by Lily Baldwin
Alex stopped in her tracks as she sought Michael’s gaze through the dust and chaos. “I ken what ye’re going to say, Michael. I’m a disgrace, but I also think ye ken my reply—I don’t care about the state of my tunic or my hair.”
“Got ye,” a wee voice called out the instant before Alex fell back onto the ground. A moment later, she was drowning beneath a sea of small arms and legs. “Ye wee beasties,” she called out. “Attacking when I was distracted.” She got to work tickling bellies and bare feet. Peels of tortured laughter rang out. “Save yerselves,” one of the children yelled, and soon the mass dispersed.
She closed her eyes as she tried to catch her breath.
“My lady, may I help ye to yer feet?”
Alex opened her eyes. She squinted against the bright sunshine that shadowed the man above her. Then he squatted down beside her, his face instantly becoming clear. She drew in a sharp breath, but his sky-blue eyes held a warning. And the slightest shake of his head told her all she needed to know—that night in the woods had never happened. To the world around them, they were meeting for the very first time. Still, she would know that face anywhere. Her heart raced as she placed her hand in his.
“’Tis nice to meet yer acquaintance,” Rory said, his voice deep and unhurried.
“The pleasure is mine,” Alex said, boldly returning his gaze.
He bent lower and wrapped his arm around her waist, then lifted her to her feet. His hand did not linger, but she could still feel the imprint of warmth where he had touched her.
William moved to stand in front of Alex. She smiled down at her young protector. “This is my wee brother, William. But everyone calls him, Will.”
“’Tis good to meet ye, Will,” Rory said.
Michael cleared his throat, intruding upon their conversation. “My lady, ye’ve more guests to meet,” he said, gesturing to three young men, all finely dressed, and each offering her a smile in greeting.
“If ye please,” Rory said, once more winning her attention. “I have a letter from the abbot. He instructed me to present it to ye even before introductions were made.”
Curious, Alex took the offered letter and without hesitation, she broke the abbot’s seal and began to read:
My Dearest Alexandria,
My heart is heavy as I too grieve for your father. As you know, Donnan was my dearest friend from youth. Never has there lived a kinder or more generous man. Take comfort knowing that he now sits with our Lord at His table. Also, please know that you are not alone. I received your letter and am fully prepared to guide you in finding a husband. Marriage is a sound choice at this time. To this end, I have sent you a selection of men, three in number. Each meets certain criteria that I decided would set you on a path toward marital satisfaction, although I do hope love will grow between you and whomever you select. First, none of the men are first sons. This has naturally reduced the expectation they and their families have placed on their marriages. Second, they each possess even temperaments. Third, their families have substantial wealth, and so none are driven by greed.
Let me provide ye with some particulars on each man:
Sir Adam Lennox is the third son of Lord Lennox and a knight under the Lord of Fife. Despite the shifting loyalties of his father and patron, Sir Adam’s loyalty has always been to Scotland. His age is eight and twenty. He has proved himself on the battlefield and understands strategy. In the wake of several holdings in the Highlands falling into the hands of English lords, he can provide your warriors insight into the differing combat styles. Likewise, I have encouraged him to study your Highland warriors to strengthen the skills of our lowlander soldiers.
Robert is also eight and twenty and is the wealthy son of a horse breeder in Edinburgh. He was knighted two years ago by the Lord of Menteith. Like his father, he is also an expert on horses. His interest and knowledge borders on obsession, but if you heed his advice, the MacKenzie horses will be the finest in the Highlands. Robert is there to assist your stable master and to train your warriors for the cavalry. This, as you know, also supports the cause, as we are rebuilding our army during this truce. He will bring one of his prize horses and will trade the stud for one of the MacKenzie’s.
Timothy is four and twenty and the second son of Lord Cunningham. He is kind and gentle. A man of study. Timothy will intrude upon your life the least. Never will he chastise you for going about with bare feet. Nor will he expect you to change for meals. Knowing your temperament, I wanted to send you one man who would not seek to change you. But weigh your decision. Timothy will not take command of you, but he will also not take command of your people. Never could he be a formidable laird, which will not go unnoticed by the MacLeod.
