7
The Horror
Daividh could not help loitering about the castle even though he really should have gone back to his own quarters, changed his clothes, and had his own bath. His fellow soldiers called out in greeting when they caught sight of him while the serving girls cast him coquettish or suspicious looks depending on what they thought he wanted from them. He wandered down the corridor until he came to the chapel and stepped in, if only for a moment of solitude.
He leaned back on the bench, thinking hard. Undoubtedly he was in disfavor with the McCormick after their last interaction but he did not know how this might affect his employment. Would the laird send him away? While he had not failed his mission, clearly he had fallen below expectations although Daividh could not, for the life of him, fathom what was so urgent.
Perhaps the other laird is dying and wishes to be wed before that happens.
Daividh knew that was wishful thinking but he could not help but hope that it was true. He could stand to come in second place if that was what it would take to keep Fiona. And he so wanted to keep her for himself. It felt like a gaping hole in his chest to think of her gone from his life, living a life of watered milk when he was ready to give her full cream.
He laughed softly at the dramatic nature of his thoughts before bending his head and burying it in his hands.
I need to get a hold on myself. These musings will get me nowhere.
He did have some savings, but not enough to keep Fiona and her sisters in the life they were used to. He sighed, knowing it was hopeless, but unable to let go of that last sliver of hope—that something would happen, and all of his dreams would come true. Fiona would be his and they would live happily together with all the sisters she spoke so fondly about along their journey.
His thoughts were interrupted by the pitter-patter of running feet and he turned his head to watch the door, wondering if Mrs. O’Brien had sent a small boy after him. Probably to tell him to vacate the premises before she had to cast him out. So it was with great surprise that he saw someone much taller than a small boy, and much prettier too. Her fiery mane lay in disheveled disarray about her shoulders, she seemed to have lost her cap somewhere. Her ample bosom was heaving and her face drawn in utter despair. He took a step towards her, hand already outstretched. “What has happened?”
A lone tear trailed its way down her cheek and he watched it with trepidation, taking another step towards her. “Fiona! What’s wrong?”
“I...he…” She made a sound of distress and threw herself into his arms. He could do nothing but catch her, and hold her as she sobbed hysterically. His heart squeezed with worry for her. She did not seem to be physically hurt, at least he could see no bruises or blood.
Surely her uncle would not harm her?
He could not help but wonder if he had brought her here only to lead her into some trap.
“Fiona, please tell me who has hurt ye so that I may avenge ye. Or what has happened to cause this distress. Please, tell me sae I can make it better.”
Her crying petered off and she looked up at him, viridian eyes wide with despair. “H-He is...he is so old, Daividh. I dinnae think I can marry him.”
His back stiffened as he understood the source of her distress. “Yer husband-tae-be ye mean?”
Her eyes narrowed at him even as they were still brimming with moisture. “Who else?”
Daividh relaxed, feeling so many emotions that he did not know what to say for a moment. He was relieved that she was repulsed by her betrothed while also annoyed that her objections would be so shallow. A hot rod of possessiveness made him tighten his hands around her even as the cold wash of reality overwhelmed him with the knowledge that this marriage was indeed happening.
He sighed.
“Fiona…”
She looked into his eyes, her own filled with a hope that he did not understand. “Yes?”
He hesitated, torn between desire and duty. But in the end, duty won out. “Ye’re acting like a wee bairn, Fiona. Ye must ha’ kenned that yer uncle would chuse a man of worth, sufficiently well-tae-do as tae take care o’ ye and yer family. This isnae cause frae despair.”
She tore herself out of his arms, glaring all the while. “Is that all ye have tae say tae me? I am acting like a wean? What do ye ken aboot it eh? Have ye ever been forced tae marry an auld man?”
Without waiting for an answer, she flounced out of the room, every hair on her body bristling. Daividh slumped back down on the bench, exhaling sharply as he covered his face with his hands.
