Caelen's Wife: Book One - A Murmur of Providence (Clan McDunnah Series 1)

by Suzan Tisdale

  Raising her voice ever so slightly in order to draw Edgar’s attention away from Bridgett and to the topic at hand, Fiona expounded on her previous question. “I ask why. Why this sudden interest in me? We’ve only met twice that I can remember. Yet, here ye sit, in me gatherin’ room, askin’ fer me hand. I’d like to ken why.”

  Edgar’s eye twitched ever so slightly before answering. “’Twould be mutually beneficial to each of us.”

  She’d heard too many men of late tell her how a marriage between whatever clan was proposing and the McPhersons would be mutually beneficial. So far, no one had been able to tell Fiona how her clan would benefit, other than from the protection of the bigger clan. Unconvinced of any benefit to her or her people, she remained quiet.

  Edgar went on. “If ye marry me, ye get the protection of me clan. In return, we get all the wonders and magic of yer lands.”

  Bridgett shook her head in dismay. “Ye men are all the same.”

  Edgar smiled at Bridgett as though an angel had just descended from heaven instead of taking her words as the insult Bridgett had intended.

  “To ye, marriage is nothin’ more than a way to gain more lands, power, and coin. Do ye no’ care at all about a woman’s heart?”

  His smile faded.

  “Ye speak as though ye were barterin’ for a cow and no’ a woman’s heart,” Bridgett told him pointedly.

  “’Tis a barter. I’m no’ here to win anyone’s tender heart, lass,” Edgar said through gritted teeth that bespoke the fact he did not like to be challenged by anyone.

  “But a woman’s heart is important!” Bridgett threw her hands into the air. “But ye do no’ care about that. Only lands. Lands, lands, lands!”

  “Bridgett,” Fiona said, her gaze never leaving Edgar’s. “Ye need no’ worry over it. Me answer is the same for the MacKinnon as it was fer all the others.” Pushing herself away from the table, Fiona stood with her shoulders back and her chin up. “I’ll no’ marry ye, Edgar MacKinnon. Or anyone else fer that matter. Stay off me lands and warn yer friends to do the same.”

  Without bothering to say good day or listen to any further arguments, Fiona left the room with Bridgett following close behind.

  Fiona had felt quite confident that Caelen McDunnah understood her warning and declaration. Even though she had to admit that she might give any proposal he made more consideration than she had the others.

  A week had passed since visiting with the McDunnah, yet the man plagued her thoughts. She stood now at her bedchamber window, staring out at the setting sun. It had been a tiresome day with training all morning, going over the larder inventory with their cook, Rob McPherson, and then meeting with Edgar MacKinnon that afternoon.

  Sleep had evaded her that first night after meeting with Caelen. Admittedly, she had much that kept her busy to the point of exhaustion. With another marriage proposal, the daily running of the keep and all her duties as chief, there was much on her mind these days.

  However, one thought, or more specifically one face, had troubled her thoughts. And the face belonged to Caelen McDunnah.

  Even though he had reeked of stale whisky and his eyes had been bloodshot, there was something about the man that she found quite attractive. Mayhap it was his well-muscled body or the way he stood so confidently when she had confronted him about the sheep. Or, mayhap, it had been the fact that he hadn’t argued with her and had allowed her men to retrieve the seventeen head of sheep without so much as a small protest.

  Or, more likely than not, it had something to do with the fact that she hadn’t been with a man in five years. Aye, her husband was dead two years now. Five years ago however, he had stopped coming to her bed altogether. After years of trying to conceive a child, James had finally given up, much to Fiona’s heartbreak.

  She had loved James, loved him dearly. Unfortunately, he could not return her feelings.

  Theirs had been an arranged marriage, as so many often were. Fiona had known from the very beginning that she hadn’t been James’ first choice in a bride. Her father, Thomas and James’ father, Paul, had been the best of friends since childhood. Her father had saved Paul’s life on more than one occasion, beginning in their childhood when Thomas had saved Paul from drowning. A bond was forged over that moment, a bond that lasted their entire lives. Paul McPherson, ever grateful, felt he owed a debt to his good friend and so, a betrothal between their two children was made.

