Margaret sank back into the threadbare chair, hoping that it would somehow swallow her whole. If Isobel openly refused to accept what was a fairly simple punishment for the actions of her clan, then the queen’s anger would be untamable. No mercy would be given to any with the name of Gunn.
“What exactly is it that you are proposing, then? The queen ordered for your daughter to wed the Mackay. Will she be content with your niece?”
“Probably not,” her uncle admitted, tapping the tips of his fingers together in thought. “But you do look like me, and none from Clan Mackay have ever met Isobel. If I introduce you to them as my daughter, they will have no reason not to believe it.”
Margaret pressed her face into her hands. It was a foolish plan, so full of cracks that there was no way it would ever hold, but was there any other option?
“No,” Margaret said, the word coming out of her mouth as much as a surprise to her as it was to her uncle. But it felt right, all the same.
Rather than yell, as she expected him to do, her uncle leaned back in his chair and said, “Your father always boasted that you were the most like him out of all of his children. Tis the only reason I bothered coming, for only your father was both clever and resilient enough to see a plan like this succeed. How disappointing to find that in being most like your father, you are still so… average.”
Margaret felt every hair on her body stand on edge as the heat of her mortification rose through her like a volcanic eruption. “How dare—”
“Your father,” her uncle interrupted, his voice laced with contempt, “said that no good businessman would say the word no. They would simply name their price. So, Margaret, will you prove my last comment by storming out of the room, or will you name a price?”
Of course, he would use her father’s favorite phrase against her. But how did he expect her to just immediately determine the value of her life? It was an impossible exercise, and her head ached as a thousand thoughts ran through her head, each bleeding and slipping into the other until her mind was merely a muddy puddle.
“A few fine gowns? Jewels?” her uncle pressed, amusement filling his gaze as he watched her flounder before him like a fish caught in a net.
“Of course not!” Margaret snapped. Does he think that I am that foolish? Margaret thought before it hit her: he did think she was that foolish. Just like the men on the docks, he was underestimating her. That realization settled her, righting the chaos in her mind as suddenly everything became so clear.
Her uncle was still looking amused as Margaret straightened herself and cleared her throat. “I’ll not ask for gowns and jewels because you are already certain to be giving those to me.”
“Will I?”
“Aye. You ken by simply looking around this room that I am unlikely to own anything so fine, and I am quite certain that the Mackays would find it hard to believe that the daughter of Laird Gunn would be allowed to wear clothes that were—now how did you put it? Ah, yes—not even suited to cleaning your floor.”
Margaret expected the humor to fade from her uncle’s eyes, but it lingered, his smile twitching with the temptation to broaden. “What, then?”
“You’ll take Mariah and Laura back to your home. Raise them as your own, give them jobs and treat them like maids, do whatever you wish with them so long as they are fed, sheltered, and properly clothed until such a time comes that they choose to leave on their own. And you’ll also convince the Mackays to retain Ann as my personal servant.”
Her uncle pondered for a moment, tapping his chin as he appraised her. “Fine, but I will no longer send an allowance to your brother.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
“So, you’ll not be upset when your brother drinks and gambles your home away?”
“This house stopped being a home a long time ago,” Margaret said. “Besides, I’ll be living in some Mackay castle. What do I care if this house still stands?”
To that her uncle actually chuckled, shaking his head as he reached forward. “Well then, Margaret, do we have a deal?”
“Aye.” Margaret clasped his arm. “We have a deal.”
2
The hooves of the horse thudded through the grass, kicking at the white-topped dandelions and sending the little florets dancing through the air around them, making it look as if he was riding upon a cloud. Alexander Mackay led his horse, which was already slick with sweat from the late summer ride through the Highlands, up to the crest of the hill, and looked down at the valley of Braemore.
