Heart of Thanks

by Quinn, Paula

  Raphael wanted to avoid battle again. He would do almost anything, including dine and drink with the enemy and try to make them enemies no more. But he hadn’t bargained on meeting the most beautiful woman in Scotland, or that he would like sitting with her, talking to her, looking at her.

  “How do ye feel aboot peace, Elysande?” He bowed his head, hoping he hadn’t been too forward all this time using her Christian name. “May I call ye Elysande? I like the sound of it.”

  She nodded then rested her elbow on the table and her chin inside her hand. “I like how it sounds when ye say it. And I shall call ye Raphael. Ye do know that Raphael is the name of an angel, aye?”

  He laughed softly. “I dinna take after my namesake.”

  “How d’ye know that?” she asked. He thought that if she wanted him to be an angel, he would give up everything that displeased God—what was he saying? He was a fool. His father would never…her father would never…

  He should get up, leave her company. He could go sit with his father and learn a little about Nicholas MacPherson. But he didn’t want to leave her.

  “Aboot peace…”

  He blinked. “Aye?”

  She lifted her chin out of her hand and crossed her arms on the table. “I am not sure I stand on yer and Uncle Torin’s side.”

  “Och, dear lady, ye twist the knife.” He pretended to be holding on to said knife at his heart and writhed in pain.

  “Fergive me, dear sir, but with Robert the Bruce dead and his young son on the throne, we dinna have the guarantee of safety we once enjoyed with his father. If we begin lettin’ everyone into the stronghold, ’twill no longer be a stronghold. Still…”

  “Still?” he asked, praying there was hope for her.

  “If ye become the next chief, I would trust ye to keep yer word.”

  “And ye would give peace a chance between our clans?”

  “Aye,” she promised with a smile that softened her large eyes. “But ’twill take a miracle to change my father’s mind.”

  “Ah, well, then ’tis a good thing I know people,” he said, glancing up—referring to his angelic name.

  They laughed together until a shadow covered her. Raphael looked up to see a tall fellow with yellow hair and dark eyes staring down at her.

  “Ellie, I was lookin’ fer ye. I wasna expectin’ to find ye sittin’ alone with a stranger.”

  Unrattled, she glanced up and narrowed her eyes on him. “Where were ye expectin’ to find me, Hugh?” She raised her brows and waited for him to answer.

  “With yer kin,” he answered. Then he looked over his shoulder at the first generation of MacPhersons and their friends now sitting together at another table, all engaged in drinking and laughing.

  Raphael’s father was at the table as well, sitting near Nicholas. He was drinking but not laughing.

  “But I see Cain is distracted. Shall I bring the matter up with him?”

  Raphael saw Elysande’s anger boil to the surface, her eyes becoming the same icy color as her father’s.

  “Raphael Cameron,” Raphael introduced himself. His voice achieved what he wanted. The man’s attention shifted instantly to him. Raphael offered him a friendly smile.

  “Hugh Tanner.”

  “Mr. Tanner, fergive me fer sittin’ with yer wife.” He began to rise from his chair.

  “I am not his wife.” Elysande’s voice stopped him.

  Raphael knew it already because if she was anyone’s wife, someone would have mentioned it by now. Still, he stopped rising and glanced at Elysande. “Betrothed?”

  “No,” she told him, soothing his racing heart. “And I am beginnin’ to hope I never am.”

  Raphael smiled, liking her boldness, and sat back down. “In that case, Mr. Tanner, ye are free to join us, but I will remain where I am.”

  Hugh Tanner had other ideas. He reached down and grasped Raphael by the collar and pulled him to his feet.

  Raphael was here for peace.

  It took an instant to remind himself before he reacted, and an instant for a younger version of Nicholas MacPherson to reach them and yank him free.

  “Hugh, that will be enough!” the younger MacPherson said in a hushed voice and through clenched teeth. “The Camerons are our guests.” He turned Tanner around and gave his back a shove. “Now go sit somewhere else before you start a damned war.”

  “Elias MacPherson,” the brawny Highlander greeted and dragged a chair from its place. “Call me Eli.”

