Reckless Scotland: A Scottish Medieval Romance Bundle

by Victoria Vane

  “Eyesore? He’s not an eyesore.” Her voice rose with her indignation. “And I did not fawn over him. I simply gave Devlin the respect he deserved. He’s a wonderful horse and I shall never find another comparable.”

  “Aye, that’s the God’s honest truth.” Hammish sneered, his disgust plain to see.

  Calum’s muffled snort pricked her ears and she jerked her head around to pin him with a hard stare, daring him to speak against her faithful gelding.

  He lifted his hands in surrender and pressed his lips together in a bid to quell his humor. Across the table, Liam and a few other warriors did not bother hiding their amusement. Their shameless laughter filled the hall.

  To the devil with the lot of them!

  She had enough of them poking fun at Devlin. Slapping her palms on the table, she sprang to her feet.

  “I find myself bored with my present company, so I shall take my leave.” She sniffed and lifted her chin. “I bid you all a good night.”

  Following suit, Mairi rose from her seat. “I think I shall retire as well. I’ll see you up, Arabella.”

  *

  CALUM WATCHED AS ARABELLA and his sister retired from the hall with their heads pressed together. Mairi whispered in Arabella’s ear and she tossed her head back and laughed. The feminine sound appealed to his senses. For the life of him, he could not pry his gaze away from Arabella’s swaying backside as she conspired, Christ only knew what, with his sister.

  “You think I do not know what you’re looking at, boy?” Fraser grunted. “You should be thankful I do not remove your eyes from their sockets.”

  Calum cast him a sideways stare. “I’d like to see you try, old man.”

  Laughter broke out around the high table and Elena bolted from her seat, silencing the men. Distaste colored her features. Without a word of explanation, she stormed from the hall.

  Confounded by her behavior, Calum darted a questioning look at his cousin who shrugged. Though the two were far from friends, Elena had never outright scorned Fraser in front of their clans before now. He peered at his ally and lifted his brows, surprised to find the older man’s intense stare fixed on his aunt. Fraser tracked Elena’s every move until she disappeared from sight.

  “And just what are you looking at?” He drawled out the question.

  The other laird blinked a few times, shuttering the force of his gaze. Glancing away from the empty hall entrance, he grabbed his tankard and peered into the contents as if the water might divine some long sought answer.

  Fraser muttered, “Leave it be, Calum.”

  He narrowed his eyes at the out of character response, but afforded the man a reprieve and let the matter lie. For now, at least.

  A few tankards later, most of the MacGregors had retired from the hall to bed down for the night, leaving him in the company of Fraser, Liam, and a score of his most trusted warriors.

  Fraser swallowed a mouthful of water and placed his drink on the table. “Now, tell me more of this whoreson.”

  “From what Arabella’s told us, this man, Longford, struck down Iain in an ambush. Seems he’s had his sights set on Penswyck from the start. He sought a match with Arabella, but Iain denied his request. I presume this led to Iain’s death.”

  Fraser shook his head. “At least the lass is safe now.”

  “True,” he hesitated. “Though, we met with trouble along our journey.”

  “Trouble?” The laird’s sharp gaze met his. “What sort of trouble?”

  “This man, Longford, sent a troop of men after her, if that tells you anything.”

  “More than I wished to know.” Anger darkened his harsh features. “You think the arse would be so daring as to come here and steal her?”

  “’Tis possible.” Liam leaned his elbows on the table. “Without Arabella, he has no legitimate claim to Penswyck.”

  ’Twas not a prospect Calum wished to entertain, but Liam spoke the truth. ’Twas a threat he could not dismiss. Men like Longford, compelled by a single-minded purpose, however ill-fated or irrational, would not relent until they obtained their wicked goals.

  “He’s taken bold measures thus far.” Calum met Fraser’s stony stare. “This will only end with Longford’s death.”

  Fraser reached for his tankard and sighed. “She’s headstrong, my lass is. I’ll need to assign a pair of guards to her at all times. I cannot have her flitting about without a care of the dangers lurking beyond my walls.”

  His walls? The notion of Arabella anywhere else but with him was unacceptable.

  Calum growled. “Nay, she stays here.”

