Another Man's Bride

by Ariel MacArran

  Colyne started at her cry and threw her a wide-eyed astonished look. “What are ye about?”

  The MacLaulach hesitated too when he saw her, his dark brows rushing together. His clansmen shifted uncertainly, looking to their laird to see if they should rush or no.

  “Please, stay your hands!”

  Colyne’s face was furious. “God’s cock, woman! Get back!”

  “Wait, please!” She held her hand out to them. She could not catch her breath to speak; her heart hammered as she moved between them.

  The MacLaulach was a young man, perhaps a few years older than she. His dark curls damply clung to his flushed face and he grimaced as he put weight on his injured leg. He was breathing hard, his sword arm trembling.

  Isabella wet her lips. “You are called Ihone?”

  “Aye,” he answered, his dark eyes narrowed and suspicious.

  Isabella nodded to him. “Caitrina healed you, is that not so? Years ago.”

  “Healed?” Colyne looked hard at the MacLaulach. A shadow of familiarity fell across his eyes. “I know ye! Ye were near kilt raidin’ on our land, the one the lads brought back.”

  “‘Course ye know me,” the MacLaulach snapped. “I spent nigh a month under yer roof, MacKimzie.”

  “Caitrina tended ye!” Colyne held his sword with a white-knuckled grip. “Saved yer fartin’ little life, and this is how ye repay her?”

  Malcolm was off his horse now and the MacLaulach bent his head, his feet planted against the next charge. His clansmen brought their swords up.

  “No, wait!” Isabella cried, holding her palm up to Colyne. “Caitrina loves him!”

  Colyne stopped short.

  “She loves him,” Isabella said, softer. “She has for years.”

  “What, my sister love a MacLaulach?” Colyne demanded.

  The MacLaulach’s face darkened.

  Isabella took a step toward the young laird. “Do you love her, then, as she does you?”

  “Aye,” he said, throwing a hard look at Colyne. “I am the MacLaulach now, with nae father nor chieftain to gainsay me. I’ll nae lose her again.”

  “Tha’s why—? Tha’s what ye meant, why ye wouldnae send her home?” Colyne shook his head a bit, his sword lowering a hairsbreadth. “Ye want to marry her?”

  The MacLaulach seemed offended. “Ye think I would take her without pledgin’ me troth?”

  Colyne lowered his sword and the MacLaulach lowered his own.

  “Let me hear this from her lips, MacLaulach.”

  The MacLaulach nodded toward one of the men, who rode off and returned shortly with Caitrina. Her face was taut as she glanced between the two men. Ihone sheathed his sword and reached for her before she could dismount. With the gentlest care he helped her from the horse.

  “Yer hurt!” Caitrina cried, leaning on her crutch.

  “’Tis nae as bad as it looks, love,” the MacLaulach replied with a half smile. His hand cradled her cheek. “Yer brother knows now, so dinna fear.”

  Caitrina glanced between Colyne and Ihone. Her eyes were reddened as if she had only just stopped weeping. She made her way to Colyne with Ihone behind her. Ihone held back but not far, as if he suspected Colyne meant to steal her away.

  “I was sae afeared ye’d kill each other,” Caitrina said, her voice shaking.

  “Well, I near killed yer man in any case,” Colyne returned, throwing a disdainful look toward Ihone. “In all these years, why did ye nae tell me?”

  “How could I?” Her eyes shone with tears. “What would ye have said, to hear I love someone ye hate so?”

  Colyne shifted his weight, his mouth tight.

  “Are ye verra disappointed in me, Colyne?” Caitrina asked in a small voice.

  “Nae, I’m nae disappointed in ye.” He looked at Ihone behind her and nodded toward him. “Ye love the man still? After all this time?”

  “Aye.” Caitrina’s chin trembled. “Forever.”

  Colyne let his breath out and sheathed his sword. He looked at the MacLaulach. “The lad, Jamie, and the English lady?”

  The MacLaulach signaled to the men behind him and one broke off to ride toward their land.

  “They can return with ye today,” the MacLaulach replied, moving protectively toward Caitrina. “Ye can send the fifteen coos for them on the morrow.”

  “Aye,” Colyne grumbled. “I think ye’ll be takin’ those coos as part of Caitrina’s dowry instead, MacLaulach.”

