The Cursed

by MacRae, Cathy

  “Ye gave up too much of your life to the whims of others, Rosaline. Promise me ye will not do so again.”

  Rosaline nodded, uncertain where the sudden tears came from.

  “Ye made your own decision this morning and saved many lives. Including mine, perhaps. ’Tis what ye feared—that I would die as others have?”

  She nodded again, her throat clogged to speech. Walter kissed her forehead.

  “I believe I mean more to ye than the lads ye’ve been betrothed to, aye?”

  Rosaline grinned. “Och, aye!”

  “That makes all the difference. Years ago, young Ronnie died and ye were not able to prevent it. Ye convinced yourself ye were to blame, and lived from that moment as if your obedience would save ye.”

  “Aye,” she whispered. “And when those I was betrothed to died, I believed I was cursed.”

  “Ye are not cursed, sweet Rosaline. Or, if ye are, I will gladly shoulder it for ye.”

  Rosaline basked in the warmth of his convictions.

  A man approached, wiping his hands on a cloth tucked into his belt. He halted. “Sir, m’lady.”

  Walter turned from Rosaline but kept one hand in his. “Aye?”

  The man sent Rosaline a worried look. “I am uncertain if my words are for m’lady’s ears.”

  Walter lifted an eyebrow. “Rosaline?”

  She shook her head. “I’m nae wilting lily.”

  “Ye certainly are not.” Walter gave the man a nod. “Continue.”

  “Sir, Lord Maxwell has perished from his wounds. Yer men discovered Tristan’s body at what appeared to be an abandoned campsite.” His gaze shifted beyond Walter and Rosaline. “He died hard.”

  Walter grunted. “Then I can only say I am disappointed I will not have a chance to converse with Lord Maxwell myself. What of the others?”

  “Sir, we have six injured men, though all but one wound are insubstantial and should heal quickly. Lord Maxwell was our only prisoner. The one already here is likely uncomfortable with the knowledge any plans of escape are gone.”

  Rosaline sighed. “Lord Maxwell was known as an evil man, and his son was possessed of a violent temper. I doubt their deaths will cause dismay amongst the Scots in this area.”

  “We will hope your prediction is correct, Rosaline. Thank ye for your report, Jon. And for your care. We are privileged to have your knowledge and your sword.”

  Jon executed a brief bow and departed. Walter sighed.

  “’Twas a bit of unpleasant business, but ’twould have tempted the morals of a saint to have Lord Maxwell sitting in prison, knowing he’d treated one of my men thusly.”

  “What of the fire, Walter? Upon whose order was it started?”

  “I must assume upon Lord Maxwell’s order. None here gave such a command.” He paused and faced her, creating the intimacy of closeness.

  “I understood Sir Laurence’s frustration, and know it is not an uncommon practice to clear the land around a castle for defensive purposes. But Elliott loves the forest and the creatures within. I do not wish to destroy his spirit, merely help direct it on a path that will create a strong, compassionate leader. But time for that later. I have sent men to do what they must to contain the blaze among the cottages near the burn. I believe ’twas was more smoke than actual fire. They did not burn well after all the rain.”

  “I should not have doubted.”

  “Ye are free to question, Rosaline. And I will answer all within my power and we will talk if necessary until we come to a mutual understanding. If I agree to listen, will ye agree to abide by my decisions?”

  Rosaline bit her lip. “What if . . .?”

  Walter chuckled. “There will be times we will have to agree to disagree, and for safety, ye must do as I ask.”

  She sighed. “I will strive to remember.”

  He lifted her hand for another brief kiss, his lips skimming her knuckles. “I believe I am a most blessed man—if ye will still consent to marry me.”

  Relief swept through her. “I will marry ye, Walter. ’Tis my most cherished dream.”

  He nodded to the crowd cavorting in the hall. “We will allow them their celebration this day, but my thought is to invite your father and mother . . . .”

  “Stepmither.”

  “Stepmother,” Walter agreed, “to Eaglesmuir in a day or two for our ceremony. Does this suit ye?”

  “Aye,” she replied, and sealed it with a kiss.

  Epilogue

  Ava’s bright smile hovered over ill-concealed distrust of the English knights surrounding her. Rosaline smothered a laugh at her stepmother’s attempt to cross the room without touching an embroidered surcoat or bright bit of chainmail.

  Walter hid his grin behind a large goblet. “She does not trust us, does she?”

  Rosaline leaned against her husband’s strong arm. “Nae. And she left her daughters at home so they wouldnae catch an Englishman’s eye.”

  Walter’s look grew thoughtful. “Indeed?”

  “I doubt Da would be willing to give another daughter over to the English,” she teased. “This time dinnae work so well for him.”

  “I beg to differ. He has kept control of Eaglesmuir and found a home for ye and young Elliott.”

  “But he never meant for ye and I to marry,” Rosaline pointed out.

