by Alisa Adams
His eyes were a deep blue-gray instead of the bright blue of Rodric’s, and now, instead of their usual ferocity, they were calm and tender.
“Thank you, M’Laird,” she said, smiling. “All I ask is to be by Rodric’s side and be a good wife to him. He is the love of my life.”
“And you are mine,” Rodric said, smiling. They looked at each other lovingly for a moment, then Andrew spoke again.
“How can that come about when we are about to make war on your family, Lady Adaira?” he asked, and suddenly his face was that of a grim warrior again. “Many of them will die at the hands of Montrose warriors.”
“Then I will die with them,” Rodric growled. “I see no reason for a needless loss of life even if you do, Father. I will not take part in a battle just for the sake of shedding blood if I can think of a way of avoiding it. Remember Father, there will be wounded and dead on both sides, and the Strachans are inside a huge fortress. We can wait them out, that is true, because we can replenish our food stocks, but those”—he pointed upwards to the massive walls and turrets of the castle—“will be hard to breach. It would be better to parley and reach a truce. After all, one life lost is one too many.”
Andrew looked out over the encampment, thinking. As a seasoned warrior and an experienced leader of men, it went against all his instincts to talk and not fight. The battlefield was familiar territory for him, and he had never in his entire life walked away from a fight.
“Should we ask the men?” Rodric suggested, raising his eyebrows as he looked his father squarely in the eyes, which were now dark with anger.
“No!” Andrew snapped. “I am the leader and they are the followers. This is my decision to make, and I want to fight.”
“Then you will do it without me, Father,” Rodric said grimly. “I will not see Adaira’s family massacred because you are a soldier rather than a man. You would rather have men killed than lose face. I want to respect you, Father, but it is becoming hard.”
Father and son stared at each other for a moment, but it was Andrew who looked away first. “Go and eat,” he ordered. “I need some time to think.”
“Do not take too long, Father,” Rodric warned. “Your men are becoming restless.” Rodric had no idea about the men’s state of mind, but he wanted his father to think seriously about their lives.
The Montrose warriors welcomed Rodric eagerly into their camp. They were uneasy about greeting Adaira, however, and many suspicious glances were cast her way, but with Rodric’s arm around her, Adaira was not afraid. However, at last they came to the campfire of an old friend of Rodric’s whose mother had worked as his own mother’s lady’s maid.
“Campbell Lachlan!” Rodric cried joyfully. Campbell was half a head shorter and considerably less muscular than Rodric, but he hugged the bigger man with all his might. He had the sandy hair and gray eyes of many of his countrymen from the East Coast, which the Norsemen had attacked and plundered, raping women and leaving their seed behind. Campbell had a cheerful disposition and was an irrepressible optimist, and everyone gravitated around him to be warmed by his good humor.
Now he stood a little away from Rodric, folded his arms, and smiled. “Have ye no’ got bigger since the last time I saw ye?” he asked quizzically.
Rodric laughed. “No, Cam, but I think you might have shrunk. Has your father been using you as a fence post again?”
Campbell flapped his hand at Rodric. “Pfft!” he scoffed. “He hasnae done that for years. He dresses me up in rags an’ uses me as a scarecrow now.”
Adaira dissolved into a fit of giggles, and Campbell gave Rodric a meaningful look and a sideways nod in her direction which plainly said: Can you introduce us?
Rodric frowned and breathed a heavy sigh. This was the moment when his friend’s smile would disappear and a wall of thinly-veiled hostility would come up. “Campbell Lachlan, this is my betrothed, Lady Adaira Strachan.”
A look of sheer incredulity passed over Campbell’s face, but not for the reason Adaira thought. “You?” He pointed at Rodric in astonishment. “Betrothed? Tae a woman? A lovely lady like this?”
“Well you don’t want me to marry my horse, do you?” Rodric laughed.
“You couldn’t even if you wanted to,” Adaira said solemnly as Rodric gave her a puzzled look. “He’s a stallion.”
Rodric hugged her while the two men laughed heartily, but just as Campbell was about to pour each of them a tankard of ale, a messenger came to tell Rodric that the chief wanted to see him.
“Lady Strachan,” Campbell said quietly, “I have never seen my friend look sae happy. I dinnae know what yer story is, but I care not whether ye are a Strachan or a Montrose, as long as ye dae not break his heart.”
“I swear to you I never will, Campbell,” she replied. “I love him.”
“Then I wish ye both every happiness,” he said, smiling.
“I have decided that perhaps you are right,” Andrew Montrose said, as he poured each of them a measure of whiskey. “I took your advice and asked some of the men, and they agree with you, Rodric. They would rather parley than do battle.”
“I am a Strachan,” Adaira said, trying to keep a tremor out of her voice. “I can speak on your behalf.”
Andrew looked at her for a moment. She was obviously a woman of spirit and courage, someone he could respect. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” he answered, in the deep gruff voice that was so like Rodric’s. “I will send a missive and have one of my men deliver it under a flag of truce. Nevertheless, thank you for the offer, milady. It is much appreciated.” He gave her one of his rare smiles and she felt as though she had been blessed.
