Reckless Scotland: A Scottish Medieval Romance Bundle

by Victoria Vane

  “Well then, in that case. You see…a man…” Maggie paused and glanced at Elena for help.

  “A man is…different than a woman. He has a…” Elena glanced around the solar, as if searching for the words.

  If only the floor would split open and swallow Arabella whole.

  Elena opened and shut her mouth twice before she peered around Arabella to Maggie. “You should tell her.”

  Maggie reared her head back. “Why not you? He’s your nephew.”

  “But she’s your charge.” Elena tossed back, leaning across Arabella’s lap. “And, you’re a married woman.”

  “You’ve a grown son!” Maggie argued. “You know the workings of the marriage bed as well as I do, if the smug look Hammish wears is any judge.”

  Elena gasped in outrage.

  Arabella glanced heavenward in exasperation. Saints, this discussion treaded into dangerous territory. Before the women came to blows, she pushed the pair away from her, jumped to her feet, and spun to face them.

  “Thank you both for the insight,” she rushed out.

  The two simply blinked at her.

  “I’m sure I understand well enough.” Arabella stifled a false yawn. “With the excitement of the wedding and all, I’m feeling rather weary. I think I’ll have that bath Mairi arranged and a bit of rest before the evening meal.”

  “Oh.” Maggie frowned.

  Arabella bolted across the chamber for the door.

  “But, do you not wish to know of a man’s rod?” the older woman called after her.

  Internally screaming, Arabella slammed the door loud enough the wood rattled on its hinges and froze at the sight of a grinning Sean and Gavin standing guard outside the solar.

  *

  AARON MACRAE PACED the herb garden for the hundredth time, searching for a sign of weakness in the surrounding stone wall, anything he might use as an escape route. Uneasy, he scrubbed a hand over his face and kicked a plant at his feet. Christ, how had he gotten into this mess? Every instinct in his body screamed at him to abandon this cursed quest, but Longford held him by the stones.

  Curse the English cur for sending him on a fool’s errand—a dead fool’s errand at that. For only a dead man would walk into MacGregor’s home and think to steal the man’s bride from under his nose. But without the woman, his brother was as sure as dead.

  Aaron glanced down and instantly regretted his actions. He bent forward and grasped the broken branches of rosemary, crushing the sprigs in his hand. The clean, fresh aroma rushed up his nose, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the calming scent—a feeling he’d known little of in his life.

  Was it any wonder why with his father? The man had been a sickness to the MacRaes—drinking away what little coin they earned, severing any ties with allies, sinking an already impoverished people deeper into poverty. An absence of strong leadership, weapons and, at times, food left their clan defenseless—too weak to withstand attack. Longford was proof of that.

  Naught more than cobwebs lined their coffers, leaving Aaron and his brother, Connor, a legacy of barren land, crumbling stone, and a broken clan. Nay, he found no kindness in his heart to mourn his father’s death. His brother, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. He would do what he must in order to keep Connor alive.

  Releasing a resolved sigh, he tossed the broken sprigs away and turned to resume his search of the wall. Unfortunately, he failed to note someone else had entered the garden and collided with a soft, female form.

  He reacted quickly, wrapping an arm around her curved waist to catch the woman before she hit the ground. Her faint gasp warmed his cheek. When her startled, light blue gaze met his, he swallowed the sharp rebuke on the tip of his tongue. For an instant, he forgot his purpose altogether as he searched her sparkling eyes. The hue reminded him of the churning waves below the cliffs of his home.

  “You may release me, sir.”

  Rather reluctantly, Aaron righted the shapely female to her feet and released his hold. A brilliant smile formed on her plump lips, framed by a comely pair of dimples. Hair as deep and shining as a raven’s wing swept over her shoulders and tumbled down her back. What he would not give to sink his fingers in the soft mass. Saints, she was stunning.

  ’Twas then he noticed her mouth moved.

  “…watched my step, but I had not imagined any of the guests to seek out a bit of solitude in my garden.”

  Mentally shaking himself, he forced himself to focus on her words.

  “Forgive me, my lady. You have my sincerest apologies for intruding.” He flourished his arm and executed a bow.

