Highlander's Stolen Wife: A Medieval Scottish Historical Romance Book

by Alisa Adams

  THE FIRST NIGHT AT THE BOROUGH

  * * *

  Castle Diabaig

  * * *

  “Ye disobeyed my orders, loon.”

  “I ken, Faither.”

  “Then, why’d ye do it?”

  “I dinnae ken what came over me. I just had to—”

  Alastair never got to finish his sentence. His father started to rampage around his private chambers behind the Great Hall like a charging Highland bull. Thankfully, Mungo and Murtagh were also present. With the Laird, the three of them were the only people in the room. Alastair’s mother had miraculously vanished, most probably to check in with the kitchen, to make sure everything was in order for the feast that evening.

  Behind the raging Laird, stood large windows that usually boasted fine views over the loch and surrounding countryside beyond when it was light. A huge stone hearth flamed, hissed and crackled proudly in the sidewall. Alastair found himself seeking solace in the occasional tumbling of a log when it almost evaporated into a sea of sparks. Next to him, his companions were no better off. Mungo stared into the empty space between the Laird and the windows. Murtagh was mentally deciding what dish he would begin with later that evening. His musing revolved around balancing the perfect amount of ale and whiskey consumption so that he would still be in a position to mount the bonnie Caitlin from the kitchens after.

  “What do ye have to say for yerself, son?” snapped the Laird finally.

  Murtagh scowled as the image of Caitlin’s ample bosom dissolved before his eyes only to be replaced by the Laird’s piercing gaze. It took him a few moments to recapture a rapturous Caitlin. He soon relaxed back into a sort of semi-awareness. It was what he always did when confronted with people of authority. He deemed it best to appear to be listening but not to listen at all. When asked, act stupid, and invariably he’d be let off the hook because the person in authority would consider him a dunderhead, but a good fighter and thus irreplaceable.

  Next to him, Alastair’s head snapped up. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other nervously. He had not been listening to a thing his father had been telling them. He looked about him, but neither Mungo nor Murtagh gave him a single glance.

  “Don’t ye seek yer answers from those two galoots. I will deal with them once I have all of the facts from ye, the man I placed in charge of the expedition. A choice, I am coming to believe was a grave mistake on my part.”

  Alastair was the bravest of men in battle, but when confronted with his father’s wrath, it more often than not turned him back into a little boy or a loon as his father had called him.

  “Faither, we obtained a king’s ransom with the lord and his daughter, and we only lost one man – his name was Malcolm…”

  The Laird pressed his lips together. “Good man that.” He scowled. “Ye gave him honor and provided his body with a proper burial and the words that go with it, did ye now?”

  “Aye, Faither, I did.”

  The Laird lowered his head curtly. “Good. At least ye did that right. Well, don’t stop there. That can’t be all of it, laddie – go on, enlighten me with yer eloquence. By God, I provided ye with the tutors to learn to do so.”

  Alastair cleared his throat. “It’s a like this, Faither. We waited on the King’s road a little before the town of Carlisle. It was cold, and the grass was already covered in frost—”

  “Do ye think I am interested in the weather, laddie – do ye? Get to the point, lest I skelp yer behind like when ye was a wee boy.”

  Alastair stiffened. “Na, I just thought I’d—”

  “I ken what ye thought, laddie.” The Laird took a step forward until he stood right before his son, two fingers width separating their faces. “Ye wanted to distract from the actual happenings. I ken the ruse.” He solidified his posture and placed his hands on his hips.

  “We ambushed a Sassenach force that was far larger than ours. We took six men-at-arms as prisoners and the lord and his two daughters too.”

  “Aye, that’s the bit I inferred so far. But from what I witnessed in the Great Hall, one of the lasses is still with ye. Why? If I may ask.”

  “I thought to keep her as surety in case the English broke their parole and attacked us after handing over the coin. It was a mere precaution.”

  “Mungo!”

  The clansman tensed. “My Laird.”

