His Scottish Bride - Shelly Thacker

by Thacker, Shelly

“’Twas naught secret about her.” The rest spilled out in a rush, as if Aileen had held it in too long. “Jaymie is her name, a pretty, dark-haired tavern maid in Aberfoyle, the village near his keep. Cael had given her his heart long before we married—and he made no effort to hide it. He was unfaithful to me from the beginning. Even on the night of our wedding, after…after he took my innocence, he left and went to her bed.”

  “God’s teeth.” Henri winced at the pain that laced her words. “Aileen, I am sorry that you had to endure that. You—”

  “’Tis not all of it. Jaymie has two sons, both the very image of my late husband. The youngest lad was born during our marriage. Sir Cael MacFarland was a great warrior, a great hero…but he was not a great husband.”

  The anguish in her voice struck him like a blow. If the unfaithful lout weren’t already buried, Henri would have beaten MacFarland senseless for treating Aileen so carelessly.

  “After he died,” she continued softly, “I gave Jaymie the inheritance I received from him.”

  “You…you gave your late husband’s mistress the inheritance that should have gone to you?”

  Aileen nodded as if it made perfect sense. “I knew I could return to my family on the Isle of Mull. She had no one but Cael. I wanted to make sure that…that his sons would be well cared for. The wee lads deserved that, at least.”

  Henri regarded her with astonishment. She had such a gentle heart, especially where children were concerned. It was difficult to imagine any other woman being so forgiving and generous.

  God’s breath, how he ached to take her in his arms, to hold her close and protect her from anyone who would ever hurt her again.

  “So you see,” Aileen continued quietly, tracing a finger along one of the stripes on her plaide shawl, “I am…quite certain that I am…barren.” She spat out the word as if it were poison on her tongue. “Cael wanted legitimate heirs. He…performed his husbandly duty often. And I had to endure his look of disappointment every month when I failed him, again and again.” When she met Henri’s gaze, her eyes were bright with tears. “I am barren, Henri. I canna give you sons…any more than I could give him sons.”

  A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I still say you cannot know that for certain.”

  “All the evidence makes me certain,” she whispered. “I am a widow, I am barren, and sometimes I…I fear that what folk whispered when I was arrived in this world is true.” She reached up to touch the mark on her left cheek. “That I was cursed at birth.”

  The brittle pain in her voice was so sharp, he feared she might shatter. “Aileen, nay…” Abandoning his promise not to touch her, he reached out to caress her left cheek. “This mark was not a curse from God. And it does not determine who you are. Your words, your deeds, your heart—those are what make you who you are…a woman who deserves to be cherished.”

  He had always been accustomed to thinking of Aileen as a strong, brave Scottish lass. He had never realized just how vulnerable she felt.

  It made him feel even more tender and protective toward her.

  She wiped at her eyes with the edge of her shawl. “Cael certainly found me unappealing. He considered me scarcely worthy of his attention.”

  “Your first husband did not care for you as he should have. That was his fault, not yours.” He touched her hair, threading his fingers through the long russet waves. “And now you intend to marry a man who views you only as…as some kind of charming pet to sit by his hearth. Aileen, you deserve so much better than that.”

  Her eyes burned into his. “I dinna know how it may be in France, but here in Scotland, women have little choice in matters of marriage. A father decides, and ’tis a lass’s duty as a good daughter to accept his decision.”

  To his chagrin, Henri could recall giving exactly that advice to his own sister, when she had been betrothed to a wealthy, older man she did not wish to marry.

  History seemed to have an ironic way of repeating itself.

  Aileen reached up to cover his hand with hers. “I may not have your expertise in military matters, Henri, but when it comes to marriage…I am the one with more experience. There are certain things I know better than you.”

  “I doubt that.” He wove his fingers through hers. “I am a Frenchman. We Frenchmen are quite knowledgeable and skilled in such matters Where the heart…or the bedchamber…is concerned, there is no one you could trust more than moi.”

  She smiled. He liked that he could make her smile, even when her spirits were low.

  It was exactly what her writing had done for him for so many years.

  She shrugged one shoulder. “In truth, I dinna understand why so many people make such a fuss about all of that.”

