Highland Salvation (Highland Pride)

by Lori Ann Bailey

  But, he was dead.

  Her stomach knotted, and her limbs numbed. What would happen when she was ordered to marry and her new husband discovered she was no longer a maiden?

  Nae, now was not the time to think about herself.

  Lifting her gaze to the Cameron man, she said, “Was he in pain? What happened?”

  Finlay answered, “I was near him when it happened.” His hand took hers as those hazel eyes met hers. She was surprised she didn’t flinch and wasn’t repulsed by the gesture. His touch was reassuring, kind, and she found herself being pulled toward him without really moving.

  “’Twas swift, and I am certain he didnae feel much.” Licking his lips, he swallowed then broke from her stare, tilting his head down only to once again give her a reassuring glance. Was he hiding something?

  Trembling now, she wondered if it was from pain at the loss or fear of what was to come. She’d worked so hard to find a husband that both she, John, and her father could agree on. Her friend Kirstie had been certain there was real danger waiting for the Royalists in Edinburgh. She’d never once considered Henry might be in peril or that he had been the threat she should have feared.

  Knees wobbling, she struggled to calm her breathing and think logically. “I need to sit.” She regretted the words immediately because Finlay released her hand, and it fell limp to her side.

  “Come,” John said as he moved, raising his hand to knock on their father’s study. Shaking her head, she backed from the door.

  “Nae. He doesnae wish to see me just now.” Her eyes pleaded to beg off.

  Facing her father so soon, and with this news, would cause her to step across a line and let him know how she really felt about him and his plan to side with the Earl of Argyll and men of his ilk.

  Her brother’s fist stopped before striking the door, his eyes taking in her concern, then they lit with some mischief she’d not seen since he’d come up with the plan to wed her to a Royalist.

  Her brother loved their father but didn’t share his beliefs. He’d already been making plans to join forces with James Graham, the Marquess of Montrose, the man willing to lead the Royalists in opposition to those wishing to force the Presbyterian religion on others. John would be furious when he learned of their father’s latest plan, but she couldn’t speak of what their father was doing in front of a Cameron, who were known for their loyalty to the king.

  “Why do ye no’ take Finlay to get a drink. ’Tis been a hard ride here, and ye may need one yerself right now. I’ll tell Father.”

  “Aye. Och, I’m so sorry, after yer journey, ye must be famished. I only just arrived home this morning, so I can imagine ye didnae stop much.” She’d been so focused on her own problems she’d slipped in her usual role of taking care of the keep and those within it. Heaven knows, her mother never took any interest in it. Now, those duties might be the only thing to keep her thoughts from going down the mole hole into the twists and turns of doubts that spiraled in her gut like sailor’s knots.

  Glancing back to the hulking Highlander, she vowed to show him Macnab hospitality while he was here. She could least keep alliances with the Camerons and Macnabs on steady ground.

  “John, I’ll have something prepared and waiting for ye as well.”

  “This way, Mr. Cameron.” Cringing inside, she recoiled at the words, they sounded so formal and distant. A wedge she had purposely put between them in the past.

  “Finlay.” His deep voice washed over her, a melodic tune that sounded too intimate.

  In his eyes, she saw nothing but warmth. She suddenly wanted to call him by that name, wanted a familiarity with this man who had guarded her friend so closely during their recent trip, but her tongue wouldn’t work. Instead, she nodded then held her hand out to indicate the way to the great hall.

  Maybe she could talk John into sending her to stay with Kirstie until the whole matter of her new match had been settled.

  “Och, how is Kirstie? Alan?” She had no idea where her friend was or if Kirstie’s beloved had made it through the same conflict that had taken Henry.

  “Alan is safe, but when I left, no one could find Kirstie.”

  Chills spread through her arms, up into her shoulder blades, and then down her back as her hands started to tremble. Fear for her brazen friend settled in to latch onto her heart and squeeze like the jaws of a dog on an old rag soaked in cooking oil. “What of the Cameron laird and Malcolm?”

  “They are unscathed.”

