by Lynsay Sands
Feeling oddly warm, she turned her gaze toward the man called Jankyn. He perched on the end of the bed like some elegant dark bird. A very beautiful bird, she decided. His looks were similar to the laird’s, their kinship plain to see, but his beauty was far more refined. The color of his eyes was more golden than brown, a little too similar to those of some beast of the forest. He suddenly smiled at her and she tensed.
“I saw ye,” she said. “Ye came from out of the hills, from behind me.”
“Aye, just as those bastards readied themselves to attack,” replied Jankyn.
Images crowded her mind so quickly they made her head ache. “Those men who were chasing me?”
“And willnae chase ye again. Their thieving, murdering days are at an end.”
She shivered and took a deeper drink of wine. Those men had deserved their fate. She doubted her party was the first they had ever set upon. The justice dealt out to them may have been swift and brutal, but so was a hanging. It was, however, probably for the best that she had seen little of that reckoning. The few memories nudging at her mind were too wild to be believed.
“My people?” she asked quietly, tensing for the reply.
“Your men are dead, m’lady,” replied Cathal.
“I feared that was so. The last sight I had of them didnae really leave much doubt about their fate. What of Nan?”
“Nan? There was a woman with ye?” Cathal looked at Jankyn who shook his head. “No woman was found.”
“But, she was there when I left the camp for a few moments of privacy.”
“Which undoubtedly saved your life.”
“We searched a goodly distance about the camp,” said Jankyn. “We found no woman.”
There were a lot of reasons why Nan’s body had not been found, most of them too chilling to think about. Bridget decided to cling to the hope that, somehow, Nan had survived. The chances of that were very slim, but, then, Nan was a strong, determined woman.
“Your carriage and belongings were brought to Cambrun,” said Cathal.
“Thank ye, m’laird,” said Bridget. “As soon as I can find some men to take the place of the ones who were killed, I will be able to continue on my way.”
“Ah, now, that may prove to be a wee problem.”
Bridget stared at the man. For a brief moment she was confused by his statement, but then she began to get angry. She would never be able to adequately repay these men for saving her life, but she did not think that gave them the right to decide what she should or should not do. This dangerously attractive laird was not her laird or kinsman. Before she could reply to his remark, however, there was a rap at the door and, at the laird’s command, a buxom woman of middle years came in carrying a tray laden with bread, cheese, sliced meats, and fruit.
“Ah, good, the wee lass is awake,” said the woman as she set the tray on a table by the side of the bed. “No wounds to be tended to, are there?”
Cathal looked at Bridget who shook her head. “Nay, Mora. A bath, mayhap?” he asked, looking back at Bridget.
“That would be most welcome,” replied Bridget, “but I dinnae wish to put anyone to any trouble.”
“The water be already heating for it, lass,” Mora said as she filled a plate with food and set it on Bridget’s lap. “Ye eat this now. Ye need some meat on those bones. Are ye certain ye have no hurts?”
“Verra certain,” Bridget replied, noticing that Mora looked nothing like the men, being plump, blue-eyed, and red-haired. “I was most fortunate to escape all injury. A few scratches and bruises, but a wash will be treatment enough for those.”
Bridget ate her food, watching as Mora served the men. She simply could not shake the feeling that there was something a little odd about these men, and not just because they were so unusually beautiful, so graceful, or had strange eyes. It was almost as if she could scent something different in them. For a brief moment she wondered if they were related to her clan in some way, but quickly shook aside that thought. She would have recognized the name. Her clan kept very precise records of all those connected to them by blood.
When both men sat on the bed to eat their food, she hastily bit back a protest. One quick glance around the room made her almost certain she was in the laird’s chamber. It was an odd place to put her, but Bridget fought against the suspicions stirring to life in her mind. These men had saved her life. She owed them the courtesy of at least hesitating before accusing them of something.
An idle glance at the food upon the men’s plates gave her a slight start. She quickly ate some bread to hide any hint of surprise in her expression. Her meat was well cooked, but theirs was very rare. It seemed odd that she should be fed something different, but she was glad of it. Meat barely seared over the fire was not to her liking. In fact, she could not think of one person she knew who would like their meat that lightly cooked. She decided it must be some family oddity, rather like her Aunt Mairi who refused to eat cooked vegetables, preferring them raw.
“Why were ye traveling to your cousin’s?” Cathal asked.
“She invited me for a visit,” replied Bridget. “I just passed my nineteenth saint’s day and she felt it was time I saw something aside from the walls and fields of Dunsmuir. She plans to introduce me at court and all of that.”
“Ah. Ye seek a husband.”
“I dinnae seek one. I but seek a look at the world outside of Dunsmuir, to meet people who arenae part of my clan.” Feeling compelled to be honest, she added, “I do think my brother wishes me to find a husband, however. He gave me many a lecture on the matter ere I left.”
