Highlander in Love

by Julia London

  “This room belonged to the first Lady Douglas. She died in childbirth in that very bed,” he said. “Naturally, the mattress has been replaced.”

  Una giggled.

  “And the laird Douglas of Eilean Ros? Where are his rooms?” Mared asked.

  “The west tower. The rooms are larger and more comfortably appointed, befitting a laird. Yer footmen and coachmen will be housed in the old stables. They’ve been made into servants’ quarters.” He smiled at Una. “Shall I recite the agenda for ye, then?”

  “Do, please,” Una said.

  “This evening, when the ladies and gents are served their supper in the formal dining room, the remainder of us shall be fed in the old stables. On the morrow, there will be traditional Highland gaming. Friday morning, the wedding ceremony will be held at the kirk in Kinlochmore, and Friday evening, the wedding ceilidh will be held on the south lawn by the loch to honor the bridal couple.”

  “Ooh,” Una said. “It’s all so lovely.”

  “Very well then, lassies,” he said with a click of his heels and a bow. “Supper for the downstairs staff is served promptly at eight o’clock. I shall hope to see you there.”

  He and Una smiled at each other before he quit the room. The moment the door closed, Una whirled about, her hands at her breast. “’Tis bonny here is it no’?” she asked dreamily and walked to the window and looked out at the forest. “I hope that one day I shall marry in a fine celebration such as this, in a castle in the forest. Do ye, Miss Lockhart?”

  The question took Mared aback; she’d never really thought what sort of wedding she might have—it seemed such an improbable, unlikely event. She glanced uncertainly at Una.

  The poor girl instantly realized what she had said and clapped a hand over her mouth. “I do beg yer pardon, Miss Lockhart!” she whispered and frantically looked about the room for something to attend.

  “Calm yerself, Una,” Mared said with a thin smile. “I’ve lived with the curse all my life and scarcely give it a single thought.” Never a single thought…but maybe a million.

  They unpacked their things and put them away, made two trips to the well in the courtyard for water, and when they were satisfied that they were refreshed, they made their way down the spiraling narrow staircase to the main floor of the castle in search of Alan and Charlie.

  They encountered dozens of people, so many that it was difficult to say who were servants and who were masters. Some of the men were dressed in fashion typical of the Quality—trousers and coats and waistcoats. But several wore coats and waistcoats and the féileadh beag, their clan plaid, as well as the ghillie brogues and sporrans and all that went with it. The women wore the arisaidh wrapped around their shoulders or like a sash across one shoulder and fastened with the luckenbooth at their waist. Everyone was laughing; the mood was festive.

  In the old bailey, Mared and Una found their way to the stables where the male servants had been housed. The renovations had consisted of changing stalls into small rooms and not much else. But the mood within, like that outside, was decidedly festive; men shouted back and forth to one another, and one man played a lively tune on a bagpipe.

  They found Alan and Charlie quickly, and both men were in fine spirits—Charlie instantly grabbed up Una in a dance and whirled her around the small space. “There she is, me bonny lass,” Charlie sang happily. “Come to give this lad a kiss.”

  “Donna be silly, Charlie!” Una cried laughingly, playfully pushing him away.

  “Come on then, ladies,” Alan said, offering his arm to Mared. “We’ll dine together, we lowly servants.”

  What had once been the tack room had been made a dining hall, and two long tables, filled with what seemed dozens of servants, swallowed the entire space. The close proximity of so many people from so many different houses, and most of them Douglas, made for a raucous affair. There was a lot of friendly ribbing back and forth both in English and Gaelic; several challenges were issued for the games that would be held on the morrow.

  Ale was served along with mutton chops, and the laughter grew louder and more boisterous as the meal went on. When the wooden plates were cleared away, the man with the bagpipe appeared, and another man joined him, carrying a flute. An old pot was made into a drum, and the little trio began to play Highland ceilidh tunes.

  It was only a matter of time before several of the men moved the tables and benches aside, and Charlie grabbed Una to dance.

