Highlanders To Surrender To: A Scottish Medieval Historical Romance

by Alisa Adams

  On the way out of the main entrance, Athol swept past Father Anthony, whose gaze followed him as he strode outside. Davina, who was trying to keep up with him, stopped when she saw the priest.

  "Good morning, Father Anthony," she said, curtseying and crossing herself as he blessed her.

  "Good morning, Davina," he replied. "I have heard the tragic news. Such a young lady and very beautiful, so they tell me."

  "Yes, she was, Father." Davina agreed. She did not trust herself to say anything more. "I will show you where she is and bring her husband."

  "You are not grieving," Father Anthony observed, frowning, and Davina cursed his ability to see into her mind.

  "No, Father," she replied curtly. "I am not. Now I will go and get Grant." As she went upstairs the women came to do the laying out of the body. Davina was glad to get away; all she wanted to do now was ride in the fresh air with Athol.

  Grant was still sitting where she had left him.

  "Father Anthony is here," she informed them, "and the ladies to lay out the b—" She hesitated. "To lay out Maura." She had corrected herself at the last moment to spare Grant's feelings.

  Grant got up from his chair stiffly, as if he were an old, old man. Una stood up and left them after greeting Father Anthony. Her face was white with anger.

  "I'm going to see Mungo." Her voice was flat and determined, a barrier against any further argument. "And then, Davina, I am bringing him to stay with me here." She looked up at her daughter defiantly then gathered her skirts together and ran out.

  80

  Anger, Grief and Joy

  Athol had his fists clenched together so tightly that Davina thought he was going to break the skin with his nails. He was pacing up and down the courtyard breathing like an enraged bull, and Davina had to pull hard on his arm to stop him.

  "Athol, calm down." She took his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. They were full of tears, but not of sorrow. Athol was crying tears of pure rage. She wiped them away with her handkerchief, then kissed him. Immediately, she heard him sigh with relief and when she looked at him again he was smiling.

  "How do you do that?" he asked tenderly.

  "Do what?" Davina smiled.

  "Make me feel better just with one kiss."

  "I am a witch," she whispered, laughing, then she was somber again. "Athol, Maura was the woman who murdered my father. Maybe it has not sunk in yet, but I feel that I should be… angrier."

  "Let us go and take the horses out," he suggested. "Davina, my dear, I am angry enough for both of us. I suggest we do not go to the funeral."

  "Of course not!" Davina was outraged by the mere suggestion.

  "Instead we can stay in bed."

  She laughed, then asked thoughtfully, "I might have known you'd say that. Athol, is this the right time to be laughing?"

  "Davina, I cannot think of a better one." He smiled, then his face grew somber again. "But remember, we still have to deal with her lover.

  They mounted Daisy and Jock then slowly ambled along the cliff path, each lost in their own thoughts. Presently, they got off the horses and Davina stood on the rock she had been standing on just before she met Athol. She felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

  "She's gone, my love. She's finally gone. I know I should not be happy about someone's death but her evil has been smothering us." Davina closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky.

  "I am still afraid," Athol said, sighing.

  "Of what?" Davina asked, frowning as she mounted Daisy again.

  "That what happened to Maura will happen to you." He turned away from her for a moment, looking out to sea, then he looked back, and his face was anguished. "I would rather die myself than have anything harm you."

  "Athol, we can't have guarantees like that," she sighed. "I wish we could. We will have to make the most of the time we have, be it long or short."

  "I love you," he told her, "I cannot imagine the old vain Athol even saying that much less feeling it."

  "I love you too," Davina said, reaching out for his hand. She watched as his big hand enveloped her little one, and smiled.

  Father Anthony was still there when they got back. "Father, we thought you would have gone to see your other parishioners," Athol said, frowning.

  "I thought Grant had more need of me," Father Anthony's voice had a strong note of censure in it. "He has just lost his wife."

