Highland Surrender

by Tracy Brogan

  Old Tom approached, grinning wide in spite of an alarming lack of teeth. “You do me an honor, my lord. You know my place is right this way.”

  With a final glance toward his retreating wife, Myles turned to follow his clansmen to the inn. He hoped the business for today would be simple and quick. He was in no mood to linger over trivial matters of runaway sheep or one man’s goat getting into another man’s garden. He was here today to demonstrate a good show of faith, to build the clan’s confidence in his wisdom and sense of justice in the absence of his father, but mostly, he wanted to be done with all that and follow his wife into the baker’s shop and feed her sugared pastries.

  He shook his head against the vision. That girl was a ridiculous distraction.

  Settled at the taproom with a mug of ale, Myles sent out old Tom to spread the word he was ready to hear of any grievances or requests his townsfolk might have. His hope for a quick afternoon was quickly dashed as a line formed outside the taproom. He took a hearty gulp of the ale and signaled Tom’s wife to pour him another. Then he called in his first case.

  There were complaints about a randy bull that continued to get loose despite the farmer’s best efforts to contain him, a plea for funds to repair a leaky roof over the gristmill, and a dispute over whether a man should be charged for bacon stolen by his dog. The last issue of the day was a man asking permission for his daughter to wed a Mackenzie. Myles consented, for the Mackenzies were a good sort, and he could not resist the girl’s pleading eyes as she peeked at him around her father’s shoulder. The father seemed relieved, and the day’s business ended on a happy note.

  Myles drained his cup, thanked the innkeeper, and went in search of his wife and sister.

  He meandered down the lane, back toward the square, wondering how they’d spent their morning. With Alyssa as his emissary, no doubt the two of them dawdled over pretty ribbons and baubles and perhaps another gown or two. His coffers would be the lighter for it, but if it provided a means to an end and a more malleable wife, then it would be well worth the funds. This he pondered as he walked and wondered at his sudden sentimentality, for he realized it was not simply peace he sought with Fiona. He did indeed wish her happiness. It seemed, from the little she’d confessed of her past, she’d known little of pleasure or joy, while he’d had an abundance, more than enough to share. He chuckled to himself and thought perhaps the ale had taken a toll, but he’d had only a cup.

  “My lord,” came a voice over his shoulder.

  He turned to see the goldsmith standing in the door of his shop.

  “Yes?”

  “My lord, I wonder if I might invite you in and show you something your lady admired. If I may be so bold to say so, it would make a fine wedding gift.”

  Ah, so the little minx had been looking at shiny baubles. He went into the shop and was promptly shown a gold necklace of fine craftsmanship. At the center was an emerald, much the shape and color of the ring Fiona now wore. It was an exquisite piece, and the price was beyond reasonable.

  Myles looked at the clerk. “Are you sure she liked this one?”

  The man nodded. “Quite certain, my lord. She even tried it on, and may I say, it looked even more beautiful on her lovely throat.” He cleared his own.

  “Why didn’t she buy it?” Myles asked.

  The shopkeeper flushed. “She said it was far too expensive, although the Lady Alyssa assured her it was not.”

  Myles smiled. ’Twas just the thing to bait a hook, shiny and alluring. He’d show Vivi he knew how to fish, for women were swayed by jewels. Even he knew that.

  “I shall take it.”

  The smith’s eyes sparkled like the jewels. “Very good, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”

  They finished their transaction, and Myles went on his way, now in search of his bride with a fine gift to offer.

  He made his way to the square, and just beyond it, he could see the hillside rising up beyond the edge of the village. And there, sitting upon blankets, were dozens of women, with children all around. The sound of their chatter carried on the breeze. It seemed his lady had joined in on a picnic, for surely she was with them.

  He tucked the bag containing the necklace inside his doublet, for he’d do well to save this gem until they were alone. Perhaps she’d reward his generosity with a kiss. The thought warmed him as much as the fast pace he kept.

