The Reluctant Highlander

by Scott, Amanda

  Such were her thoughts with that first gentle kiss. In truth, despite her body’s reaction to it, it resembled kisses she had oft received from kinsmen and her father’s close friends. The second one, though, was naught of the sort.

  There was no betrothal yet! Sakes, he had not even offered for her, so he had no more right to kiss her than Caithness or the loutish fop in the purple-and-blue hose had. But he was still kissing her. And the sensations he stirred were not remotely like any she’d experienced when other men had kissed her. Moreover, she was wantonly enjoying every tingle and thrill that he stirred within her, pressing her body closer to his and moving her lips against his. Her heart pounded so hard that she could almost hear it.

  His beard troubled her not a whit. In truth, it felt velvety where it touched her face, and she wanted to stroke it. But, like a dafty, she stood as she was, silent and compliant when she ought to be demanding fiercely that he release her.

  Her breasts tingled and felt as if they were swelling. Other feelings, ones she had never felt before, deep within her, made her forget all of her reservations.

  He drew her nearer, stroking a hand down her back to her waist, pressing her closer against him and kissing her much more thoroughly.

  Her lips moved urgently now, feeling his and tasting him. But when he tried to press his tongue between them, she pulled back. “What are you doing?”

  Still holding her, he looked into her eyes, his own eyes twinkling.

  “I am taking delightful liberties,” he said with a grin. “You would entice a man made of stone, my lady. In troth, I have wanted to do that from almost the first moment I saw you. But you have not answered my question.”

  “Nor you mine,” she retorted. “You cannot expect me to answer yours if you are not offering for me.”

  “I think that your lord father explained how matters stand,” he said. “So, aye, I am offering for you. Do you still have concerns enough to make you refuse?”

  “You know that I do have that right.”

  “I do, but the better I come to know you, the more I hope you will not.”

  “And not merely because his grace and my father want you to marry me?”

  “Primarily his grace,” Àdham said unexpectedly. “But others besides your father agree that ours would be a desirable union. I’m certain now that I agree.”

  “I do not even speak your language.”

  “Neither did I learn to speak yours until I went to live with my uncle, who insisted that I speak only Scots with him. If I could learn Scots, you can learn the Gaelic. So, now, lass, do you think you can stomach me as your husband?”

  She hesitated, wondering how she had ever imagined she could refuse him. Still, there was one lingering, vital question. “Do Highlanders beat their wives?”

  He seemed taken aback by her question. “Do men of Lothian beat theirs?”

  Grimacing, she said, “I expect that many do if their wives displease them enough. However, it is not a common thing at home for any man to hit a woman.”

  “That is true in the Highlands, too. Clachans and clans alike take umbrage if a man strikes his wife or children without good cause.”

  “What is a clachan?”

  “A village,” he said. “But answer me, lass. If you mean to say nae, say it.”

  “I will say aye, sir, although I fear that I may regret it.”

  Grinning, he said, “Doubtless, we both will have some regrets. We do seem able to talk to each other without speaking in riddles or thinking things we do not say aloud. So, when one of us irks the other, mayhap we’ll be able see it through.”

  She smiled, feeling warm all over. “I like you, Sir Àdham MacFinlagh.”

  “’Tis a good start,” he said. “You fascinate me, lass.”

  Her breath caught in her throat then and it seemed long before she breathed normally again. No one had ever said such a thing to her before.

  She was staring at him, her mouth partway open, as if, Àdham thought, he had surprised her with his honesty. He put a hand on her shoulder, urging her on, and they walked past fragrant herb gardens and flowers to a hedged, grassy area with a long net strung across its center.

  “What is that place yonder?” he asked.

  “’Tis called a tennis court,” she said. “Men wear gloves and hit a ball over that net. My father and other men play the game with James.”

  The Herbar provided wonderful privacy, and Àdham was grateful for it. He had spared no thought for a possible audience before kissing her.

  At last, he said, “I wish we could stay here until the moon comes up.”

