by Alisa Adams
“Weel now,” Ceena said looking at her sisters, not Ina, “they asked to meet her and speak to her so there ye have it. I let them. We all agreed we would help her find a husband,” she reminded her sisters. Then she turned to Ina. “Ye are so focused on your horses that tis taking ye far too long to find your own husband.” Ceena shrugged and grinned impishly. “Word is out that ye desire a husband so they come calling.”
“Desire is the correct word sisters,” Ina said quietly. “I want an elegant, handsome man, a man that is full of poetry,” she said as she stared up at the tall ceiling above them, “who will sweep me off me feet and leave me speechless. Who I will want to kiss endlessly and make blissful babies with…a man that I will want to keep or that will say he is keeping me, just as Loughlin did with ye Flori and Tristan with ye Ceena.”
“There she goes again,” Ceena said with a roll of her eyes. “Do ye want blissful babies or to blissfully make babies? And twas the other way around; I said I was keeping Tristan.”
Godet laughed. “Ye said ye were keeping the whole MacCallan village too, including their pigs and cows and chickens after ye stopped them from all being herded over that cliff by Red Munroe.” She looked at Ina. “Keeping someone means forever, Ina. It is a sacred vow of love, not to be taken lightly or said lightly.”
“Yes, I know—” Ina started to answer but Flori interrupted her.
“It’s blissfully making babies that she always says,” Flori said, “though to have a blissful baby is something to be considered also. Me Loughlin was quite cranky…”
“Big Loughlin or baby Loughlin?” Godet giggled. “But I agree!” Godet said enthusiastically. “A blissful baby is important. I just want one night of sleep!”
“No, I want the blissfully making part,” Ceena said cheekily. “I’ll deal with a crying baby if I have been making blissful—”
“Ceena!” Flori said loudly, even though she was naturally so soft spoken.
“Sisters!” Ina all but shouted to get their attention back. They often would talk forever about their babies. “I dinnae want that boy, he was far, far too young, and ye all can agree he was not kissable! Nor was there anything blissful about him! I cannae imagine him even able to carry me off like Loughlin is always doing to ye Flori, sweeping ye up into his arms to carry ye away to make blissful babies with. Or old enough or strong enough to sit a galloping horse, or fight at me side and have me back like ye and Tristan do Ceena. Or brave enough to argue with me and then kiss me into blissful silence like Gordon does to ye Godet. Or man enough like all yer husbands when they came to our aid when Godet was almost pulled over the edge of the cliff on her stallion. And all of us sisters were hanging on madly to her so that evil Uncle Mungan would not pull her over the cliff into the sea with him as he fell onto the sharp rocks, and then be left for the sea creatures to dine on into eternity until there is nothing left of his evil body.” Ina’s chest was heaving as she took a quick breath. Then she added, “He didnae even look old enough to be kissing or…or the blissful part anyway,” Ina said sadly.
Flori moaned in embarrassment.
Ina heard a laugh disguised in a cough and looked over at the stranger. He had his elbow on the table. His chin was resting on one finger and thumb and he was avidly watching Ina and her sisters. His booted calf was across one knee. He looks very comfortable, Ina thought to herself. Even though parts of him are black and blue. He still somehow manages to look…regal, she thought with some chagrin.
Just then Tristan entered the main hall with a man by his side. He did not notice the stranger sitting at the table watching everything. Tristan and the other man strode up to the ladies. The man beside Tristan was older, somewhat tall, though anyone looked short beside Tristan MacDonell. The man had a large and paunchy stomach that drooped over his overly tight belt. And it appeared he was dressed all in tartan—from his shirt to his trews. He was another redhead, mixed with a lot of grey. From far too young, to much too old, Ina thought.
Ina sighed and started to back away but the stranger winked at her, catching her in the act, so she stopped and waited, forcing a polite expression on her face.
“Lady Ina, this is the Earl of Breadalbane, Gillivray Campbell. His family has a large holding on the other side of the Moray Firth.” Tristan announced the man and then grinned as he noticed Ina’s disheveled state.
The red-haired man turned to greet Ina. He smiled slightly as he looked her up and down.