Cathal had to bite back a smile at the look that swiftly crossed her all too expressive face, for it was clear she had found those lectures highly irritating. Although she said she was not going to her cousin’s to find a husband, he suspected she held a few hopes of finding one. What interested him most was that she was neither married nor betrothed. As a laird holding good lands and a full purse, he would be a satisfactory choice to her kinsmen. The dark rumors about his clan, which grew more numerous every year, could cause trouble, but marrying her quickly would ensure that those rumors did not reach the ears of her kinsmen in time to cause too much difficulty. Once the marriage was consummated, her clan would have to accept it.
He inwardly sighed. It was a mad plan, but he realized he had already accepted it. Her brother wished her to find a husband, and Cathal wished to find a wife. He had land and title, as well as enough wealth to silence any objections. Or, any objections raised by her kinsmen, he mused as Mora took his empty plate away. Instinct told him that the delicate woman seated upon his bed could prove to be very stubborn. However, instinct also told him that, out of all the Outsider brides he might choose, he and his clan had the best chance of being accepted by this slim, golden beauty who was now slicing up an apple with an impressive skill and speed. There was no possibility he could hide the truth from a wife and most Outsiders fled in fear of that truth. Cathal simply could not see this woman doing so, but he would be hard-pressed to explain just why he felt that way.
“That was verra good, Mora,” Bridget said as the woman took her plate. “I thank ye. Now, if ye could tell me where I might have that bath?”
“Ye will have it here, m’lady,” said Cathal. “Please see to it, Mora.”
Not wishing to argue with the man before the servant, Bridget waited until Mora left before saying, “Isnae this your bedchamber, m’laird?”
“It is,” replied Cathal as he moved to stand by the side of the bed, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Then I should be shown to the guest chambers, aye?”
“Nay, ye will stay here. Tis best if ye become accustomed to these chambers.”
Bridget sat up straighter and glared at him. “And just what do ye mean by that?” She saw a grinning Jankyn move to stand beside Cathal and was briefly distracted by the sight of his teeth. “Do ye file your teeth to get those fangs? I had an uncle who did that. Filed all his front teeth so that th
ey were sharp and pointed. Thought it made him look fierce.”
Jankyn scowled at her. “I have no need of such foolish vanities.”
Cathal watched her frown and, before she could think too long on Jankyn’s words, he said, “Ye will stay in this bedchamber.”
That command pulled Bridget free from her interest in Jankyn’s teeth and she glared at Cathal again. Did he think that, since she owed him her life, she would be willing to warm his bed? The fact that she felt a definite stirring within her blood at the thought made her all the more determined to stand firm against him.
“I am the sister of the laird of Dunsmuir,” she began.
“Ah, good. Good.” Cathal started toward the door, a chuckling Jankyn close at his heels.
That reply made no sense at all, she thought. “Why is that good?”
“Tis best if the bride and groom are of an equal standing.”
“Bride and groom? What bride and groom? Who is to be married?”
“Why, ye are to be married, m’lady. To me.”
Bridget was so stunned by his words, the two men were several minutes gone before she could utter a word. She spent several minutes more trying to decide if she had heard him correctly. By then, her bath had been prepared. As, with Mora’s help, she bathed and dressed in a warm night shift, Bridget convinced herself he had been making a poor jest. When Mora refused to take her to another bedchamber, Bridget climbed into the laird’s huge bed. She snuggled down beneath the warm covers and felt exhaustion sweep over her. For a little while she fought it, determined to be alert for the man’s return, for any attempt at seduction or worse, but soon knew it to be a losing battle. She told herself no man could take her innocence without waking her up and then welcomed sleep’s embrace.
Three
“Ah, ’tis a fine day. I will just get a wee fire going in the hearth to take the chill off this room, aye?”
Bridget opened one eye and peered over the covers at the woman by the fireplace. For a long frightening moment she could not recall who the woman was or where she was and in whose bed. Then her mind cleared enough for her memory to return. She glanced at the pillow next to her, but saw no sign that anyone had shared the bed with her. She inwardly cursed when she realized she felt faintly insulted by that.
Cautiously, she sat up, relieved to find that her ordeal had not left her too sore. She glanced toward the window Mora had revealed and frowned. It was grey outside, grey and raining. That was not unusual, but she did not understand how Mora could think it was so very fine. It made Bridget feel strongly inclined to crawl back beneath the covers and sleep a few more hours.
“Ye are looking much better, lass,” said Mora. “A good sleep has brought some color back into your bonnie wee face.” Mora helped Bridget out of the high bed and led her over to where a deep basin of hot water was set on a table near the fire. “Ye have a wee wash and I will fetch something for ye to wear. The lads brought your clothes up earlier.”
Mora chatted away about how lucky Bridget was to be alive, how lovely her clothes were, and even carried on a lively debate with herself as to whether Bridget would look best in the green gown or the blue. Bridget let the woman talk, listening with only half an ear, and making the appropriate noises when she felt it was necessary to reply in some way. As she washed and cleaned her teeth, Bridget tried to recall everything that had been said to her last night. Just as Mora returned to her side, Bridget finally remembered those startling remarks the laird had made before he had left the room.
“Bride and groom?” she grumbled, her voice muffled by the dark blue gown Mora was tugging over her head. “What is the big fool talking about?”
“Seemed most clear to me,” said Mora as she began to lace up Bridget’s gown. “He means to make ye his wife.”
