How to Train Your Highlander

by Christy English

  Harry felt chagrined until she kissed him, and all thoughts of anything but the woman in his arms slipped away. He lost himself for a moment or two in the sweetness of her mouth, but then Sampson nudged him, reminding him of reality and of all that needed to be dealt with.

  “Mary Elizabeth, we need to talk.”

  “You’ve had enough of me, then? And you’ve come all the way to Glenderrin to say so.”

  Harry took a moment to digest her words. He stood staring down at her, not sure whether to throttle her or kiss her again.

  She made the decision for him.

  Thirty-one

  Mary Elizabeth kissed him once more, hard, then pulled away. “I can’t think straight if you’re touching me, so you just stay over there.”

  She was surprised to see the predatory light she had first witnessed in his bedroom rise in Harry’s eyes there in the middle of the heath, in the middle of the afternoon, but she could not say she was sorry. If he still wanted her as she wanted him, maybe he was of a mind to forgive her.

  “I’ve a few things to say myself,” she told him, straightening her pink gown. It was an old one, for she had left all of her new things behind in Northumberland, along with her sword. It was more than a little tight across the bust, as her mother had it made for her over a year before. It fit otherwise, but Mary Elizabeth found herself squirming in it at the oddest moments, trying to make room for herself, and failing. Harry caught her at it now, and the gleam in his eyes turned from cobalt to indigo as he looked at her.

  She cleared her throat. “You’ve ridden all the way from Northumberland,” she said, stating the obvious. She fell back on a semblance of good manners in an effort to calm the racing of her pulse. “Perhaps you would like to speak before I do.”

  Harry reached up and patted Sampson’s neck. The great beast had stopped trying to get away from him, now that she had stepped away, and had gone to cropping the bits of green he could reach there by the water’s edge. Harry leaned against him, no doubt tired from his long ride, as Sampson must be. Mary Elizabeth knew she should take them up to the castle and have Sampson seen to and Harry fed, but for some reason, she just could not bring herself to introduce him to the rest of her family, and to face all that would come after that. Not until she had made herself clear to him first, here and now.

  “Ladies first,” Harry said, as if bowing her through a doorway ahead of him.

  She cleared her throat again, and summoned her courage. “I am sorry I left you.”

  “You said that.”

  “But you have not yet accepted my apology.”

  The predatory look on his face softened a little, and he straightened. For a moment, she thought he might reach for her, but he checked himself.

  “I accept your apology, Mary Elizabeth, if you will accept mine.”

  She frowned. “What do you have to apologize for?”

  “For not locking you in with me and saving us both the bother and annoyance of this time apart.”

  Mary Elizabeth felt irritation creep into her heart, but along with it came a lifting of the burden she had been carrying since she left him. She had been burdened with the knowledge that she had made a mistake, a mistake she might not be able to undo. Perhaps all was not lost. Perhaps he meant to keep her, in spite of her wild ways.

  She smiled a little. “I accept your apology, too.”

  Harry laughed at that and would have closed the distance between them, but she took one step back, careful not to fall into the burn, and held up one hand to stop him.

  “Harry, let me speak my mind before you touch me, or all that is important will be lost.”

  The predatory gleam was in his eyes again. “You’ll remember it all eventually,” he said. “After I let you up for air.”

  “We’ll talk first, and then we’ll go to the house. No canoodling in broad daylight in front of God and Sampson.” Mary Elizabeth forced herself to sound stern, but Harry only laughed.

  He sobered up almost at once, but she could still see the light of joy in his eyes. She was glad to see it. “All right,” he said.

  “I have been thinking hard ever since I got home. I know I left you because I love it here, and I had to come to my home, to my favorite places, so that I could make up my mind in the only place where I am truly myself.”

  She took a deep breath. She saw from the tightening of his jaw and the shadow coming over his face that Harry feared whatever she might say next, but he was a man, and he would hold his tongue and listen.

