A Midsummer Wedding_The Scottish Relic Trilogy

by May McGoldrick

  “Go easy, lass. Float with the current,” he ordered, trying to loosen her death grip on him.

  “I don’t know how to float,” she cried, holding even tighter. “I can’t swim!”

  Of course. What need would a pampered royal castle dweller have for so basic a survival skill?

  A wave washed over them, pushing both their heads underwater. She was practically sitting on his shoulders by the time he managed to fight his way to the surface. Spinning her in the water, he threw his arm across her chest. As he began kicking for the shore, she continued to fight him. But from the diminished depth of the scratches she was carving into his arm, he knew she was beginning to tire.

  “I have you, Elizabeth,” he said in her ear. “Trust me.”

  She heard him and stopped fighting. Turning her head, she looked over her shoulder at him. For a brief moment, their gazes locked. Her face had taken on an ashen hue; her lips were blue and trembling. Her body was still locked in a spasm of fear.

  “I promise. I won’t let you drown,” he said.

  He felt her begin to relax against him, letting him support her.

  A curtain of rain and wind-whipped waves surrounded them, but Alexander did his best to keep the water from washing over her face and adding to her fright. Avoiding debris, he swam in the direction of land, or what should have been land.

  They moved across the current that was carrying them quickly downriver. All he could see was brown choppy water flowing over what should have been fields.

  After two days of hard rain and then this tempest, the flooding river had widened past its normal bank. Forests beyond were merely a murky black blotch in the gray-green light. He could see nothing of the pine-covered mountain ridge to the north.

  His boots touched the bottom, but the current was still strong in the shallower water. He was in thigh-deep water before he judged it was safe to release Elizabeth. Her eyes were wide as she took in the landscape around them. The wind—even stronger now—pummeled them, and Alexander held her hand as they waded through the moving lake of water toward the black forests and higher ground.

  Daylight was fading fast, but even in the stormy twilight, nearly everything was inundated for as far as Alexander could see. In the distance, he could make out the crown of a brae, standing like a tiny island against the flooded meadows.

  “This isn’t easy travel. You’re doing well,” he encouraged.

  “Thank you for not taking my head off.”

  “We’ll have time for that later,” he said, looking ahead and pretending to ignore the look she sent him.

  “I apologize for lying about my name.”

  Alexander glanced at her. Her cloak streamed out on the current. The green dress was ruined, black with water and mud. The braid had come loose and her hair whipped around her in the wind. The woman was a mess. Far different from the flawless beauty who’d come through the tavern door not so many hours ago. And still, in spite of everything she’d endured already, Elizabeth was showing a toughness he would never have expected.

  “I am also sorry for not receiving your messenger,” she continued.

  He didn’t want to think about any of this now. His priority lay in finding shelter. He pushed on. The ground beneath the fast-moving flood was soft and treacherous. They were both slipping and fighting to keep their heads above water. By the time they reached the protruding hill, the light was gone and she was dragging. Rushing water was piling up against a boulder at the base of the hill. Holding on to it, he helped her up onto solid land.

  “And I apologize for splitting your head open with the oar.”

  He had to give her credit for that one. She swung that wood as well as any Highland lass could have done.

  Together they made their way up the slope. Shielding his eyes against the wind, he looked around him to get his bearings. He could see nothing of the countryside that he knew had fallen victim to the encroaching river. The storm showed no sign of easing. Alexander wondered if this refuge would be covered by the rising river before morning.

  A thatched roof appeared beneath the crown of the hill. They nearly stumbled against it before they even saw it. It was a sheepcote with three crumbling turf walls and a thatched roof that had caved in long ago.

  Elizabeth sank down onto a block of stone outside one corner of the building. “Is there anything I have forgotten to apologize for?”

  Alexander crouched down and felt around the area along a side wall where the roof still provided a little protection. The corner was small, but large enough for the two of them, relatively dry, and out of the wind.

  “Well, do you have anything to say?” she asked, standing up when he came out.

