Another Man's Bride

by Ariel MacArran

  Hundreds of candles, likely more than the household could afford to use, blazed in the hall and members of both clans filled the room to bursting. Bunches of evergreen and scarlet juniper berries adorned the hall and every person in attendance wore his or her finest.

  Isabella lifted her chin when the horn sounded and turned with the rest to look. Colyne and Bredach entered together, drawing sounds of approval from the crowd.

  They were a well-suited and striking pair, the MacKimzie laird and his new bride.

  Colyne’s beard had grown back to fiery fullness and his hair again hung free in the Highlander style. The bright mantle of orange, red, and black around his shoulders was clasped with a silver pin shaped in the form of a dragon; his tunic and trews were of the finest cloth.

  His great height and broad shoulders only made Bredach’s willowy form appear all the more delicate and fine. Her saffron gown was embroidered with green thread and displayed her fine figure to its greatest advantage. Her bright hair hung past her hips and reflected golden highlights by the candles’ fire. In this light and under her bridegroom’s adoring gaze the girl seemed magically, almost supernaturally, beautiful.

  Smiling and proud, Colyne led his lady into his hall and Isabella’s heart quietly shattered.

  Bredach smiled up at him as he brought her into the joyful midst of their newly united clans, her open, heart-shaped face aglow.

  When they walked past Isabella in her new place at one of the lower tables, Colyne did not so much as glance in her direction.

  Colyne helped Bredach into the chair beside his. The MacLaulach took his place beside Caitrina at Colyne’s other side and Isabella sank woodenly to the bench as the Hogmanay celebration began.

  Seated at a lower table but in direct line of sight, Isabella could not but help bearing full witness to Colyne’s gentle attentions upon Bredach. Isabella had been the beneficiary of that smile, those sweet, lingering glances not so long ago. To see him give them to Bredach now was like a sickness that spread outward from her heart to leech into her very soul.

  Colyne marked every word Bredach uttered and weighed every word he spoke to her. He took pains to feed her the choicest morsels. The musicians played tunes for Bredach that were as mild and sweet as springtime.

  He did not turn a wicked grin on Bredach; he treated her with the utmost respect, making much of his regard for her modesty. Isabella knew Colyne viewed this girl in a way he never had her. This girl would never be seduced and become one of his whores.

  Isabella and those at the lower tables were served ale and mead. A great deal of what those at the high table imbibed looked suspiciously like wine intended to grace Lord Douglas’s table after her marriage.

  Isabella was seated between Kat and Duncan, a cousin of the MacLaulach. He was a slender, dark-haired young man with pale skin, handsome in the Highland way, in looks very like his laird. His blush deepened every time his blue eyes dipped to the low neckline of her gown and before long he was red-faced indeed. He did his best to attend to her, but he was unschooled in manners, spilling the mead they shared, dropping the meat piece he offered before she could take it.

  One thing the two clans seemed to agree upon was their mutual hatred of the king. Duncan’s face grew tight with indignation as he spoke about James.

  “I must ask you to speak with greater restraint within my hearing,” Isabella admonished, but smiled when she said it. “I am cousin to the queen, and therefore the king as well.”

  His eyes widened and shifted toward the high table. “Cousin to the king? Does the MacKimzie know?”

  “Indeed. He hopes my royal cousin will ransom me well.”

  Duncan blinking at her, and she wondered if he were calculating her worth in “coos” along with the heft of her breasts.

  “Ye live at the court then?” Duncan asked.

  “I lived at King Henry’s court from the age of twelve. I have not yet joined the Scottish king’s court, but I shall after my ransom is paid.”

  “I have heard,” he ventured, the apple of his throat bobbing, “there is nae place more full of wickedness than the court.”

  Bredach playfully offered Colyne a sweetmeat and snatched it back, giggling.

  Isabella turned her attention squarely on Duncan. “I would wager the courtiers the first to agree with you on that matter.”

  “Do ye nae fear to return to such wickedness?”

  “No, to be sure.” She looked at him sidelong. “But then, I am much accustomed to it.”