Andrew sat down to write the missive to Duncan, and sat for a long time sucking his quill and wondering what to say. Eventually, he began to write.
* * *
The Clan Chief, Duncan Strachan,
* * *
I am sending this missive with my unarmed representative in the interest of peace between our two families. We are currently besieging your castle as I write this. You know that this is costly in both time and money for both of us, but if you choose to surrender the castle to me then there need be no shedding of blood. Let us talk in a place that is agreeable to both of us so that we can agree on the Terms of Surrender. I suggest the village church. If you agree, please return your answer with the messenger. I pray that you choose peace, and I give you my word that no harm will come to you or your men if you lay down your arms.
* * *
With my best regards and goodwill,
* * *
Clan Chief Andrew Montrose.
* * *
An armored but unarmed soldier was sent to deliver the message. When Duncan read it he laughed aloud, but it was a bitter, angry laugh. “Surrender?” he said disgustedly. “I am never going to surrender to Montrose. He must have lost his wits.” He looked at the messenger and handed him back the paper without writing on it. “You may give your master a message from me,” he said angrily. “The answer is no, no, and no again.”
16
Love Under Siege
The soldier relayed the message to Andrew while Rodric and Adaira were still with him. When Rodric heard that his father had asked Duncan to surrender, he was furious.
“We were meant to talk!” he shouted. “Not to give him an ultimatum to surrender. You knew he would turn it down!”
“Did I?” Andrew said scornfully. “I gave him the chance to honorably avoid battle and he refused it. That is not my fault!”
The two men glared at each other, and Adaira almost laughed at their identical expressions of hostility. Again, Andrew dropped his gaze first and stamped around the fire angrily, unable to keep still.
Presently, they all looked up as a lone bagpiper began to play on the battlements above to announce the arrival of Duncan Strachan, the acting clan chief, who appeared at the battlements dressed in his best ceremonial finery.
He looks ridiculous, Adaira thought. He was too short and
skinny to wear the oversized tabard properly, and his reedy voice, unlike that of Rodric or Andrew, barely carried to the camp a few feet below where he stood.
“Andrew Montrose,” he called, “I reject your proposition, but I am willing to parley with you if you send my sister to see me here just after dawn tomorrow. I will speak with her and only her. If I do not see her by noon I will assume we are at war.”
“There is still hope,” Adaira pointed out. “He says he will speak to me.”
“No!” Rodric roared. “I will not let you go. I forbid it!”
It was the worst thing he could have said. Adaira felt a cold trickle of anger running down her spine. “I am still a single woman, Rodric,” she said in a quiet but menacing voice. “I do not need your permission to do anything, and if I want to go and see my brother then I will, whether you like it or not!” They glared at each other for a long moment before Rodric turned on his heel and stamped away.
Andrew sat on the grass beside her and gave her a cup of wine. “He will get over it,” he said fondly. “He is always quick to heat up and quick to cool down.” He handed her an earthenware goblet. “My last wineskin,” he said regretfully. “Sláinte Mhath, Adaira.”
“Sláinte Mhath,” she replied, smiling as they clinked their cups together.
“You love my son?” he asked, sipping his wine. “Even though you are a Strachan?”
“With all my heart,” she replied fervently. “And anyway, when I am married to Rodric, my name will no longer be Strachan, but Montrose. I think that the best solution to our problem is through marriage, not war; with love and not hate.”
Andrew thought about that for a moment. “You may be right,” he conceded. “I am a soldier, and have been one for most of my life, so war is the first thing that comes to mind as the solution to any problem. Most men are the same. We pretend to be civilized, but we are still savages inside.”
“Rodric is not,” Adaira pointed out. “He would only fight in self-defense, or to protect me or someone else he loves. He is the best man I know.”
There was silence for a few moments, then Rodric came and threw himself down beside Adaira on the grass. He gazed at her for a long moment. “I am so sorry,” he said, picking up her hand and kissing it. “After the way your brother treated me, I am afraid for you too.”
“He will not lay a finger on me,” Adaira said grimly. “He is a weak man, and he knows that I can hurt him far more than he can hurt me. Do not worry, my love.”
Rodric smiled and kissed her softly on the lips, then said, “I could eat a whole stag!”
Adaira giggled. “Apparently some of your men shot an old stag today from Strachan land,” she told him. “If they had roasted it there would not have been enough to go around, so they made it into stew.” Her stomach rumbled, and she remembered that she had not eaten since breakfast. They made their way towards the stew pot where one of the wives of the soldiers was ladling the fragrant mixture into bowls, and Adaira’s mouth began to water. The woman frowned as she saw her.
“Havenae seen ye here before, hen,” she observed, giving Adaira a thorough inspection from head to foot and back again. Adaira had the distinct feeling that she was being weighed in the scales of the woman’s approval and found wanting.
“Adaira is my betrothed, Maggie,” Rodric said proudly.
Immediately the woman’s face broke into a huge smile. “Aboot time!” she laughed and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “I wish ye both joy, an’ may all yer troubles be wee ones!” She winked. They laughed as they moved away. Adaira was so hungry she ate as she walked so that by the time they were back at camp she had finished her entire bowlful.
