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

by Gafford, Deborah

  Alexander stood rooted to the spot. His fascinated gaze did not allow him to move, either to leave or to advance on the woman who sat so exposed and vulnerable. Och, he would see a lot more than her face if he didn't leave immediately. As he turned toward the doorway, he heard the pain and exasperation in her voice.

  "Ow. Oh where is that blessed towel? My eyes are on fire."

  Remorse stabbed him as he looked over his shoulder and watched the woman squirm. Quickly walking over to the tub, he picked up the towel and silently placed it in her hand.

  Her voice came out in a squeak. "Huh?" She clutched the towel to her chest, her eyes still closed tight to avoid the lather. "Get out!"

  The soapy water matched the milky color of her shoulders and lower still, to the pure white mounds of her large breasts barely submerged in the tub. Even wet, her long hair was dark gold. He couldn't help but wonder about the rest of her hidden by the soapy bath water.

  A spark of lust kindled as he stood over the distressed beauty, watching her wipe her face with one corner of the towel while struggling to keep her nakedness hidden. His dirty, sweat soaked breeks tightened as he grew hard. Damn, this wasn't what he meant to happen. He hesitated for a moment longer before he realized the young woman had removed most of the soap from her face. She was squinting up at him between swipes of her towel.

  By the saints, if he didn't leave now, she'd feed his head to him at their betrothal dinner. And rightly so. With luck, maybe she wouldn't recognize him if he escaped before her vision returned.

  He strode quickly to the doorway and hurried from the room, slowing just long enough to close the door behind him. Retreating to his chamber, his thoughts warred with his emotions. What a fool he was. He could have stayed there. She was soon to be his wife anyway. No man wished to be surprised with his wife's looks at his wedding.

  No. 'Twas wrong to leer at her. He would see her soon enough. Hopefully dry and without the thick coating of soap, the lass would be pleasing to look upon. If the saints were with him, and she did not remember his face, perhaps she would show him a friendly nature as well.

  Alexander called for a hot bath and considered his dilemma as he scrubbed away the crusted layer of dirt and sweat. Would that he were two men; he could fulfill the MacGregor obligation to the Gordon wench and honor his responsibility to Fiona. He snorted in derision as he stepped from the tub. Aye, and if he could do that, better to turn back time and avoid both situations entirely.

  While shaving, he made his decision. There was naught else to be done. When servants came to take away the wooden tub, he sent for his head man-at-arms. Heavy footsteps drew his attention. "Ah, Malcolm, come in. I wish for you to leave immediately and ride to the estate of my good friend, Laird Drummond, with a message. You are to tell him I have need of his attendance at my wedding in five days time. If he asks to delay, remind him of a certain night we well spent with some tavern wenches in Glasgow last year, unbeknownst by his saintly mother. This is what you are to request him do when he reaches the castle."

  He bent and mumbled instructions, ignoring the man's look of astonishment.

  "But, Alexander, surely this can wait until after the wedding feast and first night."

  "By all that's holy, Malcolm, I didn't give you leave to decide what I do or when I do it. Gather what supplies you need and leave at once, before I forget what a loyal friend you've been."

  Frowning, the man-at-arms muttered, "Aye, m'laird," and turned to leave.

  Alexander clapped the older man on the back. "Och, old friend, don't look so disheartened. Everything will be set right in time. I vow it." He clasped Malcolm's arm in friendship before he left.

  Pausing to listen to the retreating footsteps, Alexander decided to find a suitable reward for his man-at-arms when he returned. The older Scot had always been a good friend, and though he was a loyal member of their clan, he had no family to call his own, so he couldn't understand Alexander's reaction to this circumstance.

  A thought brought a smile to his lips. How about the lass, Fiona? He'd known her since she was a wee bairn following him about the keep. Now she was a grown woman. And ever since he had awoken with her in his bed, he felt responsible for her. If he must wed the Gordon lass, arranging for Fiona to wed Malcolm would fulfill his obligation to her. Aye, she'd make a pleasing match for Malcolm and he would treat her well. Alexander would mention her to his man-at-arms when he returned.

  A small voice nagged in Alexander's head. Was what he was proposing not the same as what his father was doing? No. 'Twas different. He would give Malcolm a choice.