  “Kirstie.” Her voice hitched. What had happened to her friend?

  “I’ll send word when I hear.” Finlay was a man of few words, but somehow, he managed to convey concern and strength.

  Reassured he meant what he said, and knowing there was nothing she could currently do, she nodded as they reached the large room, festooned with hanging tapestries and weapons that thankfully lay unused on the walls. It was a place of revelry and the space where her clansmen celebrated and gathered on special occasions, but the chamber felt like a cold, endless cavern instead of the warm hall of her youth.

  “Sit,” she indicated after leading him to a long table reserved for close family and honored guests. “I’ll be just a moment.”

  Her nape felt oddly warm, as if his gaze had fixated on her back as she moved to the kitchen door to arrange some refreshments to be brought. Finishing her instructions, she pivoted and strolled back to the tables.

  Finlay briefly recounted the conflict that had taken place in Edinburgh, sparing her most of the bloody details. As they talked, a server came in with ale and two plates of meats and cheeses.

  Her fingers trembled as she raised the cup of ale to her lips as the uncertainty about her future returned. She fought the fear her father might now wed her to a Campbell. She hoped her brother would again be able to sway him into choosing a family that would share her beliefs and perhaps even to a man who would appreciate her.

  “Ye arenae staying long?” she asked him.

  The last thing she wanted to do was entertain while she imagined her father and brother down the hall arguing her fate. But she smiled politely, focusing on the Cameron man’s full red lips instead of the unnerving gaze that seemed to see too much.

  “Nae, I have business to attend to.”

  She nodded as he took a bite of the cheese. “Ye must be tired.”

  “Aye.”

  “I’ll have a room prepared for ye.”

  He smiled. “I’ll only be tonight.”

  Her brother stormed in, red faced from obviously dealing with their father, and sat where the servant had left a plate for him.

  “What did he say?”

  “He was quite angry to have to deal with it and that the alliance might be lost. I think he will be searching for a new match for ye straight away. He mentioned Henry’s brother, but I reminded Father that he wasnae kenned to be kind to women.”

  She shuddered.

  She couldn’t deal with this in front of their guest. “I’ll see to a room for Finlay.” His name flowed easily from her tongue, and she found her gaze drifting to him.

  He nodded, and she left the men to talk in private.

  Chapter Two

  Thinking to break her fast early, Blair meandered through the corridors of her youth, making her way absently toward the great hall, the news of Henry’s death beating at her with all its ramifications.

  There was too much to do to be lying in bed wondering at the twist of fate that had once again left her helpless to the whims of men. Although there was still hope—her brother was open to listening, and he valued her opinions.

  She’d spent the night tossing and turning, trying to feel awful about Henry’s death, but all she’d been able to muster was relief, until thankfully, she’d been able to squash that unfortunate response down with guilt. What did that say about her? Surely, she should seek God’s forgiveness and counsel. No matter what the man had done to her, she owed him her sorrow.

  Was it enough to be haunted by the man who had pr
omised to care for her but treated her like a serving goblet, using her then tossing her back with the dregs of his meal until the next time he needed to quench his thirst? Did she owe the brute her grief as well as the adoration she had so naively given him?

  She uncrumpled the still dry handkerchief she’d brought from her room. Guilt stabbed at her as she looked at the scene depicted on the cloth—King Charles’s coronation. How had she shed no tears?

  Her opposite hand trailed across the cool stone walls as she turned her thoughts to the most pressing problem. Her father could now force her into something worse. Her only hope was that John might yet intervene and save her from having to turn her back on her clan for a husband she didn’t want.

  After reaching the large empty hall, she strolled into the room, making her way to her usual spot at the table and plopping down, only to stare unfocused at the grain patterns on the wooden table. A plate landed smoothly in front of her.

  She tilted up to see one of the younger serving boys. “There is a man waitin’ to see ye. Should I show him in?”

  “Aye.” She straightened, thankful for the distraction, as the boy scooted out to retrieve the visitor.

