My Cursed Highlander

by Kimberly Killion

  “Thank ye, Bishop Sion, but I think I’ll pass.” Laird Kraig shifted in front of her, forcing her to move, lest she topple over. The rattle of coin and fading footfalls set her ears afire.

  He left her at the altar.

  Bells pealed and boomed from Giotto’s bell tower, but didn’t drown out the whispers hissing throughout the dome. She raised her heavy skirt and took the tiniest of steps, but her feet collided with the material of her train.

  She felt their eyes on her. Heat streaked through her cheeks, and she could do little more than stand there and breathe.

  Viviana!

  She whirled around, hearing her name behind her. A female voice—a familiar voice.

  Hide, Vivi, hide!

  “Fioretta?” Viviana shook her head and cupped her ears. Not now.

  Do not let them see you. Crawl beneath the pew. Fioretta’s panicked voice echoed throughout Viviana’s mind like a reoccurring nightmare. The same as it did ever time she entered the Duomo.

  Viviana felt a cold pass of air sweep through her. The familiar scent of soap and caustic soda burned her nostrils. She stumbled. She was going to faint.

  “Take my hand, Mistress Viviana. I will guide you.” Angelo’s soft, caring words tore at her heart. She accepted his hand and leaned heavily against him. The ells of material moved away from her feet.

  “It is clear, mistress.”

  She put one foot in front of the other and choked on her tears as she walked down the aisle and out of Santa Reparata. With the aid of an attendant, she climbed into a carriage and waited for the click of the door.

  Once alone, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  * * *

  “Ye gods and little fishes! Ye are wowf, if’n ye are going to leave your new wife at the altar.” Remi jogged beside Taveon to keep up with his furious strides while Monroe followed with indifference.

  She hated him, did she? What woman tells a man she hates him during their wedding? His new wife was a spoiled, bitter woman. Taveon ripped a hand through his hair. He was so filled with anger he no longer felt the tenderness around his ribs or the pinch in his jaw. He stomped through a foul smelling alleyway behind the kirk and sulked in his mood.

  Hellion! Hizzie! Why was he letting her under his skin?

  “Does this mean we willnae be celebrating your nuptials?” Monroe chimed in from behind in tune to the bells clanging overhead.

  “Fear not, my friend.” Taveon did a little skip and spun around to look Monroe in his good eye. Taveon splayed his arms wide and plastered on a broad grin, continuing to walk backward. “We will be celebrating in rare form this eve. At the bawdy house.”

  The scar running down Monroe’s face dissected the corner of his smile, but it was a smile just the same. “Mayhap Madame Bianca can bring in a few more drabs.”

  “The more, the merrier.” Taveon pivoted, blood racing, heart pounding. He felt as if he would burst into flames. He now understood why Viviana was a widow. Her first two husbands had most likely combusted.

  Remi spurred in front of him. “M’laird, ye cannae be making merry with the drabs on your wedding night.”

  Taveon saw red, and it wasn’t the color of Remi’s hair. He squared his footing, formed an iron fist, and swung at Remi.

  The lanky bastard ducked.

  “I am three summers shy of thirty. I have already lived half my life. If I choose to make merry with the drabs on my wedding night, then that is what I intend to do. I’m the laird of Clan Kraig. Your laird. Dinnae tell me what I can and cannae do.”

  Remi shook his head. “Meghan would not be pleased with ye, nor would Cora-Rose.”

  “Ouish!” As if he needed guilt to add to his spiraling emotions. Taveon pulled a dirk from his waistband.

  Remi blinked at the weapon. “Ye gods! Ye intend to cut me down? I leave my wife and bairns for ye. Fight at your side to save a land not worth saving, and this is how ye repay my loyalty?”

  “Damn-it-to-Hell!” Viviana had him lashing out at his closest friend. Taveon sheathed his dirk. “Forgive me, Remi. There is not another as loyal as ye.”

  “Christalmighty! I’m standing right here.” Monroe looked downright frightening when he scowled. He scratched his head of short cropped brown hair then crossed thick arms over his massive chest. Few Scotsmen matched Taveon’s size, but Monroe was one of them. While hard-pressed to admit it, Monroe might even be a wee bit brawnier. Taveon knew they felt indebted to him for saving their arses in Berwickshire; nonetheless, he was grateful to have not only their friendship, but their loyalty.