  He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Will ye tell me then, of courtly ways?”

  She smiled at him over her cup. “What ways do you mean?”

  The flush spread to the very tips of his ears.

  “Lady Isabella!”

  The sound of the MacKimzie’s voice raised above the sounds of the feast startled her. She looked in his direction to see that he was motioning her toward him.

  She stayed where she was, her nostrils flaring.

  Call me to him like a servant or a dog, will he?

  “I think the MacKimzie wants a word with ye,” Duncan said, and Isabella bit back her acerbic response to such helpful counsel.

  Isabella caught Kat’s eye. Ordinarily she would never stand and go to him. He should, in respect of her rank and sex, come to her.

  People glanced in her direction as if wondering why she delayed. Isabella was suddenly conscious of how many seated around her were of the MacLaulach clan.

  Kat lifted one shoulder slightly as if to say, what can be done?

  Stiffly, Isabella got to her feet and, drawing herself to her full height, went to stand before him at the high table.

  Colyne nodded to her. “Lady Isabella.”

  Isabella dropped a shallow courtesy to him. “My lord.”

  “I have told our guests of yer harp playin’ and sweet voice. I would have ye sing for us.”

  Isabella felt as if her throat were closing in.

  He would have her sing to Bredach as well?

  “I think you must excuse me,” she replied coldly. “I fear I would prove a poor singer for such an exalted celebration, and would make a sorry show of it.”

  Colyne glanced at Bredach, who turned her dazzling smile on him. It seemed to take him a moment to remember Isabella standing before him, but when he did his manner turned gruff.

  “Ye’re a fine enough singer. Sing now to welcome our guests.”

  Isabella narrowed her eyes dangerously.

  “Ye do have a fine voice,” Malcolm put in before she could speak. He looked at the MacLaulach. “The lass doth indeed play sweetly upon the harp.”

  The servants carried her harp into the hall and they were now setting it in place.

  She stood for a moment, watching the servants as they placed the instrument, trying to control her breathing.

  “What shall I play for you then, my lord?” she asked. “Love songs, as before? Or shall I set myself the task of making the lady Bredach blush?”

  Bredach giggled, dipping her face toward Colyne’s shoulder, and Isabella could see Colyne shift uncomfortably.

  “I think ye should play somethin’ fit for the ears of a maiden.”

  “A maiden’s ears?” Isabella asked, putting her finger to her chin. “I am afraid I cannot remember any such.”

  Colyne’s eyes took on a warning glint.

  “Take up your harp, my lady,” he said evenly, but with an undercurrent of growing anger. “I am sure a suitable tune will come to ye once ye have.”

  “Do play, Lady Isabella,” Caitrina entreated suddenly. “I did never hear ye and I should verra much like to.”

  Reluctantly, Isabella looked at Caitrina. Looking into Caitrina’s pleading eyes, so like her brother’s, she could not help but be reminded of the girl’s exhaustive efforts to heal Kat and Sir William, but also that she should soon wed after knowing so much heartache.

  Isabella did not have it within her to taint the evening of Caitrina’s handfasting. She nodded her
assent and went to her harp. She remembered Caitrina’s eyes at the tree of the sacred well, deeply mournful as she tied a cloth for her lost love. She would not play for Bredach’s pleasure or to embarrass Colyne, she would play her best for Caitrina and Ihone.

  As her fingers found the strings, a song came to her. It was a French song, a tale of lovers separated in enchanted lands, doomed to be parted forever if they did not find each other by night’s fall. They sought one other with ever-lessening hope, brought together just as the last light of twilight faded by Fey moved by their plight.

  In truth, as the last notes faded, Isabella was surprised by how well she had sung. Her voice was not usually so sure or so strong.

  Ihone’s eyes were moist but Caitrina was crying freely.

  “Ah, lady, ye do have a fine voice,” Caitrina said, laughing at her own tears. “Thank ye for yer song.”

  “Sing another!” Bredach called out. “That tune was ever sae sorrowful!” she continued, turning her large blue eyes toward Colyne with a pout and touching his arm. “Tell her to play somethin’ bright for me.”

