A Wee Highland Predicament

by Ceci Giltenan

  Laird Grant bowed. “My lady. It is a pleasure to meet ye.”

  “Aye, Laird Grant…it’s…uh…it’s a pleasure to meet ye as well.” She looked as confused as Fingal felt.

  “As ye’re aware, Laird Grant and I have some things to discuss. We’ll be in my solar.”

  She smiled, clearly trying not to react to this new surprise. “Very good. I’ll…uh…I’ll have refreshment sent up.”

  “That would be most appreciated. Thank ye, my lady,” said Laird Grant, who then proceeded to remove the scabbard containing his sword from his belt. He held it out to her. “My lady, can I entrust ye with my sword while I’m a guest here?”

  “Aye, Laird. Of course.” She accepted the weapon.

  It was an exceedingly polite gesture, clearly intended to reinforce the fact that Laird Grant had come into the midst of his enemies in peace.

  In the spirit of this temporary truce, Fingal too removed his sword, giving it to Gillian.

  “Welcome to Brathanead, Laird Grant. If ye’ll follow me we can address the matters at hand,” said Fingal.

  “Thank ye, Laird MacLennan.”

  Fingal led him up a flight of stairs and down the corridor to his solar, without any further conversation.

  Once inside, he invited Laird Grant to sit and stoked the fire to take the chill off the room before taking a seat himself.

  A knock sounded at the door and a young serving maid entered with a tray bearing a carafe of wine, goblets, bread, cheese, and fruit. She poured each of them a goblet of wine. “Will ye need anything else, Laird?”

  “Nay, thank ye, Poppy.”

  She curtsied and left.

  William Grant took a drink from his goblet and sighed. “This is excellent wine, Laird MacLennan. I haven’t had anything quite this nice in ages. Thank ye.”

  “Ye’re very welcome. I’m glad ye like it.”

  “Thank ye too for being willing to sit down with me. We have much to discuss and my fondest wish is that we arrive at a mutually beneficial conclusion to the events of the last few weeks.”

  “Laird Grant, pardon me for stating the obvious, but as far as I’m concerned the events of the last few weeks have concluded. My sister is home and safe.”

  “Aye, and my brother isn’t. And perhaps both of these things are a direct result of my actions.”

  “Yer actions?” Fingal was intrigued.

  Laird Grant didn’t answer immediately. Rather, he steepled his fingers under his chin and appeared to be considering his next words.

  Fingal didn’t push. He learned a long time ago that in a negotiation, silence is not one’s enemy. However, it makes many men nervous. Feeling compelled to fill the silence, they say more than they should, and may give their opponent an advantage.

  Finally, Laird Grant looked up. “I have thought about nothing but how this conversation would go for weeks.”

  Weeks? How was that possible? Lucas only left Castle Grant with Ailsa two evenings ago. Fingal tried not to reveal how surprised he was by that statement.

  Laird Grant continued. “We have been enemies for generations. Or I guess I should say our clans have been. I’ve never met ye before and ye weren’t born a MacLennan anyway.”

  “Nay. But I trained with Laird Chisholm and the Grants and Chisholms have never been cozy either.”

  “Aye, that’s true. But ye can appreciate my dilemma. I want something from ye.”

  Fingal thought it an odd way for Laird Grant to refer to his brother but he said nothing.

  “And when a man wants something from another man, who he considers an enemy, he must try to determine the best strategy. Perhaps he pretends that he doesn’t want it all that much, as if it has no real value to him. Perhaps he tries to convince his enemy that it isn’t valuable to him either. Perhaps he tries to trick his enemy into simply giving him the thing he wants.”

  “I suppose those are all possible ways to approach the situation.”

  Laird Grant nodded. “Aye. But there is a problem with them all. They rely on dishonesty to succeed. Not to mention the fact that one must believe his opponent is stupid enough to be fooled.” Laird Grant met his gaze. “I’ve learned enough about ye over the last few years to know ye’re not stupid. So attempting to deceive ye didn’t seem to be the right course.”

  Fingal had no idea where this was going, but once again he kept his frustration to himself. “I appreciate yer candor.”

  “Aye, well, ye’re welcome. So then I considered attempting to convince ye that we would both benefit by ye giving me what I want. But the truth is, I stand to benefit considerably more than ye do.”

  “Aye, well he is yer brother. I’m not sure how giving him back to ye benefits me.”

  “Laird MacLennan, that isn’t what I want from ye.”

  “So, what he says is true? Ye hate yer brother?” Fingal couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice.

  Laird Grant looked affronted. “I certainly do not hate my brother. In fact, I both love and respect him. But I haven’t done a very good job of letting him know that, so it’s no wonder he thinks I hate him.”

  “I’m sorry, Laird Grant. I am beyond confused now. Ye don’t want Lucas back, but ye love and respect him?”

  “I didn’t say that. I do want him back. But I’m not here to pay a ransom or to beg ye to simply return my brother. Ye’re right, that would be of no benefit to ye.”

  “Then what are ye here for.”