  The older laird cut him a biting look, which would’ve made a lesser man wince. “Is that so, boy?”

  The warriors fell silent, the pointed question ensnaring each man’s attention around the table. Weighted stare after weighted stare landed on Calum, but he dared not glance away from the challenge in Fraser’s eyes.

  “’Tis so.”

  “Did you forget what we discussed before you left?” Fraser stroked his beard. “You understand the meaning of this?”

  By God, he was not daft. Of course he comprehended the meaning. He would not have stated otherwise. Besides, the old goat had already announced the wedding to their clans. A fact that still rankled Calum.

  He lifted his chin, bearing Fraser’s gauging scrutiny. “Seems you’ve already spread word from what Mairi’s told me.”

  “What? I did no such thing.” Fraser sputtered. At Calum’s raised brow, he amended, “I might’ve mentioned…well, ’tis no matter now.” He waved his hand in annoyance. “Saints above, just give me your damned answer.”

  Calum narrowed his gaze. He should make the stubborn laird pry it from him. Would serve him right if he did, but he took mercy. On some level, he understood Fraser’s need to safeguard Arabella with the match. Would he not do the same for Mairi?

  “Aye.” One simple word conveyed a wealth of meaning.

  Fraser straightened, his eyes widening. “Aye?”

  “Aye.” Calum drawled out the single word.

  “Well…” Victory flashed in the laird’s eyes and a smile emerged through his bushy beard. Fraser cuffed his shoulder. “’Tis settled then.”

  “Truly?” Liam exclaimed.

  Calum met his cousin’s astonished gaze. “Aye, I’ve decided to take Arabella as my bride.”

  Roused shouts and hoots rose from the men, chasing away the strained silence and lightening the mood in the hall.

  “You’re going to have to watch her,” Fraser warned. “She’s a mischievous lass. Quiet, but mischievous.”

  Liam chuckled. “No cause to worry. He’ll see that she’s well protected.”

  “Damn right, I will.” Calum scowled at the other laird. “I protect what’s mine.”

  “A mite possessive already, Laird?” Symon smirked.

  Ignoring the jab, Calum slammed a fist on the table, stifling the teasing in the hall. “Look, we have more pressing matters to discuss. Everyone agrees the Englishman must die, aye?”

  Without hesitation, a chorus of ayes rang out.

  “Then we prepare. I’ve no notion what to expect from Longford, but I’m not taking any chances where Arabella is concerned. Sean, Gavin, I want the two of you guarding her at all times. The rest of you, make sure to assign extra men to each watch. Anyone notices anything out of place, you come to me.” When the men nodded, he faced his second commander. “Symon, I have an errand for you. See me before you bed down for the night.”

  He glanced at Fraser. “Will you send word to the other clans to be wary of travelers through their lands?”

  “Of course.” Fraser nodded. “I’ll spread word, at once.”

  “So…when’s the wedding?” Marcus grinned.

  Rolling his eyes, Calum raked his hand down his face in exasperation. He glanced around the table, meeting each man’s amused stare. “Let me speak with the lass first. I do not need her finding out from someone else before she and I have a chance to discuss the matter.�
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  Fraser snorted into his tankard. “Then you should make haste.”

  Calum’s gaze darted to older man. “Why?”

  With a shameless grin, Fraser shrugged. “I’ve already sent for the priest.”

  Chapter Twelve

  ARABELLA HASTENED DOWN the stairs, eager not to miss the morning meal, or Calum for that matter. She’d slept far past first light, but surely she was not too late. She paused at the entryway of the great hall, panting from her mad dash. Aside from a few servants, naught but bare trestle tables and empty seats filled the chamber. Her shoulders and spirits slumped at the sight.

  “Over here, Arabella.”

  She glanced to the side of the hall where Mairi lounged in a huge chair in front of the lit hearth. A large, shaggy hound leaned against her legs while she scratched behind its ears.

  And they complained Devlin was unsightly.

  Arabella made her way across the hall, eyeing the mongrel as she passed. She gave the beast a wide berth, and settled onto a stool beside her new friend. Rubbing her hands together to chase away the chill in the air, she held them before the fire, absorbing the warmth.

