A Rogue at the Highland Court: An Arranged Marriage Highlander Romance

by Barclay, Celeste

  U-en and O-en. She sounded out in her head. How original that their parents should give identical twins rhyming names. I wonder what tricks they got up to as weans with matching faces and similar names. Allyson flinched as her blank gaze remained on the book in her lap. Why do I care? Why am I even wondering that? They were both arses today. I shouldn’t waste a moment of thought on them, but I can’t help it. They’ve irked me and piqued my curiosity. This bluidy curiosity will be my downfall.

  Allyson forced herself to pay attention to the book of poetry that lay open in front of her. She inhaled, filling her lungs, before beginning the page for the third time. This attempt was a success, and she lost herself in the flowing verses until it was time to dress for the evening. She dreaded and anticipated the evening meal in equal measure. Part of her wanted to avoid the twins and the reminder of their exchange, but another part wanted a chance to have the definitive last word. “Good day” seemed weak after the inappropriate nature of the earlier conversation.

  “Lady Allyson,” called a page as she stepped out of the queen’s solar. “Your presence has been requested in the king’s Privy Council chamber.” The boy of eight or nine didn’t remain for a response, instead turning on his heel and dashing back the way he’d come. Allyson’s gaze swept the ladies who accompanied her out of the salon, but no one seemed interested in the message delivered to her. She couldn’t guess why the king would single her out and request her presence. She hurried to the doors of the king’s meeting room, wiping her clammy palms on her skirts as the guard slipped inside to announce her arrival. When the door opened to admit Allyson, the first person she recognized was her father, Laird Kenneth Elliot. A sense of dread took root in the bottom of Allyson’s stomach. Rarely did anything good occur when her father arrived at court. Her throat tightened at the hard edge in his eyes. He was steeling himself to deliver news she wouldn’t want.

  “Allyson,” her father’s brusque tone reached her as she approached, then dipped into a low curtsy to the king and her father. “I’ve made a decision that pertains to you.”

  Allyson blinked, but realized she failed to hide the fear creeping over her like the cold hands of death. She nodded and opened her mouth to inquire if this had something to do with her mother and siblings, but her father’s raised hand stayed her. Allyson glanced around the chamber and spotted the Gordon twins standing across the chamber with their own father, and neither appeared pleased to be there. Suspicion coursed through her as she looked between her father and the twins, shaking her head and backing away.

  “This isn’t a time for histrionics, lass. I can see you’re deducing the reason I have summoned you. We may as well have it out and be done. I need to sign the betrothal documents and be on my way.” Her father never would have survived as a courtier with his blunt manner. Allyson’s chest felt like a vice was locked around her heart, and her stomach felt as though someone plowed a fist into it.

  “Betrothal?” It surprised her how strong her voice sounded in spite of her shock. She turned to look at the twins, and her upper lip curled in disgust. “Which womanizing lecher have you shackled me with?”

  “Shackled?” The man she recognized as Ewan lunged forward. “You should count your blessings, lass.”

  “So, you’re the one to marry me, but which one of you will come to my bed? Or will you share me like you did Lady Bevan this morning?” Allyson snapped her mouth shut, shocked at her own runaway tongue. She grinned when both twins shifted, but there was no mirth in her expression. “Assumed I’d forgotten? Assumed I’d never speak of it?”

  Allyson tossed her head and canted it before employing her repertoire of flirtations. She smiled seductively and glided toward the twins, angling her body to offer the best view of her cleavage. Hours of practice made her actions seem unintentional and natural, almost unnoticeable in their singular occurrence, but coming together to foster the image of an experienced courtier. She came to stand before the twins and their father, who was a widower. She dropped into a deep curtsy that offered the older man a view down her gown and between her breasts. She exhaled, allowing the gown to slacken and offering a hint of her chemise. Ewan growled before reaching out to grasp her arm as he had earlier that day, but she shied away. She wanted to determine if her potential father-by-marriage was as much a skirt chaser as his sons. Did she need to fear him, too?

