by Sky Winters
Lord Cheshire, the illustrious Earl of Shrewsbury, had chosen her above all other eligible highland lasses to be his wife. He had himself suggested a union with Alisa’s father, a merging of family lines intended to satisfy the feuding royalists and preempt any further bloodshed. War was the last thing anyone wanted. Lord Cheshire had first seen Alisa at a Christmas festival in Edinburgh when she was thirteen, and now five years later, he’d come to collect that which he’d so clearly coveted.
Alisa was the tallest of her sisters, with long blonde hair that broke the typical McGregor pattern of dark features. As she’d grown into a woman, she’d cut a figure which always seemed to attract attention, though Lord in Heaven knew why that was. It wasn’t that she considered herself ugly, not really. It was just that she didn’t see herself as the typical female object of desire. In her mind, she was still the awkward girl who rebelled against stiff petticoats and ruffled collars, who loved spending days down by the bog, catching toads and laughing till her father’s men came to collect her for supper. And the thought that her clan had decided so quickly to give her away, to simply offer her up as one would offer mutton … She knew it was the way of things, the way their world had always been. But just once, at one point in the long, storied history of men and women—she wished a single lass had deigned to stand up and shout to all the men of the world, Ye can’t have me! I am my own woman!
But such thoughts were silly and empty and she knew it. Fixing her eyes on a wealth of windswept fields of thistle, she heaved an exhausted sigh and trudged back inside through the heavy birch door. Closing it behind her with a loud thud, she slipped out of her cape, slung it over an arm, and made her way back to her waiting room, where she was expected by a chamber maid and a very impatient Lady McGregor.
Alisa entered with an unexpected heaviness in her heart. When her mother saw her, she threw up her hands in exasperation. “There ye are! What would I have done if ye’d managed to escape?”
Alisa scowled at her. “I would’ne have tried to escape, mother. Nor have I ever done so. Just because I talk about—”
“Talk, talk, talk! No more talk, deary, now’s the time to be on with it. Come over here. Ye’ve made a mess of Margarete’s dressing.”
Alisa did as she was told and allowed her mother to lace her bodice tighter and straighten her dark green dress. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Clan society considered it unbecoming of a lady to look in any way unprepossessing when presenting herself to her betrothed for the first time. The Earl had insisted on ushering her to England himself before any wedding could take place. Alisa’s mother wouldn’t be there when she took her vows, and neither would her father or sisters. Lady McGregor had clearly found the decision difficult to bear, but she’d done her duty and had kept her misgivings to herself.
Eyeing her in the mirror as she brushed out her daughter’s long blonde hair, Alisa tried to count all the new wrinkles that’d expressed herself at the corners of her eyes and lips, wondering not for the first time what a lifetime of matriarchal obligations would look like on her own face.
“Mother, can I ask ye something?” Alisa said.
“Of course, deary.”
“Were you in love with father when he came to collect you from grandda’s?”
Her mother paused, the bristles of Alisa’s brush catching in her hair. “I hardly knew your father, Alisa. We’d only spoken once.”
“And ye were happy with grandda’s choice? You found father charming and handsome and—”
“What has charming and handsome got to do with anything?” her mother said. “We do what me must in life, daughter. Youth perhaps convinces us the world is wide open and welcoming to all our desires and whims. The truth of it is life demands much in the way of self-sacrifice and the dimming of all our girlhood dreams. To be the wife of a high lord is a calling to service much greater than most will ever know. As the bride of the Earl, Alisa, ye will not just be responsible for your man and his children. It will be your role to stand as the very bedrock upon which his destiny is built. If ye want to see the ultimate success of a man, deary, then look ne farther than his wife.”
Alisa considered this, and the tiny lump of dread that’d been forming in her stomach for the past week seemed to grow the size of a standing stone. Service? Self-sacrifice? Surely that wasn’t the end all, be all of a woman’s life. Yet if Alisa were to take stock of all the women she’d known, she surmised she might find well-worn riverbeds of common matriarchal experience.
