by Paula Quinn
The laundresses worked overtime. Apparently, every MacCarron wished to wear clean garments to the nuptials.
Extra scullery workers were hired on from the village and Cook had them scrubbing every dish, pot, utensil and plate. Jeannie remarked that the man seemed relieved not to have to worry about the venison.
All this feverish preparation for her wedding thrilled Shona. She thought the day would never arrive. The memory of the intense sensations Ewan’s touch evoked was never far from her thoughts. His promise there were more delights in store haunted her dreams. Still, deep in her heart, a worry gnawed that she had no notion of how to be a good wife. She prayed her betrothed was a patient man.
*
Ewan enjoyed participating in the preparation of the stag. He’d never taken much interest in such things before and discovered Fynn was an endless source of lore regarding the aging and roasting of venison.
Even the spencer seemed impressed by his insistence on keeping the larder neither too cold nor not cold enough. Ewan deemed it overzealous to check the degree of coldness several times a day, but wasn’t about to argue with the expert.
Cook deferred to his judgement as to which parts of the deer he might use for pies and stews and grudgingly contributed a goodly amount of costly allspice.
David hung on Fynn’s every word and made it his mission to track down some of the more elusive ingredients his kinsman required. His elation was evident when he returned from finally unearthing a store of juniper berries in the castle’s undercroft. Cummings insisted on holding back part of the supply for medicinal purposes and warned William the Butler would be livid at the loss of fodder for his still. Though it was hard to believe, some clansmen apparently preferred gin to whisky.
On the journey from Roigh, Ewan had been afraid David and Fynn might end up coming to blows, and was pleased to see the camaraderie developing between them.
The stag also kept the men busy and out of the way of their womenfolk.
Every clan member was agog with news of the grand preparations for the roasting, pie making, boiling and stewing, slated for the day before the wedding.
That was also the day of David’s marriage to Moira, scheduled early in the morning so he could spend the afternoon assisting with the great work.
Ups and Downs
Upon hearing of Niall’s departure with Ailig’s remains, Kendric finally appointed a panel of three elders to decide Mungo’s fate. “More humane to get it o’er wi’,” he muttered, “now he’s said his goodbyes.”
A worm wriggled in Ewan’s belly. “Goodbyes?”
“Aye. Mungo asked for a last chance to pay his respects to his brother before the body was returned to Glen Nevis, so I sent word for it to be taken to his cell.”
Ewan hesitated to let his annoyance show. Surely it was for him to decide if Mungo’s request be granted or not. “I’d have thought the cadaver would be frozen.”
“Weel,” Kendric replied, “Mungo didna care about that since he’ll ne’er see his brother again. We may not understand why, but he loved Ailig. I deemed it the right thing to do. And in any case ’tis chilly in the cells too.”
A macabre vision of Mungo bidding farewell to a thawing corpse made Ewan shudder, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now. “Can we at least hold the trial in the Chart Room in order to spare Shona the further stress of a public spectacle?”
Kendric agreed wholeheartedly, and summoned the judges to gather with Ewan as his representative. They convened quickly and dispatched guards to fetch the prisoner.
Ewan shared Shona’s relief that judgement would be rendered before the ceremony, but he drummed his fingers on the table while he waited. He would not be part of the deliberations, but his gut twisted at the prospect of once again setting eyes on the wretch who’d caused his bride too much pain and sorrow.
David’s wedding was to take place in two hours, and Fynn already had most of the chunks of deer meat skewered on a spit. Stews were simmering in the kitchens and Cook had pies in the ovens.
“Shouldn’t take but an hour to reach a verdict,” Ewan muttered, annoyed he’d spoken at all. He couldn’t be seen to be interfering.
They’d been waiting too long when one of the grim-faced greybeards remarked, “I didna think the cells were so far distant.”
No sooner had he spoken than the guards appeared at the open door. It was clear from their hesitant posture neither wanted to be the first to cross the threshold. Ewan clenched his fists and glared. “Weel?”
