by Alisa Adams
When the meal was over and the Laird signaled to his warriors that they may leave, the pastor rose to leave as well after thanking the Laird for the meal. He hurried to catch up with the five women. “Pardon me, me ladies,” he said as he caught them before they started up the stairs.
All five of the women stopped and turned to stare at him. They looked nervous. And in a bit of a hurry, he thought. Quite distracted as well. “Which of ye is to be merrit to the Laird MacDonell?” he asked, his eyes narrowing in on the black-haired girl. His eyebrows were as gray as his hair and possibly even longer than his hair as they winged up and out. As he talked, his bushy eyebrow wings moved this way and that as well.
Godet could not focus on the elderly pastor; she was too distracted by his eyebrows. They moved so much, and there was so much hair to them. It was such a contrast to his balding head. He could very well comb his eyebrows out to the sides and it would look like he had some hair at his temples then, she thought to herself. She cocked her head and stared at him, trying to remember what it was he had just asked them.
“Which of us?” she said with embarrassment.
“Aye, which of ye ladies is to be the Laird’s wife?”
“He dinnae say?” Godet asked him baffled in a weak voice.
“He dinnae and I am asking,” the pastor said sternly.
Godet heard Ina groan. “Waesucks that could’ve solved the problem,” she whispered. “Weel noo, heid doon and arse up, ask him!”
The pastor turned his beady eyes and bushy brows on Ina. “What was that, young lady? What problem? Is there some problem?” he demanded looking her up and down.
Godet stepped forward to block Ina. “Och, no, pastor. No problem! Ina is just young ‘tis all. She is referring to something else.” Godet folded her hands together and gave the pastor a calm, ladylike stare. She cleared her throat and the other girls all did the same.
“Well then, that’s all right and fine,” he said, raising his voice as he talked as if he was preaching to a hundred men. “But which one of ye is to be merrit to the Laird?” he boomed.
Godet and Brigda jumped at the booming command of his voice. They quickly pointed to each other and then, blushing brightly, dropped their hands back down into the polite lady-like clasp.
“Och, so it is like that, is it?” the pastor said and tutted. “’Tis a sorry mon that cannae make up his mind and must have several women to choose from,” he said, shaking his head sternly. “Poor lasses. Weel noo, he’ll have to decide soon as one of ye is to be merrit tomorrow I hear.” He tutted again and walked off, shaking his head and mumbling.
Brigda, Flori, Ceena, and Ina ran up the stairs, talking rapidly in quiet voices to each other. Godet stared after the priest, feeling very guilty for having misled him in any way. Brigda was to be Gordon’s wife. She knew that. Brigda had complicated things by pointing at Godet.
Godet followed the priest down a narrow hallway, then stopped at a turn not knowing where he had gone. The hallway was quite dark, with only one candle lit on the sconce hanging on the wall, and she was unfamiliar with this part of Conall. She was about to turn around when Gordon came up behind her.
“Godet,” he said in his low voice, blocking her way.
“Laird,” she said with her chin staunchly up. “Please let me pass.”
“Why so formal?” he asked, his voice deepening as he took a step closer. “I haven’t seen ye about for days. Ye’ve been busy,” he remarked with a slight grin, taking a step closer to her.
“Yes, I have been, very busy,” she said backing away from him. When her back hit a wall, she put her hands on her hips and stepped forward, away from the wall. She looked up at him, took one hand off her hip and pushed at his chest then put her hand back on her hip. “Very, very busy,” she added, “now please dae let me pass.”
“What are ye doing down this hallway, Godet?” he asked her quietly, backing her up against the wall again. “Looking for me?” he said as he smiled down into her eyes. “Ye smell like flowers,” he added as he breathed in deeply, nuzzling the side of her temple with his hands flat on the wall on either side of her face. “I have missed ye, Godet,” he whispered huskily.
“Gordon—Laird!” She pushed against his chest. “Ye cannae dae that!” she said with a raw cry.
