The Highland Laird's Bride

by Nicole Locke

  To prevent it, she sat, but she raised her chin when she saw his brow arch. He wanted to negotiate and she’d do it. ‘What do you want?’ she said.

  ‘What are the children’s names?’

  This information was useless to him, to her, and she wanted to argue. By his demeanour, she also knew it was futile. ‘Fyfa, Eoin, he’s six, and Gillean’s the youngest at five.’

  ‘Fyfa’s age?’

  ‘Eight, she’s eight.’ She had just had her birthday, which was something her father celebrated in the years before his death. Lioslath hadn’t known what to do to mark the day, so she hadn’t done...anything.

  ‘Are there more?’

  She shook her head. Her siblings were orphans like her. They had to learn the harshness of life, too. Except—

  ‘Why doesn’t Aindreas know of the tunnel?’

  Of course he’d notice that. ‘A conversation about the tunnel is what you want?’

  He shrugged. ‘I am curious.’

  She knew better. ‘Your reputation precedes you, Colquhoun. You are asking questions to obtain leverage for your famous negotiation skills. What do you do? Find facts to use against your opponent? I think you’ve harmed us enough.’

  Bram clasped his hands behind his back and rolled on his heels. It was a casual pose, but she sensed his displeasure underneath.

  She liked it. ‘Nae talking of kissing me now like you did last night? It took me a while to know what you did. Another manipulation from Laird Colquhoun. You won’t find those weaknesses with me.’

  A small smile. ‘I may find others.’

  ‘You won’t be here long enough.’

  ‘Ah, but you make me want to find others.’ He released his stance. ‘You are...not as I expected.’

  A play on their words last night or something else? He probably expected her to have courtesy, manners and a calm demeanour befitting a lady of the manor. She had none of those skills. When she hunted, if she wasn’t direct, she missed her target.

  Oh, she wanted to argue more, but Bram had spent too much time in her room. Aindreas could become impatient. ‘I’ll open the gates,’ she said, ‘if you stay quiet on the tunnel.’

  His head tilted as if he sensed a trap, but he didn’t hide the smile of victory. ‘Not expected, but you have, indeed, made me a curious man. A hidden tunnel, but also hidden from the keep’s residents? A private tunnel for you only. Now, what use is such a tunnel to a woman?’

  Irritated at his smile and the way it made something flutter inside her, she answered, ‘Its use is to get you out of here so I can open the gates.’

  He narrowed his eyes on her. ‘This morning.’

  She nodded.

  ‘This seems sudden. I can’t imagine keeping a tunnel secret would be so important to you. What trick do you play?’

  Tricks. Play. She knew nothing of such things. Unlike this Colquhoun with his pampered existence, her life had always been hard work.

  She would always remember when her father first set off to secure the wealthy Gaira of Clan Colquhoun as his wife. With laughter ringing out, her siblings clung to him. They had been joyous, as if he’d soon bring home their every childhood wish.

  And her? Her father, with his head held high, gazed at her, his arms full of children, the rest of his clan waving proudly. At that moment, her father looked at her as if he loved her again. Tears stinging her eyes, she hadn’t wanted to break their gaze. She hadn’t seen her father look at her with such emotion since before her mother died so many winters before.

  In that moment it felt as if she had her father again. Not the man he had become since his second marriage and since their fortunes changed for the worse. After that he became bitter and the knot of hate that began with her mother’s death grew until every word he ever uttered, every action he ever committed, was a reflection of that hate buried in his heart. His runaway bride only made it worse.

  When he pursued Gaira, her father was killed. Then the English came and the Fergussons lost what little wealth and pride they had left.

  Fate or God already played the cruellest of tricks on Clan Fergusson. Now this Colquhoun came to humiliate them further.

  ‘I make nae tricks,’ she practically choked on the word.

  ‘This is too easy,’ Bram said.

  ‘Doona you like easy?’ she said.

  With no bride and only resentment, her father had boasted of the Colquhouns’ decadent home and the excess of comforts strewn about. How their tables were laden with food and the freshest rushes were underfoot. He even spoke of laughter, jests...entertainment.

  And the more her father spoke, the worse that knot of bitterness grew until barbs slashed at his insides. When he left to pursue his bride, he was filled only with vengeance.

  And he never looked at Lioslath again.

  ‘You like easy,’ she repeated. ‘It’s what every Colquhoun likes. So I’m opening the gates because that’s what you expect—everything comfortable.’

  Gaira, the Colquhoun bride who was supposed to have saved them all, never arrived at Fergusson keep. Lioslath knew why: she was soft like the rest of their clan. No doubt she’d fled prettily to the safety of her luxurious home.

  His frown increased. ‘Comfortable?’ he said the word as if he’d never said it before. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he was so used to food and entertainment he took it for granted. That thought made her angrier.

  ‘You insult me and grant me a boon,’ he said softly. Almost too softly. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  She had work to do and she needed him gone. Barring him had not worked, so she would open the gates. Once he saw that there were no comforts, that there was only work here, and lots of it, he’d be gone, just like his sister. For once, she was proud of the wreck of a keep she lived in.

