The Shadow 0f Her Smile (Highlander Heroes Book 3)

by Rebecca Ruger

  In all her life, Ada could not recall a moment when she’d been more stunned. Not minutes ago, she’d given up her care of the future, had decided to live in the present, had made peace with it. Jamie MacKenna just proposed that they wed. Ada was beyond befuddled.

  She’d been speechless in her life, she guessed. Mayhap many times. But she knew of no such occasion that left her gape-jawed and her thoughts so tangled as to render her unable to process them. The most persistent one, however, was silly, thinking that she’d not have supposed Jamie MacKenna the type of man to perceive or attach affection from a lone encounter. He was much too hardened, too cynical for such tedious sentiment.

  And then it occurred to her, came as rather a slow dawning of understanding. It was guilt. Because he’d taken the last of her innocence, as inconsequential as it was. She couldn’t help it, she recoiled, both emotionally and bodily.

  “That will not be necessary,” she said rigidly.

  All the lightness that had stayed with them throughout the day dissolved in that instant.

  “Aye, it’s no,” he said, his tone hinting at a bit of surprise, a bit of defensiveness.

  “Though very considerate of you,” she said, believing she’d been successful in keeping the resentment from her voice. “Still, I think a wedding pointless, if you’re concerned somehow that I bemoan today’s loss.” True, it had been the last untainted thing she owned, but she was not sorry to see it gone, did not fret for one moment that it affected her at all, all things considered.

  “You mistake me,” he said, a new severity reflected in his tone.

  “You are asking me to believe that today’s encounter has suddenly made you realize you are in love with me?”

  “I dinna say that, lass,” he clipped. “You want to assume more? Or do you care to hear my thoughts on the subject?”

  Her harrumph was possibly undetected. Mentally crossing her arms over her chest, she waited, prepared to have no liking for any coming words.

  Behind her, Jamie heaved his own sigh and said, “Lass, I dinna think you can argue that somehow, and for whatever purpose, our fates are entwined—and have been since that night at Dornoch,” he began. “Mayhap that’s why what we did today seemed so...natural, or only inevitable. But you ken, there will be many a terrible battle waged before this war is done. I’d like to ken you’re safe and, should I no survive, it would sit well with me to have you looked after. As the wife of the MacKenna, you would be taken care of always.”

  Ada relaxed ever so slightly. This sounded reasonable, indeed, much more realistic, though it still hinted at guilt being the prevailing motive for wanting to marry her.

  When she did not reply to this, he added, “Also, this thing we’ve just done, I’ll be wanting to do it again, and often.” With these admittedly thrilling words, his arms flexed, bringing Ada more firmly against him. “Aye, but I dinna want you doing this with anyone else. Ever. So, I say all that to say all this: we’ll be wed before we reach Aviemore.”

  Ada digested all of this, and it was a lot. The fact that he’d pronounced, not explicitly asked, bothered her least of all. In her continued jumbled contemplations, she pulled out the idea that she’d initially been quite enamored of John Craig, when first they’d met. She had misjudged him terribly. How well did she really know Jamie MacKenna? Might he prove to be a monster as well? No sooner had these doubts presented themselves to her, did she dismiss them. She was unworldly and naïve, she knew, but by some means had every confidence that she had not misread Jamie MacKenna.

  And with that—apparently her only inner argument—settled, Ada could think of no other reason not to say yes.

  With as much grace as she could muster, she admitted, “I did like what we did today.” She chewed her lip for a moment. “I think you did as well.”

  “Aye, verra much.”

  “If we wed, I am able only to do that with you?”

  “Aye, I’ve said as much. I’ll insist upon it.”

  “And you can do this thing we’ve done with only me then?”

  “If you insist,” he allowed.

  “I would,” she said firmly, and then wondered, “I assume Aviemore is much the size of Stonehaven?” At his nod, felt against her head, she confessed, “I do not know anything, or have any experience, overseeing a keep that large.”

  She felt him plant his chin atop her head, but it was several minutes before he spoke, in which time Ada became fairly anxious that he was reconsidering.

