Taming the Highlander: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance Novel

by Fiona Faris

  But still, he frightened her, in much the same way that his stallion would. He had power and wildness that she could never control, that she would always be at the mercy of.

  She could not wait to be safe, back at home, and out of his fearsome and disturbing presence.

  “Could we no’ go a little faster?” she enquired after them, her voice timid but with an edge of impatience.

  Uilleam shifted around in his saddle and considered her appraisingly, amusement adding a gleam to his lively blue eyes, a mischievous smile spreading slowly across his full lips. He glanced quickly between his two companions as if gathering them into complicity with his latest ploy.

  “Whit’s wrang, lass? Are ye in sich a hurry tae get home? Would ye no’ rather dally along the road with three strapping men an’ take in the bonnieness o’ such a fine spring morning?”

  A wave of annoyance passed through her breast.

  “’Tis just… I hae had a terrible fright, an’ I would much rather enjoy the peace an’ quiet o’ my private chamber, in which I could recover from my recent ordeal. No offense intended tae my present company,” she said.

  Uilleam spread his hands and affected a look of innocent incomprehension, dropping a theatrical wink to Gillespie.

  “No offense taken, I’m sure.” He smiled. “But ye’re quite safe now. We will see tae it that no further harm comes tae ye. An’ ‘they say’ that nature is the greatest salve.”

  She looked around herself. They were just passing a small copse of hawthorn trees. The young leaves glittered in the breeze. Tits and finches twittered excitedly, as they tried to outdo each other in the frantic search for a mate. On either side of the glen, the mountains soared and glowered down on them. The faint scent of the early-blooming heather carried down to her from the hillsides on the breeze, barely discernable amid the more pungent sweetness of the hawthorn blossom, the ‘may’ from which the month got its name.

  The breeze blew her hair across her face and chilled her shoulders, making her shiver involuntarily. Her irritation turned to anger at Uilleam’s refusing of her want.

  “No,” she insisted. “I would rather we didn’t dally an’ arrived at Clyth sooner rather than later.”

  Uilleam laughed.

  Her smoldering anger lowed into flame.

  “Well, ye see,” he told her, “we are in no haste, are we, lads? We are enjoying oor liberty, an’ tae be able tae spend it in the company o’ so winsome a bird as yerself makes it all the more pleasing. Do no’ wish yer company away from us tae soon, I beg ye. Surely, the sight o’ ye is the least we deserve after saving yer life an’ yer virtue back there.”

  She pouted and heeled her horse to pass and move ahead of them.

  Their laughter rose behind her back.

  Fuming silently, her brows drawn into a sullen frown, she urged her mare into a jittery trot, hoping that Uilleam and his crew would spur their mounts on to keep up with her.

  “Och, don’t sulk, my dearie,” Uilleam called mockingly. “It ill becomes ye an’ casts a cloud o’er oor pleasant spree.”

  Uilleam ran his eye over Siusan as she rode on ahead of them. Her loose golden hair cascaded in curls over her shoulders and down her back, much as the Orchy danced over its gravelly bed, sparkling in the sunlight. She held her head high and haughty, in proud defiance of the attention she was no doubt conscious of being under. The strong upward sweep of her white throat was long and elegant, like the throat of a swan. Her ample breasts swelled the tight bodice of her close-fitting riding habit. Her generous hips spread voluptuously across her saddle. Her legs, the long and shapely outline of which he could make out through the cloth of her riding breeches, gripped the flanks of her mare firmly and confidently.

  His own breathing grew shallow and ragged with desire. A lustful longing unfurled in his loins, and he shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. He rubbed his thumb against the smooth leather of his reins, imagining how soft and smooth her skin would feel, how silkily those golden curls would run through the grasp of his fingers. He fancied those shapely legs locked around his own flanks, and his stomach growled. He pictured how spirited she would be in bed, the fight she would put up; only a man who was worthy of her would be able to subdue her.

  “Ye seem discomfited.” Lewis grinned as he rode up beside him. “Something ye’ve eaten, perhaps? Or has the lass put a burr in yer braies?”

