Highland Spitfire

by Mary Wine

  Her eyes grew round as her temper boiled. He was a huge man, intimidating. He was scowling at her, but that didn’t change the fact that they were both being rude to the staff.

  And she was done with it. She focused on that thought because ill manners were more than MacPherson or Robertson, more than even a Highlander opposed to a lowland Scot. Manners were civilized and the mark of a good upbringing, as well as the mark of an unspoiled child.

  “I’m thinking I’m past the age of sulking.” She reached for her goblet and took a swallow, forcing a serene look upon her face.

  Fury flickered in his eyes, and he leaned closer. “Is that why yer father had to resort to plotting with the earl to get ye a husband? Because no one in their right mind would want to steal away a Robertson harpy who is long in the tooth?”

  The tiny bit of contentment she’d managed to cultivate shriveled and died. But instead of allowing her temper to rise, what she felt was a twinge of hurt that he might judge her so harshly.

  His voice grew louder, causing the men below them to look up at the high table. Some of her father’s men growled, and there was a clear answer from the MacPherson.

  Bhaic stiffened and looked at their audience.

  The goblet shook in her hand as she faced the very real circumstances of their union. Morton’s words rose from her memory.

  Prayers for the living or for the dead…

  “I’ve made my choice, so make yers…” Ailis whispered. “All they wait upon is a small quarrel between us to begin the fighting. I confess I would rather no’ give it to them. Being agreeable is no’ too much for me to accomplish, no matter what insults ye care to bait me with.”

  He tilted his head toward her so their eyes met. Something in his eyes sent a ripple of awareness through her. Her heart accelerated as she realized there was no hope of success unless he joined her.

  “Ye are more woman than lass.” There was a touch of something that might have been admiration in his tone, if she were given to entertaining the idea that he could feel anything but hate toward her.

  “I’d rather no’ see blood spilt either,” he said slowly as he made an effort to soften his expression. She could see the resistance glittering in his eyes and knew he saw the same in hers. Yet she maintained her soft smile, and he forced his lips into an easy line.

  A Robertson and MacPherson, united in a common goal. Inconceivable, yet it sat on both of their shoulders in that moment. A moment of unity she’d never imagined, but discovered herself proud of. Yet it was a shared achievement.

  She had no idea what to think of that fact.

  He muttered something profane under his breath and reached for his goblet. He raised it high. “To me bride.” The MacPherson and Robertson reached for their goblets out of habit, many of them looking surprised when it sank in that they had just toasted to the union.

  With each other.

  “It seems we have both been assigned roles to play that we do nae favor, Ailis.” His lips had quirked into what might actually be considered a grin. If only a minor one. “Ye do so with grace, madam.”

  For a fleeting moment, she felt the most unexpected thing: a sense of commonality between herself and a MacPherson. It was shocking, numbing her wits enough to keep her staring at Bhaic. The lapse allowed her to notice how fair he was. His cheekbones were high, his jaw strong. She liked the way he kept his chin scraped clean of whiskers. Somehow, the lack of beard made his lips look sensual. A flutter went through her belly, and she looked away, the unexpected response making her uncertain. There was the unmistakable touch of heat in her cheeks.

  Her gaze landed on the Earl of Morton. He bestowed a small, pleased look on her, then stood up and signaled to the men standing guard behind the high table. “I bid you good night.”

  The musicians had been replaced by gunmen. They pointed their black-powder muskets down at the men sitting at the tables. Her father wasn’t intimidated, instead climbing to his feet, his face red with rage.

  “Bloody bastard,” Liam Robertson raged. “Me daughter is nae going above stairs with a MacPherson!”

  “She is going above stairs to consummate her marriage,” the earl informed them.

  “Me son will have naught to do with any Robertson wench, even if she strips down and spreads herself out for him!” Shamus MacPherson hollered to the delight of his men. They cheered and pounded the tabletop.

  “Then I will shoot the lot of you right here. I offered you a choice. Make no mistake, I will have peace between you. If this is not a valid marriage, I will wipe out the generation that cannot see the wisdom in building a future free of feuding.”

  The earl’s tone was harsh. Seeing the muzzles aimed at her kin, Ailis pushed her chair back and stood. The Head of House rushed in front of the guards and took her by the hand, pulling her across the raised platform the high table stood on. Ailis didn’t look back, but she felt Bhaic’s gaze burning into her.

  The lump was back in her throat. No matter how many times she swallowed, it remained. The Head of House was patting the back of her hand, advising her to “bear up.” Wasn’t that the plight of women and wives? To shoulder what must be endured in a world run by men? The Head of House sent her approving looks, as did the maids that followed. None of them wanted the chore of mopping up blood from the floor or to lay their heads down in a keep haunted by the ghosts of those gunned down inside its walls.

  But the thing that horrified Ailis most was the certain knowledge that the worst was yet to come.

  * * *

  The earl’s tower boasted a fine new slipper tub.

  Sitting near the hearth at the back of the kitchen, it was made of copper and had a high back. The Head of House had set her maids to making sure it was full of water. The moment the woman pulled her into the kitchen, the maids working at the long tables pointed the boys toward the doors.

