Taming the Highlander: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance Novel

by Fiona Faris

  Finally, she brushed out Oighrig's fine mane and tail. She ran her fingers through each handful to separate the tangles, then brushed them out until both mane and tail were like fine silk cloths gleaming in the sunlight that slanted beneath the stable roof.

  All the while she was doing this, she found images of Uilleam MacGregor drifting unwanted before her mind's eye. She saw him as he had appeared in her dream, only now more well defined as she had seen him in the flesh. She saw him on a rearing horse, the muscles of his legs hard and taut as he clamped them to his horse's flanks. She saw the sunlight behind him ignite his already fiery red hair and beard and flash in his fierce blue eyes. She felt the nip of his teeth on her throat and ear...

  Where had that last feeling come from, she wondered, her breath catching in her breast. She felt herself color and a weight shift in the bowl of her tummy. She paused and swallowed the feeling down before resuming the soft brushing of Oighrig's croup. The sensuality of the images that the grooming of Oighrig had unleashed, the stirring they had aroused between her legs, vaguely frightened her.

  She fought to push those feelings back down into her subconscious. She took a clean cloth and dipped it into a bucket of water and began to wipe Oighrig's eyes and clean out her nostrils. The images in her mind slowly faded, but the feelings remained simmering below the surface of her skin.

  Damn that man, she thought; he was troubling her even in his absence. For better or worse, she was betrothed to Cailean Campbell, and that was all there was to it. Cailean was a cold fish, perhaps, but at least he knew how to treat a woman properly, with consideration and respect. She dreaded to think how Uilleam MacGregor would treat her if ever she were to fall into his rough clutches.

  Just as she was finishing off and about to lead Oighrig out to exercise on the green of the outer ward, James appeared at the stable entry with his sakret perched on his gloved hand. The falcon's head twitched around blindly beneath its soft leather hood, and James was stroking its breast with his crooked finger to keep it calm.

  "Siusan," he said softly, so as not to startle the bird. "I was going oot hawking an’ wondered if ye would care tae come?"

  Siusan eyed the falcon dubiously. It was a beautiful creature, with its earth-brown upper belly and contrasting gray flight feathers. Its head and underparts were a paler brown, with streaking from the breast down. As if it could feel Siusan's eyes upon it, it perked up its head and gave out a sharp kiy-ee.

  Siusan gave a little shiver. Beautiful though they were, the hawks in the mews had always made her skin crawl. Growing up, she could never bear the feeling of the fragility of their bones when her brother and Ailig, the falconer, made her hold them. The fierceness of their unhooded eyes and the cruelty of their talons and beaks also terrified her. She did not go hawking, but she sometimes accompanied her mother and father or her brother for the sake of the ride.

  Siusan tore her eyes away from the sakret and gave James an uneasy smile.

  "Very well," she said. "I was just aboot tae take Oighrig down tae the practice field fer a gallop. A canter through the woods will do just as well."

  They rode a little way upstream, along the banks of the Orchy, then struck south through the forest to where they knew there to be a broad clearing around a small dark lochan, where James could exercise his hawk.

  As they turned into the woodland, the tall pine trunks soared high into the canopy overhead, through which the sunshine filtered in a soft green haze, pierced by the occasional shaft of barred light. The soft greensward, which muffled the clomp of their horses' hooves, was lightly carpeted with yellowing pine needles. Siusan spied a red squirrel scampering clockwise up a gnarled trunk. Crows quarreled in the treetops, while crested tits and crossbills twittered among the cone clusters high up in the overhanging branches.

  Siusan was lulled by the gently rocking motion of Oighrig beneath her. It put her in mind of the rocking of a cradle, and she felt safe and content. The firm muscle of Oighrig's flanks, shifting in liquid undulations beneath her thighs, also reassured her. She relaxed and inhaled deeply the earthy scent of forest loam, of honeysuckle and wild jasmine, of the pine resin that caught in the back of her throat. She found the woods soothing; she felt her anxieties melt away. It was as if the sordid world of clan affairs had disappeared and there were only the forest and its own little life-and-death dramas, above which she soared immune like a goddess.

  She turned to James, who was riding beside her, his reins gathered in one hand, his hawk perched precariously on the other.

  "Do ye ever wonder whit it would be like tae just live in the forest, withoot a care in the world, time stopped still, with the sunlight slanting through the trees just like this, never-endingly?"

  He laughed, softly, so as not to startle his falcon.

  "The birds an’ the game an’ the vermin an’ raptors would no’ share yer bucolic view o’ the forest. Their lives are shaped by the constant fear o’ being preyed upon. Fer them it is no’ an idyll."

  From the heights of her rapture with the nature that surrounded her, she was suddenly plunged into a deep shaft of sadness. Was her life really any different from that of the creatures of the forest? Was it not her fate too to be preyed upon by others, particularly by men?

  She glanced again at her brother and then at his falcon, with its vicious-looking beak and talons.

  "Are we no’ almost there?" she complained, her previous mood completely dispelled. "I don't remember the clearing being so far intae the woods."

