Caelen wondered why Fiona had not come to greet him as was customary.
As if he could read Caelen’s mind, Brodie said, “She be on the training fields.”
Caelen felt his face grow warm with humiliation. Would this never end? Did everyone think him nothin’ more than a besotted fool?
Brodie cast him a sidelong glance, smiled, and said, “I’ll take ye to her.”
Five McDunnah men fell in step behind Caelen while Brodie led the way around to the east side of the keep. As soon as they saw the women on the field, they came to a dead stop.
“Jesu,” Obert McDunnah gasped.
They were not accustomed to seeing women in trews or battle gear, let alone wielding swords and knives or bows and arrows. ’Twas a sight unlike any they’d ever seen. Caelen was the only one of the McDunnah men who was not standing with mouth agape, although he was just as shocked as his men.
Realizing the men had all stopped behind him, Brodie turned to face them. “What be the matter lads?”
Obert, one of Caelen’s many cousins, swallowed hard before answering. “Yer women are wearin’ trews!” he whispered, as if Brodie didn’t realize that fact. “And armor!”
Brodie smiled at the young man. “Well, now, ’twould be rather difficult for them to train whilst wearin’ arisaids or skirts.”
Obert and the other men continued to stare in wide-eyed bewilderment.
Caelen, however, had eyes for only one of the women.
He would be able to pick Fiona McPherson out of a crowd of a thousand women.
There she was, on the training fields, a wooden knife in her hand, practicing with what he could only assume was another woman. Silently, he watched as Fiona and the woman spun, lunged, and swiped at each other. He was unclear just how he knew the taller woman was Fiona McPherson, but he had no doubt in his mind it was her. There was a gracefulness to her, the way she moved so elegantly, as if she were dancing with a lover. Astonishing.
’Twas far different than when men sparred. These women were laughing and chatting away as if they were sitting near the hearth mending torn trews. Astonishing indeed.
Brodie called out to his sister. “Fi!” he shouted. “We have guests!”
The two women stopped and turned to face him. The woman Fiona had been sparring with removed her helm and tucked it under one arm. She was a stunning woman, with hair black as night plaited about her head and a mirthful smile on her lips. As beautiful as that woman was, Fiona’s beauty rivaled in comparison.
Long moments passed by before Fiona removed her helm. An odd, indescribable expression washed over her face before she gave a nod of recognition.
His manhood did what it did best in her presence; it twitched and came to life. Caelen imagined that if the thing had a face, it would be leering with elation right then. Damn. Damn. Damn.
Chapter 10
Fiona believed it was far better to have Caelen McDunnah as an ally than enemy. Still, she did not know the man well enough yet to feel comfortable enough to call him friend. Only time, she decided, would tell, but spending time with the man could prove to be quite dangerous. She knew it the moment she looked up and saw him.
Dark trews fit snugly over his well-muscled thighs and his boots looked near to bursting as they were wrapped around thick calves. Today, he wore a moss-green tunic and the McDunnah plaid draped across one shoulder and cinched about his waist.
One look at the man and she was suddenly overcome with the confusing urge to either fling herself into his arms or run as fast as she could in the opposite direction. ’Twas too odd to figure out at the moment, but something about this man made her feel things she was not used to feeling. Urges. Desire. Longing.
Damn him, she cursed silently. Those were all dangerous and unneeded feelings.
When she began to feel Bridgett staring at her, Fiona was finally able to pull her eyes from Caelen.
“He’s a fine lookin’ man,” Bridgett whispered. “No wonder ye let him kiss ye.”
Fiona tried to pretend she hadn’t heard her. “I’ll be sure to introduce ye to him,” she said as she headed toward him. Bridgett scurried along beside her.
Fiona had neither the time nor inclination to get involved with any man, especially one as dangerous as Caelen McDunnah. But the nearer she got to the man, the more unsettled and undesirable she felt. Even if she were interested in Caelen — and she would rather have her arms ripped from their sockets than ever admit to such — there was absolutely no chance he would ever reciprocate. He was, after all, still mourning the loss of his beloved first wife and their child. If he hadn’t moved forward after all these many years, he never would.