  “Do tell me what happened after that. I have a premonition that ye might be more forthcoming with the reason for my son’s lapse in judgment,” said the Laird in a tone that was a mere susurration, but acerbic in its nature.

  “Well, ye see, My Laird, when we crossed the border, my brother, ye son, decided to keep her until we got back here. I dinnae ken why. I am assuming he aims to bed her… My Laird. I tried to dissuade him, but he wouldn’t hear of it.” Mungo managed a small smile that was not returned. Instead, the Laird glowered at him as if he were a maggot.

  “Yer a wee clipe,” whispered Alastair, alluding to the fact that Mungo was a tell-tale.

  “Haud yer wheesht. I’ll be doing the talking, and ye will only speak when spoken to.” Alastair’s father refocused his penetrating stare on Mungo after addressing his son. “So, he decided that the lass was worth taking with him, did he now? Me thinks there was another reason for that, judging by the lass’ pleasant appearance, and it’s more than just the bedding. Ye could’ve demanded more gold for three hostages. Instead, I have a Sassenach wench in my home for no good reason other than the fact that my boy thinks she’s finer than a frog’s hair. And don’t deny it,” he concluded, seeing his son wanting to protest.

  Alastair felt the heat rise up his neck, spreading on his cheeks, making him appear as if he had indulged in a whiskey too many. What had he thought? There was no way he could have ever duped his father. The Laird was a man who saw right through anyone.

  The silence in the chamber dragged on as the stocky clan chief walked up and down in front of the chastened men as if they were a gathering of naughty boys caught out in a mischievous act. His serious facial expression betrayed his busy mind. All present knew that it wouldn’t take him long to come to a decision. A deep rumble announced to them all that it was so far.

  “The woman stays… until I decide otherwise. I have much to consider. Now, go, leave me… Not ye, Alastair. We still have some words to share.”

  Murtagh and Mungo readily left the stifling presence of their Laird. Alastair remained where he stood. When the heavy door clanked shut, his father turned to him.

  “Pour us a wee dram of whiskey, will ye? It helps free the mind, and it might soften yer ardor for Sassenach flesh.”

  Alastair nodded solemnly. He walked over to a table where there was a pewter jug. He poured two hearty drams and returned to his father.

  “Here, Da. This’ll wet yer thrapple. It might even soften ye up a little,” said Alastair, smiling wanly.

  His father nodded as he took the drinking vessel. “To yer health, son. Praise God that yer back unscathed.”

  The two men tapped their cups and drained the liquid in one. Neither of them winced as the fiery substance invaded their mouths and slid down their throats.

  “Ah, just what I needed,” said the Laird, smacking his lips happily. He placed the goblet on his desk with a thwack and paced up to his son on his stout legs, taking him in a bear hug. “Now, tell me, lad, what’s all this about ye and the English lass?”

  6

  “Ye have such beautiful hair, Mary. It’s as red ink on a tilted piece of parchment. I have never seen the likes.”

  Mary did not respond as she stared at her reflection in the mirror on the table before her as she let Aila untangle the knots in her hair with a comb. She looked paler than usual, and there were dark smudges under her eyes. The long journey north had taken its toll. Sleeping out in the open with only Murtagh’s plaid to keep her warm had tested her to the limit. At first, she had found it repugnant to snuggle up so close to the brawny Highlander who reeked like an animal in a pen. Survival ins
tincts had soon convinced her otherwise. Murtagh’s body heat was what had kept her warm during those freezing nights.

  She was more tired than she had ever been in her life. Mary did not know how she was going to survive the feast. There was bound to be more questioning by the Laird or maybe even his wife. At least Aila had provided her with some hot water from the kitchens to wash away the grime on her face and hands. She had done her utmost to swab the rest of her body as best she could. It was all she could do to feel some semblance of normality again.

  However, the fire of curiosity burned in her belly. Mary found herself in a strange place, and somehow, it excited her. The Laird and Lady were not how she had expected them to be. In her mind, she had fashioned them as savages dressed in large blankets that reeked of bodily odors. Yet, these people resembled royalty. Alastair’s mother, although not beautiful in the traditional sense, was striking and regal. Her husband was the incarnation of authority and strength. He was an older version of his son, albeit even more masculine, if that was even possible. Mary could see where Alastair got his temperament and good looks.

