With Love from the Highlands : A Highlander Love Story Duet, One

by Suzan Tisdale

  There was just a hint of frustration in his voice. She would not apologize for her actions. If he was embarrassed, he had no one to blame but himself. “You didn’t ask.”

  He cast her a suspicious look as they stepped into the hallway, but said nothing else. A few steps to their right was the gathering room. It was filled with all manner of people, laughing, chatting, and some who were quite eager to see the woman Graeme was to marry. Long trestle tables sat perpendicular to one another. At the head of the room on a dais, was another long trestle table. Marcum and Kathryn were already seated there. To Marcum’s left sat Traigh and his wife, next to them Bruce and his. The two seats next to Kathryn were empty, but next to them sat Ronald — the brother closest in age to Graeme — and his lovely new bride, and Connor, who had yet to marry.

  Graeme led Josephine to the dais, up the stairs and pulled out the chair next to his mother. Josephine sat down and scanned the room for Laurin and Albert. Curiously, they were sitting at the table nearest the dais.

  Kathryn was beaming proudly at Josephine. When she saw her eyes had landed on Albert and Laurin as well as her curious expression, Kathryn leaned in. “Laurin refused to sit with us,” she explained. “She said she felt it was no’ proper. I decided no’ to push the matter.”

  Relief settled in. Josephine thought it awfully generous of Kathryn to allow some leeway in the matter. She thought it even kinder that Albert was sitting with Laurin.

  Once Marcum saw that Josephine was seated, he stood to speak to his people.

  “Clan MacAulay!” he said over the din. The people instantly quieted and sat in rapt attention.

  “This be a verra special night, fer Clan MacAulay. As many of ye be aware, our Graeme will be marryin’ Josephine MacAdams in a sennight. I expect ye all will find her as charming and kind as we do.” With that, he raised his cup to Josephine, and then the crowd. “To Josephine and to Graeme!”

  Cheers went up, people clapped, and Josephine sat as still as a stone. A sennight? What of the banns? The preparations? The fact that the groom does not like me? Panic began to swell.

  From Graeme’s angry glare, he knew nothing about the date having already been set.

  Josephine took a drink of cider before turning to Kathryn. “What of the banns? The preparations?”

  Kathryn patted her hand. “Joie, do no’ worry it. Marcum posted the banns three weeks ago. We knew Graeme was on his way home. The law says we must post them for at least three weeks. It can be longer. We could have married the both of ye the moment ye entered the keep. I told Marcum the two of ye needed at least a week to get to know one another.”

  Josephine did not feel nearly as confident as Kathryn sounded. She drank down the rest of her cider while her mind raced hither and yon. A week. She imagined it would take a lifetime before Graeme ever thought of her as more than someone he had been forced to marry.

  Graeme sat silently fuming. Josephine could almost feel his body vibrating with anger. She was, at the moment, at a loss for words. What could she possibly say to make him feel more at ease, to have him look at her as a friend and ally?

  “Graeme,” Kathryn said, leaning over slightly so she could see him better, “have ye met Traigh’s bride? Or Bruce’s?”

  With his jaw clenched, he answered, “Nay.”

  “Och!” Kathryn smiled. “Irline is a sweet lass. Traigh is verra smitten with her. And Bruce?” She rolled her eyes and sighed with exasperation. “The moment he set eyes upon Mairi, he fell in love. Came to us the followin’ day and told yer da and me that she was the one and he would marry her, with or without our permission.” She giggled at the memory. “That was a wee over two months ago. I do believe they be verra much in love.”

  Graeme was now seething, his lips pursed into a fine line, his eyes nothing more than slits. “Bruce was given a choice?” he asked in a low grumble. He had spoken in such a low voice that Kathryn had to ask him to repeat himself. Josephine, however, heard every word.

  “Bruce was given a choice?” he asked a second time, louder, and with more anger and venom.

  “Of course he was. As was Ronald,” Kathryn answered.

  Graeme, rarely so openly furious, was unable to contain himself any longer. Slamming his fist down on the table with such force that it rattled the cups and dishes, and made Josephine nearly jump out of her skin. “Then why was I no’ given a bloody choice?” He all but shouted the question.

