Graeme let out a long heavy breath. “Aye, everyone on God’s earth knew but me.”
“Aye, ye have the way of it, son.”
Though Graeme was sorely tempted to ask his father to please remove the smile from his face, he knew he had no right. It had been his own stubborn arrogance that kept him from seeing what his family — and apparently everyone else in the keep — already knew. Josephine MacAdams was the perfect match for him.
“So how did ye come to realize that we were right and ye were wrong?” Marcum asked as he sat sipping the fine whisky.
’Twas painful to admit, but there was no way around it. “I did what ye suggested. I took the time to know her.”
Marcum smiled again. “The way I hear it, ye started writin’ to her. Fer two solid days ye had the lads runnin’ back and forth betwixt yer rooms, exchangin’ love letters.”
Love letters? He supposed that was an apt description, though they certainly hadn’t started out that way. In the beginning, he looked at the letters as more of a fact-finding endeavor. By the seventh letter, he knew he was well on his way to being smitten. By the last, he knew he had fallen hopelessly in love with her.
Just then, Traigh and Albert entered the study, each of them sporting the same smile of satisfaction their father wore.
Traigh began the taunting first. “Pray, tell me brother, be there any truth to these rumors floatin’ about the keep?”
Graeme shot him a look of warning. It didn’t do a bit of good.
“What rumors be those, brother Traigh?” Albert asked, feigning ignorance on the matter.
Traigh crossed his arms over his chest. “Why, the rumors that our brother Graeme has fallen in love with our Joie. So much so that they will be married this verra day.”
Graeme had two choices. He could tell his brothers to shut their mouths and leave him be or he could stand like a man and admit the truth, at least as much of it as he could without looking like a fool.
“Aye,” he said as he stepped toward them. “The rumors be true. I have fallen hopelessly in love with my Joie, and aye, we will be married this verra day. Before the evenin’ meal, in fact.”
Traigh and Albert were momentarily stunned at Graeme’s open admission. But ’twas short-lived. Broad smiles broke out on their faces and soon, they were congratulating him with hugs and heavy slaps on the back.
When the celebrating was over, Traigh asked, “Do ye ken what ye’re to do this night? After the weddin’?”
Graeme’s smile evaporated almost instantly. “If ye utter one unkind, disrespectful word as it pertains to consummation and me wife, I swear, I will beat ye within an inch of yer life.”
Traigh quickly wiped away the smile and attempted to appear serious and fully chastised. “Aye, Albert, he be in love, let there be no doubt.”
For Graeme, it seemed it took a year for an hour to pass by. The day was dragging on at a painfully slow pace. He had bathed and shaved, shined his boots, and donned fresh clothing, and he still had two hours before the ceremony.
There was one thing he wanted to do, something he wanted to give Josephine before they exchanged their vows. He’d wanted to give it to her earlier that morning, but his mother had interrupted the moment. And he had to give it to her before they went to the kirk.
Defiantly, he marched one floor below and went to her bedchamber, knocking loudly. A moment later, Irline opened the door a crack. When she saw him standing there, she quickly stepped into the hallway, shutting the door behind her.
“Kathryn told me no’ to let ye anywhere near Joie until the weddin’ ceremony.”
Graeme resisted the urge to laugh at this tiny woman, with ginger hair and bright green eyes, prepared, if need be, to fight him to the death if he made any attempt to see Josephine.
“I ken that, Irene –”
“Irline,” she corrected him.
He inclined his head and apologized. “I give ye me word that I will do better to remember that in the future. But first, let me apologize fer no’ congratulatin’ ye on yer marriage to Traigh.”
She quirked one brow. “That was four years ago. We have a son and another bairn due in four months.”
He searched his mind for a recollection of Traigh mentioning he was a father or that Graeme was an uncle. He came up empty. How involved in his own life had he been? His own ignorance astounded him and left him feeling ashamed. “I be verra sorry, Irline. Please, accept me most humble apologies.”