“The ladies all love you, do they not?” she teased Rodric. She had decided to spoon-feed him like a baby and he was loving it.
“How can they help themselves?” he asked her, almost preening himself. “I am irresistible!”
“Indeed you are!” She placed the last spoonful in his mouth.
“Do you think there is any more?” he asked hopefully.
“There is none,” Andrew said, returning with his own plate, which was still full. He looked sadly at his son. “Sorry.”
Rodric looked at the food enviously, devouring it with his eyes, then he sighed. He was reminded of the days he had spent starving in captivity.
Adaira, seeing his face and guessing his thoughts, attempted to distract him. She smiled at him then pushed him back to lie on the grass. “You can feast on my lips,” she whispered mischievously.
He needed no second bidding. He pulled her down beside him and devoured her lips with his, regardless of the fact that his father and the rest of the camp were looking on with great interest.
When she drew away from Rodric, Adaira stretched out on the grass beside him and lay counting the stars for a while before the urge to kiss him came over her again even more strongly than before.
He had obviously felt the same urge, for he propped himself up on one elbow and began to lower his mouth to hers, but she put two fingers over his lips to stop him. He frowned, looking hurt. “What—” he began, but she shook her head.
“Not here, with everyone looking,” she said. “Your father has given me a tent to sleep in that is big enough for two. I will go first, then you must wait a few moments and join me, but make sure no one sees you or my reputation will be ruined!”
He laughed softly.
“It is no laughing matter!” she scolded him. “A woman’s reputation is fragile.”
“My love,” he said, smiling at her fondly. “We are going to be married, and before that, I swear that you shall remain untouched. Your reputation is safe with me.”
She punched him gently on the shoulder, smiling, then crept into her tent, which was some distance away from the others to give her privacy. For once, she was glad that Maudie was not with her. A few moments later, a large masculine shape burrowed its way into the tent and sat beside her.
“Are you warm enough?” Rodric asked huskily, putting an arm around her waist. He rubbed his cheek against hers and she giggled, loving the feel of his scratchy stubble.
“I am now,” she replied, laying her head against his broad chest and sighing with contentment.
He drew her down onto the blanket-covered ground and they lay facing each other, smiling. “I cannot remember what I did before I met you,” he murmured. “You mean everything to me, Adaira. If anything happened to you, I do not know what would happen to me.”
“Shhh,” she whispered. “Nothing is going to happen to me. My brother is a weakling, and his men despise him. They only follow him in order to feed their families.”
Rodric gazed into Adaira’s soft brown eyes, thinking that he had never seen such a beautiful woman and wondering why she had chosen a big brute like him to love. He never wanted to be anywhere else but by her side for the rest of his days
Adaira reached around to untie the thong from his hair, then she pulled it out of its plait and spread it out so that it mingled with her own, deep red and black together on the blanket. For a long time they lay in comfortable silence before he touched her lips with his forefinger, tracing their outline and running his thumb along her full lower lip.
He pulled her into his arms, none too gently, but she welcomed his roughness and his strength, because it reminded her of the power he had to protect her. Then they were kissing frantically, passionately, as if it were the last time they would ever be together.
When they drew apart, she whispered, “I want to be married as soon as we can. I don’t want to have a big fuss, and I want to have our baby in my arms a year from now.”
He laughed softly. “Are those my orders, milady?”
“Indeed they are,” she laughed.
“Then I suppose I must comply,” he said, sighing as his lips met hers again. This time the kiss was long, slow, and deep, and neither wanted to end it, but it had to end at last. They lay with their foreheads touching, caressing each other gently. The world see
med to have shrunk to the size of the small space they inhabited, with no one there but the two of them. Adaira wished it would stay that way; she was dreading the morning.
Suddenly he said softly, “You have such power over me, Adaira.”
She laughed, astonished, then felt the iron-hard muscles in his arms, and ran her hands over his firm, flat chest muscles that were so different to her own soft curves. “No, Rodric,” she murmured. “This is power.”
He shook his head. “No, this is strength. Bodily strength. But you have the power to make me do whatever you want, Adaira, because I would do anything for you. I would kill for you. I would die for you. That is how much I love you.”
The tenderness in his eyes was almost too much for her to bear, and she burst into tears. He pulled her more tightly to him and kissed them away. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I did not mean to make you cry, my love.”
Adaira shook her head. “Happy tears,” she said, wiping them away with her fingers.
“I must go,” he whispered.
“No!” she cried, clinging desperately onto the front of his shirt to stop him. “Not yet, not when we are so close and comfortable.”
He sighed and smiled at her again. “Reputation?”
“I no longer care,” she growled, frowning mutinously. “I want some more of your wonderful kisses, and I know just how to get them!” She pulled him to her by the front of his shirt and held him by the back of his head so that he could not move away.
He was helpless. He would have done anything to taste her lips and she knew it. When they finally drew apart she had kissed him into dizziness, and he sighed and laid his head on her breast. “That is what I mean by power,” he said happily.
“Mmmm...” she murmured. “I must sleep, Rodric, and you must hold me when I close my eyes. I always feel safe with your arms around me.”