  With only women left, the maids began to untie the laces holding Ailis’s dress closed. She tried to shy away, but they surrounded her, one working on the lace that closed her bodice in the back and two more loosening the cuffs of her sleeves.

  “We are only women here,” the Head of House insisted firmly before pulling the wreath off Ailis’s head. “No need for modesty. And all the better for ye if there are witnesses aplenty to swear ye are nae misshapen.”

  Ailis froze, stunned by the Head of House’s words. The woman nodded with approval as the maids lifted off Ailis’s bodice and began to open her stays.

  There had been no midwife to inspect her.

  Without such an inspection, Bhaic MacPherson might send her back to her father, claiming she was misshapen.

  No doubt the earl thought himself so high in authority that such a detail would not matter. The man was certainly a lowlander, for no Highlander would have made such an error. Ailis enjoyed the thought, for at last, she was able to see the earl’s failings instead of the very tight trap he’d managed to set.

  Of course…

  She suddenly smiled, the lump in her throat dissolving. Bhaic wanted no more of their marriage than she. Of course he would send her back to her father. The earl and his guards would be long gone, and her father would not trust any further meetings with the regent.

  The marriage would be annulled.

  Relief flowed through her.

  “There now…” the Head of House said in response to the smile that lifted Ailis’s face. “Ye’re a levelheaded one and no mistake. Seeing the blessing ye have in being wed to the son and no’ the father.”

  Her smile faltered. Ailis looked at the woman as some of the maids made low sounds in their throats.

  It would seem matters could be worse after all.

  Her stays were opened, and the maids took the garment away. Her skirts followed quickly.

  “Likely the earl worried Laird MacPherson might be to
o old to consummate his vows,” the Head of House continued.

  “Likely,” Ailis agreed. It was another reason for her to be hopeful. An old man might just keep her, but Bhaic was young and wouldn’t care to have her shackled to him.

  No, of course not. She’d seen the resentment in his eyes.

  So, there was naught to worry about.

  Even being stripped of her remaining garments didn’t bother her—she was still basking in the certainty that Bhaic MacPherson would happily send her back to her father as soon as the earl was gone.

  The Head of House produced a comb and brushed out Ailis’s long hair. The blond strands were wavy from the tight braid she’d worn all day, but straightened as soon as Ailis climbed into the tub and submerged her head.

  The soap they handed her was made with rosemary. Ailis happily rubbed it along her arms and legs while the maids tried to hurry her.

  She resisted their prodding, lingering in her bath and rinsing her hair twice before standing up. With her stress dissipating, she grew tired. There was no resistance in her as the Head of House guided her up the steps to the second floor.

  But the knot in her belly returned when she realized some of the earl’s guards had fallen in step behind them. She’d not escape completely from this marriage. There would always be whispers clinging to her skirts.

  The sun was setting, the last crimson rays making the windows glow. The woman kept going, pulling Ailis up another flight of narrow stone steps. At least the earl’s men kept back enough to keep from getting a clear look at how thin her chemise was.

  They reached a door and the Head of House stopped. “It’s a fine chamber the earl had prepared for ye.” She pulled the ring of keys hanging from her waist and fitted one into a lock on the door. It made a grinding sound when she turned it.

  Ailis looked down at the two guards waiting behind her. They wore breastplate armor and helmets, and each one had a sword and a smaller black-powder gun. They inclined their heads before looking away because she wasn’t dressed. The Head of House had brushed out her hair and put the wreath back on her head before deeming her ready to meet her groom.

  He wasn’t that.

  Bhaic MacPherson wasn’t going to be her husband. Yet it appeared that they would have to share a chamber for the night. Try as she might, Ailis couldn’t stop her heart from racing at the thought.

  But the Head of House took her into the chamber, and Ailis froze when she saw the earl sitting in a chair next to the bed.

  “The bride, at last.” He motioned to the Head of House. “Remove that chemise. I will bear witness to her health myself.”

  * * *

  Ailis felt as if her lungs had frozen. She needed to draw breath but couldn’t. She was locked in the horror of the moment, unable to look away from the hard conviction in the earl’s eyes. Unable to recall how certain she’d been that everything would be righted by the next day.

  The reason was simple. She had to deal with the present first, and the Earl of Morton was a harsh reality indeed.

  “Ye’ll do no such thing,” a male voice said.

  Her deliverance had come at the hands of Bhaic MacPherson. She was hugging herself, intent on keeping the chemise on as the Head of House tried to comply with her master’s order. But she was also trying not to stare at Bhaic MacPherson.

  He was stripped to his shirt and boots, the edge of the shirt falling to just above his knees. She stared at his groin, unable to help herself, but the dark room didn’t allow her to see anything.

  Bhaic stepped in front of the woman and pointed her toward the doorway they’d entered the chamber through.

  “Did ye bathe me bride?” he asked.

  The Head of House lowered herself. “Aye, Laird.”

  “In naught but her skin?” he pressed while Ailis felt her cheeks burn.

  “Indeed.”

  He grasped Ailis by the upper arm and sent her toward the large bed.