Fiona banged into her chambers, startling Julieta, who dropped the spoon she was using to eat. She slammed the door behind her and dove onto the bed, covering her head with the pillow as she huffed and puffed with anger. There was a loud silence in the room and then the rustling sounds of Julieta bending down and picking up her spoon before there was a splash of water into the basin, and the sound of scrubbing before the sounds of eating resumed.
Julieta began to hum, and the more she did not ask what the matter was, the angrier Fiona became.
Nobody cares about me!
There was the sound of a spoon hitting an empty bowl and then footsteps before the dull thud of the tray placed on a wooden surface.
“Ye want tae tell me what the matter is or should I guess?” Julieta’s calm voice had her sitting up sharply to glare at her servant.
“Oh, now ye want tae ken? How was yer meal? Did ye enjoy it?”
“Aye, I was enjoying it until ye came storming in here like a grampus. What has happened?”
Fiona’s eyes narrowed as she remembered that those were the exact words that Daividh used when he saw her...only to betray her with his indifference.
“Nothing has happened. I have met my groom.”
Julieta came to sit on the bed and took Fiona’s hand in hers. “And was it that awfu’? Would ye like me to pack our bags? We could escape into the night like a pair of fugitives and go tae hame.”
Fiona laughed although her heart warmed at Julieta’s solicitude. “If only. But ’tis the first place they would look frae me, no? And I cannae leave the lassies tae their own devices.”
Julieta just looked at her with soft concerned eyes. “What next then?”
“Och, I shall girn mysel’ tae sleep, and then it’ll be tomorrow. Perhaps something will come tae me then.”
“Or ye could write to the lassies and tell them of yer journey. That might be better than greeting and it willnae give ye a headache in the morning.”
Despite herself, Fiona laughed. “Ye’re right. Hand me some paper and let me regale them wi’ my adventures. Ùna will be sae jealous.”
“Aye, and Jamesina will frown wi’ disapproval and the twins will jump aboot and say they want tae go next.”
Fiona sat back on the bed, feeling grateful for Julieta. She bent down and began to write as colorfully as she could manage.
Daividh tried to resist his own urges for as long as he could but eventually, he had to concede defeat. If there was something he could do to help Fiona, he was ready to do it. Even if it meant risking his employment once more, by going to plead with her uncle on her behalf. He shot to his feet, once he realized what he was going to do, and strode out of the chapel with purpose. Before he went to see the laird, he left the castle for his own quarters in the barracks. These were simply a cluster of crofters’ cottages designated for the men who followed the laird in battle. He entered his cottage and poured himself some water to bathe.
Taking off his dusty travel clothes, he wiped himself down painstakingly, thankful for his clean-shaven chin. He did not think his hands were steady enough to wield a razor. Once clean, he combed his long brown hair back and tied it in a queue before donning a clean tunic and stockings.
He stared at his claymore, wondering if he should wear it, but then decided against it. He had his sgian-dubh in its sheath beneath his stockings; it would have to do.
He emerged from his cottage, attracting a few raised eyebrows
as he walked to the castle.
“Beinn Cruachau Campbell, where are ye off tae?” a man coming from the direction of the field asked, his clothes filthy from planting.
Daividh smiled at the use of his clan’s warcry. There were a number of Campbells in the barracks although not from Daividh’s direct family. “I’m off tae visit the king.”
The other man grinned. “Och, ye look like ye’re ready fer yer own execution. D’ye need a witness?”
Daividh snorted. “’Tis kind of ye tae offer but I dinnae think I’ll need one this time.”
“Ach, perhaps next time then aye?” The man clapped him on the shoulder as he guffawed, and he was still laughing as he went off to his own cottage. Daividh watched him with a small smile for a minute before it dropped off his face and he again resumed his journey.
I may well need that witness soon.
He reached the laird’s study and knocked confidently on the door.
“Enter!” a voice said from the other side of the door. He turned the knob and stuck his head in the gap.
“Sir, may I speak t’ye?”
The laird leaned back in his seat, his eyes cold and speculative. “If’n ye’ve come tae apologize there’s nae need. Next time, just heed me.”