  Neither Fiona nor James truly had a say in the matter.

  Knowing full well that James didn’t love her, Fiona still did her best to win his heart. Fiona had done everything she could to be a good wife. She made certain the keep ran smoothly, even during less than spectacular financial times. She carefully planned their meals, tended their wounded, and helped to bring everyone’s babes into the world but her own. She had even tried to be a seductive wife, wearing revealing gowns, styling her hair perfectly, and seeking council from more experienced women.

  It had all been for naught. No matter what she did, James was never impressed. It wasn’t to say he treated her poorly, for in truth, he hadn’t. Simply put, he wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic as Fiona was.

  When attempts at being a seductress failed, she returned to what she knew best; swords and knives.

  With three older brothers to look up to, Fiona had always been fascinated with swords, knives, slingshots and battles. Much to her mother’s vexation, Fiona had no desire to learn to cook or sew or tend hearth and home. She preferred the company of her brothers, who were all too happy to teach her what they knew.

  Her brothers had spoiled her from the day she was born. Fiona suspected it had more to do with the fact that she was a quite homely bairn and they believed there was no hope for her. They swore, though, they had taught her everything they knew so that she could protect herself from less honorable members of the opposite sex.

  As she grew, so did her reputation at being a fine swordsman and knife thrower. There wasn’t a lad her equal, besides her brothers, and Fiona had enjoyed the attention.

  However, as she grew older she discovered there were other ways of sparring with a boy. The boys, however, did not see her as a potential love interest. Instead, she was simply Fi. The homely little sister to the McCray brothers. Aye, they admired her swordsmanship, her skills with knives and slingshots. But that was all they admired about her.

  So when her husband began to grow distant, Fiona made the decision to don tunic and trews and pick up her sword with the hope that her skills as a warrior might impress him.

  He didn’t so much as blink an eye. Even when she bested one man after another on the training fields.

  Seductress or skilled warrior meant nothing to James. Boiled down, he simply wasn’t interested in her. When she finally realized that fact, it nearly clove her heart in twain.

  Now here she was, chief of their clan and alone as she had been for years. There was no one to share her concerns or worries with, save her brothers, her mum, and her dearest friend Bridgett.

  As much as she loved all of those people, ’twas not the same as having that one person to share your life with. There was a level of intimacy between a husband and wife that could not be found with a parent, brother or friend.

  Five proposals in the past year and not one of them worth her consideration. They wanted one thing: her land. Not her as a woman, not her heart, just her lands.

  But why? Why after more than one hundred years of peace, did these men suddenly begin to want this little bit of land she called home?

  Clan McPherson was small in comparison to the other clans, both in numbers and the area they claimed as their own. Rocky terrain that abutted Mount Sidh Chailleann, was ill-suited for growing crops of any kind. Its only saving graces were the fact that its waters were so pure and it was a good place to raise sheep and goats.

  Why then were the MacKinnons and all the others so interested in her lands? She hadn’t expected her chiefdom to be this complicated or this lonely.

&nbs
p; A knock came at her door. Whilst she’d have preferred to remain alone and unbothered for a while longer, she knew no answers could be found by staring at the horizon. Smoothing down the skirt of her green dress, she bid entry.

  Bridgett entered, took one look at Fiona and gave a shake of her head.

  “The McDunnah has cast a spell upon ye,” Bridgett said as she came to stand beside Fiona.

  Fiona giggled. “Yer daft.”

  Bridgett was not the least bit offended. “Am I? Then, pray tell, why have ye been in such a sullen mood these past few days?”

  “I’m no’ sullen,” Fiona told her, not averting her eyes away from the window.

  “Nay?” Bridgett asked, feigning ignorance. “Ye could have fooled me, the way ye are always lookin’ so forlorn and distracted.”

  Fiona sighed heavily and realized Bridgett was not going to leave her alone any time soon. “Bridgett, I ken ye mean well, but truly, I am no’ sullen or distracted. Caelen McDunnah has nothin’ to do with me mood. I simply have much on me mind of late.”

