Highlanders To Surrender To: A Scottish Medieval Historical Romance

by Alisa Adams

  "Really?" Davina said airily, then her voice descended to a low, menacing growl, "well, you might in a minute!"

  Athol laughed and kissed her hand. "I adore you." His eyes were alight with love. "And my son. He is only ten minutes old. How can I love him so much?"

  Davina shook her head. "I have no idea," she murmured, smiling. Athol put an arm around her shoulder, looking down at little Ruaridh as he sucked busily. Bets came and helped Davina put him on the other breast and the new family sat on the bed for a while in contented silence.

  Presently, the baby stopped sucking and Bets came to wash and dress him. Davina's arms felt so empty when he was gone. Athol came and lay down on the bed beside her, then after a few moments Bets brought Ruaridh back and placed him between them. She had done the last of the cleaning up after the birth and was about to say goodbye, but she stopped herself. They were all fast asleep. She laughed softly. Aristocrats or servants, they all gave birth the same way.

  Everyone was rejoicing except Grant, although he was doing his best to look happy for Athol and Davina's sake. To see them all together as a happy little family was torture. Might he and Maura have been able to conceive another child had they still been together? He would never know. He still loved her, even though she was a murderer and a manipulator. I must be the most stupid man alive, he thought, sighing.

  But he loved the other Maura, the one who kissed him and made love to him, even cooked for him sometimes. She could tell wonderful stories, but best of all, she made him feel good to be alive. He felt as though the color had gone out of his world. The estate took up a lot of his time, of course, and most of the rest of it was spent sleeping, but while there was no warm body next to him he could not rest properly.

  A few weeks after the birth of young Ruaridh, Grant had just finished helping with the breech delivery of a very valuable colt, and every bone in his body ached with exhaustion. He was riding along the cliff path looking at the latest incoming squall when he saw her coming towards him, a small woman leading a gray stallion whose left hind leg was barely touching the ground as he walked.

  As they came towards each other he could see that her hair was red, but of a shade much lighter than Maura's. She was pretty in a boyish way, very slightly built and shorter than Maura had been. When they were within a few feet of each other she looked down modestly, but not before he had seen that her eyes were dark brown. He had always loved brown eyes.

  "Mistress," he said, as they drew level, "may I help you?" He bowed.

  "Grant Anderson at your service."

  "Thank you, sir," she curtsied, "I am Rhona Wishart. I was trotting along with Johnny here when he stood on a sharp stone. I do not have the means to get it out. Can you help me?" The deep dark eyes looked helplessly into his and Grant was astonished to realize that she was the first woman to whom he had felt attracted since Maura's death.

  "I will do what I can," he promised and leaned down to take the big horse's foot in his hands.

  There was a stone there, small, sharp and very deeply embedded. Grant did not have the right tools with him to take it out, and he carefully let the foot go. He frowned. "Where have you come from?" he asked.

  "Laird Patterson's estate," she replied, "my betrothed and I are guests there."

  Grant felt a pang of disappointment but Rhona had said the word 'betrothed' with an almost imperceptible moué of distaste. "My laird's estate is closer," he said, and I can have someone ride back with you once we are finished. And now you will ride on Geordie, for I will not suffer a lady to walk while I am riding."

  "Thank you." She almost had her foot in the stirrup, but he caught her by the waist and swung her onto Geordie's back. She said nothing more, but he had an idea that she was pleased to be assisted in this way.

  "Do you work for one of the lairds?" she asked, to make conversation.

  "Laird Shaw," Grant replied, "I am his estate manager."

  "They tell me he is a very charitable man," she remarked.

  "He is, Mistress Wishart," Grant replied, "he collects waifs and strays and stops them from starving."

  "He sounds lovely." She laughed.

  "Who is your betrothed?" Grant asked.

  "Baron Malcolm McShane of Ullapool," she answered, sighing. "He is much older than I am. Are you betrothed or married?"

  "I am a widower," he said heavily, "my wife died last year from complications of a miscarriage."

