Caelen's Wife, Book Two

by Suzan Tisdale

  “I be terribly sorry, Fiona,” Drigh said with sagging shoulders.

  “Do no’ worry over it,” Fiona told him. “Ye’ve done as good as ye could under the circumstances. Now go, do as I said. Rest up, fer I may need ye to ride again.”

  The men gave cursory bows before quitting the gathering room.

  Collin came to stand beside her, looking as confused and as concerned as Fiona felt.

  “Do ye think it could be the MacElroy?”

  “In truth, Collin, I do no’ ken. It could be another ruse, like with the McDunnahs. It could be they only want us to think he be responsible.”

  Collin gave that some thought for a moment. “True, but we canna take any chances.”

  He was right. The MacElroy clan was much bigger than her own, its men far more seasoned when it came to border wars and battles. She did not know if her own small clan would be able to stand up to them, though they’d certainly do their best to try. And what if the MacElroy did not act alone? What if it was more than just one clan at fault?

  The odds were sorely against them.

  In that small moment of time, she knew what she must do. She would marry Bhruic MacKinnon.

  Ten

  The following few days seemed to drag on endlessly for Caelen as he waited both for Nial and Bree’s arrival and word from Angus’ spies. He knew it could be weeks before anyone returned with any news, but still, the wait was exhausting.

  Though ’twas good to be back at Castle Gregor and spending time with his old friends, he missed his own home. Most of all, he missed Fiona.

  He worried for her. Was she safe? Did she miss him? Were Collin and William watching over her, keeping her both out of harm’s way and out of trouble? Her brother Brodie was still recuperating from his wounds at Caelen’s keep. Brodie had wanted to join Caelen in his journey to the MacDougalls but their healer, an ancient man name Marlich, had refused to allow it. According to Brodie, his brother William fancied himself Fiona’s protector. Caelen could only pray that Brodie was right and William would do whatever he could to keep Fiona safe.

  He had slept through the evening meal on his first night at the MacDougalls. The second night, however, his friends Duncan and Wee William made certain he would not miss the evening festivities. The two men all but dragged him into the grand gathering room.

  While he was quite happy that his friends had found solace and comfort in their beautiful wives, happy that the good Lord had blessed them with far too many children to count, he admittedly hated them for it. Not vehemently nor with a soul-crushing passion. Nay, he was simply envious and that ’twas an entirely new experience for him.

  He’d never envied anyone for anything. He happily went about his life, doing his best to avoid holding other people’s babes, ignoring the fact that he was getting aulder and lonelier and far less likable.

  Fiona had changed all that. Now, when he looked at Wee William and Nora, or Duncan and Aishlinn, or Angus and Isobel, he felt nothing short of envious which in turn left him quite despondent.

  He lay in bed each night and tried to cipher it all out. How had he come to be so hopelessly in love with Fiona McPherson? He hadn’t been looking for love, quite the contrary. He’d avoided it at all costs.

  He hadn’t thought he’d been lonely, until she came into his life. He hadn’t been looking or seeking anything more than a quick tumble betwixt the sheets with women whose names he cared not to know.

  Now? Now he had travelled for two days, fought rain and wind to get here, to seek the help of old friends. Now, he lay in bed at night, questioning his own sanity.

  He would have loved to have the energy and wherewithal to curse Fiona McPherson for turning his life upside down. He couldn’t blame her, for he knew she hadn’t intentionally set out to steal his heart or to break it.

  There was no one to blame but himself. He’d let his guard down, let the stone walls he’d erected around his heart to crack wide enough to allow that spark of love to enter.

  He was a bloody fool.

  No matter the whys or the wherefores, he was in a sad and sorry state. He couldn’t bear to think of what would happen to him, to his very soul, if he could not find a way to marry her, to spend every day of the rest of his life with her.

  Aye, he was a complete, utter, bloody fool.

  * * *

  As soon as Caelen had received word that Nial and Bree were not far away, he raced down the stairs and out of the keep to wait in the courtyard for their arrival. He and Nial had been friends for many years. They’d fought side by side in many a battle against the English, in border wars, and aye, even a few tavern brawls. Caelen couldn’t recount the number of times Nial had saved his neck, but knowing his friend as he did, Nial would be able to recount each and every one of them.