  Finally, he said, “You were fair happily ensconced there at Stonehaven, but you came away with me, with a man you weren’t entirely sure was honorable. You keep company with the most sought after man in all of Scotland and only yesterday, you near slew a man in battle. Earlier today, with nary a bit of hesitation, you lay down with me. And you’re worried that you dinna ken how to take care of a big house?”

  She nodded.

  Another minute passed. “So your answer is aye, then?’

  “Aye.”

  From across the fire, Roger’s voice reached them. “You two ken you’ve no been whispering for half of that? Aye, but please I am for you.”

  William Wallace spoke up, his voice groggy but not without a hint of good cheer. “Weddings are a fine beginning to joy and other things.”

  “Aye,” agreed Roger.

  Ada giggled silently, covering her mouth with her hand while Jamie kissed the back of her head.

  He was right, she knew, their fates had been linked from the moment she’d walked down into the dungeon at Dornoch. She couldn’t yet process all that wedding Jamie MacKenna might signify, but she knew a certain relief to put into his hands the matter of her well-being and safety, and indeed her future.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In the morning, when William Wallace was fully wakeful, he approached Ada while Jamie took himself off into the scrub brush.

  “Ada Moncriefe, ‘tis pleased I am for the decision you’ve made.”

  Ada smiled, thinking just now that Wallace’s clever blue eyes nearly danced with delight within his long face. “Thank you, Sir William.”

  “I daresay Jamie MacKenna will give you plenty instances that you’ll wish for a stout club to correct his thinking, lass. But I promise you’ll no regret the choice you made.”

  She considered that William Wallace was surely an intelligent man, his very calling seeming to require that he be a very good judge of the character of many a man.

  “Sir William, I think I’d come to the same conclusion, but to have this verified is much appreciated.”

  They reached the MacBriar’s Hawick House in the late afternoon.

  “You should ken that our present itinerant circumstance will no allow for an actual wedding feast,” Jamie had said to her earlier.

  Ada had replied, “Nor, I imagine, will I be afforded a wedding gown or a bouquet of blooms or even an attendant to stand beside me.” All this, with a shrug, to indicate she truly was untroubled by the lack.

  “Aye, but there will be a consummating,” her bridegroom said.

  She was surprised by the blush that pinkened her cheeks, but heard herself say, with her newfound knowledge of this, “I’m rather counting on that.”

  Hawick House was neither so large nor so fine as Stonehaven, unable to boast more than two towers, and possessed of an outer wall and gate that surely had seen better days. William Wallace insisted, however, that it was a safe haven for them presently, as the numbers within were so slight. This explained the four of them riding into the bailey, Wallace in their midst and not secreted somewhere just away from notice.

  If it had not been made known to her that the castle was so sparsely populated, Ada might have considered it abandoned. No sentries manned the walls, nor even patrolled at ground level near the open gate; no persons milled around the bailey, nor in the smithy’s shed; and not one horse was seen inside the stables.

  “MacBriar is a bit of an enigma,” Jamie described as they dismounted, greeted by no one. “Almost dares
an army to come charging in, but the truth is, he hasn’t much to protect. Wallace suggested Hawick only aged out.”

  “What does that mean?” Ada saw Will trotting inside the yard and straight up to Wallace as the giant dismounted. William Wallace was the only person the hound could stand beside and not seem so overlarge and threatening. Next to Wallace, he appeared only a normal sized pup.

  “The numbers dwindled. Maybe they lost too many to war. Mayhap too many women and not enough men, or the other way around, or too many not breeding, so that no new persons are born into MacBriar’s fold, and those here get old and die.”

  “But what benefit can he possibly provide to the cause?” Ada wondered, as they stopped here strictly for that purpose, more recruiting.

  Jamie dismounted and lifted Ada down from the saddle. “In this region, MacBriar still has great influence. There are thousands of soldiers all around, in neighboring clans. If MacBriar lends his support, others will follow.”

  “I would have thought his influence would have been weakened by his apparent diminished circumstance here.”