She studied him closely for a long moment. “Verra well. Now go away,” she said as she started to return to the bedchamber.
“Wait!” he said as he placed a hand on her arm. “Please, Irline, I beseech ye. I ken I am no’ deservin’ of any kindness from anyone. I’ve been more a fool than I care to admit.”
“That be certain,” Irline said.
He had to admit that he rather liked her blunt manner. ’Twas a quality he was beginning to appreciate of late. “If I swear on me grandparents’ graves, me brothers’ lives and the lives of me parents’ that I’ll no’ do anythin’ unkind, will ye please grant me one boon?”
Irline crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at him, her curiosity quite evident. “A boon?”
“Aye, just one boon.”
“Tell me what boon it be that ye seek. I’ll no’ say aye or nay until I hear it.”
He was quite thankful that she was at least willing to listen. “Let me have just a few moments with Joie, alone, without all the women around.”
“Are ye daft?” she asked with a most serious tone.
“Aye, I fear so,” he said as he offered her a warm smile. “All I ask is fer a few moments alone with her. I’ll even keep the door open and ye can watch to make certain I do no’ do anythin’ either one of us would be ashamed of.”
Irline studied him closely for several long moments, sizing him up, looking for any hint of insincerity or deceit. Finally, she gave a curt nod of her head. “Verra well,” she said.
Graeme was so overcome with relief that he scooped her up and hugged her.
“Put me down, now, Graeme MacAulay!” she said as she smacked the back of his head.
He was still smiling when he carefully set her back on her feet. “Thank ye, Irline, from the bottom of me heart.”
“Do no’ thank me yet, Graeme. If yer mum finds out, I’ll lie and tell her ye held us all at sword point.”
“’Tis a risk I be willin’ to take,” he said.
Irline gave him a look that said she didn’t quite believe him.
It took more time than he would have preferred, but eventually the women cleared themselves from Josephine’s room. As promised, he left the door open. However, ’twasn’t just Irline watching him like a mother eagle guarding her nest of eggs. ’Twas all of them.
Josephine looked magnificent. They had styled her hair, much of it upswept with curls and the rest hanging loose, cascading down her back with tiny, delicate white flowers dotted throughout.
Though she was still in her dark blue dressing gown, it did nothing to take away from her beauty. He was indeed a very lucky man.
“Ye’re beautiful,” he told her as he stepped forward, forgetting that at least seven sets of eyes were boring into his back. He placed a sweet, tender kiss on her lips before stepping away.
“You look quite handsome yourself,” Josephine said with a smile.
Her smile made his heart skip several beats. Finally, he remembered what it was that he wanted to do, besides begin to kiss her and not stop until his final days on this earth were done.
Reaching into his sporran, he pulled out a small bundle wrapped in fine linen. “I want to give ye somethin’, somethin’ I want ye to wear this day.” Carefully, he unfolded the linen and held his hand out to her.
Josephine’s eyes widened with curiosity and joy. “’Tis beautiful, Graeme!”
“It be a brooch that each MacAulay lad receives when he turns six and ten. I want ye to have it.”
Josephine carefully too
k it and studied it closely. Made of pewter, in the center of the brooch were two hands, one decidedly masculine, the other feminine. The masculine hand held the feminine hand in his palm. In the center of her palm was a tiny ruby. To one side, the circle had been engraved to look like stars twinkling near a crescent moon. On the other were the words aeterna devotione. Eternal devotion.
Tears filled her eyes as she looked into his. “Ye want me to have this?”
“Aye, I do, Joie,” he said as he placed a kiss on her forehead. “Me great-great-great grandfather presented a brooch just like this to his wife, me great-great-great grandmum. But no’ until the first anniversary of their weddin’ day. ’Twas a symbol of the great love they had found with one another. ’Tis tradition for the MacAulay men to only give their brooch to a woman who has stolen their heart, a woman they love and trust above all else.”
Tears trailed down her cheeks, her heart beating so rapidly she was certain it would burst through her breastbone at any moment.
