Like a Laird to a Flame

by Pride, Mia

  Elizabeth had been even more stubborn than he, for she absolutely had refused to wed for love, remembering the devastation their father felt when Mother passed away. It had been a time of great turmoil, his wails of grief echoing through the halls of Dunnottar. It had concerned William at the time. But for Elizabeth, it had been a stern warning to avoid such grief in life and avoid love at all costs. She had done well, at first marrying Alexander simply for an alliance. But, when he died and she was to wed Robert next, her feelings for him frightened her, causing her to do all manner of ridiculous things to avoid the man. Now, she seemed as happy with him as their parents had been, and something in William ached for that in his life.

  As the echoes of his past faded away and he was once again standing in the hall of Drum Castle surrounded by Keiths, Irvines, and Douglases, William took a deep breath and faced his reality. He was a man of great importance as a laird and Marischal, and he required an heir. No longer could he wait around for a love match. Still, anyone would do, other than Marjorie.

  Elizabeth guided him toward the head table so he, Marjorie, and Archibald could be honored guests during the impending feast. As he rounded the table, he drew closer to Reginald, who was speaking in whispers to Matilda and that red-haired woman he had seen outside moments ago.

  “William!” Reginald exclaimed with his usual enthusiasm. “Ye cannae get enough of the Irvines, I see.”

  “Ye would like to think so,” he replied, patting Reginald on the back and laughing. “Ye are fortunate I have forgiven yer transgressions from the summer. Lizzie looks verra happy.”

  Matilda stepped forward and gave him a strong embrace before stepping beside Reginald once more. Having been his sister’s maid for years and a companion who grew up with them in the castle, Matilda felt like more of a sister than a servant. “Aye, she is. Our schemes are always for the greater good, William, and they always go as planned.” Winking, Matilda took Reginald’s arm in hers, and they both looked quite proud of themselves.

  “Well, I can only hope that I am never at the other end of one of yer games.” Reginald and Matilda looked at each other with smirks, and a sense of foreboding crept up William’s spine. They seemed rather smug and it made him wary.

  “Are ye not going to introduce me?” Marjorie said with a bit of an edge, elbowing him in the side. He wished to shoo her away like a stray cat, to tell her to go play in the nursery with the other bairns but, instead, he took a steadying breath and nodded.

  “Sir Reginald, please meet Miss Marjorie, the Earl of Douglas’ daughter. She was our guest at Dunnottar before joining us for the Yule. And these lovely women are Matilda and…” William paused, waiting for the red-haired woman to remind him of her name, but the silence stretched and all he received from her was pursed lips and a raised brow.

  Slowly, she turned toward Marjorie and smiled. “I am Mary.”

  “I kenned that,” William added, feeling utterly ridiculous.

  “Obviously,” she replied, deadpan. Now he remembered why he could never seem to be civil with this woman. It all came back to him now. She was Alexander’s lover before he married Elizabeth and carried his child. She was a maid in the castle, yet, similarly to Matilda, was treated like family. Carrying Alexander’s child, she was, in fact, family now.

  “Reginald, I am certain ye remember meeting me at the Beltane festival on Fraser lands the previous year. We spent much time together,” Marjorie pressed, slowly moving away from William and closer to Reginald.

  Now it was William’s turn to be smug as his scheme to push Marjorie off on Reginald started to unfold. “She speaks highly of ye, Reg. Ye two seem to have a connection.”

  “We do?” Reginald eyed Marjorie while she stared at him expectantly, shuffling through memories in search of one of her. “Ah, I do remember ye now,” he said slowly, but something about his tone told William that Reginald had absolutely no memory of the lass.

  Beaming, Marjorie released William’s arm and stood beside Reginald, staring up at his great height like a puppy who just found her new master. Matilda looked at Mary with wide eyes before giggling behind her hands. “And yer role in the castle is what, exactly? A servant by the looks of ye.” Mary and Matilda narrowed their eyes at the bold lass but did not say a word. They knew better than to insult a guest of their laird’s but he knew Matilda well enough to know how much it pained her to stay silent.