Willing her insides to settle down, Fiona walked directly to her brother and Caelen. “Good day, McDunnah.”
Caelen smiled and bowed slightly toward her. “And good day to ye, me lady.”
For reasons she could not begin to understand, the manner in which he said me lady set her stomach all a flutter. Why did this man have this particular effect on her?
’Twas then that Bridgett cleared her throat, her way of begging for an introduction.
“Bridgett McPherson,” Fiona said with a nod toward her friend. “I’d like ye to meet Caelen McDunnah, chief of Clan McDunnah.”
Bridgett curtsied, and even wearing trews and battle armor, she had a way of making it look flawlessly elegant. Fiona would not have been able to replicate it were she unfettered and naked. Although Bridgett was her one true and best friend, there were moments when Fiona found herself quite jealous of her beauty and grace. This was one of those moments.
“’Tis a pleasure to make yer acquaintance,” Bridgett said.
Another twinge of jealousy sprang forth when she noticed how Bridgett was smiling at the McDunnah.
“And mine,” Caelen said, inclining his head ever so slightly toward Bridgett.
Was it her imagination, or did Bridgett just bat her eyelashes at Caelen? Fiona gave an inward shake of her head, deciding it didn’t really matter one way or another. Not even blind men could miss Bridgett’s beauty, and besides, she did not have time for such things as romance or physical relationships with the opposite sex.
Caelen turned his attention back to Fiona. “I have brought yer cattle to ye, me lady. I believe they are now in yon pasture.”
Before Fiona could thank him and send him on his way, he offered his arm to her. “‘Twould be me honor to show them to ye.”
And before she could protest, he was leading her away.
They had taken but a few steps away when Fiona carefully removed her arm from his. It was her way of letting him know that she was not some frail and delicate woman and she knew very well in which direction her own pasture lie, thank ye kindly.
To his credit, Caelen did not protest or comment on the matter. “I believe ye’ll find these cattle to yer likin’, me lady.”
There was that damnable me lady again. ’Twasn’t that she did not like the way it sounded, on the contrary. She liked it far too much. “Please, call me Fiona.”
Something, some emotion she could not identify, washed across his face and suddenly, he looked quite …sad. When she noticed that his expression remained the same — forlorn, mayhap — she wondered if he hadn’t suddenly become ill. “Are ye well, Caelen?”
A good deal of time passed before he finally answered. “Me first wife’s name was Fiona.”
’Twas all she could do to keep herself from bursting into tears. The wife he lost more than fifteen years ago, the wife he still grieved for, had been named Fiona. Mayhap that was why he kept calling her me lady. The poor man couldn’t even bear to hear his long-dead wife’s name!
“I be so terribly sorry, Caelen!” she exclaimed as she reached out and touched his arm. Stammering to apologize for being so thoughtless, he finally stopped her by resting his hand upon hers.
Warmth radiated from his skin to her own and were she a lesser woman, her knees might very well have buckled. “Please, do no’ worry it,”
he said thoughtfully.
When he looked into her eyes, she was not sure exactly what she saw looking back at her and she knew not what to say or do next. So she stood there, feeling very much like a fool.
Finally, his lips curved upward. “I have been reminded of late, that I have been grievin’ fer far too long.”
“Nay,” Fiona said with a shake of her head. “Ye have no’.”
His smile faded, replaced with a perplexed expression.
“Grief, ye see, is the price ye pay fer lovin’ someone.”
Fiona McPherson, he realized, might understand all too well about grief. After all, she had lost her husband two years ago. Whilst everyone else told Caelen to stop his grieving and move on with his life, Fiona McPherson was giving him permission to continue. Mayhap because she, too, still grieved for her own husband.