  He couldn’t ask for finer kinsmen. “Ye are loyal, too, Monroe.” Taveon clamped a hand behind his neck and attempted to rub the tension from his strained muscles. At the mouth of the alleyway came an outpouring of courtiers, no doubt the same ones who’d just witnessed that farce of a wedding. He thought of Viviana in that outrageous gown and the sad, almost frightful expression she’d worn throughout the entire ceremony. Did she truly hate him so much? “Think ye I should go back to the kirk?”

  “I fear ye have already plucked the goose. ‘Tis impossible to put the feathers back now,” Remi’s metaphor lifted Taveon’s lips. “Mayhap, we should go back to the bawdy house and gather our things, aye?”

  “Aye,” Taveon agreed. “We leave for Scotland on the morrow after I collect the amulet from Lorenzo.”

  “Think ye will be collecting your new wife as weel?” The lift returned to Remi’s gait.

  “Oh, aye. She’s going.” Taveon pointed at his eye still speckled with yellow and purple bruising. “Lorenzo has given me little choice in the matter.” He clapped Remi on the back and stepped onto a street bustling with vendors. “The morrow will be better. With any luck she will cool, else I fear she will be a thistle in my arse the entire way back to Ravenhurst,” Taveon raised his voice to be heard over the peddlers heckling at Market Vecchio.

  “Aye that, m’laird.” Remi agreed with a nervous chuckle as a curvy woman selling scarves danced a full circle around them. The bells sewn into her garment jingled with the sashay of her hips. Remi ignored her efforts and stopped in front of a merchant selling jewelry.

  He fingered a shelled bracelet and received a slap from the vendor. “You touch, you buy.”

  “How much for five?” Remi asked.

  “Five bracelets. Five florin.”

  “Ye gods,” Remi grumbled.

  Taveon crossed his arms and considered buying Viviana a bauble, but doubted he could give her anything more valuable than she already had.

  Remi barter with the haggard auld woman until she agreed to a lower price. Why the man needed five bracelets, Taveon didn’t know. Remi’s bairns were all boys.

  “Think ye Meaghan needs five bracelets?”

  “They are not all for Meaghan.” Remi scrunched his red face together. “One’s for Cora-Rose, two are for Makayla and her friend, Lily, and one’s for Lady Craig. I need no thistles in my arse, and I intend to worm my way into her good graces early on.”

  Taveon snorted. “I do hope the woman has a few good graces for you to worm your way into.” He started to walk away, but the vendor grabbed his hand.

  “One denari, I will reveal your future,” she offered with a thick accent.

  “Unhand me auld woman.” Taveon broke free of her crippled fingers with little effort, but not before an image flashed through his mind—a woman’s lifeless body lay in a freshly dug grave. Pale hair, blue lips, hands clasped around the amulet.

  A shiver shook the beggar’s feeble body. Her eyes flashed green—a pale green reminding him of Noreen.

  “Evil awaits you in the mountains.” A look of horror smoothed the wrinkles in her face. She backed away from him.

  An eerie chill curled around Taveon’s spine. ‘Twas the same chill that had terrified him as a child. The spine-tingling, unexplained sensation he’d always felt when he’d been near the burial ground at Ravenhurst.

  “Your curse will steal away your woman, lest you are brave
enough to love her.”

  He froze and pressed a hand against the pocket holding Makayla’s gift. Love is the reward for bravery.

  Love had been his enemy the whole of his life; stealing away those dear to him. ‘Twas an emotion he’d shielded himself from until Makayla.

  “Come, m’laird. If the auld beggar could tell fortunes, she wouldnae be selling cheap bracelets in the street.” Remi gave Taveon a shove, but his words offered little comfort.

  Chapter 6

  “You will be greatly missed.” Alberto kissed Viviana’s forehead below the rim of her crespine.

  “I will remember everything you taught me.” Viviana swallowed and released the guard’s hand with heartfelt sorrow. He’d taught her how to fight back. Without Alberto’s help, she would never have survived her marriage to Luciano.

  Alberto bent low to pet Miocchi. “You protect her and be her eyes.” He grated his boot tip across the pebbled ground and departed.