  “It must have been exciting to be with them, with him for so long,” said Aila in a cheery voice.

  “What was that?” Mary had not been listening. Her gaze had frozen on her fresh white smock. It was all she had on her person after Aila had removed her dress, undergarments, and coat for washing. They had been the last remnants of a home she had left behind – a place that now seemed so far away, like it was a mere figment of her imagination. What would she wear now? She worried.

  “I said it must have been lovely to travel the lands in the company of so many men. Especially to be with Alastair for so many days.”

  Mary only shrugged. She could imagine finer things.

  “He is a bonnie laddie, don’t ye think?”

  “I suppose. He’s a savage though.” Mary hissed the last words through her teeth.

  “Why’d ye say that? Aye, he was naughty when he was a boy. He and the other laddies would throw me into the loch when I was only a wee lass.” Aila grinned at Mary in the mirror. “That soon changed when I grew up. Now, they try to woo me.” She shrugged. “All they want to do is get into my draws, ye ken.” Her face became serious. “All of them except him.”

  Mary frowned. “So, you like him… Alastair?”

  “Aye, I do. He will be my husband one day. I ken it. And I will be the Lady of the clan and give him many healthy and strong bairns. Do ye have somebody back in England?”

  Mary froze when the image of the Earl of Wavel crowded her mind. “I am betrothed, yes.”

  “Bonnie and strong, is he?”

  “No, he isn’t.”

  “Why’d you want to marry him then?”

  “I have no choice in the matter. My father insists I do. He considers him a worthy prospect.”

  “Aye, I ken. Here in the Highlands, when a da wants his daughter to marry a clansman, he makes sure that he is strong. That’s all that matters here. Coming to think about it, we have no ugly men about.”

  “How fortunate for you.” Mary winced when Aila pulled too forcefully with the comb. “So, tell me what it is you like so much about Alastair?” She felt the blood rush up to her head as the words passed her lips. She didn’t know why she wanted to know, but something intrigued her about the Laird’s son. He was like no other man she had met in the clan so far. There was something that captivated her.

  “My Alastair’s the strongest of the lot. Ye will see tonight when the lads are in their cups during the feast. They’ll be all manner of games and fun. It’s so special when the Laird gives the command for a banquet. The last one was a few months back after we thrashed the English at the Battle of Stanhope. It was nice, but Alastair wasn’t there.” Aila clapped her hands excitedly. “Come now, let’s get ye dressed in some proper clothes.” Without waiting for a reply, she placed the comb on the table and walked up to the bed where the garments lay.

  Mary had felt a strange sensation, like a chill, course through her when Aila had called Alastair hers. She did not know why it bothered her so much. Why should she worry whether the Scottish woman was in love with him? For all she cared, she could have him with her blessing. And yet, somehow, it disturbed her. Why? He was brutal, uncouth, arrogant and foolhardy. What woman would want such a man? That was only one side of the coin though. Deep down, Mary knew that he was also brave, handsome, strong and loyal. Such a man would protect the ones he loved with his life. All of those attributes drew her closer to him in a way she never thought possible.

  “Come now, put these on and we’ll make a veritable Scottish lass out of ye yet,” said Aila, breaking Mary’s train of thought.

  Before her, she held out a large folded arisad like the one Alastair’s mother wore. Mary swallowed deeply as she got to her feet. What did she have to lose? She was already in the heart of the Highlands and what did it matter if she indulged its inhabitants a little. Besides, Mary was hungry and in dire need of some warm clothing to counter the cold air that filtered through the small gaps between the windowing and the stonewalls.

  Steeling her resolve, she decided that she was going to make the best out of her situation. If she played along nicely, acting the guest, there would soon be a chance for her to escape. She had done her best to memorize the route, and Murtagh had unknowingly explained to her how to navigate by using the sun and the stars. During the voyage north, she had wheedled every nugget of information out of him regarding how the Highlanders survived in the harsh landscape. All it would take was a few weeks of preparation and some more questioning, and she would be ready.