He cleared his throat faintly and said in a nasally voice, “Perhaps the lady would like to take some time to freshen herself up after her…her…outdoor endeavors?” he said with pursed lips as his eyes narrowed on what Ina was sure was the dirt on her nose.
“I wouldnae want to take time away from meeting ye,” she said in an overly sweet voice. She heard the short laugh and then a cough coming from the stranger. She knew he was watching. “Gillivray?” she asked, giving her attention to the earl. “Tis an old name tisn’t it? I believe it means ‘servant of judgement’,” Ina said as she looked him up and down. The man was fat. There was no other way to describe him. And he was indeed dressed from top to bottom in tartan. No kilt, thank goodness. Instead he wore bright orange and yellow tartan trews trimmed in leather with a matching short jacket with some sort of an animal face sporran on the waist. Orange and yellow tartan everywhere from the neck down. No, wait, even the woolen bonnet he held in his hand was tartan, with a large, dramatic yellow feather arching over it. Thank goodness he has taken that off or I would have a dilly of a time not laughing.
She noticed the stranger was trying not to laugh. Ina frowned at him. The stranger frowned back and shook his head slowly. Then he pointed his thumb downward as he looked back at the man in orange and yellow tartan. Ina turned away from the stranger to look back at the earl, who had started speaking.
“Server of judgement, to be exact. I consider myself to hold the power of pit and gallows,” he said and smiled an oily smile. “Judge, jury, executioner,” he said with relish. “Given that power by God.”
Ina’s polite smiled faltered. She thought she heard what sounded like a faint growl coming from the stranger. She ignored it, too intent on this yellow tartan man in front of her. She took a step forward, her face fierce, just as Tristan stood up, putting his hand on her arm to calm her.
“I think me sister is needing to refresh herself after all,” Tristan said with a meaningful look at Ina.
The Earl of Breadalbane smiled condescendingly at Tristan. “I heartily agree Laird Tristan, she looks, er…tired. Has she been cleaning the stables?” He chuckled at his clever comment, but missed the faces of the women sitting around him at his ill remark. “But I gather all the Ross women spend quite a bit of time getting dirty in the…stables. Isn’t that correct Laird Tristan?”
Ina took another step towards the man, the litany that had been going through her head—be polite, be polite—was now gone but Tristan stopped her with his hand on her arm once again.
Ina heard the scrape of a chair being pushed back and saw the stranger trying to rise from it. She shook her head quickly at him. Sit down, she mouthed to him silently.
Another chair scraped back and it was Ceena who stood up slowly, her face intent on the earl. She handed her daughter to a waiting servant. She glanced at Tristan’s expression. He was looking down from his superior height at the red-haired earl. The politeness had left his face, now full of rage.
This time it was Ceena who put a hand on her husband’s arm to calm him. She came and stood close to Ina. Godet and Flori came and stood on the other side of Ina as well. The four sisters faced the earl.
“It is I, Lady Ceena, that is Laird,” she said calmly, yet with authority to her voice. She paused and then continued, “And yes, we all work hard with our horses. Training them, breeding them, as well as caring for them ourselves.” She stared, daring him, waiting for what she knew would come from men such as him. “What did ye say your name was?”
The earl stared at her, h
is expression changing from bewilderment to outrage. “You are Laird? You breed and train horses? That is unheard of!” he spat. And then he blustered, “I told you my name.” He thrust his chin in the air looking down his nose at them. “It’s Gillivray Campbell, Earl of Breadalbane. Why do you need me to repeat it? I am who I say I am!”
“Oh aye, just wanting to be sure, for yer grave marker…” Ceena said and smiled a chilly smile at the earl, who could not tell if she was jesting or not.
Before he could speak, Ina added, “If I look tired it is because I have been out on the practice field these many days, honing mine and my horse’s battle skills with the warriors and those men of the Black Watch Army.” Ina waited, resisting the urge to embellish on her training and knife throwing skills to the man.