  Another rider appeared in the woods behind the MacLaulach line and Isabella cried out. One of the MacLaulach clansmen came riding, Kat held in the saddle in front of him. She looked tired and angry, but hale enough. Seeing her lady, Katherine slapped at the clansman’s hands.

  “Unhand me, whoreson!” Katherine scolded. “Baseborn dog!”

  “Ach, now that’s a one,” the MacLaulach muttered. “I would have given ye coos to take back, MacKimzie.”

  “Ye still can,” Colyne returned.

  Isabella shot him a narrowed look and Colyne gave her a sheepish half shrug.

  Ihone nodded to the man holding Katherine and, visibly relieved to be free of her, he let her go. In another instant Kat was in her arms.

  “Oh, poppet! I so feared I should not see you again!”

  “Kat, are you all right?”

  Katherine nodded. “We were treated well, poppet. I have no complaints.”

  “Sir William will be overjoyed to see you, Kat. He has been beside himself with worry.”

  Katherine’s face lit up. “Has he?” she cried, delighted.

  Another of the MacLaulach men came, leading Jamie on his horse. The young man looked pale, but smiled faintly when he saw his father.

  “He needs rest and tending,” Caitrina said to Malcolm, who struggled to hide his tears at the safe return of his son. “But he should mend well.”

  “Still, we best get him home,” Colyne replied. “Malcolm, take Mistress Katherine. Sister, ye’ll ride with me.”

  The MacLaulach took a quick step toward Caitrina. “She stays,” the MacLaulach said coldly.

  Colyne went still. “Ye said ye wished to marry with her.”

  “Aye,” Ihone replied warily.

  “Ach, man, I canna just hand her over to ye!”

  “Aye, ye can!”

  “She’s nae seen ye for years! And yer clan raidin’ us night an’ day!”

  “Nae more’n yer lads liftin’ our coos!”

  “I must know ye’ll take care of her as ye should!”

  MacLaulach bristled.

  “’Tis nae insult meant to ye, MacLaulach,” Colyne put in firmly. “’Tis clear Caitrina trusts ye but I must too. Would ye do any different for yer own?”

  The MacLaulach’s troubled gaze went to Caitrina.

  “I’ll show ye trust then, MacKimzie,” Ihone said, his back straightening. “What ye give me, I will gift ye too. I give ye me sister, Bredach, to take to wife.”

  Isabella froze. Had he said—‘to wife’?

  Colyne’s head came up. “Yer sister?”

  “There’s nae a lass more bonny to be found, save Caitrina,” Ihone said with glance toward her, looking pleased at her blush.

  “She is bonny, Colyne,” Caitrina assured. “She’ll be a fine wife.”

  The MacLaulach looked at Colyne and jerked his chin. “Well, MacKimzie?”

  Colyne shifted his stance. His hooded gaze rested on the young laird and Caitrina then flickered to the others, Kat, Jamie, herself.

  No, Isabella thought, her throat so tight she could scarce breathe. Oh, no, no, please! He cannot—

  “Aye, MacLaulach.” Colyne offered the young laird his arm to clasp. “If yer sister will have me, I will take her to wife.”

  The MacLaulach’s sister, Bredach, was as lovely a girl as Isabella had ever seen. Her beauty would have been the toast of any court and Isabella imagined King Henry would have been fairly undone in her presence.

  Certainly Colyne MacKimzie was.

  By Colyne’s ord
er everyone assembled to welcome the MacLaulach—and his sister—to Castle MacKimzie. Isabella’s heart hammered as Colyne stood blinking and plainly tongue-tied by his betrothed’s beauty when the MacLaulach presented her.

  Bredach dimpled up at Colyne as he stumbled over his words of welcome then took her slender white hand in his as carefully as if it were made of Murano glass.

  No doubt the girl had experienced this reaction from men before.

  Bredach was a true redhead, with the delicate porcelain skin unique to that coloring and a pretty pink mouth. Unbound in the Scot’s style, her hair, brilliant against her ivory skin, flowed down her back and to her hips, and it alone would have marked her out as a rare beauty. She was also possessed of a slender form, tiny waist, graceful white hands, and a face that could send a man to distraction.

  Beside Bredach’s resplendent beauty, Isabella was as plain as a wren.

  She was younger than Isabella as well, no more than seventeen, and likely having known only the loving protection of her clan, a sweet-faced maid.

