Then, he set eyes on the lass in a gown the exact same shade of red as his plaid, and something astonishingly peculiar happened. He was seized by an urge to laugh, to rush over, pick her up and twirl her around. Caitlin Blair was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Long hair, a rich brown as warm as the beams above his head, tempting breasts, perfect hips, angelic face.
His knees threatened to buckle. He was feverishly hot, then shivers ran up and down his spine.
Fumbling with his plaid to conceal a pleasant erection, he became vaguely aware of voices. Two lairds at feud all their lives grunted a greeting. His sister spoke to the tall Highlander, who must be Caitlin’s brother.
Pray God she guards her tongue.
Davidson was speaking, beckoning him to the tiny table, where the two parchments now lay open, secured with paperweights. Shaw’s feet seemed to be fixed to the planked floor and he couldn’t take his eyes off Caitlin Blair.
She stared at the parchments, then shifted her gaze to him.
His trembling legs must have carried him to face her across the little table, and, suddenly, they were the only two people in the chapel. She looked as gobsmacked as he felt. Deafened by his own heartbeat, Shaw took her cold hand and brushed a kiss on her knuckles. Her perfume stole up his nostrils. “Shaw Drummond, my lady,” he rasped in a husky voice he didn’t recognize.
“Caitlin Blair, my laird,” she whispered in reply.
The angelic chorus adorning the frieze didn’t burst into song, no harps played. But Shaw’s rejoicing heart knew this woman had been sent from heaven to be his soul mate.
*
Caitlin let go of her father’s arm. Her legs still trembled, her heart raced, her belly was in turmoil, but the emotions no longer had anything to do with dread.
One look at Shaw Drummond was all it took to assure her the tall, broad-shouldered Highlander was her destiny. His eyes were the exact shade of blue as the flowers embroidered on the unforgettable bedspread.
Her body’s reaction to the man she was to marry took her breath away. She straightened her shoulders, proud of breasts she’d always been anxious to hide, her nipples tingling. A peculiar heat spiraled into her womb.
It wasn’t simply that Shaw was the most stunningly handsome man she’d ever set eyes on. When he kissed her hand, the alchemy drawing each to the other traveled up her arm to spread its warmth in every part of her body. His sapphire gaze told her he felt it too.
She was vaguely aware of other people in the chapel. The governor read the terms of the betrothal document; a cleric droned on about fidelity. Her father and Laird Drummond bent over each parchment in turn, the inked nib squeaking as they made their marks with painful slowness then glowered at each other.
Sir John appended his signature.
Shaw’s naughty smile before he signed was all the reassurance she needed. She accepted the quill from him and willingly promised to marry the man who’d captivated her heart and soul simply by telling her his name.
*
Davidson’s shoulders relaxed. “Now the formalities have been taken care of,” he announced, rolling up the parchments, “we’ll have the prayer.”
The minister raised his arms and focused on the ceiling.
Gordon and Logan looked up, obviously curious as to what the cleric was searching for.
Shaw took a chance and reached for Caitlin’s hand as the minister intoned a blessing. When the Amen resounded, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her wrist, whispering his own Amen.
Fiona glared her disapproval. Shaw didn’t care. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never be able to explain to his sister the feelings that surged in his heart and loins when Caitlin meshed her fingers with his.
Her scowling brother looked none too pleased.
Shaw thought to remark to Caitlin that at least her sister was smiling, but he was anxious for the first thing he said to his bride be memorable.
“Yer wee brothers look happy for us,” Caitlin whispered, laughter bright in her green eyes.
Her sultry voice stirred further interest in his nether regions. “Aye. Gordon and Logan,” he explained. “And yer sister’s bonny.”
Cripes, that wasn’t what he intended to say.
“Nairn,” she replied.
Sir John spoke for the first time. “Now,” he declared, his booming voice echoing in the large chapel. “His Majesty will be delighted when he learns this betrothal has gone well.”
He shook hands with Shaw and handed him both parchments.
Fiona folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot.
