Highland Surrender

by Tracy Brogan

  Perhaps she had not loved her own husband either, for Hugh Sinclair was a hard man, stern and unyielding. Prone to melancholy and too much drink, but life was harsh in the North, and he’d been humiliated by his loss of position and lands at the hand of King James.

  But Myles was mistaken if he thought her father capable of such a crime. She’d not believe a word of it. Perhaps it had been an accident, yes. But at the hands of Cedric Campbell. If anything, he’d killed her when she resisted his advances. ’Twas more likely than Fiona’s father losing such control.

  She stood and paced about the room, trying to recall her mother’s words until her very head ached. She could not recall a time her mother had spoken harshly about the Campbells, but neither had she defended them. The memories were so hazy: glimpses of a smiling face with deep-blue eyes, the sound of warm laughter, the smell of her mother’s hair. All had faded in the seven years, but the pain of missing her had not.

  CHAPTER 21

  MYLES FOUND HIMSELF at his aunt’s solar and rapped upon the door.

  Darby opened it, grinning wide to show a new space in his smile.

  “Myles, look, I’ve lost a tooth.” He rolled the tiny thing between his fingers.

  “So you have.” Myles smiled down at the lad. “You’d best go bury it before a witch finds it and casts a spell on you.”

  Darby looked to his mother.

  Vivienne nodded, looking up from her needlework. “Bury it in the garden, and you’re sure to grow big and strong. Run along now and let me speak with Myles.”

  Fast as a flint spark, the boy was gone.

  Vivienne set her stitching upon her lap and rubbed the back of her neck. “Thank goodness for your company. This work is tedious and I’ve no talent for it.”

  Myles crossed the room and sat down in the cushioned chair next to her. Like his mother’s chamber, this one was decorated in pale hues of lilac and pink. Women must prefer that to the red and gold of masculine decor, though he could not imagine Fiona in such a soft setting, nor spending her hours at so mild a pastime.

  He pulled the cloth from Vivienne’s lap to examine her uneven stitches. “You do not exaggerate. This is sloppy craftsmanship.”

  She frowned with no heat and snatched back the cloth, stuffing it into a handbasket near her feet. “I should like to see you sitting in one spot for hours upon end, poking your finger with a needle until you bleed.”

  He smiled. “Well, there’s the problem, then. The needle is meant to go into the cloth, not your finger.”

  She blinked at him several times in rapid succession. “Jesters must tremble in fear at the magnificence of your humor.”

  He stretched with false posturing. “All men tremble at my magnificence. And the ladies too.”

  Vivienne smiled at this and clapped her hands together. “Splendid news, nephew. So all goes well with your bride, then?”

  The air of teasing was punched from his lungs, and he felt his face fall. He’d hoped to warm up to this topic, not surge in with no element of care. But there was no avoiding it now. She’d asked, as if she sensed Fiona was the reason for his visit. His aunt had the uncanny sense of an owl.

  “No, not well. Little I do or say pleases her.”

  Vivienne laughed. “She seems charming to me. It must be you who is the problem.”

  “You see a different side of her.”

  Vivienne tilted her head. “Give the girl some time, Myles. She’s sacrificed much, and none of this is of her choosing. But if you back a cat into a corner, it will hiss and run away. You cannot force her.”

  “I haven’t forced her in any way. ’Tis just the opposite, in fact. I’ve hardly touched her since our wedding night.” Lord have mercy, he hadn’t meant to share as much. It certainly was no business of Vivi’s. Now he’d never hear the end of it.

  “Hardly touched her? What does that mean?”

  “Nothing.” What good were the cushions on this chair? They felt hard as mallets. He pulled one from behind his back and fluffed it to no avail.

  Vivienne chuckled. “Oh, Myles, you poor little dear. You’ve finally met a woman able to resist your enviable charms, and you fall daunted before the challenge. Where is your courage?”

  “I have courage aplenty. You know she slashed me, don’t you?”

  “I heard from Tavish it was a very tiny knife.”

