The Highlander's Enigmatic Bride: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  “Come up,” Helen insisted, wanting her husband to be close to her.

  “How are ye, me dearest love?” He sat on the bed and laid their daughter on her chest.

  “I am tired but relaxed,” Lady Duggal mused, perplexed by her state of mind.

  “Should I be worried?” He teased, moving away.

  “Oh, aye, yer wife has gone to the loony hills,” she snorted.

  He kissed her forehead, “Rest, me love.”

  She balanced Isla on her chest. “Won’t ye hold yer little Isla?”

  His hand shook. “What if I drop her?” Laird Duggal

  Here was a man who had conquered so many clans, taken over so many lands. Yet, he sat in front of his daughter and all that bravery seemed a waste. He couldn’t trust himself to be strong enough to protect his daughter; she was so precious and fragile. Laird Duggal couldn’t ever trust anyone to protect her, not even himself.

  “Ye won’t,” Lady Duggal comforted him, noticing his hesitance.

  Holding Isla in his arms, he whispered to himself, “She’s so little…..”

  Overcome with emotion, He could feel his eyes water “Thank ye, Helen.” Laird Duggal sobbed. He had thought they would never be able to have children. The healer had said that Helen wouldn’t be able to conceive. Laird Duggal had been terrified when they learned Helen was pregnant; he was not willing to lose the love of his life for an heir.

  The Laird had suffered in the past few months.

  He saw how breathless Helen became whenever the baby moved inside her body. She was becoming fragile; she tired easily with little excursions, and he ached to see her in pain.

  “Promise me something,” she said.

  “Anything, me dearie.”

  “If anything happens to me” Lady Duggal began, but Laird Duggal placed his hand on her mouth.

  “Why do ye speak of such times? Nothing will happen to ye,” he insisted, trying to reassure himself more than her.

  “Aye, but, ye must promise me. Promise me ye’ll do whatever it takes to make our Isla happy.”

  He took a big breath. “I promise.”

  She held out her hand to him. “Ye must promise to not let tears enter her eyes because of us.”

  He placed his rough hand on her soft one. “I promise.”

  She asked for one last promise. “Ye must promise that never will our Isla be upset because of us.”

  “Aye, I promise,” Laird Duggal swore. He meant every promise he made. “Till the last breath is in me, I will protect our Isla and vow to make her happy.”

  “I love ye, me sweetheart,” she whispered against his lips.

  Fergus couldn’t love this woman any more than he already did. Squeezing her arm; he looked into her eyes. “I love ye, me Lady,” and then kissed her

  Isla began to whine the moment her parents kissed; they pulled back laughing freely.

  “I think she doesn’t approve of the idea of having more siblings,” Laird Duggal laughed, making Lady Duggal blush.

  The small family stayed on the bed as Lady Duggal fed Isla, who quietened down and settled in for her afternoon nap. Her life had only begun, but already it was colorful. She was adored by all, most of all by the little boy waiting downstairs for Isla to wake up. He waited for her to grow big, so they could play together. No one would have it any other way.

  Chapter 2

  Quarreling Friends

  The Great Hall echoed with the sound of the new father, Laird Fergus of Duggal, boasting and entertaining his guests. His wife sat on his right side, holding her head out of annoyance as her husband continued to tell everyone about their first kiss.

  “That’s enough, dearie,” Helen interjected, her faced turned red; he was giving a little too much detail

  “Oh, come on! The world sings praise of our love,” Laird Duggal said to a round of cheers.

  The whole castle was present in the Great Hall, enjoying the first feast since the princess’ birth. This was a cause for celebration and tonight was just the beginning. Another grander feast was being held in three days for the princess’ birth; guests from near and far were invited to help commemorate the event. Helen didn’t know how she would be able to gather the strength to join the feast and play hostess; inside she was dying by the second.

  Even now, Lady Duggal sat holding her seat with a fear of falling and was wincing even at the slightest jostle. She was losing more and more strength, but with it she was gaining determination. Not to survive but to pretend. Hence, she sat and laughed and blushed at her loud husband’s jokes.

  “I’m sure.” Helen rolled her eyes as Agatha giggled, bending over to whisper in Helen’s ear.