  They were as opposite as two people could be. While Nial preferred to negotiate his way out of difficult situations, Caelen preferred a more straightforward approach, by using his fists or his sword. Where women swooned over Nial’s tall, handsome physique they tended to stay clear of Caelen.

  Nial led some thirty McKee warriors, half of whom were surrounding his lovely wife Bree, through the gates and into the courtyard.

  Nial pulled rein on his brown and white gelding, slid from his horse and went straight to his old friend. The two men shook arms and embraced, slapping each other hard on their backs. “What trouble have ye gotten yerself into now?” Nial asked as he pulled away to scrutinize Caelen.

  Bree, just as beautiful as she’d always been, slid from her own mount, smoothed out the wrinkles on her dark red gown and walked toward her husband. “Thank ye kindly, husband fer helpin’ me down from me horse. ’Twas much appreciated.”

  Nial rolled his eyes at Caelen before turning his attention to his wife. “Did ye struggle much in gettin’ down?”

  Bree rolled her bright green eyes and elbowed her husband in his ribs before going to Caelen. Giving him a warm hug she said, “Ignore him, Caelen. He’s cranky because he had to sleep out of doors last night. He’s grown too soft these past years.”

  Nial pretended to grab an imaginary dagger from his heart. “Ye wound me wife, ye wound me.”

  Bree ignored him and draped an arm through Caelen’s, lifted her dress in one dainty hand and began to head up the steps. “I fear me husband has lost his mind, Caelen.”

  “Bah! I didna lose it, wife, ye stole it from me!” Nial said playfully from behind.

  Bree shook her head as if she was truly despaired. “He was no’ usin’ it anyway.”

  Caelen had to laugh at the playful back and forth that Nial and Bree shared with one another. While they might pretend to fuss and grumble and complain about the other, no one believed it for a minute. They genuinely loved each other as evidenced by the six children they had created together.

  They made their way up the steps, into the keep and into the grand gathering room. Food and refreshments were being brought in. As Caelen was escorting Bree to the table, her mother, Isobel, came floating eagerly down the stairs. “Bree!” she exclaimed with a bright happy smile.

  Hearing her mum’s voice, a beautiful smile exploded on Bree’s face as she raced to greet her mother. The two started talking so rapidly and with such excitement that it was difficult for Caelen to keep up.

  Nial chuckled as he took a seat at the table. “They’ll be that way fer hours, Caelen. It has been at least six months since last they saw one another.”

  Caelen looked on rather amused by the spectacle. Without so much as a by-your-leave, the two women ascended the stairs and disappeared.

  “Aye,” Nial said as he poured himself a mug of ale. “They be like that every time they see one another.”

  Caelen shrugged his shoulders and sat down across from his friend. “I’ll never understand the opposite sex.”

  Nial chuckled. “I fear no man ever will, my friend.” Grabbing a wooden plate, he began cutting pieces of cheese and meat and carefully placing them on the plate. After several long m
oments of silence, he finally looked up at Caelen.

  “So tell me what trouble ye’ve found and what can I do to help.”

  Caelen took a deep, cleansing breath. While he searched for a way to explain the events of the past few weeks in a way that wouldn’t make him look like a besotted fool, Nial studied him closely.

  The silence stretched on. No matter what road he took to try to explain his predicament, he realized he could not do it without explaining how he felt about Fiona McPherson. The ribbing and teasing he would receive from Nial would be ruthless and never-ending. He felt his face warm and turn red under Nial’s close scrutiny.

  “My God,” Nial finally said with his mouth agape. “Ye’ve fallen in love!” He threw his head back and laughed heartily.

  Months ago, Nial’s laughter would have been a good excuse for Caelen to knock him on his arse. But now? He couldn’t, for Nial spoke only the truth. Still, it irked Caelen that Nial was taking so much enjoyment out of his unease.

