His Scottish Bride - Shelly Thacker

by Thacker, Shelly

  There was a nodding of heads.

  “The most important rule is, you must always be honest with a fairy, for they will know if you have lied to them, and they dinna like liars. The second rule is, you must never allow fairies to hear you calling them fairies. ’Tis very sensitive, they are. Their feelings are easily hurt. Does anyone know what they prefer to be called?”

  “Fairy folk!” one little boy called out.

  “Aye, fairy folk.” Aileen nodded. She scooped Laurien’s youngest daughter, Emiline, onto her lap. “If you are kind to the fairy folk, they can be helpful to you. They may even help you tidy your house. At Yuletide, you might see them wearing garments of green wool. And what do they wear on their heads?”

  “Red wool caps!” Laurien’s daughter Adelle held up her fingers to form a triangle. “Shaped like this.”

  “Aye, and their wee pointed ears stick out at the sides.” Aileen wiggled her hands next to her ears and the children dissolved in fits of giggles.

  As she continued her tale, Henri felt his heart beating too hard. By all the saints, she would be such a wonderful mother. Despite what she had told him today in the chapel, he could not accept that she would never have little ones of her own. Children clearly brought her immeasurable joy. It seemed unspeakably cruel that she would forever be denied her most heartfelt wish.

  He refused to believe that God could condemn a woman so loving to a fate so bleak.

  At the end of her story, Aileen leaned closer to her young audience, lowering her voice. “So remember what the fairies teach us. At Yuletide and always, you must be honest…be kind…and believe.”

  The children all clapped their hands.

  Aileen stood, taking little Adelle by the hand, balancing baby Emeline on her hip. “And what do the fairy folk love most at Yuletide?”

  The children all answered at once. “Dancing!”

  The musicians struck up a merry tune on their pipes and harps and the children formed a circle and began to dance, their older siblings and even some of the women joining in, Laurien and Aileen among them.

  Henri felt his throat tighten. As he watched Aileen laugh and lead the little ones in a merry circle, her expression one of pure happiness, everything in his chest knotted up.

  God’s breath, how he loved her.

  He must have known before now that he was in love with her. Had known it for years. Mayhap from their first kiss, on that summer day beneath a rowan tree. Or even before. It was the reason he had set sail from France, laden with gifts and hope. But somehow, he had been so determined to succeed in his quest, so focused on winning his lady fair…that he had never paused to truly feel what was in his heart.

  Until now. Tonight, watching her, he felt a warmth and a light that filled him all the way to his soul. She was so sweet and wise, so loving, and so sensual that it made his heart ache just to look at her.

  He was in love with her.

  And if he were forced to return to France without her, his life would be empty in ways he could not bear to imagine.

  “By nails and blood…” Darach came over and took the empty seat beside him. “That look on your face…” His tone was one of disbelief. “Are you the same man who used to jest that you would sooner be marched off the highest cliff than marched to the altar?”

  Henri frowned at his brother-in-law. “Mon Dieu, I wish I had never said those words aloud.”

  Darach slid a tankard full of ale toward him. “That might have made your quest to win Aileen’s hand now a bit easier.”

  Henri looked glumly down at his reflection in the ale. “Have you any advice on wooing and winning a Scottish lass?”

  “Canna say for certain, as I married a French lass.”

  “Mayhap some advice on overcoming her stubborn father?”

  “In Lochlann’s defense, you did make a memorable impression during your first stay in the Highlands.” Darach lifted his own tankard of ale in Lochlann’s direction. “He does not remember you as the brave young man of just eighteen who ran into a burning keep to rescue Aidan. Or any of the tournaments or hunts where you demonstrated your skill with sword and crossbow.” Darach shrugged. “All he remembers is that you spent months in Scotland chasing every pretty lass from here to Glasgow. He thinks of you as you were then. Impulsive. Hotblooded. Undisciplined.”

  “Is this your idea of helpful advice, beau-frere?” Henri scowled at him.

