The Highlander Takes a Bride

by Lynsay Sands

  "Do ye no' ha'e seven brothers?" Lady MacDonnell asked with a frown.

  "Aye."

  "Well, those hardly seem fair odds," she said dryly. "One little Briton warrior against seven bigger boys."

  "I won," Saidh informed her with a wolfish smile.

  "Nay!" Lady MacDonnell said with disbelief.

  Saidh nodded. "Me brothers got a severe punishment did they ever actually harm me, but I was no' bound by the same rule. After all, how much harm could a wee lass do?" she asked with feigned innocence. "So, while they tried to capture and pin me down without harming me, I was free to pull their hair, punch and kick to me heart's content . . . and I trounced all seven o' them."

  Lady MacDonnell's eyes widened incredulously and then she burst into laughter.

  Saidh smiled at her amusement, and added, "Fenella was most annoyed that her champions failed her so."

  "Oh, I can imagine she would be," the woman said dryly.

  "Especially when she began to cry and I got so annoyed I tied her to a tree and left her there through the nooning meal."

  "Oh, my sweet Lord," Lady MacDonnell breathed with admiration. "I do believe I like ye, Saidh Buchanan."

  "Why thank ye," Saidh said with surprised pleasure. "Ye seem a right nice lady yerself."

  They grinned at each other briefly, and then Lady MacDonnell picked up her mending again. "So Fenella has always been a crier when she does no' get her way."

  Saidh glanced up with surprise, but then slow realization rolled through her. Fenella had cried every time she hadn't gotten her way as a child. When she'd first arrived, Fenella had expected Saidh to play with the dolls she'd brought with her. But Saidh hadn't been interested, preferring to run about with her brothers as she always did. Fenella had cried.

  Her mother had then taken Saidh aside and suggested it would be kind to play dolls with her cousin. When she'd protested that she didn't want to play with dolls, her mother had insisted, saying that first she should play with the dolls with her cousin, and then the next day Fenella would play what she wanted to play. So Saidh had suffered through the doll business, but the next day, Fenella had refused to join her and her brothers in a game of hide-and-seek, and had burst into tears when Saidh had shrugged and simply gone out to play with them anyway. It was her day after all, and she didn't care if Fenella joined in or not.

  Fenella had gone weeping to her mother, and Saidh had feared she would be stuck playing dolls again, but her mother had kept to her original rules. If Saidh wished to play hide-and-seek, then Fenella could either join in, or sit with her all day. Fenella had chosen to sit with Saidh's mother that day and for two days following, but on the third day had finally come out to play with them. That was the day they'd played at being Britons and Saidh had left her tied to a tree. She had paid for that by having to play dolls the next day after Fenella had gone weeping to Saidh's mother again and tattled.

  And so Fenella's stay at Buchanan had gone. If she didn't get her way, she wept, which quite often got her her way. At least from Saidh's mother and brothers. Since Saidh was not a crier, her brothers were unused to dealing with a weeping female and did whatever they could to shut the girl up. Saidh, however, not being a crier, just found the copious tears annoying and did her best to avoid the lass during her long visit. She'd been greatly relieved when Fenella's father had come to take her home.

  But she hadn't held any of that against Fenella when her family had gone to attend the girl's wedding to Hammish Kennedy. And Fenella didn't appear to bear a grudge either. They'd got along well enough then during the little time they'd spent together before the wedding, although Saidh had found herself feeling somewhat awkward and lacking next to the dainty, ladylike woman Fenella had grown into. She still did, she supposed.

  Frowning, Saidh glanced at Lady MacDonnell and asked, "Do ye really think Fenella killed yer son?"

  "Aye," Lady MacDonnell said at once, her expression hard, and then conflict crossed her face and she admitted, "I do no' ken. There is just something . . ." Sighing, she eyed Saidh and asked, "Do ye think she is capable o' it?"

  Saidh turned her face down to her stitching. She knew Fenella was capable of it. She'd killed her first husband after all, but that had been under much different circumstances and after he'd abused her horribly. However, Fenella claimed Allen was nothing like Hammish Kennedy. In fact, from what Fenella had said, Allen had been the perfect man for her.

  Raising her head, she said, "I suspect everyone is capable o' killing in the right circumstances, but from what Fenella has told me she truly loved yer son. She says he was most kind to her, and considerate."