  Mared’s feet were moving, too—she’d not danced often in her life, but when Alan looked at her, she smiled, and he eagerly grabbed her hand and led her onto the makeshift dance floor, into the thick of laughing men and women. Round and round they went, kicking up their heels to the gay Scots music, laughing and pausing only to gulp their ale before they went again.

  It was a night of magic for Mared—she’d never danced with such abandon. She felt as if she was free of the curse somehow, as if she had found a place where it had not followed her, and for the first time that she could remember, she could breathe.

  But fate had never been kind to Mared, and that night proved to be a Judas kiss, for as she broke away from Alan to drink some ale and wipe her brow, she saw him. He was in the back of the dining hall, his back against the wall, a tankard of ale in his hand.

  Jamie McGrudy was standing there, calmly watching Mared dance.

  Payton had escaped the stiflingly formal dinner inside the castle and had walked out onto a flagstone terrace to enjoy the crisp night air and a cheroot. The sound of gay music and laughter drifted across the terrace on a breeze; he walked to the far edge and looked down at the old stable block below. The dancing had spilled into the paddock; the servants were clearly enjoying themselves.

  Of course he wondered if she was down there. If she danced. If she graced the lads with her devastating smile and if they desired her as much as he…

  But he’d not had the simple pleasure of her smile in days.

  On the journey from Eilean Ros, he’d been too mindful of her position and reputation and had kept a respectable distance, lest he cause any indelicate talk among the others. And since they’d arrived at Castle Leven, he’d been engaged with his many cousins and the bridal couple. As a result, he had no idea where Mared was or what she did.

  Aye, but he missed her and dreadfully so. He missed her laughter, her smile, the wicked light in her green eyes when she had no intention of doing what he bade her. He missed her disdain, her delight, her pensiveness, and her grit.

  Why had he brought her here?

  It was a question he’d asked himself a thousand times over since departing Eilean Ros. He’d had nothing but endless moments to ponder it—at the time, it had seemed the only way—he’d been fearful she would leave Eilean Ros if he left her there, and he’d selfishly wanted her with him. He couldn’t have her, but at least he might see her, feel her nearby.

  His folly was in not thinking clearly. Of course she’d be separated from him, stowed away in some outbuilding with all the servants so that people like him would not be bothered with the sight or sound of her, or any other servant. The only opportunity he’d have to see her and speak with her at all would be in the morning, when she’d come to take his clothing and do God knew what with it.

  He had no one to blame for his misery but himself—he’d created this perplexing situation when he’d demanded her servitude. Mared had not been born to a servant’s station, and she’d be blissfully unacquainted with it now had it not been for his anger at her rejection. He wished that he could change it—a thousand times he’d regretted his rash decision. And now, he felt as if he was stuck between a rock and a stone, unable to go back, and quite unable to see his way clear.

  The only thing he knew with any certainty was that he was destined to feel a hole in the middle of his heart, for he likely would never have her, and she would, eventually, leave him.

  With a weary sigh, Payton tossed his cheroot aside and ground it out with the heel of his boot. He forced himself to walk a
way from the sound of the laughter below and return to his host’s tedious supper party.

  The next morning, however, Payton was dressed and waiting for her, anxious to have his single moment with her out of the thousands of moments that would pile up to form the day. He had guessed she would come at dawn when there would be no one afoot to see her enter and exit his chambers. And in fact, the sun had scarcely touched the morning sky when his door opened slowly and quietly, and her dark head slipped through the opening.

  She did indeed seem surprised to see him sitting there, but quickly slipped inside and peered out into the corridor. Only when she was assured she had not been seen did she close the door and turn to face him, her hands behind her back, her smile bemused. “What are ye about so blessed early in the morning, then?” she asked him.

  He gave her a wry smile, watched her walk into the room and pick up the coat he had left draped over a chair. She glanced around the tower room. “Ah, this is very grand, is it no’? The lad was right—it is befitting of a laird.”

  He hadn’t given the room the slightest thought. It had a bed, a basin. “How are yer accommodations?” he asked, curious.

