by Mia Pride
“By the rood, Elizabeth,” Robert panted. “Ye are my wife, my love, my everything.” He kissed her lips and then her neck before rolling onto his back and nestling her into his side.
“That was unbelievable,” she whispered, kissing his chest and listening to his heartbeat slow to a normal rhythm after a few moments.
“Ye are unbelievable, Lizzie. I cannae believe ye are mine. I want everything with ye. Laughter, happiness, wee bairns. Everything.”
Running her fingers up and down his chest, Elizabeth closed her eyes and breathed deeply, feeling lulled by the warmth of the fire on her back and a contentment she never hoped to feel in this lifetime. She wanted all those things with Robert as well and, deep in her heart, she knew they would have it all.
Their happiness was hard won and though she missed Alexander and wished he had survived the battle, it was a bittersweet feeling to know she would never have been here with Robert as his wife, in his arms, had life not unfolded as it had. Life was unpredictable. The world was always in a state of discontent and battles would continue to rage across their land.
As Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered shut and she lay in the arms of a man who loved her in a way she never knew existed, she was reminded of the words of her mother and clutched at her rosary once more. The wheel of fortune was always turning and a man could rise, and then he could fall. For Elizabeth, she knew the truth of it all too well. And though she could not know the fate of her spinning wheel, she did know that as long as she had Robert Irvine by her side, she would always be on the side of good fortune.
Please enjoy an excerpt from Like a Laird to a Flame.
Chapter One
December – 1411
Dunnottar Castle, Scotland
Temples throbbing, he closed his eyes and slowly nodded, no longer knowing what he was even nodding about. No treaty was worth this torture. His clan laughed in the hall of Dunnottar Castle while enjoying a meal, but all William Keith could hear was the incessant blathering of the child beside him, brought to him as a prospective bride.
Nothing the lass said had made any sense since the moment she began talking about her maid plaiting her hair too tightly, causing her a headache. If only he could explain that her very existence was causing him one, as well. He was the laird of the Keiths and Marischal of Scotland, the king’s own protector, by the devil! Must he truly suffer these constant visits by neighboring clans, forcing what he could only believe to be the most unsavory choices for wives on to him?
“My papa says ye just arrived home from Drum Castle, aye?” Marjorie Douglas, the creature bordering on woman and child beside him, asked.
Opening his eyes and doing his best to focus on her through the bewilderment clouding his vision, William nodded and took a rather large bite from the hunk of boar’s meat still resting on his trencher, doing his best to avoid eye contact with the red-haired bane of his existence. “Aye. My sister just married their laird, Robert Irvine, four months past. I visit frequently now that we have finally achieved peace between our clans.”
Marjorie sighed and scooted her chair closer to his, resting her elbows on the table. “Have ye met Reginald Irvine, the laird’s brother?”
William scoffed and almost spit his mouthful of food out. Aye, he had met Reginald. They were friendly now, but it had only been a few months ago when Reginald participated in an outrageous scheme pretending to have married Elizabeth, William’s sister. It had turned out to be a ploy to make Robert jealous enough to prove he loved her, and it had worked. William could not entirely begrudge the man, yet his name always made William reflexively scowl. “Aye, I ken the man.”
“Ye do?” Marjorie seemed much too interested, and William dared to look at the lass. Eyes alight, she leaned in closer, her freckles only making her look even more like a child than her twin plaited red hair did.
“My laird! A missive has arrived for ye from Drum Castle!” The sconces along the walls of his keep flickered as the winter’s cold invaded the room, flakes of snow drifting in just as the doors slammed shut. His messenger, Aldrich, stepped forward looking windswept, his dark blond hair tangled around his head, patches of red gracing his cheeks and nose. Yet, the lassies all stared at him in awe, and William shook his head and sighed. Aldrich had always had that effect on the women of Dunnottar Castle. Thankfully, Marjorie seemed enamored, as well, and William was glad of the distraction.
“Many thanks, Aldrich,” William replied, putting a hand out to retrieve the missive. “Please rest. It is mighty frigid outside. The snow has yet to cease all day.”