  “Such as?”

  “Odd,” Fiona said with feigned confusion. “I thought fer certain ye were there when Edgar MacKinnon made his proposal of marriage just a few hours ago.”

  “Is that what is botherin’ ye? Edgar MacKinnon’s proposal?”

  Fiona let loose with a heavy breath. “Nay, no’ exactly the proposal itself, but somethin’ else he said. When I asked him why he wanted to marry, he said his clan would get all the wonders and magic of our lands. What do ye suppose he meant by that?”

  “I dunnae,” Bridgett replied. “I thought he was merely bein’ a sarcastic arse.”

  Fiona giggled with agreement. “Aye, I suppose yer right. ’Tis no matter. I would no’ marry him or any of the others who’ve proposed.”

  A wry smile formed on Bridgett’s lips and her eyes near sparkled with amusement. “But what of the one who has no’ yet proposed?”

  “If yer referrin’ to Caelen McDunnah—”

  “Aye, I am.” Bridgett continued to smile.

  “Ye can set those thoughts aside, Bridgett. He’ll never propose and fer many reasons.” She held up a hand to stop Bridgett’s impending protest. “He still mourns the loss of his first wife. He’ll never remarry. And if, by some act of God he did propose, I’d tell him what I told the others.”

  Bridgett sighed heavily. “Why? I ken yer lonely, Fi. Have ye no desire to marry again? To be with a man? To share yer life with someone?”

  “I do,” Fiona answered softly as she turned to look out the window. The sky was aflame with streaks of red, orange and purple. “But what I desire does no’ matter. Me clan comes first, above all else.”

  That much was true, but there was more she refused to share with her friend. The simple truth was that she could not stand the thought of being married to yet another man who did not want her in a physical or romantic sense. Though blessed with many friends, she had no desire to be legally bound to one.

  If she could not have a man who wanted her heart, as well as a more intimate and physical relationship, she’d prefer to be alone.

  Chapter 6

  Caelen left the keep through the kitchens and walked down the winding trail that led to the little huts that dotted the landscape. He was on his way to see his grandminny, Burunild. The auld woman had sent word earlier that morn that she wanted to see him.

  He’d been home for days now and had not yet taken the time to visit with his father’s mother. Believing the auld woman wanted nothing more than to chastise him for not visiting sooner, he took his time getting to her cottage.

  As he walked down the path, Elspeth McDunnah — one of his many cousins — came out of her cottage with a bairn in one arm and a basket in the other. “Good day, Caelen!”

  Happy for the delay, Caelen walked up to her and gave her a warm embrace. “How be ye this fine day, Elspeth? And what do we have here?” he asked, referring to the babe in her arm.

  “This be me son, Connor,” she smiled proudly at her babe.

  The sense of longing and wishing for that which he knew he would never have tapped at his heart as he looked down at the bundle in her arms. A beautiful babe, not more than three months old Caelen reckoned, was fast asleep in Elspeth’s arm.

  “Would ye like to hold him?” Elspeth asked, her blue eyes glistening in the morning sun.

  Caelen shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “I be on me way to see Burunild and I fear if I hold him, I’ll no’ want to be puttin’ him down. Burunild will have me head fer certain if I keep her waitin’ much longer.” ’Twas a full out lie but he did not want to explain to Elspeth the truth.

  He had never had the chance to hold his own son. Guilt would not allow him to hold someone else’s.

  “I shall no’ keep ye, then,” Elspeth said. “I would no’ want Burunild angry with me fer keepin’ ye from her.” She handed Caelen the small basket. “I saw ye headin’ down the path and thought I’d give ye some jam that I made. Is blackberry still yer favorite?”

  “Aye, ’tis!”

  “Good,” she replied. “There be blackberry jam, bread, and a meat pie. I hope Burunild allows ye to live long enough to enjoy it.”

  Caelen laughed in agreement. Burunild might be as auld as Scotia herself and unable to walk far without help, but she could still wield her walking stick with deadly accuracy when she wanted.

  “Thank ye, kindly, Elspeth.