  The room fell silent.

  Josephine was so frightened by his display of anger that she sat in stunned silence for a long moment. Humiliation began to spread from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her fingers. Without saying a word, she pushed herself away from the table and stood to leave.

  “Where are you goin’?” Graeme asked, his voice still quaking with anger.

  “To my room,” she said, tossing her answer over her shoulder without looking back. Connor, clearly upset with his brother, pushed himself away from the table and stood. “I’ll escort ye back, Joie,” he said as he cast a very disappointed look at Graeme.

  Graeme’s face darkened as he quickly stood. “Sit down, Connor! I’ll escort her back.”

  Josephine picked up her skirts and ran from the room.

  Marcum stood to his full height, the disappointment in his youngest son’s behavior more than evidenced by his fierce scowl. “Me study,” he said as he stepped away from the table. “Now.”

  Although Graeme was a grown man, he knew he had crossed the line. Arguing with his father would serve him ill. Besides, his father was a head taller, heavier, and still as strong as an ox. Graeme knew he’d beat him to a bloody pulp if he even tried to argue, no matter how old he might be.

  With his head held high, Graeme followed his father out of the room. Kathryn motioned to the rest of her family to stay seated. “I’d better go, else Marcum is likely to make Joie a widow before she’s even had a chance to say her vows.”

  7

  “If I did no’ ken yer mother to be a virtuous woman, I’d swear ye were no’ my son!” Marcum was furious. He stood behind the long, heavy table he used as a desk, and if looks could kill, Graeme’s body would now be turning cold.

  Kathryn sat in a chair in front of the table, turned so she could watch both her husband and her son. It also gave her the ability to jump in between the two if the need arose.

  Graeme stood across the room near the hearth, staring into the low burning embers. He knew he had behaved less like a gentleman and more like an insolent cretin. At the moment, he cared not what anyone thought of him. His anger, though, ’twas beginning to subside now that he’d finally asked the question that had burned away at his gut all these years; why was he not given a choice?

  “Ye will go to Joie at once and apologize for behavin’ like such a grand arse!” Marcum told him. “And if ye ever again behave so poorly and hurt her like ye did this night, I’ll no’ be responsible fer me actions.”

  The three of them knew ’twasn’t an idle threat.

  “To treat that lass in such an abominable manner.” Marcum shook his head in disgust. “Joie is a sweet, kind young woman. Ye’re seriously makin’ me regret who I chose fer her.”

  Graeme spun to face his father, astounded. “Ye chose fer her? What the bloody hell does that mean? I be yer son. Should ye no’ have chosen better fer me?” he seethed.

  An exchange of some sort, something Graeme found quite conspiratorial, passed between Marcum and Kathryn. They remained mute.

  “What are ye no’ tellin’ me,” Graeme demanded as he took a step toward his parents. “Why be ye so concerned with Josephine’s feelin’s and have no regard fer mine?”

  Marcum and Kathryn continued to look at one another as if they could read one another’s minds. After a moment, Kathryn gave a slight nod to her husband.

  “Graeme,” Kathryn said, her voice soft and soothing, “we chose ye for Josephine, because we knew ye’d protect her and adore her just as we do. At least I believed that until I saw how ye behaved
moments ago. Mayhap we should have chosen better for her.”

  “Pardon me fer bein’ so blunt, Mum, but ye’re no’ makin’ any sense,” Graeme said bluntly.

  Marcum let loose a heavy sigh and sat down. “Graeme, ye best sit, fer this will take some time to explain.”

  From the look on his father’s face, Graeme sensed it would not only be a long story, but one he would not enjoy. Reluctantly, he sat down in the empty chair next to his mother. Once he was seated, Marcum cleared his throat and began.

  “Marielle de Reyne MacAdams, Joie’s mum, was a fine woman. She and yer mum were verra good friends, almost like sisters, like Joie and Laurin be,” he said as he smiled warmly at his wife.

  “Aye,” Kathryn said, smiling fondly at what Graeme assumed to be old memories. “We’d known each other since we were little girls. Our parents were friends and we spent much time at one another’s homes. We never lost touch with each other, even after I married yer da and moved here.”