One pushed his comrade inside. Bile rose in Ewan’s throat when the man held up Ailig’s severed hand. “Mungo isna in the cells,” he rasped, his gaze fixed on the mutilated limb. “We reckon…”
Ewan leapt out of his chair, unable to contain the anger boiling in his belly. “He’s not in the cells because he’s ridden to freedom strapped to the back of a donkey.”
“Aye,” came the whispered reply. “’Twould appear so.”
The three scowling elders came to their feet. “He changed places with his brother?” one asked.
“Aye. Ailig’s body is still in the cell. It was covered by a blanket, and when Mungo didna waken for his meal last night…”
“The jailers assumed he was asleep,” Ewan roared, shoving his way past the two men wedged in the doorway.
“Nay,” came the rejoinder. “They thought he was grieving.”
Ewan snorted his disbelief and hurried to the cells, the three judges trailing behind. It appeared others in the castle had heard the news and soon Fynn and David joined the procession. Clad in a bloodstained leather apron borrowed from the cook who was three times his girth, Fynn’s scowl showed his indignation at being torn way from his labor of love. David’s hair and beard had been trimmed and he wore his best plaid.
“I canna believe this,” Ewan told his kinsmen. “It seems the jailers helped carry out the body and strap it to the donkey.”
“Mun…Mun…Mungo’s tw…tw..twice the size of Ai…Ailig,” David said.
“Probably too drunk to ken what they were doing,” Fynn replied. “Mayhap they’re the gin-drinking idiots.”
“Remind me to recruit new men for the job,” Ewan shouted as he reached the bottom of the steep steps leading down to the cells.
He was actually relieved the guards responsible for the fiasco had disappeared. He was afraid his fury might have gotten the better of him. Prisons never smelled wholesome but here the stench of death was unmistakable. “Find them right quick and tell them they’d best dig a grave for this stinking corpse now,” he growled. “Hand and all.”
He gritted his teeth and leaned his palm against the damp wall. “We must hunt Mungo down.”
Fynn scratched his grey stubble. “Our David is getting wed this day, and me and thee on the morrow. We dinna ken where they’ve gone. It could take days. And then there’s the deer.”
Ewan gritted his teeth. “Aye,” he rasped, dreading the prospect of telling Shona her abductor was on the loose again. Postponing the weddings was out of the question, as was expecting Fynn to abandon his mission.
“Fyking Morleys,” he mumbled, sounding too much like Kendric for his liking.
*
Shona turned her head this way and that in front of the mirror, trying to see if Isobel had tucked the butterfly hairpins into her braided hair correctly. She considered it a good omen that Ewan had recovered the one she’d lost in the cave, otherwise the set would be incomplete.
“I hope ye like the way I’ve done it,” the lass whispered politely. “’Tis my ambition to be a lady’s maid, but I havna had much practice, so I appreciate Cousin Moira recommending me, my lady.”
The child’s face reddened considerably as she rambled on. Shona sought to put her at ease. “Looks wonderful. How old are ye?”
“Fourteen,” Isobel replied.
“Weel, I’m glad of yer help while Moira’s staying at her parents’ cottage, and, of course, she’ll be gone for a few days after her wedding.”
Isobel steadied her new mistress by the elbow as she slipped on her shoes. “’Tis generous of ye to allow her the time. I’ve heard some clans dinna give their servants any holidays.”
Shona smiled, unsure of how to reply. She hadn’t thought twice about allowing Moira time to enjoy her new status. “Mayhap yer cousin can take ye under her wing. She’ll need yer help when she falls pregnant.”
A grin split Isobel’s face. “I thank ye, my lady, and ye’ll soon require more maids yerself when the bairns arrive.”
A thrill of excitement surged up Shona’s spine. She’d been preoccupied with the notion of being a wife and hadn’t given much thought to the prospect of soon becoming a mother. Jeannie was the only mother she’d known, but her aunt had set a loving example.
She was impatient for her betrothed to arrive soon to escort her to the chapel, but when the rap on the door came, it sounded too urgent and insistent to be him.
Isobel opened the door. The hesitant scowl on Ewan’s face caused Shona’s heart to lurch. “What’s wrong?”