  Lady MacDonnell released a short laugh and shook her head. "He was kind enough to leave her alone in her bed and considerate enough to order the servants to do what would make her happy so that he did no' have to and was free to go on doing as he wished."

  "Ye knew he was no' claiming his husbandly rights?" Saidh asked with surprise.

  "Oh, aye," Lady MacDonnell said with a crooked smile, and then told her solemnly, "Me son ne'er lied to me, and told me years ago that he preferred the company o' men."

  "Do no' all men prefer the company o' other men?" Saidh asked dryly.

  "Not usually in their bed," Lady MacDonnell said in hushed tones.

  Saidh stared at her wide-eyed. "Allen . . ."

  Lady MacDonnell nodded sadly. "Allen was a good son; smart, strong, an excellent warrior and laird, and ever kind and affectionate with me. He always did what was expected o' him, except in this one area, and I believe he would ha'e if he could ha'e, but he simply could no'. "

  "He told ye this?" she asked with disbelief.

  "As I said, he was ever honest with me," Lady MacDonnell said with a little sigh and then shook her head. "And I think he wanted me to understand. Ye see, he did no' want to be that way. 'Tis a dangerous and difficult life. The church considers it unnatural and has men like him burnt at the stake, or mutilated and then hanged," she pointed out.

  "Aye," Saidh murmured. The church was very much against sodomites. Frowning, she shook her head. "Then why did he no' just . . ." She paused helplessly, unsure how to put it.

  "Why did he no' just decide to prefer the company o' women?" Lady MacDonnell suggested quietly, and when Saidh nodded she announced out of the blue, "I detest fish."

  Saidh blinked in confusion at what seemed a change in subject, but then said, "I do no' care fer it meself. I'd rather no' eat at all than suffer fish fer a meal. I prefer beef and chicken and suchlike."

  "Aye. So do I," Lady MacDonnell admitted, and then asked, "But why do ye no' like fish? Did ye sit down one day and simply decide ye'd no' like it?"

  "Nay," Saidh said on a laugh at the very suggestion. "I've naught against fish. 'Tis just no' to me taste. 'Tis too . . . fishy," she finished helplessly.

  Lady MacDonnell nodded. " 'Tis the same fer me. And that is how Allen made me understand. He did no' sit down one day and decide he did no' like women and preferred men. Women were just no' to his taste. He said, he realized that he was different when a lad began to moan on about one o' the maids in the castle where they were squiring together. The lad was drooling after her rather large breasts, saying they were the finest he'd ever seen, and asked Allen if he did no' agree. Allen told me that he then looked at the woman, but did no' think she was all that fine or worth the other boy's lavish comments. In fact, he did no' find her attractive at all, although the other squire was attractive to him."

  "Oh," Saidh breathed.

  "He told me that he did no' wish to be that way, that his life would be much easier if he were like other men, so he'd tried to like women, but he just did no' seem to have been made that way." Lady MacDonnell's expression was terribly sad, her voice soft as she admitted, "It tormented him terribly. He felt shame and confusion and was sure he was a failure as a son. But he assured me that he would do his duty and marry and present me with grandchildren as was expected."

  "Oh," Saidh repeated weakly.


  "And so, he set about finding a bride," Lady MacDonnell continued quietly. "I told him he must be most careful in his choosing, that most brides would expect him to claim his marital rights on a regular basis and that he could wound their esteem with his lack of interest. So he set out in search of one who would not be wounded by his lack o' interest."

  "Fenella," Saidh said with realization.

  "Aye," Lady MacDonnell said solemnly. "Allen's own betrothed had died while still a child, but there were a surprising number of women in the same position. He met with many o' them to consider them as brides, but most were too eager and spoke o' wanting babes right away, and many babes to boot. And then he met Fenella, who seemed to shrink from his touch and avoid his gaze, and so he tried to find out more about her." Mouth tightening, she admitted, "There had been whispers when Hammish Kennedy lived, of his strange tastes and cruelties in the bedchamber, and there had been a great deal of talk and dismay at how much blood covered the bedsheets they hung in the hall the day after his wedding to Fenella."

  Saidh swallowed and nodded as she recalled those sheets herself. She'd been rather horrified too. It had looked like they were the sheets of someone who had been dealt a mortal blow and bled out in their bed, and Fenella had been so pale the next morning.