  Christ, he should leave. Just turn and run as fast as he could, far away from her, but his blasted feet would not obey the command.

  Smiling, she held up one dainty hand. “No need. ’Tis I who ran into you. You’re not intruding in the least, my lord.”

  Her catching smile roused one from him. “As you’ve guessed, I’m here for the wedding banquet.” He dipped his head. “Aaron MacRae at your service, my lady.”

  The beauty extended her hand, a bold gesture for a lady.

  “Pleased to meet you, Aaron. I’m Mairi Macgregor.”

  He accepted her hand and silently cursed at the same time. Of course, she was a MacGregor. Fate would not have it any other way.

  “A close relation to the grinning bridegroom?” he ventured. For some misguided reason, he had to know for sure.

  Mairi tossed her head back and laughed. “He is rather pleased with himself of late. And aye, close enough. I’m his sister.” She tilted her head, spearing him with her brilliant, forthright gaze. “Will I see you at the evening meal?”

  Say nay. By the Saints, say nay. Remember your purpose. “Aye, my lady.”

  She beamed a smile as bright as the sun. “I shall save you a seat at the high table, my lord.”

  Saints, he was doomed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  CALUM PACED THE small confines of his solar. At least the room seemed smaller than usual. He paused briefly between turns to straighten the golden brooch holding his mantle in place for the hundredth time. Resuming his pacing, he rolled his shoulders in a bid to loosen the stiffness in his muscles. An hour hence, he and Arabella would pledge their troth.

  Or so he hoped.

  He paused, once again, and raked a hand over his head. Christ, what if she’d changed her mind?

  Last eve, she’d declined his offer to join him in the hall for the evening meal and chosen to remain in her bedchamber. The gesture had not set well with him. In fact, her actions set him on edge and made him question matters entirely. Had he been too hasty in assuming she truly wished to wed him?

  It’d had taken a feat of strength not to barge into her chamber—his bedchamber—and demand an answer of her. Instead, he’d lain awake until sunrise while his stomach contorted in the most unsettling fashion. Blast, he should have just asked her and been done with the matter.

  Annoyed, he stomped across the solar and slumped into a chair before the fire, despite his best efforts not to wrinkle his wedding attire. He dropped his head against the hard, wooden back with a solid thump. Closing his eyes, he breathed out a gust of air to calm his rattled nerves.

  The metal hinges on the door groaned, signaling someone entered, but he did not bother to glance up, much less move. He simply continued to suck in deep, calming breaths.

  “You do not look so well, Calum.”

  Calum almost snorted. If Liam addressed him by his God-given name, then he must look wretched. He cracked one eye open to find his cousin looming over him.

  “I do not suppose you have your flask with you?” Mayhap, a shot of aged whisky was just the fortification he needed.

  Liam stepped over his sprawled legs and dropped down in the seat opposite Calum. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

  Calum craned his neck toward Liam and lifted a brow.

  “Fine. ’Tis your wedding.” Shrugging, Liam reached for the small flagon along
his belt and passed it over to Calum.

  He removed the cork and tipped the flask up, swallowing a mouthful of the smooth, amber whisky. The burn hit him at once, heating his insides and settling in the pit of his stomach.

  Rubbing his thumb over the cool, metal flagon, he ventured to ask. “Have you seen her yet?”

  Liam shook his head. “She and the women are locked away in your bedchamber. Have been all morn. Every now and again, the door flies open and one of them dashes out to retrieve this or that. Women. You know how they are.” He leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs at the ankles. “So, what’s amiss?” He nodded at the flask. “Not intending to take up the habit, are you?”

  Calum swallowed another mouthful of the fortifying drink and handed the flagon to Liam. “Nay. Though, the day is still young.”

  “Are you going to tell me what’s amiss? Or do I have to pester you to get an answer?”

  Of course, his cousin would. Calum expected no less of the man. He propped an elbow on the chair arm, rested his head in his hand, and stared at the burning embers in the hearth. “Have you ever loved a woman?”