He took hold of her hands and looked into her eyes. “Forgive me. Mungo has escaped.”
She swayed, glad of his strength when he steadied her in his embrace. “Escaped?” she parroted.
Even after he explained what had happened she didn’t believe it. “How could they be so stupid?”
“Aye,” Isobel whispered, wiping away tears.
Despite her own turmoil, it occurred to Shona the lass had a caring heart that would stand her in good stead.
Ewan inhaled deeply. “Walter is already in pursuit. I swear we’ll track him down, but for today we’ve a wedding to attend.”
She nodded, forcing a smile. “Aye. We canna let this setback interfere with David and Moira’s special day.”
Ewan kissed her knuckles. “Ye’re a brave lass, Shona MacCarron. Are ye ready?”
Leaning heavily on his arm, she allowed him to escort her to the chapel, determined not to give another thought to Mungo Morley.
Moira’s family and friends were already in attendance. They bowed and curtseyed respectfully when she and Ewan entered, followed by Jeannie and her escort—Kendric hobbling on crutches supported by Donald and a servant.
Shona took a moment to offer her congratulations to the bride’s mother. “I’m confident they’ll be very happy.”
Arms folded across her expansive bosom, Mrs. Macgill raked a critical gaze over Ewan and complained, “He’s one o’ this lad’s lot.”
Shona was tempted to laugh when her beloved replied politely, “Nevertheless, he’s a good man.”
“Aye,” the woman conceded, turning away to greet Kendric and Jeannie.
Ewan grinned and whispered, “Notice she has no problem with the stammer, just his clan.”
He walked over to shake hands with the groom who stood near the altar, Fynn by his side. It was difficult to tell which of the two looked more nervous.
“Moira’s father has been generous,” Shona whispered to her betrothed when they had taken their seats. “He’s given David a tocher of a dozen sheep and several acres of his holding.”
It occurred to her as she spoke she hadn’t wondered about her own dowry; surely her father had left some provision? However, Ewan seem more worried about David becoming a farmer. “We’ll have to work that out. I never thought I’d say this but I still need him close. He’s loyal to a fault.”
It was a reminder that the road ahead might not always be smooth. Current events had endeared Ewan to her clan, but old hatreds could simmer for years. On the morrow she was to wed a man who would need every smidgen of the love and loyalty she had to give. It was an awesome responsibility, but the alchemy between them reassured her.
She watched Moira enter the small chapel on her father’s arm. The simple blue linen frock suited her maid and Shona knew only too well the look of love radiating from her smiling face. She squeezed Ewan’s arm. He covered her hand with his and whispered, “Not long now, Shona MacCarron.”
The promise in his husky voice confirmed she’d found the right mate.
*
The press of Shona’s tempting breasts against Ewan’s bicep was arousing in its innocence. He closed his eyes and listened to David make promises to Moira, pondering what he would say to his bride on the morrow.
Not in the chapel—the Kirk required adherence to the wording of its liturgy, and he fully intended to honor those vows.
He also looked forward to whispering sweet nothings at the banquet.
However, the emotions filling his heart would have to wait for the privacy of their bridal chamber. Then he’d be free to offer up his soul to the woman he loved.
Immersed in his reverie, he didn’t notice the ceremony had ended until Shona nudged him. “I hope ye willna fall asleep on the morrow.”
A blur of blue rustled by as a broadly-smiling David escorted his bride out to the hall. Ewan helped Shona rise. “I was dreaming of our union,” he said softly.
She smiled then faltered slightly, evidently understanding his deliberate double entendre. He caught the unmistakable aroma of a woman aroused when she swayed against him. The memory of her response to his touch remained fresh. “Aye, Shona lass, I plan to make all yer dreams come true.”
*
Cook dished up venison pie at the luncheon, but no one expected the choicer pieces of meat to be served. Many of the guests contributed food and drink in the time-honored tradition of the penny wedding.
Wrapped up in wanton thoughts of Ewan’s promises, Shona had no appetite. Jeannie finished off her leftovers.