“I do no’ quite understand how it happened, or how it happened so quickly, Joie, but it has. Amorem in corde meo ut arctius coccino colloeandus arctius ideo astra,” Graeme said first in Latin and then again in Gaelic, “Toisc go bhfuil do ghrá eitseáilte isteach i mo chroí i corcairdhearg, mar sin tá sé eitseáilte amonst na réaltaí.” He placed a tender kiss on her cheek.
“As yer love be etched into me heart in crimson, so it be etched amongst the stars,” he told her. “As me grandda said those words to me grandmum all those many years ago, I say them to ye.”
There was no way for her to stop the tears that trailed down her cheeks. Never, in all those times she imagined her wedding day, did she envision a moment like this. Graeme loved her, wholly and without condition.
There was no doubt in her mind what she needed to do next. Swiping away her tears with the sleeve of her dressing gown, she went to the door. “Irline, do not fret and please, do not call for Kathryn. I need a few moments alone with Graeme,” she told her before shutting the door and barring it.
Quickly, she went to her bed, knelt and pulled out the linen wrapped Gladius. “Graeme, I have something I want to give you as well.”
Graeme came to stand beside her as she carefully unrolled the linen. Almost reverently, she picked up the sword with both hands and presented it to him.
“This Gladius has been in my family for many, many generations. No one knows exactly how it came to be in our possession, but it is of great importance to the women of the de Reyne bloodline.”
Carefully, Graeme took it in his hands and studied it while Josephine explained the history of the sword as she knew it to be. ’Twas a hefty sword of fine quality. Though the hilt had yellowed over time, Graeme felt certain it had been made of ivory. Decorative bands of bronze or iron wrapped around the junction where the hilt met the blade. Though ’twas quite ancient, it was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship.
“Many believe the Gladius is cursed, while others believe it is blessed. Some believe it leads to great treasure while others believe it leads to ruin,” she told him. “There is writing on the blade, but ’tis so old we are unable to decipher it. All we can read with any certainty is right there.” With her index finger, she pointed to the one legible word that remained on the blade, near the hilt. “Theodosia,” she said.
Graeme’s gaze shifted from the Gladius to his betrothed.
“This was passed down from first born daughter to first born daughter for many generations, Graeme. My mother believed with all her heart that it was cursed. It was also her fervent belief that the only way to break the curse was by true, genuine love. I have had it since I was nine years of age. Mamma gave it to me before she died. I was only to give it to my husband if he was a man of good character, a man whom I could trust with my heart, my life, and my love. If I could not trust you, then I would keep the Gladius a secret and pass it down to my own daughter.”
When Graeme looked at her, she could see the awe and surprise alight in his eyes. “I fear I do no’ ken what to say, Joie.”
Josephine smiled up at him, stood on her tiptoes and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. “You already have, Graeme, you already have.”
Just before the evening meal, Graeme MacAulay and Josephine MacAdams stood at the altar of the MacAulay kirk. The space was filled with many clanspeople and the MacAulay family.
Josephine looked resplendent, almost regal in the emerald green gown Kathryn had lent to her. None who were present would have been able to wipe the smile from Graeme MacAulay’s face.
With great pride, Josephine wore the brooch Graeme had given her, using it to secure the MacAulay plaid draped over her shoulder. Graeme had exchanged his own broadsword for the Gladius, and it now rested quite comfortably in the belt at his waist.
As soon as they exchanged their vows, Graeme gave his new wife a most sweet and tender kiss. While cheers erupted throughout the tiny kirk, Graeme scooped Josephine up into his arms and carried her away.
Once they were inside his bedchamber, they giggled between exchanges of hot, passionate kisses. Graeme, wanting to consummate their marriage as soon as possible, broke away from his eager wife to remove his belt and the Gladius.
He placed it on top of a heavy wooden trunk before turning thoughtful. “Joie, do ye think we will break the curse?”
Josephine came to stand behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Only time will tell.”
