Choosing the Highlander

by Jessi Gage

  Connie hadn’t a clue what they were saying in their rapid Scot’s dialect, but it didn’t matter. Their being together this morning was a crime against matrimony.

  “What are you doing in here,” she asked Terran in her faux-British accent.

  He eyed her coolly. “I am having a lovely morning with my soon-to-be bride.” He slouched back in his chair, arms folded over his chest.

  “Out.” She folded her arms to match his posture. “It’s bad luck to see your bride before the wedding. Besides, I need time to get her ready.” There weren’t many beauty supplies at her disposal, but someone—probably Anselm—had left a hair brush and a folded garment on the chest at the foot of the bed.

  “I donna put stock in luck, good or bad.” He propped an ankle on his knee, the picture of immovable man.

  It was remarkable how much Terran resembled Wilhelm, both in appearance and stubbornness. She’d learned they were a year apart in age and related through their fathers, who were brothers. If she hadn’t been told otherwise, she might have assumed them to be twins—fraternal, because of the small differences, like the color of their hair and the shapes of their noses. Wilhelm’s nose was more refined and his hair a fairer shade of blond. Further differentiating the two men, Wilhelm kept his hair cropped closely to his head in that Roman style that looked so handsome around a face that might have been sculpted by a master. Terran’s face was much the same, but his posture was often sullen in comparison to the disciplined set of Wilhelm’s shoulders and the aristocratic angle of his chin.

  Wilhelm’s air of authority threw her for a loop, because she’d never met another man whose self-assurance she found enticing rather than repulsive. Stubbornness, though, she could handle.

  She strode to the bed with a smile for Aifric. “Fine,” she said with a glance Terran’s way. “Aifric, lift up the blankets, darling, so I can change your bloody rags and check on your healing. How is the bleeding, by the way? Slowing at all?”

  Terran planted both feet on the floor. “I’ll go and see if Anselm needs help in the kitchen.” He raced for the door as Connie threw off Aifric’s blankets.

  As his footsteps faded down the hall, Connie shared a conspiratorial grin with the new mother.

  “He hates the sight of blood,” Aifric said.

  “I suspect it’s only the sight of your blood,” Connie replied. Terran was a warrior like Wilhelm. Blood would not be off-putting to him if it belonged to a foe. But judging from his quick departure after Anice’s birth, when Connie had begun muddling her way through birth-canal damage control, she’d guessed he wouldn’t want to stick around to see bloody bedding changed.

  Connie helped Aifric with her necessities and washing. While the young mother was out of bed, Connie replaced the folded up blankets where Aifric typically sat with the fresh ones Anselm had brought.

  Before long, Anice woke. While Aifric nursed her, Connie brushed Aifric’s hair. She had never been overly interested in hair styles, but she did know a few tricks thanks to Leslie’s obsession with fashion. While she worked on a series of symmetrical buns along Aifric’s nape, they talked. At first, they discussed Anice and what a good baby she was, but the topic soon turned to more serious things.

  “We almost died together, you and I,” Aifric said. “Mayhap that is why I feel so connected to you.”

  Between her soft voice, the nursing baby, and the task of styling the younger woman’s hair, Connie took note of a previously untapped longing for this type of charming domesticity. There was a peace in this moment she hadn’t felt since she and Leslie were young. Their childhood had ended so quickly. Before Connie knew it, she was enrolled in college and Leslie had become addicted to globetrotting.

  Why hadn’t she insisted on spending more time with her sister? Connie’s laser beam focus on her career had left little room for building memories. She had met many goals and received many accolades. She had found success and was on a track to find even more. Faced now with the possibility of never seeing her twin again, all her professional accomplishments felt less significant than the dust under her feet.

  “When Sir Ruthven called for my execution, I knew ’twas the end for me,” Aifric went on.

  Connie focused on the young woman. She would have plenty of time to go over the what-might-have-been’s later. Today was about Aifric.

  “I thought so, too,” Connie admitted, holding to the British accent. “It was terrifying.”

  “But you didn’t just stand there and accept it. You fought the guards. You proclaimed your innocence. I was not so brave.”