  The guest was most likely a merchant she’d been negotiating with over the quality of their candles. The ratio of tallow was too high, and she wanted him to increase the beeswax, which would eliminate some of the unpleasant odor on the candles.

  The pompous cousin of her betrothed—well, former betrothed—slinked into the hall, and dread assailed her. Perhaps he’d come to deliver word of Henry’s demise, but the smirk on his face looked out of place. It was as if he was having trouble finding the right emotions to express over his loss, just like her.

  If she’d known Bruce was the visitor, she’d have instructed the kitchen lad to send him away. Now, stared down by another of the Graham family, who incited a sickening anxiety in her belly, she wished she’d stayed abed, perhaps even feigned illness.

  Standing, she forced a smile. “Hello, Bruce.”

  “Blair.” The sound of her name on his lips gave her the impression she wouldn’t like his news, but she already knew the truth. He must be wracked with heartache. Anytime she’d seen Bruce in the past, he’d always been at Henry’s side. The man now looked lost without his kin, like he’d been so engrossed in despair that he’d not groomed himself in days.

  “I’m so sorry ye’ve come all this way. I have already heard the news. I’m saddened for our loss.” Och, she wished she truly felt those words. She tried to remember something positive about Henry, but his looks were the only thing that came to mind.

  Bruce took the seat next to her, settling in as if she’d welcomed him to dine with her. She eased down to her spot. The man was possibly beside himself with grief. She supposed he must be when he picked up her kerchief.

  She was about to expand on her condolences, but he cut her off. “Ye will marry me.”

  Shards of ice pierced into her chest. Another Graham man ordering her about.

  No, she would not marry this arse.

  “Nae. I havenae even had time to mourn Henry.” That would have to do. Och, she couldn’t let her father know another Graham was seeking her out.

  “Precisely. Henry bedded ye, and now ye may be carrying one of our clan. ’Tis the right thing to do.”

  Sinking farther into her seat, she struggled for a response. He must have taken her silence as proof.

  “We shall wed in two days.”

  “Nae.” She was certain all color had drained from her face as she ceased to breathe.

  The man loomed over her like dark shadows of the phantom that had plagued her childhood nightmares.

  “I amnae with child.”

  “Can ye prove it?” he shot back as the flesh on his face tightened.

  There was no way to prove such a thing, but she was certain, with the way her stomach had cramped this morning, her courses would be here any day.

  “Nae, ye must go on my word. I wouldnae lie about something so serious.” Wringing her hands in her lap, she prayed he’d stand, turn, and leave, that she could rewind the clock and never agree to have anything to do with the Graham family, despite their loyalty to King Charles.

  “Ye are a Macnab. Yer clan cannae be trusted.”

  Her father’s reputation of playing both sides was well earned, but John and she were loyal to the king and couldn’t be swayed. Resenting the slight to her character and her clan, she turned her nose up at the toad whose gaze drifted down to her midsection.

  “’Tis the truth. Time will tell.” She wouldn’t grow large and round with the passage of time, but that wouldn’t stop Bruce from spreading gossip and ruining her possibilities.

  “Ye have two days to decide.”

  Blair wanted to scream. The desire to lash out consumed her as she stared down at her untouched plate of mutton and bread instead of meeting the cold eyes of her dead betrothed’s cousin, a man apparently as ruthless as Henry.

  She shook her head with a certainty she didn’t feel, as if she were the one who could make the call. “I need time to grieve.”

  “What better way than to be welcomed into Henry’s clan.”

  “Nae.” She clenched her fists under the table and met his stare straight on.

  “If ye dinnae marry me in two days’ time, I will tell Henry’s family.” Bruce’s lips twisted up on one side like the treacherous bend at the nearby river where she’d seen many children slip in. Something in her stomach lurched.

  “Ye ken ye will be forced to wed Norval, and he isnae as kind and generous as yer former lover.”

  She cringed as her father’s suggestion from last night loomed. He had mentioned she should wed Henry’s brother.

