Seduced By Her Highland Prisoner: A Scottish Medieval Historical Romance

by Alisa Adams

  Adaira gazed down at him, her heart filled with pity. Everything he said was true, but she could not hate him. “Get up, Duncan,” she said gently. “No one is going to fight anymore. We have thought of a better way of making peace. Rodric and I will be married, our two clans will be united, and there will be a lasting peace. You know I would never have married MacCormick.”

  Duncan looked stunned for a moment, then he smiled. “It is a wonderful idea, but do you think it will work?” he asked hopefully. “Do you think Father will agree?”

  “I have already asked him,” Adaira replied, smiling. “He thinks it is a wonderful idea. It has long been his dream to mend the rift between our two clans, but since his illness...” She trailed off and looked at Duncan. She could not say what she really thought: that it was her brother’s stubbornness that had widened the rift between the two clans. It would hurt him far too much.

  Duncan looked fearfully at Rodric, but Rodric patted him on the shoulder. “I love this sister of yours.” He smiled. “When we are joined together in marriage, nothing will part us or our clans.”

  “Am I forgiven?” Duncan asked.

  “We will drink to it,” Rodric replied. They went into Duncan’s parlor and Duncan poured three measures of whiskey.

  “To the clans Strachan and Montrose!” Rodric said joyfully.

  “Sláinte Mhath!” they chorused.

  19

  The Wedding of Two Clans

  Duncan was going to enter the church with Adaira, and suddenly, far from the small, self-important immature boy he had been, he had grown into a man. He stood straighter, looked taller, and in his clan finery he was passably handsome.

  He grinned from ear to ear when he saw her. “How lovely you look, Adaira!” he breathed, then took a little purple velvet box from his pocket and said, “A finishing touch.”

  Adaira opened the box and saw inside a little gold locket shaped like a heart. “It is not yet complete, because it still needs a miniature of Rodric on one side and you on the other. I will attend to that as soon as I can.”

  Adaira gasped and her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Duncan!” she said joyously. “I will treasure it forever.” She turned around so that he could see it, and his smile warmed her heart.

  “I swear I will be a better brother from now on,” he promised earnestly. “Now, this day is all about you and Rodric, so let us not keep him waiting any longer.”

  Adaira nodded and kissed Duncan on the cheek, then they entered the church.

  Rodric had not had a wink of sleep the night before. He was worried that all his bruises would look too unsightly, that he would forget his vows, that he would lose the ring, or trip over his feet, or that any number of disasters would befall him. He made it through the night, though, but Andrew Montrose laughed when he saw his face.

  “My God, Rodric,” he said dryly, “it’s a wedding you’re going to, not a funeral.” He handed his son a glass of wine. “Did I ever tell you how proud I am of you?”

  “Not lately, Father,” he replied.

  Andrew hugged him. “Well, I am proud of you and what you are doing,” he said. “And don’t worry, we were all nervous wrecks on our wedding day!”

  Father and son laughed together, and with one more “Sláinte Mhath,” they left.

  When Adaira reached him he knew he would never be alone again, and the realization sent a flood of warmth and happiness over him. The trials of the last few months were in the past, and the future beckoned like the sun rising after a long, dark winter night.

  Adaira had never in her life imagined herself marrying for love; ever since she was a little girl, it had been drummed into her that marriage was a duty for the begetting of children. She must submit to her husband's wishes and support and agree with him in all things. Last but very definitely not least, she must produce children, and as many as possible. These were her duties, and love was not a requirement. She was desperately in love, however, and she was sure that God would not frown upon that.

  She was not looking forward to being the center of attention, but she was dreading the thought of being alone with Rodric after the wedding even more. What would he expect from her? She was completely innocent in matters of the bedchamber.

  Then she told herself off for being foolish. Rodric was capable of great ferocity, but also great tenderness, and she knew without a doubt that the gentle side of his nature would be foremost tonight if his kisses were anything to judge by. When she was his wife, she would be safe from every danger because he was her shelter and her sanctuary.

  Adaira gazed at herself in the mirror and gave a tremulous smile. It was her wedding day, and she had hoped to look better than she ever had in her life on this day of days, and she thought, in all modesty, that she did. Maudie and her friend, the seamstress, had slaved over the dress for a fortnight; it was a vision of beauty and a true labor of love.

  The dress was a confection of dark lilac velvet with a modest round neck, elbow-length sleeves, and a skirt that clung to Adaira’s slender hips then flared out slightly at the front, and into a long circular train at the back. The neckline and hem were liberally sprinkled with tiny embroidered flowers that were so beautifully worked that they almost looked real.

  Maudie was arranging the dress so that it draped perfectly over the gentle curves of her body, and its soft lilac color enhanced the roses in her cheeks. Adaira was like a beautiful, blossoming flower. Maudie slipped on a pair of cream satin gloves over her slender hands, then gave her a bouquet of rare white heather and mountain avens to carry.

  Maudie crossed her hands over her chest and breathed out a long sigh of admiration. “Mistress Adaira, ye look like a queen!” she said rapturously, with tears in her eyes. “Rodric will no’ be able tae take his eyes off ye!”

