Another Man's Bride

by Ariel MacArran

  Colyne touched her for the first time in weeks as he placed the crown as ruler of the Feast of Fools on her head.

  Isabella looked around at the company. The enormous fool’s crown of felt and ribbon seemed as if it would topple over any moment, and she could not even summon a smile.

  “The Abbott must have a consort,” Bredach cried, looking about. “Who shall be raised up to rule with ye?”

  Isabella could not think. The Abbot of Unreason—Lord of Misrule as it was called in England—reigned over the Feast of Fools. All would be up that was down, the highest rank would be peasants, and the servants would sit to be served.

  Isabella looked about to see who she could hope to make this more bearable. Angus? Malcolm? Duncan, the MacLaulach’s clansman?

  “Jamie!” Isabella cried out, simply because her darting, frantic gaze rested on him. “Jamie will rule with me!”

  Shouts of approval rang through the company. Blushing, Jamie made his way from the edge of the hall to the high table. Bredach offered her seat to him.

  Isabella randomly, and without any thought, named the members of her court from among the servants. Morag, Agnes, two of the kitchen boys, Dougal from the stable, and so on. They took their places at the high table and those seated there laughingly gave up their places to the newcomers.

  Isabella realized with a shiver of horror that, in accordance with the rules of play, the laird must now serve her.

  Colyne was already pouring wine, anticipating the toast she would make to begin the feast. With nerveless fingers she lifted the cup, willing words to come to her, but her mind was empty.

  Kat alone could see her distress, her forehead creased as she watched from the lower table. From the last vestiges of her strength Isabella tied the heartache and pain into a tiny parcel and tucked it into a corner of her mind.

  Isabella lifted her chin and smiled. She raised the cup high to salute them all, knowing herself now to be the very image of a cheerful courtier.

  “Hail to this good company!” she called out with feigned merriment. “Let the Feast of Fools begin!”

  A cheer went up. The cooks outshone their efforts for Hogmanay, and with an eye for the spirit of Twelfth Night. Bredach sliced open a pie for Jamie and she gave a startled cry as a live bird escaped to fly about the room, leaving those around her tearing with laughter.

  There were pranks a many. Malcolm found the rag in his cake declaring him the tarty lass. Sir William, to everyone’s amusement, found the clove revealing him to all as a villain.

  Colyne held up the stick from his own slice of cake.

  “Behold!” he cried. “I am the greatest of fools!”

  The company applauded as he bowed to her. Colyne straightened to look down at her with shining eyes.

  “Ye are well chosen to rule me, my Abbott.” He rolled the stick between his fingers, smiling. “What would ye have me do, then? Will ye have me sing for ye?”

  It hurt just to have him look at her so merry, his smile so open.

  They were all waiting for her to say something clever, something witty.

  “No,” Isabella whispered. “No,” her voice rose, cheerful again. “I will have—Malcolm will sing to me—in the manner of a maiden!”

  The elder Scot stood, eager to play. Malcolm set to singing a maid’s love song, in appallingly bad falsetto, and fluttered his eyelashes with such enthusiasm that it set the room to roaring laughter.

  Isabella threw herself into the role and made ridiculous pronouncements to amuse the company. She declared women should bow and men curtsy. She encouraged the mummers in their rough, broad comedy and song.

  Through it all, although every word spoken between them pained her, she ordered Colyne about with cheerful aplomb.

  Being served by his laird’s wife left Jamie almost tongue-tied with embarrassment at her side despite, or perhaps because of, Bredach’s enthusiasm.

  Isabella and Jamie led the reel to begin the dancing. The members of the fool’s court danced, as did the servants, with the others sitting out to clap and encourage. The feast grew wilder as many were now in their cups, but there could be no doubt of the celebration’s success.

  At midnight Isabella bent her head to let Colyne remove her crown, restoring the world to normal and all things again to their place. Colyne led Bredach again as Laird and Lady in the dancing and there was a great reshuffle as the celebrants again found their proper places.

  Now relieved of her duties as the Abbott of Unreason, Isabella slipped from the confusion of the room into the coolness of the outer hall.

