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

by Gafford, Deborah

  Then she screamed.

  Throwing the wool to the ground and grabbing up his sword, he rushed over to her. "Fiona! What is amiss?"

  "'Tis a wild creature in yon corner." She pointed to the corner of the shed, then clutched her meager covering with one hand and grasped his arm with the other. Just then, a wet and harried badger scurried across the floor and ran under a mound of straw several feet from them.

  Fiona squealed and threw herself at Alexander, dropping her slight covering in the process, and pressed herself against his hard, naked body.

  By God, 'twas more than any man could refuse. He thrust his sword away, hauled her closer and pushed her down into the straw beneath him. His hands entangled in her long black hair.

  As he bent his head toward her, she whispered, "I knew ye wouldna marry that lowland wench. 'Tis always been me fer ye."

  He froze. Her words slashed his lust to ribbons, as the storm had been unable to do. "God's blood, Fiona, what was I thinking? Saints curse me for a weak man! Lass, dress yourself, for I will not do this again." Hastily, he stepped away from her and walked over to his discarded clothing.

  "What? Ye… ye were pleased enough to bed me before! Is it because ye're betrothed to a lady of rank that ye now toss me aside? Ye didna even know her before today. Ye have always loved me!"

  "Fiona, I care about you enough to stop. I won't shame you again."

  She snatched up her tunic and skirt and threw them over herself quickly. "What do I care about shame? Aught I cared about is gone."

  God, what had he done? He must calm her. Make her understand. He reached toward her.

  She lashed out at him. "No! Dinna touch me e'er again. I curse ye, Alexander MacGregor!" With a strength born of anger, she ran across the shed, pushed the door open and fled into the storm.

  Alexander grabbed his wet leather breeks and pulled them on as quickly as the clinging leather would allow. Leaving his shirt and boots lying in the straw, he strapped his sword to his side and ran after her, calling as he ran. Whether she couldn't hear over the noise of the storm, or refused to speak to him, he didn't know.

  As he neared Fiona, she ran inside her hut and slammed the entrance shut, barring it against him. He pounded on the door and called to her for several minutes, but she didn't respond. Finally, Alexander turned away, his shame eating at him. Despite the rain lashing at his bare chest, he refused to hurry back to the shed. It would only remind him of his dishonor.

  Once there, he yanked the door closed with a mighty vengeance, but the resounding thud of the wood did naught to drive away his remorse. Nearby, his shirt, hose and boots lay discarded on the straw, proclaiming his guilt.

  Damn, but he was a bloody fool. Not only had he shamed a frightened lass, but his family and betrothed as well.

  He tugged on his wet, clammy shirt and hose, then forced his feet into his soaked boots as the storm continued to pound an angry rhythm on the roof of the shed. Between his guilt and the deafening noise, he knew he'd get little sleep. Frowning, he lay down in the straw next to his horse to await the morning.

  **

  A golden dawn rose with the end of the tempest. The high winds during the night had chased all the clouds from the area, leaving the sky a clear vibrant blue. The rain-washed air smelled clean and fresh.

  Alexander walked Tursachan out of the shed and glanced at Elsa's cottage, its door still firmly closed against him. He grimaced, kicked at a small branch lying in his path and slowly led his horse back toward the castle.

  A young lad ran past, chasing a wayward goat toward an empty pen. Ahead, a clanswoman swept mud and fallen thatch from the doorway of her croft. She looked up and called out, "Good morrow, m'lord. Did ye e'er see such a fierce storm afore?"

  Alexander's forehead creased in a frown. The various damage he'd seen from the previous night's thunderstorm was naught compared to the harm he'd done to his honor and Fiona's pride. He scanned the outside of the dwelling in front of him. "Good morrow, mistress. Did your home suffer much damage? I will send men from the castle to aid in the repairs if you need them."

  The woman shook her head. "Nay, thank ye, m'lord. My mon can do aught 'tis needed. But from the looks of it, yer fine horse may need special care. Elsa has many healing potions. If ye wish, I will fetch her fer ye."

  "No, thank you. I will see to it myself."

  Nodding, the woman resumed her sweeping and didn't look up again as he passed by.

