Alan gave the reins of the stead to the farrier, patting the horse down as he did.
“Good girl,” he crooned as he stroked the chestnut hair of the horse. “You did well today.”
Burns took the reins from the laird’s son. “She looks about done in,” he remarked. “Did you ride her hard?”
Alan nodded, a bit guiltily. “I overworked her,” he said. “I know I shouldn’t. But my father demands so much when I’m jousting. I must prove myself over and over, every time I go onto the field.”
Burns looked at the lad, feeling a bit sorry for him.
It was true what he said about the laird, Leith Ross, and what he demanded of his son. The whole castle talked about it. Leith had been training Alan in combat and fighting since he had been a small boy, taking him out almost daily.
But, in Burns opinion, Alan had stood up to the challenge. He was an obedient son, and had grown into a fine warrior and man. Burns often thought if he had had a son, he would have liked him to be like Alan.
But the Lord hadn’t blessed Brenda and himself with a boy. They only had Jean – Brenda had lost their other bairns early, before they could survive. Jean was the only one who had lived.
And what a beautiful daughter she had been. Burns softened as he thought of his little girl.
Frowning, he shook his head slightly. Not so little, anymore. The lads of the castle were all sniffing after her. But he wouldn’t let her go to just anyone, oh no. It would have to be a man who was a cut above to deserve his darling daughter.
“Was there someone with you, just now?” Alan spoke, interrupting the farrier’s reverie.
“Just my daughter, come to say hello on her break.” Burns started to brush down the horse.
“Oh, you have a daughter, do you? I don’t think I have met her.”
Burns was about to respond, when the laird himself, Leith Ross, came into the stables.
“Alan.” He looked to his son, ignoring Burns entirely. “We need to speak. The hall, in a half hour, if you please.” He strutted off.
Shrugging his shoulders, Alan gave the horse one last pat. “Give her some sweet apples, Maxwell.”
He turned and left.
Burns watched him go. He was a good lad. He wondered if the laird realized how lucky he was.
***
Alan had washed and changed when he walked into the hall at the time his father had said.
He was surprised. In addition to his father and mother, Lady Margot, there was another man warming himself by the fire. The man turned. Alan recognized the laird of Clan Campbell, Angus Moncrieff. What was he doing here?
“Ah, Alan!” His mother glided over to him. “You have washed. That is good. Would you care for some wine?”
Shaking his head, Alan walked over to the men.
“Alan, you might like to take a goblet from your mother,” Leith said to his son. “We have good news, which you will probably want to toast.”
Puzzled, Alan accepted the goblet. He turned to the men expectantly.
“What is it, Father? Lord Moncrieff?”
Laird Moncrieff cleared his throat. “I am here with a very decent proposal, Alan,” he said. “My eldest daughter, the Lady Janet, has grown into the most beautiful woman in the whole of Scotland, even if I do say so myself.” He puffed out his chest, turning to Alan. “And you, sir, have the opportunity of being the one to take her hand in marriage!”
Alan stared. What did the man just say?
Leith nudged his son, frowning. “Alan, it is a very great honor Lord Moncrieff is bestowing on us. He gets offers of marriage for Lady Janet daily.”
“Oh!” Alan shook his head. “I am sorry, Lord Moncrieff, you just took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting an offer of marriage to be put on the table. My parents hadn’t told me you would be coming with it.” He looked sideways at his parents. Why hadn’t they warned him?
“It all happened very quickly,” his father blustered. “Lord Moncrieff has been in the district on other business, and talk turned to our children, as it often does. The laird mentioned his eligible daughter, and I mentioned my eligible son. We put two and two together,” he beamed.
“Oh, Alan!” His mother squeezed his arm. “I will be the proudest mamma in the world, the day that you walk down the aisle to the beautiful Lady Janet!” Lady Margot had tears in her eyes.
Alan felt ambushed.
It was true, he was twenty-six years of age, a good time to be thinking of matrimony. He would be the laird one day, after all. A laird needed a lady. That was how the world worked.