  "Oh, my goodness!" She was shocked. "Sir - I am so sorry - if I had known… Please forgive me."

  "But you did not know, lass," Grant replied, "be at ease, now. It is one of these things that happens. It was never meant to be." He smiled at her and they rode along in silence for a moment.

  "When is your wedding?" Grant asked.

  A shadow of pain crossed Rhona's face. "Next month," she replied bitterly.

  "Why do you look so sad?" he asked, then checked himself. "Forgive me. I am being intrusive."

  She smiled at him. "I am tired," she replied, "but talking is good. I am twenty and he is forty-five. I have heard that his first wife was so afraid of him that she jumped off the castle balcony in despair. I have heard no good of him, and it scares me."

  Grant shook his head and sighed. It was an old story.

  "I am one of six daughters," she said sadly, "and daughters always have to be married off, often to older men whose first wives have died. I am worth a hundred gold pieces to my father. I have only met the baron a few times but he is repulsive. I am sorry, you do not need to concern yourself with my troubles. I will make the best of it, I am sure." She sounded utterly unconvincing. She looked so sad that Grant made a remark that would later cause him much unease, but he felt so sorry for this poor innocent maiden who had had an awful destiny thrust upon her. Thank God he was a man!

  "I would like to meet this baron," he said thoughtfully. "I think I may know him. "

  "I would be happy to introduce you. Our betrothal party is next week." All of a sudden Rhona was more cheerful. "Will you get married again?"

  "No." The word came out like a slap, and Rhona jumped. "I'm sorry to startle you." Grant apologized. "My wife was not a good woman and I am afraid of another marriage. Forgive me, but I cannot bear to speak of her anymore."

  And suddenly he realized, now that he had made the acquaintance of a decent young woman, that Maura's memory meant nothing to him anymore. At last, he could see all of her - the bad and the good - instead of just what she wanted him to. He felt lighter in spirit at once.

  "Maybe I was too hasty…" He looked up at her, smiling. "Maybe I will, someday."

  She smiled at him, eyes shining.

  When they got to the castle Grant handed the horse over to one of the stable hands and took Rhona inside for a glass of wine. They went into the small parlor where a cozy fire was burning. Rhona seated herself in a chair beside it, but when Grant sat down on a couch she went to sit beside him, turning her body to face him.

  "I am so glad I met you," she told him and smiled. "It has cheered me enormously to meet someone my own age who can talk to me properly without being pompous or arrogant."

  "Good," Grant laughed. "I like to make people happy."

  As he smiled at her he realized how much he had missed being with a woman, especially a desirable one like Rhona. Rhona's heart ached as she looked at Grant. He was everything she wanted in a man, but he was an estate manager, not a laird, and he could not give her father baskets of gold for her. How she wished he could. She had only just met him of course, and there was a lingering air of sadness about him, but she knew inside herself that he was a kind man.

  Grant wanted to carry Rhona up to his bedroom that very moment and make passionate love to her, but it was too soon. She was betrothed anyway, and after Maura, his heart found it hard to trust again. He could think of half-a-dozen other good reasons why he should not, however, the biggest one being that they were still strangers.

  He got up and finished his wine in one swallow, then said, "I look for
ward to meeting you again at the betrothal party. I will probably have something to tell you, and I hope it will make you happy."

  "Really? Can't you tell me now?" she asked hopefully.

  He laughed. "Not yet, Mistress Wishart." He looked up. "Here is your horse. I will have one of the guards escort you home." He bent to kiss her hand. She wanted to push herself into his embrace and have his strong arms close around her. She had a feeling that Grant could protect her from anything, but she would have to wait for her betrothal to a man she loathed.

  Six weeks had passed since Ruaridh's birth, six weeks of sheer torture for Athol, who was dying of frustration. He could hardly look at Davina without visualizing her unclothed, and holding her in his arms at night was an exquisite torture.

  Without telling Athol, Una and Davina went into Greanoch to consult Bets, who told her that her body had healed enough for her to resume marital relations. "Thank God!" Davina said with deep thankfulness, "Athol is becoming impossible to live with."

