The Cursed Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Joanna. Don't,” he said softly. “I don't...I don't deserve it.”

  “What?” Joanna was horrified. She sat up, heedless of the pain in her head, the red circles that suddenly appeared on the edge of her vision, blurring it. “Dougal? What in Heaven's name do you mean?”

  “I mean it,” Dougal said, his voice miserable. “I let you...let you almost die. To save me. When I shouldn't have even been doing what I did. I could have killed you. For my stupid pride. I am wicked.”

  “No,” Joanna said softly. “No, Dougal. You did the right thing. How else could you show Alexander he was wrong, and we knew it? If you had refused his challenge, he would have...” she felt herself grow tired, and drew in a great, shuddering breath, “would have said we lied. It would all have carried on. As it is,” she paused. “We may have stopped the troubles at Lochlann.”

  She lay back against the headrest, feeling suddenly exhausted. She looked around the room, trying to work out where she was. Somewhere in the castle of Buccleigh, she knew. Her body was covered with a sheet of finest linen, her head pillowed on soft down. The room was whitewashed and tranquil, a fire burning in a distant hearth. It was the most beautiful room she had seen.

  “We have,” Dougal said softly. “Alexander has left Scotland.”

  “What?” Joanna covered her mouth with her left hand. It seemed almost too impossible to believe. “When? How...”

  “He set sail last night. Or so his companion said. Alric. He tried to ride after him, make him see reason. However, Alexander would not return. Said he'd seek his fortunes abroad. He let him go.”

  Joanna stared at him. Of all the endings to this part of the story, it was the most unexpected. It was also, if she thought about it, the best that could have happened. If Dougal had drawn first blood, Alexander might have walked away from this battle, but his hatred would have grown. He would never have stopped trying to hit back at Dougal to regain his standing. Nevertheless, Dougal could not have killed his own brother. He would not betray someone he loved. A legal solution would be as bad – bloody and ruthless. They would not have chosen to do that, either.

  Joanna sighed. She knew this was the best thing that could have happened. And it had. She recalled Father Mallory's voice, heard it saying trust.

  She had trusted. He was right.

  All had worked out as it should do.

  She sighed. Reached for Dougal's hand.

  Everything was seamlessly resolved. So neat, as if the holes were stitched up, now, by an unseen hand. The villain was removed, the victor able to return to his place in peace. Lochlann would have its ruler. Everything would go back to as it should do.

  Except one thing.

  She bit her lip.

  She might be healing on the surface, her arm no longer draining blood. However, she would leave her heart here. She would leave it in Buccleigh when she rode away, and that was a wound that would never heal. Unseen and silent, it would drain her blood a little every day, leaving her cold and lifeless within, even though without she was yet living.

  “Dougal,” she whispered. She lifted her left hand, ran it down his fine dark hair. Looked into his eyes, her own eyes tight with her pain.

  “What?”

  “I...” she sighed. How could she put this into words? She did not want to add to his worry. “I...”

  “What, dear?” Dougal asked. He lifted her hand to his lips. Kissed it. She winced.

  She withdrew her hand, feeling the sob start to rise in her throat. She knew it was going to break inside her, spill out like a wave on the shore, that she could no longer hold this pain inside.

  “You...” she whispered. “I...how can I leave here, Dougal?” she asked, voice cracked and weeping. “How can I leave here, ride away, go back to life as it was? I can't walk away. I love you too much.”

  Dougal stared at her. His eyes were wide. He touched her hand and his own had a tremor, shaking with some deep feeling. He lifted her hand and kissed it. She did not move.

  “Joanna,” he said. “My love. You do not have to leave. You never have to leave. You can stay here as long as you wish.”

  “But...” she said, her heart aching. He didn't understand! She didn't want to stay here! That wasn't it. She wanted to marry him! To be his wife. “You don't understand.”

  “What don't I understand?” he asked gently.

  “Your...your father! Your responsibility. Your inheritance. You can't just...can't...won't walk away?”