“Aye, my laird. ’Tis frightful, yet nothing I am unaccustomed to.” A few women tittered and whispered in one another’s ear, most likely about finding ways to warm his flesh. William simply smiled and pointed toward the fire raging in his large hearth. “Be that as it may, we have a fire and plenty of food. Please make yerself comfortable and enjoy the feast.”
“Thank ye, my laird.” Aldrich bowed and walked toward the hearth and William noticed how young Marjorie’s eyes followed his every step. The lass was fortunately interested in many different men, which pleased him greatly. The true concern would be finding a way to inform her father, the mighty laird of the Douglas Clan.
As the eldest living son of the man known as the Black Douglas, Archibald was no less dark than the former earl. Though that title had come to refer to their entire line, this man had more than earned the title, and rumor had it that his sons were just as devious. And while no marriage sounded appealing to William, he was nearly thirty years of age and had avoided the task long enough. With conflict around every corner, he needed allies, strong ones. None were stronger than the Douglases whose lands spread across Scotland and influence spread across Europe. With Archibald being married to the sister of King Robert, the previous monarch of Scotland, their power was boundless and they were known to be a mighty ally. But, they would also make a mighty foe and while William was certain he did not wish for this match with Marjorie, he was not at all certain how to address his issue without causing insult.
“Well, what does it say?” Marjorie asked, leaning somehow even closer. William clenched his teeth and closed his eyes before he was caught rolling them. The chit was wearing on his last nerve. Breaking the wax seal of the Laird of Drum, his brother-by-marriage, William unfolded the parchment and began to read the missive, dreading bad news. He trusted his sister, Elizabeth, in the hands of Robert, who truly loved her dearly, but he was away often on business and William always worried about his wee sister.
His anxiety washed away as he finished reading and folded it up once more. “’Tis an invitation to join them for the Yule this year,” he said slowly, wondering if this was just his chance to break away from Marjorie and her father. Yet, he was meant to host them for the Yule at Dunnottar and leaving for Drum, no matter how tempting, would be an insult as grand as rejecting Archibald’s distressing daughter.
“Och!” Marjorie clapped her hands together once and smile widely. “Are ye going to go?”
Shaking his head, William leaned over and looked at her father, who sat in the seat next to her, remaining eerily quiet most meals. After several failed attempts, William had decided over the last few days that mayhap Archibald simply preferred silence. No wonder he was desperate to pawn his daughter off on an unfortunate man, for she had no concept of silence or decorum in the slightest.
“Nay. I cannae. I am to host the Yule here. Though Elizabeth does say she wouldnae have asked, only there is a pressing matter she wishes to discuss with me.” William tapped his finger on the rough wooden surface of the head table, pushing his reddish-blond hair away from his face as he thought. What matter could be so pressing that Elizabeth would dare to ask him away from his own people and duties during the Yuletide?
“I would love to meet yer sister, William, and some of the other members of the Irvine Clan…” William shifted his knowing gaze between Marjorie and Archibald, an idea forming in his mind that was mildly cruel, and yet delig
htfully canny. The lass was clearly smitten with Reginald Irvine, and after the ruse he had pulled during the summer, making everyone believe he had married Elizabeth in secret and almost destroying peace between the clans, William decided Reg owed him a mighty favor.
“I do believe ye would enjoy their company verra much, Marjorie. ’Tis a pity I shall have to write to Lizzie and explain that I cannae attend. After all, I am pleased to host ye and members of yer clan for the Yule here at Dunnottar.”
“That willnae be necessary.” For the first time all meal, Archibald spoke. “I received a missive from the Lady of Drum, inviting Marjorie and me to join their clan for the Yule, along with the Douglas kin in attendance here. And I intend to accept.” Marjorie squealed like a mouse having his tail stepped on by a large booted man and rapidly clapped her hands.