Daividh nodded his agreement even as he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. “Och, that is indeed guid tae ken, sir, but it isnae what I wanted tae speak tae ye aboot.”
The closed look on the laird’s face intensified further. “Is that sae?”
“Aye.” Daividh looked him in the eye and took a deep breath. “I wanted tae speak on something I observed as I journeyed with yer niece, sir.”
The laird’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward on his elbows. “And what was that, Campbell?”
“She complained...generally...tae me and her maid, aboot how much she dinnae wish tae marry an auld man. A girl like her, barely oot o’ th’ schoolroom...och. I think they wanted tae stop sae many times tae drag their feet a bit. Is there nae a way frae ye tae chuse a man more hale frae her?”
The other man stared at Daividh as if he sought to see into his soul. “And what other man would ye like me tae chuse? Yersel’ perhaps?”
Daividh cut his eyes away and then looked back at the laird. “Nae my liege. I cannae keep her in the style tae which she is accustomed tae even if she did want me. But she is heartbroken ower this match and I thought that ye cared frae her as yer niece and ye might like tae ken what she’s thinking.”
“She has expressed nae such sentiments tae me. Why would I believe ye?”
Daividh shrugged. “Believe me, or dinnae believe me. I have nae reason to tell a lie.”
The laird sighed, leaning back in his chair, looking defeated. His mouth turned down and he shook his head. “In any case, it doesnae matter now. The deed is done. She will marry Laird Hunter afore the week is oot.”
Daividh tensed, resisting the urge to fly across the table and grab the laird by his collar and shake him until he surrendered. Instead, he took a deep breath. “Can ye not...turn doon his offer?”
The laird sighed again, looking away. “The deed is already done,” he repeated, his shoulders slumping in what looked very much like defeat.
8
Jealousy and Envy
Fiona jerked awake, an idea fully formed in her mind. She would go to her uncle and beg him to choose someone else for her to marry. The man she had met yesterday was not just repulsive to behold, he also had the coldest eyes she had ever seen. His touch was almost reptilian and she struggled not to shudder for the duration that he had her hands between his own.
He also had exhibited no shame as he blatantly looked down the decolletage of her gown. Although she had worn a modest brown gown with a square neckline, he still made her feel as if she was stripped naked before him. The thought of him touching her everywhere had her wanting to burst into frantic tears.
Uncle Donnchadh will have to listen to me. I cannot entertain any other outcome or I am doomed before I ask. I am not obligated to marry that man. I was supposed to do so because my Uncle said he was a good choice.
She turned to her maid. “Julieta? Please hand me my emerald-green gown wi’ the gold accents.”
The maid looked surprised. “I thought ye would save that one frae yer engagement dinner. Ye ken yer uncle will likely haud one soon.”
“I dinnae care. I wish tae wear it the noo.”
Julieta blinked at her a few times. “Verra weel, Miss Douglass. As ye wish.” She curtsied with exaggerated care before going to the closet where she had hanged their clothes as she waited for Fiona to return from her meeting, and handed the gown over.
“Would ye like me tae steam it frae ye?”
“Aye.” Fiona sat at the armoire, brushing out her long hair.
Julieta watched her for a while, gown in her hand. “If’n ye wait ten minutes I can brush yer hair for ye.”
“Aye I ken tha’ dear Julieta. But I need something tae do while I wait frae ye tae finish.” She looked pointedly at the gown. “And this will do weel enough.”
Julieta jumped, coloring briefly as she stepped out of the room, dress in hand. She knew vaguely where the kitchens were from their tour the day before. She felt sure she could find a steamer there.
When she returned with the newly steamed gown, she found that Fiona was powdering her face; and had even added a little beauty mark with a piece of charcoal just above her jaw. She turned, smiling at Julieta as she tilted her head for inspection. “What d’ye think?” she asked, her verdant eyes gleaming with something Julieta could not identify.
“I think ye’re gilding the lily.” She shrugged at Fiona as she laid the gown on the bed. “Now come here and let me help ye wi’ this gown.”
