Rowan's Lady

by Tisdale Suzan

  Frederick and Daniel stood, stretched their long arms and worked the kinks out of their backs.

  “I hear congratulations be in order,” Frederick said with a smile. “I hear the lass said aye and that ye were married last eve.”

  “Aye, she did and we were. In fact, ye be interruptin me husbandly duties. I must hurry back to me wife, now.”

  Frederick and Daniel chuckled. “Has she got ye by the shorthairs already?”

  Rowan flashed them a smile. “Nay, lads. By me heart.”

  It was well after the midnight hour when Rowan left his contented and satisfied wife asleep in their bed. Quietly, he donned his tunic, trews, and boots, wrapped his cloak about his shoulders and left their room. He made his way down quietly down the stairs. Silently, he passed by Thomas who had fallen asleep by the fire in the gathering room. He grabbed a candle from the mantle before opening the large wooden door that led outside.

  A rush of cold air swept in, bringing with it a bit of snow. The cold night air bit at his bare face and tickled the flame of the candle. Carefully, he closed the door behind him. He held one hand in front of the flame so that the night air would not extinguish it.

  Stars twinkled against the midnight sky as he crossed the courtyard and made his way to the empty kirk. His pace was quick, purposeful. He did not want to be away from Arline for too long, but there was something he needed to do.

  He quickly stepped inside the dark and empty kirk and made his way to the altar. He set his candle down and knelt before God. His heart was a blended mixture of joy and sorrow, contentment and the remnants of guilt. Much time passed as he thanked God for keeping Arline, his men, and his people safe. He thanked Him for bringing Arline into his life and asked that God guide him and help him to be a good husband to her.

  Slowly, he raised his head and looked upward, toward Heaven. “I’ve come to say goodbye to ye, Kate. I loved ye, with all me heart and I do miss ye. I am keepin’ the promise I made to ye. I ken it was a long time comin’, fer I was too much a coward to let ye memories go. I kept me heart to ye as long as I could, Kate. I ken ye didna want me to do that, but it was so hard lettin’ ye go.” He tried to choke back the tears, but ’twas impossible. They fell down his cheeks, leaving trails along his neck and dripping onto the collar of his cloak.

  “Lily is a good girl, Kate, much like ye,” he wiped his face on his arm and tried to regain some composure. “She loves Arline. ’Tisn’t how I pictured our lives bein’, livin’ without ye in it.” He took a deep, cleansing breath. “I ken in me heart that ’twas ye that sent Arline to Lily and to me. Arline is like ye in many ways. She’s kind, she’s fierce, and she’s verra good to us. I love her, Kate, verra much. She’s good fer me.”

  He wiped away more tears as he sat quietly, breathing in deeply. He did not want to return to Arline with tears running down his face. He doubted he would be able to explain it to her in any way that would make sense.

  “So, I’ve come to say goodbye, Kate.” He hung his head, not knowing what else he could say. He hoped Kate was looking down at him now, listening to him. Mayhap she could look into his heart and understand all that he was feeling, better than he could say it.

  “Ye needn’t say goodbye to her.”

  The voice came from behind him, startling him out of his quiet reverie. His heart lodged in his throat when he spun around to see Arline standing there. She shivered in the cold, wearing only her chemise and her cloak.

  “Arline,” he exclaimed as he searched for something intelligent to say to her.

  Arline walked to him, opened her arms wide and wrapped them around his torso. “Rowan, please, do no’ say goodbye to Kate. She be Lily’s mum. Lily needs to ken that she was important to ye. Ye canna forget her.”

  Rowan rested his chin on the top of Arline’s head. The love he felt for her grew by leaps and bounds as one moment passed to the next. Until a few months ago, he would not have believed such a love could exist.

  “I do no’ intend to ferget her, or let Lily ferget her.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It was just me way of lettin’ Kate ken that I’ve fulfilled the promises I made to her. I promised her I’d no’ keep me heart to meself, that I’d love another someday. I just wanted a moment to let her know.”

  Arline hugged him tighter. “She kens, Rowan. She kens.”

  They stayed in the kirk for a while longer, each of them kneeling in prayer, thankful that God had brought them together. When they were done, Rowan took his wife’s hand and led her back into the keep and up to their room.

  In the early morning hours before dawn, they expressed their love for one another in a slow, tender and gentle joining of their bodies, their hearts and souls. Arline fell asleep in the crook of her husband’s arm, knowing for the first time in her life what it felt like to love and be loved unconditionally.

  Prologue Frederick’s Queen

  Scotland, Summer 1355

  For years, Aggie McLaren had been well aware that her father was insane. Aye, that they were now on their way to see Rowan Graham to ask for his help in finding her a husband was all the proof anyone needed.

  Mermadak McLaren was dying. Aggie had known for weeks now. She had overheard the conversation between her father and the healer. He had a disease of the lungs and not much time left. Mayhap, a year at best. Aggie hadn’t needed a healer to tell her what she had suspected for weeks. His coughing fits had increased, he wheezed whenever he took a breath and he was beginning to lose weight. Death seemed inevitable.