  “Aye.” He took her hand and led her to the entrance of the hovel. “Welcome to your new castle.”

  Chapter Six

  If only he knew how she now perceived the Highlands and the Macpherson’s ancestral home after all her travels.

  “Aye, m’lady,” he said. “Welcome to your future.”

  Oh Lord. Perhaps he did know.

  Still, Elizabeth didn’t need any prodding to get in out of the raging tempest. The place smelled of sheep, which was curiously comforting. As she sat in the dry corner, however, her sense of relief at being out of the wind and rain quickly gave way to misgivings about their predicament. The plan, as poorly conceived as it was, could not have gone more wrong. She was trapped now in the middle of a flood with her Highlander, pirate, rescuer, soon-to-be husband. The two of them alone on an isolated mound of mud. Her reputation was ruined. France was gone. Her dreams of independence were lost. Elizabeth wished she could believe in one shred of the happily-ever-after that Queen Margaret imagined.

  She frowned, watching Alexander pull down handfuls of thatch and wood battens from their roof. She remained silent, realizing he was attempting to start a fire.

  Even though it was midsummer, she was chilled to the bone. Water was dripping from her chin and nose, and every bit of clothing on her was soaked and filthy. She pushed the hair out of her face and stared, fascinated by her future husband.

  He was crouched by the opening of the sheepcote. As he worked, drawing sparks from a flint with his dirk, the wet shirt stretched across the bulk of his muscles, molding to his broad chest and shoulders like a second skin. His hair had come loose and draped down his back. The kilt hung heavy around his legs. She knew those legs were all muscle and sinew: hard, sculpted, powerful. Elizabeth’s gaze was uncontrollably drawn to them anytime he crouched. Her mouth went dry. The marriage bed would be the least of her hardships. And his face. His face.

  Shite and hellfire. He was watching her inspect him.

  “You’re shivering so hard, lass, your teeth are going to fall out.”

  She tried to keep her teeth from chattering, without success, and emptied her mind of all images of his body. Also without success. She kept her eyes on the tiny flames he was urging to life. Considering the open end of the building and occasional blasts of wet wind swirling through, she didn’t hold out hope that his efforts would do much to warm her up. He didn’t seem affected by any of it.

  Just a normal day in the Highlands.

  “Take your clothes off. You’ll be warmer naked than wearing all those wet things.”

  Naked. Images of the two of them naked—for warmth—made delicious heat rush into her belly. Oh no, that wasn’t happening.

  “I’m perfectly warm.” She pressed her back against the wall. To prove it, she took off her cloak and laid it over her drawn up knees. It only worsened the miserable dampness.

  He broke up one of the pieces of wood into slivers and added it to the fire. As he blew on the tiny flame, Elizabeth shivered and pulled the garment up to her chin. Hopeless. She’d die of a chill before the night was over.

  She froze as something crawled onto her shoulder. Wind, rain, and death by chill were instantly forgotten. Her body caught fire. She knew what it was before she saw it out of the corner of her eye. A snake.

  N
ot just a small snake. A monster. Long and brown, its eyes glistened. A black tongue shot out and its head swayed threateningly. An adder. She was a dead woman!

  Elizabeth leaped up and away from the wall, screaming. It was still on her shoulder, its tail wrapping around her neck, its demonic eyes looking into her face.

  She pushed at the creature’s head as she threw herself at Alexander, who was standing now by the fire. Before she could reach him, the adder dove toward her neck and found an opening above the collar. Its head disappeared and the rest was quickly following. She screeched and tore at the neckline of her dress, ripping open the stitches. Blinded with terror, she yanked and pulled, fighting her clothes.

  Alexander had her by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

  “An adder,” she screamed. “In my dress! Get it out!”

  Grabbing the neckline in both hands, he tore the garment open with a single motion and shoved it down her arms.

  The adder had found the top of her shift and was quickly moving down between her breasts.

  “Be still. Let me get it.”