In an instant, he felt closer to the woman standing before him than he had ever felt with another human being. While he was quite attracted to her physically, for she was indeed a beautiful woman, he knew nothing could ever come of it. She’d make a good friend and strong ally, but it could never be anything more than that.
“Many feel that six and ten years be far too long to mourn,” he told her.
“’Tis no’ up to me to tell anyone how they should or should no’ grieve, or how long they should do it.”
Caelen felt his smile begin to return. “Ye do no’ think me tetched then?”
“Fer grievin’?” she asked before a smile lit on her face. “Nay, no’ fer grievin’, but I’ve no’ yet made up me mind if yer tetched fer other reasons.”
The woman amused him. Throwing his head back, he laughed heartily, unable to remember the last time anyone made him laugh as this woman did. He actually began to feel as though a weight was slowly being lifted away from his soul.
Was it the blunt manner in which she spoke that he found so … so utterly adorable? He could think of only two people on this earth who were either comfortable enough or brave enough to speak to him with such openness: Kenneth and Burunild. But neither of those people made him laugh to the point of tears or made him feel happy.
Aye, he thought as his smile slowly faded away. He felt light and happy around this woman, as confounding as that realization was. And this was only their third meeting.
Mayhap someone else might have thought them — death and loving — too personal of topics to discuss, especially with someone you hardly knew. Fiona was never one to stand on pretense. Often, the blunt and to-the-point manner in which she spoke got her into trouble. Caelen, however, didn’t seem to mind.
He had looked so sad and lost when she had told him to call her by her given name that she felt obligated to tell him what she truly felt. There was, she believed, no reason to avoid what was so plainly evident. The man was still in pain.
Briefly, she felt an ache of jealously toward Caelen’s wife, Fiona. To have a man love you so much that more than a decade and a half after your death, he still grieved for you, well, that was a concept she could not quite grasp. A love like that was rare indeed and it made her long for something she knew she would never have.
’Twas so odd for Fiona McPherson to feel this way; jealous and lonely. For her to feel it multiple times in rapid succession over such a short period of time was highly unusual. Was she simply growing lonelier with age or was there something else at play? Whatever the reasons, it was perplexing.
When Caelen threw his head back, his chest shaking with laughter, admittedly, she did take some measure of pride in knowing she was the one responsible. It had been her blunt honesty that had made him laugh. ’Twas a relief to know she could be open and honest with him, even if they were virtual strangers.
He was about to thank her for making him laugh, for making him feel happier than he had in years, when his man Derek came running around the corner of the keep looking as though war had just been declared.
“Caelen, come quick!” Derek shouted with a wave of his hand.
Caelen and Fiona hurried to see what had the young man so anxious.
“Obert,” Derek explained quickly. “He wagered one of the McPherson women that she could no’ hit the target with her arrow.”
Caelen quirked an eyebrow. “I see no problem with a little wager,” Caelen said.
“He wagered six chickens that he does no’ own,” Derek said.
“Which of me women did he wager with?” Fiona asked.
“An aulder woman with light brown hair who limps when she walks,” Derek said.
“No’ Deana,” Fiona replied, sounding confused and concerned.
From Fiona’s expression, Caelen could tell she was worried about the outcome of the wager. Smiling wryly, he asked “Do ye worry yer woman will lose?”
With a shake of her head, Fiona said, “Nay, I worry she’ll accidentally kill someone,” she said before quickly adding, “She is no’ the best of me archers. I do no’ ken why she would take up the challenge.”
Mayhap this was a good time to save face with his men. Obert was a good archer and Caelen would put the young man up against most anyone. Clapping his hands, he rubbed them together with eager anticipation. “Me lady, would ye care to make the wager a wee more interestin’?”
Her brows knit together. “What did ye have in mind?”
“If Obert wins, I get to take back the five cattle.”
“And if Deana wins?”
“I’ll bring ye five more.”
A long moment passed as she considered his wager. Finally, she shrugged her shoulders and agreed. “Verra well, then, ye have a wager.”
