Highlander's Bride (Heart of the Highlander Series Book 1)

by Gafford, Deborah

  She rubbed her fingertips gently over its image. Aye, she knew its desperation; its only thoughts to flee. But she wouldn't run. Dropping her hand to her side, she drew her shoulders back and nodded silently. She would stand her ground.

  Turning, she walked to the fireplace and stretched her arms out toward the heat emanating from the burning blaze. It helped to take the chill from the air. If only the chill in her heart could be so easily warmed. The thought of leaving her loving parents and home to be given to a stranger, left her feeling bitter and alone.

  Nearby, she saw a hipbath filled with steaming water. A wine ewer and two goblets stood beside a small pile of linens on a chest. Glancing about the room, she saw there was nothing further her mother would need. She must leave and let her rest.

  The servant girl turned to Katherine. "My lady, yer chamber is but a wee bit down the passageway from here. If ye wish, I'll take ye there now."

  Katherine darted a nervous glance at her mother. Monique's brown eyes widened and she reached out toward her. Then dropping her arms to her sides, her mother motioned toward the doorway. "Go ahead, mon cheri. You can see I am well cared for. You should rest now. I will see you after I have done the same." Monique quickly embraced her, then stepped back, gripping her hands tightly together in silence.

  Katherine tried to smile, but her face felt frozen. The cheerfulness she and her mother always shared seemed to have vanished, leaving a cold, empty ache in its wake. Nodding, she squeezed one of her mother's hands and then followed Gillian down the hallway to her chamber.

  When she entered, she was shocked with its lush beauty, which by far surpassed the simple room designated for her parents. She walked across the wooden floor, stood in a large alcove encased by a large leaded glass window, and peered out.

  An overgrown flower garden lay directly below. In the middle of the forgotten plants, a carved stone sundial sat forlornly. Wild vines wound around its base and covered most of its upper surface. At one time the garden must have been lovely and might be again with enough attention. But she didn't plan to be here long enough for that. Somehow she would convince her parents this was all unnecessary.

  Bending down, she ran her hand across the rich burgundy velvet cushion on the bench seat and sank gratefully into its softness. As she scanned the room, she saw a large oak bed with velvet hangings to match the cushion where she sat. Her gaze strayed again to the bright flowers below before she looked further across the room.

  A lady's small writing desk, complete with precious parchment, quill pen and ink, stood to the left of the door. Next to it was a delicately carved stool. Its cushion showed a bit of wear.

  Surprised that a lady of the castle had obviously occupied her hours in reading and writing, Katherine was reminded of her own privileged knowledge that few women possessed. She'd been taught to read and write early, as soon as she could sit still long enough to hold a quill. Under her mother's guidance, reading from one of the few books in their home had been one of the delights of her childhood.

  Monique had repeatedly told her, "Now, petite, say it in English and in French," until both languages had become as natural to her as the Gaelic she heard every day.

  Sounds of a fire snapped and crackled, recalling her thoughts to the present. Beyond the writing desk stood an imposing fireplace whose mantle was carved of pink marble. It appeared to be miraculously suspended by the aid of several smiling cherubs carved into each end. Within it a bright fire burned, sending its glow out into the room.

  She walked over and stretched her cold fingers toward it but the warmth was fleeting. The chill she felt went too deep, to her soul. The heat of the flames couldn't reach her there.

  Anger and hurt had been her constant companions since learning of the plans for her marriage. She ached inside. Neither the warmth of the fire nor the pleasant surroundings could take that away. Until she could find a way out of this, she must hold her emotions back. Erect a barrier between her and this intolerable situation. Aye, she would keep her distance from everyone here. No false avowals of love would sway her again.

  Looking over her right shoulder, she saw a tub filled with steaming water as in her mother's room. She walked over to it noting it was larger and more ornate. A folded linen towel lay on the floor beside it. Ribbon draped cherubs with frozen smiles were painted on both sides to match the carved mantle.