  “Well, welcome to the human race, my friend,” Nial said after he reined in his laughter. He held up his mug of ale and toasted the air between them. “It be about bloody time.”

  Eleven

  ’Twas the last thing in this world that she wanted to do — marry someone other than Caelen. Fiona felt she was doing what any chief worth her weight in barley would have done; sacrificed her personal life for the life and future of her clan. There was no other way.

  Though Collin and William were glad she had made the decision, if only for the sake of their clan, Fiona knew they felt some measure of guilt, sadness and even a little anger. Guilt that it had to be she who made the sacrifice for the greater good. Sadness for they knew her heart was not in it. And anger toward whoever was behind the raids and murders.

  Would that they could change the facts and circumstances around Fiona’s upcoming nuptials, but alas, there was naught that could be done for it. Therefore, they all met with Edgar and Bhruic on a rainy Highland morning, in Fiona’s study, to hash out the details. Fiona and her brothers sat facing Edgar and Bhruic. If her intuition was correct, Bhruic was not nearly as thrilled with the prospect of marriage as Edgar was.

  They’d make an ideal pair, she and Bhruic. Miserable companions who would paint smiles on their faces and live out the rest of their days pretending they were happy.

  Collin read aloud from the scroll before him. “In exchange for the marriage between Fiona McPherson and Bhruic MacKinnon, Clan MacKinnon agrees to provide no’ less than one-hundred battle-ready men, three wagons of barley, one wagon of wheat, and the promise of aid in the future should the need arise.” Collin glanced up from the scroll, his eyes locked with Fiona’s for a brief moment. With a nod, she signified her agreement. He continued, “It is furthermore agreed in good faith, that Clan McPherson shall provide no less than six kegs of their finest whisky at Hogmanay for the next six years. From this day forward, McPherson and MacKinnon shall be considered kith and kin with all the rights and privileges such brings with it. They shall be allies and agree ne’er to raise arms agin each other.”

  There it was. In writing. Her future, all laid out neatly and tidily, just as it had happened nine years ago. Though in truth, she had been happy about her marriage to James. Oh, she knew he didn’t truly love her, but her naive sixteen-year-old self believed that he could and that was all that mattered.

  Now, she was aulder, wiser, and far more cynical than she had been in her youth. Long ago, she had believed in the kind of love that bards sang about. After years of disappointment and a husband who could not love her, she quit believing in such things. They were nothing more than fairy tales meant to give young women hope when they embarked on their life’s mission of being a wife and mother. Ghosts, brownies and fairies were more real than romantic love.

  A sennight ago, she discovered that yes, true, passionate and undying love did exist. ’Twas quite real. Real enough that her heart felt ripped from her chest while one hundred horses trampled it into the cold, hard earth.

  As she sat at the table and listened to the men around her barter over her future and the future of her clan, she could not decide which was worse. Owning a heart of stone that did not believe in those old fairy tales or owning one that knew they were more than stories.

  The only thing that kept her from running out of the room screaming like a banshee was the knowledge that countless lives would be saved by this union. She and Bhruic were nothing more than sacrificial lambs, heading to the slaughter.

  “If yer agreeable,” Edgar said, unable to hide the glee in his eyes, “we’ll post the banns fer a sennight?”

  Believing there was no point in trying to avoid the inevitable, Fiona agreed. “That will be fine.”

  So it was written, so it was done.

  Twelve

  “I told ye to keep to that bed fer another fortnight,” the auld healer, Marlich barked.

  Brodie ground his teeth together, as he stood next to the small window, sorely tempted to throw the auld man out of it. “And I told ye that I canna stay in that bed another day. I’m no’ a bairn with the ague or the pox.”

  “Bah!” Marlich said as he threw his hands up in the air. “Ye may no’ have the ague or the pox, but yer behavin’ like a spoilt bairn just the same. Ye’ll lose that leg of yers if ye do no’ listen to me words.”

  “I’ve been in that bed fer a fortnight now and I’ll no’ stay in it one day longer!”