  “All of what? You mean the bedchamber?”

  “Aye.” She looked at him a bit shyly. “About an act that takes place in the dark and lasts only five minutes.”

  “Takes place in the…?” Henri arched his brows. “Five…five minutes?” Appalled, he shook his head, suddenly suspecting that Cael MacFarland had been a failure as a husband in every possible way. “Oh, my sweet lass, you may have been married for two full years, but allow me to tell you that you are as innocent as new-fallen snow.” Tilting her head up, he ran his thumb over the plush curve of her lower lip. “And yet…the way you catch fire every time I kiss you—”

  “Henri.” Trembling, she withdrew from his touch. “We…we should not be touching this way. Or sitting so close. Or speaking of such matters. Certainly not here.” She glanced at the altar, looking guilty. “Truly, I-I have to go. My father will be wondering where I am.” Gathering up the necklace he had given her and the green silk wrapping, she stood.

  Henri rose with her but before he could say anything more, she dashed for the exit, shutting the door firmly behind her.

  He stood staring at the spot where she had disappeared, feeling like an oaf all over again.

  His brave Scottish lass was afraid. Because of a loveless marriage to a cur who had broken her heart.

  How could he help her trust him enough to take a chance again, to believe in love, to believe in herself?

  Turning to face the altar at the front of the chapel, he walked over to the place at the rail where Aileen had prayed for him.

  Then he knelt in the same spot and bowed his head.

  The sounds of harps and pipes and merriment filled the air by the time Henri arrived in the great hall. A group of revelers had gathered near the hearth for singing, children were chasing each other around the tables, and the mingled scents of roast pork, mince pies, and freshly baked bread promised that a delicious meal would soon be served. Sir Malcolm MacLennan, one of Aileen’s numerous uncles, greeted him as he entered.

  “Saints’ blood! That canna be you, laddie!” The older man clapped Henri on one shoulder, a tankard of ale in his other hand. “Couldna believe it when Darach told me you were back. When I saw you last, you were scarcely older than Aidan is now. But look at you! A hale and hearty warrior you’ve become.”

  “G-good to s-gee you again, Sir Malcolm,” Henri choked out as Malcolm pounded him enthusiastically on the back. “How have you fared, these past years?” Glancing around the crowded room filled with Scottish lords, ladies, a great many MacLennans, men-at-arms, children, and servants, he tried to catch sight of Aileen.

  “Och, I’ve a bit more gray on my head, but I canna complain.” Malcolm scratched at his thick brown beard, now streaked with silver. “Peace agrees with me. There are grandchildren to spoil, ale and whiskey to enjoy, and Darach is always generous with his foodstuffs.”

  “Aye.” Henri grinned, remembering how well Sir Malcolm enjoyed a good meal. He still could not see Aileen, but he spotted her father, Lord Lochlann MacLennan, who had just entered from the opposite side of the great hall, Aileen’s grandmother on his arm.

  Sir Malcolm elbowed Henri in the ribs. “I hear you’ve a plan to rescue our sweet Aileen from sour old Lord Alsh.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Whatever scheme i
s afoot, I’m with you, laddie.”

  “Thank you, Sir Malcolm.” Henri gave his old comrade-at-arms a smile. “I don’t suppose there is any way you could help me overcome your elder brother’s objections…?”

  “I will do what I can. Let us go and confront the stubborn old warhorse directly.”

  Henri took a deep breath, then nodded. Confidence is everything. The two of them strode over to greet the patriarch and matriarch of the MacLennan clan.

  “Milord, milady.” Henri gave Aileen’s father and grandmother each a deep, formal bow. “It is good to see you both again. I wish you a happy Yuletide, Nollaig Chridheil.”

  He hoped he wasn’t mangling the Gaelic Christmas greeting. Laurien had helped him practice it this morning.

  “And Joyeux Noel to you, handsome young knight,” Lady MacLennan replied with a smile and a sparkle in her blue eyes. She gave her son Malcolm a kiss on the cheek.

  Lochlann said naught. His dark brows, heavy beard and thick mustache all seemed to pull his features downward, giving him a severe look. Other than a bit more gray in his hair, he had not changed at all in five years.