  “My father’s words lead me to believe the documents haven’t been signed. I don’t belong to you yet, so don’t touch me,” she hissed before returning her attention to Laird Gordon. “My laird, it is a pleasure to see you again. Pray tell, how long have you and my father been in negotiations? From your sons’ appearances, it came as a surprise to them, too. After all, what man would tease his future bride about bedding her the same day as she caught him coming from another woman’s chamber? The day you’d announce their betrothal?”

  Laird Gordon’s face suffused with heat, and his ruddy complexion turned scarlet. He swung his gaze toward his sons, the accusations clear without him saying a word.

  “As the chit said, I didn’t know.” Ewan crossed his arms and glared at Allyson. “It matters little now.”

  “There I disagree. It matters a great deal. You’ve proven to be a womanizing lecher, as I said before. You didn’t deny that.” Allyson looked over her shoulder to her father. “Men who go through women like him go through alcohol and money just as quickly. You intend to give my dowry, money and land from our clan, to him?” Allyson didn’t say more, knowing that what she left unsaid screamed far louder than if she voiced any further opposition.

  “Tread carefully, lass,” Ewan hissed.

  “Or what? You and your brother will take turns with me? I believe that’s what you said earlier.”

  “What?” The two fathers roared.

  “Shall I tell them, or will you?” Allyson demurred even though her posture spoke to her readiness to go into battle.

  “It matters not.” Kenneth stepped beside his daughter. “You’re in no position to object to aught your husband does.”

  “That may be, but he isn’t my husband yet. I intend to object.” Allyson set her jaw and stared into her father’s eyes. “Now and at the altar.”

  Allyson understood no priest in Scotland would marry her to any man without her consent. She also understood she played a dangerous game, one where her father might use a proxy to ensure the marriage went forward.

  “Father,” Ewan spoke up. “You want me to bring this shrew home to Huntly? You’d subject our clan to her viperous tongue?”

  “I’m questioning whether I should subject the lass to you,” Laird Gordan grumbled. “You denied none of what the lass said, so I take it, it’s the truth. She found you leaving Lady Bevan’s chamber with Eoin.”

  “Aye. We were. But as she also said, it was before any of us, Lady Allyson or Eoin or I, were aware of this arrangement. The lady is a widow, and Eoin and I are unwed. We did naught wrong.”

  “Naught wrong? You’re depraved!” Allyson blurted. She spun around toward her father. “They share their women! How am I to be certain which one arrives at my chamber? How do I know they don’t expect to do with me what they did with Lady Bevan? You’d force me commit adultery at their whim?”

  “Allyson, you’re overreacting. You’re speaking as though they’re lads who still play tricks,” Kenneth scoffed. Allyson swung back around and shifted her eyes among the three Gordon men.

  “When’s the last time they swapped their positions?” she demanded. She suspected that it would vindicate her. There was something about their nonchalance and ennui that told her she wasn’t far off the mark. The sheepish glance Laird Gordon exchanged with his sons was enough to answer her question, but she would have her due and hear it admitted. She crossed her arms and cocked her eyebrow.

  “A fortnight ago when I sent Eoin on patrol, but he had plans with a woman in the village,” Laird Gordon admitted.

  Allyson’s lips thinned as she glared at Ewan. She remained silent, letti
ng the laird’s last words hang in the air. When no one else spoke, she turned to her father.

  “And you’d make me believe my concerns are for naught,” she whispered. Frustration and fear caused tears to prick the back of her eyelids, but years of repressing public displays of emotions and pride enabled her to overcome the threat of crying.

  “Lass, men must sow their wild oats before settling into marriage,” Laird Gordon offered the placating words, but Ewan’s grumble proved them to be an empty reassurance.