My dear, Alex, I have no wish to see your fiery spirit smothered, or for you to be placed under the thumb of any man, including myself, which is why I have sent you a selection of suitors so that the choice in the end is yours. Go through each one and choose wisely. Given the vast MacKenzie lands, wealth, and not to mention your fine qualities too numerous to list on this page, I do not doubt if you were to make your intentions known to any one of them that they would immediately see the benefits to the match.
Now it is very important that you understand none of them know my true motive for sending them north to your lands. They believe they are there to offer guidance to you and your warriors in the absence of a chieftain. If they knew they were being appraised like horseflesh at market, they might take offense. Guard this secret well. Also, and equally as important, I have sent another man to you, Rory MacVie. He is NOT one of the men I have put forth as a potential husband. I have sent him to aid you in moving the weapons you have hidden away. This is the only capacity in which Rory is to avail himself to you. He is a great many things and a great man, but he is not the sort of man a respectable lass marries. Beyond that, he possesses no title or wealth. He and his brothers are all agents working as you have for me and the bishop, but recent events have brought attention to the MacVie name. I fear it will not be long before all the MacVie brothers will be forced into hiding or face the Tower. I love Rory as I would a son, but frankly, my child, he is a rake. Heed my words and hold fast to your heart.
Regarding the weapons, you and Rory must decide the best time and method to move them. Regarding your selection of husband, you have one month to decide. You can expect my visit in thirty days. If ye permit me, I will attend your wedding in your father’s stead. I look forward to that day.
You are in my heart and my prayers,
A.M.
Alex focused on steadying her breathing to not reveal how nervous the abbot’s letter had made her. Her heart pounded in her ears while she unhurriedly folded the parchment. Then she dropped her hands to her side, taking on a relaxed stance. Long ago, she had learned to mask her nerves in any situation. Still, three men, three strangers, stood before her while, unbeknownst to them, she would be trying them on over the next month like a pair of slippers at market to see how they fit.
And then there was Rory.
She could feel his presence, the weight of his gaze. It had been some time ago when she had requested Abbot Matthew send north another agent to help her move her stockpile of weapons. It was too great an undertaking to accomplish alone, and it would be a relief to have the job done. A shiver coursed up her spine as she thought of completing another mission with Rory. But then she remembered Abbot Matthew’s words she had only just read…He is NOT one of the men I have put forth as a potential husband.
She cleared her throat and stepped forward. Her duty was to her clan, and she would not lose sight of that. Clan MacKenzie needed a chieftain. She quickly scanned the three noblemen who stood by patiently awaiting introductions. One of the three would—hopefully—be that chieftain. She smiled and dipped into a low curtsy.
One of the men with chestnut brown hair, deep-set green eyes, and full, appealing lips stepped forward. He dipped his head to her and took her hand, bringing it to those full lips.
“My n
ame is Sir Adam Lennox. I am so truly sorry for yer loss, Lady Alexandria. I hope my presence here will provide ye comfort. Please know that I am at yer service.”
Adam was certainly tall and broad of shoulder and rather handsome. His sympathy seemed genuine. She had also felt his calloused palm when he took her hand, and remembered Abbot Matthew’s description of Adam as a seasoned knight. His skill in battle would certainly be an asset to the clan.
With another dip of his head, Adam stepped back. Alex shifted her eyes to the next man who came forward.
“I am Sir Robert Gow,” he said, bowing low before kissing her hand.
Robert was almost angelic in appearance. He had hair as blond as hers and very dark blue eyes. Two dimples appeared in his cheeks when he smiled, framing white, even teeth. “I’m honored to be chosen by the abbot to assist ye in any way I can.” Then he gestured toward the castle stables, the entrance to which was on the other end of the courtyard. “I have been observing some of the comings and goings at yer stables, and I’m already impressed with the MacKenzie horses.”