A creek slipped through the valley, slipping this way and that as the hills allowed. And, along the water’s edge, surrounded by a garden of bright flowers and produce planted in neat little rows, was a massive stone house. Children dashed from the door of the house and out into the yard, weaving around women as they carried baskets of food and laundry, a small pack of pups hot on their heels as they tried to join the young masters at play.
Alexander pursed his lips. He hated to admit it, but there was something idyllic about the home of his enemies.
Perhaps the woman inside will be idyllic too, Alexander thought, though he quickly dismissed it. It was a useless endeavor to hope for Lady Gunn to be anything but a burden upon his life.
“Donna look so glum,” came a man’s voice from behind him. “I have found that the queen is a rather adept matchmaker.”
Alexander rolled an annoyed look over to Rob Fraser, who was riding up to join him at the top of the hill, a subtle tick of a smile on his face. Rob was one of the queen’s most loyal men, proving his worth to her during the Gordon Rebellion, all while overcoming missteps and misunderstandings that threatened to undermine his relationship with the queen and her court. But even prior to the Gordon Rebellion, Rob had earned a reputation for being one of the most formidable swordsmen in the Highlands; the kind of man that you would not want as an enemy if you wished to die of old age. Alexander, who had been friendly with Rob since he had been but a wee lad, could hardly see any danger in the man that was always so quick to flash him an ever so slightly lopsided smile.
“Has lightning begun to strike the same place twice?” Alexander asked.
“Stranger things could happen,” Rob chuckled before his gaze slid back down to the small road beneath them, where the rest of their small party followed a road that would lead them down to the Gunn house. At the front of the line, dressed in soft pink that stood out so firmly against the green of the hills, was a woman riding in a small cart, a babe cradled in her arms. “I never thought lightning could strike at all.”
Alexander groaned. He missed the Rob of old, who had been a hopeless bachelor with more interest in fighting, hunting, and riding than in women. But marriage to Kenna Gordon, a dark-haired lass with sharp blue eyes and an even sharper tongue, had changed him. Those who saw the way that Rob looked at his wife and young son would say that it was a change for the better, for the marriage had grounded him in something other than his own wishful desires. But Alexander, who had been trapped between loving glances poorly hidden, endless flirtations, and not-so-quiet nights at camp, was not sure he would agree.
“How poetic. Hanging up your sword and taking up sonnets?” Alexander teased.
Rob flushed a bit and struck out, but Alexander ducked away, laughing.
“Just you wait, Alexander,” Rob said, shaking his fist at him, “I’ll see how you act once Lady Gunn gets her claws into you.”
Alexander laughed, riding down the hill to rejoin the party. No lass would ever have that sort of power over him, of that he was sure.
When he was a younger man, barely a man at all, he had thought that the lasses circling him simply wished for the delight of his company and a return of their affections. So, he had secretly began a courtship with a lass of his clan, entangling himself with her and feeling his heart begin to slip into her hands. That was when she had revealed herself, whispering her desire for social rise in the same breath that she has used to tell him of her love. Alexander’s heart had immediately hardene
d, pulling back within him before she could do any more damage. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to give her what she wished, it was that he hadn’t wanted to give anything to those who were only by his side so that they could receive.
Since then, he had been yet to find a woman that wanted nothing from him. Wealth, jewelry, favors, or silks—there was nothing that a woman hadn’t asked of him, bartering their time and attentions in exchange for their secret desire.
That, at least, was a plus for Lady Gunn: Alexander knew exactly why she was marrying him. The reason was not altogether romantic, but it was honest.
The honest intention was, right now, the only thing bolstering his courage for the upcoming nuptials. Alexander took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, thinking back to the introductory letters he and Lady Gunn had exchanged in an effort to ease the inevitable awkwardness of their first meeting. Alexander’s had been short and to the point, though he had done his best to at least fill the page with vague positives and hopes for the future. Lady Gunn’s missive, on the other hand, had been full of condescension and drama, expressing her anger at the situation and her high expectations for the life she would be given at his side. She had even signed the letter “Lady Gunn,” meaning that Alexander still did not even know the name of his betrothed, thereby defeating the very purpose of the letter. While he had hoped a few words from her would ease him, she had only wound him tighter.
