by Amy Jarecki
Gyllis pattered in behind Ma. “But he was unconscious. Lady Meg told—”
“Enough,” Lady Margaret cut Gyllis off and returned her attention to Duncan. “We have no choice but to insist Sir Sean makes a proposal of marriage to Gyllis this very day, else she and your sisters will be ruined and I shall never find husbands for them all.”
Duncan cast a heated look in Sean’s direction. “Bloody Christmas, Mother. How the devil did you arrive so early? Do not tell me you rode all night.”
“And why ever not? After I received word that my son, my daughter and the mother of my grandchild were embroiled in a battle with a ruthless scourge. Of course I gathered the guard and rode all night.” She jabbed her finger into Duncan’s sternum. “But that is not the issue at hand. You must have words with Sir Sean. There are people mulling about everywhere. News of my daughter’s indiscretion will run rampant.”
“But—”
Mother stretched a bit taller. “I’d be surprised if the rumors haven’t already spread.”
“I do not—”
“Thank the good Lord I arrived when I did. The only way to avoid a scandal is if you accept his proposal of marriage to your sister forthwith.”
Duncan scratched his head. “Are you finished?”
With a satisfied and aristocratic rise of her chin, Lady Margaret took Gyllis by the hand. “Follow me, dear. We must leave the men to talk.” On the way out she shook her finger at Duncan. “I do not want you to leave this chamber until you have come to an agreement.”
Despite the excruciating pain in his shoulder, Sean withheld his urge to laugh. Aside from Lady Meg, Lady Margaret was the only person Sean had ever seen make Duncan eat his words. But he had no illusions that his friend would be in a bear of a mood. Sean eased to his good side and forced himself to sit up.
Duncan faced him and glowered. “You’re the only man I know who could cause a scandal whilst out senseless.”
Sean tried to smile, but his lip split. “Aye, and I didn’t even chance to have any fun.” He winced, Christ, sometimes he didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.
“Bloody damnation and ballocks to that.” At least Duncan didn’t hit him. “You look like shite.”
“Feel like it, too.” He licked the blood from his lip. “You ken I’ve always been in love with Gyllis.”
“Aye, but I’ve fought your affinity for my sister for years.” Duncan sat on the bed beside him. “You’ll have to put an end to your womanizing, else I’ll be forced to tell Ma the girls are ruined.”
“You’d do that?” Sean forced a grin. The lusty laddie moniker had to go. He hated to admit it to Duncan, but it was time to bare his soul. “I haven’t looked at a woman other than Gyllis in over a year. Even after you sent me to the miserable borders, I kept to myself.” God, his head hurt. Everything hurt as if he’d been bludgeoned within an inch of his life. “I love her, Duncan. I would die for her.”
“Even after her paralysis? You ken she may never be graceful—never dance again.”
“Do you think I care? I love Gyllis for the angel she is in her heart.” Sean swiped a hand across his chapped lips. “I’ve loved her since your mother forced us to take part in all those silly dancing lessons, and my love for her grew tenfold after Gyllis, stricken with paralysis, rowed from Dunstaffnage to the southern tip of Kerrera because she remembered a threat Alan MacCoul made months prior—a threat you heard him utter.”
“And yet I didn’t believe her. I, too, can be a dunce at times.” Shaking his head, the corners of Duncan’s mouth turned up. “Very well, I shall agree to your betrothal, but you will not spend another moment alone with my sister until after your vows are sealed.”
Sean held up his palm. “Just allow me a modicum of time.”
Duncan eyed him.
“I’m in no condition to take advantage of the lass—and she needs a proper proposal.”
“Very well.” He held up a finger just like his Ma had done only moments ago. “But keep in mind, I will be right outside.”
When Duncan opened the door, Lady Margaret, Lady Meg and Gyllis all stared up at him as if they were trying to pretend they hadn’t overheard a word. He ushered Gyllis into the chamber. “Sir Sean wants to speak to you for a moment and that is all I will allow.”
When the door closed behind her, Gyllis tiptoed inside with her hands steepled to her lips. “I am sorry all of this had to happen whilst you are in so much pain.”
Sean stood, his legs wobbling beneath him. The past few days had nearly sent him to an early grave.