He frowned. He wasn’t against the idea of marriage, not at all. In fact, he was always searching for that lady who would make his heart sing and his soul melt. There had been offers of marriage before, but he had never felt ready.
Besides, he hadn’t met her yet. The singer of his heart. Oh, there were plenty of fine lassies out there, he knew that. Some intrigued him. Others made him laugh. But there was always something missing.
But he could never put his finger on what that something was.
His parents were gazing at him expectantly. Lord Moncrieff was looking at him, too. He cleared his throat.
“I am most honored,” Alan said, carefully. “I believe that we should enter negotiations for a marriage.”
His mother jumped in joy, flinging her arms around her son so vigorously she almost knocked him off his feet. Alan hugged her back, and then extracted himself. His mother was always like this.
“Well done, laddie,” his father said, shaking his hand.
“You won’t regret it,” Lord Moncrieff was saying. “My Janet is the talk of Scotland! You won’t find a lovelier lass in the land.” He made as if to wipe away a tear. “My little girl! I will miss her so, of course.”
Alan looked at him sharply. The words didn’t really ring true. What was this Janet like?
It made no difference. It was done now. He had made his parents happy, which was always his aim. Alan had always been obedient and knew his duty as the laird’s son.
This was no different, he told himself. A man must marry strategically. This was a duty, like any other.
The older people had raised their wine goblets.
“To Alan and Janet!” Lord Moncrieff cried.
“To Alan and Janet!” His parents echoed.
Alan raised his goblet, forcing himself to smile.
Chapter Three
The castle was abuzz with talk of the impending marriage. It had swept through the kitchens like a wild fire.
“It is timely,” Aggie was saying, as she expertly skewered a pig onto a spit for the evening’s dinner. “The lad is a lad no more. Twenty-six years of age. High time he got married.”
“Old Donald has seen her,” Maura, one of the kitchen hands, was saying. “She is a great beauty, he says. All the lairds in Scotland have been pursuing her, ye ken.”
“Beauty is as beauty does,” Aggie responded stoutly. “It means nothing. I would much rather see our Alan wed to a kindly soul than a vain lassie. Does Old Donald know anything of her nature?”
“He says she is proud,” Maura continued. “But aren’t they all? The well born folk, I mean.”
“Some are better than others,” Aggie said. “I’ve worked for a few in my time. The laird and lady now are not bad, ye ken. A bit stuffy, but not too bad. Some of them wouldn’t acknowledge you if you tripped over them. They put their noses in the air and pretend they hadn’t even seen you, like you were just a bad smell.”
The kitchen maids laughed.
“Alan isn’t like that.” Jean couldn’t believe that she had spoken.
Aggie turned to her. “Aye, our Alan is a sweet lad,” she agreed. “Well, let’s hope that the Lady Janet has as sweet a nature as him! Natures must mesh, to make a marriage work. Now, back to work the lot of you! We have an unexpected banquet to prepare.”
The maids dispersed. Jean went back to the pile of dishes awaiting her in the cold stone sink.
S
he tried hard to concentrate, but she couldn’t help thinking of Alan, and the sudden marriage that was to take place.
Her heart had sunk like a rock to the bottom of a lake when she had heard.
Scrubbing vigorously, Jean scolded herself. It means nothing, she repeated over and over. It is the nobles going about their business, and I have nothing to do with it. I must cast out my feelings.
She thought of Alan and the unknown Lady Janet, side by side at the altar as they took their vows. A beautiful lady and a handsome laird. Meant to be together, as she had been told ever since she was young.
A kitchen skivvy and a laird could never be together.
Maybe if she scrubbed harder, the pain might go away.
***
Alan dressed with care that evening. It was to be the first time he would see his future wife.
He had been amazed at the speed of events. This morning, everything had been the same as it always was. Then the meeting with his parents and Lord Moncrieff, and he was suddenly an engaged man. Now, apparently, his future bride was arriving to meet him.