  “A wee bit medieval,” she said. “And a single bed, which would do perfectly well, but then, I didna realize I would sleep with Una.”

  “I should think Una would be no trouble.”

  “Oh, aye, she’s no trouble,” Mared said, smiling a little. “But she snores.”

  He smiled. “Loudly?”

  “A banshee couldna be as loud.”

  Payton chuckled, and Mared cocked her head to one side, looked at him closely. “’Tis no’ like ye to be so quiet, milord. I am accustomed to yer ordering or complaining.”

  He glanced away. “I suppose I’ve nothing to order or complain about,” he said, and casually rose to his feet. “My cousins are determined to make me comfortable.”

  She took in his hunting attire. “Ye donna look dressed for the wedding games. Ye look as if ye intend to ride. Will ye no’ participate?”

  “The gentlemen are to hunt,” he said. “The wedding games are for those who willna hunt today,” he added carefully.

  “Ah,” she said and gave him a knowing nod. “The servants, ye mean, are to enjoy the games.”

  He said nothing. She laughed at his unwillingness to say it and walked to his bed to make it. “Ach, tossing and turning again, are ye?”

  Like a madman. Her remark made him feel uncomfortably exposed, and he walked to the windows overlooking Loch Leven. “Did ye enjoy the festivities last night?” he forced himself to ask.

  “Aye,” she said. “Yer cousin is to be commended, for he treats his servants well.”

  Payton closed his eyes and imagined the many men gathered around her last night. He opened his eyes, clasped his hands behind his back, and asked, “Did ye dance, then?”

  “For a time. No’ as much as ye did, I’d wager.”

  “Ye danced for a time…and then what?”

  She laughed at the question, and Payton turned to look at her. She was carelessly fluffing a pillow. “Then I retired. Did ye fear I would run off to be another man’s housekeeper?” She laughed again.

  But Payton’s conscience was pricked, and he did not respond.

  Mared tossed the pillow onto the bed and walked around the end of it. She picked up his coat, laid it on the bed, and folded it rather haphazardly. “Hmm,” she said, frowning down at it. “It always seems better when Una does it.” With a sigh, she picked up the coat and put it away in the bureau, gracefully avoiding Payton as he moved to the hearth. She turned around, rubbed her palms together. “All seems in order—”

  “My shoes,” he said hastily, spying his shoes on the floor near the hearth.

  She looked at his feet.

  “Have Charlie shine them, aye?” He stooped down, picked the shoes up, and held them out to her.

  Mared gave him a dubious look. “They seem to have been polished.”

  “No.”

  With a shrug, she walked forward and reached for them, and as he handed them to her, Payton impulsively, foolishly, put his other hand to her face, touching the soft flesh beneath her ear lobe. Mared gazed up at him. There was no fear there, no consternation…just a soft curiosity as his fingers traced the line of her jaw, then trailed to her nose, and to her lips.

  “What is it?” she asked quietly.

  You. Us. Everything. He shook his head, let his hand drop to his side. “Enjoy yerself, Mared. Enjoy the wedding festivities. Ye deserve to do so. I’ll no require yer services any longer this weekend. All of ye are to enjoy the wedding as a holiday.”

  She lifted one curious brow, but smiled sweetly. “Mo chreach, ye must have a care, milord. Ye’ve a reputation as a mean and black-hearted laird to uphold, aye?”

  “Aye,” he said, and turned away from her green eyes, to stare at the fire in the hearth. “Good day, Mared,” he said quietly.

  She stood there a moment longer; he could feel her gaze on him, and he silently begged her to go, to leave him. At last, at long last, she turned away and walked to the door. “Good day, Payton,” she said evenly. He heard the door shut and glanced at it over his shoulder, then stared again at the fire.

  Twenty-one

  O utside Payton’s room, Mared lingered a moment, wondering what any of that meant. She put her fingers to her skin, where his touch still lingered, and then to her lips.

  But she hurried from that door, lest she suffer a weak moment and throw it open and beg him to keep her safe from Jamie.

