The Prince's Highland Bride: Book 6, the Hardy Heroines series

by Cathy MacRae

  A noisy trio of lads shot into the hall. Bram, Arbela’s step-son and the elder of the two other boys by some five years, leapt about, holding a leather-bound ball in the air, out of the reach of the others. The two younger, scarcely more than toddlers, raced at his heels, squealing with glee. Two men at a far table scraped to their feet and stumbled from the room.

  “I see ye’ve decided to grace the hall with yer presence,” Alex said, giving Phillipe a clout to his shoulder. He gave the three lads a stern look then captured a chair next to Phillipe and set about buttering a bannock which immediately was preempted by the eldest boy.

  “Ye’ve had yer morning meal,” Alex protested. With a mock scowl, he picked up another bannock.

  “Their bellies are naught but empty barrels.” Arbela sighed as she sank into the chair across from Maggie. The small, dark woman carried a new bairn all but hidden beneath a sash over her shoulder and across her chest. Maggie had only met her two days earlier and found her straight-forward, kind—and immediately loyal to Maggie whom she hailed as her newest sister.

  Maggie sent Phillipe a sidelong glance, wondering about his prior attachment to Arbela, but he joked with Alex, giving Arbela no special heed.

  The woman who took a seat next to Alex, his wife, Annag, picked up the youngest lad and placed him on her lap.

  Arbela quickly served up a trencher of cheese and bread and set it amid the clamoring lads, silencing them nicely. She dusted her hands. “There. That should do them until the noon meal.”

  She gave Maggie a conspiratorial smile. “Ye’d best have a limitless larder if ye have lads.”

  Maggie’s skin heated. The conversation seemed odd to have with the woman who’d once held Phillipe’s heart.

  Could Phillipe be right? Was her barrenness due to the earl’s inability to sire a child instead of something wrong with her? Could she conceive Phillipe’s child? If not, ’twouldnae be for lack of trying—they’d gotten off to a fair start already.

  Maggie cleared the last bit of smoked haddock, white pudding, and sautéed mushrooms from her trencher and reached for the porridge, ignoring Phillipe’s grin. He’d eaten well, also.

  Casting an arch look in Phillipe’s direction, Arbela slipped a bannock from her brother’s trencher and took a bite.

  Alex shook his head. “She’d leave me to starve,” he complained in mock despair.

  “Nursing a child, dear brother,” she mumbled through the crumbs. “Eating for two.”

  “Motherhood suits ye,” Phillipe said. “I hope ye did not risk your health coming here.”

  A tender look passed between them. “I wouldnae miss yer wedding, Phillipe. I am pleased to see ye so happy.” She tilted her cheek to receive her husband’s kiss as he strode behind her. He patted her shoulders and took his seat with a genial nod to the rest of the group.

  The exchange warmed Maggie’s heart.

  The hall began to clear as the last of the stragglers finished their meals and set off to whatever chores or duties awaited them. Servants quickly cleared the tables.

  Maggie peered about the hall, looking for her parents. Uilleam slipped behind her and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

  “Ye are happy, Sister, mine,” he said as he settled in the chair next to her and set about piling his trencher high with the various offerings left on the head table. Clearly, he’d either limited his intake of rich food and wine, or had an excellent head for such extravagances. He set the platter of sausage aside and sent her a mocking look. “Though ye fair scandalized Ma when ye dinnae show up for yer wedding supper.”

  “I’ll lay claim to the fault for that,” Phillipe said, reaching behind Maggie to tap the back of Uilleam’s head. “Don’t tease your sister.”

  Phillipe’s words and veiled threat eased Maggie’s mortification. She had thoroughly enjoyed herself at her husband’s hands, and could think of no good reason to be sorry for it. Especially when . . .. Her throat grew dry and she reached for her mug.

  She took several gulps of cider before she dared speak. “I’m verra glad ye were able to come to the wedding, Uilleam. But Da doesnae look well.”

  Her brother deftly caught the leather ball winging toward his head. He tossed it back to the elder lad who stuffed it quickly beneath the table, flushing darkly beneath Arbela’s indignant stare.

  “I’ve heard Cook is looking for a likely lad to keep the birds at bay in the garden.” Arbela’s statement held a veiled threat, for it was clear young Bram would rather spend the day playing with his cousins than sitting on the edge of the kitchen gardens tossing rocks at unwary birds.

