Highland Faith

by Hill, Madelyn

  She hid her smile, for it vexed her sister when they called her “m’laird.”

  “Leave your sister be,” Aidan said without ever taking his eyes from the gathering clansmen, a wry grin kicking up one side of his mouth. Once the hall was filled, lasses brought platters around and each person filled their plates enough to leave the meal well satisfied.

  Her and Honor shared a bemused glance.

  Aye, Aidan and Hope had done well by the clan, despite the trouble dredged from the past and Aidan’s claim on the lairdship. But she would wager Aidan and Hope wouldn’t have wed if they hadn’t truly loved each other. Yet they expected her to wed a man who had trouble speaking a word in her presence.

  When the meal finished and the tables were cleared, men moved out into the bailey to grouse about their wives, enjoy a tumbler or two, or play with their weapons.

  Hope remained at the dais. “I reckon Bryce would enjoy a stroll about the cliffs.”

  So for each day forward, her sister would be pushing her toward the man.

  “’Tisn’t proper for me to ask the man for a stroll,” she said with a frown.

  Her sister chuckled. “When have you worried about proper?” She lifted her brow and glanced at her britches.

  Damn. Bryce stood near the hall doorway.

  He watched her from the entrance but didn’t take a step forward.

  “Go, encourage him.”

  Honor placed her hand on her forearm. “Hope is right. He seems a bit shy.”

  She bit at her lip. It seemed unfaithful. She set her hand on her stomach, trying to remember her babe could be born a bastard if Graeme didn’t receive her letter and realize he couldn’t live without her.

  She rose and shoved out her chair. Her gaze met with Bryce’s, and doubt filled her so intensely she wanted to flee the hall. Pushing down the rising bile, she swallowed and nodded.

  “That’s a lass,” Hope said before she took a sip of wine.

  The words almost made her stop until Honor squeezed her hand. “Go to the man, he looks a bit green.”

  She grunted.

  Each step took all of her strength. Bryce scrutinized her, stoic and hard. No twinkle in his eye or sensual grin to warm her to her toes.

  This man was her future? Bah, he couldn’t be.

  “Good eve, Bryce.”

  “M’lady,” he said as he bowed his head.

  With Graeme, words had come easy, laughter even easier. With Bryce, she knew naught what to say.

  He shifted his weight in obvious discomfort, then he held out his elbow. She stared at his arm for a moment, then accepted.

  Bryce guided her out of the hall and to the bailey. The sun warmed the earth. She angled up her head and welcomed the sun’s rays as they walked. His long strides pulled her faster than she normally strode; however, her time in the wood had made her strong and agile. They rounded in front of the stables without saying a word, and the sounds of clansmen making their way through the day surrounded them.

  “Can you slow down a wee bit?”

  She stumbled when he halted.

  “Sorry, m’lady,” he mumbled and flushed deep red. He pulled his arm from hers and bowed. “May I be frank with you, m’lady?”

  She glanced up in surprise. ’Twas the most the man had ever said to her. “Aye.”

  “’Tis a vexing situation we find ourselves in. You in need of a husband and I wanting a wife.”

  So he actually wanted a wife. “Aye.”

  He glanced about as if checking to see if anyone was listening. Being Clan MacAlister, many ears were cocked in their direction.

  Seemed the poor man needed privacy to finish the conversation. “Och,” she said as she grabbed his hand, “come this way.”

  She dragged him through the front gate despite the chuckle of the guards and the raised brows of each person they passed.

  A few feet from the gate, she stopped. “Continue.”

  He looked at her as if she just slapped his face. Then Bryce cleared his throat. “I’m not the man you want for your husband—”

  She opened her mouth to refute what he said, but Bryce held up his hand. “I ken, m’lady. But I promise to be a good husband to you.”

  His blue eyes slid to her stomach. “And I’ll care for the bairn as if he were mine.”

  While his words warmed her, ’twas still an impossible situation. And would the man truly love her babe as if she were his own? Many a Highlander lass had found herself in the same circumstance. And she’d heard the stories of men scorned and angry the bairn wasn’t of their blood. Some men even tossed their once beloved wives out on their arses.

  She’d not be that lass.

  “I appreciate what you say, Bryce.” Despite her resolve not to, her gaze lit on the sea crashing against the stones below the cliff. What she wouldn’t give to see the Blue Boy cutting through the waves and heading toward her.

  No ship sailed, only the curl of cresting waves crashing and falling. Tears threaten and she forced them away.

  Bryce tipped up her chin. “I mean what I say, m’lady.” With that, he allowed a quick nod and turned toward the keep.

  She watched him, the quiet warrior, her husband-to-be. She rubbed the back of her neck with frustration. Och, ’twas wretched!

  There were so many “if onlys” swirling about in her mind, she wanted to scream. If only she’d spoken to Graeme. If only she’d forced Aidan to leave when he’d barged into the captain’s cabin. If only Graeme had trusted her and told her why he needed the ransom.

  “M’lady?”

  “Aye,” she growled.

  The guard stepped back with his hands raised. “The Lairds would like you in the keep.”

  She glared at the man and walked on her own to the keep.