Gordon stopped and leaned away from her, saw the look in her eyes. What was it? Fear, desperation, sorrow? “Godet ye know ye are my mo ghraidh—”
“Stop. Dinnae say that. Ye cannae just think ye can torment me like this! Ye cannae ask this of me, I have begged ye not to!”
Gordon gently cupped her cheek with one hand, his thumb stroking away a tear. His face was full of concern and sorrow. He leaned his forehead against hers and sighed. She grabbed his wrist, the one caressing her cheek, but she did not push it away.
Godet closed her eyes as another tear fell. She loved this man. She knew that he had to marry Brigda for so many reasons. And now, she understood even more. Brigda must be protected from her father and Mungan. She could not hope for anything with this man and she certainly could not settle for anything less than marriage though this man tempted her so thoroughly that she felt evil.
Gordon expelled a deep breath. Godet breathed it in, filling her chest with the smell of him, the very breath of him. She felt his lips against her cheek, felt those same lips travel down her face to caress the corner of her lips. She tried not to sigh, tried not to turn her face just that very little bit, tried not to lean toward his mouth, tried to resist those seeking lips, and tried to resist the tip of his tongue where he sipped from and tenderly licked the corner of her lips, asking for, begging for entrance.
She tried, but she could not. She simply could not resist him.
Godet moaned quietly and he slipped inside, stroking his tongue against hers, pushing his chest against her, and his hips against hers. He was holding her pinned there to the wall while he held her face and kissed her. In a heartbeat, their hunger and pent up desire for one another turned the kiss into one that was all-encompassing. It became a devouring and demanding kiss. It was all at once thorough yet gentle, deep yet teasing. Godet heaved out a sob and clutched Gordon’s hair, opening her mouth to him and letting her tongue dance violently with his. She let her lips hungrily devour his, nipping and biting and licking and moaning. The kiss went on until their passion burned so out of control they had to pull away or burst into flames. Godet’s fingers were entwined in his hair, her breasts heaving as she looked up at him.
“Godet, the pastor, ye must know—” Gordon began, his voice deep, husky, and filled with need and hunger.
“Shush,” she whispered to him, stopping what he was about to say. She stood on the tips of her toes and gave him one last chaste, gentle kiss on the lips. Then she pressed a small sgian-dubh that she had made just for him into his hand. She had done special engravings on the handle and the silver ends. She had also sized the grip for his large hand. The small daggers handle was beautifully etched with barley sheathes worked into scroll work.
Godet blushed guiltily, knowing the scrolling of the sheathes looked like hearts here and there. She closed his fingers over it before he could look down and see it. She ducked out of his arms and ran back down the hallway as fast as she could. She did not want to hear him tell her that he had to marry another woman.
23
That night at dusk, the five women and Aunt Hextilda quietly met in the field. They checked their supplies of food and weapons and silently prodded their horses into a trot away from Castle Conall. None of them noticed Godet’s tears in the waning light.
They were joined on the outskirts of the MacDonell lands by Loughlin. And then when Godet looked behind her even later and further into their journey, she noticed that Ross soldiers had melted out of the forest to join them. Brigda’s MacKenzie guards came around a rock out-cropping as the moon rose high in the night sky. They moved quietly as ghosts and joined the line of men behind the women. It seemed that every time Godet turned around to
look behind her more men had joined them. All in plaids of Ross or MacKenzie or MacDonell.
Godet was filled with gratitude at their support. She knew they had to leave Conall as quietly and unobtrusively as the women had and was glad that they had taken the effort to do so. It would delay any notice of their absence. Gordon would find out they had all gone, but later was preferable to sooner in her mind.
Godet looked up at the stars overhead as the night turned to the twilight of morning. This plan was fraught with probabilities. She was counting on the fact that the MacKenzie Laird would be gone from his occupation of Fionnaghall and on his way to Conall for his daughter’s wedding to Gordon. Godet was taking a different and longer northern route to the castle. It meant skirting the Highland mountains and taking the winding route through the valleys between them and around the small lochs that lay in their glens. It would take them a full day longer than the easier lowland route. Godet’s plan counted on MacKenzie taking the main route between Fionnaghall on the coast through the lower lands to the south and then west to the MacDonell lands. She did not want to encounter Angus MacKenzie. She wanted to have Mungan out of her home first. Then, MacKenzie would clearly have no right to be there, for his only ally would be gone, one way or another.