  “In time, Lochlann might come to realize that your years of military service have honed away your rougher edges. You have lost none of your courage or daring…but you are a different man now. Strong and steady, devoted to honor and duty…and ready for a family.”

  “I…” Henri regarded Darach with surprise, moved by the unexpected praise. “Thank you, beau-frere.”

  Darach met his gaze evenly. “You would make a far better husband for Aileen than that grizzled old bear who is supposed to marry her in two days.” He shook his head. “Alsh is so churlish, no one even remembers his Christian name anymore. All he does is sit in his keep, count his riches, and complain about the weather. Aileen deserves better.” Darach refilled Henri’s tankard and his own. “Unfortunately for you, time is in short supply.”

  “I seem to be in need of a Yuletide miracle.”

  The two of them fell silent for a moment, sitting side by side, listening to the music and watching Aileen and Laurien dance with the children.

  “I recommend kidnapping,” Darach suggested lightly. “’Tis most effective.”

  “Very funny.” Henri punched him in the arm. “You are fortunate that I was not one of Laurien’s guards on the day you abducted her in Chartres. I would never have allowed some Scottish outlaw to steal her away from her wedding procession. I would have run you through.”

  “I am indeed fortunate that you were in the cathedral with the other wedding guests.” Grinning, Darach looked around his great hall—at his family, his friends, his children—with a sigh of deep contentment. “You must admit, it all turned out well in the end.”

  “Aye, in the end,” Henri admitted grudgingly. Somehow, his sister had fallen deeply in love with this rogue who had taken her hostage to negotiate an alliance. “And I give you credit for your creative tactics. Unfortunately for me, if I attempt to kidnap Aileen, there are a number of large MacLennan men here who would happily hack me into kindling for the fire.”

  “Or drop a boulder on your head.” Darach nodded in agreement. “There must be a way, though…” His voice turned thoughtful. “And we will find it.”

  Henri felt grateful for his brother-in-law’s support—and that it was offered without Henri even having to ask.

  With a final flourish, the music drew to a close. Finished with their fairy stories and worn out from dancing, the children were rounded up by their mothers and older sisters to be tucked into bed for the night.

  Aileen looked for Henri, meeting his gaze across the room, her face flushed from her exertions and aglow with happiness. Just for a moment, she lifted her hand to her heart, where they both knew she wore the silver rowan necklace beneath her plaide shawl.

  She believed. Believed in him, in the two of them. Despite the fact that her wedding day was rapidly approaching, she had hope that they might find some way to be together.

  He vowed that he would not disappoint her.

  As Aileen took a seat next to her grandmother, another of her uncles, Farlan MacLennan, stepped to the center of the gathering.

  “Hear ye, me lords and ladies!” He raised his hands to quiet the guests. “Tomorrow is the eve of Christ’s Mass, the first of the twelve days of Yule. All are invited to join our traditional stag hunt in the morn. The venison we bring back will grace Lord Darach’s tables and be given to the less fortunate in the local villages, along with food, firewood, and clothing to see them through the winter.”

  All the guests cheered, pounding their feet on the floor and their fists on the tables to show their approval of this charitable endeavor.

  “And in
honor of our distinguished, noble guest from France,” Farlan continued, turning toward Henri, “we will add a bit of excitement to this year’s hunt.” He paused, holding his audience in suspense. “A competition to capture a rare Yule Wolf!”

  The hall filled with raucous hoots, cries of terror—and a smattering of laughter.

  “A fearsome and terrible creature,” one man called out.

  “No one has ever captured one of the beasties and lived to tell the tale,” said another.

  “I have heard that Yule Wolves love to feast on Frenchmen!” shouted another.

  “What say you, d’Amboise?” Brochan MacLennan, one of Aileen’s burly brothers, stood and raised his tankard of ale to Henri. “Have you courage enough to accept the challenge?”

  Henri almost gave him a mirthful reply, then stopped himself.

  He glanced at Darach, then at Malcolm, then at Aileen’s grandmother. Clever allies…

  An idea struck him. A simple, excellent tactical idea.

  He started to rise from his seat.

