Aleck frowned. It came as no surprise that Helen acted out against his leman, now that she knew the truth. Though Helen had never shown she possessed a backbone. Regardless, it was a relief he no longer needed to pretend. Before Helen had birthed the worthless female bairn, Aleck had felt compelled to keep his affair hidden from his wife—but now he cared no more.
He’d never been attracted to Helen. First of all, she had no figure whatsoever. If she bound her breasts, she could pass for an adolescent boy. He hated her demureness, always trying to make everything right, always doing things to compensate for his gruff miens, as she’d referred to them. She had no idea how to handle the affairs in Ardnamurchan. If he showed the slightest inkling of compassion, his clansmen would start taking advantage. Aye, a chieftain had no recourse but to rule with an iron fist, lest he lose his lands and his castle to someone closer to home than Alexander MacDonald.
“What are you going to do about it?” Mary cut through his thoughts.
“As soon as I can use this arm, I’ll hunt down Alexander MacDonald and send him to hell.”
Mary frowned. “I meant, will you allow Lady Helen to treat me like a stable hand? Do I mean so little to you that you’ll allow her to command me to tend pigs?” The tenor of Mary’s voice rose with every word until she sounded on the verge of hysterics.
Aleck was in no mood to hear supplications even if they were from the woman he loved. But when the flicker of ire in Mary’s eye softened into a seductive glint, his heart squeezed. Truly, he could never allow Helen to mistreat his leman. If Helen had done her duty and had grown pregnant when they’d first married—and birthed a son—Aleck would not be in this predicament.
Helen would be dead.
He reached out and grasped Mary’s hand. “Ask Sir Grant to bring Lady Helen to me and I will see to her priorities.”
Mary turned his hand over and swirled her middle finger around his palm. “But I’ve something to tell you first.” Her words were pensive. It wasn’t like Mary to be shy about anything.
But her touch soothed him. He waggled his brows. “What is it?”
“I’m with child.”
Tending the wounded in the great hall, Helen applied a cool cloth to Torquil’s forehead, then pulled away the bandage and examined the arrow wound in his shoulder. Yellow puss oozed from it. She bit her bottom lip and offered a silent prayer that he’d survive the fever. So many MacIain men had been injured during the fighting. Most sported cuts that would soon heal, but Torquil and Roy could very well succumb to their now putrid wounds.
Sir Grant entered the hall and stopped beside her. “How is he?”
“I’m afraid no better.”
“Sir Aleck has asked to see you.”
Helen glanced at Torquil and wondered why her husband would care to see her now. Above stairs, he had Mary to give him everything he needed. “How is his arm?” she asked.
“I haven’t seen him.” Sir Grant shrugged. “Mistress Mary fetched me.”
Why on earth wouldn’t she just come tell me? This situation grows worse by the day. Helen wiped her hands on her apron and stood. “Perhaps the chieftain wishes to listen to a merry tune. I haven’t played my lute for him in some time.”
The guard bowed and gestured to the stairwell. “M’lady.”
Grant accompanied her to Aleck’s chamber, which was a quandary. Mayhap he’s concerned for the safety of Mingary whilst Aleck’s abed. I certainly would be if I were he.
Aleck sat propped up against the pillows, his arm in a sling across his waist. The chieftain frowned when they entered—looked directly at Helen and narrowed his eyes.
She glanced toward Grant. Now what have I done?
“Exactly why did you command Mistress Mary to tend the pigs?” Aleck drove straight to the point.
Helen rolled her eyes to the ceiling. For goodness sake. Was she to be reprimanded for taking charge when it was her duty to do so? Of course her husband would give no accolades for her work in holding the castle after he’d abandoned her and ridden east.
She sighed. “I assigned duties to everyone. Mistress Mary was idle and the livestock needed tending. After all, she manages her chickens. I saw no harm in asking her to tend the pigs as well.”
“It was demeaning for her.”
Something inside Helen’s heart snapped while a flash of heat seared across the back of her neck. “You are serious? And you think rejecting me in front of the clan and bellowing for your leman does nothing to subjugate my honor?”
“I knew it.” Aleck slammed his fist into the mattress. “You lashed out at Mistress Mary in a jealous rage because I prefer the widow in my bed.”
“I did no such thing.” She pointed toward the door. “Ask Mr. Keith. He was there. I was simply preparing to defend the keep against attack. Which, by the way, I managed to do whilst you were breaking your arm in Sunart.”
“Hold your tongue, you wicked shrew.” Aleck pulled his dagger from beneath his pillow and pointed it at her.
With her heart thundering in her chest, Helen skittered toward the door. He’d never threatened her with a weapon before.
“You are fortunate I am abed, else I would take great pleasure in cutting out your barbed tongue.”
Helen clapped a hand over her mouth. From the evil glare in his eyes, she didn’t doubt he could do it. Trembling, she scuffled aside. How dare he threaten her for speaking out against a woman who had lowered herself to that of a whore? Her eyes rimmed with tears.
Sir Grant stepped forward. “M’laird. I think Lady Helen acted with the courage of a warrior. She managed to keep the MacDonalds at bay until we arrived—”
“Oh really? And who pays your wages, you irreverent beef-witted codpiece? As I recall, Alexander MacDonald was bashing through the sea gate with a battering ram when we arrived. Lady Helen did nothing but issue orders and fire a few paltry arrows as I’ve heard it reported.”
She threw her fists to her hips. “We sank one of the MacDonald galleys!”
He slashed his dagger through the air. “You nearly destroyed my brand new cannon.”
“Preposterous!” Helen’s mind raced. Who would deceive her thus? Or would Aleck twist the truth so he didn’t appear incompetent? By all the saints, she dare not utter another word, else Aleck would make good on his threat.
He pointed the ridiculous dagger at Sir Grant. “Take her to the dungeon. Allow her to see no one—especially that shrieking little brat she birthed.” Then he glowered at Helen. “Whilst you rot, think about your station here and about what I care for. Your role is to please me and provide my heir.”
Every muscle in her body clenched. She had to say it, though the thought made ice course through her blood. “How can I fulfill my duty if you will not return to my bed?”
Throwing the dagger at the floor, Aleck barely missed Helen’s feet. She skittered into Sir Grant.
Her husband’s steely eyes filled with hate. “Your place is not to question me.”
Grant seized her arm. “Come, m’lady.”
“No!” She struggled to wrench her arm free from the henchman’s grasp. “My place is not to be locked in the dungeon when I have committed no crime. I am a Campbell, daughter of the legendary Lord of Glenorchy. My father was Scotland’s hero.”