Like she had been waiting in the wings, somewhere. Like his parents had already planned and arranged this.
Frowning, Alan shook his head. His parents wouldn’t have done that to him – would they?
He straightened his kilt, looking into the mirror.
He saw a tall and fit man staring back. His shoulder length blonde hair was clean and brushed. His eyes didn’t betray the ambivalence in his mind.
There was a knock at the door. “Enter,” Alan commanded.
His man servant, Grey, stood there. “Your parents sent me to say that Lady Janet has arrived, Sir.”
“Very well,” Alan responded. He took one last look in the mirror and then walked through the door to meet Janet.
***
The banquet was lavish.
Two pigs took pride of place in the center of the great table, their skin crackling and brown. It seemed that everyone in the district was there, which made Alan shift uncomfortably again. How had they been summoned at such short notice?
The lady they were all waiting on had not made an appearance, yet.
Alan could tell that his parents found this odd. His mother kept whispering to her maid – wanting information, undoubtedly. His father kept making comments about wishing to lay eyes on the famed beauty of Lady Janet. Lord Moncrieff was silent, obviously used to the tardiness of his daughter.
Suddenly, talk stilled and everyone was craning their necks at the door.
Alan looked, too. He could see long, flowing black hair.
And then she was gliding to the table. Everyone gasped.
A tall woman, Lady Janet was indeed beautiful.
The long, black hair Alan had glimpsed fell to her knees. Her skin was pale, so white it looked like clotted cream. Her dress was the most magnificent the castle had ever seen: luxurious yards of midnight blue silk trailed the floor.
But the most impressive thing was her jewels: a coronet of gold on her head, and a necklace of gleaming sapphires around her neck.
She didn’t look at anyone as she walked. When she reached the head of the table, she condescended to glance their way. Her father had already stood up, in welcome.
“My dear, you kept us waiting,” he remarked.
Janet’s dark eyes flashed. “Did I? You know I am always unaware of time, dear Father.”
Lord Moncrieff coughed. “Ach, well, you are here at last! Say hello to your future husband, Alan Ross, the future laird of the Clan Grant.”
Alan stood, expectantly.
Janet swept an imperious gaze over her betrothed. “Charmed. We meet at last.”
She held a hand out. Alan took his cue, bending over it, before slowly raising it to his lips.
The guests cheered, rising and toasting the couple.
At the back of the hall, Jean watched. A single tear slid down her face.
Chapter Four
Janet stretched in her bed, waking slowly. Where on earth was she?
She opened her eyes, looking around the room. Oh, yes, that’s right. She was in the castle of the Grant’s.
She sat up. The damn servants hadn’t lit the fire properly the night before, and it was dead. That accounted for the chill in the room. Oh well, she would just lay here until they entered and had it lit again. She didn’t care to sit in an ice cave.
At that moment, the door opened, and a girl timidly entered. “Are you ready to rise, my lady?”
“About time,” Janet barked. “Close the door, girl, and get that fire going. You need to mind your chores well. The fire should still be going in the morning.”
Maura, the servant, bit her lip. “Aye, my lady.” She scurried over to the fireplace, placing kindling and wood in the grate. Her hands trembled as she attempted to spark it.
“Are you incompetent?” Janet sneered, from the bed. “Any servant worth their salt knows how to light a fire!”
“I am trying, my lady.”
“Well try harder!” Janet rolled her eyes, contemptuously. This place needed a strong hand.
Which she would provide, of course. She couldn’t wait to be the lady of the castle, the mistress, rather than the unmarried daughter of her father’s. Oh, she knew that the current laird and his wife were the rulers here – for now.
But once she had that ring on her finger, she knew what she was going to do. Lady Margot didn’t stand a chance. Retirement is always sweet when you are old, Janet thought to herself. Really, she would be doing the old bat a favor.
Her mind replayed the events of the previous evening, relishing every moment.
