In front of the massive hearth at the end of the room a group of men stood out from the rest. They wore different colored tartans, not the green, black and blue plaid the MacKay clansmen wore.
With his back to her the leader of the group stood tall and proud in his red and black, a sprig of juniper dangling from his bonnet. He was the only person in the room who had not turned to stare at her as she’d descended the staircase.
“There he is, lass.” The MacKay made his way downstairs, although at a slower pace, and stopped beside her.
“Where, Grandfather? I don’t see him.”
“Over by the fire, Augusta.”
“No, you are mistaken. My husband is not there. I don’t see him anywhere in the room. Perhaps he went outside for a moment. I’ll just go see.” Gusty started down the stairs, moving more slowly now.
“Donovan Ross!” Her grandfather bellowed across the great hall.
Foot on the last step, Gusty stopped dead in her tracks. The tall man who had been standing with his back to them turned slowly to face her, his thickly bearded face breaking into a semblance of a smile as he looked in Gusty’s direction.
“Laird Ross, may I present Augusta Sinclair? Your wife-ta-be.”
“We’ll see about that, old man,” Donovan Ross replied wryly. “She may be a beauty but she’ll still have to pass my trials before I say any vows.”
Gusty turned to look up at her grandfather, whom she had thought had come to care for her… She’d honestly thought he’d been concerned about her welfare. But the truth hit her like a smack in the face. Nothing more than a devious old schemer, the old man would use her as a bargaining piece for his own gain.
“No! Damn you! You can’t do this.” She turned to fully face him, her cheeks hot at the realization she had been betrayed. Her eyes filled with angry tears. “You can’t do this to me!” Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper as she moved up the stairs and looked into the cold, uncompromising face of Enoch MacKay. She hesitated for only a moment before she brushed past him and fled up the remaining steps, back to her room where she slammed the door and slid home the bolt.
“What a complete fool I am!” Gusty muttered to herself as she paced the room, swiping the tears that wet her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “I have been living in a fool’s paradise. This is the twelfth century, for God’s sake! Wives and daughters are treated no better than pawns in a man’s game for power and greed. I should have known better than to expect anything else.” She had believed she was immune to the traditions and customs of this world but she was wrong…
Oh God! How wrong I was!
Chapter Seventeen
Gusty would have made a great tour guide for the Scottish Highlands.
She had done so much traveling through the hills and dales of northern Scotland in the last few months she could have described all the points of interest to a bus full of tourists.
She found herself back on Ross holdings. She had made one giant circuit of the country since that fateful day when she had landed in this century. Somewhere nearby she had saved Duncan Sutherland from the group of angry clansmen.
For two days after arriving at Ross Castle, Gusty’s life was a constant whirlwind of activity. She had been dragged from room to room by a well-meaning maid who believed Gusty would be the next mistress of the keep. The young maid had thought it her duty to make Gusty feel at home in the castle. All the while Gusty wanted nothing but to find some breathing space. The keep overflowed with women, accompanied by their guardians and their servants. The place was completely packed with bodies and the stench took its toll on her sensibilities. There were females taking up floor space in every room and hallway. The hopeful brides-to-be ranged in age from a teenager to several women who were considered well on-the-shelf and even some well-back-on-the-shelf-and-covered-in-dust. There was a great diversity in their rank and class, as well. Some of these women were daughters of nobles, some were merchants’ daughters and still others crofter’s daughters hopeful for a better life. But they had two things in common. They all had the same last name—Sinclair—and each and every one of them were bound and determined to win and wed the Ross.
Gusty had to admit Donovan Ross was a fine specimen of medieval manhood. He stood at least as tall as Alexander and was just as well built, with broad shoulders and thick, muscular limbs, but she did not think he was nearly as handsome. Of course it was difficult to tell exactly what the man looked like. He wore his dark red hair too long and his massive beard covered most of his face. He might have been incredibly good-looking but it was impossible to tell. He did have lovely green eyes and a pair of full, sensual lips that begged to be kissed. Not that she would ever attempt such a feat. When he did smile, which was not very often, one could see he had straight, white teeth, which was more than she could say for many of the men and women she had met so far. But his looks didn’t seem to matter to the women who had come to win a Highland laird for a husband. Each one of them saw her once-in-a-lifetime chance to better her station and bring honor and wealth to her family.
“The Ross has been ordered by King Edgar to choose a bride from one of these women. It is said the match will bring about peace between Clan Ross and Clan Sinclair. The marriage must take place before the year is out and the union must be between a child of the old laird Ross and any Sinclair woman of his choosing. And since Laird Donovan and his younger sister are the only living children of the old laird, Donovan is expected to do the honorable thing.”
Mairi, the young maid who had been assigned to Gusty when she had first arrived, was an incessant gossip and the girl had been keeping Gusty entertained with the latest tidbits of information circulating around the keep.
“What will the king do if Donovan Ross does not marry by the date he has chosen?” Gusty asked, amazed and somewhat outraged that one’s love life could become the business of the sovereign.