  "Father," Davina said in a menacing tone, "do you know what that wife did to my family?"

  "Aye," Father Anthony replied calmly, "I do. Grant told me. I understand why you are angry, but he is not to blame and he needs your support. He is a broken man, Davina. Help him and I think that you will find you are helping yourself."

  "Have you ever had a loved one taken from you, Father?" Davina spat. "Do you know how it feels to have your heart torn out?"

  The priest looked at her with a great depth of sadness in his eyes. "Yes, Davina, I do," he replied. "I was going to be married once, you see, but the Black Death struck my Maggie down. I could not even go to her bedside to say goodbye. So, I do understand Grant's pain." He looked at her with a sad, steady gaze and she immediately felt ashamed.

  "I am sorry Father," she said humbly, "I had no idea."

  "Of course, you didn't," he said and smiled, then put a hand on her shoulder. "Be kind to him, Davina, Athol. He needs kindness now." They nodded and he made a sign of the cross over them. "God bless you both," he said, then turned and walked away.

  They went to find Grant, who was sitting in Maura's room again. Her body had been composed, with both hands crossed over her chest, and her forehead and lips had been anointed with holy oil. Maura looked pale, serene, and lovely. Grant had stopped crying and was gazing at her as if he would never be able to look away again. When they opened the door he, gave no acknowledgement that he had seen them other than a fleeting glance in their direction.

  "Grant," Davina said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. Grant shook it off angrily.

  "Go away, please, and leave me to mourn my wife in peace."

  "Leave me with him," Davina whispered in Athol's ear. "I'll get some whiskey," he murmured and went out.

  When Athol was gone Davina sat down beside Grant. "You must understand how I feel, Grant." Her voice was very gentle. "She killed my father, hurt my mother, then plotted against Athol and me."

  "I know," he sighed. "But now everyone is going to say she is evil. They are going to ask how I did not know, and when they find out that I did, why I did nothing about it. And the worst is that I have no answer to those questions other than that I loved her."

  "I am sorry I did not stay, for moral support," Davina said regretfully. "Make no mistake, I hated her, Grant, but I do not hate you. But why did you say nothing about the blackmail?"

  "I pretended it was not happening. It was the only way I could cope, and I am so ashamed." He hung his head. "I am so sorry." His voice sank to a whisper. He looked at Maura's still face. "How can so much beauty contain so much evil?"

  Davina said nothing, but she held Grant's hand, feeling ashamed of herself. She had known what Maura was, but she was rejoicing - actually rejoicing - in someone's death.

  In dying, Maura had left an evil legacy. Just then, Athol came back with three glasses of whiskey on a tray. Grant refused his.

  "I promised myself I would never drink it again." He pushed the tray away.

  Athol and Davina exchanged glances.

  "Fine, Grant," Davina said. "We will wait with you for a while."

  "No," he replied. "This is the last time I will be alone with her. Go away, please."

  They needed no second bidding, and Davina let go of a thankful sigh as soon as the door shut. "Thank God!" She put her arm around Athol's waist and they went downstairs.

  Una saw Mungo at once. He was sitting on top of a spirited black stallion, leaning over and whispering in his ear. The horse was listening, visibly calming down, and at last, he was able to dismount.r />
  He started when he saw her, then smiled broadly. "I didnae knaw ye were comin' the day." He looked surprised but very pleased.

  "We had a death at the house this morning," she informed him, her voice as bitter as bile. "Maura McKay Anderson, and no loss to the world. She is the one who killed my Ruaridh."

  Mungo could find no words to say. He folded her in his arms and took her inside their little love nest. "But I have decided to make this a good day." She took a deep breath. "Mungo McLean, do you want to make love to me or not?"

  "Aye!" he growled and a moment later they were joined together in the roughest, most passionate coupling they had ever had. They would both remember it for the rest of their lives. He pinned her down with the whole weight of his body until she could not move, then she scratched him on his arms, his legs, and his chest.