Was there truly nothing greater to look forward to? Was she destined to an existence meant for someone else rather than herself?
“Mother, is the Earl a good man? Is he…?”
“Is he what, deary?” her mother asked.
“Compassionate. Caring. Loath to cause me harm?’
Despite whatever she may have wanted to do, Alisa’s mother frowned deeply and sadly.
“Compassion has nothing to do with it, Alisa,” she said. “The man is yours now and you are his. That’s all there is to say on the matter.”
* * * * *
Alisa stood with her father as he presented her to the Earl of Shrewsbury, a tall and callow-faced older man who had the look of a shrewd and powerful warlord. Of course, rather than a soldier’s existence or the duty of a keeper of the peace, the life of an English lord was one of endless political rambling and trying to pretend all the extravagant wealth and influence was deserved. That’s what Alisa’s father always said, anyway. In private, he despised the English. To her, the Earl seemed the least vivacious man she’d ever met, with cold, cynical eyes that seemed to find no amusement in anything.
A meal had been prepared, but Chesire had said he didn’t want it. He hadn’t even made it past the drafty, echoing entrance to the reception wing. The intent, Alisa knew, was to leave for England immediately, which meant she was only moments away from bidding her entire family goodbye.
“Lord Fredrick Cheshire,” her father said, “allow me to introduce my eldest daughter, Alisa McGregor. Go on, lamb, say hello to the man.”
Alisa stepped forward, clutched the hem of her dress, and bowed for the Earl. Smiling up at him, she said, “Pleased to meet you, my lord. I very much look forward to seeing your home.”
Cheshire smiled at her, but there was little warmth in it. “Do you indeed? I should think you’re also filled with terrible trepidation.”
Alisa didn’t know what to say to this. His voice was dry and wavering, as if he smoked too much. He had a somewhat shambly appearance also, a lace collar unfastened at the neck and a fine red coat he’d not bothered to button.
“No, my lord, I’ve no trepidation,” Alisa lied. “I am at your service, as is Clan McGregor.”
The Earl laughed at this. He eyed her father keenly and said, “Is that true, McGregor? Is your clan at my service?”
Her father grimaced and cleared his throat. “Of course, my lord. We want no further bloodshed. The crown has nary an enemy in us, I assure you. As long as this lass is well taken care of.”
“She’ll want for nothing, I assure you,” the Earl said crudely licking his lips. “Come my dear, our carriage awaits.”
Alisa hugged her father and said her goodbyes to her sisters. Her mother nearly burst into tears when she told her she loved her, but proud woman she was, she kept them in check and gave her a hug. With nothing further to be said, Alisa left with Lord Cheshire and felt the weight of her entire Clan as the heavy doors of her father’s castle closed behind her.
“Will there be time to collect my horse?” Alisa asked.
“No. You can have a new one when we’re in England,” the Earl said. “You want a quality foal for riding, girl, not a Scottish nag.”
Chapter Two
The Earl’s carriage bumped along through the forest as the sounds of evening fowl and woodpeckers echoed in the soft gray twilight. Why Cheshire had insisted on traveling through the night Alisa couldn’t understand, and now that they’d taken to the road he seemed fidget
y. He mumbled to himself as he squinted at a handful of yellowed documents. Every so often he’d spare a glance out the window, as if he expected to see something other than the deep Scottish woodland. Alisa knew she had no business asking, but she found herself too curious for her own good.
“Lord, what is it you’re trying to read?”
“Trying to read? What do you mean trying to read?” the Earl said.
“You’ve not taken your eyes off those leaves this entire hour. Is there something I can help you with? Can ye not see them clearly?”
Lord Cheshire looked up at her and gained a bitter, morbid expression. “How old do I seem to you, dear? The elderly Earl of Shrewsbury? It must be a frightful worry, this betrothal of ours.”
Alisa knew she’d stepped in it. She sat up straighter and smoothed out a ruffle in her dress.