  So pleased were the clans to have made peace they were eager now to make friends for the New Year. Celebrations were planned, with feasting and mummers, the castle made ready to host as many of both clans as could fit within the walls or on the grounds. The hall was decorated and even the lowest member of the household was in exuberant spirits.

  Caitrina and Ihone would handfast that night to add extra joy to the Hogmanay celebration with their betrothal. On Twelfth Night, the very the height of the festivities—that night having been chosen by various fortunetelling methods and the exhaustive reading of signs to be the most auspicious—Caitrina and Ihone would make their marriage vows.

  Isabella’s throat closed as she watched Colyne smiling down at the woman soon to be his wife. She had scarce spoken to him since the moment he clasped the MacLaulach’s arm. In the days that followed their return to Castle MacKimzie, Isabella lingered where she thought he might pass, hoping for some word, some hope. She sought to catch his eye whenever they met but even if she could muster the courage to lay her heart bare there was no opportunity. Kat or William were always at hand, or one of the clansmen, or Caitrina.

  Only once had there been a moment between them. Just before their walk Kat discovered she was missing her glove and Isabella waited below stairs while she went in search of it.

  Colyne came around the corner just then. The corridor was empty save for them and Isabella saw he realized it too.

  Alone and unobserved for the first time in days, she drank in the sight of him. His face was still clean-shaven, his cheeks flushed, and it was plain he was just in from the cold. The very air around her felt charged by his presence.

  “My lord MacKimzie,” she managed.

  He gave her a respectful nod. “Lady Isabella.”

  Will you not bid me call you ‘Colyne’ now?

  Hidden beneath her cloak, her fingers plucked at the fur lining.

  We have only a few moments, surely. Why do you not speak?

  “You are to be married,” she said weakly.

  He gave a rueful smile. “Mayhap the lass will have nae likin’ for outlaws and will run for home.”

  Her chest felt hollow. Do I mean nothing to you, then?

  “But you—?” she asked, searching his face.

  His voice tightened. “I told ye once, remember? I will nae break a vow once I’ve made it.”

  “I remember.” The peace, his clan’s welfare, and his sister’s happiness depended on him keeping this promise.

  His head came up to look behind her.

  “Ah, that Mary!” Kat complained, gloves in hand. “Never to be found when needed, and well nigh useless when she—” She broke off when she saw Colyne. “My Lord MacKimzie.”

  He stepped back. “I am glad to find ye well, Lady Isabella.”

  Kat held out her hand to stop him. “My lord, have you heard from the queen?”

  He paused, still half turned away. “No, but I’m of a mind to settle the matter as swiftly as may be done now, of that ye can be sure.”

  “Please do,” Isabella said, her tone cold. “I am eager to be married.”

  It was petty, foolish; reminding Colyne another man waited to take her to wife, would take her to his bed. She wanted to hurt him, to wound with words if those were the only weapons left to her.

  But if she had hurt, he gave no sign of it.

  “I too,” Colyne replied shortly. “But I must leave ye now. The MacLaulach and his sister will arrive soon and I have much to see to so I may welcome the lass properly.” He nodded to them. “I will have much occasion to see ye both durin’ Christmastide.”

  Isabella picked at her meals, listlessly watching the preparations for the Christmastide in the days leading up to Bredach’s arrival. As private quarters were limited, Caitrina, embarrassed, told them she and Katherine were to be moved to share another, and much smaller, single room. Colyne had decided Bredach should occupy the rooms Isabella now enjoyed. Katherine was offended at the slight, but Isabella took the news with whitelipped silence. Naturally, he would want his lady given the best comfort and accommodations the castle had to offer.

  Isabella stood by the bed as the last of her things was carried out. She wrapped her fingers around the bedpost and rested her cheek against the smooth wood. In a moment that made her heart feel as if it were tearing, Isabella wondered how long it would be before Colyne sank into the softness of this same bed with Bredach.

  To spare herself Kat’s harping about the need to make merry she dragged herself to join her cousin for whatever amusements the household provided.

  Caitrina herself swept out the ashes of the Christmas fire. Much was made here of seeings from these cold ashes and the household gathered round to hear what to expect in the coming year. Squinting at the ashes, Morag told fortunes and made predictions for those who wished it and for the clan itself. She saw a foot facing into the room, which foretold a new arrival—generally agreed to be the coming visitors.