“King Edgar will choose a bride for the laird, if he does not choose one for himself within the next six months. And I can tell you, Laird Ross does not want that to happen but he doesn’t wish to marry either. At least not like this. That is why he has grown that horrible beard.”
“You mean that beast he wears is not a permanent fixture?”
Mairi looked at Gusty oddly for a moment and then giggled. “Oh nay, he once sported a small, finely trimmed beard.” She used her own face to show Gusty what she meant and pointed at her upper lip and chin. “But he usually went about with a smooth chin. The day he received the king’s command that he must marry a Sinclair he began growing that great bush and he’s let it grow longer and wilder ever since.”
The conversation lulled for a bit while Mairi went about her chores and Gusty sat in front of the small metal mirror, brushing her long, curly hair.
“I think you have the best chance of catching the laird’s eye. I have a feeling about you, Lady Gusty.”
“Thank you, Mairi, for having such confidence in me, but I do not need to catch Laird Ross’ eye. I am already handfasted to Alexander Sutherland. I cannot marry Laird Ross. I’m just stuck here for the time being until Alexander comes for me.”
Mairi stopped in mid-step and turned to look at Gusty.
“Oh, milady, never, never speak that name in this household! It would not go well for you if anyone else heard you were the Sutherland’s lady and repeated that information to the laird. There is a bloody feud that can never be put to rights between the Ross and the Sutherland. I do not want to see anything bad happen to you. Say you will not be so bold as to anger the laird.”
“What happened?” Gusty already had her father’s version of the story—now she wanted to hear what someone closer to the Ross had to say about it.
“Laird Ross’ older sister, Lady Aileen, married Allister Sutherland. She was murdered mysteriously. Laird Ross wanted to blame her husband for her death but Allister Sutherland was killed also. Lady Aileen and her husband’s deaths changed everything. Peace between the clans came to an end because Lair
d Ross no longer trusted Clan Sutherland.”
“How did they die?”
“They were murdered during a vicious raid on their holding. The Sutherland clansmen claim men wearing Ross colors raided one of their outer crofts while Lady Aileen was there tending a sick woman. But the account of the raid never made any sense. Why would a Ross kill one of their own? Lady Aileen was slaughtered along with her husband and the Sutherland laird.”
“They were all killed in the same raid?” This was not the same story she had heard but it made more sense. If Allister was killed in the raid then how could he be blamed for murdering his wife? Why was her father’s version of the story so different?
“Aye. Everyone was killed. It was the Sutherland’s uncle, Black Bart, who found them. He claims he saw men wearing Ross plaid fleeing from the area. He reported that no one survived the slaughter.”
“Black Bart? He was the one who reported the murders?”
“Aye he was out looking for his nephews when he and his men came across the burning croft and the murdered Sutherlands.”
Gusty pondered this new revelation. What a coincidence that the very man whom Alexander and his clansmen distrusted was the one to report the murder of Laird Seamus Sutherland, Allister Sutherland and his wife, Aileen. An awful suspicion began to grow in her mind.
“Promise me, Lady Gusty, you will not mention you are already married.”
Mairi’s pleading voice brought Gusty back to the present. To assure the maid, Gusty agreed with a nod.
“All right, Mairi, I will keep the truth to myself for now. But as far as I am concerned, Alexander Sutherland and I are as good as married. And I will not deny the fact if the question comes up. A handfasting is a legal union.”
“Just promise me, milady, that you will say nothing unless someone asks you. There is no need to bring trouble upon yourself.”
Gusty nodded. Apparently satisfied her warning had been taken to heart, the young maid proceeded to dress Gusty’s wild hair into a neat plait and then twisted the braid into a knot at the back of her head.
“It is nearly time to go downstairs for dinner and the evening competitions.”
“Oh yes. The Competition.” She had heard of nothing else these last few days, either at the dinner table or from the maids who came to her chambers to help her bathe and dress. Everyone in the keep took the Ross’ strange manner of courtship very seriously.
“Aye, milady. Rumors abound that Laird Ross is dragging his feet when it comes to making a final choice for his wife. Though I have heard this last flock of contestants—those women who have managed to pass all the laird’s earlier tests—has been most resolute about staying for as long as it takes. It should be quite entertaining,” she said and then almost as an afterthought she added, “As long as you’re not one of the competitors.”
“Thank you, Mairi, I have no intention of competing for Laird Ross’ hand in marriage.”
* * * * *
After spending a mind-numbing hour watching woman after woman participate in tonight’s “competition”, Gusty felt like screaming in frustration. It was an enlightening experience to say the least. Having come from a time when women are considered equal to men and educated as such, she found it hard to believe just how obtuse and dim-witted some of these women were. Time and again Gusty was sure she spotted a winner among the throng, one with a look of intelligence in her eyes, but time and again those women disappointed. And Gusty had to witness the contest—which was really nothing more than a silly test of wits, at this point—from a front row seat, having been escorted to the platform upon which sat the great Donovan Ross’ table. They’d even given her the honor of sitting at his right hand.