  “Pfft. You were in no condition to fight. I’d only recently been captured, and I hadn’t been hurt badly. I wouldn’t call it bravery. Mostly, it felt like panic.”

  “Looked like bravery to me.” Aifric reached up to pat Connie’s hands, stilling her work for a moment.

  A lump stuck in her throat.

  Aifric saved her from having to reply. “I thought I would never meet her.” She bent her neck to kiss Anice’s forehead while she shifted the baby to her other breast.

  The movement caused Connie to drop a lock of hair, but she didn’t mind. She was working slowly on purpose. Life was too short to squander these simple moments. Seeing Anice come into the world was one of the most beautiful things Connie had ever witnessed. That and Terran’s sudden fierce devotion to both mother and child.

  Had Aifric been a modern-day woman pregnant without a husband, the likelihood of a near stranger insisting upon marrying her immediately would have been laughable. Maybe young men so willing to take on the responsibility of an instant family existed, but if so, Connie had yet to hear of one.

  Of course, the couple’s newfound infatuation with each other would fade and they would settle into more of a partnership than a romantic affair, but that was the way of marriages. At least that was what Connie had observed with her friends and family, especially her parents.

  The point was that even once the romance ended, Aifric and Anice would be safe with Terran. He was strong, and it seemed he—or at least Wilhelm—was well-to-do. Terran would provide for his wife and daughter their whole lives, and Aifric would no doubt contribute in the way of women in this time. They would be family, stronger for their togetherness, like a tightly-twisted rope.

  “Well, you did get to meet her,” Connie said. “And what a precious little thing she is.”

  “Aye. I feel as though I’ve been given a second chance. Instead of losing everything, I have gained a daughter and a husband. And a friend.” She said the last tentatively, almost as a question.

  Well, gosh, that was sweet. Connie might not be sentimental, but she wasn’t made of stone. “Of course you’ve gained a friend.”

  “And mayhap a sister.” Her voice brightened. “I see the way Wilhelm looks at you. I ken they’re but cousins, but Terran says they’ve always been more like brothers. I doona believe Terran is the only one with marriage on his mind.”

  She might as well have slapped Connie for the shock her statement delivered. “I beg your pardon?” She’d almost gaped and uttered a very American “What!” but she’d recovered herself in time to keep up her role.

  “Surely, you’ve noticed. Has Wilhelm nay spoken to you about his intentions?”

  “Intentions? His only intention is that we travel to Inverness to clear his name after the—er—unpleasantness in Perth.”

  Connie mentally reviewed every interaction between her and Wilhelm. True, there seemed to be something between them, but Aifric made their attraction seem like something far more serious than Connie was prepared for.

  It might be nice to explore this thing between her and Wilhelm, but she couldn’t indulge that fantasy. She had to get home. As much as she liked him, they would say their goodbyes in Inverness. She would sever their acquaintance quickly and neatly, and Wilhelm would get on with his life.

  But what Wilhelm had told her in the garden worried her. It seemed he was a wanted man. The trip to Inverness wasn’t to bring justi
ce against Ruthven, as she’d assumed, but rather to clear his and Terran’s names.

  Anger pulsed through her at the thought of her heroic rescuer standing accused of wrongdoing. It was the height of unfairness and more proof that she had to escape this time as soon as possible.

  Things didn’t work the way they did in modern America. Ruthven, it seemed, would get away with the attempted murder of two innocent women. Meanwhile, Wilhelm, a man who gave every appearance of being a force for good in Scotland, was supposed to give testimony to explain why he’d saved her and Aifric?

  It was so backwards.

  And it made her uneasy. Wilhelm told her not to “fash” about him and Terran, but that was one order she couldn’t obey. The thought of him being punished for his good deed infuriated her. She wouldn’t allow it.

  It seemed this trip to Inverness was much more important than she’s realized. As she finished with Aifric’s hair, she determined to fix things for Wilhelm. Maybe it was idealistic of her, but she also wanted to make Ruthven pay for what he’d done. If the law wouldn’t hold him accountable, someone should.