  “’Tis cold this morn.”

  “Aye, I’m afraid it shall only get colder as winter approaches.” Mairi leaned forward and shooed the furry beast away. The dog moved closer to the hearth, its claws clicking on the stone as it moved to lie in front of the fire.

  “I’m sorry to have overslept. I’d hoped to break my fast before our tour of the keep.” Arabella frowned at the flames, unwilling to admit she’d mostly wished to catch a glimpse of Calum before he went about his duties for the day.

  “Not to worry. You needed the rest. I had Agnes save you some food.” Mairi motioned to Florie, who smiled brightly and darted into the kitchens. “Once you’ve eaten, I’ll show you my herb garden, and then we’ll visit with Aunt Elena. She’s working on a batch of salve to store for winter or she would’ve joined us.”

  Within moments, Florie rushed into the hall with a bowl of pottage she handed over to Arabella. “Here you are, my lady. ’Tis still nice and warm.”

  She accepted the fare with a gracious smile. “Thank you, Florie.”

  The blonde nodded and proffered a toothy grin before addressing her mistress. “Lady Mairi, Heartha asked if you’d bring Lady Arabella by her cottage later. She wished to check her measurements.”

  “We’ll be sure to pay her a visit.”

  The servant bobbed her head and returned to her duties.

  Arabella glanced at Mairi, who explained. “Heartha’s the clan’s best weaver. I’ve asked her to fashion new gowns for you.” Mairi reached over and patted her shoulder. “Liam told me what happened with your others.”

  “Oh.” Heat warmed her cheeks. “Thank you, but I imagine I’ll be traveling to the Fraser keep soon. Surely the Frasers’ weaver can supply me with a few.”

  “Ah…” Hesitant, Mairi frowned and tapped her finger on the chair arm. “Well, as far as I’m aware, Fraser intends to stay on here for a time. So in that case, you’ll need new gowns.”

  Arabella had not heard otherwise from her uncle, or Calum. In fact, she’d barely just arrived at the MacGregor holding and had little chance to speak to anyone at length aside from Mairi. After the evening meal, the two of them had spent the remainder of the night talking in Calum’s bedchamber. To her good fortune, she and Mairi shared many common interests and formed an immediate kinship. ’Twas a rare and refreshing change for her.

  Once Arabella finished her repast, Mairi rose to her feet and smiled. “Shall we?”

  Anxious to see more of the keep, she trailed her new friend through the great hall into the kitchens. Absorbed in taking in the new surroundings, she failed to notice Mairi had halted in her tracks until she slammed into the back of the woman. Arabella stepped around her to ask why she’d stopped and came up short at a large, wooden ladle jammed in close proximity of her nose.

  A short, decrepit woman with wiry, gray hair stood at the other end of the spoon. Deep wrinkles added to the force of her scowl. A full head shorter than Arabella, the old crone blocked their path.

  “The pair of you better not come running in here messing up my kitchens.”

  “Holy Mother Mary, Agnes. We’re merely on our way to the garden.” Mairi heaved an exasperated sigh. “We’re not going to mess up a thing.”

  “Best not, or I’ll turn you both over my knee.” Agnes squinted her beady eyes with the threat, and then hobbled over to a bubbling pot over the fire.

  Startled by the dour woman, Arabella glanced askance at Mairi, who rolled her eyes and motioned her to a hallway off the side of the kitchens.

  “Who the devil was that?” she whispered.

  “Agnes, our cook,” Mairi muttered. “Seems she’s in good spirits today.”

  Arabella exclaimed, “Good spirits?”

  “Aye, you should meet her when she’s in a foul mood.”

  “I’d rather not. In fact, I believe I’ll not venture into the kitchens alone in the future,” Arabella assured her.

  “Sound decision.” Mairi chuckled.

  With each step deeper into the passageway, the air grew cooler. At the end, Mairi unbarred a heavy door, stepped out into the morning sun, and waved Arabella through. As her friend bid, she strode outside and paused long enough to take in the charming sight.