  “I am a servant here, aye,” Mary said calmly. “And I carry the laird’s bastard. Fancy that.”

  Marjorie gasped and looked at William, taken aback by Mary’s bold and scandalous confession. “She carries yer sister’s husband’s child? And she is still allowed to show her face here? If my husband used a servant as his whore, I would cast her out into the snow and let the child die with her.” Marjorie narrowed her eyes at Mary, but all the woman did was shrug before looking straight at William with her hazel eyes.

  “Ye have yerself a fine young lassie, there, William.” The emphasis on his name was a clear signal to him that, though he had forgotten her name, she had most definitely not forgotten his. Stepping away, Mary walked over to the high table and took her seat on the other side of Robert and Marjorie’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

  “She sits beside the laird? He openly disrespects yer sister, Will!” Elizabeth and Mary leaned across Robert chatting and laughing, only confusing Marjorie further. “They… they…” pointing and stuttering, it was clear the young lass was thoroughly scandalized, but William had no desire to clarify that Mary carried the previous laird’s child, not Robert’s.

  Thankfully, Reginald cleared his throat and his winning smile shone down on Marjorie, placating the lass as he took her by the arm. “Allow me to explain the situation to ye while I walk ye to yer seat.”

  Never had he seen Marjorie smile so widely and a sense of triumph washed over him. Let her latch on to Reginald so he could finally enjoy some peace for a while. He knew he would have to deal with Reginald’s irritation later, but it would be worth it to be rid of Marjorie during the feast.

  “Will! Do come sit,” he heard his sister say, and he turned to climb the three steps up to the head table, pausing mid-step when he noticed the only empty seat was beside Mary, who continued to look at him with the same raised brow, amusement in her hazel gaze.

  It struck him as odd that his sister would arrange for him to sit beside Mary and not Marjorie or even herself. But smiling politely, Will stepped up beside Mary and bowed once more in greeting before taking his seat beside her.

  As servants began to place succulent and savory dishes on their table, the silence between them seemed to stretch for an eternity. Finally, clearing his throat, William looked at Mary. “I do apologize for allowing yer name to slip my memory.”

  Waving him away, Mary shrugged. “It is of no consequence, for nor am I.”

  “Ye sit at the high table, my lady. I wouldnae consider that of no consequence.” William picked up the mug of ale before him and took a long draught, glad to finally wet his lips.

  “Mayhap, but only because I am but the whore of the previous laird and carelessly became impregnated with his child.”

  Coughing, William choked and spit out his ale, watching it spray across the other side of the table and thankful nobody else sat there. “Good God, ye are a straightforward woman,” he choked out, banging on his chest to stop his coughing fit. Robert and Elizabeth looked at him strangely, but he was too shocked by her brazen words to bother addressing them.

  “All I mean to say is that there was never any reason for me to expect ye to ken my name. I am but a servant of the house who is here because yer sister and Robert are gracious, and naught more. I ken who ye are because ye are of great import to Lizzie and she is of great import to me.”

  Not knowing what to say to that, William cleared his throat and took another sip of ale, this time slowly. When a trencher was placed between them, he paused, suddenly realizing he was to share with her. Of course, he was. Why was his mind so bloody add
led? This bold woman made him feel off-kilter and rather uncomfortable. He did not care if she had been Alexander’s lover. From what he understood of things, Alexander was wildly in love with this woman. She was no whore to the man. But, the conversation was much too awkward for him to wish to continue it.

  Pulling out his knife, William cut a piece of juicy boar meat from the large platter before him and placed it on their trencher. “This looks like a fine piece of meat,” William said awkwardly, attempting to change the subject. Slicing off the best part, he pushed it to Mary’s side and she nodded in thanks. As the meal wore on, William was pleased that Mary spoke very little, for when she did speak, he never knew how to respond to her bizarre bluntness. It was refreshing, in a way. Marjorie was all bluster, constantly attempting to lure the next fool to her side and never succeeding. Mary seemed to prefer to push men away by being as honest as possible.