  “Aye, she would be a cannie ride, an’ no mistake,” Uilleam observed appreciatively, in a low voice. “But she kens that fine well, an’ she kens fine well how bonnie she is an’ the glamour that bonnieness has. She kens the power it gives her.”

  Lewis harrumphed and made a face. He shared Uilleam’s cynicism.

  “She certainly likes tae hae her own way. She’s a headstrong mare an’ kens how tae use her charms tae help her get her heart’s desire.”

  “She’s a tease right enough,” Uilleam agreed.

  Lewis leaned across and nudged Uilleam’s arm with his elbow.

  “Well, ye seem tae hae rubbed her up the wrang way.” He chuckled. “I reckon ye hae little chance there.”

  Uilleam contemplated her.

  “Oh, I don’t ken,” he replied. “She will come ‘round in time. It is like guddling fer trout; ye need patience an’ a soft touch. Lull her with a gentle caress, an’ then… wheech! Oot ontae the bank with her. I shall land yon fishie yet...”

  “A gentle caress!” Lewis snorted. “Ye are no more capable o’ a gentle caress than a claymore is. An’ patience is hardly yer strongest quality.”

  Uilleam rose and settled again in his saddle.

  “I hae no doubt she will be a challenge. She is a proud one, yon Siusan Gunn; she will no’ be landed easily. But I will hae her afore tae many weeks are oot.”

  Lewis laughed.

  “Well, good luck tae ye, man,” he said. “I would no’ wager against it, but she does seem tae hae taken powerfully against ye.”

  Soon, though barely soon enough for Siusan, Clyth Castle hove into sight.

  It was a modest keep, three stories high, protected by a three-foot-thick stone wall that enclosed a close inner ward. The more expansive outer ward was circled by a ditch and wooden palisade. Shaggy red-haired cattle with wide fearsome horns grazed the outer ward, minded by a tousie-headed barefooted lad. The cattle lowed, warning each other of the riders’ approach, and the cowherd stared at them wide-eyed and open-mouthed as if he wondered whether his worst fears had been realized and they were cattle thieves about to fall upon him.

  The gate to the inner ward was guarded by a small fortified tower. From beyond its gate came the distant sound of industry. A hammer clanged on an anvil. An adze thumped against wood, and the high-pitched rasp on a saw ripped the air. Pots clashed, and voices babbled. Uilleam’s nostrils twitched at the reek of peat-smoke and the ripe stench of the midden.

  His spirits were suddenly depressed by the realization that he and Siusan would soon be parted. It would have been pleasant, he thought, to have been able to spend even just a little more time in her company. He regretted that he had made such a poor first impression upon her and that the distant prospect of his having his way with her, unlikely though it had always been, was rapidly vanishing from sight.

  He resolved to at least part with her on good terms. He heeled his horse and rode forward to catch her up.

  Lewis and Gillespie glanced at each other with a smile of complicity and hung back to allow him a moment alone with the lass.

  “I am grateful fer yer company,” he said almost bashfully, his eyes fixed awkwardly on his horse’s withers, his voice low and reluctant-sounding, the words as awkward as pebbles in his mouth. Then he looked up and smiled. “An’ I apologize on behalf o’ my feres,” he added, “an’ their rough manners.”

  Siusan opened her mouth, aghast at the audacity of the man.

  “Yer companions’ manners…” she sputtered.

  “Aye,” he confirmed, without a hint of irony. “They are coarse chiels an’ no
’ used tae sich genteel company as yer own.”

  She shook her head in disbelief, before remembering her own manners and quickly collecting herself.

  “I suppose I should invite ye in fer some refreshment…”

  Uilleam raised his hand.

  “That is kind o’ ye, but… no, we hae a journey ahead o’ us, an’ we really must be pressing on. We hae already dallied tae long on the road; we will be expected at my father’s house at Meggernie.”

  Siusan inclined her head in assent, relieved that the insufferable brute had not taken her up on her offer.

  For his part, Uilleam felt that, rather than continue pressing his suit, it would be wiser to let her ire subside. He inclined his body in a stiff bow.

