by Sadie Savage
He lay next to me, entwining my hand in his and examining our hands together in the moonlight. I curled my body into him and we lay like that for as long as I could stand before I was shivering with the cold. I dressed slowly as he watched, lounging immodestly on the tartan, his expelled member resting against his leg and glistening in the firelight.
“Are you ready then?” he asked me, his eyes intent.
“Ready for what?” I asked, thinking with some surprise that he already wanted to have another go with me on the tartan.
“To marry me?” he asked, his warm lips curled into a grin.
I opened my mouth and closed it again, unable to find the right words. Instead, I made my way over to him and knelt down with my hands around his broad shoulders.
“Yes,” I whispered into his ear. We hugged and he held me tightly. I was ready to embrace my new home and a completely different way of life.
Epilogue
It had been six months since I first arrived with the highlanders. Lord Lachlan and I were bound in union for a month. We'd had a very Gaelic wedding ceremony in the mountains, with the fresh air blowing our hair out toward the wind. I could feel Kain there, blessing us with his spirit. Lord Lachlan had a great hand in convincing me that he had never left me at all, not the way I thought he had. It brought me a great sense of peace, and knowing that my twin and his little pup were attending my wedding was the best gift I could ever have received.
At least, that's what I thought until I noticed with some concern that I hadn't bled since a frisky romp my husband and I had a few months ago, near the spring where we had first shared a kiss. I came to him with the news and his entire face lit up.
“You do realize what this means, don't you, Bethia?” he asked me, picking me up and spinning me around his tent.
“I don't...” I said, my eyebrows furrowed. Although I was a woman, my own body's workings were still quite mysterious to me. Nobody in the lowlands thought it was proper to teach a woman how she worked. I was impressed and surprised by the frankness the highland women shared with their young, bare-footed children about the way nature worked. In my native home it was shameful, but here it was a natural and accepted aspect of life.
“You're with child, love! It is a day to celebrate!” he exclaimed. “You're having my children!”
“Your...you mean we're starting a family? Already?” I asked, laughing in disbelief as he continued to dance with me. I let him spin me round in his strong arms.
“Yes! Our legacy shall continue.”
I held him still for a moment, tears in my eyes.
“I think it's twins,” I whispered.
He knew the significance to me and held me close.
“They'll be the most well loved pups in all the world,” he said softly.
We held each other, both lost in thought. Our future was in my belly right that moment, and we couldn't have been happier.
The End.
Chapter One
Alisa stared out over her family’s lands from the parapet of her father’s castle. Clan McGregor had some of the largest holdings in Scotland, and even in the midst of a bloody, devastating civil war, the true wealth of her kin was in rolling emerald hills and blue skies so sharp and clear even a dreary day could seem like a summer frolic. She thought to herself, I may never see this sight again, and though in that moment she felt like indulging in self-pity, she alone of all her sisters had the sense to recognize the futility of such thinking.
Lord Cheshire, the illustrious Earl of Shrewsbury, had chosen her above all other eligible highland lasses to be his wife. He had himself suggested a union with Alisa’s father, a merging of family lines intended to satisfy the feuding royalists and preempt any further bloodshed. War was the last thing anyone wanted. Lord Cheshire had first seen Alisa at a Christmas festival in Edinburgh when she was thirteen, and now five years later, he’d come to collect that which he’d so clearly coveted.
Alisa was the tallest of her sisters, with long blonde hair that broke the typical McGregor pattern of dark features. As she’d grown into a woman, she’d cut a figure which always seemed to attract attention, though Lord in Heaven knew why that was. It wasn’t that she considered herself ugly, not really. It was just that she didn’t see herself as the typical female object of desire. In her mind, she was still the awkward girl who rebelled against stiff petticoats and ruffled collars, who loved spending days down by the bog, catching toads and laughing till her father’s men came to collect her for supper. And the thought that her clan had decided so quickly to give her away, to simply offer her up as one would offer mutton … She knew it was the way of things, the way their world had always been. But just once, at one point in the long, storied history of men and women—she wished a single lass had deigned to stand up and shout to all the men of the world, Ye can’t have me! I am my own woman!
But such thoughts were silly and empty and she knew it. Fixing her eyes on a wealth of windswept fields of thistle, she heaved an exhausted sigh and trudged back inside through the heavy birch door. Closing it behind her with a loud thud, she slipped out of her cape, slung it over an arm, and made her way back to her waiting room, where she was expected by a chamber maid and a very impatient Lady McGregor.
Alisa entered with an unexpected heaviness in her heart. When her mother saw her, she threw up her hands in exasperation. “There ye are! What would I have done if ye’d managed to escape?”
Alisa scowled at her. “I would’ne have tried to escape, mother. Nor have I ever done so. Just because I talk about—”
“Talk, talk, talk! No more talk, deary, now’s the time to be on with it. Come over here. Ye’ve made a mess of Margarete’s dressing.”
Alisa did as she was told and allowed her mother to lace her bodice tighter and straighten her dark green dress. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Clan society considered it unbecoming of a lady to look in any way unprepossessing when presenting herself to her betrothed for the first time. The Earl had insisted on ushering her to England himself before any wedding could take place. Alisa’s mother wouldn’t be there when she took her vows, and neither would her father or sisters. Lady McGregor had clearly found the decision difficult to bear, but she’d done her duty and had kept her misgivings to herself.