  Vine-covered stone surrounded a lush garden filled with herbs and protected the patch of thriving earth from the chilled autumn winds. Breathing in the fresh, wholesome scents of rosemary and mint hanging in the air, she wandered through the garden, running her fingertips over leaves and blossoms.

  Memories of her mother’s garden at Penswyck surfaced. The image of her mother’s bright crown of red curls and loving face filled Arabella’s mind for a fleeting moment, then faded. She struggled to grasp ahold of the likeness once more, but the memory retreated into black oblivion as though it never existed.

  Tears slipped from her eyes and she crushed the leaves in her hand. Fleeting glimpses—short snatches of happier moments in her life—’twas all she had left anymore.

  “Are you all right?” Mairi’s hesitant voice cut through her grim thoughts.

  She sniffed and proffered a faint smile. “Aye, ’tis just your garden reminds me of my home.”

  Mairi laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I understand, you know. This was my mother’s garden before she died in childbirth with me.” Her hand slipped away and she ambled through the garden, plucking at leaves as she passed. “For as long as I can remember, my father used to bring me here. We’d spend hours here in the garden, and he’d tell me such wonderful tales of her and how much she loved me and Calum. It might sound foolish, but I feel close to both of them here.”

  Arabella’s heart tugged at the other woman’s words. She moved to Mairi’s side and wrapped her arms around friend.

  “Thank you for sharing this place with me, Mairi. Your love for your mother and father show in the care you’ve taken with this garden. They would be honored to see how well you’ve tended it.”

  Mairi drew away, tears brimming in her eyes, and choked out a laugh. “You know, you’re quite the charmer. I wonder if my brother knows that.”

  Arabella snorted and rolled her eyes at the statement.

  Giggling, Mairi grabbed her hand. “Come on, let me show you the rest of the keep.”

  Much later, Arabella found herself wandering along the travel-worn paths of the adjoining village. The small settlement flourished with activity. Clan members ground the last of the harvested grain for the year at the mill, readying their stores for the long winter ahead. The armor smith pounded horseshoes, while weavers spun wool into fabric at looms. Even the clan elders busied themselves, barreling drams of whisky, skinning hides, or sampling the alewife’s latest batch of brew. Each Macgregor she met exchanged kind words and friendly greetings.

  On the village’s edge, she and Mairi arrived at a thatched cottage cloaked in the scents of heali
ng herbs and medicinals. The dwelling’s sides boasted opened windows and doors, permitting a steady flush of air. To Arabella’s surprise, a tiny stream trickled alongside the cottage, supplying a constant source of fresh water. Even with a limited knowledge of healing, she appreciated the evidence of cleanliness.

  Inside, Elena stood in front of a wooden table laden with jars, pouches, mortars and pestles, and stacks of drying herbs. The older woman wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist and waved them in.

  “Do not just stand there. Come inside. I wished to finish this batch of salve today, and now I can since I have a pair of helpers.”

  Within moments of entering the cottage, Elena set them to work.

  She passed Mairi a bundle of foxglove. “Pluck the leaves from these, dear.” Then she dropped a bunch of dried rowan berries in a stone bowl and passed Arabella a grinder. “And for you, lass, crush these into a fine powder.”

  Elena beamed a bright smile and returned to mixing the contents of a shallow basin. “What mischief have you two gotten in to this morn?”

  “Arabella and I toured the keep and village, and she met several of the clan.”

  “Everyone’s been so kind and welcoming,” Arabella said. “I admit I’m rather impressed with how well the holding runs.”

  “Aye, we MacGregors understand the importance of hard work, and my nephew is a fine leader. He learned well from his father and Hammish.” Elena winked.

  Arabella glanced up from the bowl. “My uncle?”

  Elena nodded. “Aye, the same.”

  “How? I mean, what did he do?” Arabella asked.

  Mairi paused in plucking leaves. “Many years ago when I was not much more than a girl, an enemy clan led a raid on our village late one eve. My father and Calum rushed to protect our people, but my father had taken a grievous blow. The enemy moved in to finish him off, but Calum threw himself over our father to shield him from losing his head.”

  Elena added solemnly, “Alas, my nephew felt the sharp bite of the enemy’s axe that eve.”

  Horror-struck, Arabella covered her mouth with her hand.