  Raphael introduced himself and gave Elias a more thorough looking over. “Ye were on Lord Ramsay’s ship when we came to Dunbar last spring.”

  Elias’ face broke into a smile. “Aye. I heard your tale earlier. You were on the ship, too.”

  They toasted a drink to Black Agnes and reminisced for a bit. Then, Raphael looked over Elias’ shoulder at Hugh and shook his head. “I wish there to be peace and havin’ him hate me willna do. I wonder if ye would ask him to come back.”

  Elias stared at him for a moment—mayhap two, as if he’d just sprouted another nose. Then he pushed out of his chair, pounded his way to where Hugh was sitting, dragged him up by the back of his plaid, and returned with him to the table. He ripped a chair from under the table and sat Tanner in it.

  “There,” he said to Raphael. “Is that better?”

  Raphael smiled at him and nodded then continued to smile for the next three hours while he shared food and drinks with Elysande and the rest of her siblings and cousins.

  When the end of the night finally came, Raphael hated bidding Elysande good eve. He could have stayed awake for another twenty hours talking to her. But it was best to let her go.

  That was what he told himself until he fell asleep and dreamed of her.

  Chapter Three

  Elysande dressed herself in a semi-sheer chemise and soft, white, woolen hose to her knees. She donned her purple kirtle, the one her dear friend, Margaret, embroidered with delicate swirls of gold thread along the hem of its full skirts and long, fitted sleeves that covered her knuckles. She wore a crimson cotehardie, fitted at the waist and flaring outward with a purple linen lining. She plaited her thick, dark hair into a braid that hung over her shoulder and secured a thin crimson veil to her head.

  Someone knocked at the door to her room in her parents’ manor house.

  The door opened and without invitation, though her dear cousins needed none, her cousin, Adela, entered the room and threw herself onto Elysande’s bed.

  “Happy Christmas morn, El! Oh!” she exclaimed, sitting up and taking notice of her cousin. “You look breathtaking!” Before Elysande could thank her, she closed her eyes and took in a great breath. “Do you smell the cakes and shortbread baking? ’Tis heavenly!”

  Adela was ten and six and full of enthusiasm for just about anything. She was also the bonniest lass alive in Elysande’s estimation. She resembled her mother, Aunt Julianna, Uncle Nicky’s wife, with flowing red hair and large, dark eyes, and a wide smile. Though separated by three years, they were very close. Elysande’s cousins of her own age were males. She loved them all, but she and Adela always stuck together, wrong or right, through everything.

  “Stand and let me take a look at ye,” Elysande said. Her tender smile widened when her cousin did as she asked. “I love how the green of yer dress brings out the red of yer hair. Ye will still every heart.”

  Her cousin laughed, but Elysande believed it. There were many offers for her hand, but Uncle Nicky refused them all. He wasn’t as bad as Elysande’s father. He did allow one suitor to court her for a little while before sending him away. He told the young man that if he truly loved his daughter, he would return in two years.

  “Tell me about Mr. Cameron,” Adela suggested furtively and patted the bed beside her. “Elias was discussing him with my father when I awoke. Elias told him about Mr. Cameron and Hugh. Father said he believes Mr. Cameron truly wants peace.”

  Elysande agreed with her cousin. “He is peculiar, Adela,” she told her
. “He didna shrink from my father when he was threatened. He did not run away, no, he went off with me to a nearby table, where we would be alone.”

  Elysande put her fingers under Adela’s chin and closed her mouth. “I know,” she laughed. “I like him, Adela. What shall I do? My father—”

  “I know,” her cousin consoled. “But my father says that Uncle Torin likes him, too. Mayhap they can convince Uncle Cain to change his mind. Brother Simon says that anything is possible with God, aye? And ’tis Christmas Day!”

  “And he is named after the archangel Raphael!” Elysande added.

  They both gasped, and then collapsed on the bed with laughter.

  “Get up. We will wrinkle our dresses,” Elysande said, sobering. She turned to her cousin, sitting up and slinging her legs over the side. “What shall I do in the meantime?”

  Adela’s deep, sable eyes gleamed from within. “Have a merry time.”