Standing not far from her, Caitlin’s brother did the same.
Davidson glared at them until the tapping stopped. “The happy couple have accepted this union, and I remind both families the feud must end, lest ye incur the wrath of the king.
“The banquet willna be served for another hour, so there’s time to enjoy the King’s Knot Garden below the west wall. I suggest the Drummond lads escort Mistress Nairn.”
Shaw chuckled when Gordon and Logan rushed to offer a gallant arm to Caitlin’s sister. He tightened his grip on his bride’s hand, nervous about what Davidson might suggest next.
“And Sir Rory Blair can escort Lady Fiona Drummond.”
Knots
Fiona Drummond was mortified she had to touch Rory Blair, though she had to admit his strong arm was well-muscled.
“I’m nay in favor of this match,” she informed him as they followed Shaw and his bride-to-be into the King’s Knot.
“Me neither,” he replied curtly, unhooking her arm from his. “I’m sure ye can walk without my help.”
“Such a gentlemon,” she muttered under her breath.
He smirked. Smirked!
Gordon and Logan hadn’t yet arrived at the garden, which was worrisome. She wondered where they’d got to, no doubt led astray by Mistress Nairn Blair.
She strode ahead, intending to catch up to Shaw, but her newly-betrothed brother turned a positively angry glare on her, leaving no choice but to slow down. He was often impatient—not without cause she had to admit—but this look was different. He’d shut her out.
She wasn’t quite sure what had happened in the Chapel Royal. Shaw was behaving as though he actually liked Caitlin Blair. How that could be when they’d only just met was beyond her understanding. They were still holding hands, and it was apparent they’d increased their pace in order to get well ahead of everyone else. She hoped the Blair woman hadn’t ensnared him with some witch’s spell.
Loneliness crept into her heart. She’d anticipated being her brother’s ally against a wife he didn’t want. It was true there was still Gordon and Logan to mother and fuss over, but Shaw was different. Granted, she bullied him but surely he knew it was because he was her favorite. She wanted him to be happy, but…
She stared at the intricate knot garden. The royal gardeners had woven boxwood and barberry into a living tapestry of symmetry, form and order, whereas her emotions were tangled.
A glance back to the gate revealed both glowering lairds sitting on separate benches.
She’d never known her father to be truly happy. The feud had consumed his whole life. She doubted if he even remembered exactly how it had begun. He repeated his version of the tale often enough, but nobody ever questioned the accuracy of his account.
Hearing the crunch of boots on the loose stones of the pathway increased her frustration. If she hadn’t stopped to daydream about bushes, she might have avoided Rory Blair altogether.
*
Rory considered himself a gentleman. He supposed that was the reason Fiona Drummond’s comment irked. He liked women, and they considered him charming and well mannered. He’d never found one he wanted to marry and he was past the age for wooing and wedding.
He despised men who deemed it their God-given right to treat their wives like chattels. If Shaw Drummond did aught to hurt Caitlin…
It had come as something of a relief his sister see
med taken with her betrothed, and he with her, though he’d looked forward to still being her champion. He wanted both his sisters to be happy.
And exactly where had Shaw and Caitlin disappeared to? Not to mention there was still no sign of Nairn and the Drummond lads. He should never have left the lass alone with them.
He couldn’t let Fiona leave Stirling harboring the opinion he was an uncouth lout. After all, he was heir to the lairdship of a proud clan, and they were going to be related by marriage. She wasn’t beautiful in the way young lasses were beautiful, though he’d wager she’d been a bonny lass. One thing for sure, he wished the plaid she’d donned to ward off the chill didn’t cover the tempting set of tits he’d glimpsed in the chapel. In the cold air, her nipples…
Realizing she was scowling at his ogling, he stammered, “Er…do ye like gardens, Mistress Drummond?”
Fyke. Pondering chilled nipples had distracted him. “I meant to say, knot gardens.”
She eyed him with scorn.
He regrouped. “Not gardens in general, knot gardens.”