Donovan looked bored and a little disgruntled. Gusty had expected him to act smug since he was no doubt more intelligent than any female who stepped forward to accept his challenge, but he behaved like a gentleman. Cool and polite he thanked each contestant and wished her good health before calling for the next woman to come forward. Gusty had to respect him for the quiet manner and patience he used, obviously going out of his way to make certain none of the women were embarrassed. A great number of the ladies acted as if they had never been in a great hall such as this, let alone had the opportunity to become familiar with a clan chieftain.
Gusty bit her tongue and fisted her hands in her lap to hide her agitation as one more young woman went down in flames, unable to figure out the laird’s perplexing riddle.
“They keep trying. I have to give them that.” Donovan turned to her and spoke behind his hand in an aside. In the last three hours he had said very little to her, his attention taken up by the unending parade of women who were determined to be the one to win his approval.
“Yes they do. But it seems that not one of them is going to be able to please you.” Gusty watched the last contestant as the poor girl’s disappointed relatives led her away. When she finally turned her attention back to him she found his moss-green eyes boring into her, as if he were trying to understand her.
“Impossible as it may seem, Augusta Sinclair, I would prefer a wife who could actually speak to me about something more intelligent than the latest court fashions or her needlework or how to milk a cow.” He sounded a bit defensive but his voice never rose above the mild, conversational tone he’d used all evening. “Is it too much to ask? Does not a man deserve a wife who can love him, give him children and be able to open her mouth and have something intelligent come out of it? That is what I am looking for. If I were allowed more time, I would eventually find such a woman. But”—he shrugged and turned to peruse the next candidate, who was being led into the room—”I have not been given that prerogative.”
His words came out in a low murmur and Gusty barely heard them.
“Bring her forward, Blair.” He commanded his man, who had been put in charge of this charade.
The woman, who could not have been any older than Gusty, was led across the room to stand in front of them. She was a very beautiful young woman with long pale hair the color of moonbeams. Giving the great Ross a graceful curtsey, she also managed to give him a glimpse of her ample bosom.
“What is your name, lass?”
“Annabelle Sinclair, Laird Ross.” She spoke softly but her voice did not waver as many of the other young ladies’ had. Clearly she had some courage and breeding.
“The Sinclair part I already know, Annabelle.”
Gusty smiled at the gentle jest Donovan made but her smile wavered when she glanced over and found she alone held his attention. A slow grin lifted the corners of his sensuous lips and then he winked at her before turning back to the woman in front of him.
A hot flush swept over Gusty until she felt the need to fan herself. She had spent the whole evening in this man’s company and he had not seemed to notice her other than as a dinner companion. And now he’s flirting with me? Slightly distracted, she turned her attention back to the lovely woman standing before the table and noticed the scowl that marred her perfect features. Clearly the woman was not happy with the interruption of her presentation.
“Let us begin, Annabelle,” Donovan continued without missing a beat. “The challenge is very simple really. I tell you a riddle and you will give me the answer.”
“That is all?”
“Aye, that is all. Simple, is it not?”
Gusty clamped her teeth together and willed herself not to groan. She had heard the riddle time and time again and she’d grown weary of watching woman after woman come forward and fail to solve it. The answer was so obvious, at least to her.
“I’m going to say three different words to you and I want you to repeat each word back to me after I say it. It is as straightforward as that. Do you understand?”
“Aye, Laird. I understand.” A smug smile lit her lovely face, so assured she was of her victory.
“Very well. Let us begin.” He paused for a moment and then snapped out the first word. “Claymore.”
“Claymore.” Her smile bro
adened as she repeated the word correctly.
Donovan smiled as well. “Skean.”
“Skean.” She repeated. She beamed at him, her confidence growing stronger.
“Wrong.”
“What? What do you mean ‘wrong’? You said ‘skean’! You heard him say ‘skean’, did he not?” She turned and addressed Gusty, beseeching her to agree.
“Aye, he did say ‘skean’.”
Annabelle nodded jerkily before she returned her attention to Donovan. Tears began to well up in her lovely blue eyes and her lower lip trembled. Gusty had seen the same reaction from every woman who had come into the room tonight. She was tired of watching each one be made to look foolish and ignorant.
Annabelle did not wait to be excused. Obviously humiliated, she whirled away and fled from the room, her guardian running to keep up with her. It was a sorry exhibition and Gusty’s patience was at an end.
“I cannot stand this any longer.” Gusty turned to admonish Donovan after Annabelle disappeared out the door. Gusty had heard this riddle in a movie she had seen a long time ago and had thought it rather clever, but after hearing it repeated over and over again with no one being able to understand the simple trickery, she decided to take matters into her own hands.
“If you ask one more woman that insufferable riddle, I will scream the answer to the entire room. Then where will your wife-hunting be? You will have to find a mate the old-fashioned way.”
“You know the answer?” Donovan looked at her with skepticism.
“Of course I know the answer.”
“Prove it. Repeat these three words for me. Claymore.”
“Claymore.”
“Skean”
“Skean.”
“Wrong.”
“Wrong!” she shouted back at him.
An arrogant smile broke over Donovan’s face. He stood slowly, and reaching for her hand he pulled her to her feet.
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