  "Allen suspected Fenella feared the marital bed and would no' trouble him o'er much for his presence in her bed," Lady MacDonnell continued sadly, "And so he married her at once and brought her home."

  Saidh sat back in her chair, her mending forgotten in her hands. "Well, that explains his kindness in no' claiming his husbandly rights." She smiled crookedly and admitted, "Allen was right, Fenella was terrified o' the marital bed after her first marriage. Actually, I suppose they were perfect fer each other."

  "Aye," Lady MacDonnell agreed.

  Saidh tilted her head and asked, "And yet ye still suspect her o' killing him. Why?"

  "Fer the most part, Fenella was fine. But sometimes she'd get this look in her eyes . . . a flatness, cold and empty," Lady MacDonnell said slowly, almost as if she was trying to understand herself what made her suspect the woman had killed her son. "And then there is the feather."

  Saidh didn't hide her confusion. "The feather?"

  Lady MacDonnell set down her sewing, her gaze far away as she explained, "The senior MacIver was an old and dear friend o' me husband's when he lived, and so I attended his wedding to Fenella," she explained. "I was still there in the morning when he was found dead in their bed. Fenella was . . ." She frowned and shook her head. "Well, she was crying, as usual. So meself and several of the other women still present offered to prepare the body fer burial."

  Saidh nodded and simply waited for her to continue.

  "We were washing the body," she said slowly. "I was working on his face and noted that his eyes were bloodshot."

  "Oh?" Saidh didn't have a clue what that might suggest.

  Lady MacDonnell seemed to realize that and explained, "Allen was no' me only child. I had three sons ere him, and all o' them died ere they reached a year in age, and all in their sleep. I thought it was me fault, that I was birthing weak babes, but then when Allen was a wee tot, just months old, I woke in the middle o' the night, suddenly anxious o'er him and went to check on him. I caught the wet nurse trying to smother him with a pillow. She confessed she'd done the same to each of my other sons."

  "I'm so sorry," Saidh said sincerely, horrified at the tragedies the woman had suffered in her life. She'd lost four sons, all told now.

  "Thank ye," Lady MacDonnell said solemnly. "But ye see, me three dead boys had bloodshot eyes too and once I kenned what the maid had done, I did wonder if it were no' somehow a result o' the smothering."

  "And Laird MacIver had bloodshot eyes," Saidh said slowly.

  Lady MacDonnell nodded. "O' course, that was no proof. Laird MacIver was an old man and his eyes were often bloodshot and rheumy."

  "Oh." Saidh nodded again.

  "But there was also a goose feather in his mouth, caught at the back o' his tongue," Lady MacDonnell added grimly.

  "Ye think Fenella smothered him with a goose?" Saidh asked uncertainly and Lady MacDonnell gave a surprised laugh.

  "Nay, me dear, Laird MacIver was wealthy and had had his pillows and mattress stuffed with goose feather and herbs to encourage sweet dreams," she explained.

  "Oh." Saidh grimaced and then admitted, "Our pillows were stuffed with wool and rags."

  "Ah." Lady MacDonnell said with a smile.

  "So ye think Fenella smothered him with his pillow and one o' the feathers was somehow . . ."

  "Sucked into his mouth as he gasped fer breath," Lady MacDonnell said quietly. "I now think 'tis a possibility. Although, at the time I just assumed the feather may have been loosed in his efforts to bed Fenella, and that he'd sucked it in then." She grimaced and shook her head. "The senior MacIver was an old man, after all, and 'tis doubtful she'd have had long to wait to be widowed anyway, so why would she take the risk and kill him? Besides, the senior MacIver was only her second husband and the first had been killed by bandits who had struck her down as well."

  Saidh bit her lip and held her tongue.

  "Even when Laird MacIver's nephew married her and then died so precipitously I did no' think she may ha'e killed either man. After all, the younger MacIver was out riding alone and she was in the castle with his mother and aunt, so 'twas no' as if she could ha'e done it."

  "Aye," Saidh muttered, but she was recalling the pin in Joan's horse that had made it go wild and throw her.

