out of her chest.
To stifle her gasp, Helen clapped a hand over her mouth. When Aleck had referred to the Chieftain of Clan Gregor, she fully expected to see Sir Ewen MacGregor, but it wasn’t the old grey-haired man who approached. The tall, rugged warrior was Sir Eoin—Ewen’s son.
She took in yet another sharp inhale.
The tallest man in his retinue, Eoin hadn’t changed in the past five years. If anything, his shoulders had grown broader. Flanked by his men, his muscular legs flexed with each step.
But to gaze upon a dear old friend was almost like traveling back in time—before she’d ever seen Mingary Castle or knew that Aleck MacIain existed.
Eoin wore his chestnut hair cropped short, a new and attractive fashion for him. His bold eyebrows hadn’t changed. They formed two separate but angular lines over vivid sky-blue eyes. A straight