“Thank you,” she said, remembering Abbot Matthew had mentioned that Robert knew something of horse breeding. He was certainly handsome, even more so than Adam, but his countenance seemed lighter, less serious, which she also liked. She could imagine Robert having a playful side, which she knew the children of the MacKenzie clan would enjoy in a chieftain.
Timothy was the last to step forward, and she liked him instantly. He introduced himself simply, using only his given name and leaving off titles.
“My condolences, my lady,” he said, clasping her hand in both of his. The compassion she saw in his eyes rang true. “I would be honored to pray with ye and help ye through this trying time.”
Timothy was sincere. His eyes radiated warmth and kindness. Unlike either Adam or Robert, his clothing was simple—not unlike her own. Aye, she understood why the abbot had sent Timothy. He would be a servant to the MacKenzie clan, not a lord.
Michael came forward then and gestured to Rory. “I did not hear whether ye made introductions earlier when he was helping ye to yer feet. May I present, Rory MacVie.”
A half smile curved Rory’s lips, lips she had boldly tasted beneath the cover of darkness, under a canopy of stars. He took her hand and pressed those same lips to her skin. “’Tis a pleasure to meet ye…for the very first time,” he said, giving her a knowing smile.
Her heart raced. “The pleasure is mine…for the very first time.”
She gently tugged her hand free and stepped away from Rory, trying to escape the pull he had on her senses. She stepped farther back and once more quickly scanned the men standing in front of her, all looking at her expectantly. Then she cleared her throat. “’Tis time for the noon meal. Shall we retire to the keep?” she said, before turning on her heel and heading toward the great hall. Behind her she knew they all followed. Adam, Robert, Timothy…Rory.
Her stomach flipped and her heart pounded. When she had written the abbot, she never would have imagined his solution would be to send her multiple suitors. A new secret mission had begun: one that ended with her choosing a husband. She glanced back at the unknowing suitors, feeling devious and delicious all at the same time.
Chapter Eight
Rory stepped through the wide arched entrance into Luthmore Castle’s great hall. His eyes flitted from the intricately designed tapestries to the massive hearth to the rows of trestle tables filled with villagers enjoying the noon meal. A hum of voices and laughter lent the room a joyful air. Rory had never been in a castle before. He looked up. The ceiling was so high, it may as well have been the sky, with candles flickering around large, iron candelabra like stars. Underfoot, fresh rushes shifted, releasing fragrant lavender into the air, which mingled with the scent of cooked meats, herbs and the smell of freshly baked bread. He smiled, enjoying the lively space. To him it felt like a busy market place or village green enclosed within a vast stone belly. He patted his own stomach as it growled in response to the rich aromas.
“Do ye approve?”
Rory’s gaze shifted from the high dais where mounted on the wall was the MacKenzie coat of arms, to find Alex looking at him expectantly. Her keen eyes met his with uncharacteristic boldness for a woman—not the haughty entitlement of a noblewoman or that of wanton desire or even defiance. She seemed to move through life with a quiet confidence that so often escaped the fairer sex. To her, she was his equal, the same. He imagined she spoke to all men and women without deference for gender or title, her behavior unaltered whether they appreciated her candor or not.
“I do approve, although I do not believe my approval matters to ye, nor anyone’s for that matter.”
Her head slanted just slightly to the side as she considered him. “Do ye fashion yer actions or ideals with someone else’s approval in mind?”
He smiled, then slowly shook his head. “Nay,” he said simply
“Well, neither do I,” she replied and continued to hold his gaze, both at ease just looking at the other.
At length, she cleared her throat. Then her eyes darted toward Michael and the other men who were not three strides away. “Allow me to show ye our tapestries,” she said loudly, leading him away from the group. Pointing to a large woven scene with knights on horseback charging at an unseen enemy, she began in a louder voice, “This one is over three hundred years old…” Her voice trailed off as they finished crossing the hall.
“I never thought I would see ye again. Least of all here,” she said, still gesturing at the wall as if pointing out the intricacies of the design.
“Trust me,” Rory said his voice hushed. “When we first met, this is not where I thought ye’d come from.” He motioned toward the full trestle tables and high dais.