  “I have been fishing by the burn, as you see. I have gone walking through the bracken. I even went hunting with one of the lads, though Robbie and Ian aren’t here to go with me. I could not shoot the buck we stalked, however, nor have I caught one trout. I’ve been too busy thinking.”

  Mary Elizabeth took one step toward him, but stopped herself before she went any farther. “I am happy here, happier than I am anywhere else on earth. My thinking is clear here, and so is the voice of my heart. I’ve found that I love you here even more than when I was in England. I think that I will love you always, no matter where I go or who I’m with. If I turn from you now, as I once thought I might, I would lose a part of myself, a larger part than lives here in the Highlands. My heart is yours, Harry. I will be yours, if you’ll still have me. I’ll be your wife.”

  Harry did not move or speak, and for a long moment, she felt a creeping nauseous fear that she was too late. But then he smiled, and it was if the sun had come out after a long winter of ice and falling snow. He did not move to her, however, nor did he touch her.

  “I’ll ask for your word of honor,” Harry said. “I’ll ask that you promise never to run from me again.”

  He waited, and she nodded. “I give you my word.”

  He still had not fallen at her feet, nor declared his undying love, so she felt a bit faint, and more than a little frightened. But this was the mess she had made, so she knew that whatever came, she must wait on him.

  Finally, he spoke. “I love you, Mary Elizabeth. But you know that already. You also know that by marrying me, you will be taking on a larger burden, that of being a duchess. It means that our son will be duke after me. It means that our daughter may well marry in the South, among the English, for better or for worse. Essentially, our children will be English, and not Scot. Can you live with that?”

  Mary Elizabeth breathed deep and spoke clear, for she had thought of this as well. “Yes,” she said. “I can live with that.”

  “I will bring you back here, every year, as many times as you like. But it will not be the same for you as living here. You will not be able to change your mind in five years, or in ten. If you come back to me now, if you marry me and become my wife, I will never let you go. There will be no haring off to parts unknown without me, not even to the Highlands. Do you understand?”

  “I do.”

  She looked into his eyes, and though his face was softer, he was still in shadow. She knew that he needed more from her than what she had already offered. She would give him all, and not count the cost.

  “I love you, Harry. I will leave behind my clan, my kith and kin, for months at a time. I will come South and be your lady. I will not be English, for I am myself, always, but I will stand by you and love you, wherever you go and whatever you do, for the rest of my life.”

  “And beyond,” he said. And this time, as his face softened, his eyes were full of tears.

  “And beyond,” she echoed.

  He kissed her then, and she came into his arms without reservation, without remorse. She knew what she was doing. She knew what she was giving up. She would visit her home in Glenderrin off and on for the rest of her life. She would see to her clan, what was left of it. She would watch it grow and help her family with money and time, in any way she could. But she would not live among them always. She was giving that up, for him. The price was hi
gh, but Harry was worth it.

  He did not canoodle with her, for the moment was too solemn for that. Harry drew back and took a velvet bag out of his coat pocket. Sampson, almost forgotten behind him, raised his head from his snack of grass and leaves to look and see what Harry had, hoping it might be a treat for him.

  It was not.

  Harry opened the bag, and into his other palm slid a ring with a thin gold band and a line of rubies set into it. The rubies gleamed in the light of the summer sun, a deep, fiery red that matched the fire in her heart. She wanted to reach out and touch those stone. She wanted to take that ring and put it on her hand. But for once in her life, Mary Elizabeth held still. It was not her place to do it. It was his.

  “Mary Elizabeth Waters of Glenderrin, will you marry me and become my duchess? Will you be my wife?”

  A foolish part of her wanted to tell him that she had answered him already. But the love in her heart rose over that bit of nonsense and swept it away, like a wave sweeping a bit of driftwood into the sea.

  “Yes,” she said. “Harry Percy, I will be your wife. I’ll be your duchess, too, but wife is the title I am most proud of.”