  She needed to think, truly think about her future and that of her babe.

  The love of her bairn hadn’t prompted her to accept the idea of a marriage.

  Her love of Graeme had her pledging to wait—wait for him to come.

  Chapter 19

  Three more days passed.

  Dougal slammed his fist against the desk. “Captain, the ship isn’t ready to sail.”

  Nay, ’twasn’t. They’d filled the rend in the side, but the sails, och, the sails were a shredded mess. He glanced about his chamber; the books were in ruin, his maps drenched with no sign of drying and the bed—

  The bed where he and Faith—

  “Captain?”

  He shook off the memories filled with the sweet scent of her skin and the soft tickle of her hair. “Aye, Dougal?”

  “The stores in the hold are starting to rot and the men are getting restless. We need to set sail.”

  He stood and looked out the shattered window. “We need to set sail for Faith.”

  “That we do, Captain.”

  His mate started to leave the chamber. “She’s a braw lass. A good match for ye.”

  “Aye,” he said with a grin. “’Tis the truth of it. Now go see to the boom and the sails. The faster they’re mended, the faster we reach Wild Thistle.”

  “Such a lovely lass with a full round arse,” Dougal sang, then he started calling to the other men, dividing up the duties. “Hurry, lads. The captain needs to see his woman.”

  He couldn’t help but smile when the men cheered.

  “They’ve a fondness for you, my son.”

  After a quick glance over his shoulder, he spied his father. “A fine crew, they are.”

  His father moved slowly into the chamber and sat at the desk. He was an auld man with the aches and pains, many gained after the death of their dear mother and Michael.

  “You’re working too hard, m’laird.” He poured him some forgotten wine the men had found in the
hold. “Let the men take care of the rest.”

  “Nay, my laddie,” his father said as he patted his stomach, “’tis given me new vigor to be working as such.”

  Aye, his father got into the trenches and helped the men, the farmers, and those who lived in the crofts near the castle. His father lifted a wagon like a beast to get it out of a rut and stopped a stallion when he charged to mate with a mare in heat.

  Strange how he now looked fondly on the past when it had caused him such turmoil. Of course, there were snippets of laughter, especially before his mother died, but bollocks, there were harsh images as well.

  “We’ll be sailing soon, I’d wager.”

  He glanced out the window once again. Land remained just out of their reach, ’twas leagues before they reached MacAlister territory. Leagues before he could beg for Faith’s forgiveness.

  ~ ~ ~

  Her wedding day.

  Graeme hadn’t arrived.

  For days, she’d stood on the cliff overlooking the sound, begging God to send him her way. At sunset, when the sun dipped into the water and gilded the sea, Honor would come for her. After a bit of cajoling, she’d relent and retire to her chamber.

  Nightmares followed, wrenching her from slumber and leaving her a tangle of nerves. Honor tried, the dear. Gave her various elixirs to help her sleep. All to no avail.

  Fear overrode all medicinal interference. Stark fear plagued her.

  Bryce had tried to strike up conversation many a time, but her mind and och, her heart were elsewhere. And she’d be lucky if the man stood in the kirk ready to wed her since she’d been such a weepy mess.

  Days had turned into sennights. Her heart refused to accept what others were saying, telling her. She’d never forget Graeme, he’d always be tucked within her chest and the memories close in her mind.

  With that realization, she was expected to live up to her promise.

  Which she would. Aidan and Hope depended on her to keep her word and marry the warrior Bryce.

  The women entered her chamber, chatting and laughing, trying to bring merriment to her day.

  She tried to rise, yet her aching body refused to move. Her eyes itched from the tears she’d shed and her nose shone red from her constantly blowing it.

  And now, after all she’d tried to do to stop it, today was her wedding day.

  The idea frightened her beyond measure. Bryce would expect her to be a wife in all senses even with her expecting and in love with another man.

  “Come, Faith.” Honor gripped her elbow and pulled her upright. “You canna dither all day in bed.”

  “She’ll be doing enough of that this very eve,” one of the maids said with a wink.

  All laughed. All except her.

  She fearfully glanced at Honor.

  “’Tis maiden sensibilities, to be sure.”

  Again, laughter.

  The women filled her bath and tossed rose petals and lavender into the steaming water. Others laid out her undergarments made of such fine linen, it looked as if they were silk.

  “Are we ready, lasses?” Hope called from the doorway.

  “Aye, m’laird,” Nora said as she swept the door open wide.

  The chamber quieted, save for the crackling of a fire. There stood Hope in a lovely sapphire gown. ’Twas their mother’s. And a lovelier gown could not be found, even for a lass who preferred to wear britches.

  “My dear women,” Hope began. “’Tis a wonderful day for Wild Thistle Keep. One which we’d love for my mother and father to bear witness.”

  Many of the woman nodded; others sniffled back tears.

  “I ken we thought Faith would never find a lad to suit her, and just look at her, she found one of the best among us.”

  Her heart clenched in pain. How dare her sister mock this day? The day she wed a man with a loveless heart. The day she had forsaken her only and true love.

  “My ladies, please let us have this time between us, my sisters and myself.” As Hope spoke, she gazed directly at her as if sending a private message or mayhap a warning not to challenge what she was asking.

