by Fiona Faris
Alexander and Rebecca lay back-to-back, each taking a turn to sleep, while the other kept watch. For sure, all the men in camp had fought for the king. That did not make the English any more trustworthy in the eyes of the Scots. It would have been too foolhardy to drop their guard completely.
In the morning, Alexander went to check his trap, while Rebecca broke camp and packed their goods onto the horse and the donkey. He was gratified to find another rabbit, this one much fatter than the day before.
He skinned it quickly, leaving the entrails on the ground as he stored the meat. It would do very well for their evening meal. They were to arrive at Eddingfield Hall on the morrow and he was satisfied that they would not starve until then.
Stepping back into the glen, he stopped short as he caught sight of his sister trapped between his horse and a man he had grown to dislike immensely.
Phillip Bristol of Edenhall was everything he disliked about the English - arrogant, entitled, a duine meadhanach. He was currently pressing himself against Rebecca, trying to make it appear as though he were helping her with the packing. Alexander could see the discomfort in her face, and the tremble in her hands. At that moment, he wanted to unsheathe his dirk and bury it deep into Phillip’s back.
Chapter Two
Alexander still had some sense of self-control, and instead of following his instincts, strode towards his sister, his hands free of weapons. Grabbing Phillip by the back of his collar, he yanked the man away. “What d’ye think ye’re doin’?”
Phillip, whose jerkin was squeezed tight around his neck, could only make choking sounds. The men around them stopped what they were doing to watch.
“Ye dinna touch my sister!” Alexander squeezed harder and Phillip began to turn blue.
“Alright, alright, that's enough.”
Lord Caldwell stepped forward to make the peace.
Reluctantly, Alexander let go. “I willna have your men interfering wi’ my piuthar leanabh. They are to stay away from her!”
Lord Caldwell’s lips were pinched, displeased at being spoken to in such a manner by a Scottish commoner, even one who had saved his life.
“Tis the price you pay for bringing your sister along to war.” He held his hands high in a placating gesture as Alexander reached for his dirk, his face like thunder.
“I give you my word, Alexander, that none of my men will touch her.”
Alexander turned away, his movements short and sharp, temper barely held in check. Rebecca reached out her hand, slowly running it up and down his arm letting him know that she was okay.
“Dinna fash. I'm fine.” She nudged at him, trying to get him to smile. He merely glared at her before transferring his gaze back to Phillip, grey eyes almost black with annoyance.
Phillip looked back with a smirk on his face.
Without hesitation, Alexander lunged forward, hands poised to strangle Phillip until he was dead. Rebecca sprang between them, shaking her head at Alexander.
“Sandy stade!” she whispered sharply, clutching at his arm.
Alexander stopped, his eyes sliding back to his sister, “Mac na galla! Death is too good for him anyway.”
Grinding his teeth, he stomped away to wrap the rabbit and hang it behind his horse, knowing that the cold weather would keep it fresh.
He could feel Phillip’s eyes upon him the entire time— could feel the contempt directed towards him. This was not over.
It was time to go. In a day, he would meet his future bride - one of the Baron’s daughters. Soon, he would have the land that he needed, and at last, he would find his sister a husband and remove her forever from the clutches of chreachadair like Phillip.
He rode looking straight ahead, his mind churning between Rebecca behind him and his bride before him.
English women were so soft, so gently bred. He was nothing but a soldier, bred for war and violence. They were doomed almost before they even met.
It was a good thing he was not looking to make a love match. Of course, he would make sure she was well provided for, just as he had done for his sister, and she would give him children. ‘Twould be a fair exchange.
They rode hard all day, stopping for the night at Charles the First’s country estate. He would be joining them on their journey to Eddingfield Hall, where the marriage announcement would be made: one of Lord Pritchard Caldwell’s daughters would be betrothed to Alexander MacTavish.
It was not simply a matter of a life saved. Charles the First needed to strengthen his ties with Scotland. A marriage between the family of one of his greatest supporters - who was yet to prove his loyalty - and a brave son of Scotland was one way to achieve that. Therefore, Charles I would be joining them to oversee the betrothal himself.
Alexander was both reassured and nervous at the thought of the king’s presence at his betrothal ceremony. Such a presence would add weight to the delicate situation. For the sake of them all, but especially his sister, he hoped everything went off without a hitch.
Lady Caldwell walked into the sewing room where six of her daughters were gathered together, embroidering cushions. They spoke with enthusiasm of their father’s long-awaited homecoming.
The younger two, Elizabeth and Blanche, rolled the yarn while the older four, Anne, Katherine, Emily, and Elinor, employed their needles to create beautiful images on the linens.