Loughlin quietly rode up beside her. He had seen her looking back, checking her sisters and the warriors who were silently joining their line of horses and men. “Yer plan is sound. Dae not fret, Lady Godet,” Loughlin consoled in his deep voice.
Godet looked at him and nodded, then looked back again. A small group of men had fallen into their line, at the very back. It was not yet morning and the mists rising up from the heather obscured her view to see which plaid these warriors wore. They had warm cloaks on with the hoods pulled up over their faces.
“More have joined,” she said quietly, straining to see the plaids.
“’Tis me brother, Liam, and two of the best warriors. They can be trusted,” Loughlin told her. “Ye have the mind of yer father, Lady Godet,” he said to her. He did not look back, but stared straight ahead, being mindful of the ground in front of them in the dark.
“Me Da? What dae ye mean?” Godet asked.
“Ye think like yer father. Laird Ross was skilled in battle. His strategy was admired throughout the Highlands. Ye think like him,” he said simply.
“’Twas more Ceena than myself. We discussed all the probabilities. Brigda gave us insight into her father. We all came up with the best plan. I cannae take credit,” she replied.
Loughlin stared at her. “’Tis that verra fact that makes ye a good leader. Ye listened to others, understood all the facts, took advice, and devised the best plan. And ye got yer warriors, and others, to help ye. That is good.”
“Thank ye, Loughlin. I just dinnae want to get anyone killed trying to get Fionnaghall back.”
“Ye willnae. I will protect yer sisters and ye. Ye will have yer home again. Yer da meant for one of his daughters to be Laird. Unusual, but I ken noo that I have met ye. Ye women are warriors. Even me Flori,” he said proudly. “The Highlands thought that Fionnaghall was ripe for the taking when word got out that yer da had died. They were wrong.” He let out a rusty sounding chuckle.
Godet had no words. She could only hope that Loughlin was correct and this plan was a good one.
They did not stop for rest until midday, but they only stopped briefly before Godet gave the signal to begin pushing on. That evening Godet stopped the group just as it became fully dark, taking a simple meal of dried venison and oatcakes before once more signaling to start out again to ride through the night. Godet looked back to see that one of the biggest warriors had taken Aunt Hextilda up on his horse in front of him. She was fast asleep. Her little pony King Bobby was walking sedately along beside the big horse that carried her.
Loughlin had slowed his horse so that he was beside Flori. He kept pushing her upright as she was nodding off sleepily and was in danger of falling off her horse. Loughlin finally pulled her onto his lap and gently pushed her head against his shoulder. Godet noticed that Flori didn’t fight him, but instead, she trustingly curled against the huge warrior and closed her eyes.
Ceena, Ina, and Brigda came up to ride beside Godet. They quietly discussed the plan again and then again.
At midday the next day, they sat and ate and discussed their plan some more. They were examining it from every angle and every possibility they could think of that could go wrong. Then Brigda got up and began rubbing her sore backside. She hobbled around and around where Ceena, Ina, Flori, and Godet sat. She continued to talk and discuss the plan with them as she circled them on stiff legs. She was talking animatedly with her hands and then paused to rub her buttocks and groan in between talking. The girls watched her with big grins.
“Dinnae ye ride much at yer home?” Ina asked her in her lilting musical voice.
“Not really, no,” Brigda answered with another groan.
“Dae ye have a horse of yer own?” Ceena asked her curiously.
“I rode whatever horse was saddled up for me. Usually, just a gentle older mare that my father kept for that very purpose. She was nothing like Avens!” Brigda said as she rubbed her backside.
“Not as tall I suppose,” Ceena said.
Brigda laughed a short, clipped laugh. “No! Nowhere near as tall. And certainly not as wide!”
“Wide?” Ina asked her.