  “I will take my leave o’ ye, then, my Lady. Ye should be safe now, in the shadow o’ yer father’s stronghold.” He smiled mischievously; he could not help himself. “Yon cowherd looks likely enough tae see off any stray chiels that would molest ye.”

  She ignored his last remark.

  “Good day then, Uilleam MacGregor,” she said. “I am grateful fer the service ye hae rendered me.”

  “It was an honor.” He beamed.

  He considered reaching out to take her hand and kiss her fingers but thought better of it. With a pull on the reins, he wheeled his stallion around and rode back to rejoin his companions.

  Siusan felt that she had not seen the last of Uilleam MacGregor.

  Chapter Three

  Clyth Castle

  Some days later

  "’Tis no use," Siusan wailed. "I simply hae nothing tae wear."

  Her mother, Shona, surveyed the piles of skirts, gowns, blouses, and bodices that Siusan had pulled from her kists and presses, and sighed. The truth was less that Siusan had nothing to wear and more that she was never happier than when she was at the center of attention. She had ample clothes to choose from, but it would not be Siusan were there not a fuss to be made.

  Siusan's chamber was in turmoil. Discarded clothes lay heaped on every available surface: the bed, the chair, and on the floor. Some of the heaps were so high that the painted panels and tapestries that adorned the walls could barely be seen. The room smelled musty with the dust they had stirred up, and Shona felt claustrophobic. She moved to the open window to breathe in some fresh spring air and looked out longingly at the sunlit woods and braes of Glen Orchy, the Orchy itself, tumbling between the rocks and banks, and the rugged mountains that towered over each side of the glen.

  Oh, how she would rather be out there in the chill morning than stuck in the stuffy chamber with her tiresome daughter.

  From the courtyard below rose the clash of hammer on anvil from the forge, the snort of horses, the calls of grooms and stable boys, and the laughter and catcalls of the castle servants. From the kitchen range adjacent to the tower in which she felt trapped, came the clash of copper and tin, and Shona sniffed the rich cooking aromas that the slight breeze carried up to the window.

  There was to be a feast in the great hall that evening, in honor of Cailean Campbell, to whom Siusan's father, Angus, had arranged his daughter's marriage. The feast was to mark their betrothal. This would be the couple's first meeting and the source of Siusan's latest 'crisis': she wanted to make a good impression on Cailean; she wanted him to like what he saw. Siusan had also been fretting over the small scar at the corner of her eyebrow and whether it could be seen beneath the blaunchet with which she has sought to cover it.

  Shona sighed and turned from the window to look at her daughter. Siusan was wearing nothing but her linen shift and silk stockings. The chill of the spring air through the window had raised goosebumps on her bare flesh, and her thick blonde hair was rumpled and tangled from the innumerable gowns and blouses she had pulled on and off.

  She was a comely lass, Shona thought; she had more of her father's stature than her own, though she was still much shorter than the giant Angus Mor, 'Big Angus', who stood well over six feet tall and was as broad as an ancient oak tree. Siusan had broad, strong shoulders, finely shaped legs, and generous 'child-bearing' hips. Her breasts were large but firm, her complexion fair and clear. An abundance of golden hair fell in rippling waves to the small of her back, and her eyes, as blue as a robin's egg, would melt any man's heart. She had little to fear of her first encounter with the handsome Cailean Campbell; she would be breathtaking in whatever she wore, even with the small white half-moon scar by the side of her eyebrow.

  Shona was not without sympathy for the girl; she remembered how nervous she had been when she had been first presented to her husband-to-be, Angus, and how she had displaced her nervousness and anxiety by fussing over her appearance too. Poor innocent girl... but how she took on so! Shona was moved by a stab of pity, a wave of sympathy, and a tickle of amusement.

  All at once, Siusan stopped rummaging among one of the piles of clothes on the bed and turned to her mother.

  "’Tis no use, Mamag; he shall hate me!"

  "Oh, my lamb!" Shona crooned, going across to her daughter and taking her into a reassuring embrace. "There, there; he’ll think no sich thing."