  “Aye, it dinna look like much,” Jamie agreed and ducked his head toward her and lowered his voice, “but they say he’s buried more gold around here than he and Hawick can spend in a lifetime. And he loans more coin than Longshanks borrows, so his influence remains strong.”

  “Or bought?”

  “Aye.”

  William Wallace, as if a regular visitor to Hawick House, punched open the door to the tall and square stone keep and stepped into the hall. Roger and Jamie and Ada followed, standing still just inside, letting their eyes adjust to the gloom. The hall was an abomination, the rush strewn floor sticky and odorous. Dark and faded tapestries hung on the walls, covering any possible windows or light; a stale and heavy fog of smoke and dust and foulness hovered in the air; only one table occupied the large space, though the base of this was cracked so that it leaned crookedly to one end, unsuitable for any purpose.

  “A fine venue for a wedding,” Roger teased, throwing a wink back to Ada, just as Wallace called loudly for MacBriar, his deep voice echoing throughout the cavernous hall.

  A person—Ada could not tell if it be a man or woman—appeared in an archway at the end of the room, but only briefly before bobbing and scurrying away. Ada was left with only an impression of a long tunic-ed body with scraggly hair and a questionable mien.

  And then a noise turned their heads toward the other end of the room, where a set of crumbling stairs hugged the wall and led to a shadowy landing. Ada could not hide her surprise at the figure that appeared and now walked down those steps. A young woman, lovely in a gown of fine red wool, with hair the color of honey, descended and greeted Wallace as if happily familiar.

  Wallace turned and beckoned to them and rather as one, Roger and Jamie and she moved closer.

  “’Tis Katherine, wife of Duncan MacBriar,” Wallace informed them.

  The woman, older than the distance had hinted at, but lovely nonetheless, turned pretty gray eyes onto her first, smiling a welcome as Wallace introduced the three of them.

  “Jamie and Ada are wishing to have nuptials this day, madam, if you could lend any assistance to their cause,” Sir William sketched, his gaze and grin fatherly, settled upon Ada.

  The gray eyes lit up. Katherine MacBriar took up Ada’s hands, seemingly unaffected by Ada’s scars, and said, “Oh, but a wedding would be delightful. Hawick House hasn’t seen one since my own, and that was a decade ago.”

  “Mayhap you ladies will discuss some arrangements while Roger and Jamie and I visit your husband’s sickroom?” Wallace suggested.

  “Aye, and I’ll send up some ale and sweets,” Katherine said, still holding one of Ada’s hands. “We will convene in my solar, dear Ada. A wedding, indeed!”

  Ada sent a glance to Jamie, who lifted a brow at this glorious creature’s excitement.

  Not long after, Ada waited inside Lady Hawick’s solar, while that kind woman spent time in the kitchen and in discussion with Hawick’s steward about some immediate tasks to initiate. Ada considered the rather sumptuous room, so absurd when compared with the first impression of the hall. These chambers were clean and fresh and bright, with white-washed walls and fine chairs fitted with plump cushions and carved backs, wonderfully artistic tapestries in a myriad of colors, and a table set under the window with colorful glass jars, which caught and shared the light. Ada had only rarely seen glass pieces, sometimes poorly done inside windows, but never so perfectly presented as these bottles and jars of blue and green, two of them filled now with white and pink spring blooms.

  The woman appeared then around the open door, carrying a tray set with two pewter cups and a plate of sweet breads.

  “Here we are,” she cooed and placed the tray on the table, pushing it backward so that those glass jars moved away, closer to the wall.

  Ada stared at her. Her own sisters had been intrigued by fripperies, had spent much time on their own toilette. Ada could never quite understand why. The same question seemed to pose itself now, as she gazed upon all the pristine beauty of this woman. Her hair was pinned back in some elaborate coiffure, curls coiled precisely all around her head, braids falling around her shoulders; her dress was immaculate, and costly, Ada imagined, colored wool being far more expensive than the browns and grays; the fingernails of her lean and soft hands were trimmed and rounded so neatly, Ada was sure it must be intentional; the lips that smiled at her were unnaturally red, as if some tint or stain had been applied, giving them a rosy appearance.