  If her father would simply die and not worry over finding her a husband, she might begin to see a glimmer of hope for her future. But the arrogant, selfish man refused to die without leaving someone at the helm of his clan.

  ’Twas why they were on this hopeless trek. Aggie was his only child and being a female, she could not inherit nor could she take over a chief of Clan McLaren. She knew it wasn’t kindness of heart or worry over his only child’s future that motivated him. She knew it was his greed.

  Her father’s selfishness, his mean streak, would not allow him to simply appoint a successor. Nay, he wanted a young man he could mold into his own image. He wanted someone ruthless and unhindered by common standards of morality or decency to take over the reins. He wanted someone who could be just as brutal as himself.

  Since he did not trust anyone within his own clan to carry on his legacy, somewhere in the twisted regions of his mind, he concluded that a husband for Aggie was the only route to take.

  As they rode across the glen, she sat behind Donnel, her father’s first lieutenant, forced to hold on to the smelly man. A shudder of revulsion trickled down her back. Donnel was as mean as her father.

  Aggie learned long ago not to ask if her life could possibly get any worse, for when she did, “worse” would inevitably appear.

  A husband, she mused.

  By anyone’s standards, she was an old maid, long in the tooth at three and twenty. No one in his right mind would want to take her as a wife.

  Any man who would agree to such a union would have to be as tetched as her da. Or just as old, mayhap older. With her luck, he’d be just as mean and vicious as her father. Aggie knew there was no hope at finding a decent man. Decent men simply did not exist. Her proof lay in her encounters with harsh, callous, brutal men over the years.

  There had been a time, long ago, when she had been considered pretty. She used to laugh and sing, when her father was not around, of course. She had possessed a free spirit then, a fondness for life, a zest for living. That innocent, carefree little girl no longer existed. She died ten years ago.

  Now, Aggie was defective, damaged. With her scarred face, the slight limp left from an injury inflicted years ago, she could no longer be considered pretty. She no longer laughed, or sang. She didn’t even speak.

  It wasn’t that she couldn’t speak. Nay, she was fully capable. But her father detested the sound of her voice. “Yer voice makes me ears bleed!” He needed to tell her that only once.
Self-preservation had forced her into her false state of muteness.

  They’d be at Rowan Graham’s keep very soon. If there was a God -- for years now she had questioned His existence -- He would open up the earth and allow it to swallow her whole. Any attempts to reason with Mermadak, even if he would allow her to speak, would be ignored.

  To speak, to voice her opinion, to share her thoughts would mean a beating. And Mermadak McLaren had never shown any mercy when inflicting punishments. She had the scares to prove it. Nay, it was best to remain quiet. Aye, the beating would come later when he realized no man would be able to look past her defects or her scars. The last man her father had tried to betroth her to had backed out when he saw her for the first time. History oft repeats itself and Aggie had no doubt it would again. No man would want her.

  Mayhap she could try running away again. She was older and wiser now. She would make certain Mermadak was truly passed out from too much drink. She would take little Ailrig -- her heart felt heavy when she thought of the sweet child. Through no fault of his own the boy had been born a bastard. Aggie’s mother, God rest her soul, had brought him to live amongst their clan. Her mother could not formally adopt the babe. Mermadak would never have allowed it. Still, she gave him a home, and, together with Aggie, lots of love.

  When Ailrig was three, Lila McLaren had died. ’Twas then that everything began to fall apart. Mermadak grew meaner by the day and not because he missed his wife. Truth be told, he had never really care much for Lila. But she was the only person who seemed to be able to rein in that temper of his. With no voice of reason, with no one there to temper his anger, Mermadak did as he pleased and became the man he was today -- vicious, cruel, hateful and greedy.

  Aggie had long ago resigned herself to the fact that she would never marry. She possessed too many scars. Many of them ran much deeper than those left on her skin. A sane man wouldn’t want someone like her, what with all her defects and imperfections.

  Still, her father was hell bent on trying to find her a husband.

  Set for release in the spring of 2014

  About the Author

  Suzan lives in the Midwest with her verra handsome carpenter husband and the last of their four children: a 15 year old, 6'3", built-like-a-line-backer son. They currently accept monetary donations to offset the cost of feeding him and keeping him in shoes. She also has three perfect grandchildren.

  Suzan has no pets, save for the aforementioned son and husband. Living where they do, she figures the domesticated deer who believe her gardens are planted strictly for their enjoyment is plenty. Though, if she lived on ten or more wooded acres she would have a Redbone Coonhound that she would name Rufus. She'd also like to be a size 12 again, but doesn't foresee either of those things happening at anytime in the near future.

  "Some say my writing is an obsession. I prefer to think of it as a passion."

  Books in her Clan MacDougall Series:

  Laiden's Daughter

  Findley's Lass

  Wee William's Woman

  McKenna's Honor

  You may keep up to date with Suzan at:

  Amazon Author Page

  Facebook Fan Page

  Suzan's Blog

  twitter@suzantisdale