The carts leading the way began to level out, and Alexander realized that they had reached the base of the hill. Gunns here and there were stopping what they were doing to stare with expressions of both curiosity and anger, and Alexander noticed Rob come up alongside him once more, his hand placed on the hilt of his sword. Alexander wished he could mimic the act, but he did not want to show the Gunns, of all people, his fear.
Alexander casually glanced here and there, lingering on each face for only a moment as he assessed who might be a threat to him or the handful of clansmen alongside him when a gruff voice called out, “Laird Mackay! Laird Fraser!”
The man greeting them was middle-aged, with brown hair peppered with gray and bright, green eyes. He sat proudly atop a Clydesdale—an imposing figure even though age had given him an ever so slight bulge to his stomach.
“Laird Gunn,” Alexander replied, riding over and reaching out to clasp the man’s arm, with Rob following to do the same.
“I trust that the journey went well?” he asked, dismounting and passing the reins into the waiting hands of a stable boy.
“As well as could be expected,” Alexander replied, mimicking the laird’s actions and wondering if he should thank the laird for having the sense not to lose his band of brigands upon the traveling group of royal loyalists. Instead, he forced his tongue to only respond with care to each question as he followed Laird Gunn to the house.
Alexander continued to scan the crowd, with no one catching his eye until he saw a cluster of men sitting to the side of the house, huddled around a small fire and relaxing as if it was a cold winter’s night and not a warm summer’s afternoon that was surely better occupied with chores around the property. Some of the men were old, and they held their gnarled hands out over the flames while small smiles formed the only upward stroke on their sagging faces. Others were young and unblemished. The rest of them were somewhere in between. They took turns glancing over to study the Mackays, likely trying to appraise who among the party they thought they could safely take up arms against if the wedding did not go well. Alexander returned the gesture, his eyes circling the fire to examine each of their builds and expressions before his eyes caught on a dark figure.
Gavin.
Alexander thought the name like it was a curse. Alexander didn’t usually go out of his way to recognize a simple thief and criminal, but Gavin had always been an exception. Years ago, rumors had reached the gates of Dirlot that claimed that the usual Gunn rustlers had taken up a new, deadly sword. Alexander hadn’t the sense to believe it and had brazenly made camp at the border’s edge when he and a handful of his men were traveling to collect rents. The Gunns had come upon their camp quickly and quietly, and Alexander had barely pulled his sword from its sheath before a man with hair and eyes as dark as a moonless sky had come upon him, his sword flashing through the air with deadly speed and force.
Alexander had gotten excited, joining in the fight with a vigor that he usually reserved for playful spars with other noble boys that had been raised with a sword in hand. Every thrust was countered, every weakness pressed upon. Before either of them had taken the upper hand, though, the Gunn party called for a retreat. Though Alexander had tried to stop Gavin’s escape, the lad had kicked his feet out from beneath him, giving him just enough time to disappear into the forest.
Alexander’s blood was pulsing, his fingers itching to pull his blade and finish the fight that he had been thinking about for years, when he noticed that Gavin’s gaze was fixed determinedly across the yard and not, as he would have hoped, on him. Alexander, pouting just a bit, turned to see what was more important than coming face to face with an enemy not yet conquered. When he saw what had captured Gavin’s gaze, though, he immediately understood.
The woman was standing in the doorway of the house, her light green skirt filling the entire frame as she spoke with another woman. Her hair was like polished copper, shining in the sun even though most of it had been pinned back. Alexander felt a strange urge to reach out and remove the pins, to let the tendrils of her hair spill like molten metal down her back. Green eyes sparkled like grass dotted with morning dew and her smile, which was currently directed at another woman standing beside her, was the sort of smile that one could not help craving.
