Her Highland Destiny

by Leanne Burroughs

  Clan loyalties ran deep in a Scot, he was no exception. The invisible bond shackled him to the welfare and future of MacThomas’ clansmen, from the lowest servant to his sister Tamara.

  ~ * ~

  In a crowded London pub, a burly man sat alone. He leaned back in his chair and barked to the serving wench, “Ale.”

  His ears picked up the conversation at a nearby table about news worthy of celebration. The men were laying bets on banns they’d heard called in church that morning.

  “Can you believe King Edward ordered Gillingham’s daughter to wed some heathen Scot?” a gravelly voiced young man commented. Already drunk, he knocked his goblet over, spilling ale onto his brown chausses. He jumped up and swore, the others laughing at his clumsiness.

  Wiping the ale with a cloth, he sat. “‘Tis passing strange, with the king holding Gillingham in such high regard. We all paid court the wench, only to be turned away. Personally, I thought her father set his sights on a Duke’s son for his precious daughter.” Those around the table grunted agreement.

  “Who did the priest say she had to marry?” a thin man asked.

  “Mac something,” another answered.

  The group laughed.

  “They’re all mac something or other,” joked the man who’d begun the conversation. “The priest said MacThoms…MacThomas. Aye, that’s it—Duncan MacThomas.”

  “I bet a groat it does not take place.” An elderly man with missing teeth walked up to the young men’s table.

  “You shall lose, old man, but we will be happy to take your money,” someone scoffed. “The chit does not have a choice about the wedding. The king ordered it.”

  Erwin couldn’t believe his luck. Duncan MacThomas would soon arrive in London. His lips twisted in an evil smile. The wedding saved him the long trip to Scotland. He could sit back and wait to kill his nemesis.

  Chapter Two

  Shadows dappled the earth as the MacThomaidh entourage arrived at London’s Brentwood Estate. Duncan found it difficult to believe a fortnight had passed, though his backside assured him otherwise. He grumbled, “It seems I just began this journey from Hades and we are here already.” Riding abreast of his men, his eyes took in his betrothed’s home. “Bloody…” He stopped himself from swearing. Although deep inside he was thinking almost every epithet he’d ever heard. “Those perfect trees no doubt took some poor servant a sennight to trim.” He shot a look at his father. “Pretentious—as I imagine her to be. The last attribute I want in a wife.”

  Escorted to his room by way of a well-scrubbed staircase and long corridor, Duncan was no more impressed with the home’s inside than its exterior. Portions of stone floor were covered with thick tapestries, clearly imported from the continent. “They walk on these? I would hang them on my walls and be proud of it.” Fancy iron works graced the ceiling and sunlight poured through stained glass windows. He groused, “Look at this house. A waste of good coin.”

  His sister Tamara shot him a frown. “Duncan, hush.”

  After arriving at Tamara’s home in Melrose, her presence had been the only pleasant aspect to the journey.

  He groaned. “I must relinquish my freedom to obtain this Englishwoman’s hefty dowry. Yet her family throws coin around as if they have an endless supply. And you want me to hush?”

  “Aye, you are being rude.” Tamara’s eyes shifted to their young escort.

  Duncan ignored Tamara’s glare. All he’d ever wanted was a woman to love, much like his friend’s wife, Tory. She was charming, a healer, and a natural born storyteller—not to mention lovely and passionate. Everything a man would ever want. Well, she was a hellcat—but a man could overlook a few flaws for perfection in everything else.

  He certainly never planned to wed a woman he’d never met. He knew nothing about his betrothed except her name—Catherine Gillingham. Even that sounded pretentious. Did she dread the marriage as much as he? Or was she so meek she did all bidding without question? Considering the English’s hatred of Scots, he couldn’t imagine her being pleased at the prospect of spending her life with him. After living in such luxury, she’d find things different in the Highlands. She’d see no excess in his home.

  Entering the room he’d been shown to by their escort while Tamara was shown to the room adjoining, Duncan stripped off his clothes and climbed into bed. After riding for days, he was tired—in both body and mind. He stretched his large frame and laced his hands behind his head, certain he’d have the last laugh. Now he could sleep.