  He punched the cushion once more, then threw it to the floor. “Whose side are you on?” His voice held no heat.

  Vivienne folded both hands over her heart, innocent as an angel. “I am on the side of love.”

  A snort burned in his nose. “Love? By God, woman! You aim Cupid’s arrow too high. I would settle for cordial, but Fiona and I have reached an impasse, and I fear neither of us will budge.”

  His aunt let loose a laugh. “You’ve been married now how many days? A week? And of those days, your nights have been spent either on the road or with your father. Honestly, it’s not like you to give up so easily.”

  “I haven’t given up. I’m just not certain how to proceed with one as irrational as Fiona.”

  “Why do men accuse women of being irrational simply because they don’t understand us? It’s unjust.”

  She was not helping. “I’ve treated my wife more than fairly, Vivi. ’Tis she who’s run away, attacked me, and called me a liar. I fail to see how any of this is my fault.”

  Vivienne patted his arm. “It’s not your fault, darling. And don’t despair. With a little coaxing, she will fall in love with you. I’m sure of it. And you’ll be a better man for having worked for it.”

  He bristled slightly at her words. “I’m a good man now.”

  Her smile was teasingly indulgent. “Of course. You’re a splendid man, brave and strong and chivalrous. You are also brusque and, if I might say so, a little arrogant.”

  “Arrogant? Now, that’s unfair. I cannot defend myself and still proclaim humility.”

  “No, you cannot.” She shook her head and laughed again. “Didn’t Tavish once call you a haughty pup with more wag than tail?”

  “Not since I bested him with a sword.” He sat forward in the chair. He should have known she’d be a useless ally, pointing out his flaws instead of telling him how to defeat Fiona’s. “So, what would you suggest I do?” He could not keep the dryness from his voice.

  Vivienne rearranged her silk skirts. “Be nice to her.”

  Myles paused, waiting for an elaboration that never came.

  “That’s it? That’s your sage advice? Be nice to her?”

  “Yes. And be patient. The easiest course is often the best. Once she learns how kind you are, she’ll come around to the truth. You cannot force her to change her opinions, but give her time to see the error of her judgments. And until she does...just be nice.”

  More lopsided women’s logic. “I’ve already been nice,” he snapped.

  Vivienne sat up, her posture rigid. “By using tones such as that? I saw how you bungled things with her in your chamber, shooing the rest of us out like we were flies. Is that how you want your wife to see you treating women?”

  “I was shooing you out so I could be alone with her.”

  Vivienne sighed with feigned impatience. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Myles. Have you never caught a fish?”

  What possible bearing could that have on this matter? He should leave now and break with this conversation. “Of course I have.”

  “And did you take the bait and fling it at the fish’s head? No, of course not. You dipped your line into the water with a tempting morsel tied to the end, perhaps something shiny and intriguing. And then you waited and let the fish come to you. A woman is no different. Let her come to you, and she’ll be caught. But lose your patience, and you’ll have to start all over again.”

  This was why women were not allowed on the battlefield. Such unorthodox tactics.

  There was some sense to what she said, perhaps, but his patience and Fiona seemed always at odds with each other. Nonetheless, it was worth the sm
allest effort, for he had no greater alternatives. He picked up the lumpy cushion from the floor and tucked it back behind him. “I shall endeavor to be nice.”

  “Excellent. Your natural charm is sure to win her over. In the meantime, you might show her around a bit. She’s seen little of Dempsey. Now that Cedric is feeling better, perhaps you could show her the gardens or take her to the village. And perhaps take Alyssa along. That should cheer Fiona.”

  The village. Yes, that might work. He had business there to settle, and she could go along. With his father incapacitated, it fell to him to see that all was well with their tenants. He could take her this very afternoon.

  He stood, feeling more optimistic than he had upon his entrance, and set about making plans to woo his wife.