  He gasped at the sensation that was so painful yet so pleasurable at the same time. Then they struggled as if they were wrestlers till passion overcame them and they reached a peak of ecstasy before coming down to earth again. Then they lay together, spent and laughing, but Una was thinking.

  "This is the last time that we make love here." She declared firmly.

  * * *

  "So we arenae gaun' tae see each other ony mair?" Mungo felt his stomach plummet downwards, his heart began to race, and instinctively he held her closer to himself.

  "Of course we are… In my bedroom!" Una was jubilant and thought that Mungo would be too.

  He looked horrified. "Una - we cannae dae that!" he cried.

  "Why not?" She kissed him and took his face in her hands. "We can do whatever we want, Mungo."

  "We've talked aboot this, lass." He pulled her into his arms. "God knows, I love ye, an' I wish we could tell everybody, but we cannae. Yer faimly, yer friends, even yer servants wid be shocked. They wid think ye had lost yer mind."

  "But Mungo, I don't care what they think."

  "But I dae," he sighed, "Una, yer friends will despise ye, yer faimly an' a'. Even yer servants will no' want tae knaw ye. I hae seen it afore. I love ye an' I dinnae wish that fer ye."

  "But that's wrong!" Una protested. "Mungo, you are a man and I am a woman. And we are in love. Why can we not be lovers or even married?"

  "Because there are rules that make things run, hen," he said sadly. "Everybody has their ain rung on the ladder. Yours is at the tap, mine is at the bottom. That is the way it is an' the way it will aye be. I'm sorry."

  "Rules are made to be broken!" she snapped. "You will not live with me because you do not want to."

  "I wish I could, my sweet. I love ye wi' a' my heart, Una, an' I dinnae want tae ruin yer life," he answered. "Can we no' go on as we are?"

  She looked into his bright blue eyes, and her own filled with tears. "Oh, Mungo," she whispered, "I could not stop even if I wanted to." Then she lay back on the mattress and welcomed him into her arms again.

  81

  Betrothal

  When Lyle heard the news of Maura's death, he immediately sent for his butler, Maura's lover. He also stationed two guards outside his office door. "You wanted to see me, sir?" Ewan asked, smiling.

  "I wanted to tell you that Maura Anderson is dead," Lyle's tone was flat and firm. "She died from complications when she miscarried your baby. Please do not insult my intelligence by telling me you do not know her. We know you were complicit in at least one murder, one poisoning, four cases of blackmail, and countless cases of slander.

  “We know all these things because Athol Murray heard you and Maura speaking about it. You will spend your time in my dungeon thinking about your crimes and trying to repent before the justices come to take you to trial."

  Ewan had been struck dumb. He was weeping, and for a fleeting moment Lyle felt sorry for him, then he remembered Una's face as she wept by her husband's graveside. His heart hardened again as the weeping turned into a wail and the two guards dragged him away.

  Lyle never saw Ewan again. Two days later he hanged himself in the dungeon, but Lyle could not summon up an ounce of pity.

  Maura was buried on a bitingly cold day. August was usually the warmest month of the highland year but this year it had been hostile and bitter. Davina, Athol and Una had refused point bank to attend, so it was a sad little group made up of Grant, Finella, Lyle and Mary that stood by the grave that day waiting for Father Anthony to finish the dreary Latin words of the service.

  Father Anthony himself hated funerals, so he performed the necessary rites quickly, and they all went home, thankful that it was over. The birthday party, of course, had to be canceled and Davina spent the day quietly with her closest friends and family. The day after her birthday she would be moving to Blairmore with Athol and leaving home for the first time in her life. She worried about Una, though.

  Living in the castle all alone with her memories was not a good idea, in Davina's opinion, and she once more broached the subject of a companion to her.

  "I tried to find someone before, darling, and I could find no satisfactory person." She shrugged and sighed. "The only person I want to be with is Mungo."