  Marlich shook his head and headed to the door. “Verra well then, but when the leg becomes festered I shall take great pleasure in usin’ a dull, jagged knife to cut it from ye!”

  As he went to lift the latch, a knock came at the door. Marlich lifted it and flung it open, fed up with Brodie’s obstinate refusal to listen to his advice. Standing in the doorway was Marlich’s oldest granddaughter, Nola. A comely lass with long dark hair and brown eyes. Marlich had been teaching her everything he knew about the healing arts and she had been helping him tend to Brodie. She was the one person in the world who could soften the auld man’s temper.

  “Grandda,” she said, looking quite concerned as she stepped into the small room. “What be the matter?”

  “Bah! The fool will no’ listen to me,” Marlich said. “He be refusin’ to listen to me.”

  Nola’s hands went to her hips as she scrutinized Brodie closely for a long moment. “No worries, Grandda. I’ll keep Brodie company whilst ye go find cousin Aric, the carpenter. He be verra good at makin’ coffins as well as wooden legs. We’ll know by the end of tomorrow which one Brodie shall need.”

  Brodie rolled his eyes. Marlich smiled proudly. “Verra well then, lass. I’ll leave the heathen to ye.”

  Nola watched her grandfather leave the room. As soon as he shut the door behind him, she turned to Brodie. “Why will ye no’ listen to him? He only means to see that ye do no’ lose yer leg or yer life.”

  Brodie crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the young woman. With Fiona McPherson as his sister, he was used to stubborn and intelligent women. “I be no’ some bairn that needs lookin’ after.”

  Nola mirrored him by crossing her arms over her own chest. “Nay, yer worse. Yer a stubborn, pig-headed man. I’d rather tend to a hundred cranky bairns than one injured man any day of the year.”

  “Then mayhap ye should leave me be and go tend to someone who needs it,” he told her quite bluntly.

  Nola was unfazed by his attempt to be rude. “Why will ye no’ listen? What be so wrong with restin’ until yer leg is completely healed?”

  He glared at her. “Me leg is fine and I be verra tired of layin’ about all the day long.”

  Nola raised one delicate eyebrow. “Fine, is it?” she asked. “Verra well. Walk with me.”

  He knew she was testing him on purpose. The wound had healed nicely as far as he was concerned. It hadn’t turned red or festered and neither had he suffered with fevers. Nola and Marlich had done an excellent job at tending to it. However, the wound still pained him, c
ausing him to limp slightly when he walked. But if it was a battle of wills that she wanted, he saw no reason to deny her.

  Brodie pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against and went to stand before her. He gave her the most dashing bow he could manage and flashed his most brilliant swoon-worthy smile. “Are ye happy?” he asked.

  Nola quirked her brow and rested one hand on her hip. “With three steps?” she asked with a tilt of her head. “Nay, I be no’ impressed by three steps. Me wee nephew can walk that far and he be only eight months auld.”

  Brodie McPherson was never one to back down from a challenge. “So, ye want me to walk more than three steps? I thought ye wanted me to lie abed until I be ninety.”

  “I ne’er said that, me grandda did. If ’twere up to me, ye’d have been walkin’ a sennight ago and out of me hair.”

  “Might I remind ye,” Brodie said as he leaned down to look her in the eye, “that I’ve repeatedly asked fer a horse so that I could return home?”

  Nola did not shy away from his close proximity. “And I told ye that all ye had to do was get yerself to the stables and take one.”

  “And be accused of horse reivin’?” he asked. “I think no’.”

  “Caelen would no’ accuse ye of such and ye ken it. Would ye like me to go and fetch ye one? Bring it above stairs here to yer room? Ye can stand on me back to mount it if ye’ve a need.”

  * * *

  It angered Brodie to no end that Nola had been correct. By the time they made their way back into the keep, he would have sworn someone was jabbing his injury with a hot poker.

  Thankfully, Nola remained quiet and did not dispense any I told ye sos. Instead, she graciously helped him up the stairs, standing off to the side but kept a steadying hand on his waist.

  “Ye may lean on me if ye wish, Brodie,” she told him in a soft, tender voice.