Eyeing her in the mirror as she brushed out her daughter’s long blonde hair, Alisa tried to count all the new wrinkles that’d expressed herself at the corners of her eyes and lips, wondering not for the first time what a lifetime of matriarchal obligations would look like on her own face.
“Mother, can I ask ye something?” Alisa said.
“Of course, deary.”
“Were you in love with father when he came to collect you from grandda’s?”
Her mother paused, the bristles of Alisa’s brush catching in her hair. “I hardly knew your father, Alisa. We’d only spoken once.”
“And ye were happy with grandda’s choice? You found father charming and handsome and—”
“What has charming and handsome got to do with anything?” her mother said. “We do what me must in life, daughter. Youth perhaps convinces us the world is wide open and welcoming to all our desires and whims. The truth of it is life demands much in the way of self-sacrifice and the dimming of all our girlhood dreams. To be the wife of a high lord is a calling to service much greater than most will ever know. As the bride of the Earl, Alisa, ye will not just be responsible for your man and his children. It will be your role to stand as the very bedrock upon which his destiny is built. If ye want to see the ultimate success of a man, deary, then look ne farther than his wife.”
Alisa considered this, and the tiny lump of dread that’d been forming in her stomach for the past week seemed to grow the size of a standing stone. Service? Self-sacrifice? Surely that wasn’t the end all, be all of a woman’s life. Yet if Alisa were to take stock of all the women she’d known, she surmised she might find well-worn riverbeds of common matriarchal experience.
Was there truly
nothing greater to look forward to? Was she destined to an existence meant for someone else rather than herself?
“Mother, is the Earl a good man? Is he…?”
“Is he what, deary?” her mother asked.
“Compassionate. Caring. Loath to cause me harm?’
Despite whatever she may have wanted to do, Alisa’s mother frowned deeply and sadly.
“Compassion has nothing to do with it, Alisa,” she said. “The man is yours now and you are his. That’s all there is to say on the matter.”
* * * * *
Alisa stood with her father as he presented her to the Earl of Shrewsbury, a tall and callow-faced older man who had the look of a shrewd and powerful warlord. Of course, rather than a soldier’s existence or the duty of a keeper of the peace, the life of an English lord was one of endless political rambling and trying to pretend all the extravagant wealth and influence was deserved. That’s what Alisa’s father always said, anyway. In private, he despised the English. To her, the Earl seemed the least vivacious man she’d ever met, with cold, cynical eyes that seemed to find no amusement in anything.
A meal had been prepared, but Chesire had said he didn’t want it. He hadn’t even made it past the drafty, echoing entrance to the reception wing. The intent, Alisa knew, was to leave for England immediately, which meant she was only moments away from bidding her entire family goodbye.
“Lord Fredrick Cheshire,” her father said, “allow me to introduce my eldest daughter, Alisa McGregor. Go on, lamb, say hello to the man.”
Alisa stepped forward, clutched the hem of her dress, and bowed for the Earl. Smiling up at him, she said, “Pleased to meet you, my lord. I very much look forward to seeing your home.”
Cheshire smiled at her, but there was little warmth in it. “Do you indeed? I should think you’re also filled with terrible trepidation.”
Alisa didn’t know what to say to this. His voice was dry and wavering, as if he smoked too much. He had a somewhat shambly appearance also, a lace collar unfastened at the neck and a fine red coat he’d not bothered to button.
“No, my lord, I’ve no trepidation,” Alisa lied. “I am at your service, as is Clan McGregor.”
The Earl laughed at this. He eyed her father keenly and said, “Is that true, McGregor? Is your clan at my service?”
Her father grimaced and cleared his throat. “Of course, my lord. We want no further bloodshed. The crown has nary an enemy in us, I assure you. As long as this lass is well taken care of.”
“She’ll want for nothing, I assure you,” the Earl said crudely licking his lips. “Come my dear, our carriage awaits.”
Alisa hugged her father and said her goodbyes to her sisters. Her mother nearly burst into tears when she told her she loved her, but proud woman she was, she kept them in check and gave her a hug. With nothing further to be said, Alisa left with Lord Cheshire and felt the weight of her entire Clan as the heavy doors of her father’s castle closed behind her.
“Will there be time to collect my horse?” Alisa asked.
“No. You can have a new one when we’re in England,” the Earl said. “You want a quality foal for riding, girl, not a Scottish nag.”
Chapter Two
The Earl’s carriage bumped along through the forest as the sounds of evening fowl and woodpeckers echoed in the soft gray twilight. Why Cheshire had insisted on traveling through the night Alisa couldn’t understand, and now that they’d taken to the road he seemed fidgety. He mumbled to himself as he squinted at a handful of yellowed documents. Every so often he’d spare a glance out the window, as if he expected to see something other than the deep Scottish woodland. Alisa knew she had no business asking, but she found herself too curious for her own good.
“Lord, what is it you’re trying to read?”