  “Aye, but it will soon be dark; and as it is, even Brother Porter may decide we have tarried too long and come to prod us along,” she said. “Father must be impatient, too, to hear what we have decided. In any event, we’ll have plenty of time to become better acquainted before the wedding.”

  He stopped then and turned her to face him. “My people are already talking of going home.”

  “But you arrived only a sennight ago!”

  “Aye, but I was the last to arrive because of other duties I had. The others have been here for a fortnight, and what remains of the Parliament apparently has more to do with the King’s Council than with the Highlands.”

  “I don’t even have a maidservant to go with me,” she said. “Mine will not want to travel so far from home. Father said that a lady will travel with you, but—”

  “Lady Marsaili, our war leader’s wife,” he interjected. “I think you will like her. But will you not trust me to keep you safe and see to your needs?”

  She gazed at him for a long moment and then seemed to relax. “I am sure you will try, sir. Doubtless you think me a feardie, but I’m not. I will own, though, that my first reaction to all of this about marriage and leaving here was pure panic.”

  “I would think less of your intelligence had it not been,” he said softly. “I think you are gey brave in your willingness to go through with this with me. So, I will make you a promise. If you find that you cannot tolerate the Highlands—”

  “Prithee, say no more,” she said. “I will marry you without such a condition if you promise not to set me aside if I displease you. Men do set wives aside in the Lowlands if they think they have cause, even banish them from the clan to starve.”

  Smiling, he said, “Surely not noble wives. But I do promise that willingly, Fiona, and I keep my word. I’m beginning to think we’ll deal well together.”

  “I hope so. Nevertheless, sir, we must go in now.”

  She seemed thoughtful again. But she was clearly more at ease with him, so he escorted her back to the residence. After wending their way to Brother Porter, Àdham saw her to the stairway leading to the royal chambers.

  He waited then only to see her skirts vanish around the next landing before letting Brother Porter show him out. Then, he strode briskly to Ormiston House, where he found his lordship in his rear chamber but not alone.

  His grace, the King, sat comfortably across the table from him with a pewter goblet of what looked like Ormiston’s excellent claret in hand. “I trust that all went well, lad,” he said, raising his goblet.

  “As well as one might expect, sir.” Looking from the King to his lordship and back, he added, “Lady Fiona did think we’d have time before wedding to know each other better. I warned her that my people may be nearly ready to go home.”

  “Aye, good, because the Mackintosh and his clansmen mean to leave Wednesday morning,” James said lightly. “Likely, ye’ll go with them.”

  “I did expect to return when they do, but—”

  “Excellent,” James said. “Then, unless someone strongly objects, we’ll arrange for ye to be wedded and bedded on Tuesday. Ormiston will so inform Fiona.”

  Having just taken a sip of his wine, Àdham nearly choked on it. He loathed having hi
s future so abruptly decided for him. But, with effort, he held his tongue, for he believed in avoiding futile conflict with those in authority over him.

  If the King of Scots did not count as such, no one did.

  James set down his goblet. “I must go now, but my lass will be gey pleased when I tell her about this.”

  When he’d gone, Ormiston said, “You were wise to accept his decision that you wed on Tuesday, lad. But I could see that you had qualms about marrying so soon.”

  “None for myself,” Àdham replied. “I was thinking, though, that her ladyship may feel rushed, even forced, into this marriage.”

  “I’d not blame you if you felt that way, too,” Ormiston said. “But you have not answered my question. Do you feel as if we’ve forced you into this marriage?”

  “By my troth, sir, the lady Fiona will suit me fine,” Àdham said frankly. “But if she feels forced, the outset of our marriage may be unnecessarily thorny.”

  Ormiston grinned. “No matter how well-suited you are, lad, you will fall out. But you will find that Fiona does not quarrel. She goes silent and often fails to speak her mind when she should, because she fears upsetting others. You should know, too, that while she may forgive you, she never forgets a serious wrong.”