  Elysande stood within the loving wings of her parents and eldest brother, Tristan, to her right and her three other brothers to her left. All their eyes were set on Father Timothy at the altar of their church reciting from the Gospel of John. The scent of melting tallow wax assailed her senses and made her smile. It was a familiar scent that she loved.

  The church was heavily decorated in mountain laurel and holly and though cold seeped through the walls, candles burned everywhere—dozens being added for Christmas—and gave the church a warm and inviting atmosphere.

  The rest of her kin filled the church, singing, praying, and hungry to eat of the wonderful dishes to be served in the great hall.

  A few benches behind her stood Raphael and his father, along with their men. Could she feel his eyes on her, or was it just her hopeful heart? She ached to turn around and look at him. Once, she did. For just an instant, she turned and caught sight of him. He was looking at her and smiled. She returned the gesture and turned away before anyone noticed. But Uncle Torin saw her and seemed quite pleased. She remembered him last eve, looking just as happy when he introduced them. What was he up to, she wondered? Raphael had mentioned regretting trusting her uncle. What had Torin promised him?

  Suddenly, her heart wrenched within her. Had her uncle promised her? She turned, boldly this time, and glared at Raphael. Was he doing all this for peace, or to have her? She moved her angry stare to her uncle. How dare he connive to give her away as if she were a prized horse?

  Tears stung her eyes and she turned away and bit her tongue. She wanted to ask him if she was correct. Should she tell her father? No! There was no need to start a war. She would speak to her uncle after mass. She wasn’t sure she was even thinking clearly. Uncle Torin loved her. The father of all boys, he’d always treated her like a beloved daughter. Of course he wouldn’t trade her for peace! He didn’t truly even care about peace. He invited the Camerons to the stronghold and sought peace as a gift for his wife. Aunt Braya was the one who wanted peace. Before she married Uncle Torin, she’d been a border reiver, fighting other clans for food. It was hard for Elysande to imagine her aunt brandishing a sword, for Braya was as slight as a veil, with pale blonde hair and wide, genuine smiles. But Elysande had seen her practicing and she was deadlier than some of the men. She wanted the feud to end. Peacefully.

  Would her uncle have made the alliance with a promise of marriage?

  Elysande didn’t think she’d mind being married to Raphael, but it would be her decision, not her uncle’s. Was peace the reason Raphael had spent the night celebrating at her table? She had to know the truth.

  When the mass ended, she excused herself from her parents and brothers, with the excuse of wanting to ask Uncle Torin to recite one of his poems later.

  Her father playfully begged her not to ask. That is, she thought he was being playful. She wasn’t sure he had forgiven his brother for inviting their enemies for Christmastide.

  “Now, Father, ye know ye love his odes, and him along with them,” she teased and broke away from him. The instant he could no longer see her face, her smile faded and she set her hard gaze on her uncle.

  “Elysande.”

  She stopped at the sound of Raphael’s voice and turned slowly to look at him.

  Oh, she shouldn’t have. She couldn’t think straight with him so close. He looked especially handsome this morn dressed in a black doublet and hose with his blue and black plaid draped over his shoulder and around his waist. His black hair was loose and straight, and fell like sensual fingers to the tops of his shoulders, caressing his neck.

  “I was hopin’ ye would allow me to sit with ye again while we eat and celebrate the birth of our Lord.” He smiled, not really giving her a chance to decline him emphatically the way she should.

  “I…” She looked at her uncle about to head for the doors. She was tempted to look over her shoulder at her father to know if he was looking her way. She had never deceived him, and she wouldn’t start now. “I would like that,” she told him with a soft smile. “But first, join me while I speak a moment to my uncle.”

  He agreed, and they walked together toward the doors. If he thought to share a word with her while they went, he’d have to pick up his pace.

  “Uncle Torin,” Elysande called as she hurried to him. After a quick kiss to her dearest Aunt Braya and her cousins, she pulled Raphael forward.

  “Ye already know Raphael Cameron.”

  Her uncle offered Raphael a bright smile and pulled him closer for a heftier pat on the back. “Aye, how d’ye like it here so far, lad?”

  Elysande tried to keep her mouth shut but she could not. “Enough to wed me, no doubt!”