He was tying himself in knots. His tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of his mouth. Sweat beaded his brow despite the cool late autumn air.
“I do…not,” she replied with a haughty glint in her eyes, which he had to admit were an intriguing shade of…
He cleared his throat, determined to get his errant thoughts off trying to name the color of the chit’s eyes. “I think we should make our way to the Great Hall,” he said, offering his arm.
She scanned the garden, then accepted his offer of escort. “Aye, but Shaw has wandered off.”
Her eyes were brown, he decided, or perhaps hazel, but the sadness in their depths told him she would miss her brother as keenly as he would miss Caitlin.
*
Hidden from view by the ivy-covered trellis of an arbor, Caitlin and Shaw watched her brother and his sister.
“She’s safe with Rory. He’s a gentlemon,” she reassured him.
“My sister kens how to be a lady when it suits her,” he replied. “But I canna vouch for his safety.”
They shared the humor, then sat in silence staring at their joined hands.
“I canna let go,” she finally admitted.
“Nor can I,” he replied.
“I didna wish to marry, now I find myself looking forward to it.”
He chuckled. “I thought most lasses want to be wed.”
“I suppose my thoughts would eventually have turned to matrimony, but I like my freedom.”
The cool breeze caused her to shiver. Perhaps she was being too forthright.
He put his free arm around her shoulders, sharing his plaid. The heat of his big body chased away the chill. “And how do ye celebrate yer freedom?” he asked.
She hesitated. Would this man she didn’t know understand? She decided to trust him. “I like to ride out in the moorlands.”
“Good. We’ll ride together. Dinna fash, I’ll go slow so ye can keep pace.”
She toyed with the idea of challenging him, but he’d find out soon enough who might have trouble keeping pace. “Ardblair has a large library. I like to read.”
She feared she may have gone too far when he frowned. Women were supposed to spend their time embroidering or playing the pianoforte, both of which she loathed. Still, she couldn’t seem to stop telling him of her hopes. “I have a dream to visit Paris.”
“In France?”
“Oui,” she quipped.
“Caitlin,” he said. “I confess I also didna want to marry.”
“Especially a Blair,” she quipped, afraid she’d broken the spell.
“Aye,” he agreed, but the smile didn’t reach his blue eyes. “I canna wait to make ye my wife, and I swear to ye here and now I will ne’er deny ye the freedom to do the things that make ye happy. ’Tis good to have lofty dreams.”
She snuggled closer, relieved and touched by his promise. “We’ll do things we love together.”
“Riding, aye,” he said with a smile, “but I confess I’m nay much of a reader.”
She noticed Rory offer his arm to Shaw’s sister. “They’re leaving. I suppose we should go, though we are just getting acquainted.”
“We have our whole lives ahead of us to talk,” he replied.
“’Twill be difficult at first,” she warned. “’Tis evident our families are nay as happy about this as we are. The feud is like this garden. An impossible tangle.”
He took both her hands in his. “Old hatreds die hard,” he agreed, “but we’ve been blessed with the chance to make a new beginning, for both families.”
“For Nairn, and Gordon and Logan.”
“Aye, signing a parchment is all well and good, but I pledge myself to ye now, face to face. Ye are the woman made for me, Caitlin Blair.”
“And ye are the mon made for me, Shaw Drummond.”
He touched his forehead to hers. “A betrothal should be sealed with a kiss.”
“I agree,” she whispered. “But I dinna ken how to kiss.”
“I’ll show ye.”
His warm lips touched hers, softly, gently, causing her heart to beat faster. He nibbled her bottom lip which had a peculiar but pleasant effect on her nipples. His fingers wove into the braid at her nape, sending more strange sensations up the backs of her thighs.
She opened when his tongue coaxed, carried into a previously unknown world of sensual pleasure when he sucked her tongue into his mouth. It just seemed natural to do the same to him.
His growl startled her but, as he drew her into his lap, she knew she’d found a man to whom she could willingly give herself.
“Caitlin,” he rasped. “Yer kiss has convinced me ye’re the lass for me.”