  Shona's heart went out to Siusan as she heard the anguish in her voice. She clutched her daughter to her, feeling the smooth, creamy skin of her shoulders, the heave of them as she sobbed, and the wetness of Siusan's tears as they fell upon her neck. She buried her face in her daughter’s hair, smelling the rosemary infusion with which she had earlier rinsed it to bring out its luster, and which mingled with the scent of lavender from her linen shift.

  She stepped back and brushed the hair from Siusan's face, stroking away the tears with the backs of her fingers, and smiling at her.

  "There is no need tae fear that," she told her. "Ye are beautiful, my dear; no man could 'hate' ye. With yer looks, ye could charm the birds from the trees. An’ besides, Cailean Campbell will marry ye whether he likes ye or no’. This is tae be a marriage o’ oor two clans in the persons o’ the son an’ the daughter o’ their respective chieftains. Whether he 'likes' ye does no’ come intae it an’ is neither here nor there; he will marry ye even were ye tae present yerself tae him in an old sack, no’ because o’ what he wants, but because it is wanted by his father an’ by yer father. So, there is nothing tae get so worked up aboot."

  "But, Mamag, I want him tae like me. My life with him would be so much happier if he were tae like me."

  Shona smiled, a sudden wave of affection and motherly love passing through her. Her only daughter, her little girl, she reflected, was so innocent and naive in the ways of the world; still in many ways a child.

  "More tae the point, do ye like him, my dear?" she asked, arching her eyebrows.

  A look of impatient confusion crossed Siusan's brow.

  "Whit do ye mean?" she replied. "I hae ne’er met him. How am I tae ken whether I like him or no’?"

  "I mean, there is much tae like," Shona counseled. "By all accounts, he is very handsome, very cultured, with the courtly manners o’ a Lowland gentleman when compared tae the rough-an’-ready habits o’ a Highlander, an’ very rich. Clan Campbell is on the rise an’ carrying all afore it. It is the principal power in Argyll an’ extending its sphere o’ influence further an’ further afield. Soon, ‘tis said it will be one o’ the most powerful families in Scotland." She cast her arms at the heaps of clothing piled all over the chamber. "As Cailean Campbell's wife, ye could hae all the finery ye desire an’ an army o’ ladies tae wait on ye hand and foot. Whit is there no’ tae like?"

  Siusan's eyes were bright now, her mind far away. She was picturing herself in Inveraray, the seat of the Clan Campbell, in a fine castle with high ranges of well-appointed apartments looking down on the central courtyard from all sides, with four tall turreted towers, one at each corner where the ranges met, a substantial gatehouse, and a high square main tower which housed a formal hall with its own withdrawing rooms, in addition to the private apartments or solar in the floor above. It was a far cry from the plain and functional fortress of Castle Cly
th, the much more modest seat of Clan Gunn.

  "Oh, Mamag! I will live like a princess. Ye shall have yer own private apartments fer when ye visit, an’ Oighrig shall hae her own stable an’ groom. If only Cailean likes me, my life would be perfect."

  Shona drew her into another hug.

  "He shall come tae like ye, tae love ye even, fer ye shall capture his heart."

  She reflected on how lucky she had been to have fallen in love with her husband, Angus, and he with her, when they had first met. She hoped that between Siusan and Cailean, too, it would be love at first sight.

  "Even if ye do no’ take tae one another right away," she explained hesitantly, not wanting to dispel the dream that Siusan had just spun like a castle in the air, "with the right cultivation, ye an’ yer betrothed will come tae like an’ perhaps even love one another in time. That will be part o’ yer task as a wife, tae cultivate that love in yer marriage. Do no’ mistake me: love at first sight does happen, but rarely; love is far more commonly something that grows between husband an’ wife o’er time." She hugged her tighter, more reassuringly. "I am sure that ye an’ Cailean will be very happy taegether. An’ who kens? If Cailean Campbell is as handsome an’ gallant as they say he is, an’ if he has an eye fer the exceptional beauty that ye possess, perhaps that spark o’ love will ignite immediately between ye."