  “Neither do I,” Àdham said evenly. “So, I will understand that trait in her.”

  “Will you?” Ormiston said, his eyes twinkling. “I do look forward to visiting the pair of you as soon as possible and meeting the rest of your family.”

  Chapter 9

  Awakening Sunday morning to the sound of her bedchamber door closing and the sweet smell of ambergris filling the air, Fiona blinked at the sight of Lady Sutherland, garbed in scarlet and blue, beaming at her from her bedside.

  “I ha’ kept your Leah waiting on yon landing,” her ladyship said. “Sithee, your lord father be wi’ his grace now, but he entrusted me with a message tae give ye.”

  “W-What is it?” Fiona asked, sitting up and clutching the coverlet to her chest.

  “Tae put it plain, his grace has asked Bishop Wardlaw tae wed ye tae Sir Àdham on Tuesday, here in the Blackfriars’ chapel.”

  “Tuesday!” Fiona stared at her in shock. “This Tuesday?”

  “Aye, Fiona-lass. Sithee, the Captain o’ Clan Chattan and the rest of Sir Àdham’s party will leave St. John’s Town Wednesday morning. The two o’ ye must go wi’ them.”

  Stunned, recalling that Àdham had said his people might go soon but yearning to cry out at such unseemly haste, Fiona managed nonetheless to stifle her outrage, knowing that Lady Sutherland had no power to mend the situation.

  Realizing that her mouth was agape, she shut it.

  Lady Sutherland put a warm hand on her shoulder, saying, “I ken fine that ye were no expecting this. But ye must get up the noo. We’ll attend the Lady Mass today, and her grace would like tae see ye afore we break our fast. I’ll send Leah in tae assist ye.”

  Minutes later, Fiona was nearly ready to depart.

  “I do not need a formal caul for a Lady Mass, Leah,” she said as she twitched a fold of her lavender gown into place and slipped her feet into matching slippers. “Prithee, just a plain white veil. I must go straightaway to her grace.”

  With the veil neatly pinned in place, she hurried to the Queen’s antechamber, where Lady Sutherland awaited her.

  “I’ll take ye straight in, child,” she said with a fond smile. “Her grace was delighted tae hear o’ your wedding. For the nonce, we just want tae be sure ye’ll have all that a bride requires tae be comfortable and confident.”

  Having no idea what to say to that, Fiona kept silent.

  Signing to a maidservant at her grace’s door to open it, Lady Sutherland swept Fiona before her as if she were shepherding a lost sheep back to its fold.

  When they entered, Joanna, her honey-blond hair plaited into a knot at her nape, was standing on a low stool while her attire woman arranged the gold-brocaded, dark green silk overdress, or houpland, that her grace wore. Its black velvet belt nipped the dress in below her breasts, just above the open vee where the houpland’s skirt split to reveal her rose-velvet underdress. When she stepped off the stool, her skirts puddled on the floor and the belt’s trailing ends lost themselves in the folds.

  Then, the attire woman and her minions were gone, and Fiona was alone with the Queen and her mistress of robes.

  “Have you decided what you want to wear, dearling?” Joanna asked her.

  Stunned by the question, Fiona said the first thing that came to mind. “My blue silk gown is my favorite, but Father prefers the emerald-green, so I’ll likely wear one of those.”

  “I thought so,” Joanna said. “However, love, every bride deserves a new gown for her wedding. I ken fine that you have not had anything new for an age. I have, though, and we were much the same size before I began increasing.”

  Fiona glanced at Lady Sutherland. Then, lest she seem un­grateful, she said, “’Tis most generous, your grace. But I must not impose—”

  “Prithee, do not deny me this pleasure. I have some lovely new gowns I shall never wear, because they’ll be unfashionable before I fit into them. ’Tis all Jamie’s fault, of course,” she added with a chuckle. “It is also his fault that you are in this position. I know he has cause for what he has done, but I also know how you must feel. I was in much the same position, after all, when he asked me to marry him.”