  Colyne seemed nearly undone at her touch, blinking down at her slender fingers resting on his arm. Even from where Isabella sat she could see the muscles in his throat working.

  “Aye, we should have her sing again,” he agreed faintly.

  “My lord,” Kat called out from her place beside Sir William, her tone light. “Oh, do let my lady finish her meal first! Your cooks have fairly outdone themselves and you would have my sweet lady sample none of it!”

  “They have far outstripped any expectation I might have had,” Sir William added graciously. “I do not know when I have last seen such a magnificent feast, my lord.”

  There were calls of agreement among the company at how finely the table had been set.

  “Verily,” Kat agreed, motioning to Isabella to rejoin them at the table. “My lady, come now and try for yourself. I have not tasted such delights even at King Henry’s Christmas court!”

  My quick and clever Kat! Grateful beyond measure, Isabella fled to the safety of her seat on the bench next to Duncan.

  Encouraged by Katherine, Duncan made himself busy in serving Isabella one delicacy after another. In truth, Isabella had no stomach but there was no hope of escaping the endless offerings he made and she took pains to feign enjoyment she did not feel.

  The time came at last for Caitrina and Ihone to exchange handfast vows to make their betrothal. They blushed and smiled at each other as they stood before the company.

  Ihone spoke first, and with touching nervousness, took Caitrina’s hand in his own. “I, Ihone, take ye, Caitrina, to me betrothed wife and thereto I pledge ye me troth.”

  Caitrina, smiling through tears, took Ihone’s hand in hers. “I, Caitrina, take ye, Ihone, as me betrothed husband and thereto I pledge ye me troth.”

  Ihone leaned forward and touched his mouth to Caitrina’s, but it was clear it was a chaste kiss only because they were before so many witnesses.

  A cheer went up from the company and even Isabella, with dread in her heart and knowing what was to come, raised a glass to them.

  She took a sip, hardly able to swallow and, pained, she—like the rest of the company—looked to Colyne and Bredach, waiting for the handfast vows to make their betrothal public.

  Colyne smiled at them, took Bredach’s hand, and stood with her.

  “Play somethin’ bright for my lady,” he called to the musicians. “An’ clear the tables away sae that we may dance. We have much to celebrate this night!”

  The suggestion was met with enthusiastic agreement, and a flurry of activity followed as they cleared a space and the musicians burst into a merry tune.

  Isabella felt her stomach drop. Of course they were already betrothed. The match was made weeks ago on MacLaulach land.

  She held the cup to her lips but she could not manage to drink.

  “Will ye dance, lady?” Duncan asked shyly.

  Isabella looked back at the dancers, swinging and stomping in the circle of Highland dancing.

  “Yes,” she said suddenly. She must do something or she would lose herself in weeping before the lot of them. “Yes, I will.”

  Kat seemed surprised when Isabella joined the dancers, but she did not call her back. For her part, Isabella threw herself into the dance, whirling and stomping with Duncan so that she could hardly keep track of any of the other dancers.

  She danced until the group set for a reel and, knowing that she would have to grasp hands with all the male dancers in turn, including Colyne, she motioned to Duncan to let her retire.

  She rejoined Sir William and Katherine at the edge of the room and gratefully drank the ale Duncan offered her.

  “You dance the Highland way quite well, poppet,” Katherine commented, eyebrows raised. “How did you come to know the dances so well?”

  “I had opportunity to learn while you were ill,” Isabella replied, taking another drink.

  She could see the question forming in Kat’s eyes and she spoke before Kat could inquire further.

  “Tell me, Sir William,” Isabella said, already knowing the answer. “Do they dance so at King James’s court?”

  “I should say not,” Sir William replied. Conscious of the MacLaulach man still with them, he hurriedly added, “A great pity, as it seems so merry. You are skilled at it, my lady. Mayhap you will set a fashion.”