“Trying to read? What do you mean trying to read?” the Earl said.
“You’ve not taken your eyes off those leaves this entire hour. Is there something I can help you with? Can ye not see them clearly?”
Lord Cheshire looked up at her and gained a bitter, morbid expression. “How old do I seem to you, dear? The elderly Earl of Shrewsbury? It must be a frightful worry, this betrothal of ours.”
Alisa knew she’d stepped in it. She sat up straighter and smoothed out a ruffle in her dress.
“No, my lord,” she said. “It’s just that the light is waning and you seem as though—”
“I’ve lost my sight,” Cheshire said. “You know not too terribly long ago I’d have had my pick of any woman in England. Do you believe that?”
“Of course I do, my lord. You’re very handsome.”
“You’re lying. You don’t find me handsome. I’m no longer a specimen of young masculinity, which is all little girls raised in little castles in little countries can think of. I’ve lived a life of sacrifice and heartbreak, my dear, which is precisely what you’re likely to live. That I’ve earned a few scars and wrinkles along the way is merely a testament to the fact I survived. You could learn a thing or two from an old face like this. You’re very pretty, and your loins are very young, and at my age the only thing you’ve got to leave behind is progeny. Does that suit you? You’re to bear me sons, as many as I want. My last wife didn’t have it in her.”
“And … and what became of her, my lord?” Alisa ventured.
“She died. Tragically. I do so intend better fortune for you.”
The carriage came to a stop. They heard Cheshire’s men barking at each other, issuing orders, then a hail of arrows rained down on them, punching holes in the carriage and dropping the Earl’s men from their horses.
Cheshire shouted, “They’ve found us!” and then a battle cry sounded from the woods and a group of tartaned highland assassins bolted from behind the large, moss-covered trees. They joined battle with the remainder of Cheshire’s men, English steel meeting powerful, brawny Scottish broadswords.
“Who are they?” Alisa said, whipping around to get a better view.
“Clan Campbell,” the Earl said.
“Campbell? I thought—”
“They’re displeased with your father. The old blood feud holds true, it would seem. They don’t like him marrying you to me.”
“They’ve come to kill you?”
“They’ve come to kill us both,” Cheshire hissed.
The earl ripped up the papers in his hands, retrieved a flintlock pistol and rapier sword from a compartment under his seat, and then he kicked the carriage door open.
“What are those papers?” Alisa said.
“Our marriage contract. You’re on your own, my dear.”
With that, Lord Cheshire scrambled into the woods for a nearby boulder.
“He’s there, lads!” one of the assassins called.
Musket fire peppered the boulder. The Earl was over and dashing away, heading for a thick knot of oaks.
“After him!” the assassin said. Three assassins bolted after him. Alisa recognized her chance to escape, but rather than rushing from the carriage, she dropped to the muddy ground and began crawling for the low embankment off the side of the road. The final, piteous sounds of battle ended behind her as one of the Earl’s men screamed, gurgled loudly, and then fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
“Search the carriage,” one of the assassins said.
Alisa scrambled for the embankment. She rolled down into it then crawled behind some leafy undergrowth. Two assassins searched the carriage, announcing loudly the McGregor girl wasn’t in it.
“Well find her, ye halfwits!” their commander bellowed. “The bitch couldne have gotten far.”
On her hands and knees, Alisa backed her way behind a large birch. She scrambled a few hundred feet and dove behind the cover of a decaying log. Scanning the assassins at the carriage, fear coursing through her, she picked her time and ran away as fast as she could.
* * * * *
It was cold and dark in the forest before long. Though Alisa hadn’t heard them crashing through the underbrush an
d barking at each other in at least an hour, she felt more afraid now than she had during the attack. She clutched herself tightly, willing her feet to carry her further from harm. She shivered all over, remembering again and again arrows punching through armor and swords hacking limbs from bodies.
Alisa drew her hands to her mouth and blew into them. She felt something wet on her face and imagined it to be blood, though of course she’d been far from the brutality of Campbell’s killers. Clan Campbell had long been sworn enemies of the MacGregor’s, but they’d not tried anything so brazen in many years. Alisa recalled her father and his counselors speaking of them in recent weeks, but she’d just assumed they were bickering over a minor land dispute. And somehow, the Earl had gotten word Campbell meant to attack. Why else would he have seemed so jittery during the carriage ride?
Exhausted, frightened beyond anything she’d ever know, Alisa broke down and fell to the ground beside the babbling water of a small brook. What was she going to do? How on Earth would she find her way home? She knew these lands as well as any young lass, but she’d lost all sense of direction as she’d run from the assassins. October had come to the Highlands and with it the first bitter chills of winter. If she couldn’t find shelter and build a fire for herself, she wasn’t likely to make it any—
Twigs snapped in the underbrush behind her. She spun around and came face to face with a Campbell assassin. He had a large, bushy orange beard, and a stock and body so big his shoulders were like the A-frame of a house. He chuckled and drew his sword from his tartan sash.
“There you are, little gorgeous,” he said. “We’ve wondered off, have we?”
Alisa scooted away from him and splashed into the brook. Icy water bit at her, and her breath seized in her lungs.
