Rowan's Lady
Clan Graham [1]
Suzan Tisdale
Suzan Tisdale (2012)
* * *
Rating: ****
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction, Historical, Romance, Scottish, Historical Fiction, Historical Romance
Scotland, 1354
He built impenetrable walls around his heart....
The Black Death showed no mercy when it took Rowan Graham's beautiful, young wife. With his clan nearly decimated, his heart torn to shreds, he is left to raise his newborn daughter alone. Rowan tries to keep the promises he made to Kate on her deathbed, save for one: He is unable to give his heart to another.
She has built walls around her own...
Lady Arline is forced into yet another arranged marriage - loveless and lonely. Behind Garrick Blackthorn's good looks lies a cruel, vindictive man. She wants nothing more than her marriage to end so that she might gain the freedom she has longed for.
Fate will bring those walls tumbling down....
Just before her marriage comes to a bitter and ugly end, her cruel husband kidnaps a sweet, innocent child. Arline does not realize the child belongs to a man from her past, a man who has haunted her dreams for more than seven years, until the night he comes to rescue his daughter.
Rowan Graham is surprised to learn that his enemy's wife is a woman he met but for a few short moments seven years earlier when dark times had fallen across Scotland. The same woman who had helped insure the freedom of his foster father and brother has been risking her life to care for his daughter.
Fate brings them together... but others are determined to pull them apart.
Rowan's Lady
Suzan Tisdale
Cover design by Seductive Designs
Image of girl © RazzDazzStock.com
Background © iStock/ _ultraforma_
Plaid fabric © iStock/RuthBlack
Copyright © 2013 Suzan Tisdale
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0-9855443-7-6
ISBN-13: 978-0-9855443-7-9
DEDICATION
For my mom, the original lady Arline, my aunts, Marilyn and Jerry. Always the faces of grace and dignity, even in the darkest of times. Thank you all for teaching me how to laugh.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The list of people I want to thank would take up more than just a line or two. First and foremost I thank my husband and children for their support and enthusiasm. I could not do this without them.
A very special thank you to my perfect little granddaughters. I couldn’t have written the last two books without your help and inspiration.
Thank you to Hallee Bridgman, for bringing me in off the ledge, for being a true author-friend and an inspiration. I’ll probably never grind my own flour, but I know you’d be there to walk me through the process if I needed you!
Thank you to TJ Mackay. You, my dear, are the epitome of grace and elegance, and beauty personified.
To all the girls at InD’Tale Magazine, I thank each and everyone of you for your continued support, kind words and friendship.
Thank you to Natazsa Waters. I just know we were separated at birth, even if our mothers continue to deny it. I am grateful for your friendship and your wicked sense of humor.
A very special thank you to my mother-in-law, Judy. I am in your eternal debt. Thank you for raising such a wonderful man for me to marry.
And last but not least, a very special thank you to my beta readers and my Lassies. I love you all.
Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Prologue Frederick’s Queen
Prologue
Rowan’s Lady
Scotland 1350
The Black Death did not discriminate.
Like fire from hell, it spread across England, Wales, Italy and France. Untethered, unstoppable.
It cared not if the lives it took were of the noble and wealthy or the lowly born and poor. It showed no preference for age or gender. It took the wicked and the innocent. It took the blasphemers and the righteous.
The Black Death took whomever it damned well pleased.
It took Rowan Graham’s wife.
Rowan would not allow his sweet wife to die alone, cold, afraid, and in agony, no matter how much she begged otherwise. He would not allow anyone else to administer the herbs, to apply the poultices, or to even wipe her brow. He was her husband and she, his entire world.
Knowing that the Black Death had finally reached Scotland, Rowan’s clan had prepared as best they could. The moment anyone began to show signs of illness, they were immediately taken to the barracks. Seclusion was their only hope at keeping the illness from spreading.
Within a week, the barracks could hold no more of the sick and dying. In the end, the quarantine was all for naught.
By the time Kate showed the first signs of the illness, the Black Death had taken more than thirty of their people. Before it was over, Clan Graham’s numbers dwindled to less than seventy members.
At Kate’s insistence, their three-month-old daughter was kept in seclusion. It was the last act of motherly love that she could show her child. In the hours just before her death, Kate begged for Rowan’s promise on two matters.
“Ye shall never be afraid to speak of me to our daughter. It is important that she know how much I loved her, and how much we loved her together.” ’Twas an easy promise for Rowan to make, for how could he ever forget Kate?
’Twas the second promise she asked that threatened to tear him apart.
“And ye must promise ye’ll let another woman into yer heart. Do not save it long fer me, husband. Yer too good a man to keep yerself to a dead woman.”