  “Henri.” Darach caught him by the arm. “What are you doing?”

  “Thinking that your kidnapping suggestion might have some merit after all, beau-frere,” he said under his breath.

  “But this challenge is a trick the MacLennan men are playing on you,” Darach warned. “’Tis a jest meant to send you off on a wild chase after naught. There is no such thing as a Yule Wolf.”

  Henri winked. “I guessed as much.” Standing, he lifted his tankard. “Milords, I accept your challenge!” he declared. “I will join you for tomorrow’s hunt—and I will attempt to capture a Yule Wolf!”

  The hall erupted in cheers and shouts, and more laughter.

  Henri turned in Aileen’s direction, his smile widening. “I have only one condition.”

  Aileen’s breath made little puffs of fog in the crisp morning air as she mounted a horse in the bailey, assisted by one of the stable boys. On the castle walls high above, green and white pennants marked with the symbol of a silver hunting falcon fluttered in the breeze. Many of Castle Glenshiel’s guests had gathered on the far side of the courtyard to build a towering heap of wood for the traditional Christmas Eve bonfire. But despite the wintry bite in the air, almost forty lords and ladies mustered near the stables for the stag hunt.

  As she settled into her saddle, Aileen patted the neck of the creamy white mare Laurien had loaned her for the occasion. One of the children had even braided red and green ribbons into the horse’s mane. Smiling at the sweet gesture, Aileen looked off into the distance at the loch that surrounded the castle and the forests that stretched over the hills beyond. A sprinkling of snow had fallen last night, just enough to make the whole world sparkle and lend a touch of Yuletide magic to this morning’s adventure.

  She wrapped her fur-lined brown hunting cloak more closely against the chill. A few delicate snowflakes continued to fall, glittering in the sun’s brightness, as the rest of the hunters mounted their horses. She was genuinely looking forward to this outing. A brief time away from the castle would distract her from worrying about tomorrow…when Lord Alsh would arrive.

  For today, for now, she was still a free woman. And thanks to Henri’s clever thinking last night, she would be spending the entire morning in his company.

  With several chaperones, of course.

  When he had agreed to go in search of a Yule Wolf, his one condition had been that he would need a guide to show him where to search, lest he become lost.

  But instead of sending him off with one guide—as he had mayhap hoped—the MacLennans were generously sending him off with eight guides.

  The hunters began riding out in pairs and trios and a few larger groups, each accompanied by a squire or groomsman to assist with the deer they brought down. Henri’s group was by far the largest: Aileen, her pretty cousin Robina, one of Darach’s guardsmen, two of his squires, her cousin Leith, and her brothers Brochan and Magnus.

  The three MacLennan men, strapping warriors all, would brook no untoward behavior on the part of a frisky Frenchman.

  Henri came out of the stables, leading his huge bay destrier toward her. He looked every inch the warrior lord this morning, from his black garments— fur-lined ebony cloak, black tunic and leggings, black leather boots and gloves—to the weapons he wore. He had a short sword and a large hunting knife sheathed in his belt, a crossbow in one hand.

  “Good morn to you, milady,” he said cheerfully, his smile confident as ever, his black hair ruffled by the breeze. “You look well prepared for today’s outing.” He secured the crossbow to his saddle, then stepped over to check her stirrups. “And exceptionally beautiful this morning,” he added quietly.

  She had dressed for a long winter ride, donning leather boots and a pair of rust-colored homespun leggings beneath her heavy woolen gown of the same color, completing the outfit with elbow-length brown leather gloves and the hooded hunting cloak.

  She carried no weapons, since she was hopeless with a bow and arrow and couldna even lift a crossbow. All she wore at her waist was a leather pouch stuffed with oranges and sugared almonds, along with a flask that held not whiskey for warmth but freshly steeped tea.

  She almost wished she had thought to bring along the white velvet cloak Henri had given her, as an extra layer against the frosty weather. The fur was so deliciously warm and silky, she had slept curled up beneath it last night, wearing naught but the necklace he had given her…because she hadna been able to make herself take the jewelry off.