  “Can we go play?”

  The two younger lads nodded, casting adoring glances at Bram.

  “I’ll send yer nurse out to ye in a moment. Mind ye, dinnae stray from the yard, and dinnae go near the stables.”

  Wooden legs screeched against the stone as the boys flung themselves from their seats and bounded from the room. Alex rose, wiping his mouth on a bit of linen. “I’ll find Una.”

  Annag stopped him with a touch to his arm. “Dinnae bother. I’ll watch them.”

  She left the room, Alex’s gaze lingering on her a long moment before he returned to his meal.

  Maggie turned back to her brother.

  “He hasnae been himself of late,” Uilleam agreed, answering her concern. “Slow to rise of a morn, and pushing away his trencher.” He took a large bite of sausage, nodding thoughtfully. “I heard him coughing the other morn. Ma willnae speak of it.”

  Maggie’s heart sank. Uilleam was too young to remember their grandda’s final days. His decline had started as a simple need for extra sleep and eating less than had been his wont, but within the year his legs and belly had become enormously bloated and his wracking cough could be heard throughout the keep.

  She pushed away from the table, appetite gone, absently fingering the brooch at her neck. She took a deep breath as the heavy gold weighed against her breast, warm and comforting.

  All will be well.

  “Uilleam, take this.” Maggie lifted the necklace from about her neck.

  He eyed her askance. “I dinnae need a necklace.”

  “Shush. ’Tis nae just a pretty bauble. Within lies a bit of the true cross. This brooch is said to contain the healing powers of our Lord. Wear it or keep it close when ye are near Da. ’Twill help.”

  Uilleam wiped his fingers on his trousers and held out his hand. She placed the brooch on his palm. He stared at it. “A reliquary? Maggie, the setting alone is worth a fortune.”

  She nodded. “’Tis worth exactly Da’s life.”

  Chapter Thirty Two

  The sun still hovered well above the horizon when the Mar slipped from the dock at Morvern on the afternoon’s high tide. Seagulls engaged in endless swoops and shrieks as fishermen on the far end of the dock finished sorting their nets and pots for a few more hours of plying the waters of the loch. The scent of fish, water, and wood warmed by the sun assailed Maggie.

  She’d had little time to speak privately with her ma, and Janneth had flatly refused to speak of her husband’s health. Lips flattened unremittingly as she’d held back tears glittering in her eyes, Janneth spoke only of Maggie’s responsibilities as a new wife, her gaze lifted toward the heavens, her lips moving in what Maggie suspected was a short, silent plea that this marriage would be better than the first. Maggie had endured the lecture, sensing her ma knew no other way to express her concern, then escaped to seek a few moments alone in the chapel to pray for her family.

  Uilleam stood next to Lady MacLaren on the dock, among those gathered to bid the newly-weds farewell, the brooch sheltered in his up-raised hand in silent promise to do all he could to see their da received whatever treatment needed. Maggie sent her brother a nod of thanks, recalling his assurance he’d send word soon.

  People cheered as the Mar rode the tide into the Sound of Mull. The brisk wind of the Sound tangled Maggie’s skirts against her legs and teased strands of hair from her braid. She cl
osed her eyes with a sigh and raised her face to its caress.

  “We may have a rough sail of it ’ere we reach Hola, if the clouds on the horizon are any indication.”

  Phillipe’s voice in her ear sent shivers straight to her core.

  She faced him, pulling a wisp of hair from the corner of her mouth. “Mayhap ’twill head out to sea and spend itself there.”

  “Mayhap. Alex says storms blow up all too often in the Sound. Hopefully, we will be ensconced in the longhouse, ’ere the rains fall.”

  “I fear we’ll have little time to ourselves on Hola.”

  Phillipe pressed his hips against hers, his arousal evident even with clothing between them. “Asatrus and Igor snore loudly.” He tilted his head, eyes twinkling. “As does Fraida, if memory serves.”

  Maggie swatted his arm playfully. “’Tis nae gentlemanly to remark on a lady’s snores.”

  “Even my wife’s?”

  “I dinnae!” Heat flamed Maggie’s cheeks.

  “Oh, but you did, ma belle. Exhaustion dulled your senses, or I’m certain ye would have noticed.”