  In a few moments she found herself finally, and blessedly, alone.

  Taking refuge in the shadows, she rested her hot forehead against the cold stone of her prison.

  She must speak to Kat at first opportunity. She must away from this place—and soon—or Isabella knew she would find in herself the courage to climb that tower and fling herself from it.

  Isabella urged Katherine to walk with her early. She had intended to pour out the story in the privacy of their room but Mary dawdled over her tasks and Isabella found she could not sit still. There were few awake after last night’s celebration; many slept now in the great hall, as there was barely room for them all inside the castle.

  “. . of course, from a man of his breeding and fine character that can only be expected! But I could not stand me by and let such a thing pass unnoticed! Is his dignity to be so assaulted with none to speak to it? I went right to that MacLaulach and—” Katherine’s breath showing in the cold air of the courtyard but Isabella could not attend to anything her kinswoman said.

  Bredach lay in the room above, wrapped in Colyne’s arms, his wife now…

  Isabella gripped Katherine’s arm and pulled her aside into the privacy of an alcove, where she spoke in hushed French.

  “Kat, how can a woman know—for certain—if she is with child?”

  Katherine’s expression was puzzled and a moment later she blinked, her face going slack with shock. Isabella could not meet her gaze.

  Katherine covered Isabella’s hand with her own.

  “Oh, poppet!”

  Tears blurred her vision. There was no disapproval, no disappointment or reproof, only Kat’s unchanged, loving eyes.

  “Poppet, who—?” Kat shook her head then her eyes widened. “The MacKimzie?”

  Isabella nodded, wiping at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.

  “Did he—?”

  “No,” Isabella said quickly. “I was willing.”

  “No, do not hang your head, poppet! I’faith, you are not the first maiden to be caught by a handsome face and an empty purse. There were moments when he looked at you and I thought—” Katherine’s eyes welled up and she shook her head. “I knew something was the matter but I never imagined. The fault is mine! You are so young. And now he is wed—”

  “Kat,” Isabella whispered, agonized. “If you know, please—”

  “How late are your courses?”

  “A fortnight, perhaps a day or two more,” Isabella whispered. “But he only lay with me the once. And I bathed after.”

  Katherine’s mouth set in grim line. “There’s many a mother who’ve said the same. It only takes the once and bathing does naught. Have you a stomach?”

  “I barely eat enough for others not to mark it, and I care for none of it.”

  “Is your stomach delicate?”

  Isabella swallowed hard. “Yesterday I was ill. My breasts are sore and I wish for nothing more than sleep.”

  Against hope she had thought Kat would laugh her fears off and assure her she was mistaken, but her expression was grave.

  “If we were at Bella Court, there are women I would trust to make it right, but none here. Pennyroyal—”

  “There is no pennyroyal in the castle and I dare not ask Caitrina what else I might use! I went through her books yesterday but I could find nothing. Kat, do you know of anything I might do?”

  “I have heard—” Kat shook h
er head. “But it can kill too. I will not risk you so, poppet. Babes come early every day, Douglas will never know if we are swift.”

  “But if the child is born with red hair I cannot hide it!”

  “Douglas is a Scot too. Presenting him with a red-haired babe will hardly raise eyebrows,” Katherine said tartly. “We must get you to him quickly or else delay the wedding.”

  “Delay?”

  “Yes, go to one of the Lowland villages until the child is born.”

  “Then what?” Isabella asked. “I cannot return to the court with a babe in tow!”

  “We will find the babe a wet nurse, and pay for its keeping.” Katherine patted her hand. “You would not be the only lady to retire from the court to bear a child in secret, poppet.”

  The image of a toddler with gray-green eyes flashed through Isabella’s mind and her hand went protectively to her abdomen. Would she never see it? Would it not even know her?