  “Truth. I am glad to prove him wrong on that account.” He glanced at her. “Are ye happy with remaining here? Sir Laurence will return to Belwyck Castle in my stead as captain of de Wylde’s guard. By his admission, he will be content to train knights and uphold the Saint’s commands for whatever years are left to him.”

  Rosaline squeezed his arm. “Of course. I couldnae be happier than to watch Elliott grow into his duties here under yer guidance. It has always pained me to leave him behind.”

  “What of your other duties, fair Rosaline?” Walter’s warm breath teased her ear and a shiver shimmied down Rosaline’s spine. “I am no longer interested in the lives of others, but of what we will create together.”

  “I am a bride, Sir Walter. I am anxious to be your wife.”

  Walter swept her into his arms. A cheer went up, shaking the rafters of the hall. The crowd surged about them, carrying them in its wake to the foot of the stairs. Rosaline buried her face against Walter’s chest and clung to his neck.

  A clash of steel startled her and she jerked away. To her relief, there was no battle. Sir Laurence and three other knights barred the steps, swords crossed before them. With a tight grin and a sweeping salute, Sir Laurence stepped aside, creating a path for her and Walter.

  A roar of disappointment rose as Walter’s boots pounded upward, leaving the half-drunk well-wishers behind. Rosaline buried a nervous giggle in Walter’s embroidered surcoat.

  Walter stopped before the lord’s chamber and shouldered the door open. Once inside the room, he closed it with a well-placed boot then turned his attention to Rosaline.

  He pulled an arm from beneath her legs and wrapped it about her upper body, letting her legs slide down his length until her feet touched the floor. Hunger overtook him, and he slanted his mouth over hers, pulling her tight.

  Rosaline stiffened and he released her immediately, cursing and reminding himself he’d married a lady, and that she’d experienced nothing more than the heat of his kisses.

  She frowned, fists on her hips. She took a step back and unfastened the silver belt at her waist.

  “I dinnae know much about being a wife, but I do know ye cannae do this part with yer clothes on.” She unlaced the side of her gown.

  “Ye’d be surprised,” Walter rumbled, daring a half-grin.

  Rosaline’s eyebrows rose. “Ye can?”

  “’Tis a bit of trouble, but, aye.” He jerked his surcoat and tunic over his head and tossed them to the floor. “I like it better your way.”

  Rosaline’s eyes widened and heat washed through Walter at her appreciative appraisal of his bare chest. The swift way her clothing followed his to pile on the floor p
leased Walter even more.

  “Ye lag behind, m’lord,” Rosaline murmured as she stripped away her stockings. “Do ye require assistance?”

  The thought of her bare bottom bent over him as she removed his boots landed squarely in his groin. He groaned. Damn. He wasn’t certain he could reach his boots in this state. Rosaline sashayed close. She tugged at the laces at his waist.

  “Yer distress is noticeable.” A flush crept up her neck and her fingers faltered as she touched him.

  “Are ye afraid?”

  She shook her head, but avoided his gaze.

  Walter stepped from the rest of his clothes. “Nothing between us, Rosaline. I want ye to enjoy being my wife more than I want . . . . Nae, the truth is, I want to drag ye to the bed and make love to ye. But not until ye are ready.”

  “Braw words from a man who appears fit to burst.”

  “Bravery, sweet Rosaline, which I learned from ye.”

  Her face smoothed and she leaned against him, cradling his cock against her belly.

  “Then, teach me something new, Walter.”

  THE END

  Acknowledgements

  I am indebted to Kathryn le Veque for her invitation to write in her World of de Wolfe once again. It has given me the chance to pull chivalric, heroic knights into my stories of Scotland, and give them the strong—sometimes willful—Scottish lasses they deserve.

  Thanks again to my wonderful critique group. Cate Parke and Lane McFarland are my extra eyes, and occasionally a helpful ear when the characters go astray. A huge thanks to Donna Finlay for her help polishing the story.

  And a million thanks to Dar Albert for creating the stunning cover. She has the knack for finding the spirit of my stories.

  From the Author

  I’d like to thank my readers for your enthusiasm for the World of de Wolfe. Please consider leaving reviews for the books you enjoy. It helps authors more than you know!

  About the Book

  The Cursed took me on an interesting journey. I wanted to set a tone with tongue-in-cheek humor without being overly silly, and found the most dishonorable man to carry it off—Rosaline’s father. Who else but a blustery Border Chief could come up with the idea of marrying his daughter to an English knight simply because her other suitors had died?

  Here’s some of what I discovered while diving down diverting trails of research:

  Falconry played a fun part in the book. The Merlin is quite a small bird and seemed just right for Elliott’s menagerie, though Rosaline rescued the falcon to begin with. I discovered the name Fachan whilst researching faeries and found this: This comical-looking faerie has a nasty disposition. He has one eye, one ear, one arm, and one leg, all of which are centered down his body which is both hairy and feathered. He carries a spiked club which he swings to chase away visitors from his home in the mountains. He is very jealous of the gift of flight. Contact with this faerie is not recommended.