“Yes, wide!” Brigda exclaimed, “I feel like my legs have been straddling a house!”
The girls burst out into laughter at that. Brigda finally stopped her pacing and stretching and with several very dramatic groans gently and slowly sat down. The girls handed her some oatcakes and dried meat. Brigda looked at the dried meat. She sent a questioning look at the girls and they just shrugged their shoulders. Brigda took a nibble and then shrugged her shoulders as well and bit fully into the meat. She seemed to think it was all very interesting and enjoyable.
Brigda couldn’t get comfortable sitting, however, and was standing up as soon as she finished eating. She started rubbing her thighs as she stomped around on stiff legs, grumbling about sitting on houses. Avens was indeed a very wide draft. All their horses were big and wide, but Avens was considerably wider. This was why he was more often than not selected to pull the heavy traveling coach instead of carrying a rider. But he was as gentle as he was big and known to be very careful with his rider. Brigda knew this and appreciated Aven’s sweet personality. She had been seeing to him herself at their rests.
Everyone was expected to care for their own mount and this had surprised Brigda at first, but then she had happily seen after the gentle giant. She had carefully watched Godet handle her stallion Bluebell. She copied everything that Godet did from standing on a log to pull the saddle off, to brushing his big body, even to checking each of his hooves. Luckily sweet Avens lowered his head so that Brigda could get the bridle off of him. When it came to his feet the big, gentle draft horse carefully picked up each hoof as Brigda touched it. Godet had frozen, watching Brigda clumsily holding the hoof that was as big as her head. She knew Avens wouldn’t hurt Brigda, but she was worried that Brigda couldn’t hold the hoof to clean the stones and compacted dirt out and might drop it on her own foot. Godet winced, watching Brigda happily struggle to do these things, obviously for the first time. Godet smiled broadly at Brigda when she was finished. She breathed out a sigh of relief when Bridga walked Avens over to the stream to get a drink.
Godet looked around the camp, making note of everyone settling in for a rest and seeing that all had some food to eat. She spotted Liam and the two men she had seen before with him. They were wearing the MacDonell plaid. She was about to go speak to them, but Loughlin stepped in front of her.
“I am worried about Flori,” Loughlin said.
Godet looked over to her sister. She was nibbling on some dried venison and talking with Ina. “Why Loughlin?” Godet asked curiously, “she looks fine to me.”
“She eats verra little. She needs to
eat more,” he stated firmly.
Godet smiled at him. “She eats plenty,” she said with a grin, then she nodded toward Liam and the men with him. They were sitting to the outside of the camp, in a group of other warriors. They still wore their cloaks and their hoods in the cooler mountain air. “They are MacDonell men, but they keep to themselves, why is that?” Godet asked as she studied the men. They were big, very big, and broad-shouldered. Their hair appeared to be tied back with leather pieces, so she knew it was long. She couldn’t get a good look at them.
“Laird Gordon warned Liam and the other men to stay away from Ina so that is what they are doing: keeping their distance,” he said gruffly. “Tell Flori to eat,” he repeated curtly and walked away.
Godet watched Loughlin go. He was headed to his brother and the other men. She wanted to follow him, but Brigda and her sisters waved her over to eat. She supposed she needed to eat just as much as Flori did.
They stopped that next night in a glen beside a small loch with a little burn trickling down from the rocky mount above. They made camp under several trees and had a good meal of freshly caught fish from the lake cooked over their fires. The warriors were in good spirits with all the fish the men had caught. They were laughing and taunting and joking with each other to see who could catch the most. The fish were plentiful and everyone was able to fill their stomachs. Godet was relieved for she had worried she was pushing the group very hard on this longer route. The decision to stop here had been a good one as this place was beautiful. The loch was clear, the fish were plenty, and there was good shelter against the rocks and under the trees. Godet felt a pressure lift off her shoulders. The men had not once questioned her leadership or her choices or decisions about when and where to stop to rest and when to push on. She was glad they were eating their fill. She knew they deserved it and needed it. She sighed a tired sigh.