He swore to her that yes, someday he would allow his heart to love another. Silently however, he knew that day would be in the very distant future, mayhap thirty or forty years. For there could never be a woman who could take Kate’s place in his life or his heart.
“I love ye, Kate, more than me next breath,” Rowan whispered into her ear just before her chest rose and fell for the last time.
Fires were built to burn the dead. When Rowan’s first lieutenant came to remove Kate’s body to add it to the funeral pyres, he refused to allow Frederick anywhere near her. Rowan’s face turned purple with rage, his chest heaved from the weight of his unconstrained anguish. He unsheathed his sword and pinned Frederick to the wall.
“If ye so much as think of laying a finger to Kate, I shall take yer life,” Rowan seethed. Frederick knew it was a promise Rowan meant to keep.
Later, with his vision blurred from tears he could not suppress, Rowan bathed his wife’s once beautiful body now ravaged with large black boils. He washed her long, strawberry blonde locks and combed them until they glistened once again. When he was done, he placed a bit of Graham plaid into the palm of her hand before wrapping her cold body in long linen strips.
Alone in the quiet hours before dawn he carried Kate to
her final resting place under the tall Wych Elm tree. He stayed next to her grave for three full days.
Frederick finally came to see him late in the afternoon of the third day.
“I ken yer grievin’, fer Kate was a fine woman.” Frederick said. “Ye’ve a wee bairn that needs ye, Rowan. She needs ye now, more than Kate does.”
Rowan was resting against the elm tree, with his head resting on his knees. In his heart he knew Frederick was right, but that did nothing the help fill the dark void that Kate’s death left in his heart.
For a brief moment, Rowan could have sworn he heard his wife’s voice agreeing with Frederick. Deciding it best not to argue the point with either of them, Rowan took a deep breath and pulled himself to his feet.
For now, he would focus on the first promise he had made to Kate.
“Ye be right, Frederick,” Rowan said as he slapped one hand on his friend’s back while wiping away tears with the other. “I need to go tell me daughter all about her beautiful mum.”
One
Scotland, autumn, 1354
“Do ye love me?”
Lady Arline felt weak in the knees. Her stomach fluttered with unease when she looked into the dark blue eyes that belonged to her husband of three days, Laird Garrick Blackthorn of Ayrshire. She wasn’t at all certain if it was the question that gnawed, or the cold, stony glare his face held when he asked it. She swallowed hard, willed her legs and stomach to settle, and decided honesty was at all times the best policy.
“I am sure I could learn to love ye, m’laird.” She prayed she didn’t sound as foolish as she felt.
Laird Blackthorn of Ayrshire was a very handsome man. Tall, lean, and well-muscled, he stood a head taller than Lady Arline. Short cropped blond hair framed a more than handsome face. Lady Arline imagined most women would swoon if he chose to grace them with a glance from those dark blue eyes of his. And if the eyes didn’t lead to swooning, then perhaps the muscles that rippled under his snug tunic would do the trick.
Truth be told, Lady Arline nearly swooned herself when she met him for the first time three days ago. They had been introduced just moments before exchanging their wedding vows. It had been all she could do not to jump with glee that this husband was not only closer in age to her own, but he was handsome as well. He exuded power, virility. Mayhap, finally, there would be children in her future.
After the death of her first husband, Lady Arline had sworn she’d never be duped into another arranged marriage. But her father, bless him, had been quite insistent that she give marriage another chance. She had resisted her father right up until the moment she saw Garrick Blackthorn for the very first time.
There was something, something she could not quite put a name to, something in Garrick’s blue eyes…they held something. But what? A secret perhaps? She was as yet uncertain and that made her all the more nervous. Whatever it was, she found it difficult to keep her legs and fingers from trembling. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her and tried to at least appear as if she were not completely terrified.
Perhaps it was the anticipation of what lay ahead, on this their first night in her new home as his wife. Her husband had yet to lay a hand on her, save for the chaste kiss at the alter three days past. He had barely spoken a word to her during the journey from Lochbraene to Ayrshire.
She wondered, if by chance, he too, was just as nervous as she.
It was doubtful. A man as handsome as Garrick Blackthorn must certainly have a significant amount of experience with women and loving. Nay, it could not be nervousness she saw in the depths of those dark eyes. It was something else.
Lady Arline reckoned that perhaps it was her own widespread nervousness that made her mouth go dry and her legs weak. Undoubtedly he would want to consummate their marriage and perhaps before doing so, he wanted to know what her feelings toward him might be.