  It seemed a somewhat apt description of this fierce bird who had met with calamity yet overcome it to soar again.

  The other animals in the story also have what I consider interesting names.

  Trig, Elliott’s terrier, is a mischievous pup whose name means brisk, active, nimble.

  His pony Brego’s name is an Old English word meaning chieftain or king.

  And Walter named his war horse Maël, which is a Breton word meaning chief or prince.

  The Alaunt, the dogs Sir Laurence and Sir Bernard discussed for guard duty at Eaglesmuir were a variety known as the Alaunt Gentile. In 55 BC, when Romans invaded the British Isles, they found Celtic Wolfhounds fighting alongside their masters. These were coarse-haired, strong, medium-sized fighting dogs similar to today’s Irish Wolfhound. The dogs the Romans brought with them, the Alaunt, eventually interbred with the wolfhounds, and by the Middle Ages, the dogs were known as the Alaunt Gentil—the gentle Alaunt—and is likely the ancestor of the Irish Wolfhound and the Deerhound. The Alaunt Gentil was remarkably gentle with people (unlike the fighting Alaunt which was noted for its fierceness toward all), yet a tremendously fearless hunting dog. These dogs were thought by some to be immortal and uncanny or even supernatural in their ability to distinguish between friend and foe, and to track and destroy any enemy.

  One last note about the animals. There are no lightning bugs in Scotland—just in case you wondered if the lights Rosaline followed were these little critters we see so much of in the U.S. Sightings of glowing insects in Scotland have been classified as glow worms, or small insects caught in a beam of light, or perhaps faeries.

  The Maxwells and the Johnstones have been at odds for centuries, though the darkest treachery stems from the death of Lord Maxwell, along with many of his men, in 1593 at the battle of Dryfe Sands near Lockerbie. The Maxwells, one of the most powerful clans at the time, were determined to rid their land of their sworn enemy, the Johnstones. However, Lord Johnstone received warning of the attack and called together men from many neighboring clans. The Maxwells fell for a feint by the Johnstones which led the Maxwells into a trap where they were slaughtered.

  At a meeting held under a flag of truce in 1608—in an attempt to settle their differences—Lord Johnstone was shot and killed by Lord Maxwell, who paid for his crime in 1614 by hanging.

  The Bird Cherry tree, also known as a hagberry, is a relatively small tree noted for its white spikes of fragrant flowers in late May, and its small, shiny black berries in August, as well as its autumn foliage of yellow and pink leaves. The seeds and leaves contain hydrogen cyanide, a poison with a characteristically almond flavor. Though this is typically in too small a quantity to do harm, a very bitter fruit should not be eaten. In medieval times, a tea was made from the bark and used to aid digestion. It also stimulated respiration and gave the person a sense of well-being. The fruit was eaten raw, cooked, and in preserves. The leaves were also boiled and eaten as a vegetable. In small amounts, this tree was beneficial. But there was the potential for death.

  Thanks for allowing me to share some of my research. It’s one of my favorite parts of writing, and I hope you enjoyed the journey down a few of my paths.

  About the Author

  Cathy MacRae lives on the sunny side of the Arbuckle Mountains where she and her husband read, write, and tend the garden—with the help of the dogs, of course.

  She loves hearing from readers! You can find her on her website at www.cathymacraeauthor.com and there is a sign-up for her newsletter there, as well.

  You can also find her on:

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  Consider following her on her Amazon author page or Book bub where you’ll receive notices on new and occasionally discounted books.

  More Books by Cathy MacRae

  The Highlander’s Bride Series:

  The Highlander’s Accidental Bride (Book 1)

  The Highlander’s Reluctant Bride (Book 2)

  The Highlander’s Tempestuous Bride (Book 3)

  The Highlander’s Outlaw Bride (Book 4)

  The Highlander’s French Bride (Book 5)

  De Wolfe Connected World series

  The Saint (book 1)

  The Penitent (book 2)

  The Cursed (book 3)

  Mhàiri’s Yuletide Wish (a Christmas novella)

  The Ghosts of Culloden Moor series

  with other authors

  Adam (book 11)

  Malcolm (book 16)

  MacLeod (book 21)

  Patrick (book 26)

  With DD MacRae

  The Hardy Heroines series

  Highland Escape (book 1)

  The Highlander’s Viking Bride (book 2)

  The Highlander’s Crusader Bride (book 3)

  The Highlander’s Norse Bride, a Novella (book 4)

  The Highlander’s Welsh Bride (book 5)

  The Prince’s Highland Bride (book 6, available 2020)

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  MacRae, Cathy, The Cursed