  She bent and ran her fingertips through the warm fragrant water, sending the rose petals floating on the surface into aromatic swirling ripples. The sweet smell mingled with heather scented soap that lay in a small pewter dish on the floor beside the tub. With her other hand, she rubbed a thick pink velvet robe that was draped to the side of the bath.

  Katherine dropped her hands to her sides, feeling at odds with her thoughts. She'd convinced herself she wouldn't like this family she was being forced to accept. Yet, here she was being given a grand welcome. It would seem someone meant to make her first moments here pleasant. Or were these riches simply to convince her that she was foolish not to stay? Was she to be bought and sold then? Like some trinket bartered in a fair?

  No. Luxury didn't change matters. This marriage was being forced on her as surely as an order of imprisonment. And 'twas just as binding.

  She turned to Gillian. "'Tis a beautiful room. But truly, I don't need one so extravagant. I do not wish Lady MacGregor to give up her chamber for me."

  A look of apparent confusion crossed the young girl's face and she quickly made the sign of the cross. "Lady MacGregor has been dead nigh on twelve years now. 'Tis only the Laird and his two sons that live here."

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know. The room doesn't look as if it has been empty all that time. Do the MacGregors entertain often and open it up to their guests?"

  "No, m'lady. The room is kept as 'twas when Lady MacGregor lived, but no one is allowed to use it. Ye're the first person to stay in the room since her death. Laird MacGregor said 'twas to be so."

  Katherine tried to swallow against the tightness in her throat. Perhaps she was being too harsh in her judgment. It wasn't the MacGregors she minded, just the idea of being forced to marry a man she didn't know. To give up her dream of marriage for love.

  "Are ye unwell, m'lady? Ye look pale."

  "No, I am just weary from our journey."

  The serving girl quickly glanced around the room with a look of concern on her face. "If there is aught I can do to make ye more comfortable, ye have but to say, m'lady. The laird wouldna be pleased if I didna make it so, and I dinna wish to displease him."

  Katherine nodded, then walked back to the window seat and sat down with a sigh. Did the mighty MacGregors mistreat their servants for the girl to be so concerned over her comfort? Well, she wouldn't do so. She forced a smile to her lips. "Thank you. I don't know which I would rather do first; soothe my tired body in the lovely tub, or simply sit and relax while I look at the garden below."

  "Do ye like plants, m'lady?"

  "Aye, I love the beauty of flowers and trees about me and I enjoy working in the earth."

  The girl grinned. "Fie, Lady Gordon, to look at yer fine skin, I canna imagine ye traipsin' about in the dirt to plant a wee flower." Immediately, her face reddened and she stammered, "Forgive me, m'lady. I didna mean to speak so familiar."

  "'Tis naught to forgive. I'm not so elegant that I cannot dirty my hands. Growing plants to use in treating illness is a skill I learned from my nurse. After she died, the responsibility of caring for the folk at our castle came to me."

  "Ye're blessed to know the ways of a healer, Lady Gordon."

  "Gillian, I am accustomed to being called by my given name. I'd be pleased if you called me Lady Katherine."

  The girl's face registered her obvious surprise. She nodded as she opened one of Katherine's trunks and set out a change of fresh clothing. "Lady Gordon, I mean, Lady Katherine, the garderobe is beyond the tapestry on the left wall and there are linens and more soap in the carved chest next to it. Do ye wish fer me to help ye with
yer bath?"

  "No, thank you. I think I'll spoil myself a wee bit and just rest here for a while. What time should I be dressed for the evening meal?"

  Gillian chewed her lip for a moment and twisted her hands. "The Laird and his sons usually dine at the hour of six. But, since the laird's son, Sir Alexander, is uh… training, it may be later."

  The servant looked down at the floor, curtsied, and walked to the door. Pulling it open, she added, "Ye have time to rest, m'lady. I will return later to help ye dress."

  After the door closed behind the maid, Katherine looked out at the overgrown garden. It no longer appealed to her. Now the garden's quiet emptiness only reminded her of her own predicament. Perhaps the hot bath would help soothe her jangled nerves.