  Up the hill he went and spotted his wife, sitting on a plaid next to his sister, along with a dark-haired girl whose name escaped him. Fiona leaned back, propped on her palms with her blue skirts puddled around her like a satin pond. A little girl of six or so was weaving flowers into her hair.

  His gut twisted, not from exertion, but from the vision itself. His wife, with a chubby-handed child in attendance. Fiona looked so happy, smiling at something Alyssa said, then tipping back her head and letting loose a full-throated laugh. A flower floated down from her hair to the grass. She picked it up and sniffed its aroma before handing it back to the child.

  All around, children played, running in patterns and giggling, while their mothers chirped like happy sparrows. The image blessed him, for these were his people, and they were well cared for. He was proud and silently vowed that, when his time as laird truly came, he’d see that they remained as prosperous.

  Fiona had yet to notice his approach, and when Alyssa caught his eye, he pressed one finger against his lips to silence her.

  But his wife’s words stopped him. “My little sister is so much like you, Alyssa. How she makes me laugh. At least, she did until I had to leave her behind.”

  Alyssa patted Fiona’s hand. “Then we must bring her to Dempsey for a long visit.”

  He stood a moment, his chest thumping in a most peculiar fashion. She had a sister? How had he not known this?

  He cleared his throat, and Fiona looked at him in surprise, her cheeks flushing red as if she’d been overheard saying something much more scandalous.

  “Ladies.” Myles tipped his head. “May I join you?”

  Fiona licked her lips and fussed with her skirts, but his sister smiled brightly.

  “Of course. Please do.” Alyssa moved over, making a space for him next to his wife.

  He settled down between the women and tried to catch Fiona’s gaze, but his wife seemed intent upon twisting the ribbon in her hands and in no mood to welcome him. He leaned down over her lap and looked up at her so there was no avoiding him.

  “How was your afternoon, my lady?” he asked, and sat back up.

  “Fine, my lord.”

  He tugged at the ribbon she held. “Did you buy this?”

  She shook her head, still avoiding him. “No, ’twas a gift from one of the children.”

  He looked around. “Which one?”

  She pointed. “That lass over there, with the braids.”

  He saw the girl running circles with a scampering group of children all about her age. Seven or eight years old, he imagined. And how old is Fiona’s sister? he could not help but wonder. But his wife had turned her head in the other direction, and so he tucked the question away, along with a list of others.

  It struck him then how little he knew about his own wife. He knew her irascible temper, of course. And her impetuous nature, and the way her eyes glinted when he said something that offended. He knew how soft her lips were, and the sweet taste of that curve in her neck. And that she’d had a pony when she was a child. But other than those few things, he knew nothing of her life before their marriage.

  “How did you pass the time today?” he asked instead, thinking the question so banal that surely she could take no issue with it. Then he held back a sigh of frustration while his sister answered in her stead and regaled him with every excruciating detail of their adventures. And Fiona’s gaze landed everywhere, except on him.

  CHAPTER 23

  RIDING BACK TO Dempsey, her husband seemed subdued. He’d been pleasant enough when he joined them on the blankets, yet something in his manner hinted at distress. She did
n’t care, of course, but his moods changed like the weather, and with less warning. Now he rode in silence next to her, as if his thoughts were heavy. But like their ride earlier in the day, his eyes kept coming back to rest on her. She felt his glances, like butterfly wings, resting and then fluttering away.

  Alyssa rode a length behind them, humming softly to herself.

  The sun began its descent over the mountains, turning them purple in the distance, and clouds cushioned the sky. It would rain soon. The horses sensed it and pulled at their bits.

  “Did you enjoy the day?” Myles asked at last.

  “I did. Thank you for inviting me.” She could be gracious, if she wanted to.

  “Thank you for accepting,” he replied with a tilt of his head.

  They rode another minute, and the wind picked up, setting sail to a flower in her hair. She caught it with her fingertips, embarrassed. “Oh, I’d forgotten about these.” She reached up to pluck the others out.