  There was no mirror to show Aifric what her hair looked like, but Connie found the effect pleasing. “I’ve swept it into three small buns. Here.” She took one of the girl’s hands and guided it to feel what she’d done. The three knots looked a bit like roses with little bits of hair sticking out here and there like leaves.

  “If only I had some ribbon or pretty pins to embellish it with.”

  “Oh, it feels divine. My thanks. Terran will love it.”

  Connie chuckled. “That man would love you bald.”

  Aifric blushed.

  “Come on. Let’s get you dressed for your big day. I hope you’ll let me be your bride’s maid.”

  By the time she had Aifric fastened into her borrowed gown and a silky ribbon tied with a big bow around Anice’s little head, she was practically vibrating with eagerness to lay eyes on Wilhelm again. Surely this only was because she’d set goals for the near future, and he was key to achieving them, not because she had been intrigued by a young mother’s romantic supposition.

  Chapter 10

  After satisfying himself that Constance was safe inside the monastery, Wilhelm went in search of Terran. Today would be a grand day for his cousin. Wilhelm wished he could put off sharing with him the unsettling news he’d heard from Anselm before daybreak, but it couldn’t be helped. Their plans would have to change, and Terran would not like the new strategy.

  “There you are.” A male voice stopped him on his way to the guest quarters.

  ’Twas Elias, the young monk he had sent to the village to purchase gifts for his cousin and Aifric. He was a burly youth with tonsured head. He appeared pale. Must be from the cold.

  “Just arrived back, aye? Did ye fetch the gifts?”

  Elias handed him a parcel. “The book of Ruth for the lass and a fine shaving kit for your cousin. I saw him in the refectory when I arrived.”

  “Very well. Thank you, Elias.” He’d given the lad a generous tip for taking on the errand for him. He turned his feet toward the room where the monks dined, but Elias stopped him.

  “Wait. There’s somat you should hear. Gossip in the village.”

  Wilhelm froze. “What have ye heard?”

  “That the baron’s departed for parts north. He’s rumored to have a capias with him, signed by the Bishop of Perthshire.”

  Ice cold dread slammed into him. If the rumor was true, it meant Ruthven had wasted no time filing charges against him and Terran. Thanks to Anselm looking into the matter during a brief exeat from the abbey last night, Wilhelm had learned precisely what those charges were likely to be. They were far more serious than Wilhelm and Terran had assumed.

  Wilhelm had hoped to find a magistrate to hear their side before formal charges were filed. It seemed this was no longer possible. If the rumors were true, they were now wanted men. This made traveling to Inverness much more dangerous.

  A capias would allow Ruthven to arrest them on site. Kenning it had been signed by the bishop confirmed the disappointing news he’d heard from Anselm this morn’.

  If Ruthven was heading north, he must mean to find them in Dornoch. Wilhelm hoped the letter he’d written to his father arrived well in advance of Ruthven. The black hearted baron was not a guest one liked to receive without preparation.

  “My thanks, Elias.” He made haste for the refectory. Terran must hear of this immediately.

  In contrast to the black robed monks with their white head cloths, Terran’s burgundy wool and fair hair were easy to spot. He was also a head taller than the few men bent over their meals and stood out for his size.

  Wilhelm tapped his shoulder in greeting since the monks observed silence in the refectory unless the Scriptures were being read, as was custom for the midday and evening meals. A jerk of his thumb in the direction of the guest room they shared indicated Terran should follow him there.

  His cousin understood and rose with his trencher, still heaped with eggs and strawberry preserves. Together, they made their quiet way to their quarters.

  While Constance and Aifric had been put in rooms far away from the abbey’s residents due to their gender and Aifric’s condition, he and Terran had been given the state room kept for high ranking guests. He’d tried convincing Anselm to put the women in that room since ’twas the finest, but Anselm insisted the old dorter chambers given to the women were a better choice because they abutted the infirmary, where supplies for Aifric would be close at hand. Wilhelm hadn’t failed to notice that wing also happened to be closest to the abbey’s burial yard. Thank God they hadn’t required use of that particular portion of Anselm’s domain.