  She couldn’t. She was spinning and jumping, trying to shake the creature free. The Highlander’s hand went down the front of her shift, and she felt his arm against her breasts. And then, the monster was gone.

  “I have it,” Alexander told her. “Calm yourself. You’re fine.”

  She opened her eyes and stared down at her exposed breasts. It was gone. It was really gone. He was holding the snake by the head, and she saw it wrap its body around his arm like a whip.

  Elizabeth pulled up the shift to cover herself. Her body shook violently.

  “It’s not an adder.” He brought the vile creature closer.

  “Don’t,” she shrieked, stepping back. But her back immediately hit the wall, and she turned around, certain she was about to be attacked by a dozen other snakes. She had nowhere to go. No place to escape to. She’d never been so near a snake. Perhaps there were more of them already on her! Slapping at her skirts, she tried to pull the dress back up. The entire front was torn open. She held it closed over her chest.

  “Since you live here,” he was saying, “you should learn the difference.”

  “I don’t live with snakes or sheep.” She sounded shrill, but that was only natural under the circumstances.

  “You live in Stirling. You can’t lock yourself behind palace walls.”

  “I don’t lock myself behind anything. And this is not a stroll in the gardens. This is country. And I hate the country.”

  “Look at the blasted thing. It can’t hurt you, lass.”

  “This is madness. Everyone knows an adder can kill you.”

  “I tell you it’s not an adder.”

  The Highlander was holding the snake up, but he wasn’t bringing it any closer. The creature was wrapped around his wrist. Clearly, he wasn’t going to get rid of this killer until she paid attention.

  Even as she forced herself to look, Elizabeth had to admit that he’d been quite heroic coming so immediately to her rescue. Twice now, on the river and now here.

  “So what is it then?”

  “A slow-worm.”

  She looked at the size of it. It was at least twice the length of her arm. She’d felt it trying to encircle her waist.

  “That is no worm.”

  “A slow-worm,” he said again. “It can’t hurt you, but you were right to be afraid. And you were right to be thinking it was an adder. Unless a person got a good look at it, anyone might make the same mistake.”

  Unexpectedly, a sense of warmth flowed through her. The Highlander was not ridiculing her for the way she’d responded. She looked up into his eyes, beautiful and serious in the fading light.

  “So how can you tell one from the other?”

  He brought it closer. This time, the urge to run screaming out of the hovel was not entirely overwhelming.

  “He has none of the adder marks on his back,” he explained. “You see? He has a dark stripe, no black lightning. He can still give you a good bite, but he’s not poisonous.”

  She looked over her shoulder, still wondering if there were more of them. “What is he doing here?”

  “Trying to get out of the rain, like us.”

  Elizabeth shuddered, sure now there would be more unwanted visitors. The Highlander went outside and heaved the snake down the hill.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked, feeling relieved but, at the same time, oddly sorry for the thing.

  “It was you or him. I chose you.”

  The pirate charm. All the talk was true.

  Alexander went back to poking at the struggling fire, and Elizabeth looked down at the revealing rents in her dress. He’d handled her breasts in fetching the snake, but not once had she seen him leer at her or comment on it.

  She clutched the dress over her chest and shivered. She was really cold, but she doubted the muddy wet cloak at her feet would offer any warmth.

  “How long do you think the storm will last?” she asked as he rose to his feet.

  “No way to tell. I’ve seen gales like this take days to blow themselves out. It must have been terrible for the folk inland.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All this water came from upriver. And even if the rain stops now, the flooding could get worse before it recedes. And that’s not even taking into account the tide.”

  Elizabeth considered that. What it all meant was that she and the Highlander were going to spend some time together. Perhaps Nature was giving her the opportunity that she’d lost back at the village. No more pretending. No more lies. Now she had a chance to reason with him, to show him that she’d never make him a good wife. This was her chance to get him to release her from the marriage contract. And her reputation be damned. Enough people witnessed how she’d been caught up in this quandary.