  It seemed the laird's son was in no hurry to meet her. Perhaps the idea of the hasty marriage ill suited him as well. But then, he was a man. He had a choice. It wasn't right that her future was being taken from her control. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Some aloof Highland stranger of a husband was no one she needed or desired, and she would prove it.

  Clenching her fists, she walked over to the waiting tub. Then, dropping her stained travel clothes to the floor, she stepped into the warm water. The fragrance of heather and roses wafted toward her as she lay back and closed her eyes. She stretched out and breathed deeply. Perhaps the water would soothe her mind as well as her tired body. But to do that, it would take a long soak indeed.

  Katherine opened her eyes with a yawn. She hadn't meant to doze off, but the warmth of the water had been very soothing. Now the water was much cooler. She'd best finish her bath quickly before the water turned truly cold. Lathering herself with the heather scented soap, she watched as the soapy water slid over the lower portion of her breasts, but didn't cover them completely. Her movements caused the rose petals to cling and bob free of her skin like small butterflies floating on air. It was a shame she could not float away so easily.

  What would she do if she couldn't convince her parents and the MacGregors to release her from this unwanted marriage? She knew naught of the man she was betrothed to or what he'd been told of her. Perhaps he would side with her against it. No, Da said 'twas already settled and agreed upon.

  Heaving a sigh, she swished her hands impatiently, watching the soapsuds spread out and dissolve, clouding the water.

  What would this mysterious Alexander think of her? Da often called her and her mother his two beautiful angels, but she knew it was his love guiding his words. She was taller, not tiny and petite like her mother and didn't have her curly brown hair or lovely dark eyes.

  Katherine remembered asking once, as a small child, why she was fair-haired and her eyes blue instead of brown. Her mother's worried expression and words had puzzled her.

  "God gives everyone different appearances and personalities. You must not let yours keep you from being loving and kind."

  Katherine shook her head and frowned. Wishing the bath could wash away her troubles; she soaped her face and vigorously scrubbed off the dust from the journey.

  **

  Alexander hacked at the quintain with his broadsword until he was covered in sweat and dirt plowed up by his movements in the tiltyard. Dust shifted and flew about, further coating him in a thick layer of grime.

  He paused for a moment, pushed damp hair out of his eyes and drew a deep breath before he continued. Then, lifting his sword in a fast arc, he struck the padded arms of his wooden opponent. He lunged again and again, his stride perfectly synchronized with his sword arm.

  His jaw clenched as he thought of his father's words. Was this unknown lass such a shrew her sire could find no man willing to take her? And what of Fiona? Even if she had not borne him a child, she was his responsibility for taking her virginity. She was no common whore.

  'Twas a shame this betrothal could not be decided by a contest of battle. At least then his strength could speak for him. He wanted no lying cuckolding wench or shrewish wife clinging and nay saying everything he did. Alexander shoved the heavy quintain to start its movement once again. He quickly dipped as its bulky arm passed over him, then jumped up and dealt it a heavy blow. There. Take that. Aye, a contest of strength would be much more to his liking.

  Again and again, he hit the target. The impact vibrated through his arms. Once, as it spun around, the massive wooden enemy struck him a glancing blow. He stumbled and went down on one knee. As the quintain turned, its long arms whistling over his head, he regained his balance.

  Focusing the power of both his arms, he propelled his sword through the air with the force of a catapult and hit the quintain a deadly blow. The structure jerked to a halt. Its right arm snapped with a loud crack and fell to the dirt, lying immobile and vanquished.

  Alexander bent over and rested his left hand on his thigh as he fought to draw air into his burning lungs. He looked at the splintered wooden opponent and nodded. Aye, his future would be better served by a trial of combat, not lifeless words.

  He stood there for another moment before he relaxed his grip on his sword and sighed in silent resignation. Returning to the keep, he slowly climbed the back stairs and continued on toward his chamber.