10
The keep was not the same without his sister. ’Twas a fact Helmert partly relished and partly hated to the point of seething anger.
He and his friends had drunk themselves to near death those first days after she left. And ’twas not out of any sense of missing her. ’Twas rage that made him take one drink after the next.
She had embarrassed him, humiliated him in front of his friends and the servants. The image of her victorious, haughty smile when she sat atop that horse, was forever burned into his memory. After the third day of drinking, he realized he’d never get that image out of his mind.
And they had taken Laurin with them! Uncertain which enraged him more; Graeme MacAulay finally coming for Josephine or the fact they had taken the beautiful Laurin with them. ’Twas equally unjust as far as he was concerned.
There was no one left whose skirts he could lift to assuage his desires. The only women left in the keep were old, wrinkled grandmothers, not a one he’d consider tupping no matter how desperate or drunk he became.
There were very few of his people left inside the keep or its walls. Because of his sister’s blasted desire to keep the younger women safe from him and his friends, she had suggested those with daughters of a certain age live outside the walls. And therefore, outside his grasp.
If she had defended him instead of arguing with him at every turn, his keep would not now be standing empty. If she had come to his aide and helped instead of walking around the damned place like a queen, his people would never have left. They would have followed him anywhere. Instead, they all adored her, hung on her every word, bespoke of her beauty and kind heart as if she were someone deserving of sainthood.
But nay, she could not do that. She was far too much like their mother, with her inane sense of right versus wrong, of defending the weak and less privileged. ’Twas not right to treat him so poorly when he was the chief!
The injustice, the indignity, ’twas all too much.
There must be a way to avenge the insult thrust upon him by his sister and the MacAulays. But how?
He had passed out before dawn in the gathering room, in his ornately carved chair. A fly was buzzing about his head, and he nearly choked to death when it decided to investigate the inside of his open mouth.
Angry, he coughed and choked until tears rolled from his eyes. Gasping for breath, with the after-affects of too much wine combined with too rich foods, he scrambled to his feet. In the corner, he tossed the contents of last night’s revelry.
Rousted so harshly from his wine-induced slumber,
his anger returned. Wiping his face against the sleeve of his fine silk tunic, he looked about the room. Darvord was asleep atop the trestle table, with his arm wrapped around an empty bottle of wine. He found Clarence asleep with the lower half of his torso under the table, his head resting against the bench.
The portions of the table that Darvord wasn’t sprawled upon, held platters of half-eaten food, empty trenchers, the bones of chickens and venison scattered hither and yon. Empty flagons and bottles and cups were littered about the large space.
Were Josephine here, she’d have been raising a fuss about all the wasted food and how many people they could have fed. She’d have been complaining about the waste as much as the disaster they’d left in their wake.
When his thoughts turned to her, his anger rose. Finding an empty bottle near his feet, he scooped it up and threw it at Darvord. The bottle missed his head, but only by a margin. The clamor it made crashing against the trenchers barely caused him to stir.
“Up, ye bloody leeches!” Helmert screamed.
Darvord simply rolled over, still clinging to the bottle as if it were a lover.
There was a good chance Clarence was dead, for he did not so much as twitch.
Helmert didn’t care. “Fools,” he mumbled. “Why I surround myself with the two of ye, I do no’ ken.”
Still slightly drunk, he stumbled as his head began to swim. Wanting nothing more than to find his way into his bed, he left his friends to rot.
He had to pass his sister’s auld room in order to get to his own. The door still hung half off its hinges from when he and his cohorts had broken it down days before.
Cursing her to the bowels of hell, he noticed a movement inside her chamber as he was passing by. It was one of the aulder women, a servant whose name he had never taken the time to learn.
“What are ye doin’?” he asked as he stood in the doorway.
The woman glanced up with a furrowed brow. “I be packin’ away Josephine’s things. There be a wagon and MacAulay men below stairs waitin’ fer them.”
With Love from the Highlands : A Highlander Love Story Duet, One Page 11