William pursed his lips and sat straight up in his seat. The man was intentionally insulting him, insinuating he would rather spend the Yule elsewhere, yet William knew what was truly occurring. It was quite clear William had no interest in Marjorie and from what he had heard throughout the Lowlands, he was not the first prospective groom to be dissuaded by her favors, or lack thereof. Archibald would stack suiter upon suiter until he found a man who needed an alliance with the Douglases more than he needed to keep his sanity for the remainder of his days. And though the Douglas Clan would indeed be a strong ally for the Keiths, William was not that man.
“I am pleased to hear that, Archie.” He truly was. He would enjoy spending time with Robert and Elizabeth while watching Reginald squirm in discomfort. Finally having peace with the Irvines after generations of wars and unrest between their clans was truly a blessing and one he gave Elizabeth all the credit for. Nothing had been easy for her since the papers were drafted for the treaty when she was a wee lass. One man after another passed away and she felt pawned off until she finally fell in love with Robert, with help from the schemes of Reginald. Though William now was fond of the man, he still would enjoy torturing him a wee bit.
Suddenly, a conversation he remembered hearing once at Drum resurfaced and William leaned across Marjorie, surprised she had remained silent for longer than a minute. “I ken ye are not fond of the Irvines. Do ye not have some old rivalry?”
“Aye. The Douglas Clan doesnae mix with the likes of the Irvines.” Archibald turned toward William, his graying hair and dark eyes catching his attention. The man’s features gave nothing away. Pushing away from the table, Archie stood at his full massive height and stretched, groaning loud enough to make even the noisiest voices in the room stop mid-word to stare at the man. “But how shall progress ever be achieved if we hold on to old grudges, aye?”
Squinting his eyes, William looked at the man, still unable to read his true intentions. Did he really hope for peace with the Irvines and potentially a marriage agreement, or did he hope to gain access to Drum only to cause trouble? William would not trust the man, yet he had been here for several days without issue and whether William liked it or not, Elizabeth already invited the Douglas Clan to attend the Yule.
Deciding he would simply have to keep a close eye on Archibald while at Drum, William smiled and rose from his seat, more than ready to be done with this exhausting meal and away from this exacerbating lass. “Aye. I cannae agree more. I will inform my dear sister to expect us all for the Yule and prepare for my people, who will be just fine without me here, I am certain.”
With the Yule beginning in just a few days, William could not help but wonder why Elizabeth gave such short notice, nor what was so pressing, Still, he was surprised by how much he anticipated his journey back to Drum. Never did he believe he would be excited to break bread with the Irvine brothers, and none of that even had to do with his interest in pushing Marjorie Douglas onto Reginald Irvine. He knew the man would not accept the lass, but William smiled to himself as he left the table and headed for the stairs leading up to the tower as he imagined the look on the man’s face when he met her for the first time.
“Do be careful, Mary. Ye are starting to consume more food than the swine in the pen.”
“Reg!” Elizabeth exclaimed with a gasp. “Have ye no shame? She is carrying yer brother’s child!”
“Ye ken he doesnae,” Mary replied, throwing a bit of bread across the table, successfully connecting with Reginald’s left eye before landing near his hand. “Besides. I would rather eat like a swine than look like one.”
“Oh-ho!” Reginald said with a chuckle and popped the piece of bread into his mouth. “Consider me successfully insulted. If Alex were still alive, he would be most proud of yer barbs.”
Mary looked at Elizabeth, wondering if she would cringe at the sound of Alexander’s name, yet all she did was smile fondly, and Mary did the same. Aye, she was seven months along in her pregnancy with Alex’s child, but he had been Elizabeth’s husband for a short time before falling in battle. Mary touched Elizabeth’s shoulder and thought about how odd life was. She and Alex had been in love when he had been forced to wed with Elizabeth Keith to solidify peace between their clans. Nothing had ever pained Mary more than losing Alex to Elizabeth, except for the news of his death. And yet, somehow, the two women had become great companions during their trials. Elizabeth had never truly loved Alex and, in the end, she remarried his younger brother, Robert and had found true love.