  “Yap.” Miocchi’s tail beat against her skirt as she waited beside the carriage for the servants to bring the last of her coffers.

  A morning sun warmed her cheeks and the smell of dew cooled the anguish thickening in her throat. The snort of horses and jingle of harness blended with the shuffle of attendants preparing for her departure. She’d exchanged few words with Lorenzo earlier as he escorted her to the hall to bid her nephew adieu. She had never been close to Giulio and did not feign sadness when the boy gave her a cold hug and skipped out of the hall.

  She bid her maids farewell and realized those she would miss most were servants and guards within the walls of the palace.

  “You do not have to go with him.” Angelo was suddenly there, clinging to her waist in an embrace that cracked the last of her reserve.

  She curled an arm around his back, returning his hug, and cupped her hand over her mouth to thwart the cry she so desperately wanted to release. After long moments, she set Angelo back by his shoulders. “You will aspire for nothing short of greatness. Listen to the masters and mind your tongue.”

  “Sì, mistress.” Angelo held her hand against his wet cheek. “Do not let Goliath win. God speed, mistress. I will pray for you.”

  And with that, her dearest friend disappeared from her embrace. She’d not known such pain, such loss, since the day Fioretta died. She fought her emotions, but lost the battle when a flood of tears spilled over her face.

  “Are ye ready, m’lady?”

  While the voice wasn’t as familiar to her, she recognized Remi’s burr and furthermore, his calloused hand at her elbow. Viviana wiped her face with the ruffle of her sleeve. She didn’t want to give Goliath the satisfaction of seeing her so miserable.

  “Is he here?” She pinned her chin to her chest to hide her damp eyes from this man who was virtually a stranger to her.

  “M’laird is with your Lorenzo, but will be about shortly.” He tied a bracelet around her wrist.

  “What is this?” Viviana ran her fingers over the smooth shells.

  “A gift. To welcome ye to my clan. ‘Tis of no value, but—”

  She brought a hand to Remi’s mouth to quiet him. Stubble poked her fingers when he twitched his eyes. “It is beautiful. Grazie.”

  “How do ye know if it is beautiful, if ye cannae see it?” he said against her hand.

  A small laugh warmed her. “I can see the bracelet through touch. The same as I can see you by feeling your face.” She cupped his cheek and drew a line over his bushy brows with the pad of her thumb. His lashes were long as was his nose. While Signore Remi was not as handsome as Laird Kraig, he had a much better heart. Even Laird Kraig had neglected to give her a wedding gift as was customary. Of course, it wasn’t customary to leave one’s bride at the altar either.

  “Take your hands from him!” The command jarred her insides and the approaching footsteps drummed in her ears.

  “What in the name of Zeus is going on?”

  “Ye gods and little fishes. The lassie was just looking at me.” Remi pulled Viviana closer.

  He was protecting her from Goliath’s wrath.

  Viviana’s smile widened. She squeezed even tighter to him. Oh, she liked Remi. He smelled of sweet clover, unlike the other of Laird Kraig’s kinsmen who reeked of licorice. She had decided not to like him for that reason alone.

  Miocchi growled and shook against her skirt the same moment Laird Kraig blew past her. Tempt me, Goliath, and I will unleash my hound. She narrowed her eyes with her silent threat and stroked Miocchi’s head.

  “Put her on a horse,” Laird Kraig demanded.

  “A horse?” she and Remi questioned in unison.

  “I cannot ride a horse,” she argued.

  “She cannae ride a horse,” Remi echoed.

  “I’ll not be slowed by a carriage, if that’s what you’re thinking. We would be en route for a month. Not to mention a target for every thief from here to the coast.”

  “The Medici crest is painted on both sides of the carriage in bold reds and golds. ‘Twill ward off any brigand with an ounce of wit.” Remi consoled her with a pat on her hand. “Fear not, lassie. ‘Twill take him a moment, but m’laird will see the right of it.”

  “That gaudy crest will mean naught in France. What is all of this?”

  A coffer thumped onto the ground and the squeak of the latch told Viviana he was rummaging through her belongings. Anger took the place of any sadness still lingering in her chest.