  Archibald sat by Marjorie at the other end of the table, speaking as little as possible, as usual. Yet, he did not seem at all put off that his daughter had been arranged to share a trencher with Reginald, rather than the man she was meant to be attempting to woo. Perhaps the Douglas laird was more desperate to be rid of his daughter than he was for an alliance. Deciding that suited him just fine, William continued to eat his meal while the hall grew more and more rowdy now that most had finished eating and imbibing freely.

  “William, how was yer journey?” Robert asked him, and he was glad to have a conversation that did not involve awkward topics.

  “It was mostly as expected for this time of year. We have no trouble with thieves, not that one would expect such a thing when traveling with more than two score warriors.”

  “Mostly as expected?” Elizabeth asked and cocked a brow.

  “Aye, well. Marjorie was verra anxious to arrive, as ye can imagine.”

  Elizabeth nodded and rolled her eyes, clearly understanding what he meant. “Ye ken, Mary here used to travel with Alexander quite often and in all kinds of weather without a single complaint. Is that not so, Mary?”

  Mary looked up from her trencher after doing her best to ignore him most of the meal and her cheeks flamed pink. “Aye. Well… ’tis Scotland, after all. One cannae expect much more than frigid winds and rain much of the time.”

  “Ye dinnae give yerself enough credit, Mary,” Robert chimed in. “Ye ran Drum by yerself for two years after Mother passed and before Elizabeth arrived. Ye went with Alex to collect from the tenants and even helped to birth many bairns in the village. Ye are a tough lass.”

  William looked at Mary, who quite obviously avoided his gaze, then looked at Elizabeth, wondering why she was attempting to pull Mary into a conversation that she did not wish to be in.

  Minstrels began to play near the hearth and William shifted in his seat, anxious to leave the hall and be done with the day before Reginald tired of Marjorie and attempted to pawn her off on him or Elizabeth tried to make him share more than he wished to. She still had not told him what great need she had of him, so he decided now was not the time to ask. What he needed was to be away from the table.

  Pushing to a stand, William opened his mouth to excuse himself for the night, but Elizabeth clapped her hands and stood, as well. “Wonderful idea, Will! ’Tis the night before the Yule begins and we should all be merry and dance! Mary is a wonderful partner.”

  “I… well…” William looked around and saw couples lining up to dance to the music and wished to flee. Curse his sister. She knew he did not wish to dance. It was not that he did not thrive at it, for he was quite light on his feet. He simply preferred to be a spectator. Looking down, he saw Mary looking up at him, flushed with what he could only assume was the same uncertainty he was feeling. It was no good. He could not leave without being rude to Mary or his host, even if it was his scheming sister. Mayhap she felt pity for Mary, but one thing William could already see about the lass was that she was not seeking anyone’s pity.

  “Ye ken, I dinnae feel like dancing, Lizzie. This bairn feels like a boulder. Besides, William looks verra tired. I can see it in his puffy eyes.”

  Scowling, William felt indignation overwhelm him. The little chit was insulting him… and for what purpose? “Ye are mistaken, my lady. What ye see in my eyes is naught but boredom,” he replied, hoping she felt his insult keenly. Putting his hand out, he cursed himself for being goaded into doing the one thing he did not wish to do. “Would ye care to dance?”

  “Nay, but I shall either way,” she replied and stood up, putting her hand in his. Her skin was warm and soft, and William was surprised by how delicate she felt.

  “Och, ’tis grand. I am pleased ye two are getting on well,” Elizabeth said, taking Robert’s hand in hers and pulling him to a stand so they could dance, as well. “There is the matter of the mistletoe.”

  “What?” William crinkled his brow and looked at his sister, having no idea what she spoke of but wishing for this all to be done with.

  “The mistletoe above yer heads.” Pointing up to the rafters just above where they sat, Elizabeth shrugged as if she had nothing to do with its placement. “Ye ken ’tis bad fortune if ye dinnae kiss Mary now.” Robert simply stood by and smiled as if he had nothing to do with what Elizabeth was playing at, yet the man did not seem at all surprised which made William wish to box both their ears.