  ~ * ~

  Catherine Gillingham stared out her chamber window at white clouds floating in the clear blue sky. She listened as birds chirped happily. Such a beautiful day and yet it would be the worst day of her life. Her brother, Trevor, sat on her unmade bed. She knew he made effort to cheer her, but his silence told her he could think of no comforting words.

  Struggling to regain her poise, she turned to face him and wiped away tears.

  “Trevor, what shall I do?”

  He rose and came to her side, holding her securely in his embrace.

  “Shh, Cat.” He carefully ran his hands over her long, dark brown hair, cascading down her back. Her lady’s maid Rowena had scattered seed pearls throughout and they shimmered with every movement. Trevor gently brushed back soft wisps of hair at the sides of her face, one stray lock coming loose on her forehead.

  Fear of the unknown welled within her. “Oh Trev, I assumed Father would secure a good husband for me. Not be bartered off by Edward to some Scottish heathen in payment for Scotland’s loyalty.” She sobbed, “Why can I not marry Marquess Pemberly? Have I aimed my sights too high? Jason cares for me.”

  Trevor said nothing, but stroked his hand over her back. She took his silence as agreement. “What about Lightsey? I overheard Jeremy ask Father for my hand.”

  “Overheard?” Trevor teased.

  “Aye, I was—”

  “Eavesdropping, as usual?”

  “I do not eavesdrop, Trevor Gillingham. I glean facts,” she huffed, her hands on her hips. “And the few I learned of this marriage make me wish to escape to a convent.”

  She buried her face in his shoulder.

  “We have no choice, Cat. Edward decreed it.”

  “Blast the king!”

  Trevor whipped his head around to search the doorway, his face drained of color. “Hush, Cat. The king has ears everywhere. You must watch what you say—for all our sakes.”

  Seeking comfort, Catherine flung her arms around her older brother’s neck and sobbed. “How shall I manage without you? You have been the one constant in my life.” She raised tear-filled eyes.

  He held her, giving her no doubt he relinquished his role as protector reluctantly.

  “You shall be fine.” His voice soothed, although she steeled herself against the words. “You are strong, love. You can handle anything you set your mind to.”

  “What if...?” Words failed her. She tightened her grip around his neck. As a child, he’d protected her. He no longer lived at home, but she had only to send for him and he came. Their bond strong, she’d thought nothing would ever separate them. Until now.

  Catherine’s eyes brimmed with tears while he studied her face, caressing her cheek with his knuckles. As if reading her mind, his voice soothed, “Call for me, Cat. Send a missive and I promise I shall come.”

  Her brother’s eyes held only sadness.

  “You must dress now, sweet sister.” He cast an eye at her rumpled robe. “I shall leave so Rowena may return.”

  She watched him leave, too distraught to utter anything but a sob.

  She moved one more time to her chamber window and sunk to her knees. “Father God, please help me. Did I do aught wrong to bring such a dreaded action down upon me? Did I displease you? Forgive me, Father, if I did. I only always mean to serve you.” A sob escaped her throat. “If this be Thy will, Holy God, protect me as I go forth with a marriage I do not want. In Your son’s precious name I pray.”

  She rose
and moved toward the middle of the room so her lady’s maid could help her dress.

  ~ * ~

  Too soon the dreaded moment of truth arrived.

  When the priest asked for Catherine’s voice of consent, her eyes slipped sideways to appraise the angry man beside her. His stony silence seemed as eloquent as any bard’s tale. He wanted naught to do with her.

  He’d not joined them at supper the prior eve, so she’d still seen only his back and profile. His dark brown hair fell to his shoulders. When her father escorted her to the chapel’s outer steps, she’d noticed the man’s height and the breadth of his shoulders. He was large, taller than her father or brother. He wore a white linen shirt with a blue and green plaide revealing long, strong legs. His profile looked chiseled in rock, clearly revealing his anger.