Gyllis rushed forward and grasped his elbow. “You should still be abed.”
“Mind you, that’s exactly where I’m headed, but there’s one thing I must do first.” Thank God he didn’t fall on his face as he went down on bended knee. He took her hand in his palms.
Her wee gasp made his blood thrum anew.
Taking a big inhale he stared at the eyes that had enraptured him since boyhood—the only lips he wanted to kiss, the woman who had grown to mean so much to him. “Gyllis Marietta Campbell, you have shown me courage beyond that of any man I know. You have shown me perseverance to rival the greatest of men, and you are the dearest and most stunning creature I have ever seen. I love you more passionately than life itself…You have claimed my heart. Will you do me the honor of agreeing to be my wife?”
By the time he’d finished the brief proclamation of his undying love, a tear spilled from Gyllis’s eye and splashed on the back of his hand. Keeping her palm in his grasp, he first kissed her salty tear, then turned her hand and pressed his lips against it.
“Aye,” she whispered. “I will marry you, Sir Sean MacDougall.”
33
After Sean’s proposal, they had decided to hold the wedding at Kilbride Church on Dunollie lands. In front of the polished copper mirror, Gyllis sat in the chamber where she’d tried to sleep that first night when she’d visited Dunollie—the one where she and Sean couldn’t return to Ardchattan due to the flooding.
Helen straightened Gyllis’s gold veil which was held in place by a circlet encrusted with emeralds. “You make a beautiful bride.”
Gyllis offered a sheepish smile. “If only I could have been at your wedding.”
“It was nice, though not as well attended as yours.” Helen toyed with Gyllis’s collar. “My, Mother must have invited half of Argyllshire.”
“I believe she did.” Gyllis chuckled. “And how is life as the Lady of Ardnamurchan?”
Helen glanced toward the window. “I enjoy running the keep—just as I always thought I might.”
“And Sir Aleck? Is he treating you well?”
“Aye, I suppose. He’s an unusual man when he’s home. He’s oft away—embroiled in the feud with the MacDonalds.” She reached for a bottle of rose oil sitting atop the sideboard. “He’s as fierce a warrior as I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh my, that is saying something, with Duncan Campbell as our brother and the Highland Enforcers always mulling about Kilchurn Castle.”
Helen dabbed a bit of the oil behind her ear. “True.” There was sadness in her voice.
Gyllis placed a palm on her sister’s arm. “Is he tender with you?”
“Not really.” A wee tear glistened at the corner of Helen’s eye. “If anything he’s gruff. But I needn’t worry overmuch. Thus far, he’s not been around long enough for it to be a bother.”
Gyllis pulled Helen into her arms. It didn’t seem right for her to be so happy when her sister was not.
“Enough of that.” Helen backed away and grasped Gyllis’s shoulders. “We are here to celebrate your marriage to Sir Sean MacDougall this day. At least one of us caught the man of our dreams.”
“And you must know you are welcome at Dunollie at any time with or without your warrior husband.”
“Thank you. One never knows. I may end up on your stoop with a satchel over my shoulder.”
Gyllis dabbed Helen’s eye with a kerchief. “I’m sure things will improv
e.”
“Aye, Mother said the same. She told me the first year is always the worst. As you recall, hers was an arranged marriage, and things did not start well between her and Da.”
Gyllis chuckled. “I remember the stories well.”
A rap came at the door. “It is time.” Duncan stepped inside. “Are you ready?”
Butterflies flitted in Gyllis’s stomach as she glanced around the room. “I was ready sennights ago.”
Sean hadn’t been this nervous when he went before the king on the day of his knighthood. Why he was anxious at all baffled him. He loved Gyllis, and had waited throughout an agonizing month while her mother invited half of Scotland to the wedding feast…but still, he paced in front of the altar.
It seemed like an eternity had passed since Duncan had left to fetch Gyllis. What if she suddenly had a change of mind? Sean clenched his fist. Gyllis wouldn’t do that.
The church pews were filled with people. In fact there were so many in attendance, groups stood at the back of the nave. Where did they all hail from?
John Campbell took his place in front of the altar, holding a black prayer book. “You could sit until they arrive. You look like a caged dog.”