  Agatha was fretting over her friend’s health. “Are ye tired?”

  “Nay, nay. I am fine,” Helen lied, shrugging it off.

  “How did ye meet?” Laird McDonald asked Laird Duggal, “I can sense it is a great story.”

  “That, it is.” Laird Duggal agreed, “I abducted her, to extract revenge on her da!”

  “Oh, my!” Agatha stated, surprised.

  “It’s true. Me poor Da had to worry about this oaf abducting me, over territorial dispute,” Helen snorted, making everyone laugh at the expense of the Laird.

  “Served him right! I was young and wanting to win me father’s appraisal.” Fergus exclaimed. “I was to discuss the matter of us taking their lands with her father. The poor lad didn’t listen, so I took what I could!”

  The crowd’s laughing loudly only encouraged Laird Duggal to continue his story with fervor and excitement. He loved to entertain his guests with tales of his adventure, but by far, his most loved story was his love story.

  “Gave me Da a rightful scare,” Helen quipped, making him turn red from embarrassment.

  “Well anyways, I had this one in ropes, and I took her into the forest,” Laird Duggal continued recalling.

  “Force, ye mean,” Helen annoyed him.

  “I’m telling the story, me Lady,” Laird Duggal sighed, much to everyone’s joy.

  “In the forest, she wouldn’t eat or drink. She wouldn’t even look at me without scowling,” Laird Duggal told everyone, with a glowing expression.

  “Until he saved me,” Helen continued in his place, with a softer expression etched on her face.

  “Saved ye?” Agatha was curious to find out.

  Unlike Laird and Lady Duggal, Agatha and Jon, the Laird of McDonald, had a more conventional love story. They had met when both were attending a royal ball in the McDonald Castle, to celebrate Laird McDonald’s seventeenth birthday. His father had been the Laird at that time while Jon was simply a young, handsome prince. Agatha and Jon had shared their first dance in the ball; followed by their first conversation in the hallway, and their first kiss in the private gardens next to Jon’s chambers.

  It was only a matter of months before they were in love and ready for marriage.

  Despite having been friends for so long, Agatha had never heard Helen bring up her own adventurous love story. The reason was evident as Helen kept blushing a deep red out of shyness and embarrassment

  “I didn’t save her. We just ran into a pack of wolves and I shot them down with me bow and arrow,” Laird Duggal clarified as Helen shook her head.

  “He covered me body with his, and they bit him everywhere, but he didn’t move from fear they’d do the same to me.” Helen corrected, fondly staring at her husband. “I knew then this was the only man I’d ever love.”

  “What about yer father?” Laird McDonald asked Helen.

  “He was hesitant at first, but Fergus’s father talked to him, and he accepted the proposal.” Helen answered, smiling ruefully.

  “And I earned meself barter as dowry!” Laird Duggal burst out laughing. All the men joined in; the women rolled their eyes and shook their heads.

  “I remember her father had been anti-British and didn’t agree with our policy,” Fergus turned to whisper to Jon.

  Agatha braced herself, shared an anxious look with
Helen; both women realized what was to come. The only reason that Jon and Fergus ever fought was over their differences in opinion about the British troops. While Jon didn’t think it wise to trust them; Fergus held a different view altogether. Fergus was, in fact, a very close friend of the many Earls already ruling most of their native Scotland. Jon felt infuriated whenever he heard of another boundary falling under British’s control. Fergus and Jon quarreled only over this. Jon wanted to drive them out; Fergus wanted to make peace with them.

  “Rightfully so.” Jon said, “I don’t think those bastards deserve to rule our lands.”

  “They rule more justly than some of us can even dare to imagine!” Fergus retorted, haughtily.

  Suddenly Jon became serious. “Because they trick ye with their elegance and rob us.”

  “Jon…” Agatha whispered, holding her husband down by placing her hand on his thigh. “Please?”

  Jon was getting out of his chair. “Hmm, I think we should head back. Ewan is tired from the day.”

  Everyone stood out of respect and Agatha rushed to say goodbye to Helen, who looked slightly amused.

  “Every time,” Helen giggled as Agatha groaned.