  Graeme supposed that did explain some of the connection between his mother and Josephine.

  “Marielle fell in love with a verra nice young man named Aric Hay. They were to be married. Unfortunately, he was killed a week after the banns were posted. Marielle was devastated,” Kathryn said. Her fond smile faded, her expression sad, her eyes damp with tears.

  Graeme began to wonder why the loss of that young man still affected his mother so deeply as to bring tears to her eyes, even after all these years.

  “A few weeks later,” Marcum explained, “Marielle discovered she was carryin’ his child.”

  Graeme furrowed his brow, since he felt certain he knew where this story was going to lead.

  “That child was Josephine,” Kathryn said as she wiped away a tear with her fingertips.

  “Marielle’s parents were furious with her, but loved her just the same. They quickly found a suitable replacement, or so they thought, in Delmer MacAdams,” Marcum said. “There was nothin’ suitable about Delmer. He was a selfish man who did no’ appreciate how wonderful a wife he had.”

  Graeme was silent for a long moment. “Did Delmer know that Josephine was no’ his?”

  Marcum shrugged his shoulders. “I doubt it. He was never the brightest man. If he did ken, he never said.”

  “Yer father and I are Joie’s godparents, ye see. When Marielle became ill, we went to see her. We made her a promise that we would always look out for her daughter, and that is exactly what we have done.” Kathryn finally looked into her son’s eyes. “We made a promise, ye ken.”

  Marcum stood and came to stand behind his wife. He placed a hand on her shoulder as he kissed the top of her head. “We ne’er thought that promise would lead to a betrothal between one of our son’s and Joie.”

  Graeme raised a curious brow. “How did it come to be then?”

  Marcum gave a short sigh before answering. “’Twas by happenstance, Graeme, sheer happenstance. I was comin’ back from Inverness and, as I always do, I stopped to see how Josephine fared. I knew her brother tormented her, but did no’ realize ’twas so bad fer her. Delmer, fer the most part, ignored her. He took no interest in her because she was a lass. When I arrived, he and I sat in his study as we usually did, discussing cattle and politics. ’Twas then that he told me he had found a suitable match fer Joie.”

  Had it been Delmer’s idea for Josephine to marry him? He found that quite odd, for he could not remember ever speaking with the man.

  “When he told me who this suitable match was, I nearly fell out of me chair,” Marcum said. “Ye see, the lad was Charles Hay, son of Aric Hay. Charles was born from Aric’s first marriage. His wife, Charles’ mum, died in childbed, bringin’ Charles into the world some four years before Aric met Marielle. After Aric died, Marielle kept in touch with Aric’s brother, Phillip Hay, who ended up raisin’ Charles.”

  Graeme’s eyes widened in shock and his mouth fell open. ’Twas all beginning to make sense.

  “Ye saved her from havin’ to marry her half-brother,” Graeme said, more as a statement and less a question.

  “Aye.” Marcum nodded. “In truth, I had always thought the two of ye would match well. I had to act quickly, Graeme. I could no’ reveal Marielle’s secret, fer I had promised to take that to me grave, ye ken. ’Twas then that I made the offer, one that was significantly more financially beneficial for Delmer MacAdams than Phillip Hay — the lad’s uncle— was offerin’.”

  Graeme began to feel as low as a worm. Lower even. His father had acted to protect Marielle’s secret and Josephine’s future. Honor before self.

  “We thought that once ye knew Joie as we did, ye’d love and adore her as much as we do,” Kathryn said.

  “Aye,” Marcum agreed. “Joie is a verra smart young woman. She has dreams, ye ken. She wants to see the world as ye have already seen it, Graeme.”

  Kathryn smiled up at her husband. “The ocean.”

  Marcum returned her smile before looking to Graeme. “What did she think of it?”

  Graeme was confused, for he did not know to what his father was referring. “Of what?”

  “The ocean, son,” he said, as if it should make some sort of sense to Graeme. “Och! The lass has always wanted to see the ocean, to sail upon it. What did she think of it?”