  Dougal smiled. The expression was so sweet, his eyes seemed alive, radiant with light. He kissed her hand again, and reached out, covering both her hands with his own. He looked at her.

  “I do, Joanna,” he said softly. “I understand many things now. One of them is that life is too short. When you lay there, bleeding, I realized that...that there is nothing on this earth that can demand your heart. There is no worth, no price, no convention, that can give you what it takes, in taking that.” he let out a shuddering breath. “There is nothing that would dissuade me, now, from what I ask. Joanna, lady of Dunkeld, great-great niece of the late earl of Lochlann, would you take me?”

  Joanna stared at him. She felt something melt inside her chest, a great thawing there, as if spring came to a land of frozen wastes.

  She felt the sunlight fill her, growing, building, and flowing in her body. She laughed.

  “Yes, Dougal, Lord of Buccleigh and earl of Lochlann. I will take you. For now and for always. Forever and ever. My hand in yours until my life is dust.”

  He covered her hand with his own. Raised it to his lips.

  “I think I am the luckiest man alive.”

  She laughed.

  He laughed.

  The sun rose beyond the gauze-covered window and the room filled with light.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  A WEDDING IS HELD

  A WEDDING IS HELD

  Dougal rode ahead of the carriage. He felt a budding sense of pride. In that carriage was the woman he was going to wed. He had asked his father if he could borrow the coach and, strangely enough, he had agreed.

  I have never seen him like that, not ever before.

  Dougal had asked his father if he could step out of whatever plans he had for him. If he could marry the woman he loved. For, he said, he would do it in any case. He would just prefer to do it with no ill will.

  His father had agreed. Quietly, as if he would not raise his voice too loudly. Dougal was not sure what had come over him. He had been astounded by the transformation. Perhaps the shock of discovering how far the hate between his sons had grown had made him cast aside his own ambitions. On the other hand, perhaps he had simply decided there was more to life than trying to chase power. Either way, he had accepted Dougal's decision without causing an argument, for which Dougal was intensely grateful.

  He had, in fact, done his best to make things better for the pair – sending to the prior for the loan of their skilled physician to tend Joanna's arm, sending the carriage to take her home.

  So now, Dougal rode towards the north, a carriage rolling along behind him, armed escorts behind that.

  They were going home to Dunkeld. To get married.

  It makes sense to hold the wedding there.

  Dougal recalled his discussion with Joanna about that particular matter.

  “We will have a hard time, making Lochlann hospitable,” she had said.

  Dougal had considered that. It was eerie, the place, he had to agree. Even though now the ghost would cease to haunt it, word needed time to spread. They might be left with two servants.

  “True,” he had replied. “We should have our wedding somewhere cheerful.”

  As they had looked at each other, they had both known what it would be. Dougal had to agree that Joanna's home was the most cheery environment he had ever been in before.

  “Dunkeld.”

  Now they rode towards Dunkeld. The air was still cold, the heart of winter soon approaching and yet he scarcely noticed.

 
He was too busy noticing the sky, the clouds, the birds that twittered overhead, flying to the shelter of woodlands.

  He was hardly ever so cheerful, and his own light mood surprised him with its newness.

  They were almost home.

  At Dunkeld, the carriage stopped outside the gates. Dougal looked up. He recognized one of the gate men, who hailed him happily as he waved.

  “My lord! Welcome back! Are you here on a visit, sir?”

  “I'm here with the lady of Lochlann,” he said. “And the lady of Dunkeld. If you would be so kind as to open the gates now?”

  The men threw the gates open and they rolled in. Dougal rode into the courtyard, smiling at its sudden welcome.

  The carriage would not pass through the gates, so the doors were opened. Dougal helped Joanna down. Pale and easily tired, Joanna stood beside him, panting, and looked up at her home.

  “We're here,” she said.

  “We are.”

  “I cannot wait to show you everything!” Joanna said. Dougal smiled.

  “I look forward to seeing everything, with you as my guide.”