  “Aye,” Agatha said, laughing along. “Now, ye take good care. I will come see ye tomorrow.”

  “Don’t worry,” Helen reassured, kissing Agatha’s cheek.

  “Shall we, Me Lady?” Laird McDonald asked Agatha, taking her fur coat from the wench who stood waiting.

  “Oh, stop will ye?” Agatha scolded, feeling irritated. “Ye always do this.”

  Feeling chagrined, Jon explained, “He never stops once ye bring up the British rascals. It’s not me fault.”

  “It’s both of yours fault.” Agatha snapped. “Behaving like children.”

  “It is late though so we must head back,” Jon reasoned, feeling a bit belittled.

  Only his wife could get away with scolding and reprimanding Jon the fierce and mighty Laird of McDonald.

  Jon shuddered to think what would happen when Fergus would give into their agenda and hand over his own land to them. Jon refused to be neighbors with the British; a nation that was slowly and steadfastly taking over the Scottish Highlands and marking it as their own.

  “Thank ye for hosting us, Laird Duggal,” Agatha said to Fergus.

  “It was me pleasure,” Fergus answered, kindly, before turning to Jon who looked utterly sour.

  “Jon,” Fergus nodded once.

  “Fergus,” Jon replied, tipping his head forward before turning to exit the Great Hall with his wife and child.

  “Ye both are such wee boys,” Agatha commented as they headed to the carriage waiting outside.

  “Ye won’t understand, honey,” Jon groaned, holding a sleeping Ewan close to his chest.

  “Oh, pray tell what I don’t understand,” Agatha remarked as they sat inside the carriage.

  “For one, Fergus is too naïve, and they’ll use him,” Jon answered her, soberly. “For another, he wants to be used by them.”

  “Oh, me dear husband, that is not true. Whatever does it even mean?” Agatha asked, exasperatedly.

  “It means that our dear Fergus is simply fascinated and impressed by the British. He wants to show them that he is no less.” Jon tried to explain properly so as not to confuse Agatha more. “Yet, they only see him as a pawn. They will trick him into getting his land.”

  “Jon, Fergus is a smart man. Ye only think this because he doesn’t agree with ye. We never know, Ewan may grow up to share the same view. Ye need to respect Fergus’ opinion,” Agatha tried to reason.

  “Oh blimey, woman! Me son will never grow up loving the British. He knows where his loyalties lie,” Jon scoffed, apparently offended by Agatha’s assumption.

  Agatha sighed inwardly, rolling her eyes at her husband’s lack of understanding and sometimes even compassion. Jon was a just leader with a sound composure and openness to listen to everyone. Yet, all of that went out of the window if anyone dared defend or advocate for the British in front of him. Agatha wondered if his inability to overcome his prejudice would become the end of him. Agatha knew bringing any of this up would upset her husband and tried to change the subject swiftly.

  “Let’s hope so,” Agatha smiled, offering peace.

  “Huh, Ewan? Yer Mama thinks ye will make friendship with the bad British,” Jon nudged young Ewan awake; he looked around, clueless, trying to figure out what was going on.

  “What?” Ewan asked in his sleepy childlike voice.

  “There ye go! Ye’ve woken him up now,” Agatha simpered, folding her hands angrily.

  “We’re home anyways,” Jon defended, feeling guilty.

  “Da, why is Mama sad?” Ewan asked, inquisitive as ever.

  Even for a three-year-old, Ewan was quite perceptive, noticing things most adults would easily miss. Jon was so very grateful that his son had been born with his mother’s mind. Agatha was after all one of the most sensible and ferocious women Jon had met.

  Agatha still teased Jon relentlessly for the way he had acted on the night they met, awkward and clumsy. He had been intensely taken aback by her beauty and grace. He had seen her in the competitions and across town but had never paid a lot of attention to her. Agatha was not one to run after ball gowns and perfected hair. She was a tough girl who would roam around in her mud-stained dress, with her hair tied in a bun and a kerchief wrapped around to hold the strands back as she played rough on the fields. Perhaps that had been the reason her beauty had been so easily concealed from Jon’s eyes.