  "Mother - for the fiftieth time - he is a servant. You have told me that even he agrees with that."

  Una rounded on Davina, her eyes blazing. "And what do you know about him, madam?" she spat. "He is a good man, a wonderful man, and he loves me. You have been married for a few months, but your father and I were married for twenty-five years, so I think I know a bit more about it than you do! I want to be close to my love. I want to marry Mungo and by God, I will, and damn the consequences!" She swept out, leaving a stunned and chastened Davina looking after her and wondering what had just happened.

  Una went straight down to the stables, and there, in full view of the stable hands, she kissed Mungo passionately on the lips. He resisted for a moment, then leaned into it and wrapped his arms around her. The grooms stood by, smiling and nudging each other. When Mungo and Una broke apart, she leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed.

  "Mungo McLean, will you marry me?" She sighed. "I am so tired of sneaking into the stables and sleeping alone."

  "But I've telt ye before—"

  "Everyone has told me before." Her voice was angry and she took his hand and dragged him over to her horse. "Get on," she ordered.

  Totally bemused, he did as he'd been told and they rode off down the hill towards the sea. Presently, she turned off and they rode down a broad path towards a stand of pine trees. Almost hidden in the trees was a substantial cottage which looked as though it could hold a reasonably sized family.

  "We could live in it once it's repaired," Una said, looking up at him with hope in her eyes.

  "My God," he said, shaking his head. "Ye're a determined wee thing are ye no?" He walked towards the cottage and looked around with dismay at the overgrown jungle that had once been a garden. "It'll need some work," he said doubtfully.

  "Does that mean you will be my husband?" Una held her breath.

  He gazed at her again, this beautiful woman who meant so much to him. The thought of being without her was unbearable. "Aye, lassie, I'll wed ye," he said, "I'll never get ony peace otherwise!"

  She hugged him and they went inside. "Who owns this place?" Mungo asked, looking around.

  "Didn't I tell you?" she asked innocently, "I do. I bought it last week."

  He looked at her in astonishment. "But ye cannae dae that fer me!" he protested.

  She hugged him tightly. "It's for us," she insisted. "I cannot continue to rattle around in that big castle by myself with no company but the servants."

  "I am a servant," he pointed out, frowning.

  "Yes," she agreed with a laugh. "Mine. You are my slave, and I am yours."

  "Una, Una, Una…" He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair. "Lass, I love ye wi' everythin' in me."

  "And I love you too," she whispered. Then she looked around them. The main room was bare and dirty. There were four bedrooms, a kitchen and a privy. Each bedroom was large with high ceilin
gs, and the glass in the windows showed that someone quite wealthy had lived there before.

  "It belonged to Laird Nairn although it is standing on my land," Una explained. "It was disused so I bought it back."

  All of a sudden, she found herself pushed back against the wall with Mungo kissing her, not too hard, but not tenderly either. His tongue twisted with hers and she gave a little whimper of desire. Even his breathing, heavy and rapid in her ear, drove her wild. She could feel the bulge of his manhood pressing against her stomach and his hands seemed to be all over her body at once.

  Making love in this way was a novel and a strange experience for both of them. Una had never heard of this. Mungo had not lain with many women and his knowledge of such things was limited, but this novel lovemaking was glorious. When he eased inside her she arched her head back against the wall, then he captured both of her hands in one of his, holding them trapped in one of his above her head.

  Even if she had wanted to escape, she could not have matched his strength, but she had no intention of doing so. She could have stood like that forever, but then the ecstasy swept over her. She moaned with pleasure then opened her eyes and looked into his. They were alight with love.

  After they had set themselves to rights again, Mungo sighed. "I cannae let ye buy me things, hen," he said, troubled. "I am supposed tae be yer protector an' provider."

  "Mungo, I am so very, very happy." She kissed him. "You are a very capable person, not just with horses, but with everything. You can help me with my estate work and still work with Davina; she wants to expand the business. You can read and write, can you not?"