  The lord of the Isle of Mull greeted his younger brother with a curt nod. “Malcolm.” He regarded Henri with a disapproving frown. “D’Amboise. I understand that you are no longer a knight. They tell me you have some fancy title now. Vineyard, violet, vixen, vi-something…”

  “Viscomte,” Henri supplied.

  “’Tis a high rank in France,” Malcolm explained helpfully. “Henri distinguished himself with honor in the French wars, and his king rewarded him for his military service. He is now lord of estates so vast, they are larger than your holdings, mine and Darach’s taken together.”

  Henri gave Malcolm a grateful look.

  “Estates on the far side of the sea,” Lochlann rumbled. “In France.”

  When he said the word France, his expression looked as if he had just tasted something foul.

  Henri took another deep breath. “Milord, I would ask if I might have a moment to speak with you in private about—”

  “No need.” Lochlann looked him over from head to toe. “I already know that you mean to ask for my daughter’s hand in marriage. The answer is nay. ’Tis impossible.”

  Henri bit back an oath. No retreat, no surrender. “But if I could—”

  “I have just told you nay, Frenchman. Dinna make me repeat myself. My Aileen is already pledged to a Scotsman, Lord Alsh. She willna be leaving Scotland. She certainly willna be running off to France with some…vi-something.”

  Before Henri could offer any words in his own defense, Aileen’s petite grandmother gave her eldest son a thwack on the arm.

  “Lochlann, dinna be so harsh to the lad. You should at least listen to what he has to say. Mayhap after supper, when you will be in a better humor.” Stepping away from her sons, she slipped her hand through the crook of Henri’s elbow. “Before you men start shouting and ruin this evening’s festivities…come along with me, young Viscomte d’Amboise. Help me find a wee dram of something festive that is much too strong for a lady my age.” She tugged him away from her kin.

  Sensing that he was in the hands of a skilled peacemaker, Henri did not resist. “Milords.” He nodded his farewells to Lochlann and Malcolm, trusting that his friend would continue to argue in favor of his cause.

  The elderly lady leading him away barely came up to his shoulder. Her plaited hair was now gray, but she had once been a redhead, and she had her granddaughter’s striking blue eyes, bright as a Highland summer sky. Aileen had been named in her honor, if Henri remembered correctly.

  “Fear not, young lord, for you dinna fight this battle alone.” The MacLennan matriarch leaned close as they walked through the crowd, a twinkle in her eyes. “Count me among your allies.”

  “Milady?” Henri blinked down at her in surprise.

  “’Twill be my pleasure to lend a hand in your efforts. I canna bear the thought of my kind young granddaughter forced to spend the rest of her days in the company of old Lord Awful.”

  Henri chuckled, not sure which he felt more—astonishment, amusement, or relief. “I thought I was the only one who called him that.”

  “Och, I have always called him that.” Lady MacLennan steered Henri over to a table laden with drinks and manned by a servant. “Ever since he and I were scarcely more than bairns and he threw rocks at me on the shores of Loch Arkaig. He has always been a mean-spirited sort.”

  “It sounds as if you know him well.” The two of them perused ewers of wine and flagons of whiskey, and a large decorative bowl filled with honeyed mead that had been heated with spices. “How do you advise I go about undoing your granddaughter’s betrothal to Lord Awful?”

  “’Tis a delicate puzzle.” The lady selected a goblet of honeyed mead. “There is no denying that we MacLennans would benefit greatly from a marriage union with the Alsh family.” A sly look curved her lips as she saluted Henri with her goblet. “But that is not to say that our gentle Aileen needs to be the bride.”

  Henri took a cup of wine. “Everyone seems to be in agreement that Lord Alsh is not to be denied when he makes a request.”

  “’Tis true, unfortunately. His requests are generally regarded as commands. Alsh can be dangerous—and not only with rocks. A man doesna become as wealthy and powerful as he without a streak of ruthlessness. We dinna dare cross him.”