  The dirt track was now a muddy quagmire sporting evidence of people and animals already having trudged through it. Two deep ruts were hollowed out where a cart had mired in the bog and several bent and broken branches lay in a heap where they'd been used to help roll it free.

  Halfway back to the keep, Tursachan stumbled in a water-filled hole in the muddy road. The stallion snorted and tossed its head about, flinging its pitch-black mane in the air. The long inky mass billowed out over Alexander's arm just as Fiona's dark hair had done the night before.

  God, he was a damned fool. Fiona's fright had brought on her strange behavior. Nothing more. How could he have reacted so? She'd always been like a wee sister to him. Aye, until the morn he'd awoke with her in his bed. Damn him. Naught would be the same between them again. What kind of knave bedded an innocent lass then betrothed himself to another? He looked at the clan crest carved into the ring he wore and clenched his fist. What kind of knave? One devoid of all honor.

  Chapter Five

  Katherine awoke after a restless night. The storm hadn't frightened her. Rather, it left her with a sense of foreboding that hung about her like a heavy cloak. She wrapped her arms around her to ward off the early morning chill and walked to the window.

  Looking to the sky, she saw no evidence of the devastating storm of the night before, but rubble was strewn across the land. Dozens of broken limbs lay about. Large muddy puddles dotted the ground. Portions of the overgrown flower garden were laid flat by the wind and rain. It could be lovely again if someone were to tend to it with care. 'Twas a shame to let such a thing of beauty lie forgotten and unappreciated.

  Soon she'd be married. Would her husband appreciate her and grow fond of her? Or would he leave her care, like the garden, to the castle servants and seek his interests elsewhere? He had certainly shown her little indication he wished to wed her.

  She had accepted the idea of their marriage. Truth be told, she'd been given no other choice. Possibly all would be well in time. Alexander displayed a caring and pleasant personality with others. Indeed, he was friendly with everyone else. A frown touched her lips at the memory of their betrothal. Surely he could show her as much courtesy. Katherine sighed. Would they ever learn to abide each other?

  Perhaps she shouldn't have been so quick to anger last night. No. He must learn she wouldn't tolerate being treated with disrespect. She might never know his fondness, but neither would she let him mistreat her.

  Katherine stared at the garden again. Servants had begun to gather scattered limbs and haul them out of the garden. Two young boys righted the overturned sundial. They propped a rock under its wobbly base to keep it from falling over again. The taller lad tossed a stone in a large puddle, splashing his friend's legs with dirty water. Grinning, the boys wrestled together, rolling on the ground until they were covered with mud. Slipping and sliding in the mire, they threw great handfuls of mud and pounded each other good-naturedly on the back before they chased each other out of sight.

  The lads' carefree antics coaxed a smile from her lips. As far back as she could remember, she'd lived, worked and played alongside the other children near her home. Memories of frolicking with her childhood friends flitted through her mind. There had been the time the fletcher's daughter and she had gotten into his supply of feathers. They'd scattered them all over the shop, pretending it was snowing. She'd learned an important lesson that day.

  When the fletcher found the disaster in his shop, he'd blamed only his daughter for it, not aware of Katherine's part in the deed. But her nurse had kn
own her better. She'd made her face the irate man with an apology. Sweet Mary, it had taken all afternoon to clean up those feathers.

  Until then, whenever she had been given chores to do, she'd done them merely to earn the praise of her parents. So, when the arduous task was completed, she'd gone to the old woman, whom she thought of more as a friend than her nurse, expecting warm approval and affection. How wrong she'd been.

  She could still remember her words. "Hmph. And do ye think the fletcher was well pleased with yer misdeeds, mistress?"

  "No, but I cleaned aught up just as before. 'Tis nary a feather or arrow shaft out of place now. You should be proud of me putting it to rights."

  "Oh, ye think so, do ye? And what of the fletcher who has naught to show for a day of work gone and a family to feed? Do ye no think it matters, since ye set things back as they were? I will no be praisin' ye fer yer mischief nor fer causing a good mon to lose a day's wages. Ye must learn to work as we all do, because it needs to be done, no for empty flattery."