Sean shot the priest an annoyed glare. But he did sit—for about two blinks of an eye and then he was back on his feet. “Sitting only makes it worse.”
John frowned—probably because he thought he should. If the former knight hadn’t gone off and joined the priesthood, he’d be laughing and giving the Dunollie Chieftain a good rib about now.
When the double doors finally opened, Sean held his breath. Duncan led Gyllis inside and they stood at the rear of the aisle. She smiled. Sean’s insides melted. By God, she was stunning. Wearing a golden headdress, the silken wimple framed her face, enhancing her vivacious coloring. Green eyes, pink cheeks, lips as red as rubies. She wore a high-collared, woven red-and-gold mantle over a silken kirtle that made her look as regal as the queen. When they proceeded down the aisle, Sean hardly noticed her limp. God, she was amazing. It hadn’t even been a half-year since she’d contracted paralysis and look how far she’d come.
By the time she arrived beside him, Sean’s nervousness had been replaced by complete and utter adoration. Duncan offered her hand and he grasped it, hoping never to let go. “I’ve missed you.”
Her radiant smile melted yet another piece of his heart. Gyllis inclined her lips toward his ear. “I though this past month would never pass.”
“I cannot wait until the feast is over so I can whisk you above stairs,” he whispered out the corner of his mouth.
She leaned into him and winked. “But we shall need sustenance first.”
If he hadn’t been in a church, Sean would have burst out laughing.
John cleared his throat. “Shall we begin?”
Sean gave a nod and the Latin mass commenced. There was only one thing he could focus on, and that was the face of the incredible woman who stood before him. How such a lady could love a man such as he, the Chieftain of Dunollie—former Lusty Laddie—he would never know, but he loved her with a fire so passionate the torch he carried for Gyllis could never be snuffed.
Author’s Note
Thank you for joining me for Gyllis and Sean’s journey. This was an interesting story to write, indeed. Because there are so many people named John in this series, I used “Sean” for the hero’s first name. As you may have guessed, the 11th Chieftain of Dunollie was John MacDougall, of MacDougall. I also left the date of this story ambiguous, because I believe John was much older when he actually married Gyllis Campbell.
The facts in the genealogy record do detail that John MacDougall’s uncle, the Lord of Lorn (also named John) asked for protection from the MacDougall Clan during his wedding at Dunstaffnage Chapel. Alan MacCoul, MacDougall’s illegitimate brother, stabbed Lorn outside the chapel doors. The Lord of Lorn took his vows while he was dying, thus granting his son the lordship. Alan MacCoul then laid siege to Dunstaffnage Castle and did imprison John MacDougall in irons on the Isle of Kerrera where he almost died.
The Campbells (reported as being led by Colin Campbell, the Lord of Argyll) fought and reclaimed Dunstaffnage, and Alan MacCoul is said to have slipped away. The record says nothing about who actually rescued John MacDougall from the cave, thus it was convenient to have Gyllis perform that act of heroism.
Next up in the Highland Dynasty series is Lady Helen and her abominable marriage to Aleck MacIain. With luck, Eoin MacGregor might perform his own acts of heroism in Highland Knight of Rapture.
Highland Knight of Rapture
Highland Dynasty Series—Book Four
1
Mingary Castle, the Highlands. March, 1493
Clenching every muscle in her body, Helen bore down with her remaining shreds of strength. She’d crossed the threshold of her endurance hours ago. Pain no longer mattered. After twenty-four hours of labor, she needed to expunge this bairn from her womb if it killed her, which may very well come about.
Her body shuddered as she shrieked through her grating voice box, pushing until her eyes bulged. “I…” she panted. “Cannot. Take. Anymore!”
“You can!” Glenda shouted. “Just a bit longer, m’lady.”
Helen sucked in a gasp of air. If she weren’t on the brink of death, she’d give her chambermaid a strong rebuttal. But before she could open her mouth, the blinding pain intensified. Panting, she gripped the bed linens and clenched her teeth so taut, they might just shatter. “Eeeeeeee,” she screeched.
“I see the head, m’lady. Keep. Pushing!”