  She feared her knees might buckle. How could she bear the burden of her father’s expectations to wed as the king decreed? Her father had been in Edward’s favor for years. Couldn’t he have changed the king’s mind? Was being granted a new title and another estate more important than his own daughter’s happiness? His sharp admonition ‘to make me proud’ echoed in her mind.

  Her eyes sought her father’s, pleading for a final reprieve. After leaving her to stand beside a stranger, he’d gone to stand by her mother. She saw no love in his hazel eyes, only steely determination. Having always treated her kindly, Catherine wondered why he suddenly cared not about her feelings. He knew she didn’t wish to wed this man. How much wealth had the king promised to make him turn his back on her?

  Her mother stood beside her husband, wringing her hands. She’d been in tears for sennights, upset over Catherine’s fate. Her dark brown eyes were rimmed with red. Her hair, always a lustrous black, had begun to grey. Never one to challenge her husband’s decisions, Lady Gillingham wouldn’t intervene—despite how much her heart might wish to.

  Shoulders stooped in defeat, Catherine turned back to face Brentwood’s priest. It felt like forever, yet mere moments had passed since the priest had asked for her consent. Father, please help me through this. I cannot do it without You. Please give me Your strength. Wrap me with Your love as I take this next step in my life. Her voice cracking, she barely whispered the words that would forever alter the course of her life. “I will.”

  The man beside her stood rigid as she gave her response. He exhaled loudly and said through clenched teeth, “Aye, I will.”

  The priest completed the holy message despite the palpable tension, then moved inside the chapel to offer communion and bless the marriage.

  Catherine couldn’t believe the priest’s audacity when at ceremony’s end he smiled at Duncan. “You may give your bride the kiss of peace.”

  Chapter Three

  Duncan eyed the priest as if he’d lost his mind, then turned for the first time to face his lady wife.

  Trying to keep his expression unreadable, his gaze traversed the length of her body. Seal this unwanted union with a kiss to show the two families joined together with no ill feelings? He’d not do it. All he’d had to do was tell the priest he protested. The ceremony would have gone no further. He couldn’t do it. His clan needed him. Before he left home he’d decided not to stay with this English wife after the wedding, wanting naught to do with a woman his father selected. He planned to leave as soon as he took her to his home. He wouldn’t change his mind now.

  He stood resolute—and unable to breathe—for he stared at one of the loveliest women he’d ever seen.

  He moistened his lips and watched her proudly stare up at him.

  He reached out to touch her face, but drew back at the last moment.

  Rimmed with long black lashes, her large brown eyes had golden flecks shimmering throughout. Her lips pressed together to hide her nervousness. Failing, the corner of her mouth trembled. Duncan had the ridiculous urge to take her in his arms and kiss her thoroughly.

  He had to slow his breathing as his gaze drank in her every nuance. A sheer wimple flowed down her back and covered her shimmering auburn hair. Seed pearls and ivy formed a circlet atop her head. Her ivory-colored kirtle was form-fitted and draped over well-rounded hips. Hips perfect for carrying a bairn—his bairn. Mayhap even the son he so longed for and never thought to have. He’d always figured Meggie would be his only child.

  The sleeves of the woman’s gown were long and loose flowing, befitting her family’s extreme wealth. The côtehardie, cut to show the gown beneath, was trimmed with martin fur.

  Give her the kiss of peace? He intended no such thing, although he couldn’t take his eyes from her lips, wondering if they’d feel as soft as velvet. Overwhelmed by her beauty, it took every ounce of willpower to tear his eyes from her face. He turned and left her standing at the altar, a collective gasp from onlookers echoing throughout the chapel as he walked out alone.

  He cared not what anyone thought of his actions, but knew he’d hear about it from his sister. Tamara wouldn’t hesitate to tell him he’d just been a cold-hearted, insensitive boor.

  He saw his sister from the corner of his eye, her green eyes wide with dismay when he moved past her. She said not a word, but he clearly heard her saying, ‘Duncan, how could you leave that poor woman standing alone?’

  Determined not to stay in this hated English house a moment longer than necessary, Duncan returned to his chamber and rang for the chambermaid. Upon her arrival, he told her, “Inform my lady wife we leave within the hour. I expect her packed and ready.”