  Everyone standing around her opened their eyes wide. Her aunt, who was no exception, shooed her sons away then turned back to her. “Elysande, are ye ill?” She stared into Elysande’s eyes as if trying to silently convey the need to close up her niece’s mouth.

  “What was that I just heard ye say aboot weddin’ someone, Elysande?” her father asked, coming close.

  “Elysande was recitin’ a line from one of my poems,” Uncle Torin told him.

  “Oh?” her father asked, eyeing Raphael suspiciously. “Which one?”

  “The one aboot Alisdair MacLauchlan’s long snout,” her uncle answered. “Would ye like to hear some of it?

  “There was a young fool—”

  Her father held up his palm. “No more.” He took a step toward the doorway with the rest of his family then turned back to Raphael. “Ye, come with me.”

  No. Elysande tried to stop it. If her father got Raphael alone, he would frighten him away. “Father—”

  “Of course,” Raphael cut her off. “I was hopin’ fer a moment or two with ye, Commander.”

  Elysande watched them leave. Out of her sight. What if her father killed him? Dinna be ridiculous, Elysande, she told herself. He would never go so far.

  “El, what was that ootburst aboot?” her uncle asked, pulling her thoughts away from Raphael running away.

  “I know all aboot yer plan to have us marry fer peace. Ye will never convince Father and ye will never convince me.”

  “What the bloody hell are ye talkin’ aboot, gel?” he exclaimed. “Braya, check her fer fever.”

  Her aunt came closer and reached out but Elysande moved out of the way. “I’m well, I assure ye. Ye traded me fer peace, Uncle Torin.” She hated herself for it, but tears stung her eyes.

  He gathered her in his arms immediately and kissed the top of her head. “My wee gel. I love ye as my own. Ye are the daughter we never had. Aye, Braya, my love?”

  “Aye,” her aunt agreed, closing her arms around them both.

  “I’m hurt that ye would think such a thing of me,” he said, crushing her heart. “But now that ye mention it, if ye werena opposed to such a union, I would be on yer side.”

  She almost smiled. But she remembered her outburst and nearly fainted. She never wanted to face Raphael again. She would rather be swallowed up by the ground and never return.

  Chapter Four

 
Raphael stood with Cain MacPherson in the great hall sipping athole brose, a drink made from oats, honey, and whisky. The honey was sweet and the whisky was potent. His father sat at the MacPhersons’ table again, sharing a word with Cain’s wife and another beautiful woman with flaming red locks who, judging from where she sat during mass, was Nicholas’ wife.

  “Cameron,” Cain addressed him menacingly. “I dinna know why ye are here. I only know yer kin are deceitful, dishonorable men and have been fer centuries.”

  “The Camerons say the same aboot ye, Commander,” Raphael countered. Of course he feared the commander. But that didn’t mean he would recoil in fear. “Ye are infamous fer fightin’ mercilessly at Bannockburn. Yer brother, Torin, is known fer his great ability to deceive and bring down strongholds from within. Less is known of the youngest, Nicholas—”

  “Leave him oot of this,” Cain warned.

  Raphael nodded. “Verra well. I am not my kin, nor am I my father. I dinna agree with his ideas aboot peace. I believe the feuds could and should end. Enough blood has been shed.”

  Cain narrowed his eyes on him. “Those are nice words, but unless yer father is gone, there will be no peace between us. And just in case there are other thoughts swirlin’ aboot in yer head, stay fer another moment. There is somethin’ I want ye to hear.”

  He put his hand on Raphael’s shoulder and called attention. Everyone looked up and set their gazes on him and Raphael. “Today is a day filled with blessings, the first of which I give to my daughter.”

  Raphael’s heartbeat sped up.

  “Today, I announce Elysande’s betrothal to Hugh Tanner.”

  Some people cheered. Elysande stood up, looking pale and ill and ran from the hall. Raphael pulled his shoulder from beneath her father’s hand. He was angry. He would not back down.

  “Ye would hurt her to prove a point to me? I didna think ye a fool, Commander.”

  “Watch yer tongue, Cameron,” Cain warned through a tight jaw.