  “I owe her naught, not even once she’s my wife. You’d have me marry her for her dowry, just as she said. You’ll get your grandson and my heir, maybe even additional sons, but other than clothes on her back, a roof over her head, and food in her belly, I owe her or any other wife naught more.” Ewan spat each word at her as his temper got the better of him. He didn’t mean what he said, but he was tired of being lambasted for his earlier choice, one he couldn’t undo nor could he have known not to make. He realized that he’d erred when Allyson’s already ramrod straight back seemed to lengthen, and a look of such loathing entered her eyes that he feared she would thrust a dirk into his chest on their wedding night.

  “You intend to continue your whoring?” Allyson demanded.

  “So what if I did? There is naught a wife can do to control a husband. You are to be my property, not the other way around.” The remorse that tried to take hold of Ewan evaporated as he dug himself into a deeper hole.

  “Will your leman live in the keep that I will run? Will she share your chamber? Will you bed her before or after you come to swive me?”

  “Allyson,” her father hissed, shocked that her vocabulary contained such language.

  “What do you think I’ve learned in the years I’ve been here?” she threw back in his face.

  Throughout the exchange, King Robert remained quiet. The Bruce was impressed with the young woman’s gumption to take on four towering men with a mettle he wished more of his warriors possessed, but the time had come to draw an end to the squabbling. After all, the men were right that she had no say in the outcome of the negotiations.

  “Lady Allyson,” King Robert strode toward the group. “What your father and Laird Gordon failed to inform you of is that it’s my wish for the two of you to marry. I’ve decreed the alliance.”

  The high color drained from her face and neck, and her ghostlike pallor caused Ewan to shift toward her, fearing she might collapse, but the scathing glare she shot him warned him away.

  “Yes, Your Grace. As you wish.” Allyson curtsied and lowered her gaze. She’d fought a good fight, but she realized the time to challenge the arrangement had ended. For now.

  “That’s a good lass.” The king offered her a conciliatory smile. “We shall announce the betrothal at the feast tomorrow night, and the betrothal ceremony will take place the following morning so that it is done before Lent begins. The banns have already been posted, so you may wed here or at Huntly.”

  Allyson’s gaze shot up, her eyes widening as she discovered they could force her to marry Ewan any day, now that the church had given its blessing. Her heart’s rapid staccato slowed when she remembered that no priest would conduct the ceremony during Lent. She had at least forty days before she’d be bound to Ewan. She nodded, but refused to look anywhere but over the king’s shoulder.

  “Allyson,” Kenneth rested his hand on her back, but when he caught the look of betrayal in his daughter’s eyes, he pulled away and swallowed. He loved his children, but he barely knew his youngest. He realized he’d overlooked her far too many times, and now her inability to trust that he did this not only for their clan but for her came home to roost. “I believe you need to prepare for the evening meal. By the king’s leave, return to your chamber.”

  “Aye, Father,” Allyson murmured. The king nodded his dismissal, and Allyson slipped from the chamber like a wraith.

  Once the two lairds and Ewan signed the contracts, Laird Gordon spun on his sons, his temper ready to rain down on them. “You shamed us in front of the king,” he hissed. “Go directly to my chamber, both of you.”

  The twins bowed to the king when he offered them the same dismissing nod. When they entered the passageway, Ewan searched for Allyson, but she had disappeared faster than he expected.

  “You’re an arse,” Eoin muttered. “You didn’t mean half of what you said, but you were spiteful because she poked at your pride.”

  “She started it.”

  “And now you’re a petulant child. You and I made our beds, and it’s not one we want to lie in. In fact, we’ve done far too much in bed. You’d do well to smooth this over with her, or you’ll have a long and miserable life with a woman who detests you.”

  “With that mouth, she’ll survive just fine. So what if she detests me? I need only get a son on her and be done with her.”

  Eoin halted and pushed at his brother’s shoulder, so they stood facing one another. “You don’t mean that, and we both know it. Have you stopped to consider that she’s terrified?”

  “Of what?” Ewan demanded. “I never gave her the impression I would beat her.”

