Page 3 of Highlander’s Devious Ally

“Handsome devil, isn’t he?" he asked, laughing to hide his envy. No woman had ever looked at him like that, and no matter how good his heart was, he could not help but feel a little cheated that he was not a tall strapping man like Lyall Stevenson.

Ailith shrugged. “There is more to life than looks," she remarked. “Beauty fades, but a good heart goes on and on." She paused, then said thoughtfully, “I wonder if I could help young Fenella to carry on what her mother started?”

“Why do you want to do that?” Jock asked, puzzled. “You have never shown any interest in charity work before.”

Ailith turned and smiled at him, then kissed him lightly on the cheek. “For the same reason that you befriended Findlay," she replied. “Because it is the right thing to do.”

2

Ailith

There was no doubt about it—Ailith Galloway was a catch, the kind of woman many men wanted to marry. Not only because of her stunning good looks, but because she was fearsomely intelligent, shrewd, and an expert negotiator. Also, she was an extremely wealthy woman whose fortune did not come only from hereditary wealth, but from her own skill and expertise which had been passed down to her by her father, a merchant who traded in many different kinds of goods to include wool, silk, spices, wine, and horses.

Her parents had lost three sons as babies, and her father—in a complete departure from custom and practice—was slowly training his daughter to take over the running of the family concern.

This caused consternation amongst many traditionalists who thought that a woman’s place was in the home or in the fields, but Ailith was not the kind of young woman who let such things stand in her way. Under Matthew Galloway’s expert tutelage she was on her way to building it into an extremely profitable enterprise. Her parents had both retired and gone to live in the milder climate of the Lowlands, which at the moment was safe from the depredations of the English.

It was a mark of Matthew Galloway’s regard for her that he had given her so much responsibility, but she was aided and advised by one of her father’s most trusted friends, an Irishman called Seamus McDonagh, who was like an older brother to her. She knew with her unerring intuition that he had once hoped to be something more, but although she was fond of him, she could not love him the way he deserved to be loved.

Ailith lived in Kinlochan, a village at the western end of Loch Ness, in a handsome townhouse that stood on an acre of its own ground. She had a staff of ten who regarded her highly since she paid them well and even played with their children, which was a most uncommon thing for a lady to do. Some said she was lowering herself to their level, but Ailith only laughed; she simply did not care.

She worked from her home when she was not bartering for goods, riding out to trade fairs, and attending ceilidhs and social gatherings—which were often useful for making connections in the world of trade.

Three months after the funeral she was reluctantly attending one at Inverleith Castle that Jock was holding in honor of his father’s birthday. He was in high spirits, as he loved to show his future bride off to anyone who cared about such things, which, of course, was everyone.

“I claim you as my partner for the first dance, Ailie," he said triumphantly, kissing her hand. “So that I can show everyone what a kind, beautiful, and clever woman I am going to marry." He was wearing a broad infectious grin and she laughed, for she loved to see him happy.

“Thank you for the kind words, M'Laird," she replied, as she gave him a curtsey; she liked him in this mood. She was wearing a blue-gray silk dress with a nipped-in waist and a lace-trimmed bodice that gave a tantalizing glimpse of the swell of her creamy breasts. Jock was strutting like a peacock as he took her hand and led her from guest to guest. She knew most of them already, but many of them had not seen her since her betrothal, and she was congratulated over and over again until her cheeks were aching from the strain of constant smiling.

“Would you like some wine?” Jock asked, noticing that she was beginning to flag a little. “You look as if you need some!”

“Yes!” Ailith laughed gratefully. He kissed her cheek, then went to get her some. It was then that Lyall Stevenson, with Fenella by his side, came to greet her.

He looked magnificent in a kilt of his family tartan, and a snow-white shirt with his plaid gathered over one broad shoulder fastened with a huge silver brooch which bore his family crest. The light from a thousand candles glistened on his dark brown hair, lending it a faint gold sheen. Ailith had forgotten how tall, well-built, and handsome he was, and she felt a tingle go through her as his lips touched her knuckles.

“Good evening, Mistress Galloway," he smiled. “I trust you are well?”

“Excellent, thank you," she replied, then looked at the young woman beside him. She was a younger version of her mother, except her eyes were blue like her father’s. She greeted Ailith politely, but she continually looked back to where a knot of half a dozen or so young women were talking and laughing amongst themselves. Presently, one of them beckoned her.

Fenella gazed at Lyall pleadingly for a moment before he laughed, kissed her hair, and said, “Go!” He then looked back at Ailith.

She was not the only one who was stunned. Lyall remembered her from the funeral, how he had vaguely registered how pretty she looked in a simple dress. But he had been so caught up in his own grief and the momentous task of organizing the event that he had barely thought about her since.

Now that the official three-month mourning period had passed, Fenella had begged him to take her out to her first ceilidh, and he had not the heart to refuse her; three months was a long time for a young girl who had just turned sixteen. Lyall had regarded the ceilidh as more of a duty than a pleasure, but now he was very glad he had made the effort to attend, for Ailith Galloway had taken his breath away by her loveliness. If only she were not betrothed!

“I must apologize to you, Mistress Galloway," he said awkwardly. “I was rude to you at the funeral.”

Ailith shook her head in dismissal. “M'Laird, if I had just lost my mother I would also have been upset and out of sorts. I had forgotten about it until you mentioned it.”

He smiled, sending shivers down her spine. “Thank you, Mistress. I forgot something too—I did not congratulate you on your betrothal. When is the wedding?”

She sighed. “I want it to be in summer, when the weather is slightly more pleasant, but Jock does not want to wait so long.”

“Perhaps three months is a long time when you are in love," he remarked.

Before she could stop herself, she snapped, “I am not in love!" She clamped her hand over her mouth as soon as the words were out, and looked up at him, horrified at what she had said. How could she mouth such a thing? Somehow she would feel guilty if she let Lyall believe that she was in love though…

She wanted to say something, to deny it, to make it go away, but she knew that it was true. She had never loved Jock and never would. She would settle for a fond husband and a life of domestic contentment, but she would never know true love.