  Piling a few more pieces of splintered wood on the fire, Alexander moved to her dry corner and sat down on the packed dirt floor. Leaning his back against the wall, he kicked off his boots and stretched out his long, muscular legs. She forced herself not to stare.

  “Come and sit.” He patted the ground next to him. “I promise to keep you safe from snakes and any other vermin.”

  “I’m fine where I am,” she replied, not trusting herself. Her voice had taken on a husky tone.

  The night sky outside had developed a strange hue. It was brighter than the blackness of a moonless night. Still, even with the light given off by the flickering tongues of flame, it was difficult to see his face.

  Elizabeth suddenly felt the need to talk. If she was going to make good use of this time together, she needed to correct any misunderstandings now.

  “I want to explain why I came to you at the tavern,” she began. “Why I pretended to be Clare Seton.”

  His gaze was fixed on the fire.

  “It was a foolish plan, I know that now. But . . . but the idea was to make you see Clare and her intended and think she was me and . . . and to make you believe that my heart belonged to someone else.”

  He looked up at her. “Why? What did you hope to accomplish?” His tone was civil, but his expression was indecipherable.

  “I wanted you to walk away from our marriage bargain.”

  “What was wrong with meeting me in person? Why couldn’t you simply tell me?”

  Reason. Of course, that would have been the logical thing to do. But how could she explain to him that such a thing took courage and at the time she didn’t trust him to initiate the break? That the stakes were so high and she wasn’t thinking straight?

  “I should have,” she said finally. “That would have been the wiser course of action. I don’t want to marry you.”

  There. It was out. She’d told him the truth. At least, part of it. She didn’t tell him about not wanting to defy her father, about the future she imagined for herself. He was staring again at the fire. She studied his face. There was no change in the relaxed way that he sat against the wall.

  He glanced
up at her, and something in his expression told Elizabeth that the man was relieved.

  “Then . . . you’re fine with this?”

  His eyes sparkled in the dark. “Aye,” he said, lifting a knee and resting an arm on it. “Why do you think I was so impatient to see you these past two days? I even sent a letter to you with my squire this afternoon. He passed you with it when you came into the tavern.”

  “What did the letter say?” she asked, wanting him to say it. She didn’t want to assume anything.

  “I feel no sense of duty toward the agreement binding us together. That deal was made decades ago, and both families have already profited by it. And in return for my freedom, I’ll provide a sizable sum of gold for you to do with as you please.”

  “You don’t want to marry me?”

  “Blast me if I do. You don’t want to marry me, and I don’t want to marry you either,” he responded, looking like he’d just won the prize pig at the fair. “You can choose anyone you please, so long as it’s not Alexander Macpherson.”

  Chapter Seven

  If this were a ceilidh, Alexander was happy enough to lead Elizabeth in a dance that she’d need a fortnight to recover from.

  A moment later, however, his enthusiasm began to wane. She stared at the fire, and he thought perhaps he’d been too abrupt telling her the truth.

  Perhaps it was the timing. For five years now, Elizabeth had been of a marriageable age. But he’d put off going after her. He’d found so many excuses to postpone doing what was expected of him. The fact that he was a Highlander and she a Lowlander was only the beginning of the chasm that separated them. Their traditions, their upbringing, the lives they’d chosen, all set the two of them worlds apart. He knew of too many Highland lairds whom the king had forced into political marriages with Lowland court women. And none of them seemed the happier for it. His betrothal to Elizabeth been arranged by their family, but she’d been reared like the rest of them.

  Odd that the Spey River just below Benmore Castle had been rushing with the spring floods as well, when the Macpherson clan elders had come to speak with him about marriage. As laird, Alexander was expected to produce heirs. He knew what they wanted, but he had no wish to bring an ill-chosen spouse into their midst. And with her courtly upbringing and expectations of luxury, he was certain Elizabeth Hay would never do. Contract or no, the time had come to set the woman free. And so he’d come to Stirling.