  “Our . . . loving dinnae tire ye out?” Maggie affected a pout, for she knew he’d slept deeply as well.

  “I woke once or twice if ye recall.” He shifted, putting slight space between them, then propped an elbow against the rail. “Ye are beautiful in your sleep. Like an angel.”

  She huffed but was unable to hide her grin. “Like a snoring angel.”

  He chuckled. “Like a snoring angel I am blessed to call wife.”

  Maggie leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. “Ye are an easy man to love, Phillipe.”

  “Is that your way of saying ye love me?”

  Maggie lifted her head and placed the palms of her hands against the linked mail he wore over his tunic. “Nae. This is how I say I love ye.”

  She leaned up on her toes, her breasts firm against his chest, and pressed her lips to his. His mouth softened, his arms surrounded her. His tongue tangled with hers and tremors sparked through her belly. With a sigh, she broke the kiss.

  “Mayhap this should wait until we have a wee bit more privacy,” she murmured regretfully.

  Phillipe’s moan rumbled in his chest as he tucked her back against his side. “Aye. Though everyone has thoughtfully turned their backs and are busy seeing the Mar through the Sound, I am enormously curious to see how ye say I love ye when we’re alone.”

  The clatter of toenails on the wooden planks heralded Serkan’s headlong dash across the deck. Sailors’ curses rang out. Rigging snapped from their hands as they struggled to keep their feet steady as the pup raced past. A seagull squawked, taking flight as Serkan leapt to the rail. White and gray feathers burst into the air, no longer attached to the hapless bird. The pup yipped then pranced to Maggie, a bit of down trailing from his jowls.

  “Bad dog!” Maggie scolded. “Ye mustnae disrupt the men, and ye cannae chase birds.” She turned to Phillipe. “I cannae have him around Colyn if he’s a danger.”

  “I will spend some time with him,” Phillipe said. “He needs to be shown what he can and cannot do. He has already abandoned his penchant for jumping on people.” Phillipe nodded to the pup who sat at her feet, tail eagerly sweeping the boards. “He wishes to please.”

  “He likes me.” She frowned. “I think I prefer horses.”

  * * *

  The falcon’s wings snapped like the sails of a ship against the wind. His cry shrilled, signaling frustration as he shifted his feet on the leather glove, his jesses held tight between Narfi’s fingers. Svala clapped her hands, her pale hair bouncing, while Halle’s lips thinned in disapproval.

  “Let him go!” Sakki cried, shoving his fist into the air in his excitement.

  Narfi shook his head. “The wind’s kicking up too much. ’Twill bring us a storm soon.”

  “He’s strong,” Sakki argued. “I want to see him hunt.”

  “Nae a lot of prey out,” Narfi said, nodding to the skies, empty except for the dark gray clouds roiling in from the sea. “Nae with a sump coming on.” He peered at the cloud-heavy sky. “Freya insisted ye get yer exercise, but I have a wee mouse to fill yer belly. Nae need to hunt this day.”

  Narfi placed the bird on a boulder, his talons scrabbling against the rough stone. Turning his back as Maggie had taught him, Narfi scooped the dead rodent from the bag looped over his shoulder. He faced the bird.

  “Here, fálki. Eat.”

  The falcon cocked his head then snatched the proffered meal from Narfi’s glove. Pinning the body with one claw, he consumed the mouse with great relish.

  “Ewww!” Svala covered her mouth and nose.

  Narfi frowned. “I am happy to provide yer meat, but I dinnae have to watch ye shred it.”

  “Do ye think Freya would let ye keep him?” Sakki asked. “Ye’ve had the care of him this past sennight and more.”

  Narfi shook his head. “She doesnae intend to keep him past his first year. She wants him to be free.”

  “But, what if he dinnae wish to be free?” Sakki insisted. “Do ye think he’s attached to ye?”

  “I dinnae know. ‘’Twould be grand to keep him, but he isnae a pet.”

  He turned his attention down to the water’s edge where seals crowded, barking as they jostled for position on the rocks. The cliffs provided the seals protection from the hunters’ arrows and spears, for even if they killed one of the great beasts, it was the task of all the men to drag the carcass up from the beach. Waves crashed against the rocks beyond the cove, a proven barrier against those of Hola who sought the seals from the sea.

  “I want to look for baby seals,” Svala said, apparently forgetting the falcon’s bloody display as she stepped to the overlook.