  “We cannot risk any learning of the child. You carrying the MacKimzie’s babe will not be a secret in this place for above an hour,” Katherine warned, interrupting Isabella’s thoughts. “We can no longer wait for him to come to agreement with the queen. We must away from here, and at all possible speed. My pet, the MacKimzie cannot possibly wish for such news to reach his lady wife, perhaps if you told him—”

  “No!” Isabella cried. To have him look at her with scorn or—worse—pity! His first thought would be of Bredach and how to shield her…

  She lowered her voice to a whisper. “How can we away from here? I cannot even cross the bridge.”

  Katherine held Isabella’s hand. “There is no help for it. Sir William must escape, only he can raise the king’s men to our cause.”

  “But how?”

  “We must think,” Katherine said, her brow furrowed. “Is there a way, any way, to get him out of the castle?”

  “No,” Isabella insisted. “We cannot even—”

  She broke off, suddenly remembering the sending she had in the stable those months ago.

  Twisting around on her horse to look back at the castle and a man, his face hidden with a Highlander cloak, riding with her as the snow started to fall around them.

  “Poppet?”

  “I know a way,” Isabella breathed.

  The plan set, they went in search of Colyne.

  She and Katherine found him breaking his fast with Bredach and in full view of castle folk and guests alike. As hoped for, Caitrina, the MacLaulach, and several men of both clans were present as well in the great hall, many still smarting from the effects of last night’s celebrations.

  Isabella and Katherine dropped a curtsy to Colyne and Bredach. Isabella could see from her expression how it delighted the MacLaulach girl to be paid homage as lady of the castle.

  “Lady Isabella,” Colyne said with a nod to her. “Mistress Katherine.”

  “My lords,” Isabella replied, including the MacLaulach. Sweetly, to Bredach and Caitrina, she added, “And ladies.” Then continued: “I had hoped to beg of you an indulgence, my lord.”

  Colyne’s brow furrowed. “For what do ye ask, lady?”

  “Now that Cupid has made betwixt you such excellent peace and your land is bordered by none but friends, I thought it possible that Katherine and I might beg to take a short ride?”

  “A ride?” Colyne’s frown deepened. “I dinna think that wise.”

  “But surely, my lord, your lands are as safe now as the castle?” she said, spreading her hands wide. “You cannot expect treachery from one who is now your brother?”

  The tension in the hall rose immediately. From the glance he sent around the room, Isabella knew Colyne well aware of it.

  “Nae, never,” he replied firmly. “I dinna fear for myself or any of me clan, but ye are restricted to the castle nonetheless.”

  “But verily,” Isabella argued, “both you and your noble lady,” with a nod at Bredach, “have entreated us to consider ourselves guests in this house. You cannot mean to forswear?”

  A flicker of annoyance passed over his face. “I dinna mean ye should consider yerselves less than honored here. But ye canna expect to ride free.”

  Kat drew herself up. “My lord MacKimzie, when His Majesty, King James, was a captive of the English king he was afforded every courtesy due one his rank, including, my lord, the right to ride the hunt. I see now that my lady, cousin to your queen as she is, is not to be treated as befits her rank while she resides in this house. Come, poppet,” she sniffed. “Let us away.”

  “Oh, but Colyne,” cried Bredach, touching his arm, her eyes pleading. “Ye canna treat them so! I did say they would be treated as guests should—and her kin to the queen as well! Let them ride if it pleases them!”

  “The ladies are still captives,” Colyne replied shortly. “I canna let the pair of them roam free.”

  “Oh, very well, then!” Kat exclaimed. “If only one of us can ride, then you go, poppet. I will stay here.”

  “I dinna say—” Colyne began.

  “Oh, Kat,” Isabella interrupted. “Thank you! I have been longing to ride for my headaches’ sake.”

  “Are ye still havin’ them, lady?” Caitrina asked, concerned.

  Isabella gave a helpless shrug, trying her best to look troubled and frail. “I know you did suggest weeks ago that a ride would do me good. I regret not following your counsel then.”

  Caitrina nodded. “The ride will help ye, my lady. I know how the headaches have plagued ye these past weeks.”

  “Hold now!” Colyne put in, his voice rising sharply. “I dinna say the lass can ride!”