The thought of consummation brought back the quivering sensation in her legs. She cursed at her own silliness. Her thoughts suddenly turned to Minnie, her auld maid who had died two years ago. Just close yer eyes and do yer duty on yer weddin’ night. It will hurt like bloody hell, but it does not take long.
It was early evening and they stood in Lady Arline’s appointed chamber. She wore a heavy silk robe over her thick linen nightdress. Her wavy and oft unruly auburn hair tumbled down her back and stopped just above her knees. She hoped that he had a fondness for redheaded women. She shivered and cursed inwardly for what must have been the hundredth time that day.
It was those cursed eyes of his that left her with such a sense of discomfit.
She studied him more closely as he paced in front of the tall window. He did not look pleased with her honest answer. He had raised an eyebrow ever so slightly when she had given it.
After several long moments, Laird Blackthorn stopped pacing and turned back to face her.
“Ye see, lass, therein lies the problem.”
There was no mistaking his disdain. It was quite evident in the tightening of his jaw and the hard, icy glower he sent her way. She was no longer worried over pleasing her husband this night. Instead, she worried over surviving it. The room suddenly felt cold, mayhap from those cold, dark eyes and the freezing tone of his voice.
“I do no’ want ye to get any notions of fallin’ in love with me. Fer ’tis a certainty that I will never love ye.”
There was no mistaking his meaning. It stung like an arrow through her heart.
Controlled anger, contempt and derision dripped from his tongue. Arline knew instinctively that this was a man who said what he meant and meant what he said.
Any hope that she may have had at someday forging a bond with her new husband, one made of mutual admiration and respect, fell as rapidly as a rock from a cliff, landing at her feet with a thud. Why am I so cursed when it comes to husbands?
“This marriage,” he told her as he turned away to look out the window, “is but a farce.”
She forced herself to remain steady. Fear wrapped itself around her like a cold, wet blanket, sending shivers down her spine.
“Are ye aware of what was in the marriage agreement?” he asked. “Of all it entails?”
Words were lodged in her throat. She cleared it once, then again, and managed to utter a choked ‘aye’. She had not been given the opportunity to read it with her own eyes. Her father had given her a brief summation of its contents. But, knowing her father as she did, he had probably left out some very important details.
“Tell me what ye ken.” His voice was low, steady, commanding.
“I am to be your wife, in exchange for the troth of three wagons of food and ten horses, as well as land.” Her mouth had suddenly turned quite dry, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. What she would not give for a tipple of whisky.
“And?” he asked.
That was all she knew. Dread thrummed in her heart. Silently she damned her father to the devil. What on earth had the man done to her now? “That is all that I ken of it, me laird.”
He came to stand before her, just a step away.
“After one year, one month and one day, if there be no heir born or conceived, the marriage will be annulled.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest and stood, glaring. “There will be no heir.”
The only way she could have concealed her surprise was if she had been hiding under a blanket.
There was no mistaking his ire and no way to misinterpret his words. There were no “ifs” in his explanation of the marriage agreement. No wiggle room, no hope. Plain and simple. She’d gone from thinking him quite a handsome fellow to knowing that behind those good looks lay a cold, hard man.
He continued to glare with one eyebrow arched as if he was waiting for her to say something. He shook his head and snorted at her continued dumbfounded silence.
“There will be no heir,” he repeated.
It was a statement of fact. A point that would not be argued further or open for any discussion at a future time.
“I’l
l not bed ye,” he said bluntly, looking at her as if he found the mere thought of sharing a bed with her repulsive.
“I do not love ye Arline. And I never, ever will.” He turned away from her again. “Do ye understand?”
Aye, she thought to herself. I understand far more than ye ken. She took a deep breath and muttered her affirmation at his back.
“I think ye need to understand more fully what be at stake here.” He took a deep breath. “Ye see, I am capable of lovin’ a woman.”
Lady Arline’s stomach plunged to her toes.
“I simply will no’, under any circumstance love ye. Me heart, ye see, belongs to another,” he tossed his remark over his shoulder.
Her surprise was quickly replaced with a sense of numbness. “If yer heart belongs to another, then why did ye agree to marry me?”
He turned around slowly, the derision he felt toward her plainly written in the hard lines of his face. “Have ye met me father yet?”
Lady Arline shook her head. “Nay, I haven’t.”
“Ye be no’ missin’ much. He’s a whoreson if ever there was one. He does no’ like the woman who does own me heart. I had to marry ye in order to get the fool off me back.” Crossing his arms over his broad chest, the lines of his face hardened further, deeper. “In a year’s time, this marriage will be annulled. Make no mistake of that.”
Arline lifted her chin showing him that she did not care. ’Twas in fact, the opposite of what she truly felt. She did care.
Rowan's Lady Page 1