  The lady handed Ada one of the cups and offered the plate to her. Gingerly, Ada plucked at one of the sweets, and smiled her thanks.

  Katherine MacBriar seated herself on the matching chair across from Ada, her back straight, her posture rather formal, inducing Ada to raise herself neatly.

  “You are very gracious, my lady,” Ada said, not without a trace of awe.

  “We so rarely see visitors,” said Katherine, “and even more rarely a woman with whom I can share time. You are quite lovely, Ada Moncriefe. Of course, one cannot mistake the scars, but lovely nonetheless—they give you a certain boldness. Your entire look fair screams tragedy, but I can see in your eyes that you’d be no one’s victim.”

  Ada’s bottom lip fell. She did not know if she should be offended by such blunt speaking. Quickly, she decided not; Lady MacBriar was nothing if not genuine, she guessed, meaning no disrespect, Ada had to assume.

  “But a wedding—and to that glorious man, the MacKenna,” Katherine MacBriar said, near to giddy, thumping her hand over her heart. “You are very lucky, indeed. Was it he who saved you from—” the chatty lady swirled her hand around, to indicate Ada’s appearance, “—whatever did that to you.”

  Still taken aback by her careless chatter, Ada could only shake her head and murmur, “He did not.”

  Katherine leaned forward and winked, “But I bet he wishes he had.”

  If only she knew. “I’m sure he does,” Ada intoned, warming to the woman, despite—or because—exactly how different she was from anyone Ada had ever known.

  “You’ve been wed to the MacBriar for ten years?” Ada aimed to turn the conversation away from herself.

  Katherine sighed with a smiled grimace. “Aye, since I was seventeen. He’s not awful, and I haven’t had to lie with him in years.” And then, with greater enthusiasm, “I have the prettiest wardrobe north of Perth—and isn’t this room just darling?”

  “But the hall...?” Ada wondered, before she caught herself.

  Thin shoulders fell, gray eyes crinkled at Ada. “Horrid, is it not? We’ve no servants or serfs, not as we once did. The more sickly Duncan gets, the tighter the purse strings become. I used to keep it up, but truth be told, it was ruining my hands and what was the point? No one comes to Hawick, and when they do, they only beg coin of Duncan and then they’re off.”

  She was just absolutely riddled with information to share, almost as if she’d waited for someone to c
ome, that she might entertain them, as if all these words had been building up.

  Ada’s curiosity overrode her politeness, that she dared to ask, “But your husband, when he...dies, what will become of you?”

  Her face lit up, the pink lips spreading wide. “Oh, then I’ll find a strapping young man—of good honor and fine manners,” she was quick to assure, “someone like your man, mayhap. We’ll fill the house and land with bairns and return Hawick to its former glory and I will be a grand lady, indeed.”

  Ada smiled, and her response was both spontaneous and sincere. “You are already a very grand lady.”

  Katherine accepted this with a happy face for this praise, and then chirped, clapping her hands together, “But now there’s to be a wedding! We can have the hall cleaned in only a day or two. I’ll tell Moira in the kitchen to start baking for a feast. We’ll invite everyone from the village—and oh! We must find you something to wear. I have the perfect gown!”

  Ada hated to disappoint her but felt she should straighten her out before this went too far.

  “My lady—”

  “You must call me Katherine.”

  “Katherine, you are very kind to offer so much—and to complete strangers,” Ada began, and hurried it along when it seemed the woman would brush it off, “but I think it is not our plan to stay overlong. And I’m not sure Jamie would be comfortable with anything...fancy, as far as our wedding goes. Nor I, truth be told.”

  The pout offered up by her pretty painted lips nearly caused Ada to laugh out loud. With a thought to allow for some concession, to appease the woman’s excitement, Ada said, “But I would be quite thankful for some help with my hair and something to wear.”

  Suddenly graceless, almost childlike, and while the pout remained, Katherine acquiesced. And then her eyes lit up. “Oh, but you must have a bath. That big strapping man of yours won’t want a road-weary bride in his bed on his wedding night.”

  “A bath would be most welcome,” Ada allowed, feeling as if she were much older than this woman.