  Henri glanced around at all the men, women, and children gathered in the hall. Dozens of cousins from here to Inverary. “Milady, I would bring no harm to your family.” He clenched his jaw. “If honor demands that I sacrifice my own happiness—”

  “Och, I willna hear any of that sort of talk.” She gave him a thwack on the arm. “Not with my granddaughter’s future at stake.” The lady’s blue eyes became wistful. “When I was a young lass and Connall MacLennan asked for my hand, my parents didna approve. But I fought with all my soul for what my heart truly wanted. And I never regretted it.”

  Henri began to see where Aileen had inherited her strength and spirit.

  “Connall and I had forty years together, seven children, and more grandchildren than anyone can count. Since he passed this summer, God rest his soul, not a day goes by that I dinna miss him. Young Aileen deserves her chance for a marriage like mine.” The MacLennan matriarch’s voice strengthened. “So dinna you worry, laddie. Let me see what threads I can weave.” Sipping her drink, she glanced around the great hall at her relatives. “I have made many a perfect match in my time. A wee dash of guilt sprinkled here, an arm gently twisted there… ’Tis what ladies of my advanced years and shameless guile live for.”

  Henri chuckled, grateful to have Lady MacLennan for an ally rather than an opponent. “Thank you, milady. I will be grateful for any weaving assistance you can offer.” He gave her a deep bow.

  With a curtsey and a wink, she left him to return to her sons.

  Aileen arrived in the great hall at last, catching Henri’s gaze through the crowd the moment she entered the room. Beneath the swath of green plaide fabric wrapped across her ivory gown, he detected a glint of silver, almost hidden.

  She was wearing the necklace he had given her.

  He smiled, filled with renewed hope. But she glanced away and walked directly to her father, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Then she greeted her sisters-in-law and her oversized brothers as everyone began to take their places at the tables for supper.

  Henri claimed his own seat next to Laurien, on the dais.

  She leaned toward him with an expectant look. “And how goes the campaign, mon frere?”

  “I seem to be faring well enough with the MacLennan ladies…but not so well with certain MacLennan men. I have faced Spanish swordsmen and lethal Swiss archers who were more easily overcome.”

  “I am sorry it is proving to be so difficult.” She squeezed his hand. “You will find a way.”

  Henri appreciated his sister’s confidence, but he barely tasted his supper, his attention on Aileen the entire tim
e. She did not appear to have much appetite, either. Neither of them enjoyed the boar served on a silver platter with rosemary and apples, roast beef, mashed turnips, vegetable stew, or fresh bread.

  After the sweets were served, including black bun and mince pies, Sir Malcolm walked over to stand before the Yule log blazing in the hearth, raising his arms to get everyone’s attention. “On behalf of all the MacLennans, I would like to offer thanks to Darach and Laurien for their hospitality.” He was interrupted by applause. “’Tis a long and close bond between their family and ours, and we wish the Glenshiels long life and much happiness, at this season and always.”

  There were toasts and cheers from everyone in the crowd.

  “And now, if the wee ones would like to gather round,” Malcolm continued, “Lady Aileen has a Yuletide tale for them.”

  Clearly relieved to have a distraction, Aileen moved to take Malcolm’s place, gesturing for the children to join her near the hearth. They all hurried to surround her, sitting on the floor in a half-circle.

  She sat at the middle of the group, arranging her ivory skirts and her green plaide, her beauty ethereal with the glow of the Yule log behind her. “Might there be any children here who believe in fairies?” she asked lightly.

  “Aye! Me! I do!” they all clamored at once, raising their arms.

  She nodded in approval. “A wise Scot always believes in fairies. For fairies can be found in every forest, hill and glen across Scotland. And on certain nights of the year, especially at Yuletide, the veil that separates the fairy world from ours is lifted, just for a wink of time.” She winked at them and waved her fingers as if lifting a veil.

  The children oohed and aahed and leaned closer to hear more, enchanted by their storyteller.

  Henri knew exactly how they felt. He began to understand why so many Scots seemed to truly believe in spirits and magic.

  Aileen could make him believe in anything.

  “Fairy folk live in burghs,” she continued, “their own wee towns underground. They love to help animals, especially any that are tiny or lost or hurt. And if you pass near a fairy burgh at night—if you are very, very quiet—you can hear their music. Do all of you know the rules of fairies?”