  She shrugged as she’d seen him do. ‘Because it’s easy,’ she said.

  Chapter Five

  Bram dropped into the room below Lioslath’s and hurried through the tunnel. He was walking around the keep’s corner when Finlay, his first in command, strode up to him.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  Bram kept his eyes on the man he’d grown up with. ‘Walking.’

  Finlay frowned. Bram never simply walked like his brother Caird did. He enjoyed activities such as hunting and fishing, but that would mean witnesses.

  ‘We heard activity inside the keep. I think the gates are opening,’ Finlay said.

  That was fast, he thought. Had Lioslath ordered it done or did she have council? Too many unknowns. ‘The men?’

  ‘Preparing.’

  They’d talked of the different strategies they should employ if the gates were opened, but something in Finlay’s voice made Bram’s heart thud. ‘Preparing for what?’ he asked, but he had his answer as he walked towards the gates. His men were preparing for battle.

  Their weaponry was already in their hands. Their camp’s spiked fence was now raised and angled menacingly outward.

  His men knew of Gaira’s marriage and alliance to this clan. When his best-trained men and carpenters followed him, they were as surprised as he by the lack of welcome. Since they now laid siege, for all they knew he could be preparing to take the Fergusson clan for his own. In these turbulent times, he was surprised no other clan had tried.

  ‘They have barred us for weeks and there was nae call out of greeting,’ Finlay said. ‘They cannot be friendly.’

  He could see the villagers gathering in the few winding streets behind him. Most had their hands full of some form of weaponry.

  He should have told Lioslath to wait. If the first sight Lioslath saw was his men prepared to fight, she would think he betrayed their understanding.

  Understanding. They didn’t have an understanding and he didn’t need one either. He only needed her to coop
erate and he expected his men to as well.

  ‘Have the men stand down,’ he ordered. ‘Immediately.’

  ‘The gates are opening. The villagers—’

  ‘Are only reacting to what we have done. It’s not the time for weapons, it’s the time for the other plan we discussed.’

  ‘There’s been nae indication of why they are opening the gates now.’

  ‘When those gates are fully open, I’ll not have these people see fully armed men. I want them to see a feast and the full extent of our generous offerings we began yesterday. The boar’s ready?’

  ‘Aye, but as to the other?’

  ‘I know it is short notice, but it must be done.’

  Knowing Finlay would implement his orders, Bram strode through his men. There was little confusion when he told them to stand down. One benefit to idleness, his men were well-prepared. He did, however, order the spiked fence to remain up. He might have been careless when not asking for time, but he wouldn’t be so when it came to the safety of his men.

  When he got to the gates, they were fully opened. As he suspected, the men inside held bows. No, not only men.

  Lioslath stood in front with a bow and arrow in her hands. Two more arrows were strapped to her belt. She’d also changed her clothing. No longer was she in a gown, but in a tunic and hose.

  He’d never seen a woman with weaponry and certainly none with her beauty. His instinct was to dismiss it, but it surprised him how natural she looked. She’d held a blade to him the first night as well. He didn’t know what to make of it.

  Regardless of her abilities, the men, including Aindreas, were also armed. Weeks of treading softly with this clan and it had all been for naught.

  He looked behind him. Many of his men put their weapons down, but they did not give up their strategic positions inside the camp or their narrowed focus on the keep and the village. No hope for a bloodless solution unless he defused this situation and fast.

  * * *

  Bram’s men were armed and facing the gates. He talked of tricks and of play, yet it was him all this time.

  ‘Stand ready,’ Lioslath cried.

  She hid her quivering voice, knowing Aindreas would hear it and the others standing behind her would notice her unease.

  Now, of all times, she must remain calm. Dog at her heels helped. His familiar warmth comforted her. Unfortunately, he was the only thing familiar to her now.

  Certainly, standing in front of her father’s clansmen with weaponry wasn’t familiar. Men who expected her to give orders, who had been looking to her for leadership since her father’s death. Like everything, it continued to surprise her.

  The Colquhoun men were shifting and Lioslath eased her stance to take advantage of the arrows at her waist. Their sole advantage was the narrow opening in the gates. If they were forced to engage Bram’s men outside, they would not survive. Even as she thought that, she felt the familiar heat of a hunt flow through her.

  When she’d requested Aindreas to prepare the men to open the gates, her friend hadn’t been surprised that that was the result of her conversation with Bram. He had, however, been angry about Bram being in her bedroom.

  Aindreas hadn’t known of the empty storage room under her bedroom, nor of the derelict tunnel. When he’d argued further, she’d promised to tell him everything later. He hadn’t liked that, but there had been no more time.

  Now Aindreas stood behind her and she felt his tumultuous thoughts. She was in turmoil, too.

  Suddenly, the Colquhoun men lowered their weapons. Walking amongst his men, Bram emerged. His hair and fine clothing were filthy from the tunnel. He carried no weapon and hadn’t prepared for battle. As he swept through the men, a few swiftly left their positions, but with the narrowness of the gates, she could not see where they went.

  When Bram faced her, she took a step forward. As if he didn’t have arrows pointed at him, he strode through the gates like a conqueror.