  **

  For several moments, Katherine sat in the tub clenching the towel in her hands. Although her eyes still smarted, she could now see clearly. Clasping the wet cloth in front of her, she stepped out of the tub and hurried to the door, leaving a trail of sudsy water on the floor. She lifted the heavy wooden bar and then placed it in the iron brackets on each side of the door, securing her privacy, and returned to the tub to finish her bath.

  Wiping a wisp of wet hair from her face, she thought about the odd intruder. How strange he hadn't spoken a word. Perhaps he was simple-minded. From his smell, she vowed he slept in the stables. Since she hadn't been able to see him clearly, there was no way to know who it was. He was probably a servant who came to empty the tub, not realizing she wasn't finished with her bath. From now on she would keep her door barred.

  After quickly washing her hair, she stepped out of the tub, and using the damp towel, dried off as best as she could before the fireplace. Looking down, she saw the faint sheen of moisture still left on her skin. When the laird's absent son Alexander finally appeared, would he think her pretty? Fie, even if he did, it did not matter. She was not going to stay.

  Determined, she donned the pink robe and, for a moment, nuzzled her cheek against the soft velvet. Then she picked up the little carved stool, carried it over before the fireplace and sat down. Aided by the fire's warmth, she brushed her hair until it was dry and glistening.

  She picked up a lock of her long hair and stared at it. It truly didn't matter about her appearance. If she could manage it, she wouldn't be staying long. And, if not, then her fate was sealed no matter her looks.

  With a reluctant sigh, she clasped the hairbrush in her lap and stared at the bright dance of flames. The sights and sounds of a cozy fire always entranced and soothed her. Its constant crackle reminded her of a gentle spring rain as it tapped on a leaded roof. She watched the sway of the yellow flames as they swirled amongst the oranges and deeper reds and vied for the blue depths of the blaze. Its calming heat surrounded her even as it drew her worries away. Katherine allowed her gaze to lose itself in the flickering lights and her shoulders relaxed from its comforting warmth.

  A knock on the chamber door ended her fleeting reverie. Clutching the soft robe to her, she called out, "Who's there?"

  "Lady Katherine, 'tis I, Gillian. May I enter?"

  Katherine walked across the room, lifted the bar from the door and returned to stand near the fire.

  The servant stepped inside and closed the door. Her eyes opened wide as she stared at Katherine's hair. "Ooh, m'lady. What grand hair ye have. 'Tis true. It shines as bright as the halo on the statue of the Blessed Mother in the chapel." The girl looked toward the gown spread across the bed and back to Katherine. "I came to help ye dress fer dinner. Sir Alexander has finished on the practice field. The family will be dining shortly."

  Katherine's heart hammered in her chest. "Oh… uh, so soon?" She wrapped the comforting robe tighter around her, dropping her hairbrush in the process. Bending to pick it up, she snagged the robe's hem on the edge of the stool and it tipped over with a thunk.

  "Allow me, m'lady." The young servant stood the seat upright and then walked over to the bed. She picked up the gown and held it out.

  Katherine smiled. "Thank you. 'Twould seem I'm all thumbs of a sudden."

  Gillian slid a clinging turquoise gown of shimmering silk over Katherine's s
houlders. Its neckline and hem were finely detailed in iridescent beads. Their sparkle danced over the floor reflecting the light of the brilliant flames in the fireplace. Over this, she donned a surcoat of deeper blue, cut in such a fashion that it hid very little of the beautiful gown beneath. Finally, Gillian draped a single linked golden chain around Katherine's waist. It settled across her hips, suspending a shimmering crystal pendant over the area where her thighs met beneath the soft layers of fabric.

  Katherine reached for a long veil, but the young servant gently whisked it away. "Beggin' yer pardon, m'lady, but may I prepare yer hair?"

  Too nervous to do more than bundle her hair up under a cover and be done with it, Katherine nodded.

  Gillian switched the long veil for a short one of white silk, placed it on Katherine's head and secured it with a thin circlet of gold. She stepped back to look and beamed. "Ooh, m'lady, when Sir Alexander sees ye, surely then he'll be happy."