  “You had just two days to prepare?” Fiona exclaimed.

  “A few more than two,” Joanna admitted. “But when one knows how long parleys for most royal marriages last and how long the wedding planning takes after the betrothal, I vow, it felt as if it all happened in a flash. Then, overnight, I was on a horse riding to Scotland beside your King, with a train of courtiers following us.”

  She related some amusing tales about that journey, and by the time they set out to attend the Lady Mass, Fiona’s qualms about accepting her help had fled.

  As they walked, Fiona realized that the Queen’s other ladies all knew of her odd betrothal. “We know you had no time for a formal betrothing,” Lady Malvina confided cheerfully as they walked together. “Moreover, if his grace says one is betrothed, then one is betrothed. Are you excited, Fee? I must say Sir Àdham is not the sort of man I want to marry, but he knocked Caithness down to protect you, so he must be hard-smitten. My father says it is unnecessary to like one’s husband. I do like Hamish, I suppose, but I feel no passion for him. If he were not so wealthy . . .”

  “I do like Sir Àdham, Vina,” Fiona confessed when she paused. “I do not know if I will like living in the Highlands, though.”

  Malvina gaped. “The Highlands! Why, I thought you would live near Ormiston Mains. My father said that you have an estate there. Is that not so?”

  “That estate is part of my tocher,” Fiona said. “But a woman lives with her husband, Vina, not the other way round.”

  “I suppose you must, then. But in the Highlands? Mab Gordon told me that newly wed Highlanders spend their first night in a dreadful shack whilst their neighbors crowd round and shriek or sing at them and horrid pipers pipe all night long. They cannot move into their own house until the second day, Mab said.”

  “Have mercy, Vina!” Fiona begged. “I’m nervous enough about this as it is.”

  “Is he wealthy?”

  “I don’t know,” Fiona said, smothering a sigh. “I still have much to learn about him, but I doubt it. I will have my tocher, though.”

  “I, too, when I wed,” Malvina said, frowning. “Hamish said he will look after it for me.” More confidently, she added, “But Sir Àdham will take good care of you, Fee. Thanks to Caithness, we know that much.”

  Fiona heard more such talk throughout the day. She heard, too, that Lady Sutherland had arranged for some of the ladies to take flowers from the gardens into the kirk. Father Prior had ev
en assigned two lay brothers to aid their arrangement.

  Sunday afternoon, Ormiston visited and the two of them drew up a list of what he should bring her when he visited Castle Finlagh.

  “I fear that a Highland castle will be a barren place, sir,” she said after listing the things she most desired. “Mayhap you should also bring the furnishings from my bedchamber, so I can have something that will make me feel at home.”

  “You must ask your husband about that, lass,” Ormiston said with a fond smile. “The distance from Ormiston to Perth is a three- to four-day journey. It must be a five or six days’ journey from Perth to the coast of the Moray Firth, which is where Nairn lies. I will arrange to stop with friends along the way, but I’m afraid I can bring only those personal things you said you would miss most.”

  She had suspected as much. In fact, she had known she would be far from home, but she had had no idea how far. She hoped he was wrong about the distance.

  Later, the Queen’s ladies made much of measuring her to be sure that her wedding dress would fit. Tradition forbade a bride to try on her dress and ordained that its laces be untied, a fact that Fiona recalled from Davy’s marriage to his wife, Robina. However, there were other traditions of which she knew less or nothing.

  Shortly before supper, when she begged leave to refresh herself, Lady Sutherland said, “I’ll go wi’ ye, child. I would talk more wi’ ye.”

  “Aye, sure, my lady,” Fiona said, wondering what she had done now.

  When they reached her chamber, Lady Sutherland looked it over as if she had never seen it before. Staring at the bed, she said, “’Tis just as I thought.”

  “What is, madam?”

  “Even were this wee chamber no on the ladies’ side o’ the residence, it could never serve for proper bridal bedding. That bed be much too sma’.”