  She’d seen Norval accost a kitchen lass and force her into a closet once. Henry had even spoken of his aversion to his brother’s temperament in public. She couldn’t imagine what the man was capable of when no one was looking.

  “And what do ye gain from marrying me?” Fisting her hands, she forced her gaze to his. His catlike grin turned to that of a lad about to get his hands on the coveted prize at a caber toss.

  “The right to claim yer clan’s allegiance for the Royalist cause and gain the favor of the Marquess of Montrose.”

  “Ye are mistaken if ye think my father has chosen a side. My marriage willnae sway him.”

  “I will still gain my cousin’s favor and get to bed ye every night. I cannae lose.” He shrugged.

  She wanted to shiver but steeled herself to deny him satisfaction and pinned him with a disgusted stare.

  Eyes turning cold, his voice thickened. “Or ye can take yer chances with Norval.” This time, she couldn’t hide the shudder that rolled over her. “’Tis what I thought.”

  If Bruce told Henry’s family they had been together, the lot of them would appear before her father and demand the arrangement, especially if they believed she carried the eldest and favorite son’s child in her belly. Her father would turn her over without another word, probably happy to be rid of her.

  She could tell John, but what could he do? He might attack Bruce, but that would put him in jeopardy and possibly harm the Macnab clan’s relationship with Montrose, the leader of the Royalist forces. A wave of dizziness unsteadied her.

  “I’m staying at the Duck’s Head Tavern. If ye dinnae come to me by tomorrow night, I’ll be on my way to the bonnet laird. I’m sure the man would love to ken his precious son’s seed was spilled inside such a bonny and well-connected lass.”

  Gaze returning to her full plate, nausea swept over her as the implications rushed through her. If she told her father, he’d push her into Norval’s arms or even worse, force her to wed a Campbell.

  The air shifted beside her. When she glanced back up, she glimpsed Bruce’s back as he skirted out through the kitchen doors along with removing any opportunity to plead for some other outcome.

  Deep male voices startled her. Bruce must have heard the men coming. Looking up, she was met by warm haz
el eyes.

  Finlay Cameron had been the man who had protected and been kind to Kirstie and her. His gaze made her want to believe there were good men in the world, but the only one to see any value in her was John.

  While jumping to her feet to greet them, her stomach churned with despair, and her hand flew to her mouth. Hoping to find a quiet place to contemplate her options, she ran from the room without even saying good morn.

  …

  Finlay’s gaze followed Blair from the room—he’d never seen the vibrant lass so pale. She’d always overlooked him, but to ignore him in her own home was a new insult to his pride. Perhaps the grief had overcome her manners. Shaking it off, he continued to follow John into the hall, happy to be filling his belly. He needed to be on his way, but now he had John’s proposal to consider. The one that had him tossing and turning during the night. Should he wed Blair? And, would she want him?

  Coming north to share the sad news with Blair’s family before vicious rumors reached her might have been a mistake. What’s worse was the rumors were true—Blair’s betrothed had pushed another man into the thick of battle to save his own skin. He’d wanted her to think Henry had died an honorable death and spare her the details. He’d given her most of the truth of the battle. He hoped no one who had seen the incident would feel the need to come forward.

  She had a right to believe the best about the man she’d given herself to, even though the man had been a despicable craven. He’d only left out the specifics of Henry’s cowardice. It had been to protect her. He had to acknowledge the truth. From the moment he’d met Blair Macnab and the calm confidence she possessed, he’d been in awe of her.

  Instead of being here, he should have rushed to England to tell his brothers and father the Puritan propagandist papers were for once telling the truth instead of the lies and over-exaggerations they were prone to print.

  Prince Rupert, the leader of the Royalist forces in England, was skilled, but his tactics were not always civilized, and the English Parliament had seized onto the crimes he had committed. They had perpetuated a false narrative, leading the public to believe King Charles approved of his nephew’s atrocities, further enraging the Protestants determined to oust him based on his love for his Catholic queen. Finlay knew better. King Charles didn’t care for his nephew’s ways and would probably send Prince Rupert away if he weren’t so desperate for help.