  Her face turned deep red and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Hurrying to the door, she opened it and waited with her gaze on the floor, her hand still firm over her mouth.

  Chapter Three

  Alexander stood silently in the shadows of a side doorway of the huge hall watching and listening. He'd learned early on that a wise man always summed up his adversary before meeting him in battle. And battle this was. He would be fighting for his freedom and perhaps Fiona's honor as well. He had searched the keep earlier, but she was nowhere to be found and he'd dared not ask too much lest he stir up trouble for the lass.

  He saw his father and William enter the hall, dressed in the MacGregor tartan of red and green; their bonnets trimmed with a single sprig of pine, their clan mark of identification. They crossed to the middle of the great hall and nodded as two people entered and approached them.

  Alexander recognized his da's friend, Angus Gordon. The attractive older woman beside him must be his wife. He watched silently as they greeted each other.

  "Lady Monique," Ian said, "you make a fine, bonnie Scot in that tartan you wear. I wish to present to you, my younger son, William."

  William bowed and kissed the back of her outstretched hand. "Lady Gordon, 'tis a pleasure. Sir Angus, you are a lucky man."

  Angus wrapped an arm around her waist. "Aye, laddie, that I am."

  Alexander watched Lady Monique gaze around the room and he stepped back further into the shadows. He wasn't ready to make his presence known. Her voice had a distinct French accent even though she spoke their Gaelic well. "Laird MacGregor, I am anxious to meet Alexander. Is he not yet in the hall?"

  "Nay, my lady. He… he will join us soon. I believe he tarried too long on the practice field, 'tis all." Ian grinned at Angus. "Mayhap he wished to spend the last hours in trial combat before his single days are vanquished by the betrothal, eh?" Turning back to face Monique, he said, "If you will excuse me, my lady, there is something I must to attend to. William, escort Laird and Lady Gordon to their seats at the dais. My friends, I will return soon." He bowed and walked across the room toward the main entrance.

  Alexander watched as people began to file in en masse. The great hall came to life with waves of movement and noise as an ocean of clan members and castle folk streamed in. Servants carried in fresh trenchers for the meal, holding them high above the wash of people, as if they floated on air. A serving wench passed him carrying a large platter of food. He looked back at his sire. By the frown on his face, 'twas obvious he wasn't pleased.

  Ian scanned the throng in the hall and called out loudly to the same servant who had just walked past. "Lass, have you seen Alexander?"

  "Aye, m'lord, o'er there." She pointed to the dim corner where he stood.

  Damn, he'd been spotted.

  Ian followed her motion and glared at him. He jerked his head in silent command toward the dais, then turned and hurried to the table.

  Alexander met his look without a flinch. Well, he couldn't delay the battle forever. He may as well meet his adversary. Taking a deep breath, he strode through the tide of activity. In moments, he was near the dais.

  Lady Monique looked up as he approached. She smiled at him, then touched her husband's arm and spoke. Although her voice was not overly loud, Alexander was close enough to hear her words. "You were right, Angus. He does look like a fine match for Katherine. Do you think he is nervous about meeting her?"

  Alexander clenched his jaw. Did his unease show? He would have to concentrate more on his bearing. Determined to look nonchalant, he forced a slight smile to his lips. He'd appear at ease if it killed him.

  The noise level in the room rose slightly. Clansmen nodded, poked each other in the ribs, and gestured as he passed them. He pretended not to notice and kept walking. As he moved through the hall, servants brought in more food. From the blazing cook fires of the sweltering smoke-filled kitchen, able-bodied clansmen carried large crocks of steaming colcannon and hotch potch. A few women walked around the room ladling the vegetable and meat stew out into large bowls as the men lifted the heavy crocks to the tables. Festive chords from a lute sounded near the dais where a traveling minstrel began to play a popular ballad.

  Alexander forced his fingers to unclench at his sides. Everyone seemed prepared to celebrate in glorious fashion. All but him. He'd rather be on the practice field. Aye, there he could move freely and breathe easily. There he was in control. He halted directly in front of his father.

  Ian sat silently, a stern expression on his face. Candlelight reflected off the MacGregor badge on his chest. The Gaelic words, S' Rioghail Mo Dhream, were carved deeply into it.