“How can ye be sure of that? Ye werenae here when he said those things.”
“I heard him and Jankyn speaking of it as they left the bedchamber. I was just outside the door.”
“Is he mad?”
“Nay. Why would ye think that?” Mora pushed Bridget down into a seat before the fire and began to brush out her hair.
“I dinnae ken,” drawled Bridget. “Mayhap ’tis the way he but looks at me once and declares us betrothed.”
“A lot of people wed with the wife and husband barely kenning a thing about each other. Ye are the laird’s equal in birth, he doesnae need a dowry, and ye are a bonnie, young lass, ripe for marrying. Tis most reasonable. A perfect solution.”
Bridget rolled her eyes. “Perfect for him. Mayhap nay so perfect for me.”
“Why? He is a braw lad, handsome, has a fine keep and good lands, and is a good laird.”
“Weel, mayhap, but why doesnae he go to court himself or visit some other laird’s holdings? At least look about a wee bit for a wife?”
“He doesnae like to leave Cambrun. The MacNachtons prefer to stay close to home.”
There was a certain tone to Mora’s voice that made Bridget feel compelled to ask why. She bit back the words. There could be many reasons why such a handsome man would be reluctant to travel to other keeps or the king’s court. It did not have to be anything particularly strange. Nevertheless, it was strange to abruptly decide to marry some woman he had just met. Bridget seriously doubted that he had fallen passionately in love with her at first glance.
“I wished to go to my cousin’s,” she said. “I have spent my whole life at Dunsmuir, rarely seeing anyone but the others in my clan. I want to see different places, different people. I want to dance, to see all the fine courtly clothes and manners.”
Mora snorted. “A crowd of sly fools who spend their days mocking and betraying others in a bid to gain favor and their nights in all manner of licentiousness.”
That sounded wonderously interesting to Bridget, but she was wise enough not to say so. There was a hint of Nan in Mora and such a remark would certainly bring on a lecture. She suddenly felt a pang of sorrow and concern for Nan. The woman had not deserved her fate, whatever it may have been.
“I was told the men who found me searched for my companion, Nan,” Bridget said, the hint of a question in her voice.
“Aye, they did.” Mora began to braid Bridget’s hair. “If they couldnae find her, lass, she wasnae there.”
“So strange, isnae it? Where would she go? As I see it, she had but two choices when the thieves attacked. She either died with the others or fled.”
“If she had fled, Jankyn would have been able to see that and followed her trail.”
“It was dark. He may have missed whate’er trail she left.”
“Nay. Jankyn could track a wee mousie in the dark. But, it wasnae so verra dark, was it? Moon was full.” Mora moved to stand in front of Bridget. “There. Ye are looking verra bonnie. I will lead ye to the great hall now, aye?”
Bridget’s stomach answered the question by growling. As she let Mora lead her out of the room, Bridget wondered what time it was, but was too embarrassed to ask. To judge by the poorly lit hallway they walked along, one would think it was night, but she knew that was not true. Grey and rainy though it had been, it had still been day she had viewed out of the window. The MacNachtons, however, apparently favored the dark. Perhaps they feared the daylight would fade all the fine tapestries and carpets, she mused as she entered the great hall. It, too, was shadowed, the windows thickly shrouded with heavy drapes of burgundy cloth and the room lit by candle and torch.
“Ye awoke just in time to break your fast,” said Mora as she tugged Bridget toward the laird’s table.
“Oh, so ’tis morning, is it?”
“Weel, nay. Tis the middle of the day. But, ye woke up in time for a meal. Which meal doesnae matter much, aye?”
There was no argument to be made to that so Bridget watched Sir Cathal rise from his seat to bow to her as Mora led her to a seat on his left. He did not look like a madman, Bridget thought as she took her seat. He was too handsome for any woman’s peace of mind, calm, and clear-eyed. As she f
illed her plate with tender lamb, turnips, bread, and cheese, she wondered if there was any way to gently inquire if she had heard him correctly last night. Since Mora had confirmed her rather uncertain memory of that conversation, Bridget was sure Cathal had mentioned marriage. It needed to be discussed, but she was unable to think of a clever way to broach the subject and to discuss it calmly.
She glanced around the great hall as she began to eat. There were not that many people in it. About half a dozen people who bore a distinct resemblance to Sir Cathal watched her closely as they ate. The ones serving looked as if they were related to Mora. Bridget did not think she had ever seen such a clear difference between those who served and those who were waited upon. In her clan there was only one real distinction between the laird’s close kin and ones like Mora, but it was not one so easily detected.
Just as she gathered enough courage to begin a conversation with Sir Cathal, two people who immediately grasped her full attention strode into the great hall. A tall, slim man and a slender woman made their way to the laird’s table, watching her as intently as she watched them. The woman was strikingly beautiful with gleaming black hair and milk white skin, her bright golden eyes glinting with emotions Bridget could not guess at. The man’s hair was a duller black, enlivened by a few streaks of white. There was a similarity in his features to Sir Cathal’s, but the lines of his face were far harsher, almost threatening. The look he gave her from his too dark eyes sent a chill down her spine.