  The words echoed in Katherine's mind. She chewed worriedly on her bottom lip and turned away from the window. One thing was certain. Alexander and she had work to do. Perhaps, with effort, they could start over again and repair their ill feelings. Just as she had repaired the damage she'd done to the fletcher's shop so long ago. Soon the wedding ceremony and feast would thrust them together in front of a large and watchful audience. If she hoped to put things right before then, she'd best act now.

  And what better way was there to gain a man's approval than to take care in her appearance and slather him with attention? A slow smile lit her face. Walking to the corridor, she called for hot water to be brought to her chamber.

  After her bath, she dressed in a lilac silk gown with a deeper shade surcoat embroidered with gold stitching along the hem. She left her hair unbound except for two small braids twisted away from the sides of her face and bound together with violet ribbons at the back of her head.

  Finally, she placed a girdle of golden chain, set with amethyst stones, about her hips. Smiling, she took a last look at her image in a mirror, and headed for the great hall.

  Sir William looked up from the doorway as she approached. "Ah, good morrow, my lady. You are a lovely sight after so stormy a night. May I escort you to the table to break your fast?"

  "No, thank you." She glanced across the large room. Her betrothed was nowhere in sight. "I had hoped to find Sir Alexander here. Do you know where I might seek him?"

  William shook his head. "I haven't seen him since he escorted you to your chambers after the betrothal feast last night. He oft rides early each morn. You might find him at the stable within the inner bailey. I'd be pleased to escort you there."

  "Thank you, but I don't wish to delay your meal. I'll go alone." Reaching the keep's front steps, Katherine looked at the mud-covered ground. She'd make a poor impression with mire trailing from her skirts. Perhaps she should wait. Aye, and the longer she waited, the harder the task would be. Sighing, she gathered her gown and lifted it several inches. With luck, she wouldn't drag it through the murky puddles.

  The damage from the storm was more evident here than in the garden. Stacks of wheat, which had been piled beside a shed, lay crushed and scattered. A small pen for holding livestock stood broken apart and empty. Its animals obviously escaped.

  Several peasant folk moved about, repairing thatched roofs. Some righted creels and barrels turned over by the wind and rain. Others gathered sheep and herded them back toward mended pens.

  Chickens and geese searched for grain among the ooze of the courtyard. A shaggy mongrel shook himself, in an attempt to free his fur of layers of mud. It earned a cuff on the ear by a nearby peasant who was less than pleased to be the recipient of its efforts.

  Katherine kept a wide distance from the dog and continued toward the stable. Just as she neared it, Alexander walked into view. But, faith, what a sight he was. Bits of straw clung to his hair and clothing. Dirty and disheveled, with dark circles under his eyes, he led his stallion toward the stable.

  She gasped and ran to him, mindless of her clothing. "My lord! Are you well? Were you caught out in the storm last night?" Spying a tartan shawl bound about his steed's flank, she asked, "What happened to your horse?"

  As she reached out toward it, Alexander jerked the stallion back from her touch. "Stay back, lass. Tursachan's injury makes him more temperamental than usual."

  Startled, she looked back at Alexander. From his appearance, it seemed he'd indeed been out in the tempest. And from the woman's brightly colored shawl wrapped around his horse's leg, he hadn't been alone. Had he ventured into the storm to aid someone in need?

  A loud bark alerted her in time to step aside as the muddy dog charged up. The injured stallion thrashed out with its front hooves.

  Alexander pulled back on the horse's bridle. "Watch out, you fool dog." Gruffly, he shooed it away, then patted his steed's neck, calming it. Silently, he frowned at the ground.

  Katherine watched his expression harden, as if deep in thought. Why did he not answer her? What could be so difficult about his explanation?

  He glanced at her and then looked away. "After I escorted you to your chamber, I rode out and was caught by the storm. I went to see an old woman who was once nurse to my mother and a friend to me in my childhood." He rubbed his hand down the stallion's neck, still avoiding her gaze. "The woman lives with her granddaughter in a crofter's hut not far from here. As I was about to leave, the storm broke and Tursachan was injured."