She cupped his face in her hands, loving the feel of his stubbled chin. “I wish we could stay here, and…” In truth she didn’t know how to describe the sudden need to explore him, to have him touch intimate parts of her body that clamored for his attention.
“I ken,” he replied, setting her on her feet. “But ’tis obligatory for a betrothed couple to attend their betrothal banquet.”
Arm in arm, they strolled to the gate where they were met by Nairn and Shaw’s younger brothers.
“We wondered where ye’d got to,” Shaw said.
“We’ve been exploring,” Nairn replied.
Caitlin smiled, glad her sister had already formed a friendship with the Drummond lads.
“But ye’d best come quick,” Gordon told Shaw. “Da and Laird Blair are having a disagreement about who should sit where at the head table.”
Great Hall
Caitlin gasped and clung more tightly to Shaw’s arm when they entered the Great Hall. Equally stunned by the place’s sheer size and grandeur, he shared her amazement.
A buttressed ceiling of dark brown wood brooded over the entire hall. Sunlight streamed in from floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows along the side walls. At the far end, five smaller windows let in light. A massive banner with the royal devise hung on the front wall; two elaborately carved thrones sat in a cordoned off area beneath the banner.
They’d entered the intimidating domain where kings held court and pronounced judgement. The hall held none of the welcoming warmth of the Chapel Royal. Ignoring a vague sense of foreboding, Shaw scanned the guests seated at a dozen or so trestle tables that seemed lost in the immense space. He didn’t recognize a single person. “Nobody from the Drummond clan was invited. That was made clear. Do ye ken these folks?” he asked.
Caitlin shook her head. “They’re nay from my clan.”
Clearly, the powers-that-be had wanted to avoid a mass gathering of Drummonds and Blairs.
An enormous high table, almost as wide as the hall itself, sat ready. Close by, Lairds Drummond and Blair glared at each other while noisy spectators crowded around. Davidson was attempting to referee.
Shaw might have known his father would think only of himself and his lifelong hatred of Blairs; apparently, Caitlin’s fath
er was of the same ilk. They’d failed to perceive their children’s joy. He could well imagine what they were arguing about, but was determined not to let the argument steal his happiness.
“I’d guess there’s a disagreement about the wood used to make the table,” he jested.
“Aye,” Caitlin replied resignedly. “Oak, I’ll warrant.”
“I agree,” he said with a smile that quickly disappeared when he saw Gordon and Logan hurrying towards them, a scowling Fiona hard on their heels.
Flushed with excitement, Gordon blurted out his news. “Nairn told us about a feast held here to celebrate the baptism of King James’ first-born son. A fully rigged ship with brass guns wheeled in the fish course.”
Fiona pursed her lips. “But, as I pointed out, ’tisna a good omen. Prince Henry died before he could sit on the throne. If he’d lived, his brother, Charles Stuart, wouldna have become king, and Cromwell wouldna have invaded Scotland.”
Shaw clenched his jaw, resigned to explaining his sister’s convoluted logic to Caitlin. “The mention of Oliver Cromwell will have resurrected my father’s bitter memories of the Protector sacking our family’s stronghold at Newton nigh on forty years ago. It can only have worsened his belligerent attitude.”
“I’ve heard the tale,” she replied. “The Newton ruin isna far from Ardblair. Rumor has it there used to be a secret tunnel running between the two castles.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” Fiona retorted before Shaw had a chance to suggest he and Caitlin investigate such a rumor after they were married. “Ye must speak to Laird Blair,” his sister insisted. “He’s being stubborn. And that son of his…”
Caitlin bristled. “My brother…”
Fiona shooed away Gordon and Logan, then hurried towards the argument, clearly not interested in hearing about Rory Blair.
“I’ll be glad when this is over,” Caitlin whispered.
Shaw nodded, but his gut churned. The current disagreement was likely the first of many. The wedding date wasn’t set. Too many things could go wrong.
Kilty Party Page 3