  "But now me own son has died, a fourth husband in as many years, and that does seem like a ridiculous amount of bad luck fer any lass to suffer." Lady MacDonnell shook her head and sighed. "Mayhap I am just looking fer someone to blame fer me loss. After all, fearing the marital bed made marriage to Allen the perfect situation fer her. She was the wife of the laird, Lady o'er all o' MacDonnell with wealth and position and a fine title. His death leaves her little but dependence on Greer's kindness."

  Saidh didn't comment and after a moment, Lady MacDonnell muttered, "But I keep thinking, 'Four dead husbands . . .' and I remember that tale me father used to tell me about the scorpion and the frog when I was a child."

  "The scorpion and the frog?" Saidh asked curiously.

  "Aye." She smiled faintly. "Me father traveled to foreign lands when young and had many tales to tell. I used to love to sit at his feet or on his knees and listen to him tell them to me siblings and meself. One he liked to tell was about a scorpion who wished to cross a river. O' course, the scorpion could no' swim--a scorpion is apparently a large buglike creature that can kill with its sting," she explained, apparently noting Saidh's confusion.

  "Oh," Saidh said with a grimace. She didn't care for bugs much.

  "At any rate, the scorpion could no' swim and asked a passing frog to take him o'er the river. The frog refused o' course, saying the scorpion would sting him. But the scorpion argued that o' course he would no', else they'd both drown. So the frog allowed the scorpion to climb on his back and started to swim across the river."

  "And the minute they reached the other side the scorpion stung and killed him," Saidh guessed with disgust.

  "Nay," Lady MacDonnell said patiently. "He stung him when they were only halfway across the river."

  "What?" Saidh squawked. "The daft creature, why would he do a thing like that?"

  "That's exactly what I asked," she said with a smile. "And, according to me father, the frog asked that as well. Why would ye sting me? Now we will both die, he says as they are drowning."

  "What did the scorpion say?" Saidh asked curiously.

  " 'Tis me nature."

  Saidh stared at her blankly.

  "And I wonder," Lady MacDonnell said unhappily. "Four weddings and four dead husbands. Mayhap that wedding night that made her so affeared o' the marriage bed did something else to Fenella, mayhap it twisted her thinking so that she can no' help but kill her husbands, just as the scorpion could no' h
elp but sting the frog."

  Saidh let her breath out slowly and sank back in her seat.

  "But as I said, perhaps I'm jest looking fer someone to blame fer losing me sweet son. After all, we ken she did no' kill her first husband, and it does no' seem likely she could have killed her third." Lady MacDonnell shook her head and set aside her sewing. "I'm suddenly tired. I think I'll go ha'e a lie-down ere the sup." She smiled at Saidh and added, "And ye're no' to continue with the sewing without me. Why do ye no' go take a ride on yer mare, or a walk in the bailey? The fresh air will probably do ye more good than my nattering has."

  "Mayhap I will," Saidh murmured, setting aside the mending she'd been working on. Standing, she said, "Good sleep," to Lady MacDonnell as the woman headed away, and then just stood there and watched her cross the hall and mount the stairs. Even after the woman disappeared from sight, Saidh continued to stand there looking toward the stairs.

  Saidh knew she should really go check on Fenella, but didn't want to. In fact, she didn't think it was a good idea to get anywhere near her cousin until she'd had a chance to absorb and think through everything that she'd just learned. Sighing, she finally turned and strode out of the great hall, heading for the stables.

  Chapter 6

  "Oy!"

  Greer gestured for his practice partner to stop, and then lowered his sword and turned to glance toward Alpin at that shout. He then followed the lad's gesture toward the stables in time to see Saidh disappearing inside. He'd ordered the boy to keep an eye out for her when he'd come out earlier, and the boy had done as told.

  A slow smile curving his lips, Greer glanced around in search of his first. Bowie must have heard Alpin's call. The tall golden-haired man was already looking his way and now hurried over at his gesture.

  "Aye, m'laird?" the man asked as he paused before him.

  "Continue to oversee the men. I need to ha'e a word with Lady Buchanan."

  "Aye, m'laird," Bowie bobbed his head and then turned toward the men to find they'd all stopped to see what was about. Scowling, Bowie began shouting orders at them to get on with it and Greer nodded with satisfaction and started away. The man had been his cousin's first, and he'd inherited him along with the rest of MacDonnell. Allen had made a good choice, however, Bowie was smart, strong and good at his job. He'd proven himself invaluable in helping Greer learn what he needed to as he took on the role as the new laird.