  Observing the maid’s shocked expression, he coolly added, “Inform her any luxuries not down the stairs shall remain behind.” He turned his back in dismissal.

  ~ * ~

  Catherine felt a rush of annoyance and glared upstairs at her unseen husband. When he’d first turned in her direction at the altar, she’d lost herself in the fathomless depths of his blue eyes. She thought him one of the handsomest men she’d seen. She had the urge to reach up and brush the shock of dark hair from his forehead—until the rude man turned and left her standing alone.

  She fumed, “How dare he insult me and issue such an order? Does he not plan to partake of our wedding celebration?”

  Her mouth firmly set, she stormed upstairs, her mother, sister, and lady’s maid closely at her heels. “That arrogant man may think he won,” she grumbled, “but he doesn’t know whom he deals with yet. He probably believes I shall turn into a hysterical female. Well, I shan’t.”

  She turned to the women she held dearest. “With your help, I intend to put my husband in his place.” Her eyes softened as she looked to her mother, who sobbed, her shoulders shaking with the force of her tears. “Mother, please do not cry. I need your help to get through this.”

  Determined to show that man he’d wed a force to be reckoned with, Catherine packed with haste.

  With time to spare, she stood at the hall’s parlor door seemingly calm and serene in her light brown traveling mantle. She tried to maintain a calm façade. Inside, she seethed.

  Her husband approached the staircase landing, probably expecting to see a group of wailing women ready to plead for additional time. Instead, a smile spread over her face when he stopped mid-step. She delighted he saw the woman he’d just issued a ridiculous order to waiting calmly, her traveling retinue around her.

  Their gazes met and locked.

  She gave a mocking smile. “I thought mayhap you were going to be late, my lord husband.”

  A twitch of his lips and a quirked brow seemed to say, And so the battle begins.

  ~ * ~

  With a haughty turn of her head, Catherine reached her hands up and drew her mantle’s hood over her hair.

  Walking out the door, she fought the urge to glance back.

  She stopped outside and turned to Rowena. “I shall miss you.” She touched the tears freely flowing down the woman’s cheeks. “I would love to have you come with me, but would not subject you to that horrible man...my lord husband.” She smirked, her gaze sweeping to Duncan. He stared right through her, his
face impassive, as if her derogatory words meant naught.

  Kissing her family farewell, she headed across the courtyard and stood beside the waiting conveyance.

  Elizabeth ran to her, throwing her arms around her neck. “I shall miss you. Oh Cat, who shall I spend my days with? Who shall teach me to—”

  “Rowena shall care for you, Beth.” Catherine lifted the young girl’s chin and glowered at her new husband over Elizabeth’s head. The hood of her sister’s mantle fell, allowing her sandy brown hair to whip about her face. Lowering her head to her sister once again, Catherine whispered in her ear, “I love you.”

  Catherine nudged her toward Trevor.

  He gathered Elizabeth in his arms and endeavored to console her. Failing, he raked his fingers through his hair, unleashing it from the leather strap. Trevor attempted a smile. The best he could muster was a crooked grin.

  Angered to be placed in this predicament due to the king’s whim and her father’s greed, Catherine impatiently tapped her foot. It was The MacThomaidh’s litter her husband rushed her to, so she wondered how his father planned to return home. It mattered not. She refused to enter it until her lord husband helped her inside.

  ~ * ~

  Duncan watched from the courtyard, readying his horse for the long journey. He rolled his eyes as he watched his new lady’s every movement. The unyielding vixen stood beside the litter and didn’t move. He walked toward her, opened the conveyance’s curtains and extended his hand, waiting for her to accept it.

  She shot him a withering glare. Surprisingly, he found her tenacity oddly pleasing.

  Sense prevailed and although she glared back, her chin stubborn, she placed her hand in his. After settling her inside the cushioned litter, Duncan jumped atop his stallion.

  I misdoubt I shall ever be happy again. Not after being leg-shackled to this English female. At least she was pleasing to the eye, though it would be easier to hate her if she was a crone.