  “I hope so, Maudie,” she replied, smiling.

  “Ye love him very much,” Maudie observed. “I can tell. It is shinin’ oot of ye.”

  “He is the best man I ever met, Maudie,” she confessed. “I am a fortunate woman.”

  “An’ he is a very fortunate man!” Maudie said firmly as she draped a cream silk shawl over Adaira’s shoulders. She noticed that Adaira was trembling, and gave her a quick hug. “Go an’ get married, Mistress Adaira,” she said fondly. “Don’t keep Rodric waiting.”

  When Adaira went into the chapel, she almost turned around and ran out. There were so many people there, most of whom she knew, but still, she hated being the object of their scrutiny, no matter how well-meaning it was. Nevertheless, she took a deep breath and focused on Rodric, who was standing by Father Andrew waiting for her. His blue eyes looked so full of such powerful love and desire that she could almost feel his gaze burning into her heart.

  He looked magnificently male in his blue and red Montrose tartan kilt and his snow-white shirt, which was straining over his muscular upper arms and shoulders. His long thick mane had been tamed into a queue that hung almost down to his narrow waist, but Adaira knew that as soon as she loosened the leather thong that held it, it would spring out into magnificent auburn waves.

  “You look beautiful,” he whispered as she drew alongside him.

  “So do you,” she replied, smiling.

  Rodric looked down into the warm brown eyes of the only woman he had ever truly loved and felt a huge surge of joy. He was about to make the most lasting commitment a man could make, but he was not afraid. He felt as though his whole life had been leading to this moment.

  Father Andrew blessed them, said a short homily, admitting to them that marrying young people to each other was his favorite duty as a priest and that every single one was special to him, and as individual and different as the bride and groom. Then he invited them to make their vows.

  For the first time in his life, Rodric’s hands were trembling as he took the little hands of the woman he would spend his life with into his own and kissed them.

  “Adaira, my love,” he began. “Our families were enemies, and blood was shed between us
, but despite that, we are standing here today as living proof that love can conquer all. I adore you, my sweet one, and if you consent to be my wife and the mother of my children, I vow to spend every day of my life cherishing and protecting you. Please marry me, Adaira.”

  The smile that lit up her face was like no other he had seen before. She was glowing with the inner light of joy. “I will marry you, Rodric,” she replied. “And I will strive to be the best mother and wife you could ever wish for. I will be faithful to you, and while I am not big and strong like you, I can heal your hurts and give you consolation as only a wife can. I love you and I will never stop loving you. Please marry me, Rodric.”

  “I will,” he replied, smiling into her warm brown eyes. Then he slipped a gold ring onto her finger. “This ring belonged to my mother,” he said tenderly. “She died when I was very small and this is one of the few things I have left of hers. She told me that I should give it to my wife, so now it is yours, sweet Adaira, as a token of my love.”

  The lump in Adaira’s throat stopped her from answering, but her tears of happiness spoke for her. It was not customary to kiss after the vows but they exchanged a soft, sweet one anyway, simply because they could not help themselves.

  “Lady Montrose,” Rodric said as they walked out of the chapel, “I declare that you are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen.”

  “Thank you, my handsome husband,” she replied, before a cheer erupted as they stepped out into the courtyard into a throng of happy well-wishers. Once again, they were the center of attention as everyone tried to congratulate them all at once.

  Rodric, seeing that Adaira was not enjoying the noise and bustle, picked her up and carried her into the great hall, where he handed her a glass of wine before everyone else streamed in behind them. “It will be over soon,” he whispered.

  She looked up at him doubtfully. “Remind me never to do this again,” she said as she sipped her drink.

  “You will never have another wedding unless I marry you again,” he assured her, laughing. “Now, eat. You will need your strength.”

  “For what?” she asked, then her cheeks blushed a fiery red as she understood his meaning, and her heart began to hammer a wild tattoo. Tonight was the first night of her womanhood, and despite knowing Rodric as she did, she was terrified.

  The big table was groaning with food, and no one was afraid to help themselves. There was the usual plain fare of bread, cheese, honey, and fresh fish, then a variety of meats like beef, mutton, pork, and venison. As well as that, a dizzying selection of fowl was on offer, such as swan, chicken, duck, grouse, and partridge. Puddings, which were made of fresh and dried fruits and nuts drizzled with honey and cream, were mostly swooped upon and borne away by the children of the servants and guests, who rarely saw food so rich and tempting.

  Adaira stood with Rodric’s arm around her waist, gazing at her guests and thinking about how unreal the day had been, as if it was happening to someone else. Now her only wish was to be alone with her husband.

  Presently, Maudie came up to them and hugged them both tightly. “Ye both look beautiful taeday,” she said warmly. She was wearing a new dress of pale green velvet that suited her coloring, and her dark green eyes were shining.