  “Dinnae get too close!” Halle warned. “The edge is dangerous.”

  Svala wrinkled her nose and halted a few feet from certain disaster.

  Halle joined her. “I dinnae see any pups yet.”

  “Soon. Then ’twill be truly noisy here.” Sakki and Narfi came alongside the girls, peering over the rocks to the beach below.

  “Watch out. Mayhap the pirates will return,” Sakki teased. He gave Svala’s braid a tug.

  She shrieked and pulled away. “Dinnae say that! Ye’re bad!”

  Halle cupped the small girl’s shoulders in her palms to steady her. Svala leaned against the older girl, a scowl half-angry, half-frightened on her face.

  “Ye know better than to taunt her,” Halle scolded.

  “She’s just a bairn. She doesnae remember . . ..”

  “I do, too! They made my ma cry.” Svala snuffled.

  Halle tucked the girl beneath her arm. “Leave off, Sakki, or I’ll tell ma.”

  With murmurs of comfort, Halle led Svala away.

  Tufted grass swayed in the freshening breeze. Sea spray peppered Narfi’s cheek and he tasted salt on his tongue. “We should hurry. The storm is rising.”

  “Wait.” Sakki touched Narfi’s arm. “Look.”

  Bits of sandy soil rose in the air, driven by a sudden spiral of wind. Clouds lowered to mingle with the surf, and sheets of rain drove down upon the waves as the storm raced toward the shore. Narfi raised his arm to shield his face. “What did ye see?”

  Sakki held silent as he peered through the swelling storm. Thunder rumbled overhead. “I cannae say. ’Tis vanished.” He sighed. “I thought ’twas a pirate ship.”

  Narfi glanced over his shoulder. Heads bent against the wind, Svala and Halle hurried down the path. “Ye shouldnae tease Svala.”

  “’Tisn’t about Svala. I thought I saw a sail.”

  “Are ye certain? Should we inform Asatrus?”

  Sakki shrugged. “Nae one can land on this side of the isle. Mayhap I was mistaken. ’Twas only a glimpse. Ye are right. I shouldnae have said what I did to Svala.”

  “Nae. Ye shouldnae. But if ye saw a sail, we should alert the guards.”

  Large drops of rain pelted down. Sakki waved a hand. “Forget it.
’Twas naught. Let’s go home.”

  * * *

  Dawn sifted through the lingering clouds, casting them in pink, orange, and gold against a blue-gray sky the same deep hue of the choppy seas that had yet to give up the fury of the prior evening’s storm. Waves crashed, spewing white foam in a furious roil against the rocks. Mist floated knee-high above the grass and muffled the normal early morning sounds.

  Maggie’s head nestled on Phillipe’s shoulder, warm and relaxed. Her breath came in deep draughts, misting faintly in the cool air. A wool blanket kept the brunt of the mud and damp away, though he’d paid little thought to it until just a few moments ago.

  The bark of a seal, softened by the fog, sounded below. A chill breeze wafted over the promontory. Salt scented the air. The hallmarks of Phillipe’s new life.

  “I am blessed.” He drew the edge of his cloak over Maggie’s thinly-clad shoulder and tucked it about her neck.

  She stirred, turning her face into his chest. “I agree, but what makes ye say this?”

  Phillipe smiled contentedly. “I have everything I could ever wish.”

  “Ye wish to make love to yer wife on a cold overlook, in the mud?”

  He ruffled her hair. “I would make love to ye anywhere. Save, mayhap, the noisy, cluttered longhouse. The snores and proximity of the others kept my ardor at least cooled to a manageable level overnight.”

  Maggie shifted. “I dinnae care for the rocks.” She reached an arm around and plucked a fist-sized stone from beneath her back. “Mayhap we should have retired to the abbey. Though if the mead turned sour or the apples dinnae make, we’d get the blame for desecration.” She chucked the rock away and it clattered its way through the fog.

  Maggie sat and stretched, her face upturned toward the sky. Her flaming hair pooled on the blanket around her hips. Her thin shift stretched across her breasts, teasing Phillipe as the cloth slid over her skin. He cupped one breast, the nipple firm against his thumb.

  Maggie smiled and bent to caress him. “I love what ye do to me, how ye spark desire in me with the look in yer eyes. I love yer touch, the way ye fill me and hold naught back from me.”