  “Don’t,” he said. “They look lovely. You should always wear flowers in your hair.”

  He seemed in every way to be earnest, but she felt exposed and on display. She let the petals fall from her hand but left the other buds in place. To pull them out now would seem defiant, and they’d had such an agreeable day she thought not to shatter it with impertinence.

  Another silence fell, with only the soft footfalls of the horses’ hooves upon the grass sounding out, and the occasional call of a bird.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister?”

  Her husband’s question, though delivered in a soft tone, still dealt a blow. She wasn’t certain until that moment if he had heard her say so.

  “You never asked.”

  “No, I didn’t. And yet, that seems the sort of detail which might have arisen without my prodding. Where was she when I was at Sinclair Hall?”

  “Hidden.” Fiona gripped the reins more tightly.

  “Hidden? Why? Is she malformed?”

  She frowned at his base assumption. “Quite the opposite. She is the fairest imaginable.”

  “Then why hide her?”

  “Because there was no need for you to meet her.” She could not keep the warning tone from her voice.

  Now he frowned. It was obvious in his expression he thought her answers deliberately evasive, yet his voice was steady. “I should think she’d want to see her own sister wed. You’re not telling me the whole truth of it.”

  Fiona took in his rigid posture and realized there was no harm in telling him now. Margaret was safe at Sinclair Hall, and he no longer posed a threat.

  She met his gaze squarely. “Had you seen Margaret, you might not have settled for me.”

  Her husband paused, his manner lightening noticeably. “You feared I’d wed her instead?”

  “Perhaps.”

  His lips twitched. His shoulders rose another degree. “I was betrothed to you, Fiona. But I confess, I’m flattered by your worry.”

  Ah, the arrogance of the man. Such a Campbell. He thought it was sisterly jealousy that had made her keep Margaret from his sight. A sour taste crept up her throat, and she could not keep her words at bay.

  “There is no flattery implied, my lord. I sought only to protect my sister from your advances. I would not force her into my situation.”

  The humor fell away. His eyes went dark and narrow. His voice lowered to a growl. “Of course. For a moment, I forgot your distaste for this marriage and the way I’ve abused you. Praise God your sister’s fate is not so abysmal as your own.”

  With a fast kick to the flanks, he spurred his horse into a gallop and rode away without a backward glance.

  He was a fool. That little bit of ale from the inn must have addlepated his senses, for he’d sat upon that blanket all afternoon, pondering ways to make his wife adore him. But she was equally determined not to. Protect my sister from your advances, indeed! He could buy Fiona a dozen emerald necklaces, and still she’d see him as her enemy. Myles rode across the bridge, his horse’s hooves clattering over the stones like warning bells. In the ward, he jumped from his saddle, tossed his reins to a groom, and strode into the hall.

  “Bring drinks to the laird’s chamber,” he told a serving girl, for he had a strong urge to sit by his father’s side and ask once more how on God’s green earth the man had found himself in love with Aislinn Sinclair. She must have been far sweeter than her daughter.

  He entered his father’s chamber, glad to see him sitting upright in his bed. Marietta sat beside him, a book of psalms in her lap. Myles crossed the room and bent to kiss her cheek.

  “Greetings, Mother, Father. You’re looking well, sir.”

  Cedric’s chuckle ended in a wet cough. “I’m hearty as a newborn kitten, but you’re a loyal son to humor me.”

  His father’s words were not far from the truth. He was wan, his color mottled at the temple where one injury could still be seen. The gash was healing, but the bruise remained. His arm was in a bright silk sling, a fanciful bit of frippery in stark contrast to its intended purpose. His other injuries were hidden beneath a fine linen shirt. Another bit of impracticality, but one must put on the appearance of having dressed in one’s best. That shirt must have been his mother’s doing.

  “How was your trip to the village with Fiona?” his mother asked.