  He kissed her again then, a glancing touch, but it had his heart in it. He slid the ring onto her finger, and she looked at the rubies against her pale skin, glad that she had not worn gloves.

  “It was my mother’s ring. She got it from her mother. I thought rubies suited you better than any other stone.”

  “I love it, Harry. I’ll give it to our daughter, one day.”

  Harry drew her close. “No,” he said. “It’s yours. You’ll give it to no one else.”

  Mary Elizabeth leaned comfortably against him and listened to the slow and steady beat of his heart. Had he been anyone else, she would have reminded him that he was not the boss of her, and that she would do as she pleased with her own jewelry in future. But she did not need to say it, for she knew that she would never part with his ring, not a year from now, not in a hundred years. In whatever English cairn where the Dukes of Northumberland tucked away their dead, she would have it on her hand the day her children laid her in the ground. She would wear it into Heaven, when she stood with Harry there.

  They stood together for a long while, drinking in the sound of the river running by, simply taking in the moment, the beginning of the rest of their lives together. It was Sampson, in the end, who urged them on. The great beast nudged Harry once, then turned toward the castle as if he knew the way, as if he had been there a hundred times before. Mary Elizabeth laughed and took Harry’s hand. They ran together so that Harry might catch Sampson’s bridle. Then they walked into her father’s keep, only to find her oldest brother Ian standing in the doorway to the house, waiting for them.

  Ian’s look was amicable, as it always was, but he was fingering his throwing knife. “So you’re the English bastard who ruined my sister,” Ian said.

  Thirty-two

  Harry had just been congratulating himself on his restraint, as he had not pulled Mary Elizabeth beneath him on the hard ground by the river and tossed up her skirts to seal their engagement.

  Instead, he had kissed her and breathed in the sweet scent of her hair, feeling the special license burning a hole in his pocket. He would have her signature on it, as soon as they reached the house. Surely there was a vicar up here, even in the back of beyond, who might officiate a quick wedding and drink a glass of the fine Glenderrin whisky with them to celebrate. For Harry knew that he would not wait another night to make her his, once and for all.

  He felt as pleased with himself as he ever had, but he needed to get Mary Elizabeth married to him, and quickly. He had forgotten about her family. He supposed he would be able to find more than one witness among them to tie the knot that bound her to him for good.

  Harry wondered if the man blocking the doorway, holding a wicked-looking blade, would stand as the first witness.

  Mary Elizabeth tried to put herself between him and the man in question, but Harry held her firm against his side. Some kind lad had taken a tired and docile Sampson to the stables, so Harry did not have to worry about his favorite horse getting stabbed if this man missed his mark. He did worry for Mary, however, so he pushed her behind him.

  “Good afternoon,” Harry said, calling on all his ducal splendor. “Allow me to present myself. I am Harold Charles Percy, Duke of Northumberland. I am also your sister’s betrothed. And you are?”

  The huge man standing at the top of the stairs looked slightly less threatening upon hearing that, but only because the dog William Wallace had come running and danced between the giant’s feet. The big man clucked to the dog, but he did not take his eyes off Harry. Nor did he sheathe the large knife in his hand.

  “I am fresh home from the sea,” the giant said, “only to find that my sister is run of with an English. Ruined, she is, or so I hear tell. And I don’t like it.”

  “I’m not ruined, Ian, you daft bugger. I’m engaged.” Mary Elizabeth no doubt would have torn a strip out of her huge brother’s hide, knife or no, but Harry gave her one look, and she fell silent. He turned to the man before him.

  “Might I have the pleasure of your name?” Harry inquired as politely as he could with eight inches of serrated steal staring him in the face. Though there was ten feet between them, Harry had no doubt that, if Ian wished, he would be skewered in a trice.

  “Ye might, before I kill you,” the giant said. “I am Ian Blythe Waters of Glenderrin. And I am the man who will see you dead.”