  After knocking on his grandminny’s door, he heard the faint sound of her voice bidding him entry. Taking a deep breath to steel himself for the chastisement he was certain was coming, he opened the door and stepped inside.

  The furs were pulled away from the windows allowing the bright morning sun to illuminate the interior of the small cottage that Burunild called home. To his left was a loom of questionable age and sturdiness, along with a small stool that sat under a window. How many blankets and plaids over the countless decades had his grandminny created in that very spot?

  To his right was an old table and two chairs that sat between the hearth and her bed. Burunild was sitting at the table now, her gnarled hands cutting vegetables and placing them in a large wooden bowl. Looking up from her work, her lips curved into a warm smile. “Do I ken ye?”

  His heart clenched at her question and he rushed to kneel before her, setting the basket on the table. Had she suffered some form of apoplexy and now could not remember her own grandson? “Grandminny,” he said, his voice filled with worry and concern. “’Tis me, yer grandson, Caelen.”

  Burunild tilted her head ever so slightly and studied him. “Aye, I remember havin’ a grandson named Caelen. He used to be such a good lad and always had the time fer an auld woman. But I fear much time has passed since last I’ve seen him that I wouldna recognize him if he kicked me in the leg.”

  The auld woman was tormenting him on purpose! “Grandminny!” he said with more anger than he should have. “Ye ken well who I am.”

  “Of course I ken who ye are, ye eejit. The question is, do ye ken who ye are?”

  “What do ye mean by that?” he asked, his frustration growing and he’d only been here a short time. The auld woman had a way of exasperating him in just a few heartbeats.

  “It means, do ye ferget that ye be me favorite grandson? Do ye ferget all the times I cared fer ye when ye were ill or wounded? Do ye ferget that as chief of yer clan, ’tis yer duty to care for all of yer people, includin’ yer auld grandminny, who might no’ have too many days left on this earth?”

  The auld woman was going to drive him to an early grave.

  Chapter 7

  “Twenty-five?” Fiona asked with barely concealed fury as she paced back and forth in her private study. “Twenty-five more sheep?”

  Collin McCray stood patiently in front of the hearth. Having drawn the short straw, it was up to him to tell Fiona the news. Twenty-five sheep had been stolen in the middle of the night and this time, a message was left.

  “Aye, Fi,” he said. “And
this time, there was a message.”

  Fiona stopped pacing. “A message?”

  Reluctantly, he recounted what had been told to him by Seamus, who had been told the story by Dudley McFarland, one of the men in charge of guarding the sheep at night. After the first reiving, they had increased patrols and guards to watch over the sheep. “The McDunnah sends his regards.”

  Seldom did Fiona ever lose her temper. ’Twas a rarity and one of the things that her clan admired about her. Publicly, she would have remained calm and reserved, not allowing anyone to see how angry she was.

  Today, she was not in public and she let loose her frustration with a slew of curses that made even Collin blush.

  Within the hour, Fiona McPherson, three of her brothers, and ten of her best men, were mounted and heading for McDunnah lands.

  Three days had passed since Fiona McPherson had visited Caelen’s keep.

  Caelen couldn’t get the image of beautiful woman out of his mind.

  It vexed him.

  He had tried drinking the thoughts and images away. He had tried sparring them away.

  This morning, he thought he would make another attempt by leaving the keep and hunting, with the hope that, for a few hours at least, he could be rid of the lustful thoughts that plagued him. For a few hours, at least, it had worked.

  Hunting with him were his cousin and second in command, Kenneth, and seven other men. Things had been going along splendidly all the day long. They’d managed to catch half a dozen rabbits, several pheasant, and even a nice-sized stag. Caelen’s mouth watered when he thought of what his cook, Jinny McDunnah, would do with the deer meat.

  They were camped in a small clearing miles from their keep. Caelen and Kenneth had just finished tying the buck to the branch of a large tree and bleeding it, when the sound of horses approaching broke through the chatter of male laughter. Later, years later when Kenneth would recount what happened next, he would swear that a cold wind had blown in, a forewarning of what was to come.