  Oh, I shall never dance his Highland way again once I leave this place. “Mayhap,” Isabella said and looked to her cousin. “Mark you, Kat, they are set again for the next turn! Will you not try? You have enough Scot blood in you to make a go of it.”

  Kat made to demur and Duncan gallantly put in, “I will take ye if ye wish it.”

  Kat looked longingly at the dancers.

  “Go on,” Isabella said. “I must catch my breath and I am of a great thirst. Sir William will sit with me a time.”

  Kat, with a poor show of reluctance, allowed the young Scotsman to lead her to the floor.

  Sir William watched Kat skip her part in the dance. “Mistress Katherine has a passion for life that I have but rarely seen. Verily she hath a merry soul.”

  “I’faith, I think she the younger and I the older,” Isabella replied. “Despite what our years may be.”

  William’s dark eyes rested kindly on her. “I am glad your spirits are good tonight, my lady. Mistress Katherine has been worried greatly for your state of mind and health.”

  “The imprisonment weighs heavily on me and yet no end in sight.” Colyne was speaking now to Ihone and Caitrina. Bredach, if possible even more fetching as the dancing raised a flush to her cheeks, breathlessly finished her dance with Malcolm’s son, Jamie. “The MacKimzie said ’twould be a week more, already ’tis a fortnight and no word of when I join the court!”

  “I will speak to the MacKimzie again and entreat him to reach quick settlement with Her Majesty,” William promised. “He cannot have reason to prolong these negotiations or our imprisonment.”

  “No,” Isabella murmured. Bredach ran headlong toward Colyne, throwing her arms about his neck and laughing as he spun her around. “I cannot think he has reason.”

  The dance finished. Kat returned with Duncan and immediately kissed Sir William.

  Isabella blinked in amused surprise as Sir William’s face flushed.

  Kat looked at him innocently. “Why, ’tis the custom past midnight, Sir William! Now ’tis time to offer friend and stranger alike a kiss and a good New Year!”

  “Ah,” the knight said, looking flustered. “And so a good New Year to you, Mistress Katherine.” He gently kissed her cheek.

  Kat flushed, looking delighted despite its restraint.

  “Good New Year to ye!” Isabella heard Caitrina say.

  Caitrina, radiant beside her Ihone, pressed a kiss to Sir William’s cheek then Katherine’s. Isabella kissed Caitrina in turn and then Kat, Ihone, and Sir William, the lot of them laughing at the silliness of it.

&nb
sp; Isabella turned and found herself facing Colyne.

  Her smile disappeared instantly.

  Just the heat of him, the warm clean male scent uniquely his, was enough to bring a sting of longing.

  She turned unthinkingly, knowing she must flee or make a fool of herself, and collided with Duncan, who laughed and caught her in his arms.

  “And good New Year to ye, lady,” Duncan said, giving her a soft lingering kiss on the mouth.

  Duncan smelled of soap and Highland wool, his young body warm against hers.

  “Rascal!” Kat scolded in mock scandalized tone, slapping at his arm playfully.

  “Is this yer man?” Colyne asked the MacLaulach, looking at Duncan.

  “Aye,” Ihone answered. “Me cousin as well.”

  “And soon to be mine then, too. Cousin,” he addressed Duncan, “this lady is prisoner here, held in me safekeeping and treated honorably by all who care for me good name.”

  Treated honorably! The breath rushed out of her lungs. Her innocence taken, her secrets lay bare, only to be cast aside—all but forgotten—for greater beauty and a better match?

  Duncan awkwardly released Isabella from his embrace, his face flushed and quite embarrassed. “Aye, I ken.”

  Colyne indicated the hall with a nod. “There’s many a bonny lass here with who ye could disport, but this lady ye leave in peace.”

  Duncan glanced at Ihone, who spoke quickly. “He meant no disrespect to ye, MacKimzie.”

  He smiled tightly and clapped Duncan on the shoulder. “I bear no grudge against ye, cousin, as long as ye mind me. Come an’ raise a cup with me to our friendship and the New Year.”

  Colyne paused to throw a look at Kat. “And ye, Mistress Katherine, should take better care of yer lady.”