“No, my lord,” she said. “It’s just that the light is waning and you seem as though—”
“I’ve lost my sight,” Cheshire said. “You know not too terribly long ago I’d have had my pick of any woman in England. Do you believe that?”
“Of course I do, my lord. You’re very handsome.”
“You’re lying. You don’t find me handsome. I’m no longer a specimen of young masculinity, which is all little girls raised in little castles in little countries can think of. I’ve lived a life of sacrifice and heartbreak, my dear, which is precisely what you’re likely to live. That I’ve earned a few scars and wrinkles along the way is merely a testament to the fact I survived. You could learn a thing or two from an old face like this. You’re very pretty, and your loins are very young, and at my age the only thing you’ve got to leave behind is progeny. Does that suit you? You’re to bear me sons, as many as I want. My last wife didn’t have it in her.”
“And … and what became of her, my lord?” Alisa ventured.
“She died. Tragically. I do so intend better fortune for you.”
The carriage came to a stop. They heard Cheshire’s men barking at each other, issuing orders, then a hail of arrows rained down on them, punching holes in the carriage and dropping the Earl’s men from their horses.
Cheshire shouted, “They’ve found us!” and then a battle cry sounded from the woods and a group of tartaned highland assassins bolted from behind the large, moss-covered trees. They joined battle with the remainder of Cheshire’s men, English steel meeting powerful, brawny Scottish broadswords.
“Who are they?” Alisa said, whipping around to get a better view.
“Clan Campbell,” the Earl said.
“Campbell? I thought—”
“They’re displeased with your father. The old blood feud holds true, it would seem. They don’t like him marrying you to me.”
“They’ve come to kill you?”
“They’ve come to kill us both,” Cheshire hissed.
The earl ripped up the papers in his hands, retrieved a flintlock pistol and rapier sword from a compartment under his seat, and then he kicked the carriage door open.
“What are those papers?” Alisa said.
“Our marriage contract. You’re on your own, my dear.”
With that, Lord Cheshire scrambled into the woods for a nearby boulder.
“He’s there, lads!” one of the assassins called.
Musket fire peppered the boulder. The Earl was over and dashing away, heading for a thick knot of oaks.
“After him!” the assassin said. Three assassins bolted after him. Alisa recognized her chance to escape, but rather than rushing from the carriage, she dropped to the muddy ground and began crawling for the low embankment off the side of the road. The final, piteous sounds of battle ended behind her as one of the Earl’s men screamed, gurgled loudly, and then fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
“Search the carriage,” one of the assassins said.
Alisa scrambled for the embankment. She rolled down into it then crawled behind some leafy undergrowth. Two assassins searched the carriage, announcing loudly the McGregor girl wasn’t in it.
“Well find her, ye halfwits!” their commander bellowed. “The bitch couldne have gotten far.”
On her hands and knees, Alisa backed her way behind a large birch. She scrambled a few hundred feet and dove behind the cover of a decaying log. Scanning the assassins at the carriage, fear coursing through her, she picked her time and ran away as fast as she could.
* * * * *
It was cold and dark in the forest before long. Though Alisa hadn’t heard them crashing through the underbrush and barking at each other in at least an hour, she felt more afraid now than she had during the attack. She clutched herself tightly, willing her feet to carry her further from harm. She shivered all over, remembering again and again arrows punching through armor and swords hacking limbs from bodies.
Alisa drew her hands to her mouth and blew into them. She felt something wet on her face and imagined it to be blood, though of course she’d been far from the brutality of Campbell’s killers. Clan Campbell had long been sworn enemies of the MacGregor’s, but they’d not tried anything so brazen in many years. Alisa recalled her father and his counselors speaking of them in recent weeks, but she’d just assumed they were bickering over a minor land dispute. And somehow, the Earl had gotten word Campbell meant to attack. Why else would he have seemed so jittery during the carriage ride?