  "Mungo was too," Una laughed. "I think they are all the same, darling."

  "But Mother, I am no different. I long for him."

  "Good. That is as it should be." Una smiled. "Now go and make him happy."

  Davina needed no second bidding.

  That night when Athol got into bed Davina was there before him. She was shivering and had the bedclothes pulled up to her chin. "I'll warm you up." Athol laughed, kissing her. As usual, he began to fold his arms around her, but on this night, he received a delightful surprise. Instead of wearing her usual modest nightgown, she was totally naked. Athol gasped, then threw back the blankets.

  Davina's body had changed slightly, but only for the better. Her breasts were fuller and her belly and hips a little rounder, but she was still the most desirable woman in the world to him.

  "Thank god," he whispered, as he began to run his hands all over her smoothly rounded contours. He had forgotten how soft her skin was, and the little moans and gasps of delight she made that were like music to his ears. When he touched her intimately she squealed with delight, and he laughed.

  Davina reveled in the hardness and resilience of Athol's muscles, and when she pressed her fingers into them he gave hoarse grunts of pleasure and pain. She loved the rasp of his stubble against her cheek and kissing his Adam's apple, so different from her own tender throat.

  He tangled his fingers in her fine fair hair and ravaged her lips with his before she pulled him over her and begged him to give her satisfaction. He thrust into her and in seconds, it seemed, they reached the peak of their passion together.

  Afterward, Athol, spent, tingling, deliriously happy, lay beside her looking at her with eyes full of love. "I don't think that I have ever felt like that before, my sweetheart," he murmured.

  Una had left Alan with Mungo. At six months, he was a very pretty child, fair like both his parents, with the promise of having Mungo's bright blue eyes. He was asleep when Una came in but was due to be fed, so they knew he would wake up any moment. Una kissed Mungo, wrapping her arms around him after came through the door.

  "Athol is going to be a very happy man tonight!" She laughed.

  Mungo raised his eyebrows. "Oh, ye mean they can be thegither noo?" He smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Can ye make me a happy man? Before the baby wakes?"

  "Mungo, you are insatiable!" Then she sighed. "But I must obey my husband. I am yours. Do as you will to me." Then she held out her arms.

  He kissed her tenderly, first on the lips, then on all the secret places on her body where she loved it best. Although they had made love many times, it was always as tender and passionate as the first time. As she ran her hands over the hard-ridged muscles of Mungo's stomach, she knew that she was one of the most fortunate women alive. Many husbands attended to the needs of their own bodies without any thought of their wives', but Una knew that Mungo would never be content until she was satisfied.

  When they came together and he brought her to ecstasy, she cried out with joy. Afterward, they lay in silence, in the perfect lassitude that comes after love, but it was not to last. After five perfect moments, the baby cried.

  "Oh, well," Una sighed, "my master calls!"

  She shrugged on a robe and went to fetch Alan, who was fussing and grizzling. As soon as she put him to the breast, though, he settled into a contented sucking rhythm.

  "I love tae watch ye daein' that." Mungo smiled and ran his big hand over Alan's soft downy hair.

  "I am so happy we had him," Una murmured. "I cannot imagine life without him now."

  "Withoot baith o' ye I wouldnae want tae live," Mungo said sadly.

  "What a gloomy-guts you are today!" Una declared.

  "Jist tired," Mungo yawned, "this farmin' is hard work but I wouldnae change the past year fer onything."

  "I am so glad." Una kissed him. "Back to work?"

  "Back tae bed," Mungo groaned. "I wis up half the night wi' yon colicky mare." He kissed her once more then went to the bedroom and fell on the bed. Within minutes he was asleep.

  Grant went to bed that night thinking about Rhona Wishart and asking himself many questions. He knew that all women were not like Maura, but he could not yet find in himself the power to trust another one, especially not someone he had just met. When he had been getting to know Maura, and even when he married her, she was the sweetest, kindest woman he had ever met.