  Graeme didn’t think he could be made to feel any lower. He hadn’t realized it had been the first time Josephine had seen the ocean, or that she possessed such dreams to see it. He hadn’t known and he certainly hadn’t shared that momentous occasion with her. Instead, he had sat on the other side of the boat and sulked like a lad of six who had just been told he could not have a third sweet cake.

  ’Twas apparent that Marcum understood Graeme’s silence. “Joie has many dreams, Graeme. Some much like yer own. She be much smarter than ye think.”

  Kathryn reached over and took her son’s hand in hers. “Graeme, if ye’d just take the time to know her, as all of us have, I know in me heart that ye’d soon grow to love her.”

  The hope, the tenderness Graeme saw in his mother’s eyes made his heart tighten. He’d been so pre-occupied with his own feelings about marriage and life in general, that he hadn’t stopped to ask even the simplest of questions to Josephine.

  Ask her yerself. How many times in the past few days had one of his brothers given that answer to any inquiry he made about Josephine.

  Ye’d know that, had ye answered her letters. His brothers had all told him that enough times that he eventually quit asking.

  The letters. Had he simply opened one of them… Had he simply opened the first letter he had received from her, he might not be sitting in his father’s study feeling like the lowest form of life. Mayhap he could have learned what his parents and brothers already knew.

  Damn.

  Graeme apologized to his parents for his poor behavior and left the two of them to go in search of Josephine.

  He searched everywhere he could think of inside the keep from under beds and tables to the insides of garderobes. After an hour, he began to grow worried and took his search out of doors. He began with the stables, then turned to the chicken coop. He even went so far as to look in the wych elm tree that stood south of the keep.

  Panic began to swell. Had he embarrassed her to the point that she had run away? Night had fallen, the wind had kicked up, and the sky held the promise of rain. There was one last place to look before he sounded the alarm to form a search party: the gardens.

  As he stepped through the trellis, he spotted Albert and Laurin walking toward him.

  “Have ye seen Josephine?” Graeme asked, trying to hide the panic in his voice.

  “Why?” Albert asked with a definitive challenge to his tone.

  Now was not the time for debate. “I want to speak to her, to apologize.” He felt more than a bit embarrassed to admit it aloud, especially to Albert.

  His brother studied him closely for a moment, seeming to look for any sign of deceit. Finally, he said, “She be at the back wall of the garde
ns, on the bench where mum likes to do her needlework.”

  Graeme thanked him, gave a slight bow to Laurin before rushing to find Josephine. The garden was on the eastern side of the keep, near the outer wall. Lit torches sat in sconces that lined the stone wall, casting enough light inside the gardens that one could walk through at night and not worry about tripping or coming upon someone unawares.

  A stone bench sat in a far corner, surrounded by forget-me-nots, foxglove, harebell, and honeysuckle. Josephine was not on the bench, but rather, she had taken the stone steps that led to one of the lookouts that lined the wall. She stood looking out into that vast ocean. Silently, he watched her for a time.

  She was in a fierce battle with the wind, and the wind was winning. She would pull the hood of her cloak up to cover her hair, only to have the wind rip it away moments later. It swirled around her feet, beating against her cloak and dress.

  For a moment, the clouds parted, letting the moonlight shine upon her dark hair, which had come loose and blew around in the wind. She would grab her hair and force it back into the hood, only to repeat the process again moments later.

  Some time passed before she finally gave up the battle, surrendering to the wind. For a long moment, she let her hair fly as it willed before turning away to descend the steps. She was on the last one when she caught sight of Graeme. She paused before walking toward him.

  With the light of the torches and moonlight, he could see she had been crying. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks damp. She made no attempt to hide the fact from him. She also made no attempt to stop and speak to him. Instead, she inclined her head politely as she walked past.

  “Josephine, please wait,” he said. Even he could hear his voice catch in his throat.

  She turned to face him and wiped away a tear with the sleeve of her cloak.

  When he had been searching frantically for her, he had thought of what he’d say, of how he would apologize and beg for her forgiveness. But now his mind was blank and he was beginning to feel quite foolish, the one feeling above all others he detested. He blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. “Ye’re beautiful.”