  Liam rubbed his chin as if he contemplated the question. “I’ve felt a mild, passing affection for one or two, but nay. Never love. ’Tis not for me.” He glanced over. “Why do you ask?”

  Calum rubbed circles over his temple. “I’ve fallen in love with Arabella.”

  ’Twas a foregone conclusion he’d reached during his restless eve. He was not ashamed of his feelings, but speaking them aloud felt more…real, unsettling, impossible.

  “I know.” Liam fiddled with the flask in his hands. “’Tis plain to see.”

  Calum cut him a sharp glance. “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve known each other all our lives. You’re not so difficult for me to understand, you know.”

  He frowned at the fire. “What if…she never loves me?”

  When silence met his ear, rather than the taunt or bark of laughter he anticipated, he darted a glance at Liam and met the man’s earnest gaze.

  “Do not start.” Liam shook his head. “You should see the pair of you together. Trust me, you’re worrying for naught. I’ve watched her face light up when you’re near. Her gaze tracks your every move. She’s every bit as enthralled with you as you are her.” Liam reached over and grasped his shoulder. “Count your blessings, Cousin. You’re fortunate to have found a prize of a bride. She’ll make a fine wife and mother for your children.”

  Touched by the sentiment, Calum cleared the sudden lump from his throat. “Since when did you turn into such a babbling woman?”

  Liam’s lips twitched. “Must’ve spent too much time in your company.”

  The tightness in Calum’s chest eased and he grinned at his cousin’s teasing. “Will you offer such sage advice to Fraser on his wedding day as well?”

  Liam scoffed. “That old boar will get no encouragement from me.”

  “I thought you’d struck a truce with the man?”

  “Does not mean I’m pleased with the whole ridiculous affair.” Liam slapped his thighs and rose to his feet. “All right. Enough of this discussion. ’Tis time for a wedding, Cousin.”

  Calum drew in another drag of air and hoisted himself out of his seat. Yet again, he straightened the pin holding his mantle. He glanced down at himself, smoothing his hand over his linen tunic and buckskin hose and braies. He’d taken extra care that morn to don the attire the women fashioned for him, all in the hopes of pleasing his bride. Once satisfied, he raised a brow at his cousin and gestured to himself.

  A few steps away, Liam folded his arms over his chest and his gaze swept Calum from head to toe. When his cousin’s lips twisted with a frown, a barb of unease moved through Calum. He opened his mouth to ask what was amiss, but Liam snapped his fingers.

  “I’ve just the thing. The lasses fancy this sort of foolishness.”

  Liam moved across the chamber and plucked a flower from a metal jar placed atop a side table. He returned to stand in front of Calum and fiddled at his shoulder, pinning the blossom beneath the brooch holding his mantle.

  Content, Liam nodded. “There. Much better.” He gripped Calum’s forearm and squeezed. “’Tis time to claim your bride.”

  *

  ARABELLA’S SLIPPERED FOOT tapped a cadence on the stone floor, while she wrung the bit of linen Maggie had given her. Try as she might, she could not sit still. Her entire body trembled of its own accord. Her empty stomach growled in protest, but she dared not eat a morsel.

  In a foul mood, she’d bitten back more than one harsh remark that morn as the women fussed, poked, pulled, and prodded her into her wedding gown. Now, at long last, the deed was done. To her utter relief, only she and Maggie remained in the chamber.

  “Your mother and father would be so proud. And Iain.” Maggie raised a hand and tucked a curl behind Arabella’s ear. “You’re a vision if I’ve ever seen one. You know Dougal and I love you as our own. We always will, my sweet lass.”

  Arabella wrapped her arms around Maggie’s plump middle. “I love you so much.”

  “Come, now.” Maggie patted her back, then stepped away, holding her at arm’s length. She scolded, “You’re going to wrinkle your gown.”

  Arabella laughed as she wiped away her tears with the scrap of linen Maggie had given her.

  A heavy rap sounded at the door, and Maggie chucked her beneath the chin. “Head up, love.”

  Maggie opened the chamber door and Uncle Hammish stepped inside, nodding at Maggie as he passed.

  “I’ll leave the two of you to your privacy, but be quick about it.” Maggie grinned. “You would not want Calum thinking you’ve changed your mind, now would you?”