The three youngest, Philippa, Joana, and Mary, were in the schoolroom, learning their letters.
“Girls, I have an announcement to make.”
Stopping what they were doing, they put their work aside. All eyes on their mother, their faces somber, breath bated. They could tell from her tone that she had something important to say.
Lady Caldwell took a deep breath. “The king will be arriving this morning with your father. When he gets here, an important announcement will be made.”
This statement caused an outburst of agitated chatter in the room as all her daughters began to speak at once. Lady Caldwell raised her hand, instantly silencing them.
There was an air of expectancy in the room as they directed their attention back to her, eyes wide and eager for news. Lady Caldwell looked from one to the other, her eyes soft with love. She could not help but feel that she was sacrificing one to save them all.
They knew nothing about this Scotsman - save that he had come between Lord Caldwell and certain death - and that he was a man of no family and no name.
It was a well-known fact that Scotsmen were barbarians. Alexander MacTavish had not the benefits of a genteel upbringing to recommend him.
Elinor was her firstborn, deaf in one ear and slow to grasp any concept. She did her best, but was never able to keep up with her sisters. The girl would need to be cared for, for the rest of her life. There was no way she would survive on her own and must be protected at all costs.
Her eyes slipped to her second daughter, Emily, who had a nervous disposition, but a spine of steel. She always tended to the needs of her siblings without being told to do so. As the second born child, and first of sound body and mind, she was the natural choice.
“Who is coming, Mama?” Emily asked.
Lady Caldwell smiled, “I have some good news for you, Emily. You are to be wed.”
Emily shot to her feet with a gasp. “Father is bringing me a bridegroom?” Her voice was halfway between excitement and fear.
Lady Caldwell nodded, “Yes my dear, he is,” By Monday week, you will be a married lady.”
“Oh my lord!” Emily exclaimed.
Lady Caldwell frowned, “Language, my dear.”
Emily did not hear, she was too excited and jumping around with her sisters in a most unladylike manner as they shared her joy.
Lady Caldwell and her daughters hurried downstairs at the sound of the approaching company. The pitter-patter of running feet from the nursery signaled the arrival of their younger siblings.
Huddled together in the doorway, their hearts beat fast with anticipation. Their mother stood in the middle, back straig
ht, face calm, looking towards the melee before them.
The king was of the first to alight from his horse, followed closely by Lord Caldwell. Lady Caldwell smiled, taking a step toward them. She curtsied low, and her daughters followed her example as the king came to a stop before her.
“Your majesty, welcome to our humble abode.” The king smiled, helping her back to her feet.
“I do not know about humble, Lady Caldwell, but I thank you for your welcome.”
Emily scanned the crowd of men, trying to guess who would be her husband. Her eyes passed over a tall, brawny, grey-eyed, forbidding man with hair as dark as midnight. It was tied carelessly with a piece of leather at the nape of his neck, giving him a raffish air. He stood two steps behind her father and looked, for all intents and purposes, as if he expected attack at any moment.
Next, she came upon a green-eyed man, his blond locks falling in waves down his back. He stood arrogantly next to his horse, his eyes on the king.
That must be him!
He was everything she had ever imagined a cavalier to be: dashing, handsome, and well-turned out. His long, delicate hands were so different from the rough, callused, discolored hands of the alarming man standing next to her father. His smile was a mere quirk of his lip, his superiority obvious in the upturn of his nose.
Emily wanted to scamper back into the house and change her clothes before he laid eyes on her. Her husband-to-be should not see her in her everyday apron, her hair stuffed carelessly under a white cotton cap.
Mother should have given me more warning!
Emily frowned as the tall, dark-haired man moved, obscuring her view. She wanted to order him out of the way, but they had not been introduced, and therefore, she could not speak to him.
Her parents and the king were still deep in conversation, while her sisters whispered excitedly around her.
“Your highness, may I present my daughters?” Their father motioned for them to come forward. Her sisters hastened to obey, while Emily hung back, hand on her cap, thinking about how she was in her house slippers, and that there was a tiny hole in her stocking. She could not meet her future spouse looking like this!
While everyone was distracted, she turned and ran back into the house, taking the stairs two at a time to get to the room that she shared with her sister, Elinor, calling quickly for her lady's maid.
Lord Caldwell leaned towards his wife, “Where is Emily?” he whispered.
Lady Caldwell looked around in surprise, “She was just here.”
“Find her quickly.”
Lady Caldwell turned to toward the house, one eyebrow raised. Immediately, the butler stepped forward.
“Where is Miss Caldwell?”
“I shall locate her at once.” The butler stepped away, indicating that two footmen and an Abigail should follow him.