  However, when she arrived at the ball, Jon was completely taken aback. Instead of the girl covered in mud and sweat, he had met a fairy dressed in the prettiest of clothes with the most delicate of faces. Her features, so exquisite, had been highlighted by the different setting. Jon had shaken while asking her to dance but Agatha had taken charge, holding his hand and pulling him onto the dance floor. It was only a matter of minutes before both were talking like they had known each other forever. After finishing their dance, Jon had led Agatha out of the ballroom to talk to her and get to know her better.

  Even then, he had been drawn to her completely, through mind, body, and soul. He had felt a connection he never felt before. Jon had seen his mother nudge her father, who had given him an approving look and Jon continued to talk to Agatha. They were sitting on the private garden bench, talking and laughing when the moonlight broke through the trees and cascaded on Agatha’s already glowing skin. Their eyes met for a second before their lips met, molding into one pair, passionately.

  Unlike Fergus and Helen, Agatha and Jon didn’t have to fight to get married. If anything, their parents were more than happy to give their blessing. Things had worked out perfectly well for them. They had courted for a few months before Jon had presented the proposal, which Agatha’s parents had accepted. Agatha had been hesitant, much to everyone’s surprise. Instead of saying yes right there and then, Agatha had asked for time to think and had left the clan boundaries for her cousin’s estate somewhere in the North. Jon had racked his brain trying to understand what had gone wrong but couldn’t find any explanation.

  He had patiently waited for her reply, hoping and praying each day that she would say yes. A few weeks later her letter arrived, and she asked Jon to come meet her at her cousin’s estate. Jon had wasted no time before packing his things and departing. He arrived at the estate within a week and stood facing his lover who couldn’t meet his eye. Jon felt his heartbreak, wondering if she had called him so far away only to reject him. Yet, Agatha hadn’t rejected him. Agatha had talked to him. She had asked him how she was to behave once she became Lady of the Castle. The fact of the matter was, Agatha, the free bird, had been scared to be chained down in the castle by the marriage.

  After much persuasion and negotiation, Agatha said yes. Jon had promised her that she would never be confined to act a certain way because she was married to him. Agatha had trusted his word, and to this day Jon kept it true. They had gotten marrie
d in the winter, and come the next winter, they had Ewan enter their lives. Their marriage rarely had any hurdles, except when one was being stubborn with the other. Usually, nothing lasted, unless Jon would refuse to apologize. That itself was a rarity as with Agatha, Jon would put down all his defenses. She had been with him through many obstacles, staying with him and supporting him. When Jon’s father passed away, Jon was bereft and confused. He didn’t know if he was ready to become Laird, but Agatha had pushed him to take the mantel, for his people’s happiness. Had it not been for Agatha, Jon couldn’t have lasted a day as the Laird.

  “Mama is sad because Da made her angry,” Jon explained to his son, snapping out of his reverie.

  He just couldn’t help worship at the feet of his wife.

  “Mama, Da is sorry,” Ewan called out, smiling cheekily at his mom.

  Agatha tried to keep a straight face but looking at her husband and son, smiling at her with such innocence made it difficult and she gave in, smiling back.

  “Why are ye fighting with me?” Jon asked, moving to sit next to Agatha.

  “Because sometime ye forget yer a father and Laird and become a young boy again,” Agatha told him, truthfully.

  “That is why yer here, to keep me on me toes,” Jon chuckled and kissed her cheek.

  “What if one day I’m not? Will ye keep fighting with Fergus and end yer friendship?” Agatha snapped at him, feeling afraid of the day she’d die.

  Agatha hadn’t ever thought about death; she had never had a reason to worry like this. She couldn’t imagine what would happen if she were to die and Ewan and Jon were going to be alone. She knew Jon would be heartbroken, and he would lose his closest friend and Agatha didn’t want to hurt him in such a way.

  And Ewan? Ewan would lose his mother, the woman he disliked being away from for more than an hour before throwing a tantrum. “Why do ye say that? Yer not going anywhere,” Jon said, adamantly.

  “Someday I will,” Agatha tried to reason with him.

  Even though she was perfectly healthy, Agatha had to ensure her husband was prepared for the worst out there. She had to make him ready for the possibility of her not being there with him one day.