Exhausted, frightened beyond anything she’d ever know, Alisa broke down and fell to the ground beside the babbling water of a small brook. What was she going to do? How on Earth would she find her way home? She knew these lands as well as any young lass, but she’d lost all sense of direction as she’d run from the assassins. October had come to the Highlands and with it the first bitter chills of winter. If she couldn’t find shelter and build a fire for herself, she wasn’t likely to make it any—
Twigs snapped in the underbrush behind her. She spun around and came face to face with a Campbell assassin. He had a large, bushy orange beard, and a stock and body so big his shoulders were like the A-frame of a house. He chuckled and drew his sword from his tartan sash.
“There you are, little gorgeous,” he said. “We’ve wondered off, have we?”
Alisa scooted away from him and splashed into the brook. Icy water bit at her, and her breath seized in her lungs.
“Now, now, no need to fear,” said the assassin. “I think you’ll find I’m a very spirited man once ye get to know me.”
He laughed and splashed into the brook. Alisa’s muscles refused to move. The water was so very cold and the terror so all-encompassing. She tried to crawl for the other side. The Campbell assassin grabbed her by the hair and jerked her to her feet. Alisa cried out in pain.
“Don ye try nothin’ pretty with me, little lass,” he breathed into her ear. “I’d make ye a skinned heifer just as soon as I’d—”
An arrow whistled through the air and punched through his shoulder. The assassin screamed and dropped her back into the water. Alisa’s head went under. Water got into her lungs, and she scrambled to her knees and coughed. A large black shape rushed from the trees and dropped the assassin with a single heavy blow. For a moment, the figure seemed more beast than man, but Alisa got a look at a heavy hunting bow, and she realized this individual had happened on them by chance.
The assassin struggled and received a final heavy blow to the head. He didn’t struggle after that. Alisa coughed and choked, the darkness seeming to consume her entire world.
She heard a deep, grizzled voice say, “Lass, are ye all right?”
She swooned and dropped. Her savior caught her and then she passed out cold.
Chapter Three
Alisa felt the motions of the horse before she was fully aware enough to open her eyes. The world seemed yellow and bright, and she wondered perhaps if she had died.
“Whoa, Roach. Easy does it,” she heard someone say.
Alisa opened her eyes. She’d been slung over the horse. It was early morning judging by the golden light filtering through the trees
. A highland warrior sat proudly with her on the mount. His body was wide and muscular, and a certain tantalizing musky yet sweet aroma hung about him.
“Stop,” Alisa said. “I’ve got to get off.”
The warrior bade his horse halt and she nickered. Alisa dropped to her feet and grunted, her body stiff and achy. She turned to take him in. Handsome, ruggedly so, with long black hair and the scratchy beginnings of a beard. He was built like an ox, yet his eyes were warm and compassionate. He unslung a water flagon from his side and handed it to her, smiling. She snatched it and tugged on the stopper, drinking greedily as water ran down her chin.
“There, feel better now?” the warrior said.
Alisa very nearly emptied the flagon. She took a final gulp and then wiped the water from her chin.
“Who are ye?” she asked. “What do ye want with me?”
“I want nothing, lass. Happened to be hunting last night. Clan Campbell has driven the herds from my lands, so now I must venture far afield to feed my kin.”
“Campbell? You’ve had dealings with them?”
“I have,” the warrior said in his deep, grizzled voice. “It seems ye have as well. Those assassins were well trained.”
“Are you going to take me home?”
The warrior sighed and hopped off his horse. He towered over her, an absolute giant of a man. His bright blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the morning light. And there it was again, that amazing musky scent sweet as sugar.
“No,” he said, “I cannae risk it. Your father is embattled, and whether he knows it or not, the only thing keeping him alive is your death.”
“You know who my father is?”
“Aye. My kin and I were foot soldiers of his at one time. I know who you are, young lass, though the last time I saw ye …” He paused and looked her over, his eyes lingering for a moment or two on her bosom. “Ye weren’t so tall.”