  So she notched the arrow to her bow. It was pointed at the ground, but her position was clear. Bram slowed and appeared surprised. Did he think her tamed? He knew that he’d forced her to open the gates, but her clansmen did not.

  When he reached her, she called out for all to hear, ‘Welcome, Laird Colquhoun.’ She knew her frosty tone did not match her words.

  Bram gave a small bow, a quirk to his lips that only she could see. As he looked around at the arrows aimed at his heart, he answered, ‘I feel most welcome, Lioslath of Clan Fergusson. Thank you for opening the gates and allowing my men respite within your dear keep.’

  Her fingers flexed to draw the bow tighter. How cunning this Colquhoun was with his courtly ways and booming voice. This wasn’t the man who’d stolen into her room armed only with smiles and coaxing ways. Nonetheless, his formality was equally unwelcome. She might have been forced to open her gates to him, but she didn’t have to be gracious.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll find nae respite here,’ she said. ‘Or did you know we have been recently ill-treated?’

  He smiled then. That easy, carefree smile she hated and in reflex her arm drew back on the string.

  Never lowering his eyes nor his voice, Bram said, ‘Then perhaps you’ll accept our humble offerings.’

  With another courtly gesture, he turned towards the gates. Within moments, Colquhoun clansmen ceremoniously carried upon their shoulders planks of wood laden with food.

  A whine in his throat, Dog restlessly lifted his front paw at the overwhelming smells and sights. Roasted boar, turnips, onions, parsnips, glazed over with...butter. All from the supplies Bram brought.

  Her own men held on to their weapons, but their arrows now pointed down. None of them looked to her, their eyes were wide on the feast being carried into the keep; it would all need to be set down on—

  She stopped short. Her Hall. The planks of wood would never fit. Then there was the filth and damp. She couldn’t be in there today of all days. She’d conceded too much of her position to the Colquhoun today. She wouldn’t give in any more.

  She was just about to order them to stop when more Colquhoun men brought in trestles to support the heavily laden planks of wood. As if at her request, they set them down in the centre of the courtyard. They couldn’t have travelled from the Colquhoun land with them.

  So his men hadn’t been idle these past weeks. She’d watched as they made the spiked fence and crafted additional arrows, watched as they trained and trained again. But secretly, surely, they’d been preparing for this banquet as well.

  Returning her arrow to her belt, she looked to Bram, who was carrying a thick wooden bench as easily as if he carried an armful of kindling. He said something to his clansman and they laughed as they gathered the other benches.

  The morning was mild and it hadn’t rained for days. She opened the gates, food appeared and now even the weather cooperated with this man.

  Dog certainly was cooperating. Someone had thrown a hunk of venison against the furthest wall and he was busily dragging it outside the gates. She didn’t know when she’d see him again.

  When the food was all set, what would be expected of her? She was used to being alone, not surrounded by people with expectations. She hated these questions and doubts. Her weaknesses conceded even more power to Laird Colquhoun.

  ‘He’ll be done soon.’ Aindreas stepped closer to her. ‘Will you accept it?’

  The food? Bram said nothing about it. But now that her clan saw it, she couldn’t refuse. ‘It’d be a waste, since the clan is hungry.’

  ‘I doona like the way he looks at you,’ Aindreas said.

  She knew what he meant. Even though Bram organised the feast before her, it felt as if he was assessing her every move and emotion. Knowing him, he’d use it to his advantage. ‘Nothing happened.’

  ‘Aye, and I doona believe you,’ he s
aid. ‘Still, whatever did happen, I didn’t expect an apology from him.’

  ‘Is that what this is?’ She couldn’t imagine Bram apologising. This had to be more of his famed diplomacy and negotiation. Perhaps he expected her to let down her guard with his generosity. Ha! Generosity! More like strategy.

  ‘He’s doing this here, but also down in the village.’

  She gasped. There was more food?

  ‘You need to let the villagers know whether you accept his apology.’

  The villagers had looked to her for leadership since her father’s death. She tried to lead them, but failed, and when the English had ravaged, ordered, stripped away every—

  She clamped down on her anger and helplessness. The English were gone now, just as the Colquhouns would be soon enough.

  Aindreas’s expression darkened and she knew Bram approached from behind her. She wouldn’t have the strength to stop a fight.

  ‘Go, tell them to accept the food and see what Donaldo has baked,’ she said.

  There would be precious little bread, but there would be some. They couldn’t have the Colquhouns controlling the entire feast. The Fergussons might be poor, but they had their pride.

  With a look over her shoulder, Aindreas headed out of the gates.

  ‘Tell them what?’ Bram said.

  She turned. He was closer than she thought and she barely stopped herself from stepping back. This close she was all too aware of his height, the way he held himself, the way he was just...there. She shook herself. ‘That your apology is accepted.’

  ‘I am grateful,’ he said, but there was an undercurrent, some hidden meaning she didn’t want to think about. He was always hiding something and resentment roiled within her.

  She wasn’t used to being around people, wasn’t used to hiding her feelings or emotions, but if it kept her clan protected from the Colquhoun, she’d learn fast.