Alex shrugged. “’Tis a fair assumption on yer part. Women are scarce in our movement—ladies, well, we are non-existent. I believe I am the only one. But now I’m making assumptions of my own. ‘Tis entirely possible that the good abbot has legions of ladies secretly at work.”
Rory smiled. “And all wearing tunics lined with silver marks and kissing fellow Scottish rebels in the woods.”
Her lips curved in the slightest of smiles. “Mayhap.”
“I have not forgotten that kiss.”
“Nor have I.”
It felt like a continuous bolt of lightning shot off her and straight into his core, igniting currents of need without end. His breathing sped up, becoming shallower, and the sound of her rapid breaths met his ears, further fueling his own desire.
“Enough,” she snapped, he knew as much to herself as to him.
He stepped to the side to try to sever the intensity of their attraction. Clearing his throat, he sought to change the subject and made a sweeping motion with his hand meant to encompass the whole of the great hall. “In truth, I’m in awe. Unlike the men in my company, I am but the humble son of a shipyard laborer. I have never set foot in so grand a home.”
She laughed. “I’ve never heard Luthmore Castle referred to as a home, but it certainly is that to me.” She also took a step to the side, distancing herself even more. Then she cleared her own throat. “So what is yer home like?”
“These days I find my rest in a wooded glen or a room at an inn in the latest village to which the Abbot has sent me. But I grew up in Berwick when it was still a Scottish city. My parents, four brothers, and two sisters shared a room not much larger than three of yer trestle tables pushed together.”
A shadow of concern reshaped her countenance, drawing her lovely brows together and sharpening her violet eyes. “Ye were in Berwick when it was attacked?”
“Aye.” Images of narrow cobbled streets piled high with rotting corpses of men, women, and children flooded his mind, despite his wish not to see them again. He shook his head, chasing away the images.
She drew closer. “Forgive me. I see it pains ye to speak of it.”
“It does,” he said softly. He closed his eyes and drew a steady breath before
once more meeting her eyes. “Most days it is impossible to understand or even believe it happened. I was not there, in the city, when King Edward and his tens of thousands attacked. I had accompanied my sister into the wood that morning to forage for herbs. I am not tortured by the screams of the dying like my brother, Alec, who was in the city that day—one of the few within the city limits to escape the sword and the torch. But I saw its aftermath. I saw the thousands and thousands who were slain. I saw the bodies of my parents and our youngest sister, Rosalyn.”
Her hand darted to her face, swiping at her eyes.
“Nay, Alex. Do not cry. So many tears have already been shed. I ken yer own heart suffers the loss of yer father. I did not mean to pile my own grief onto yer already heavy heart.”
“Those must have been dark days indeed.”
He nodded. “They were. We were exiled of course, my brothers and sister and me. But then we met the abbot, and he brought us into the cause, giving me a direction for my fury and grief. Early on I craved vengeance.”
“And now?” she asked.
“Only justice.”
She grew quiet and stared at the tapestry, although Rory could tell it was not the colors and pattern she observed but some distant heartache. “Grief and fury also led me to the cause.”
He was about to ask her more, but she turned then, her shoulders straight and her face stern with resolve. “Which brings us to the matter at hand. We have a mission.”
He would not press her to speak of her pain. Instead, he nodded. “Indeed, we do.”
“Meet me in my solar following the evening meal. The guards will grant ye entry. Now, we should return to our company, or tongues will start to wag.”
He followed her away from the periphery of the great hall into the joyous fray, passing tables of clan folk who called out in greeting to their lady, but they never used her rightful title. She was not Lady Alexandria to her people; she was just Alex. Rory drank in the noble sight of her. Never had he observed a woman more deserving of the title, Lady, even though her hair was still tangled, her dress soiled, her filthy toes peeking out from beneath the hem of her dress. Her nobility was in her bearing. It was in the warmth that radiated from her eyes as she smiled and greeted her people. It was in the humble way she received their good wishes and praise. She was the lady of legends.