Helen loved Glenda, but by the saints, the woman had to be the spawn of the devil to encourage this mounting torture.
Straining so hard her skull throbbed, Helen gulped one more deep breath and pushed. This had to be the end. Swooning, she could take no more. Stars darted through her vision. Her insides ripped and tore. Many women died in childbirth.
Would she, too?
Blessed Mother Mary, help me, I must survive.
Then as if her prayer had been answered, the bairn slid out between her legs. Her pain subsided.
Helen collapsed against the pillows.
A slap resounded through the chamber. A wee cry sang out.
Helen’s heart soared.
“’Tis a lass, m’lady.”
She could have floated to the canopy above. Pushing the sweat-soaked hair from her brow, Helen smiled. “A wee lassie?” Joyful tears welled in her eyes. Suddenly, all the pain and agony seemed worthwhile as the infant’s angelic voice gasped and cried. It was the most delightful sound she’d ever heard. She reached up. “I want to hold her.”
“Let me finish cleansing her and then you can make the bond,” Glenda said from across the chamber.
With a sigh, Helen gazed at the scarlet canopy above. She’d never been so elated, yet so exhausted.
Glenda came into view, a wide grin on her careworn face. She settled the bairn in Helen’s waiting arms. “What will you call the lass, m’lady?”
Helen regarded the beet-red infant yawning at her. She had a tiny bow-shaped mouth, enormous blue eyes and a smattering of black curls atop her head. “You shall be named Margaret after my mother, but I shall call you Maggie, because you are the most adorable wee bairn I have ever seen.” She kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “And your second name shall be Alice after my younger sister. I like the sound of Alice ever so much.”
With a fragrance as fresh as morning’s dew, Maggie turned her head toward Helen’s breast and nudged.
“She can smell your milk, m’lady.” Glenda untied Helen’s linen shift and opened the front. “Hold Maggie to your teat. She’ll ken what to do.”
Helen moved the bairn in place, and just as Glenda had said, Maggie started to suckle. But it burned. Alarmed, Helen gasped and shot a panicked look at her chambermaid.
“Do not worry, m’lady. It stings a bit at first, but eases as soon as your milk starts to flow.”
Again, Glenda was ri
ght and the stinging lessened as quickly as it had come on.
Watching the miracle in her arms, Helen sighed. “I do not ken what I would do without you, Glenda. You are so wise with these things.”
“Aye?” The chambermaid chuckled. “Having three bairns of my own gave me all the learning I needed, I suppose.”
Helen stiffened when the door opened. Her husband strode into the chamber, his heavy boots clomping over the floorboards while the sword and dirk belted at his waist clanked against his iron hauberk. She would never grow accustomed to Aleck MacIain’s harsh mien. With a bald head and black steely eyes, she’d yet to discover his compassionate side, despite five years of marriage. That the bulky man entered wearing his weapons, along with muddy boots, spoke volumes about his lack of respect for her.
Though Helen’s skin crawled, she feigned a smile—the same one she always used to mask her fear. “Come meet your daughter, m’laird.”
He stopped mid-stride and glared. “You mean to tell me that after five miserable years of waiting, you only manage to produce a lass?”
Helen tensed and glanced to Glenda. The chambermaid met her gaze with a frown, then snapped her attention to gathering the soiled linens. No one in the clan dared confront the Chieftain of Mingary, lest they be turned out to fend for themselves. A knot clamped in Helen’s stomach. Aleck may be a tyrant toward her, but he would respect their daughter. “She is our firstborn—a lovely, healthy bairn. ’Tis not always a misfortune for a daughter to come first. We will have other children, of that I am certain.”
He dropped his gaze to her exposed breast and frowned. “I have misgivings about your ability to be successful at bearing lads, given the length of time it took to conceive a lass.” He grunted. “At least you’ve gained some shape to your udders, though I doubt they’ll stay that way.”
Helen turned her face away, heat prickling the back of her neck. Bless it, she’d just birthed his bairn and he hadn’t a kind word to say? She bit back the tears threatening to well in her eyes. A long time ago, she’d vowed Aleck MacIain would not make her weep. She’d spent every day of the past five years trying to please him—looking at every insult as another chance to better herself. But her efforts had never been enough.