  And when she got back to England, Mary promised herself that she would demand that her father annul the betrothal to the earl. It was the least he could do after her ordeal. For now, she let Aila fuss over her attire and explain the intricacies of the typical Scottish feast.

  Aila couldn’t stop nattering as she and Mary walked from the chamber to the Great Hall. As it turned out, she was the daughter of one of the clan’s most important families. In general, every clan had a few of them that supported their chieftain in the governing of the lands. They declared their allegiance and loyalty to the Laird until death. Also, in cases when the Laird’s son was not suitable, they would put members of their families up for a vote to become the next leader. It was a good system that ensured that only the ablest men held the reins of power in their hands. Also, they all shared the same clan name so that a Macleod would always be in charge.

  Mary heard the music of fiddles and flutes coming from the minstrel’s gallery at the front of the rectangular space. The noise level of people’s voices and raucous shouts increased as they descended the steps to the Great Hall. It was warm as the presence of so many human bodies added to the heat coming from the fires and heavy silver candelabras. Running down the entire length of the hall were long tables made of massive oak. Already, the men and women sat and ate and drank. It appeared to Mary that the festivities were already in full swing.

  Standing perpendicular to the others was the high table on a plinth where the Laird, Lady, the most notable members of the clan’s chief families, and Alastair sat. The piece of furniture was of substantial length, filling up the entire width of the hall. The surface was covered with a fine cloth that Mary deduced was of damask. On top of it lay a sanap or overlay to protect the delicate material. The centerpiece was a presentation of such theatrics such as Mary had ever seen. On a special wooden support, in front of the Laird and Lady, sat an ornately gilded pheasant. Next to it and down the full length of the table, came specially decorated stuffed boar’s heads. Each of them held a red apple in their mouths to add to the effect.

  “Come along, Mary, this is where we sit,” said Aila.

  Mary followed her to a seat on a bench. Her place was very close to the main table, according her a very high honor. It was where the next down in the hierarchy sat. Right across from her, Murtagh flashed her a smile. His face was already flushed from all of the ale he
had been drinking.

  “Welcome, Mary. Ye look a treat in yer new clothes.” He winked at her.

  Mary smiled back at him. She felt slightly odd in the Scottish clothing. The coarse woolen plaid scratched her legs. “Thank you, Murtagh.”

  “Here, have some of this to get ye going.” He grabbed her empty tankard with a meaty hand and proceeded to pour her some ale from a large pewter jug. He slapped it down on the table when he was done, spilling some of the contents in the process. In moments, he returned his attention to the bowl of potage in front of him. He slurped down the savory concoction made of barley, root vegetables, and braised mutton with hearty abandon.

  “To ye health, Mary,” said Aila who sat next to her.

  “To yours,” responded Mary as she took the drinking vessel. Her grumbling stomach had made her forget just how thirsty she was. Without thinking, she tipped the contents of her mug into her mouth. It tasted bitter like nothing she had ever savored before. She was used to wine. Mary’s thirst got the better of her though, ridding her of any revulsion she might have for the beverage. After a few more gulps, it no longer tasted as bad and the warm afterglow it left in her tummy was pleasant.

  A loud ahh erupted in the hall as groups of servants walked between the tables carrying an array of meat and fish dishes such as venison, wild boar, salmon and pike on large platters. These were carefully placed on the tables that looked as if they were about to buckle under the heavy strain of the prodigious amounts of food.

  In her wildest dreams, Mary could never have expected the Highlanders to have the coin, let alone the sophistication, to host such a banquet. All around her, the people helped themselves to large portions of meat and fish, supplementing their bounty with vigorous rips of chunks from the massive round bannocks that decorated the tables. There was none of the etiquette she was used to from similar events back home. Here, everyone ate as they pleased. It was like a gathering of wolves at a carcass.