  “With other experienced women in attendance?” Bhaic continued.

  “That has naught to do with my request,” the earl interrupted. “I’ll see the wench for myself, so there will be no cry from your father that the girl is unfit for marriage.”

  Bhaic pointed the Head of House toward the doorway again, and she took the opportunity to hurry out of the chamber.

  “Ye’ve had yer way enough today, Lord Morton.” Bhaic faced off with the man. “Ye will nae be looking on me wife.”

  “This marriage will stand, or I will return with enough soldiers to destroy your clan.”

  “I’ve heard enough threats out of ye too,” Bhaic informed the earl. “Ye have no guards here.”

  The earl stood and grinned unpleasantly. “Thinking of trying me, Highlander? You might find it harder than you think to choke the life out of me.”

  Bhaic smiled menacingly. “The only thing I’m worried about is that I might enjoy it and have to account for it to St. Peter someday.”

  The two men began to circle each other. Bhaic moved toward her and slapped her bottom. “Get up on the bed, lass, so ye’re out of the way.”

  Her cheeks were on fire now, an instant reaction to the idea of climbing into the large bed at Bhaic’s command.

  He’d be a demanding one in bed, for certain.

  The thought was misplaced. It was also exciting, if she was willing to admit it. Which she wasn’t. But she climbed onto the bed. The mattress was filled with goose down and the sheets scented with expensive ambergris, but she was focused on the two men glaring at each other.

  “My guards are below”—the earl spoke softly, ominously—“with their muskets aimed at your father’s heart. If I don’t return, they have orders to fire.”

  Bhaic only grinned in the face of the earl’s threat.

  “Ye will nae be the first man to discover his authority fading with his death,” Bhaic responded. “Once ye’re dead, they will look for the next leader who is still among the living. That’s the way with ye men who worship position and power.”

  “And ye’ll go back to fighting over something yer grandfather did.” The earl straightened, abandoning his fighting pose. “Tell me something, Highlander, is it better to fight for yourself or for a man who is long dead? You will be Laird of the MacPherson soon. Are you going to happily condemn hundreds of your own kin to death because you want to continue a feud that is three generations old? And one that started with a jilted groom and a fat dowry? Where’s the honor in sending your clansmen to their deaths over something so very done with?”

  There was a long silence in the chamber.

  “I’ll be remembering who I am,” Bhaic answered, but his forehead furrowed, and he straightened up.

  “Thinking about it, aren’t you?” the earl questioned smoothly. “Do that, son of the MacPhersons. Think long and hard about the fact that right now, you can choose a brighter future for your clan. You claim to put them above all else. Consider doing it instead of just talking about it.”

  “I married the Robertson wench to protect them, did I nae?”

  The earl nodded. “Words mean little without action. Unconsummated, your vows mean nothing. I am not a fool. I will know if you send her back to her father. I also know it will not be an easy union. Your clan will accept her as their mistress only if you make it clear she is your choice.” He turned to look at Ailis. “You wanted peace enough to wed, but it will take far more than words spoken in front of a priest.”

  The earl walked to the door and pounded on it. His guards pulled the small view hatch open and looked at him before opening the door.

  “I may not be a Highlander, but I assure you, I am devoted to Scotland as deeply as you are. I’ll see this country united, even if I have to snuff out the life of those who cannot move into the future. Marriage or destruction. Make your choice, future Laird and Lady o
f the MacPhersons.”

  The earl left the room, and his men closed the door. The sound echoed inside the chamber like a gunshot. Ailis tightened her hands around the foot post of the bed, holding her breath as she waited to see what Bhaic would do.

  Well, what are ye planning to do, Ailis?

  She really had no idea. Matters had seemed so clear while she bathed. Now, the earl’s words were echoing inside her head. It was as if her mind was unable to focus on anything else.

  “I suppose the man has a valid point,” Bhaic said, his tone clearly displeased but nonetheless accepting. “A very good one.”

  Two

  Ailis jumped off the bed.

  The stone floor was cold beneath her bare feet, but she preferred to shiver rather than wait in the bed.

  “He’s spouting nonsense.” She moved away from the bed, looking for wood to start a fire, but there was none.

  Bhaic chuckled, sitting down in the chair the earl had been in. He ran his hand through his hair before stretching out his legs.

  “He may be, but the man is no fool.” Bhaic leaned down and started loosening the ties on his boots. “This chamber has been prepared very carefully to ensure that the only comfortable place to spend the night is in that bed.”

  “Together?” Her voice cracked again. She hugged herself and backed up, but a gust of wind blew in the window, chilling her to the bone. She stared at the openings in the stone, completely perplexed by the inability to cover them.

  “The shutters are missing,” he confirmed from behind her.

  Ailis was looking through an iron screen that would have been used to darken the chamber for a lying-in or while someone was ill. On the other side, there was no glass and no shutters to seal out the night.

  “No wood either,” she remarked after staring at the fireplace for a full minute because she just didn’t want to face their circumstances.

  She turned and locked gazes with him. She was beginning to shiver, and it was the chill of the night, not her company, causing it.