  Morag saw prosperity, and frowning, told of much turmoil to come to these lands. This worried Caitrina, but Morag assured of nothing but happy marriages for all those who made them in the New Year.

  Morag invited all the folk forward to peer into the ashes to see for themselves. Even Kat stepped forward excitedly, looking to Morag for interpretation. Isabella, witness to many fortunes told at court, hung back. She had no wish to have her life read in the soot of a Highland fireplace by a woman with a cast over her eye.

  “Did ye look into the ashes, lady?” Colyne asked, quietly coming to stand beside her. His voice was pitched so only she should hear. “Do they say anythin’ to ye of the marriage?”

  “Certainly not,” she retorted coldly, spitefully pleased by his crestfallen look.

  She left them all to Morag’s stories of Cailleach, her ways as the Spirit of Winter, and retreated to her tiny room. In that one thing Fortune smiled upon her. Isabella suffered no visions of him and his pretty new bride.

  Katherine still insisted on a daily walk while they awaited word from the court. Her cousin always happened upon Sir William during these walks and they sat together at meals of course. The relief brought by Katherine’s safe return nudged William’s admiration into full-blown adoration.

  Caitrina, usually so serious and pensive, went about these days with a giddy excitement. She was nervous, plainly not of her love for Ihone or his for her, but that everything should go well as the clans came together else her marriage plans be impeded. Caitrina could also speak of little else than her beloved. Her face fairly glowed just upon saying his name, and it was clear she thought of him constantly.

  But far worse than Caitrina’s doting on Ihone was her talk about Colyne’s upcoming marriage. How happy she was Colyne made such a good match, how the double marriage should strengthen both clans, how fine and bonny a wife Bredach would make—and Caitrina spoke of it so often!

  By the afternoon of the Hogmanay feast, Isabella was driven near mad
by the sum of it and was determined to endure no more.

  In the scant hours before the celebration, she stood in the great hall, surrounded by frantic last-minute preparations, and longed for something very heavy with which to hit Colyne MacKimzie over the head.

  He looked no less annoyed at having been stopped by her request to be excused. Caitrina, at his side and more anxious about her marriage than ever, paled at the suggestion of Isabella absenting herself.

  “The peace is fragile and I’ll nae have war because ye dinna want to lift a cup to them,” Colyne retorted with a reassuring glance at Caitrina.

  The MacLaulachs were being settled in and servants scurried about to bring them hot water to wash with, eager to extend every comfort and courtesy to be had within Castle MacKimzie.

  Isabella tried again. “My lord, I am neither member nor guest of this household. My presence at tonight’s feast can hardly matter to the MacLaulach or his sister.”

  Caitrina shifted on her crutch, her pleading gaze going to Colyne.

  “All within MacKimzie lands will make them welcome and clasp their hands in friendship,” Colyne said. “And that’s an end to it.”

  And I will kiss the devil’s arse first! “To be certain,” Isabella said, struggling to control her temper, “I am but an English prisoner soon to be ransomed. I cannot believe them eager to clasp my hand as friend.”

  Colyne tone turned curt. “I am laird here. I will have ye there for the feast tonight, and ye will show yer face at every last Christmastide mummer and reel as well. We will nae risk insult to the MacLaulach or his sister for yer whims.”

  “My lord—” she began through gritted teeth.

  “Yer daughter to an earl and cousin to the queen, aye? I know ye’ve shown yerself merry before nobles who would cheerfully eat your heart in the marketplace,” he snapped, his face reddened to the hairline. “So ye can make a show of yer fine breedin’ and honor the MacLaulach clan with us!”

  Her heart hammered with insult as he left her there surrounded by the preparations to honor his betrothed.

  Isabella straightened her back. I will show you what stuff I am made of indeed, MacKimzie!

  For the Hogmanay feast Isabella donned a dark blue velvet gown and wore her finest jewels. She bid Kat curl her hair with an iron heated in the fire, to pin the front and dress the coils with pearls. Despite Kat’s cluck of disapproval Isabella left off her veil in the Scot’s style and pulled low her chemise to show her décolleté. Rouge pinkened her cheeks and balm made her mouth look fuller and reddened as if she had spent the interim hours being kissed by another. Entering the great hall, Isabella drew many an admiring eye from both the MacKimzie and the MacLaulach clansmen and a number of their glances lingered hotly.