  “Gowns, hats, stockings, slippers.” He paused. “What is this?”

  Viviana sighed. “I know not, as I cannot see what this is. You must be more specific, m’laird.”

  Remi leaned close to her ear. “‘Tis white and frilly. Verra pretty.”

  Her undergarments! She gasped. Fire shot up her neck and into her face.

  “Baubles, hair combs, hair pins, hair brushes,” pause, “five decanters of scented water?” The lid slammed shut. “Ye will not need such frivolity where ye are going. The Scots rarely bathe, and they wear one garment; the plaid. And that includes the women.”

  “He is an animal,” she whispered into Remi’s neck and wished she was anywhere but here.

  Another coffer hit the ground with a jingle. “Ye packed a mallet?”

  He should count his blessing she didn’t pack a boulder of marble. “I will need something to throw at you.”

  Remi chuckled beside her, and she suppressed the urge to elbow him between the ribs.

  Laird Kraig growled which set an already nervous Miocchi into fits.

  “Yap, yap, yap…”

  “Shite!”

  “Stand back, m’lady. He is turning red.” Remi set her behind his shoulder.

  Red was a color she remembered. A color she associated with tragedy and the last color she ever saw. God save her. Her heart sped and beat in all the pulse points of her body.

  “The coffer with your rock carving tools stays, as does the dog,” Laird Kraig announced over Miocchi’s persistent barking.

  “No!” Viviana cried out and fell to her knees to quiet her beloved pet. “Shh, Miocchi, per favore.”

  The dog whimpered and licked her hand. Miocchi was all she had. “I cannot leave him. Please, m’laird. I’ve had him since I lost my sight.”

  “The dog stays.”

  Miocchi whined and shivered as if he knew what was happening. She couldn’t leave him. He had been her eyes before Angelo came. He’d protected her from Luciano. No one would care for him the way she did. She wrapped her hands around his neck and cried against his thin coat. “Please, m’laird,” she begged. “I will leave the coffers and ride a horse.”

  “Christalmighty! Let the lassie take her pet.” Laird Kraig’s other kinsmen, whose name she did not yet know, aided her plea.

  A long pause stretched the silence. “Have ye both forgotten so quickly the month we spent consoling Makayla when that mangy kitten died?”

  “A falcon snatched up Poppet’s pet,” Remi said. “‘Tis unlikely the same will occur with m’lady’s dog
.”

  “Put Lady Kraig in the carriage. We’ve a long journey, and I cannae be assured the coin we have will get us to the coast. The last expense I need is a dog that will eat more than her.”

  “Come, m’lady.” Remi gently pulled her to her feet.

  “I will not eat. There are jewels in the coffers; diamonds, rubies, sapphires. Please, m’laird.” She continued to grovel, hoping to solicit the slightest compassion from him. Remi had guided her into the carriage before she even realized she’d walked to the door. She sank into the soft seat and pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. He was worse than Radolfo and Luciano.

  The man was heartless.

  Miocchi whined outside the carriage and scratched the door with his nails. The sound tore at her insides.

  She leaned out the window. “M’laird, please.”

  “A dog of Miocchi’s years willnae survive the journey. Would ye have him die en route to Scotland or live the remainder of his days here in Italy?”

  She couldn’t answer his question. She wanted to scream and felt as though a demon was inside her shredding her heart to pieces.

  “Auld woman, come here.” A shuffling of feet followed Laird Kraig’s command. “Take Miocchi back to Angelo.”

  A heavy weight pressed against Viviana’s chest as she listened to the men mount their steeds.

  “M’laird—”

  “The dog stays,” Laird Kraig cut Remi off with a tone that demanded finality.

  “Meghan would not be pleased with ye,” Remi said outside the window.

  Viviana didn’t know who Meghan was, nor did she care. She curled into a ball on the velvet seat and swallowed her cries.

  “The dog is nigh hairless. He is conditioned to the heat,” Laird Kraig continued to defend his actions. “He will never make it through the mountains. The weather will kill him, and ye well know it. And who will console her when the beastie dies?”

  “Ye should be the one to console her. ‘Tis your duty as her husband, but as ye are not shaping up to be a verra good husband thus far, I would have consoled her.” With the rattle of harness Remi spurred his mount ahead.