If this woman wasn’t Lady Gunn, then Alexander was prepared to bring ruin to his clan by stealing this bonny lass away and marrying her instead.
If he happened to be stealing away Gavin’s woman, it would be all the better.
As the men approached, the woman turned to look at him, her complexion looking more tepid than it had a moment prior. The woman beside her gave her a slight shove, and the beauty came out to greet the men in the yard.
“Laird Alexander Mackay,” Laird Gunn said, taking the woman’s hand and leading her ahead of him so that she was face to face with Alexander, “may I present my daughter, Lady Margaret Gunn.”
“Lady Margaret,” Alexander said, testing the name on his lips and finding it to be not altogether displeasing, reached out and took her hand, pressing a soft kiss against it in greeting. But, as soon as his lips pulled away from her skin, she pulled her hand away. Alexander dropped his own hand back to his side, clenching it and releasing it as he tried to convince himself that it was nerves that had made her hand feel so rough in his.
“Laird Mackay,” she replied as she hid her hand into the folds of her skirt, preventing him from investigating the matter further.
“Feel free to call me Alexander,” he replied.
She smiled, but it was stiff and practiced. “If it please you, Laird Alexander.”
Similar greetings were exchanged between Margaret and Rob, which gave Alexander the opportunity to discreetly admire her figure, even if he was having trouble distinguishing between what was her and what was several pounds of silk, ribbon, and lace. From what he could tell, she was rather thin, though it was the sort of thinness that came to some women naturally, rather than thinness that was earned through starvation. Her chest was not terribly full, but a crevice of cleavage still managed to poke through the squared neckline of her dress in a manner that threatened to overpower his will to look elsewhere ever again.
Thankfully, though, his nerves had kept him sharp, and he looked away just as she and Rob ended their exchange, before she could catch him in his act of voyeurism.
“Laird Gunn, if it would be alright, I should like to see my wife and son inside,” Rob said.
“Aye, of course,” Laird Gunn replied, clapping his hands to call forth some servants to assist the party in unloading. “Laird Mackay
, perhaps I could offer you a tour of the house? My daughter would be happy to provide one.”
“Aye, yes!” Alexander said, rushing to agree far more quickly than any sane man would have. Margaret, whose eyes had turned to slits while she stared at him in suspicion, looked as if she would rather unload the cart than go anywhere with him, but that did not keep Alexander from feeling thrilled at the prospect of being beside her.
Beside him, he noticed Rob shake ever a little with contained laughter before he leaned over to whisper, “The claws of some women are sharp, aye?”
Alexander wanted to swing at him, but settled for a quick jab with his elbow, grateful that the Laird and Lady of Clan Gunn were busy with their own hushed whispers to notice.
When Rob went one way and Laird Gunn following him in order to give his greetings to the Lady Fraser, Alexander found himself alone with her. Or, at least, as alone as they could be in a crowded yard. He found himself suddenly conscious of every part of himself, and he kept shifting his posture and moving his hands from his hips to his side to crossed in front of his chest. Though her eyes had become dull and expressionless, he could see them flick to follow every motion he made.
Finally, she sighed, as if the torture of watching him suffer before her had gone from pathetic to completely intolerable. Then she said, “Well, shall we go in?”
“Aye,” Alexander replied, not trusting his tongue with any additional syllables.
Alexander followed her closely as she led him silently up to the house, though she stopped just shy of the doorway, where the woman she had been conversing with still stood, her head bowed politely. Now that they were closer, Alexander could see that this woman was not nobility, for her simple brown dress was permanently stained with sprinkles of flour. Margaret confirmed this when she said, “This is my maid, Ann. I believe my un—my understanding is that father wrote to you with my request to bring her back to Dirlot? I am rather partial to her, especially since she is one of the finest bakers in the region.”
Highlander's Torn Bride (Highlander's Seductive Lasses Book 2) Page 3