  Alexander glanced at the badge. It's meaning, "Royal is my Race", had been drummed into his head since he'd been a wee lad. Would his marriage change that? Just who was this unknown lass he was to unite with the noble MacGregor line? What if he owed his name to Fiona? By the saints, he must ensure this impending marriage was not valid until there was no doubt.

  Ian nodded. "Ah, son, come meet Lady Monique and Laird Angus Gordon, true friends and the happy parents of your intended, Lady Katherine."

  Alexander walked up to them and bowed solemnly.

  Angus, dressed in a tartan of red, green, blue, and black plaid, wore a bonnet with a sprig of heath. His lady, beside him, was dressed in a green gown with a sash of the same tartan. Her brown hair was swept up on top of her head. Looking at her, something niggled at the back of his mind but he wasn't sure why.

  Glancing back at Laird Gordon, Alexander noticed his hair. It, too, was brown. That was it. That was the puzzle. The woman he'd discovered bathing had hair the color of pale butter. Could he have been mistaken about her identity? Who was she? Well, there was naught to be done, but agree to the betrothal for now. After speaking with Fiona, he would abide by his duty whatever it was. But he couldn't help wondering just who had he seen.

  Clearing his throat, he raised his voice loud enough to be heard across the hall. "Laird and Lady Gordon, I welcome you in friendship and do this day vow to take your daughter, Lady Katherine, as my wife. I heed the responsibility and do pledge my alliance and protection to her." As he finished the formal oath, he flexed his shoulders in attempt to relieve the tension in his body.

  Suddenly, all of the noise and activity in the great hall ceased. The abrupt silence drew his attention and he turned his gaze to the room's main entrance. He felt his jaw drop and for the life of him, couldn't seem to remember how to breathe.

  For a moment, he just stood there stunned as any battle weary warrior, before he managed to draw a deep breath and regain his composure.

  An entrancing golden-haired woman stood in the doorway beside Gillian. She was the one. The woman he'd seen. A slight flush covered her face. Was it from nerves or soap that had lingered over-long on her delicate skin? The dark gold of her wet tresses had dried to a flaxen blonde, framing her face with a glow that shimmered in the torchlight.

  Standing proud and straight, she was taller than he imagined she'd be, which called all the more attention to her full
breasts and enticing, curved hips. Even across the hall, he could see the brilliant blue of her eyes, framed by long, dark lashes against her ivory skin. Her lips were full and beautifully shaped. By the saints, they begged to be kissed.

  He watched her turn and whisper to Gillian with a smile. The servant curtsied and left her. There was an aura of beauty and sensuality about her that took his breath away. God, he'd never seen a more beautiful woman.

  Movement to his right caught his eye. He stepped aside as Laird Gordon passed him and walked toward the entrance.

  The older man's face beamed in obvious pride as he walked up to the golden haired vision and offered his arm. His deep voice rose loud enough to be heard. "'Tis truly lovely you look, my Katy. Come meet your new family. Dinna be frightened, lass. They are all good men."

  Alexander gazed at Katherine as she placed her hand on Angus' arm and walked beside him. She moved with the grace of a queen.

  "Aye, she's a proud beauty," whispered a clansman behind Alexander. Another man nodded and chuckled. "She'll soon have the laird's son dancin' to her tune."

  The sly remark shook Alexander from his besotted musing. By the saints, the woman's beauty had already unsettled him. He'd best get himself under control if he planned to remain master of his own life. Remembering the vow he'd made to himself not to be led about like a lovesick swain, he composed his face with a cool, controlled welcome.

  The sea of people in the great hall divided and drew back as Laird Gordon and his daughter passed, leaving a wake of nods and whispers like the gentle hush of the outgoing tide. And, like riding the crest of a smooth fast wave, his future bride was swiftly propelled to the front of the room to be introduced to him for the first time.

  Her sire cleared his throat and his deep voice carried across the hall as he made the formal introduction. "Sir Alexander MacGregor, I, Laird Angus Gordon, give to you this day, my daughter, Lady Katherine, to be pledged in troth of marriage. I give her, as well as all of her lands and possessions, to your keeping. May you know many years of happiness and give me many strong grandchildren."