  He shrugged and bits of straw sifted down from his clothing. "The old woman's granddaughter showed me a shed where I could put my horse for the night and gave me her shawl to bind its injury. I… uh, stayed in the shed until the storm stopped this morn and came back, as you see now."

  Katherine's mouth dropped open. She quickly composed herself. "But 'twas such a fierce storm. It must have been terrible staying in that shed all night. Couldn't you have left your horse there and taken shelter with these friends of yours? I can't believe they'd rather have you stay in a shed than share their hearth."

  "Dinna fash yourself, lass. I'm no wee bairn to be coddled."

  "But you shouldn't have had to sleep in a shed. Who are these great friends of yours? I cannot believe they wouldn't offer you sanctuary from the storm. 'Twould seem they have much to learn about Highland hospitality."

  "Hold your tongue, woman! I will not stand here and be skirled at. They are good folk and I won't have you harping at them. Leave off. I must take my horse to be tended." Glowering, he led his mount away, leaving her stunned and gaping in the courtyard.

  A peasant's loud snicker broke the temporary silence. Katherine whirled around and glared at him. The man quickly ducked into a nearby shed. Ooh, that Alexander MacGregor! How dare he? She'd only been concerned for his comfort. And he'd turned on her as if she were a wayward servant who'd forgotten her station. Well, he'd soon find out he shouldn't have spoken so.

  Snatching at her skirts, she looked about in angry frustration. She should have known better than to expect common courtesy from such a pompous Highlander. Oh, but he was going to feel the bite of her tongue. Skirled at? He didn't know the meaning of the word. But he would.

  Katherine headed in the general direction of the stable, detouring several times to avoid large puddles of muddy water. When she got there, he was nowhere in sight. She released her hold on her skirts and fisted her hands to her sides. Which way did he go? By the time she found her way around the huge stable she would be a sight to be sure. No matter. What she planned to tell the high and mighty MacGregor needed no pretty wrapping.

  Determined to have her say, she continued through the large stable. Hearing voices, she turned in their direction.

  "… Aye, and did ye see whose shawl Alexander had wrapped about his horse's flanks? Here I was, mindin' how he wouldna fancy a night's sleep in a cold wet shed. An' then I think to meself, hell, 'twould be nay sleepin' done with the likes of Fiona to keep him co
mpany." The man chuckled. "Likely 'twas more thrashin' about in the shed than out of it. Aye, that wench knows well how to please a mon and has been greatly prized by the Laird's son fer a long time. Why, she's been raisin' her skirts fer—"

  As Katherine drew closer, she stepped on a stick lying on the stable floor, snapping it in two.

  "Hold yer gab, fool! Someone comes." Two grooms glanced at her and then quickly looked away, unease clearly written across their faces. The large black stallion beside them snorted, and pawed the ground.

  Katherine looked from the stallion to the suddenly silent men. "This is Sir Alexander's horse. Whose shawl did I hear you say was on it?"

  The men exchanged a worried look, hastily pulled off their caps and looked at their feet.

  "Speak up!"

  The older man glanced about nervously and fidgeted with his cap. "If ye please, m'lady, 'twas no more than idle clishmaclaver we spoke and nary a word meant to be heard. Hobb and me meant no harm."

  "What is your name?"

  "Sim, m'lady."

  "Well, Sim, if 'tis only gossip, as you say, then you have naught to fear in telling me. Or would you prefer I ask Sir Alexander?"

  The groom's mouth dropped open and his eyes grew wide, as if truly frightened of rousing his master's anger. "Saints no, m'lady! I beg yer kind pardon. The lass's name, well, it be Fiona. Fiona Duggin. She lives with Elsa in a croft beyond the keep." He darted a quick glance at the man beside him, then back at her. "Truly, we meant nay disrespect. Old Elsa and her granddaughter are both well liked by the laird's family."

  So it seemed. "Sim, I mean you and Hobb no harm. In truth, such a good friend to Sir Alexander should be thanked for the kind use of her shawl and have it returned to her. Give it to me. I will take it to this Fiona, myself, with my thanks, for my betrothed."

  "Nay! Ye needna bother yerself m'lady. Hobb will see to it fer ye."