  The last time he had been here, he had scarcely had time to see the place, it was true. Now he was here, with three weeks at least before the wedding, they would see it together.

  “Well!” Amabel said. “What a good thing. Where's everyone?”

  A woman appeared on the steps. Joanna looked up at her. Dougal saw her face change.

  “Alina!”

  She walked up the steps and went as quickly as she could, wheezing with exertion when she reached the top. The woman stood where she was, hands clasped, face calm.

  “Welcome, daughter,” she said gently. “It is good to have you returned.”

  Joanna embraced her.

  Dougal felt his heart soften and then walked slowly up the steps, hesitating so he did not disturb their closeness.

  He heard a cough and looked down.

  “Mummy.”

  He smiled at the fair-haired girl, and then looked behind her.

  “Mamma!”

  A small red-haired girl, with round cheeks and a small nose, launched herself down the steps.

  Amabel shouted with delight and caught her up, holding her at her chest as she collapsed in helpless giggles.

  “Amice! My rascal! How are you?”

  “Happy.”

  Dougal stood aside, watching the scene as, first, the two daughters and then later all the boys in the castle, erupted from the doors.

  “Mamma!”

  “Auntie!”

  “Cousin!”

  He watched as Brodgar launched himself at his mother, then Conn and Leona embraced Joanna, who was crying as she held them, tears running down her cheeks. Alf was behind Conn and he hugged her in a crushing embrace as well.

  He heard someone step, heavy footed, onto the stairs. He looked up at Joanna's father, the lord of the fastness.

  Broderick smiled at him. He did not do anything to interrupt the tearful exchange, but went to Dougal.

  “Welcome back.”

  Dougal smiled. He clasped his hand, feeling real warmth as he did it.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  They both stood, watching as Alina bent down to ruffle Leona's hair and Joanna put her arm around both children, while Amabel battled up the steps, Amice clinging to her, Brodgar at her side. Alf followed them.

  Then he and Broderick went into the hall.

  Dougal smiled at him. “I trust you have a facility for a gathering?”

  Broderick nodded. “We can hold fifty at the high table,” Broderick said smilingly. “How many do you need to seat?”

  Dougal let out a shaky breath. “I think we'll all fit well,” was all he said.

  Their plans were for a quiet wedding.

  Later, with all the reunion done with, Dougal sat with Joanna in an upper room. She was resting, her face pale, cheeks flushed bright and she was smiling.

  “I am so pleased to see them all,” she said softly.

  “I am, too,” Dougal said. He had enjoyed meeting everyone anew more than he could have guessed. The way he was already included, as if he had always been there, gave him joy.

  “I hope I will be well, soon.”

  Dougal squeezed her hand. “You will recover. I know it. But don't let them tire you, dear.”

  Joanna smiled. There were tears in her eyes. “I will try,” she said. “I am so glad to be here and see them all again.”

  “I am so glad you are here.”

  They sat quietly together and watched the sun setting across the valley outside.

  Arriving at Dunkeld did wonders for Joanna's health. Alina had re-bandaged the wound and spent a whole afternoon working on it, scraping out the dead tissue, anointing it with a pungent mix. She frowned at Dougal when she finished, as if to make comment on the physicians his father supplied.

  Dougal had to admit it healed after that.

  By the time the winter was at its coldest, the snows starting to fall, thick, soft, and silent, on the heath, Dougal and Joanna were ready to be married.

  It was a quiet ceremony, as they had asked. Dougal's uncle attended and all Joanna's family. The two little girls – Leona and Amice – carried flowers before them, and Amabel wove flowers in Joanna's hair. Alina had sewed the veil and she helped Joanna down the steps where she would walk to the aisle on her father's arm.

  Dougal, waiting in the chapel, the light pale through the clerestory window, was sweating though it was icy there.

  He could not quite believe she was about to marry him.

  Joanna.

  He stood there, waiting for the bride to arrive, and he remembered a thousand different things – Joanna's smile in the rainstorm. Her hand on his in the darkness. Her laugh at breakfast. Her touch, reassuring in the midst of fear.