  Behind her, Adaira saw Donald McKay, the guard who had unwittingly helped them while she was rescuing Rodric. Maudie had been sure that he would never forgive her for drugging him, but once he understood the reason, he did, and they had been together ever since. Donald was gazing at Maudie steadily with an affectionate look in his eyes. Indeed, he seemed to be having trouble taking his eyes off her, and Adaira wondered if perhaps Maudie would soon be having a wedding of her own. She hoped so; Maudie deserved a happy ending more than anyone else she knew.

  “And you, my friend,” Adaira’s voice was soft with love for the woman who was as dear to her as a sister.

  Just then, the bagpiper, drummer, and penny whistle player began a reel, and, as the bridal couple, Adaira and Rodric were obliged to start the dancing. Rodric danced as well as he did everything else, spinning Adaira around, linking arms and sweeping her off her feet occasionally to whirl her around in his arms for good measure. This last was not part of the dance, but the guests loved it, and the newlyweds were allowed a certain amount of latitude since it was their own special day.

  As the time wore on, the amount of food on the table began to shrink, and the whiskey and wine bottles were almost empty. Even the ale was disappearing fast. Guests were beginning to slump into chairs and fall asleep, and, as usually happened at least once in any Scots wedding, some of the men became aggressively drunk and a few fistfights started, which attracted cheering crowds of spectators until the guards came and broke up the brawl.

  While the guests’ attention was distracted, Rodric drew Adaira to her feet. “I am very tired,” he announced, yawning. “Let us go to bed.”

  Adaira had felt confident that she would have no fear of being alone with Rodric, but now that the moment had come, she was not so sure. “Should we not say goodbye first?” she asked.

  “We probably should,” he replied, unconcerned, “but I cannot be bothered.”

  She giggled. “They will think we are very ill-mannered,” she pointed out.

  Rodric shrugged, grinning. “Let them,” he replied carelessly. “I will not lie awake worrying about it!”

  Then he lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs to their bedroom. He set her down while he unlocked the door and picked her up to carry her over the threshold.

  Adaira stood awestruck as she looked at the bridal chamber. Everywhere she looked there were flowers—hundreds of them. She saw the bloodred of hothouse roses, white carnations, and yellow tulips, then the familiar pinkish-purple of the heather, all lending their individual scents to the fresh fragrance of the room.

  She gasped with delight. “You did all this?” she asked in disbelief.

  “Maudie and I did it,” he answered proudly. He untied the thong from his hair and shook it out, then took her hands and stood close to her to look lovingly into her eyes. “Are you afraid?” he whispered.

  Adaira nodded nervously. “A wee bit,” she replied, a tremor in her voice.

  “Don’t be,” he said gently. “You have nothing to fear from me, ever. I am yours to command, my darling.”

  Then he kissed her; it was a kiss of such sweetness that she wanted to weep with joy. She sighed her happiness and sank her hands into the thick red mane of his hair, teasing out its silky strands.

  Rodric drew his lips away from her and gazed down at her, wondering how such a tiny woman could fill every particle of his being with so much love.

  “I adore you,” he whispered, his eyes darkening with desire.

  “Then worship me,” she replied, smiling. Adaira’s lips parted to caress his and she lost herself in the depths of his blue eyes as he laid her tenderly on the bed, and showed her the way to heaven.

  Thank you for reading my story!

  I have a complimentary short story for you with the lovely couple. Also you will get an extra novel for free!

  * * *

  Simply TAP HERE to read it for FREE!

  * * *

  Or use this link directly in your browser.

  * * *

  http://www.alisaadams.com/adaira

  * * *

  I guarantee you, that you won’t be disappointed! ❤

  Afterword

  I hope you loved my book! If you can leave an Amazon review it would mean a lot to me.

  * * *

  I enjoy reading your thoughts and it is also very helpful as it is the only way for me to improve and write better novels.

  * * *

  Click here to leave your review!

  * * *

  Or use this link directly in your browser.

  * * *

  www.alisaadams.com/b35RevAmz

  * * *

  Before you go, turn the page for another amazing story!

  Prologue


  Pain.

  The horses’ pain surrounded him.

  So many of them. Hurt. Standing in their stalls, depending on him.

  His hands shook and trembled as he hurried on wobbly legs towards his room off the main stable. He tripped in the dimness of the aisleway between the stalls where only the faint light of dawn had managed to creep in.

  The young groom following him caught his arm.

  He hurried on, passing his patients. Some of them managed a weak, pain-filled nicker or a groaning neigh from their stalls.

  His old legs were threatening to give out. He could not take it anymore.

  He hurried into his room and sat down in the worn-out chair at his small desk. He scribbled off a letter to the only student he trusted. His days at The Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh were now past. He had taken on and taught many apprentices, but there was one he had in mind that was more brilliant than the others. This is the one he urgently needed. One particular student that he had taught everything he knew. One person who normally would never have been allowed to apprentice at all. But he had fought for this person and gotten them accepted.

  He scrubbed at his face with both hands as worry, fear, and exhaustion threatened to overtake him. He would be putting this person in danger, but he did not know what else to do.

  He sealed the letter and handed it to the young groom who had stood patiently beside him while he wrote. The boy left the stable at a run with the letter in his hand.