Fynn and David were anxious to return to the kitchens, but stayed to watch the brides-cake ceremony. Everyone cheered and congratulated the groom when the seed-cake broken over Moira’s head crumbled to pieces.
David looked puzzled, as did Ewan.
Shona explained. “It’s our tradition. If it breaks into many pieces they’ll have a happy marriage with a home full of healthy bairns.”
“Weel,” he shrugged, “I dinna need a cake to tell me it’ll be the same for us.”
When she arched a quizzical brow he took hold of her hand under the table and pressed her fingertips to his hard maleness. “See,” he whispered, grinning wickedly.
Suddenly, they were the only two people in the hall. No other voice penetrated her hearing. His clean masculine scent filled her nostrils. The heat from his body made her skin tingle.
The rest of the celebration passed in a blur and, before she knew it, she was back in her chamber and Ewan was kissing her goodbye. “Get some rest,” he crooned, “I’m off to see if there’s any news of Morley. Keep the door barred until I return.”
Isobel rushed in as he was leaving. She bobbed a curtsey then hurried to help Shona remove her shoes. “’Twas a lovely wedding,” she sighed. “I hope I find a good man like David.”
Shona sensed a little too much fondness for her cousin’s new husband in the maid’s words, but then young lasses tended to become infatuated with handsome swains. “Aye,” she replied, trying to put a stern edge on her reply, “off ye go and keep Moira company while David’s busy.”
She dropped the bar after Isobel left, and curled up with Ruadh, trying to recall events after Ewan’s brazen gesture.
She may have nodded sympathetically when Jeannie complained at Fynn’s early departure. She must have uttered her agreement when Moira’s mother nagged about roasting a stag being more important to her son-by-marriage than staying with her daughter. She had a vague memory of wiping pie crumbs off her uncle’s beard before he was carried back to his apartments.
She yawned and closed her eyes, hoping she’d at least thought to embrace Moira and offer her congratulations.
Off His Head
Ewan came close to colliding with Donald at the door of the keep.
“I was on my way to find ye,” the elderly steward panted. “Walter’s back.”
The news came as a surprise and raised his hopes. “Already? With Morley?”
> Donald shook his head. “Only Niall. Hands tied to the pommel of a donkey. Looks done in. Just now arrived in the bailey.”
Ewan hurried out, wondering if Mungo was dead, but the grim look on Walter’s face quickly dispelled that notion. “Where did ye find him?” he asked.
Gilbertson dismounted. “Not far distant. Tied to a tree.” He poked Niall’s arm. “I’ll let him tell the tale.”
When the bleary-eyed wretch looked up, Ewan saw that his nose was badly broken, his swollen face smeared with blood. He frowned at Walter who shook his head. “Not my doing.”
“The mon’s a lunatic,” Niall rasped.
“Mungo did this to ye?” Ewan asked.
“After we made good our escape, he blathered on and on about taking Ailig’s body with us.”
“The ruse wouldna have worked then,” Ewan said.
Walter cut the rope binding Niall to the pommel and slid him from the donkey. Off balance, Morley touched the back of his hand to his nose and winced. “I said as much, but he whined on and on, insisting we had to come back. So I told him he’d have to return alone.”
Ewan had an inkling what was coming next. “He wanted the horse.”
Niall coughed and spat out blood. “Aye, and when I refused, he attacked me like a wild thing, punched me in the nose and tied me to a tree with the same rope we used to secure him to the donkey. He’s my kinsman but he’s nay right in the head. I regret the day I chose to follow him. He’s nay the mon his father was.”
Ewan almost felt sorry for the wretch. “Weel, my friend, many’s the Highlander who’s followed the wrong path because a kinsman demanded it of him.”
Walter seized Niall’s shoulder and pushed him into the arms of two of his men. “Take him to the infirmary.”
Gooseflesh marched across Ewan’s nape as he watched the warriors hoist Niall under the armpits and drag him away. While everyone had been distracted by the wedding, Mungo had probably infiltrated the castle. “Morley may already have discovered Ailig’s body is no longer in the cells. Question is, where is he now?”