  I love this woman more than I have ever loved anyone, ever in my life.

  He felt the warmth of that fill him.

  Now, finally, he would swear that before all present, and in the eye of everyone in the whole world, should they be there to ask or see.

  As if he had conjured it, he heard the sound of footsteps in the aisle. She was here! He focused on the altar, though he could not help turning round as he heard her footstep behind him.

  Joanna. He smiled at her and she smiled back.

  Then they heard the priest clear his throat, and they turned to face him.

  “Volo,” Dougal said, much later, as he asked him to make his vows. I do.

  “Volo.” Joanna's voice filled him with joy. He studied her through the gauzy veil that covered the flame paleness of her hair.

  She wore a long white gown, lace covering the fine linen beneath. It lapped the floor behind her, the skirt narrow, falling from a waist clasped with a silvery kirtle that offset her figure. The veil too was long, woven of finest gauze from France. The veil fell from a garland of dried flowers. He breathed in, smelling their fragrant smell.

  He looked down at her, heart full of wonder.

  She was his wife.

  At least, it seemed that way now, for the priest had just said something and he was beaming at them, encouragingly.

  Dougal looked at him and he smiled more fully.

  You may kiss.

  That must have been what he just said, Dougal thought. He smiled at Joanna. He saw the flash of white and knew she grinned back. He was suddenly impatient, and he lifted the veil, drawing it back to see her face. His fingers trembled as he let go the edge, then stroked it back.

  He leaned forward.

  His mouth touched hers.

  They kissed.

  Her kiss tasted sweet and her mouth was warm and clinging. He drew her into his arms and kissed her and kissed, as if he was dying and she was his life's spark. As if he was alive, and she was his exultation.

  Then, turning to face the crowd, he smiled, taking her hand.

  Everyone lifted to their feet, smiling, calling out congratulations and wishes for a long life.

&
nbsp; “Slainte!”

  “Slainte!”

  “Blessings on you!”

  Dougal turned to Joanna, and Joanna looked up at him. She smiled.

  They were man and wife.

  The procession from the chapel to the great hall was a blur. Family of all descriptions came to congratulate them, the children shouted noisily and they were chorused, deafeningly, by the guard as they walked through the doorways into the warm, fire-lit place.

  Joanna was brighter than the furnace in the grate as she smiled at him. Dougal smiled back.

  All he recalled of the walk was the feeling of her hand in his, the sense of her body beside him.

  They were man and wife.

  They had a life of love ahead of them and now, finally, they were free to live that truth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  DARKNESS AND LOVING

  DARKNESS AND LOVING

  There are times when time moves as if it fell through ice. Slowly, with the clarity of that slowness. Paced just so as to give the mind time to enjoy each second. That was what Joanna felt that night.

  “Dearest?”

  “Mm?”

  Dougal smiled at her, his face hazy in the lazy firelight. He drew a hand down the curtain of her hair, smiled into her eyes.

  “I am so, so happy.” He whispered it, his voice thick with feeling.

  Joanna felt her body melt under the sweetness of his words, in the warmth of his smile. He kissed her and the gentleness of that kiss woke passion she did not know she had.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, their bodies pressed together. She shivered as she felt his arms draw her into that embrace.

  “Joanna. My dearest. My sweetest Joanna.”

  “My treasure.”

  She laughed in sudden surprise as he pushed her back a little. She fell onto the bed, and then he was beside her. He propped himself on one elbow, and smiled into her face. Traced a finger, slowly, down her cheek.

  “I cannot quite believe that we are here, beside each other.”

  Joanna smiled. “It is almost too wonderful.”

  He laughed. “Quite so.” He bent to kiss her, body lengthening alongside hers, each inch pressed to her, warming her side. His lips were hot on hers, their touch clinging and tender. “But I would not say too wonderful, or I will be half-scared of finding I'm asleep. Dreaming of you only. Not really here.”