  “Of course, m’laird.”

  “Aye, ’tis a grand day for the sisters.”

  They scuttled from the room talking with excitement and obvious pride. She wanted to go with them and leave behind all of the trappings of the wedding.

  Honor left her side and gently closed the door. She hesitated before turning and when she did, she leaned against the door as if she needed its strength. Honor sighed and pushed from the door. “Shall we get you ready for your wedding?”

  “’Tis a grand idea, Honor.” Hope laid the gown on the bed and held out her hand. “Aye, ’tisn’t what you want. But you need a husband and the bairn needs a father.”

  She looked at her sister’s hand, a bit calloused and scarred from her training. She was her own person, led the clan, and had married on her own terms. Aye, there was a vast responsibility, but Hope directed her own life.

  Apparently Hope directs my life as well.

  “To the bath with you.”

  Numb. She was numb from her head to her toes.

  Graeme hadn’t come. She had her answer.

  He didn’t love her.

  Somehow, she gripped her sisters’ hand and allowed them to lead her to the bath. Honor removed her sleeping gown.

  The hot water seeped into her pores, lulling her a bit as if trying to take the edge off her angst, like a dram of whiskey.

  Tonight, she kept thinking. Tonight I’ll be claimed by a man I don’t love.

  Tears flooded her eyes and she swiped them away. She wanted her father. He’d understand. And her mother, a strong woman who’d not let Hope hector her into wedding a man who never smiled or showed an ounce of wit. Aye, he wanted a wife, but didn’t every man whether he admitted it or not?

  Honor began humming a sweet tune as she rubbed a soft cloth over her back. Her laird paced before her, blurry through her tears.

  Hope stopped before her, settled her fists at her waist. “You’re vexed.”

  “Aye,” she whispered. Vexed at Hope and Aidan. Vexed at Graeme. Vexed at the whole lot of them.

  With a heavy sigh, her sister shook her head. “There is no other option. You have to marry the man.”

  Honor eased water over her head and began lathering soap in her tresses.

  “I ken, Hope. Don’t worry, I’ll do right by the clan.”

  Even if it killed her and broke her heart.

  Hope gripped the edge of the bath. “If you weren’t beginning to show, we’d be able to wait.”

  She pinned her sister with her gaze. “If I weren’t showing, you’d let me wait.”

  Hope tossed up her hands. Tears filled her voice as she said, “Och, I dinnae ken. I know I’m breaking your heart.”

  “She sees how heartbroken you are,” Honor said before she rinsed her hair. “A lovesick fool, you are. If only your man had received the letter.”

  Then she dumped a pitcher of water.

  She shook her head and sputtered. “Indeed.”

  Her heart, her mind, even her arms and legs—all seemed broken. How would she survive this day?

  Hope gathered her hands within her own. “’Tis wretched, Faith. Och, we’ve mucked things up.” She squeezed and said, “I want you to be happy. I want you to have love in your life.”

  She sobbed. “I have love. I have the love of my sisters.”

  Honor draped a linen towel over her shoulders. “Hush, lass. You’ll make yourself sick, you will.”

  Her sisters helped her rise from the tub and led her to the chair by the fire. She glanced at the mantel and saw the candlesticks her mother had received at her wedding. She accepted a tumbler from Honor and took a healthy
draw. When Honor tucked a blanket over her lap, she inspected the cup and then glanced at her sister.

  “Nay!”

  “Och, Faith,” Honor tsked, “’tis just tea, not to worry.”

  Hope paced in front of them. “I must speak with Aidan.”

  “Hurry back,” she said. Truth be told, she needed her sisters, both of them, at her side.

  “Now rest a bit while I brush your hair.”

  As Honor tugged at her tresses, she closed her eyes and just allowed herself to rest. Honor spoke of their antics when Hope was named Laird and when Aidan had arrived. Och, they were wicked lasses. Trying to make the man angry and all he ever did was patiently put up with their antics.

  “Remember when they stood before the Council? Those men—’tis sorry I am many of them are gone, God rest Liam’s soul.”

  Liam had betrayed the clan and in the end, he’d died peacefully in his sleep, but knowing Aidan and Hope would rule together despite his efforts.

  “Mother and Father are watching, Faith. Watching and loving you. Och, so proud they must be.”

  Nay, her father wouldn’t be proud, he’d be bellowing the rafters down.

  The door crashed against the wall and Hope rushed into the room.

  “Here,” she said handing Faith a piece of parchment.

  She accepted the letter.

  “Lady Faith MacAlister of Wild Thistle Keep” scrawled across the envelope. Her heart pounded against her chest. “What is this?”

  Her sister shook her head and her brows furrowed. She tipped her chin toward the letter. “Before you read it, please know Aidan and I didnae want to add to your pain or worry.”

  Faith stood and went closer to the fire. She unfolded the letter, smoothed out the wrinkles and began reading.

  “Dear Lady Faith,

  “I’ve been but a fool. I should have tossed the ransom bag back and grabbed you. I fear I have left things with no explanation, more so I fear you will never forgive me.

  “The ransom, the bloody ransom was to save my father and the Ross lands.