  The curse had risen up from its black crypt almost the moment she saw Jamie’s cruel smile and the ugly look in his eyes. Then came the whispers and looks she’d feared, the murmur snaking through the crowd like a poisonous asp. Eyes were suddenly on her, watching her closely.

  She’d not imagined it, she knew she hadn’t, for she’d felt it too many times in her life.

  But as practiced as she was in dealing with the fears of suspicious Highlanders, she would guard herself closely, keep her distance. The same as she’d always done, keeping to herself to avoid speculation and talk.

  She made her way to the old stables and handed Payton’s shoes to Charlie.

  “Clean and shine them again!” he complained. “I’ve only just done it, then!” But he took them nevertheless and turned around, walking into the room he shared with Alan. “Will he compete in the games?” he asked over his shoulder. When he received no response, he turned to look…but Mared had already slipped away.

  She returned to her tower chamber. Una had long since disappeared—undoubtedly in the company of the smiling footman. But in the afternoon, when the games began, Mared could not endure the stuffy old chamber, and with her arisaidh covering her head, she walked outside into the crowd of visiting servants and villagers and some highborn guests. She moved about, keeping her head down, her face obscured by her arisaidh, admiring the crafts of the artisans who had come from the village, watching with other enthusiastic onlookers the hammer and rock throw that pitted two enormous men against one another.

  The Douglases of Castle Leven had left no detail undone—the ale flowed freely all afternoon, and the longer the games went on, the more unruly the crowd became and the louder they cheered their favorite competitor.

  She was relieved that she did not see Jamie, but the boisterous behavior made her nervous, for one never knew what an ale-soaked Douglas crowd might find offensive. Or amusing. So Mared had slipped away, into the forest, content to walk alone.

  Diah, but she missed her long walks around Talla Dileas and Loch Chon! And as it was a glorious autumn day, she determined there was no time like the present to avail herself of the beauty surrounding Loch Leven.

  It was a blissful, peaceful walk, and she had gone on for two hours, she guessed, judging by the movement of the sun. When it seemed that the sun was beginning to sink behind the trees, Mared made her way back to the castle. But as she neared the property, she was a bit disoriented. She could not see the c
astle for the trees and wasn’t certain which of the two paths before her led back to the castle and the old stable block and which led to the new stables and washhouse.

  She picked the path to the right and strolled on, admiring the flora. When she heard the laughter of men, she was certain she had reached the castle grounds and walked out of the forest…and arrived at the west end of the new stables.

  “Mary Queen of Scots,” she muttered beneath her breath. At least she knew where she was. As she rounded the stables, she saw the source of the laughter, and her heart dropped to her toes. She instantly backed away, but it was too late, for Jamie McGrudy had seen her.

  He and three men were on their haunches, rolling dice on the dirt next to the stables. The moment he saw her, he instantly rose up, glaring at her.

  One of his friends turned to look, and he came to his feet, too, with a surly smile on his lips. “Ho there, co tha seo?”

  “I’ll tell ye who it is, lad—none other than the witch of Loch Chon, the accursed Miss Lockhart.”

  “Accursed?”

  “Aye,” Jamie said, walking out of their circle toward Mared. “’Tis said that she has the eye of a’ diabhal.”

  He would not, apparently, ever announce her curse correctly, Mared thought and took an uneasy step backward. Correct or not, what he’d said had caused a ripple of exclamation to rise up from his companions, and the remaining two came to their feet, one of them looking at her curiously, the other looking at her with fear.

  “Donna be foolish, Jamie,” she said, the lightness in her voice belying the terror she felt. “I told ye—’tis an old wives’ tale.”

  “Is it?” he drawled, casually moving toward her. “Then why have yer own blood forsaken ye and given ye over as whore to the laird of Eilean Ros?”

  “A whore, is she?” One of the men asked, so drunk he could scarcely stand on his own two feet.

  “Aye, a bloody whore,” Jamie said, and his brown gaze went terribly dark as it hungrily swept her body.