  The day he walked down the aisle with her was the happiest of his life. It was not till much later that her true nature showed itself, but he preferred to live in denial, then accept it and rationalize it somehow. But what were the chances of him meeting another Maura?

  Rhona looked nothing like her apart from the red hair, but that was on the surface. A black heart was easily hidden. He sighed and turned over in bed, realizing that another sleepless night awaited him. He got up, took two drops of milk of the poppy and fell into a drugged sleep.

  Next morning when he woke he was feeling sluggish but somewhat rested. When he went downstairs there was a message awaiting him.

  Grant Anderson, Laird of Craiglochan

  Dear sir,

  It is my pleasure to invite you to the betrothal ceremony of my daughter, Mistress Rhona Wishart on Friday the Fourteenth of March in the Year of Our Lord 1301.

  R.S.V.P.

  Yours truly

  Donald Wishart

  Immediately Grant penned a letter back.

  Dear sir,

  I would be pleased and honored to attend the betrothal ceremony of your daughter.

  Yours truly,

  Grant Anderson, Laird of Craiglochan

  He gave it back to the messenger who had brought it, then went back to thinking about Rhona again. He saw her face again and again and chided himself for being so fanciful. Athol had known Davina since childhood. Lyle had known Mary for over a year. How could he even contemplate a betrothal to a woman he hardly knew?

  I am going mad with loneliness, he thought, sighing.

  That evening he went to see Athol and Davina, to find that Lyle and Mary were also visiting. Mary had just announced that she was pregnant with her second baby, having miscarried the previous year. She was terrified, but she was past the most dangerous period according to Bets. There was nothing Bets did not know about babies and pregnancy, and she had six of her own healthy children to prove it. Mary had asked her why she had lost her baby.

  "Only God knaws that, mistress," she sighed, "but it is usually because there is somethin' no' right wi' it. Better that than a stillborn."

  Gradually, she was beginning to relax, in spite of the fact that Lyle, like Athol, fussed over her like a mother hen with her chick. "It's like having another mother," Mary complained, "he won't let me go down the stairs without holding my hand."

  "Do not complain," Davina advised, laughing. "When the baby is born you will need all the support you can get!"

  Grant caught Athol's eye and inclined his head sideways toward the door. Athol caught his meaning at once. "Ladies, please excuse us.
" Grant smiled. "We have a matter of urgent but very tedious business to see to."

  When they had left the room, they had a long and intense conversation, but it was not about business; at least, not the usual kind. After they had finished, Athol poured Grant a large glass of whiskey, which he downed in one swallow, and left. He was visibly upset and bade Athol say goodbye to the ladies for him.

  Lyle and Athol exchanged glances.

  "Poor Grant," Lyle sighed. He had said the same thing many times over the past few months and had no doubt he would be saying it again soon.

  Athol, who was a particular friend of Jamie Patterson, went to see him a few days before the betrothal. "How are you, old pal?" Jamie asked, smiling. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company and where is your delightful other half?"

  "At home with the little one, who is getting bigger every day, and getting more attention than I am!" Athol laughed. "But I love him with all my heart!"

  "A complaint of all new fathers." Jamie shook his head. "Suddenly you are not the head of the house anymore and you are sharing the tender parts of your wife with someone else. Happens to us all, my boy."

  Athol laughed, but then grew serious. "Jamie, I need to speak to you about Baron McShane."

  At once, Jamie's face clouded over. "Athol, I must tell you that I hate the man," he growled, "I am only hosting this event because no-one else would have him. His own establishment is not in a good state of repair, but Lizzie begged me, since he is her cousin, and it is more than my life is worth to refuse her. For myself, I think he is a loathsome man, and I pity the poor wee lass who has to marry him."

  "Jamie, I have heard some rumors." Athol's brow creased as he looked at his friend. Jamie was also frowning.

  "Have you heard that he beat his wife?" Jamie sighed and thumped one fist into the palm of his other hand. "But many men do that. It is barbaric but within the law."