  Almost as soon as she had spoken, they emerged from the trees and found themselves in a large clearing. A lochan, no bigger than a millpond, fringed by reeds and bulrushes, lay sullen at its center, the surface of its waters so dark that it seemed to suck the light down into its depths and offer back no reflection. Metallic blue damselflies and yellow-and-black-ringed dragonflies darted and flitted among the reed heads. A heron stood motionless and almost invisible among the reeds. A squadron of mallard ducks patrolled the shallows near the reed beds, and a solitary coot, with its white beak and 'shield', chugged intently towards the cover of the reeds. Some small rabbits, not much older than kits, bobbed away among the tussocks of grass, startled by the arrival of the humans on their horses. Crows rose and wheeled complaining in the broad circle of sky above the treetops.

  Siusan lifted her face and bathed it in the warm sunshine. The silence was almost complete, broken only by the caw of the crows and the jingle of the bells attached to the ankle of the hooded falcon as it sensed its prey. She breathed in the brackish, peaty scent of the lochan and the sweet scent of the grass that replaced the sharpness of the pine and cloying honeysuckle that had dominated between the trees.

  Without further ado, James carefully unhooded his falcon, gently untied the jesses that thirled it to his glove, and lifted it into the air.

  Freed, the sakret swooped low over the clearing, then rose in a wide curve above the treetops. The crows quickly made themselves scarce. The rabbits were already nowhere to be seen. The heron remained still as a statue among the reeds. The falcon circled higher and higher, until it was no more than a speck in the sky, keeping James, still sitting on his horse on the edge of the clearing, as the focus of its ever-widening gyre. As for James, his focal point was the swift bird, gliding high above the grassy clearing, a mere speck cutting across the sky like a shooting star.

  Then, suddenly, the falcon tucked its wings and began to stoop, to dive, its streamlined silhouette growing ever larger until the flock of mallards on the lochan took notice and began frantically to disperse. But for one duck, slightly too young and inexperienced, it was already too late. The predator had already chosen its feathered target, and the duck died instantly as the sakret slammed its razor-sharp talons into its flesh. The two birds fell to the lochan bank together, as James emitted a loud cheer and, sliding from his mount, begin tramping toward the landing site to recover the prey and his falcon.

  Siusan also slipped from her saddle and followed James relucta
ntly around the lochan towards the tumble of feathers on the far bank. Her heart leaped in sympathy for the duck. She wondered again why men took so much glory in the hunt, in killing, why they think it 'sport', a pleasant pastime, entertainment, fun.

  Had they no empathy? Could they not put themselves in the place of those they preyed upon?

  Men, she thought, are terrible beasts.

  They lay on the grass and watched the damselflies and dragonflies dart and couple before they died among the reeds. James lounged propped on one elbow, feeding the duck's head and feet to the falcon, which was once again tethered to his gauntlet. As he studied the bird, his eyes bright with admiration, his thoughts flew to an event that had occurred ten years earlier when he was but a loun.

  "Do ye remember yon day ye killed my kestrel?" he asked.

  Siusan shuddered. How could she have forgotten that day? The rage that had so totally possessed and terrified her, the terrible guilt that had consumed her at what she had done when she emerged from the white light that had blinded her and at last regained possession of herself.

  Pensive, she gazed out over the dark surface of the lochan.

  "I hae so often regretted whit I did that day," she confessed in a low murmur. "It was unforgivable. A kind of madness came o’er me. I honestly do no’ remember the act itself. I was frequently overtaken by such blind rages in those days, when I was a child, when I did no’ get my own way. Like a tantrum, only worse."

  She shifted her gaze to her brother, a pitiful look of appeal in her eggshell-blue eyes.

  "I ken I can still be petulant an’ spiteful, but I am trying so hard tae be better, an’ while I still hae a temper, at least I no longer hae those moments o’ madness.” She frowned. “I still do no’ ken how ye could hae forgiven me fer killing yer hawk that day."

  James smiled at her fondly.

  "I did bear ye a grudge fer a very long time, but ye were so lovable that I could no’ really remain angry with ye fer long."

  His smile faltered as he thought carefully about what he was about to say to her next.

  "Ye do ken that I am devoted tae ye an’ wish only whit is best fer ye, don’t ye? Whitever happens, I would that ye should always remember that."

  She looked at him, puzzled by his strange words, then smiled back, closing her eyes briefly in acknowledgment.

  "O’ course, I ken," she replied.

  "Ye also ken that I am opposed tae Faither's inclination tae break the pledge he has made tae the Campbells an’ tae accept the MacGregors' alternative proposal instead."

  She swallowed down the unexpected thrill that the allusion to Uilleam had conjured up in her. His image flashed before her mind's eye, as it had in the stables earlier, and she realized that he frightened her in much the same way that her uncontrollable rages had done when she was a child. It was that, she suddenly realized, which disturbed her about him so much: that he was an uncontrollable force in the grip of which she would be helpless.

  That thought both frightened and excited her.

  She shuddered again.

  "I tae find Uilleam MacGregor repellent," she said with feeling. "Given the choice, I would prefer tae marry Cailean, even though I do no’ yet love him an’ find him tae be a bit o’ a cold fish. He is more the gentleman, at least, an’ far more prosperous. I feel I could be happy with Cailean, in time."