  “No. But you scared her into thinking you’d rape her and pass her off to me to finish the job. You gave her the impression that she’s worthless. You gave her the impression that you will humiliate her in front of a clan that she must join and who will judge her regardless of her relationship with you. You gave everyone the impression that you, and by default me, have no honor to speak of. What man admits that he’ll commit adultery in front of his own father, the bride’s father, and the bluidy King of Scotland? I hope you won’t, but our reputation doesn’t exactly speak otherwise.”

  Ewan ran his hand through his blond hair and looked into the emerald eyes that matched his own. He saw the shame and disgust on his brother’s face that he shared. He’d gone much too far in his self-defense and caused greater damage than if he’d accepted her initial accusations and kept quiet.

  “What do I do now? How do I make it right without coming across as a cad who’s trying to manipulate her?”

  “Pray,” Eoin huffed before breaking into a grin.

  “You’re enjoying this far too much. Wait until it’s your turn.”

  “That shall be a long wait. I’m only your second, not our father’s heir.”

  “You’re not ‘only’ aught. Don’t say that.” Ewan was always quick to come to his brother’s defense, especially when he was trying to convince Eoin that no one thought less of him for being the younger twin. More often than not, Ewan wished he could hand over the burden of becoming laird to someone else–anyone else. But he would never put it on his brother’s shoulders. He struggled with the persistent fear that he would never fill his father’s boots, and his behavior in the Privy Council proved he might be right to possess those concerns. Ewan recognized he hadn’t behaved in a way befitting a laird. He’d been a petulant arse. “I still don’t know what to do to make this right.”

  “I’d begin with convincing Father not to rush the marriage. You have an uphill battle ahead of you. You’d do well to come to a truce before the wedding rather than once she’s convinced she’s trapped. You need to court your bride.”

  “Court her? I’ll be lucky to get within a league of her without her pulling a blade on me.”

  “True,” Eoin admitted.

  Ewan looked at Eoin and shook his head. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as he tried to calm his frazzled nerves. He ran his hands through his hair before scrubbing his face. He needed to devise a plan to woo Allyson without coming across as phony and conniving. He wasn’t prepared to change, but he understood he’d have to be more discreet so his betrothed didn’t stumble upon his liaisons again.

  Chapter Three

  Allyson arrived at the evening meal as the servants presented the third course. She’d hurried to change, but had spent the better part of a half an hour with her head hanging over the chamber pot as she retched over and over. She failed to ease the tension betwee
n her shoulder blades. Her stomach remained in knots as fear of the unknown threatened to drown her until she soothed her frazzled nerves with several drams of whisky smuggled to her by her maid. She felt calm with a cheery warmth in her chest and belly as she approached the table where the other ladies sat. She slipped into her seat but poked at the food placed in front of her. She joined in the conversation when it became unavoidable, but she wasn’t her normally talkative self. The other ladies sensed something was amiss, but no one commented on it.

  The longer Allyson sat without eating, the stronger the effects of the whisky took hold. By the time the dancing began, she recognized she was tipsy and should retire for the evening, but when she caught several courtiers smiling in her direction, she stayed. Allyson became aware of the Gordon twins as soon as she entered the Great Hall, and she was aware Ewan kept looking in her direction. She didn’t understand his expression—it appeared to be a combination of guilt, uncertainty, and speculation—and she wasn’t interested in deciphering it. She disliked being on the receiving end.

  As one man after another asked Allyson to dance, she allowed them to twirl her about the dance floor. She tipped her head back and laughed when they attempted humor, she flirted when they attempted to tease her, and she redirected their attention when they attempted to seduce her. Allyson moved from one partner to another throughout the night, but steered clear of either of the Gordon brothers. When a member of the Maxwell emissary suggested they step outside for a breath of air, she agreed. The temperature was still frigid, and she didn’t have a cloak with her. She suspected the man would attempt to kiss her, and as long as they remained near the doors, she was confident that she could control the situation.

  The bracing air bit into her cheeks and neck as the perspiration turned into ice water against her temples and between her breasts. She looked back at the Great Hall and decided she needed to return, lest she turn into an ice figure rather than a lady.