She had planned her entrance for maximum effect, and the people of the castle had not disappointed her. They had looked at her as if a queen had suddenly landed in their midst. They had probably never seen a dress or jewels as magnificent, Janet thought. Judging by Lady Margot’s dowdy attire, they weren’t used to such extravagance.
Her mind flicked over her betrothed. Alan Ross. He was a handsome man, but too eager to please his parents. Once they were married, that would all change. Alan would know soon enough who was calling the shots then.
She yawned. “Is that fire going yet? You need to lay out my yellow silk today. It perfectly complements my eyes, so I’m told. Oh, and the emerald choker will match it beautifully.”
She laid back on the pillows. The Castle Grant would be bowled over by her, again.
Maura fanned the fledgling flames in the grate, rolling her eyes as she did so.
***
Alan carefully speared a piece of kipper onto his knife, watching his mother come to the breakfast table.
She looked tired, but that was to be expected. It had been a late night, and Lady Margot had been over-excited trying to welcome her future daughter-in-law.
Alan winced. It had been painful to watch. His mother, desperately trying to engage Janet in conversation, and being rebuffed at every turn.
Alan had seen everything.
The way Janet had simpered and smiled at him, and then flashed cold eyes on anyone daring to speak to her without her permission. Her condescending talk to his parents. The way that she had treated her father, Lord Moncrieff, as if he were a puppy she could lead by the throat.
Oh, her beauty was undeniable, and Alan wasn’t immune to it.
But she knew it, and she played up to it. Continually adjusting her train so that it displayed to full prominence. The jewels she wore. Dazzling, to be sure. But gaudy, in Alan’s opinion.
He preferred understatement. They were all nobles, after all. Why did she think she had to outdo everyone?
“So,” he said to his mother, turning to her. “What did you think of Lady Janet?”
“Oh,” his mother’s voice sounded tremulous. “She is a great beauty! And her gown and jewels! I have never seen such magnificence in my life!”
“Aye, but what about her?” Alan pressed. “As a person, I mean?”
Lady Margot cast her eyes onto her
plate. “Her manners are impeccable,” she said eventually. “Such a great lady. I am sure we will get to know each other better, in time.” She bit her lip.
Alan felt a wave of anger flood through him.
His mother was a great lady, herself. She shouldn’t be made to feel inferior by a woman half her age, with no greater status than she.
His father walked in, plonking himself at the head of the table. “An egg mixed in milk, ye ken,” he growled to the servant.
Alan smiled to himself. His father had over indulged last night. The drink he requested was his go to hangover cure.
“Well, lad, she is a beauty, you cannot deny it,” his father said now.
Alan nodded, trying to smile.
“I was thinking,” he said.
His parents turned their heads, expectantly.
“I have done what you both ask,” he continued, carefully. “Always I have been mindful of obeying you. I have agreed to this betrothal. But I wonder…”
“Aye?” his father pressed.
“Could I request one thing, before I am a married man?” Alan paused, and then rushed on. “I would like to hold a great banquet, requesting every woman in the district to attend. Think of it as my last chance to have fun, before my marriage makes me an old man in bed at eight!”
His father guffawed. “A banquet, ye ken?” He rubbed his chin. “With all the ladies?”
“All the women,” Alan stressed. “Ladies, and commoners, alike.”
His mother raised her eyebrows. “That might not be seemly, Alan.”
But his father was laughing. “I like it!” he declared, thumping a fist on the table. “I remember what it was like to be young, with blood pounding through your veins. Have your fun, Alan, but remember that you have a bride awaiting you after it is over.”
Alan smiled. “Of course, Father.”
He felt excitement start to build within him at the thought of the banquet.
Maybe he would finally get to find out what he was missing.
Maybe he would find her.
Chapter Five
“Have you heard what’s happening?”
Jean glanced around from the sink, her hands wrist deep in water as always. Had Maura been talking to her?
Historical Hearts Romance Collection Page 50