  “Ian, for the love of God,” Mary Elizabeth said from behind Harry. “Where is Alex?”

  “Yon wee Alex won’t save your man from me. Mind yourself, Mary. It’s this man here I’m speaking with.”

  Harry was shocked for the second time in as many minutes as Mary Elizabeth did, indeed, fall silent.

  “So you’re a fancy English duke from the South, are you?”

  Harry was not certain how fancy he was, especially after days of hard riding, but he did nod. “I am,” he said.

  “And you’ve offered for my sister?” Ian asked.

  “And she has accepted.”

  “Ye’ve not asked me, nor her father.”

  Mary Elizabeth snorted at that, but held her peace behind him still. Harry reached back and patted her arm in silent thanks.

  “Neither you nor her father were present at the time. I asked both Alexander Waters and Robert Waters, her brothers who were guests in my home, and they both gave their consent and the consent of the family.”

  Mary Elizabeth went as still as a rabbit behind him, he supposed in surprise. She had not known that, for she had flown the coop before all that had transpired.

  There was a long, tense silence. It might have gone on for three minutes or more, but William Wallace had other ideas. The tiny dog got tired of waiting for Ian to acknowledge him and give him his due, so he leaped down the stairs and made straight for Harry.

  Harry leaned down and offered the white terrier his hand. William Wallace slipped beneath his palm, showing Harry just where he wanted to be scratched. Harry obliged.

  “Well,” Ian said, “I suppose if William Wallace vouches for you, as well as Alex and Robbie, ye might do. But I dinna take my blade out without blooding it. So there will still be a need for blood between us.”

  The giant was as calm as if discussing the weather, and Harry felt his stomach flip. He had thought to talk his way out of this, but it seemed he was in for serious trouble, one way or another. He was unarmed, as he always was, and even had he worn a weapon, he would never have drawn against Mary Elizabeth’s kin, no matter how mad that kin might be.

  Harry stood to his full height and waited. He felt her tiny hand grip the back of his coat like grim death. The only member of their party who did not seem alarmed was William Wallace, who made himself comfortable and sat right down on the toe of Harry’s boot.
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  Ian crossed the yard to him, and Harry felt Mary Elizabeth’s hand twisting the fine wool of his coat. He paid her no heed, however, for her brother soon loomed over him, blocking out the sun.

  Ian raised the knife and, with the sharp tip, cut into his own palm. He held the blade out then, and Harry took it, uncertain what bizarre ritual was going on now, but waiting to find out.

  “You cut yourself, now, English, if ye can stand to mar your pretty skin. Then we shake hands and swear an oath together never to raise arms against each other, here or anywhere else. This oath will make you my brother, and after you take it, I can let you in the house.”

  Ian the Giant spoke as if this bizarre pagan ritual was some kind of normal proceeding. Harry did not blanch, even when he cut himself a bit too deep. Mary Elizabeth clucked but did not speak. Ian paid her no mind, but took Harry’s hand, pressing their bloody palms together.

  “Blood of my blood, bone of my bone, you are my kin till Judgment Day. May God ever be my witness.”

  Ian waited, not letting go of Harry’s hand until he repeated the oath. He felt Mary Elizabeth go limp against his back and knew he had done the right thing.

  Ian took the knife from him, wiped their blood off the tip, and sheathed it. Only then did the giant smile.

  “Welcome to the family,” he said, clapping Harry on the back.

  Harry heard his Mary murmur from behind him, “God help you.”

  * * *

  Mary Elizabeth was sorely tempted to leap onto Ian’s back and throttle him as she had once seen Robbie do when the two of them were fighting. But then she looked down at the ring on her finger, and her mood instantly improved.

  “Leave my man alone after this,” she hissed at her eldest brother as she passed him going into the house.

  Ian raised his hands as if in surrender, looking suddenly as if butter would not melt in his mouth. “Now, lass, don’t get your dander up. If your family won’t test him, who will?”