As for Mary, well, she would never love another man for the rest of her days. She was large with child and rather pleased to live without a husband, yet everyone insisted she must marry. Not a single man in the Irvine Clan could ever take Alexander’s place and marrying one of his kin felt like a betrayal to his memory. Nay, she had loved once, more than some ever love in a lifetime, and she would raise her child alone and cherish the memories and know that she once had what others only dreamed of.
“If Alex was still alive, he would box yer ears for comparing his woman to a swine,” Robert added wryly, coming behind Elizabeth and wrapping his arms around her before kissing the top of her head. Mary smiled and felt a mixture of happiness and pain. She loved to see Elizabeth and Robert so happy and in love, yet the ache she still felt every time she thought of Alex, every time she remembered the feel of him embracing her, still knocked the wind from her lungs. He would not be here to witness their child being born. Rubbing her swollen belly, Mary stood up from her seat and forced a shaky smile, praying nobody felt her weakness.
“Aye, he would. Although he quite enjoyed any excuse to knock Reginald on his arse. As for me, I grow weary and require sleep. This child grows heavier by the moment, I vow.” Looking at Elizabeth, she saw her friend’s smile falter and knew that her sadness was apparent. But naught could be done and none could blame her. She had once had love, companionship, and the chance at happiness with a man. Now, her child would give her those things, and she was glad of it. No man could possibly replace Alex and, though she knew her friends wished for her to find a man, Mary was grateful that none had been forced upon her. As laird and the uncle to her child, Robert had the power and the motive to see her settled.
“Ye ken I always let him win, Mary!” Reginald hollered after her as she started toward the stairs leading up to her tower chamber. Laughing loudly, she did not bother to turn around or respond, for all knew well enough that Alexander had been the strongest of the three brothers, though just barely. The hall was festively decorated for the Yule with mistletoe hanging from the rafters and evergreens hanging from the screens or draped across the stair railings. This was Mary’s favorite time of year and with each day, new guests arrived to share in the joy and celebration. Yet, for Mary, any joy she felt would be short-lived. A small laugh here, a forced smile there. Nay, no true happiness could be had during the Yuletide without Alex’s blue eyes to gaze into, his wit to contend with, or his strong arms to keep her warm.
An ache had settled into her bones as of late and the winter’s chill did her no favors, though she should not complain. Louisa had birthed her son in the middle of the summer and though Scotland was n
o desert, the swelling of her limbs from being overheated was not something Mary envied. Back aching and feet throbbing, Mary grunted as she made it up to the third floor of the tower, feeling decades older than her twenty years.
Reaching her chamber, Mary sighed as she opened the door and kicked off her leather slippers just as the bairn kicked and she let out a small yelp.
“Wean kicking ye in the ribs, once more, aye?”
Yelping once more, but this time with fear, Mary placed her hand on her wildly beating heart and let out a deep breath when she saw Elizabeth’s maid, Matilda, tending to the fire in the hearth near the corner.
“Goodness, Tilda! Ye will make my pains come on too early if ye scare me like that!”
Brushing her red coiled locks away with the inside of her wrist to avoid getting soot on her face, Matilda smiled apologetically and stepped forward. “Och, I apologize, Mary. I only wished to see to it that ye and the bairn would be warm for the night.”
Matilda was only two years younger than Mary, yet somehow she seemed so much younger with her slim waist and unburdened body. Mary would never take the ability to simply walk without feeling like a boulder was between her legs for granted ever again. “Thank ye, Tilda, but ye ken ye dinnae need to do such things for me. I am naught but a maid, myself, now that Elizabeth is the lady of the castle.”
Waving her away, Matilda turned back to the fire and poked at it for a moment, making the flames leap higher as they devoured the wood and moss used as fodder. “Nonsense. Aside from carrying the former laird’s child and the current laird’s nephew or niece,” she said with a wink, clearly hoping for a wee lassie, “ye are a woman carrying a child and deserve comfort, Mary, no matter yer station. I do hope if I ever am unfortunate enough to take a husband and have a child, that ye would do the same for me.”