  “Thank you, milord,” she managed to say at last. “I have always loved riding.”

  “I am not certain I remember that. Did I know about your love of riding, or is it more recent?”

  “You dinna know everything about me, milord.”

  He flashed her a wicked look. “But I hope to learn all your secrets, milady.” Finished with her stirrups, he returned to his own horse. “Now tell me again what a Yule Wolf looks like. I want to be certain I know one when I see one.”

  “A Yule Wolf is twice the size of a normal wolf, with fur of the purest white, bright blue eyes, and a ruff so thick ’tis almost like a lion’s mane…” She leaned toward him. “And ’tis entirely a myth, milord.”

  “Are you saying that your relatives would send me galloping off in search of a creature that does not exist?” He looked up at her with a comically shocked expression, then winked. “Milady, remember what you said to the children last night—you must always believe. At Yuletide most of all.”

  She didna want to argue with him. She wanted to kiss him.

  But there would be none of that today. With so many watchful eyes upon them, even Henri would find it difficult to get up to any mischief.

  Still, he did not seem discouraged in the least. He hummed a jaunty tune as he secured a leather pack of supplies behind his saddle. The bay destrier paced and tossed its head.

  Before Aileen could ask what items he had brought along, her grandmother came out of the keep to bid them farewell. “Good hunting to you, me lads and lasses.”

  Cousin Robina, riding a gray palfrey, trotted over. “You could come with us, Grandmother,” she teased, giggling.

  “Och, my days of hunting wild beasties in the company of handsome knights are behind me, lass. You young folk enjoy roaming about the countryside. I shall amuse myself here, mayhap with a comfortable chair, a blanket, a nap.”

  Aileen regarded her curiously, for that was not at all how her grandmother normally passed the time at family gatherings.

  Henri mounted his destrier. “My thanks for your help, Lady MacLennan. Which way did you suggest we should go?”

  Aileen shifted her curious gaze to him, surprised that Henri was asking her grandmother for hunting advice.

  “To the south,” Grandmother advised, pointing into the distance. “The largest stags have always been taken in Dalness Forest, near Rannoch Moor. You will see great herds of them there. If there are any Yule Wolves about, I suspect ’tis where they might b
e found as well.”

  “But Rannoch Moor is awfully far,” Aileen said. “’Tis on the far side of the River Linnhe. It may take us hours to get there, and hours to return.”

  “I dinna want to miss the dancing this evening.” Cousin Robina pouted. She sidled her gray palfrey over to Darach’s guardsman, giving him a coy look. “On Christmas Eve, the dancing is meant for the adults.”

  “Aye, milady.” The tall, sandy-haired guard gazed into her eyes. “I vow that I willna allow you to miss a moment of tonight’s festivities.”

  Somehow, Aileen sensed that her cousin and the guardsman knew each other…exceedingly well.

  Aileen’s brother Brochan mounted his black destrier. “Fear not, any of you dance-loving ladies.” He tapped his heels to the horse’s flanks. “We will be back long before tonight’s festivities begin.”

  “Mayhap with a Yule Wolf.” Her brother Magnus laughed, setting off at a canter. Brochan matched his swift pace and the two of them led the group through the castle gates, across the drawbridge, and into the snowswept hills beyond.

  ’Twas almost as if the fairy story she had told the children last night had come to life, Aileen thought as they rode through the Highland countryside. Everything looked fresh and new today: the sparkling waters of the rivers they crossed, the soaring hills, the dark evergreens with their emerald branches all dusted in white.

  After two hours, the nine of them crossed a broad stone bridge over the River Linnhe, which burbled and skipped over rocks a few yards below, its banks shimmering with ice. They followed the Linnhe south, where it widened and the terrain became more steep.

  Aileen had seen no sign of wolves—of either the ordinary or Yule variety—but their hunting party did indeed find a vast herd of deer in Dalness Forest. After an exhilarating pursuit, Henri and each of the MacLennan men all took large bucks.

  Cousin Leith, ever a kindly sort, volunteered to help the two squires transport the deer back to the keep.