Deana was far better with knives than with a bow and arrow, but that didn’t mean she practiced anything less than deadly precision with either. As soon as Fiona took note of the excitement in Caelen’s eyes, she could not resist allowing him to think Deana a less-skilled archer. ’Twas often better to allow a man to believe he had the upper hand even when he didn’t.
Containing her own excitement, she walked alongside Caelen to the archery range. A crowd had formed behind Obert and Deana who stood facing one another and ’twas all Fiona could do to keep from laughing aloud at the sight. Obert, a tall young man with long light brown hair stood scowling down at Deana who was returning it with one of her own. At least twice Obert’s age and almost half his size, Deana was the mother of three and grandmother to one. A white kirch covered most of her blonde hair and even from this distance, Fiona could see the fire alight in the aulder woman’s bright green eyes.
Brodie appeared to be the man in charge. He stood a few paces behind Obert and Deana. “Because Obert be a guest, he shall go first,” Brodie declared to the opponents and the onlookers. “Closest arrow to the mark wins,” he said with a nod toward the targets.
The targets had been designed to resemble men and were nailed to posts one hundred yards ahead. Tacked to their chests were square pieces of cloth, each with a large red “X” in the center, surrounded by three red circles that grew larger in size.
“Would ye like the targets moved closer?” Obert asked with an air of arrogance that made Fiona’s skin crawl.
“Why?” Deana asked confidently. “Do ye fear ye’ll miss at this distance?”
Obert’s superior grin fell away and he returned to scowling. He pulled an arrow from his bow, nocked it into the string and took aim.
Long moments passed by and it seemed everyone was holding their breath, waiting for him to let loose. One heartbeat, then two.
Finally, he let the arrow go.
It landed just outside the center of the red X. Very close to the center mark, ’twas a very good shot.
A collective cheer went up from the two dozen McDunnah men. The McPhersons remained quiet for they knew ’twasn’t over yet.
Deana took her spot, planted her feet slightly apart and turned to face the target. Nocking her own arrow into the string, she took aim. Dramatics were not a part of her character so she took no time in letting her arrow sail through the air.
I
nstead of landing on her own target, she had sent the arrow toward Obert’s target. The angle made it a difficult shot, but the arrow landed precisely in the center of the X.
Cheers went up all around them. Caelen’s shoulders slumped.
“I should have known better,” he mumbled.
Fiona slapped him on the back, unable to contain her excitement any longer. She smiled at him and said, “Aye, ye should have.”
Derek and the rest of the McDunnah men came to commiserate with their brother. Obert did not want their sympathy.
“’Tis ridiculous!” he groused. “Their women wear tunic and trews and train like men.”
Derek agreed that ’twas not normal.
“And where be their men?” Obert asked loudly. “Be they off tendin’ the bairns and cleanin’ the keep?”
Drigh McPherson, husband to Arlah McCollin, overheard Obert’s loud protests. With his three-year-old son in hand, Drigh stepped forward. Drigh was a close to Obert in age, but he stood much taller and broader than the young McDunnah man. “I tend to me bairns,” Drigh said. “I also tend to me fields and train five days out of seven. What, pray tell, do ye do to help yer wife?”
Obert snorted derisively. “I do no’ have a wife.”
Drigh gave a knowing nod. “’Tis no wonder.” Lifting his son into his arms, he glowered at Obert. “I take much pride in what I do. I also take much pride in the fact that me wife is a right good archer. I feel better knowin’ me wife can protect herself if need be. I’d put any McPherson woman up against any McDunnah man any day of the week.”
Obert took umbrage to Drigh’s pointed statement. “At least the McDunnah women wear dresses and know where their place be! They have no’ turned us into eunuchs.”
Drigh growled and handed his son off to one of the older women who had come to watch.
Fiona and Caelen stepped forward to stop things from getting out of hand. Brodie came and stood behind Fiona.
Caelen's Wife: Book One - A Murmur of Providence (Clan McDunnah Series 1) Page 7