  CHAPTER 22

  THEY RODE OUT past the immense guard towers, over the old stone bridge, and into the lush green countryside. Fiona followed on a mild palfrey as her husband guided his destrier northward, away from the village and toward the rugged shoreline of Loch Fyne. The sun was high in the sky, sending rays of warmth their way, and no swollen clouds threatened to dampen their excursion. God, who seemed forever inclined to rain on Fiona, kept a serving of sunshine reserved for His most favored Campbells.

  Alyssa rode next to Fiona on a spirited, high-stepping mare. The lass kept up a constant stream of happy chatter, and Fiona was glad for the company of Myles’s sister. Her presence was a welcome buffer and saved Fiona from having to converse with Myles directly.

  The horses nickered and pranced as if the balmy day brought them joy as well. Fiona, Myles, and his sister ambled over the hillocks, spotting hares and deer, and an occasional crofter’s cottage, until they reached one edge of Loch Fyne. They stopped a moment to admire its beauty and the dark water rippling against the rocky shore. Fiona turned her face up to the sky. The breeze was soft and sweet, with no hint of the brine often present on the winds near her home. It was a lovely day, and even Myles’s constant presence and his frequent looks in her direction could not spoil that.

  He’d said nothing more of Cedric’s supposed confession. In fact, his manner was pure charm, as if a cross word had never passed between them. He’d been solicitous when they were still in the bailey, helping Fiona mount her horse. He had adjusted her stirrups with great care and let his hand linger on her ankle. She’d watched emotions play across his face for the space of one heartbeat and then another. She thought he had meant to run his hand up her calf right there in the yard. But his fingers had stayed put, and his smile was enigmatic when he’d glanced up at her. Now he merely rode along, that same relaxed look upon his features as he pointed out aspects of the landscape for Fiona and told her bit about their history.

  After a few miles, they circled back around and headed toward the village just north of the castle.

  “Myles taught me to ride,” Alyssa said as they went on. She looked pretty and petite, riding high upon her saddle, and she handled her mount expertly.

  “I had little choice,” he responded. “’Twas either teach you to ride or let you forever clamor upon my back. My knees did not enjoy it. Nor did I take well to the switch.”

  Alyssa giggled brightly. “I never once struck you with a switch.”

  “I remember well you did. And often too. You were merciless.”

  “’Twas a ribbon, you silly goose.”

  “Well, then you wielded it harshly, for it stung like a switch,” he teased.

  She laughed aloud. “Forgive me, brother. I had no idea you possessed so tender a rump.”

  In an instant, the word brought a furious blush to Fiona’s cheeks, eliciting a memory of that very same rump on their wedding night. Tender, indeed. It had felt of pure muscle beneath her hand. She coughed to clear her throat of nothing more than air.

  Myles looked at her askance but said nothing.

  The conversation continued, relaying nothing of import, but it struck within Fiona an acute aching for Margaret. She missed her sister more each day, but never more so than when she was with Alyssa. The girl was sweet and calm, innocent as spring rain. Even her laughter sounded so like Margaret’s, Fiona could close her eyes and imagine her own sister was next to her.

  How she longed to send her a note and let her know she was safe and well. But in that letter, she would also have to reveal what happened to Bess, and she could not yet put the incident into words. As it was, she was not even certain if the Campbells knew she had a sister. For some strange reason, she had kept all thoughts of Margaret to herself, reluctant to share them, as if keeping her a secret kept her closer to Fiona’s heart.

  She was grateful a few moments later when they arrived in the village, for thoughts of home had made her misty-eyed and sad.

  All along the thoroughfare, shops of every sort lined up, with vendors out in front, hawking their wares. But at the sight of their laird’s son and daughter, the townsfolk stopped in their actions and began to call out greetings. They offered broad waves and eager smiles, and soon, groups of them surged forth in welcome. As each one called out to the next, more and more villagers poured out of the buildings, followed by dozens of children. So grand a welcome Fiona had never seen. It was as if they were royalty.

  Stopping at the square in the center of the village, her husband slid from his saddle and greeted each person fondly, and often by name. It seemed he knew them well, and their respect for him was evident in their deportment. They were enthusiastic but respectful, none being so bold as to touch his garment or interrupt his words.