  “Quite productive, Mother. Father, you’ll be glad to hear old Bigsby’s bull is still rutting his days away, impregnating every maiden cow in his path.”

  “Myles!”

  His mother only feigned shock. He knew well enough he could not scorch her ears.

  “My apologies, Mother. Perhaps you would excuse us while I tell Father about the more mundane details of my day’s events?”

  His father nodded. “You’ve sat by my side long enough, Mari, and I’m dull company. Go find something to gossip about with that sister of yours.”

  His mother looked about to refuse, but his father prompted once more. “Go on with you.”

  She rose, resting the book of psalms on the table next to the window. “Very well. I shall retire for the evening. Good night, my love. Good night, son.”

  After the door closed, Myles sank into the seat his mother had just vacated, and propped his feet up on his father’s bed. “There is not much else to tell. Simple matters, easily rectified. The gristmill needs a new roof.”

  The serving girl from the hall arrived with several cups and a pitcher of wine. She set the tray on the table and then handed a full goblet to Myles.

  “Can you drink, Father?” he asked.

  “Of course I can. I’m not dead.”

  The girl handed him a goblet as well and then with a fast curtsy was on her way.

  Cedric took a long draught, sighing afterward. “Ah, that’s the stuff. The surgeon has me eating gruel. As if that could bring back a man’s strength. What else did you encounter today? Did I hear your mother correctly? Fiona joined you?”

  Myles pulled his feet from the bed, and they thumped to the floor before he leaned forward in his chair. “Aye, she joined me. And we had a pleasant day until the end. Father, do you recall all you shared with me during your fever?”

  Cedric took another hearty swallow. “I do.”

  Myles scratched his head. “Well, I shared a bit of that news with my wife, and she is wholly disbelieving. ’Tis clear her own mother kept the secret as well as you.”

  Cedric sighed. “I had hoped to never tell you any of it at all. But this attack has made me ponder my mortality, and if I die before the truce has taken root, all will be for naught.”

  Unease clutched at Myles’s gut to hear his father speak of dying. They faced it every day, of course, but never before had the earl been so harrowingly close to its edge.

  “But why is this truce with the Sinclairs so important? It’s little matter to Aislinn now, as she’s no longer here.”

  “I’m here.” His father’s face flushed with color as he spoke. “And I vowed to protect her children. The promise is no les
s binding.”

  “And you hope to protect Fiona and the others by aligning them with us and the king?” He took a gulp from his own cup.

  The earl nodded. “There is that.”

  Myles choked a little on his ale. “Is there more?”

  His father drained his cup. “Some of my secrets I shall keep.”

  Blast his father and these secrets. He was being coy again, and it was frustrating. “Father, I cannot lead effectively without knowing all you have to impart. If there is more, tell me now.”

  But Cedric only held his cup out to be refilled. Myles picked up the jug from the table and filled the goblet.

  “You know there is a chance it was the Sinclairs behind that ambush, yes?” Myles asked, irritation clear in his voice.

  The earl considered this a moment. “I spoke at length with John at your wedding, Myles. He seems a sensible sort, and I trust he sees the value in this truce. He’s not ruled by blunt emotion as his brother is.”

  “Aye, but it’s his brother who is laird.”

  “True. But I cannot think why Simon would agree to the marriage and then seek to undo its purpose. Your mother tells me Tavish has gone off to inform King James of our attack. Mark my words, if he learns anything at all, it will be that Archibald Douglas is behind this somehow.”

  “But Archibald Douglas has been in London for years, since the king exiled him.”

  “Aye, and Douglas is a serpent whispering into the ear of England’s sovereign. No two men conspire more to knock James from his throne, for if our king is indisposed, Douglas will return home and once again lead the regency ruling Scotland.”

  “Douglas has no true claim. He is the king’s stepfather, nothing more.”

  “Aye, but still married to the king’s mother. And since James has no heirs as of yet, Douglas is still next in line. And there are many powerful clans who would love to see him back at the helm, for it would benefit them.”