The earl looked back and forth from Ceena to Ina and then to the other women. Two had midnight dark hair and stunning grey eyes. Lady Ceena’s hair was tawny and she had green eyes. The tiny Ina had pale, golden hair and light blue eyes. They all looked like they were ready to kill him. Each stood there staring at him without any deference. The fierce looks on their faces was intimidating to behold.
Ina spoke again. “Before ye serve yer judgment may I introduce Lady Godet MacDonell, wife of Laird Gordon MacDonell of Castle Conall, and Lady Flori Buchanan, wife of Laird Loughlin Buchanan of Castle Bardowie?” she said archly. “And of course ye just met me sister—Laird Ceena Ross of Fionnaghal Castle.”
Her sisters stared imperiously back at the earl. Silent.
“Me sisters and I defeated Mungan Munroe. We also defeated Red Munroe, and aided the King in the final battle to defeat Munroe once and for all.” Ina did smile at him then. “Perhaps ye havenae heard of our exploits in some of the Jacobite battles?”
The earl looked around at the four beautiful, powerful-looking females staring at him with such regal expressions.
“I had no idea you were so tightly allied with the MacDonells,” he said haltingly. “Or even King George,” he added in a tight voice.
Godet moved even closer to Ina and slightly in front of her; her sisters did the same. “Tis why we may wear the tartan. The King has acknowledged our contribution to the Black Watch Army, and it is that army that are the only Scotts allowed to wear the tartan, or else risk prison or being sent to the colonies for being Jacobites.” The four women looked pointedly at the earl’s tartan.
“Och now, I am an earl, tis just fashion I wear,” he blustered. “Many of the aristocrats are doing the same. In fact we have set up the Highland Society of Edinburgh where we wear the tartan.” He moved in agitation making huffing noises. “We are certainly not Jacobites,” he said weakly. Then he smiled his oily smile. “As ye know the King, ye could assure him of this of course.”
“But of course,” Ina said sweetly, “and for a wife, this alliance with the King would be an advantage to ye would it not?”
“Yes. But that’s not why…” The earl stammered and hesitated. “I always have the best in the land, and you are the loveliest …” The earl swallowed tightly. “But I do prefer a more biddable female…not that you are anything less than biddable, that is,” he said stumbling along, his eyes coming to rest on the petite angelic-looking woman that he had hoped to make his wife. “Unless you could be biddable,” he said hopefully, “then I would be most happy to have, er…marry ye.”
Ina clasped her hands together in front of her waist. “I am anythin but biddable, I assure ye Earl Breadalbane.”
At a sound from behind her she looked back at the stranger. He was staring at her with that crooked grin, one eyebrow slightly raised. She just batted her eyelashes at him.
Tristan cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him. He gave her a glare not to overdo it, as she was prone to.
“Just the other morning I was gaunnie go aboot me practicing with me dirks but the men had to come along and interfere,” she said, laying on her old Scottish accent thicker than normal. “I had to save young Alex Murphy from falling off his horse. Galloped me giant mare— we ride giant draft horses, Clydesdales, me sisters and I—up to him and shoved him back on, else he would have been trampled. His arms and legs pounded into the dirt by the horses’ galloping hooves, leaving nothing but broken and bloodied, boney pulp, and only his torso would be left. And of course his head, wailing and screaming and probably crying for his horse to come back to him. So I pushed him back on his horse just before he could fall to what would be his certain death. I grabbed his knife at the same time and flung it dead center to his target. Silly Alex, trying to beat me,” she said and looked wide-eyed and innocent at the earl.
The earl stood there staring at her, his mouth open, aghast. Then he breathed out heavily and raised his shoulders as he narrowed his eyes at Ina.
Before the earl could say anything Ina’s sisters stepped fully in front of her, blocking the earl from her.
Ina tried to peak over and between them, but she was the tiniest of the sisters.
“She is the best of all of us in weaponry and riding,” Godet said coolly. “Ye wouldnae appreciate her.” Godet gave him a half smile. “Ye cannae have her, or marry her,” she said archly.
Ceena pulled out a small dirk from her leather corset belt. She began flipping it rapidly between her fingers as she stared at the earl with one eyebrow raised. “She is not for you. And I have yer name.”
“Ye willnae be keeping our sister,” Flori said quietly.