  “Sit,” he commanded Terran once they entered their room. He motioned toward the weapons chest at the foot of the bed they would have shared if Terran had seen fit to leave Aifric’s side at night, which he hadn’t.

  “What are ye planning to do to me?” Terran eyed him warily as he polished off his meal.

  Wilhelm opened his shaving kit for the second time that morning. “You need a shave. I plan to comb your hair as well. There isna time to wash it, but I’ll tame it with some oil.”

  Terran harrumphed and submitted to Wilhelm’s care.

  While Wilhelm shaved his cousin, he inquired after Aifric and told him how he’d found Constance in the cloister. He didn’t mention the tow-ma-tow plants they’d spoken of, only that she seemed hale and well rested.

  He didn’t look forward to telling Terran that their plan to ride as a threesome to Inverness had changed. Best to have it over and done with.

  “I leave with Constance after the midday meal.” He braced himself for argument.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Terran replied, tilting his chin for the blade. “Why not return home first? Inverness isna far from Dornoch. We could take Aifric. I’ll see her and the bairn safe to our kin. That way, we could speak to Kenrick directly and ride with him to find a magistrate to hear our case. We could even ride out under the banner of the Murray. Make an impression when we arrive.”

  Wilhelm understood Terran’s reluctance to be separated from his bride. Fortunately for his cousin, he would have opportunity to remain with Aifric and Anice. But Wilhelm suspected Terran would not like the reason.

  “You misunderstand, cousin.”

  He plopped a damp rag in Terran’s hands so he could wipe his face. Meanwhile, Wilhelm picked up a comb and began the arduous task of detangling the lad’s lion’s mane. “I said I would ride for Inverness. Not we. And I’ll not be stopping in Dornoch first.”

  Terran had been dodging the pulling of the comb, but at this, he ignored Wilhelm’s grooming and growled, “Listen here. You’ll not be riding anywhere without my protection. We travel together. Always.”

  He gripped a hank of Terran’s hair with command. “You listen.” He worked the comb’s teeth in short strokes. “I told you the gossip in the village, aye?” Yesterday, he’d gone with two of Anselm’s monk
s for supplies to aid in Anice’s birth. Since the abbey wasn’t far from Perth, rumors about Ruthven’s gathering had naturally been plentiful. The rescue of the women didn’t feature prominently, but news of the fire did.

  “Aye.” Terran huffed with mirth. “If Ruthven hadn’t retreated into his keep, he might have commanded his men to put the fire out before it spread to the kirk. Bloody coward. Serves him right the fire spread as wide as it did.”

  Wilhelm agreed. The damage would have been easily contained if Ruthven had taken up command of his men and brought order into the panic. But all that was beside the point. Terran must hear what Wilhelm had learned this morning from Anselm and Elias. “There is more, brother.”

  Terran stilled at the affectionate term Wilhelm reserved for nights before battle.

  “It seems Ruthven seeks my blood,” he said.

  Terran was quiet for a moment. “Is that what they’re saying in the village?” he said at last.

  “No. ’Tis what Anselm has heard from a friend he has in the bishop’s retinue. They supped together yester eve, and Anselm told me the news only an hour ago.”

  Terran cursed, and it wasn’t because the comb had caught. In fact, Wilhelm had removed the worst of the tangles. He was now combing simply to have somat to do with his hands.

  “Tell me,” his cousin demanded. His concern was not misplaced. When the church became involved in the affairs of nobles, no good ever came of it.

  Wilhelm put down the comb and removed the cork from a bottle of grooming oil. Rubbing a drop between his palms, he said, “You and I both ken the sensible charges would be instigating and arson. We would appear before the Earl of Perthshire, admit to such, give our reasons, and face losing some of Dornoch’s holdings if we come out on the losing end. But Anselm heard the charge is attempted murder of a clergyman and obstruction of necessary purging by the church. The nature of the crimes mean they’ll be tried by the Bishop of Perthshire instead of a magistrate. Worse, Anselm’s friend passed along the warning that Ruthven has the bishop in his pocket.”