She felt her hands shake with nerves as she walked down to breakfast but refused to let that deter her. Chin up, she opened the door and walked into the room. There was a loud silence as the two men who were sitting at the dining table froze. Her heart sank. She had hoped to have her uncle to herself. Fixing a smile on her face, she stepped forward and sat herself down on a chair as a servant pulled it back from the table. “Guid morning t’ye both,” she said breezily.
“My dear Miss Douglass...ye look quite...fetching this morning,” Mr. Hunter said.
Fiona nodded. “How kind o’ ye t’say.”
“Och, I should say quite a bit more if ye let me.” He smiled smarmily and nausea roiled in her belly. She turned her eyes to her uncle. “Have ye nae greetings frae me, Uncle?”
His smile was strained even as he bowed at her. “Guid morning my dear. I trust ye slept well?”
“Ah, the tiredness from the road had me sleeping like a bairn.”
“That is guid. Please help yersel’ tae some breakfast.”
“Thank ‘e Uncle.” She pulled the oatmeal porridge towards her and poured some in her bowl, eating slowly as she plotted on how to get her uncle alone.
Surely the other laird has some business elsewhere to attend to? Or I can ask for a word?
“What are ye thinking about my dear? Ye shouldnae have such serious thoughts when we are tae be wed. I will take sufficient care o’ ye that ye never have tae think again.”
Fiona swallowed hard at the laird’s words, wondering how to tell him that she quite liked to think and had no plans to stop doing it. It was even more expedient that she speak to her uncle. Once she’d scraped the bottom of her bowl she got to her feet and smiled at her kin. “Uncle Donnchadh, may I have a word wi’ ye in yer office?”
He looked up, surprised, but got to his feet at once. “O’ course, Fiona. Come wi’ me.” He extended his elbow for her to slip into and they walked out of the dining hall, arm in arm. Fiona had worn the green gown because she knew how much it brought out the color of her eyes. She had heard Laird McCormick wax lyrical about the color of her mother’s eyes, and how much Fiona’s resembled them. She was planning to use that connection against him this morning and hoped that he could not resist.
He spoke only pleasantries as they walked, and she smiled politely in response. As soon as he closed the door to his study, she whirled on him. “Uncle Donnchadh?”
“Yes, my dear?”
“I want to make a request o’ ye.”
“Go ahead my dear.”
“Can ye chuse me another bridegroom? I dinnae want tae marry that laird. He gi’es me the cold grue,” she said miserably.
His eyes softened as he put his hands on her arms, squeezing gently. “Fiona...” His voice was soft and gentle, but regretful nonetheless. “’Tis already done. Mr. Hunter has already put up a substantial amount o’ money into this marriage. We cannae just back oot wi’out valid reason.”
“I dinnae want tae marry him!” Tears fell down her face as she looked up at him pleadingly. “Isnae that a valid reason?”
The laird laughed. “Nae. Ye ken verra weel that it isnae, Fiona. This isnae just a marriage, lassie. ’Tis a political alliance, a bond that goes beyond just the twa o’ ye. D’ye understand?”
Fiona looked down at her hands. “Aye. But…”
“There arenae any more buts, Fiona.” He surveyed her sadly.
“I cannae leave my sisters alone, Uncle Donnchadh. They need me. I’m all they have. Gi’ me a few more years, frae them tae be older, frae me tae be older. I’m barely oot o’ th’ schoolroom!”
Donnchadh smiled ruefully. “Ye ken yer nae too young Fiona. Why, my niece was marrit at four and ten and she’s a proud mother o’ three the noo. Ye just wait. He’ll have ye pregnant in nae time and ye’ll forget aboot all these objections.”
Fiona felt the bile rise up in her throat.
“I willnae be marrit if’n my sisters arenae here. Send frae them and when they arrive, we can set a wedding date.”
The laird nodded. “Verra weel. I shall send a carriage and a few escorts frae them richt awa’.”
Highlander’s Tempted Guard (Scottish Medieval Historical Romance) Page 6