The earl stared at them, his mouth open. “I dinnae want to keep her. I want to have her, I mean marry her.”
Ina leaned forward to her sisters and whispered, “You see? That is the difference. He doesnae want to keep me. He just wants to marry me.” Ina paused and whispered again, “I thank ye sisters…” and she smiled with relief and love for her sisters. Then she peeked back at the stranger. She smiled at him and pointed to her sisters, all lined up protectively in front of her. Me sisters, she mouthed silently with a big grin.
After much blustering the earl finally allowed himself to be escorted to the main hall doors and out of the castle.
Tristan turned to Ina. He paused, looking down at his tiny little sister-in-law. It was so difficult to be annoyed with her. He put his hands on his hips and attempted to frown.
“Now Ina that was a dangerous man ye were playing with. But we will talk aboot that later. Are you going to tell us who that stranger is that has passed out at our table?” he said, nodding his head to the large stranger whose head lay on their table.
Evidently Tristan had noticed him after all, thought Ina as she stared at her brother-in-law, who stood there sternly, his hands on his hips. She couldn’t think of how to answer him. She did not know who the stranger was, nor anything about him.
Ina turned to the stranger.
His eyes were closed and his face was ashen.
Ina’s mouth opened with a gasp of fear as she rushed to the man’s side. She knelt down beside his chair.
“I dinnae know who he is,” she said quietly as she gently touched the man’s face, reassuring herself that he was indeed still alive. “He came earlier. He and his horse were both near dead. He asked for help for his horse,” she said firmly in a quiet voice. Then she added even more softly, a small hint of wonder in her voice, “Not for himself. But only for his horse.”
“No name? Ye know nothing aboot him?” Ceena demanded.
“No, no name. But I know that he cares more for his horse than his own injuries,” Ina said as she touched the man’s cheek reverently.
“Oh dear,” Flori said in the hushed silence.
“Ina…” Godet started to say something, her voice held the taint of a warning.
“Ina! What are ye blithering aboot?” Tristan asked. His Scottish accent always came out when he was annoyed or angry. Or teasing Ceena.
“She said she knows enough, me love.” Ceena stared at her husband and smiled and shrugged.
“Enough for what? Ina, what are ye talking aboot?” Tristan asked in confusion.
3
“Let’s start with the Earl first Ina,” Tristan said as he paced back and forth in front of the table in the great hall the next morning. “Then we will discuss the stranger sleeping upstairs,” he said sternly to her. “Now then, tis me job as the male in charge of ye women to tell ye that it wasnae wise to play with him Ina,” Tristan admonished his petite sister-in-law as she was breaking her fast the next morning over some kale and porridge. He knew that Ina may look like an exquisitely beautiful angel with soft, pale blonde curls trailing down her back and those innocent cornflower-blue eyes, but she was a mischievous little minx.
“I couldnae help it. He was an ill whily, naft, numpty—” Ina started to say.
“I agree that he was rude and arrogant and silly,” Tristan said in a bemused tone as he sat down, “but Ina! His has a very powerful family and they are very vengeful.” Tristan slapped his hand to his forehead. “You women are harder to deal with than an army full of men. Ye tread carefully with powerful and vengeful clans!”
Ceena and Godet looked at each other and laughed softly, dismissing Tristan’s warning. They had dealt with worse. “Wait,” Ceena said suddenly. “Go back to the part before that. Are ye in charge of us poor wee women then me love?” Ceena looked at her husband with her brows furrowed.
Tristan swallowed tightly, “Now Ceena…”
“Of course ye dinnae mean that, I know,” she said with a wink and a meaningful look at him. She had picked up her knife from the table and was hefting it as she chuckled teasingly at him.
“Och, I daresay no one would be wanting that man! Pit to gallows!” Ina said with a frown as she looked back and forth from Ceena to Tristan. Best to change the subject, she thought. “How terrifying and full of himself he was.”
Ceena looked at her husband, “Tristan, moi graidh, Beatlebrain could never be for Ina. Ye know this,” she said and leaned over to kiss him on his lips. “Ye must listen to the wisdom of the women on this.”