  Arabella smiled after the older woman as Maggie quit the chamber, leaving her alone with her uncle. He slowly paced the chamber with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Do you know Calum was born in this very chamber?” He nodded toward the bed. “Right there, in fact.”

  She raised her brows. Nay, she had not known, but she was unsure why it mattered.

  “I remember the day quite well,” he continued. “Despite my protests, Cormac drug me into the chamber, pleased to show off his firstborn.” He creased his nose. “To be honest, the lad was pitiful, all wrinkled and bald. But to his mother and father, they’d never seen a more handsome sight.”

  He paused before the window and gazed out. “I’ve missed much in this life. I was not there for Iain’s birth. Or yours. Hell, I was not even…” Facing her, he fidgeted with the dagger sheathed along his belt. “I’ve no desire to miss anything more.”

  She stepped in front of him and smiled. “Then you shall not.”

  Searching her gaze, he lifted a hand to her cheek. “You’re so much like your mother. Not a day passes I do not think of her.”

  Sadness darkened his gaze, and Arabella moved to wrap her arms around his waist. She rested her ear over his barrel chest and listened to the strong, steady thump of his heart.

  “I’m pleased you are here with me on this day, Uncle.”

  “I would not have missed it.” Gripping her closer, he reached down to kiss her forehead. “I love you, girl.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He pulled away, grasping her shoulders in his hands, and grinned. “Come along, lass. ’Tis time. Otherwise, Calum will wear a hole in the floor with all his blasted pacing.”

  *

  INSIDE THE SMALL KIRK in the courtyard, Calum stood at the altar before Father MacKinley, struggling not to tug at his sleeves or straighten his brooch—anything to calm his trembling hands. He darted a glance at Liam and received a half-shrug and strained smile. Behind him, many of the MacGregors and guests from other clans spoke in hushed whispers as they waited for the bride’s arrival.

  The sweet blossoming flowers adorning columns and pews hung heavy in the kirk, and Calum wrinkled his nose to prevent a sneeze. The perfumed air grew stifling the longer he stood alone at the altar. He pulled at the co
llar of his tunic, which had grown far too restricting for his liking. The murmurs at his back increased, boring into his ears.

  Christ, he knew it. Arabella changed her mind.

  A sharp jab pierced his chest and he clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides. A cold sweat broke out over his forehead. A scant moment away from storming out of the church, he closed his eyes and tried to steady the pounding organ in his chest. ’Twas then he realized a hush fell over the crowd. At once, he glanced over at Liam. The wide grin stretched across his cousin’s face was the sole confirmation Calum needed to calm the battle in head.

  Betraying his shaky composure, he spun toward the entrance and his heart stuttered over several beats. Framed by the entryway, Arabella stood bravely, a breathtaking vision in shimmering emeralds and golds. A beacon of red-gold curls tumbled around her shoulders, and her shy smile shone brighter than the sunlight through the panes of glass.

  As she moved through the parted crowd, the pulse in his throat sped wildly, pounding in his ears. He could not dislodge his gaze from the enchanting sight floating toward him. He scarcely noticed Fraser press Arabella’s hand in his when she joined him at the altar.

  Throughout the sacrament, he struggled to listen as the priest recited the rites, but his sole focus remained on the comely woman on his arm. The touch of her chilled fingers felt as light as a feather atop his hand. Only when Father MacKinley wrapped a length of MacGregor tartan around his and Arabella’s joined hands, binding their union, did he realize the ceremony drew near an end.

  The priest prompted Calum for an answer, and he voiced his approval loud enough to shake the rafters overhead. His bride’s quiet but sure acceptance followed. Once Father MacKinley blessed their bond, Calum slid the substantial emerald ring he’d chosen to match her eyes onto her small finger. Her surprised gaze met his and he smiled. The astonished delight written across her features far outweighed the price of the gemstone.

  One small, final action stood between him and his bride sealing their eternal bond as man and wife. He swept her into his arms and kissed her with all the joy and fervor pounding through his heart and soul. At last, he’d wed the woman who held his heart.