  James brightened and let out the breath he had not realized he had been holding.

  They lapsed into silence and lay for a while longer.

  After he had flown it another few times, James took off his heavy gauntlet and laid it on the grass as a perch for his sakret. They basked and dozed again in the sun, and Siusan was suffused by a deep sense of wellbeing in that place halfway between sleep and wakefulness.

  Suddenly, the crows rose into the air above the trees and began to squabble raucously. Both Siusan and James rolled up into a sitting position and found a small party of men on the edge of the clearing, near where they had entered it earlier. In the midst of the party was Cailean Campbell, sitting astride a large chestnut gelding. He was wearing a tunic and riding breeches of Lincoln green and a cap with a long, feathery yellow plume.

  Both Siusan and James stood up.

  "Good afternoon," Cailean said, smiling and doffing his cap, sweeping it across his body in a wide courteous bow. "I am glad tae hae found ye here." He nodded to James. "Good work, James; ye hae done well."

  Siusan glanced from one to the other and back again. She did not understand. The world had suddenly become topsy-turvy. What on earth was Cailean doing there? She looked again at James, to see if he could offer an explanation, but he would not meet his sister's eye.

  Cailean's voice rang out across the clearing.

  "Come, Siusan; collect yer mare an’ I shall take ye tae Inveraray."

  It was not an invitation. There was a clear expectation that he would be obeyed, that she would defer to him. She balked at his imperious attitude.

  Who the devil does he think he is? she thought. That he believes he could command me so?

  She was not his wife yet. She would not be ordered about like a scullery maid.

  "No," she said stubbornly, jutting her chin out in peevish defiance. "I do no’ wish tae go tae Inveraray."

  "Siusan..." James murmured, both in gentle reprimand and in warning.

  Cailean raised himself to his full height in his saddle, glancing around his men, a troubled frown creasing his brow. He evidently did not take kindly to his word being challenged in front of them.

  "Ye will do as I tell ye," he said, slowly and deliberately, a threatening edge to his voice.

  "No!" Siusan pouted. "I will no’ go."

  A flash of anger passed across Cailean's face, but he managed with an effort to rein in his fury. Raising his eyebrows and shrugging his shoulders in a show of resigned indifference, he nodded to two of his retainers, signaling them to advance.

  "Tie her up an’ bring her here," he told them.

  The men were on her before she could overcome her shock and disbelief. Was he really going to take her by force? This was not the gallant gentleman who had presented himself at her betrothal only days earlier.

  "James!" she cried. "Help me!"

  The men seized her and forced her to the ground. She resisted, scratching and spitting like a wildcat and lashing out at them with her feet, but they were too strong for her

  "Please, don't hurt her," James protested.

  The brutes pinned her down, pulled her arms behind her back, and bound her wrists tightly with a length of rough cord. Then they bound her feet before hauling her upright. One of the men lifted her over his shoulder and carried her back to Cailean, who was still waiting patiently on his horse.

  "Help me! James!" she cried again, wriggling with all her might in a vain attempt to dislodge herself.

  "Thank ye, Brian," Cailean murmured, as his henchman bundled her prone across the horse's withers in front of him on his saddle.

  He slapped Siusan's haunch in a show of manly proprietorship, for the benefit of his companions, that was out of keeping with his trim, gentlemanly manner. Then he tipped a salute to James before wheeling his horse around to begin the long journey home to Inveraray.

  Chapter Nine

  Inveraray Castle

  Later the same day

  They arrived at Inveraray Castle in the late afternoon. As soon as they clattered into the courtyard, Cailean dismounted and, leaving his gelding to the care of his groom and without a word to Siusan, immediately made his way into the range which housed his private apartments. The castle warden greeted Siusan with a sullen awkwardness and led her up to a chamber at the top of the south tower.

  Wordlessly, he showed her into a small circular turret room, with a polished wood floor and a trio of recessed windows looking out over Loch Fyne. An octagonal mahogany table stood in the center of the floor, bearing a jug of wine, a fine glass goblet, and a chased silver salver, on which had been arranged a small stack of shortbrea
d 'petticoat-tails'. Several straight-backed chairs stood neatly against the back wall, which also held a small fireplace where a fire brightly sparked and roared. The room was suffused with the scent of beeswax from the deeply polished floor.

  She was sore from her long journey, the first part of which she had spent lying trussed over the withers of Cailean's mount, then the latter part being led on her own mare, Oighrig. The journey had taken them most of the day, and by then the sun was setting over the bens that guarded Glen Airigh to the south-west.

  Siusan went and stood in one of the recesses and looked from the window. Down by the postern gate, a small open fishing boat was landing its day's catch on the short stone jetty that jutted out into the River Aray, and a screech of gulls, birds which Siusan had seldom seen in her homeland of Glen Orchy, careened and squabbled above the heads of the fishermen. She observed their resemblance of their scavenging and their temper to those of the rooks and ravens that harried the shepherds at lambing time. She felt a sudden affinity to the newborn lambs on which they preyed.