  "Och, but you reek, brother," William said as he took a step back from Alexander as they met in the hallway. "That is you, under all that muck, is it not, Alex? Covered with dirt and smelling the way you do, none would know you for other than the pig sty boy."

  "If you're of a mind to cast insults, little brother, I will be happy to prove my merit against you now on the field."

  William grinned. "Nay. I wager your stench alone would best me before ever we crossed blades." He shrugged good-naturedly. "I merely came to tell you the Gordons have arrived. You had best bathe before dinner so your bride can be sure whom she is getting. Did I not know you so well, I wouldn't recognize you."

  "You are welcome to stand in my stead if you wish."

  "Again, I must decline, although I have heard tell the Gordon lass is a sight to behold. In what way, though, I have yet to determine." Laughing, William slapped Alexander on the back, raising a cloud of dust, which he waved away as he walked off.

  Muttering on the questionable necessity of siblings, Alexander continued down the corridor. When he entered his room and saw his best kilt and velvet doublet laid out on the bed, he tossed his sword to the floor. "By the saints, I will not be dressed for show and led about by the nose like one of our prize bulls! I may have no choice but to wed this mystery wench, but I will dress as I choose!" He strode to the far side of the room, yanked open a large chest and quickly switched the clothes for a simple linen shirt, leather breeks and jerkin.

  A sudden idea ran through his mind. Perhaps there was a way to obey his father's command yet still remain master of his own life. Aye, he would not be made a slave to some deceiving wench who would cuckold him as Beatrice had done.

  Alexander walked across the room and glanced in the passageway for a servant. He needed hot water for a bath. A familiar young woman's voice drifted back from further down the hall.

  "Ye have time to rest, m'lady. I will return later to help ye dress."

  Who was Gillian talking to? He frowned and clamped his hand tightly around the door's handle as realization dawned on him. So, the woman was already demanding Gillian do her bidding. But it sounded as if Gillian's voice came from his mother's chamber. Surely they had not put the woman there. It had always been kept empty. Till now. Damn. She had started taking over already. No doubt she was so accustomed to being pampered and fawned over, his father felt compelled to let her use the room.

  Disgusted, Alexander turned and walked over to the fireplace in his chamber, leaned against the stone mantle and stared into the flames. No doubt the wench thought to have everyone follow her about like obedient pups. Why, she probably meant to laze about all day primping like any other scheming court beauty. Or perhaps she needed the time to attempt to make herself somewhat presentable. What did this mystery bride look like? Not t
hat it made any difference to him.

  He bent, picked up a piece of kindling and snapped it in two between his fingers. Glaring at the flames, he tossed the broken pieces of twig into the fire. The blaze greedily consumed the meager offering as he ran his hand absently through his tangled, dirty hair. The grime and sweat from his exertions on the practice field tickled as they dried on his skin. He turned his hands over, looked at the caked residue of his labors, and shrugged.

  Why should he have to wait and wonder? If he couldn't change his fate, at least he could find out what he was to be saddled with before he met her in front of everyone in the great hall. Determined, he pushed away from the mantle. Best to get it over with now.

  The long passageway shrank quickly as his sure strides covered the distance to the intruder's chamber. He knocked on the door.

  A woman's muffled voice answered. "Yes, Gillian?"

  He thrust the door open and stepped inside. Where was she? He expected her to be lounging in the window alcove or on the lavish bed. Hearing a startled gasp and splash of water, he turned in the direction of the noise.

  God's teeth, he should have thought of that. He had not meant to catch her at her bath. No honorable man would stay to meet her this way. He took a step back. Aye, he would leave. As soon as he saw her face.

  The wench was at a definite disadvantage. Not only was she sitting, nude, in the tub in front of him, but also her face was covered with lather. The soapy bubbles began to run into her eyes, making her squint.

  Her voice rose to a sharp screech. "What are you doing in here? I thought you were Gillian. Get out!" She blinked and rubbed her eyes trying to clear them of the stinging soap. "Ooh, where's my towel?" She felt around the tub, blindly, and gasped in apparent pain and irritation.