  Mary was going to poison them both in their sleep. Why was Elizabeth trying to make her kiss William and while Robert simply smiled like an arse?

  “This is absurd, Lizzie. I am not kissing yer brother.” She saw William stiffen beside her, likely feeling a bruise to his pride. But it was quite clear that the man did not wish to kiss her either, or dance. Elizabeth may feel sorry for Mary, but she needed nobody’s pity and especially no man’s kisses.

  “Why is it absurd that ye should kiss me?” William asked, looking affronted, and she sighed, wishing to be done with it all.

  “Are ye saying ye wish to kiss me, Will?” Mary asked, fluttering her lashes and doing her best to look like an innocent fair maiden, just as the child in her womb kicked her ribs hard, making her bite back a yelp of pain.

  “I dinnae say that.”

  “So, ye dinnae wish to kiss me? Ye see that, Lizzie. Yer brother doesnae wish to—”

  Feeling her body being propelled forward by the arm, Mary squealed as she suddenly felt herself in William’s arms just before his lips crashed down on hers. Struggling to break away from his strong grasp, she couldn’t help but feel the bulging muscles beneath his tunic when she placed a hand on his arm, nor the tingle that ran up her neck when he slipped his tongue into her mouth for the briefest moment before pulling away and putting a hand out to her. “Ready to dance, my lady?” A few people whooped, having witnessed the kiss, but continued their activities, understanding that a mistletoe kiss was nothing more than tradition.

  “I…” Looking over her shoulder, she saw Robert and Elizabeth beaming with delight and scowled at them before turning back to face him. “I…” Now who was the stuttering fool?

  Confusion abating, Mary felt irritation building and desperately wished to simply be away from William and the hall. Her lips had not touched another man’s in her entire life. Alex had been her first and only kiss, and the only one she had ever wanted. He was gone. Her lips would never feel his again.

  Fighting back tears, Mary clenched her fists into her skirt and shook her head. “I dinnae feel well. I wish to retire.” Without waiting for a response, Mary ran down the steps and toward the tower. She did not wish to be seen or spoken to. Anger and pain collided within, making her heart ache for Alexander. A sob escaped her just as she finally reached the third floor of the tower and stopped to catch her breath, leaning against the cold stones and panting. Simple tasks were not so simple these days and all she wanted was Alex to be here to tell her everything was going to be all right. But nothing was all right. She was alone and chased away any man who so much as spoke to her.

  She knew she was a bloody, stubborn fool. What was
she, if not just a servant carrying a bastard child of a dead man who had once been married to the true Lady of Drum? She was nothing and would continue to be nothing. And yet, she preferred to be nothing rather than allow another man to take Alex’s place and raise their child.

  “My lady.” Hearing a deep, familiar voice, Mary quickly wiped away her tears and sniffled.

  “Please go away.”

  William’s face appeared from the shadows and the frown he wore made her do the same. “I am sorry. I shouldnae have done that.”

  “Nay, ye shouldnae have. I didnae wish to kiss ye.”

  “I ken that. Nor did I wish to kiss ye.”

  For some reason, that only hurt more. So, the only other man to ever kiss her did not even wish to? “Well… I ken Elizabeth can be verra stubborn. I dinnae ken why she placed us beneath the mistletoe.”

  “I think I ken why, and I think ye do, as well. I will speak to her. Still, I am sorry I allowed my pride to get the better of me.” William stepped back but did not leave. She saw the crease in his brow and sighed.

  “I am sorry I caused ye to feel like ye needed to defend yer honor. I ken I embarrassed ye, and that is the only reason ye kissed me.” William nodded and opened his mouth, but snapped it shut once more. Turning around stiffly, William stormed down the hall and entered the chamber just a few doors past hers, where he usually stayed during his visits. It was in this hall where Robert and Reginald had fought last summer when the entire scheme had unfolded. William had stormed out of his room in a rage and Mary had fought with him, even then. And yet, he could not even remember her name when he arrived. She had no interest in him but it stung to always feel like naught more than a piece of plain furniture in a corner of a room, never truly noticed or appreciated. She was used as needed, then forgotten.