“Find Miss Caldwell at once,” he ordered, and the three servants scattered to find her, while the butler went in search of Miss Caldwell’s maid.
It did not take long before the Abigail found her, clothes strewn across the floor, while her lady’s maid wrung her fingers in anxiety.
“They are waiting for you downstairs ma’am.” Emily flung her cap on the floor shaking out her long golden locks.
“Frances, will you hurry up and do my hair?”
She picked up gown after gown, trying to decide which one to wear. Having a coltish figure had its disadvantages when choosing clothing.
The bodices of my gowns would look better if my bosom was larger, she fretted, arching her back to try and make the best of it.
The butler, fetched by the Abigail, knocked tentatively on the door. He heard the commotion going on inside, and hesitated to enter.
It was not his place.
Frances, the lady's maid, opened the door, eyes wide and anxious. “Miss Caldwell is changing her clothes. She will be down presently.”
The butler nodded, he would inform Lady Caldwell, and then she could decide what to do.
Meanwhile, Emily had decided on a gold and green chiffon gown, which brought out the color of her emerald eyes, and looked well on her pale English Rose complexion, topped by her blonde locks.
Frances hurried forward to help, twisting Emily’s luxuriant mane into a bun, topped off becomingly with a moss green cap.
Emily whirled around to face her maid.
“Do I look well?” Her breath came hard as her heart pounded in her breast.
“You look beautiful, My Lady.”
“Very well then, let us go down and meet my future husband.”
Emily moved at a sedate pace as she approached the stairs, seeing that the war party had moved indoors. They were milling around in the foyer, as if waiting for something to happen.
Her eyes darted from man to man, looking for the tall, blond, green-eyed man. She found him at last, speaking to some other gentleman. Her parents and sisters were in deep conversation with the king, and the dark-haired, tall, brawny gentleman hovered just outside their circle.
She frowned, conjecturing that he was some kind of liege lord and wondered why he stayed so close to her father. Was he some kind of protector? He looked fearsome enough to be. Emily shivered, glad that she had nothing to do with the man.
Her father looked up to see her standing at the top of the stairs. “Emily come down here,” he said, holding out his hand.
Descending the stairs slowly, she was aware that every eye was on her. She risked a quick glance at her future bridegroom, who stood with his arms folded, one eyebrow raised, two rows behind her father and her family.
Her heart felt like it was about to pound right out of her chest and run away on its own. She hoped that her nerves did not show as clearly on her face as they were wont to do, focusing her mind instead on not tripping upon the stairs.
The room was so silent, that she wished someone would say something, or at least look away from her. At last, she reached the bottom, looked up at her father and smiled.
“Father, it's good to see you again,” she said and curtsied, before turning to the king with a bow, “Your Majesty.”
Charles I smiled, looking pleased, and turned to her father with an approving nod.
“She will do nicely. Don’t you think so, MacTavish?” His eyes slid to the Scotsman standing silently behind him.
“Indeed, she will,” Alexander bowed and did not fail to see the look of confusion that crossed Emily’s face. Had she been expecting another?
“F-Father?” Emily's voice trembled. She did not understand what was happening. Why was the king asking the liege lord if she would do? Her father turned towards her with a huge smile.
“Emily, I have some good news for you. I have secured you a husband.” Turning, he extended his hand toward Alexander, who took a step forward and bowed.
“This is Alexander MacTavish. You will be wed to him before the week’s end.”
Emily stared at him for a long moment before finally sinking inelegantly to the floor in a dead faint.
Chapter Three
“Somebody get some smelling salts!” Lady Caldwell screamed, dropping to her knees to cradle Emily’s head in her lap.
“Is she alright?” Lord Caldwell looked on anxiously as Lady Caldwell ran her hands through Emily’s hair, looking for signs of cuts or bruises. She shook her head in relief. “She simply seems to have fainted. Perhaps she closed her bodice too tight?”
“Why don't you loosen it then?” Alexander peered over his sister's shoulder as Lady Caldwell looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.
“We certainly cannot do that here.”
“Well then why don't we take her upstairs?” Bending down, he picked up the slight girl as if she weighed nothing.
Lady Caldwell hesitated before turning to the stairs. Emily’s sisters crowded around, following as they proceeded to Emily’s bedchamber. Indicating that Alexander should put Emily down onto her bed, Lady Caldwell led him firmly out again before slamming the door in his face.
Alexander
was a little startled, not understanding this hostility. Turning away, he made his way back down the stairs, where Lord Caldwell and the rest of the group were waiting uncertainly.
“I think they will look after her now,” he announced uncomfortably.
Lord Caldwell took a deep breath. “It is not really acceptable for a man to touch a woman in that way.” Alexander lifted an eyebrow in surprise.