  Her own kin displayed no such warmth with one another. Doubt tapped at her senses, but just as quickly, she dashed it away. ’Twas easy to be friendly when times were good and food was plentiful. So although there may be less familiarity among her clan, their loyalty was no less fierce.

  Myles continued with his greetings as he reached up to help Alyssa from her saddle. He set her lightly upon the ground, and she was quickly swallowed by a throng of friendly women.

  Next, he came to Fiona’s side.

  “Friends,” he called out over the din of voices, “please allow me to introduce my wife. I bid you welcome Lady Fiona Campbell, late of Sinclair and now one of our own.”

  One of their own. The declaration should have burned like a brand, but instead, she felt a peculiar swell of dignity encompass her. She was their lady now. Not the daughter of the laird, nor even the sister. She was his wife and would one day be the lady of Dempsey Castle. How odd that she had not considered that sooner. And more odd still that the notion should give her pleasure.

  She looked over the crowd and saw their friendly faces. She let loose a breath she’d not realized she’d been holding.

  “Welcome, my lady.”

  “’Tis grand to meet you, my lady.”

  “What a blessed day to meet our mistress.”

  The wave of bodies surged once more, surrounding her horse and reaching up to clasp Fiona’s hands in welcome until Myles laughed. “Back off, now. Let my lady off her horse.”

  He raised his arms and gazed at her expectantly. She had no choice but to ease into his arms. He was the devil wearing a leather jerkin and her husband’s smile.

  And down she slid.

  He could have simply lifted her from the saddle and set her on the ground, but so fine an opportunity he could not let pass. Instead, he pulled her close against him, letting her body slide down along his own. It was a mistake, he realized in an instant, for his cock sprang to life as if she were naked beneath him. The scent of vanilla wafted past, and he knew it came not from the baker’s shop, but from his wife’s warm skin. Her essence. Heaven help him, was this lass the poison or the cure?

  ’Twas little difference, really, for he’d consume her either way.

  Her hands gripped at his shoulders, and he could not stop the vision of her legs wrapped around him too. Her lips were plump and parted as he lowered her farther still. The need to kiss her clubbed him like a mace. He could do it, here and now. His people would cheer and thin
k him an adoring bridegroom.

  But her reaction he could not predict, and he’d not be rejected in front of his clan.

  He swallowed and set her feet upon the ground harder than he had planned, and she looked at him in some surprise.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, and maneuvered her by the shoulders so she was standing right in front of him. He needed that moment to tame his wicked thoughts and rein in his stubborn erection.

  “I have business with a few of you,” he called out. “And my wife and sister and I should like to stay for supper.”

  “You can do business at my inn, my lord,” called out a gruff voice. “Best ale and cleanest tables!”

  A chorus of voices called out their objections and their own offers for Myles to consider.

  He raised one hand, laughing again. “Thank you, Tom. Your taproom will do nicely. I thank you all for your fine suggestions.”

  Alyssa came to his side then. “I can lead Fiona around, Myles. I’m sure the ladies will show us the greatest of care.”

  “Indeed we will,” added an orange-haired miss with enormous teeth and a flour-coated apron. “Come to my shop, my ladies. My biscuits are the finest this side of Edinburgh. Light as air, they are.”

  Fiona looked over her shoulder at him, as if to ask permission. He thought to make a joke of that but bit his tongue. Vivi had admonished him to be nice, and so he merely smiled and caught Fiona’s wrist. He lifted it and pressed a tender kiss against the back of her hand. “The afternoon is yours, my lady. Do whatever you wish. If you see something you’d like to buy, you may. I’ll settle the accounts when we are finished here.”

  She looked perplexed, as if his words were foreign, but she did not snatch her hand away. Then, just as quick as he had spoken, Alyssa giggled and pulled his wife in the direction of the baker’s shop. He watched them go, Fiona’s dark-red curls shiny amid the muddy browns and dull yellows tucked beneath the modest caps of the other women.