  “Colyne,” Caitrina cried. “Ye canna let her suffer so! It is sae little to ask!”

  “Dinna fret yerself, love,” the MacLaulach said to Caitrina, his hand covering hers. “Yer brother will do right by the lady.”

  The aggravation was plain on Colyne’s face now.

  “She is a valuable prisoner,” he replied tersely. “I canna risk havin’ her outside the castle.”

  Isabella widened her eyes innocently, her hands clasped in supplication. “My lord, you do not fear I would escape? With Kat left behind, and myself under guard?”

  A light came into Colyne’s eyes and it was clear he thought he had the means to outmaneuver them all. “I’faith, Lady Isabella, I would let ye go but I canna guard ye on yer ride today. An’ I canna spare a man for ye this day either.”

  Isabella nodded, dejected. Then she looked at the MacLaulach as if an idea had suddenly occurred to her.

  “May I ask one of your men if he is free to escort me, my lord?”

  Colyne sputtered, but the MacLaulach nodded.

  “Aye, lady, ask who ye will.”

  “Nae!” Colyne snapped. “She canna ride with one of yer lads!”

  The room fell silent.

  All eyes turned to him and none more sharply than those of the MacLaulach, who said, “And why is that?”

  Colyne cleared his throat. “I canna ask one of yer lads to bear the responsibility.”

  “My lord,” Kat put in smoothly, gliding forward to address the MacLaulach, “as one who was once your prisoner, I know you to be a man of honor. If you would be so noble as to have one of your men accept responsibility for my lady’s safety, then it would be my privilege to entrust it to you.”

  Kat spoke so sweetly, so convincingly, that Isabella could fairly see the MacLaulach’s chest puff under Caitrina’s adoring gaze.

  “I am humbled, mistress, by yer trust,” he said solemnly. “I do accept it of ye.”

  Katherine’s expression melted into a smile of pure admiration and she curtsied.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  The MacLaulach sent a challenging look at Colyne. “Does that meet yer approval—brother?”

  Colyne looked as if he had swallowed a stone. “Aye.”

  Katherine threw him a smile and turned to leave. Then she paused, as if a thought suddenly came to her.

  “My lord,” she said, to the MacLaula
ch, “may I trust that we may ask any of your men who are at hand to accompany her? There is none that we cannot trust?”

  “Ye can ask any MacLaulach man and trust him as ye would me,” he replied. “Ye have me word on it.”

  “Thank you,” Kat replied sweetly.

  Isabella and Katherine offered another curtsy to the group and withdrew.

  “Well played, poppet,” Kat murmured when they were out of earshot.

  “And you as well,” Isabella replied, with a quick glance behind her.

  Colyne looked annoyed, but Bredach’s smile was turned to him, her graceful slender hand resting on his arm.

  Already forgotten…

  “Now we must to the solar. I have a draught to mix.”

  Kat led the MacLaulach man back to their room. She would have made a show of asking this man, within sight of his chieftain, to accompany her lady.

  Isabella had already sent Mary off with a litany of errands to occupy the girl and she glanced at the MacLaulach man, Donald.

  He was the right height and a close enough build. This was a man who would be amiable to raising a cup—a drinker among drinkers.

  Kat invited him into the tiny room. “My lady is—”

  “I most certainly am not ready!” Isabella snapped. Isabella turned to regard her reflection in the polished mirror sullenly as Kat shut the door. “Katherine, I do not find this veil—or my hair—suits me at all. Change it immediately!”

  In the mirror Isabella could see the man shifting impatiently behind her as Kat hurried about the room to attend Isabella’s demands. Kat paused and nodded the man toward a chair.

  “I am so terribly sorry.” She poured a cup and offered it to the man. “Just a few moments to get all as pleases her, I promise. Take your ease sir, ’twill not be long.”

  “My hair, Katherine!” Isabella cried. “Quickly now! I wish to ride!”

  Isabella pouted as Kat fluttered around her, fixing her hair, fetching a new veil. Kat was brushing her dress when they heard the jangled sound of the man’s cup hitting the floor.