  “I want an alliance with ye.”

  There was simply no way for Fingal to hide his shock at that statement. “Ye want what?”

  “I want an alliance. I want to end the hostility between our clans. It’s ages old.”

  “Do ye know what started it?” asked Fingal.

  “I’m not certain, but I’ve heard tell ’twas an argument over a woman that started over a hundred years ago. If I remember correctly, Alpin Grant fell in love with the woman to whom Finbarr MacLennan was betrothed.”

  Fingal shook his head. “And generations later we are still fighting over it.”

  “Aye, but we could end it.”

  “By forging an alliance.”

  “Aye,” said William. “By forging an alliance.”

  “And why do ye think the Grants have more to gain from this alliance than I do?”

  “Seven years ago, we wouldn’t have. Malcolm MacLennan left this clan in shambles. But then ye became laird and immediately repaired old relationships and forged new ones. Now, with the exception of my clan, ye are surrounded by allies and ye have ties to MacLeods, MacNichols, Chisholms, Carrs, Macras, MacBains, not to mention MacKenzie, who has ties to everyone. It is in my best interest not to have ye as an enemy.”

  “How do ye propose to seal this alliance?”

  “With a betrothal between Ailsa and Lucas.”

  “Well, by all that’s good and holy. Nay, I couldn’t possibly have heard ye correctly. Lucas kidnapped her—”

  “He didn’t take her from Edinburgh, the Galbraiths did.”

  “I don’t care who took her first, ye ended up with her. And ye were in no hurry to let me know where she was or even that she was alive. How many days did ye wait before ye sent that message? Five? Six? And then there was no ransom request, no offer of a truce, nothing but instructions to meet with ye. After all that, ye want me to agree to a wedding?”

  “I am sorry for the delay and the cryptic message I sent. I swear to ye, it was with the best of intentions. I had good reasons.”

  “Then maybe ye’d better tell them to me. Because I can’t imagine what they were.”

  “Do ye know why Lucas was in Edinburgh in the first place?”

  “Aye. He said ye wanted him to secure a betrothal with Moira MacNaughton.”

  “Exactly. But he wouldn’t do it.”

  “Have ye met Moira MacNaughton?”

  “Nay, but that’s not the point.”

  “Then what is the point?” demanded Fingal.

  “I’ve already told ye Lu
cas and I don’t get on very well. There have been times I believed he defied me simply for the sake of defying me. It wouldn’t matter whether it was Moira MacNaughton or the kindest, sweetest lass in the Highlands. If I suggested a betrothal with anyone, I was certain Lucas would find a way to refuse. I was bemoaning this fact to my wife the day Lucas returned to Castle Grant with yer sister-in-law as a captive instead of the betrothal. She said, ‘Perhaps what ye need to do is find a suitable bride that ye think he might be happy with, then forbid him from marrying her. He’d surely handfast with her immediately.’”

  Fingal couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “I laughed too. But then I thought about it and I realized she might be right. I also realized that a perfect opportunity had fallen into my lap. I knew almost immediately when Lucas arrived with her, that he had fallen hard for Ailsa. And while she was hopping mad at what he’d done, it was clear she had feelings for him as well. All I had to do was warn him not to fall in love with her and then give him enough time to realize that he already did love her. So to gain more time, I took several rather desperate measures. I delayed sending ye a message I also reckoned that if I suggested a ransom, ye’d be angry enough with us to simply pay it and not consider another option.”

  “So ye didn’t ask for one. Ye asked for a meeting instead.”

  “Aye. I’d hoped by that time if I’d suggested a betrothal between them, Lucas would agree. Then, if ye agreed too…well, I not only would I gain a strong ally, I’d lose a dangerous enemy. Only, I missed the mark a bit with Lucas. I suspect, like me, he believed that if he asked me to consider seeking a betrothal from ye, I’d refuse out of spite. So he took matters into his own hands.”

  Fingal just stared at him until the humor of the situation overtook him. Then he started to laugh. When he’d finally regained control, he said, “Ye wanted this from the start. Ye wanted those two to fall hopelessly in love so ye’d get yer alliance.”

  “Aye, Laird. That was my plan. I’d heard ye were a reasonable man. And Ailsa obviously loves and respects ye. I had hoped, once ye realized it would make her happy, ye’d decide that an end to our feud would be a sufficiently good reason to agree to a betrothal.”

  “Well, it is,” said Fingal. “But saying that ye missed the mark a bit with Lucas is a gross understatement. He is absolutely convinced that ye hate him and would never consider a betrothal between himself and Ailsa. He thought there was at least a slim chance that if the offer came from me, ye’d consider it.”

  William Grant cocked his head to one side. “Did ye agree to?”

  “Honestly, I hadn’t decided yet. I couldn’t figure out why ye would have waited so long to contact me. I thought perhaps it was malicious—a uniquely effective form of torture. And then not to ask for a ransom. I couldn’t agree to anything until I had some answers from ye.”

  “So now ye have them. Is this possible? Can we forge an alliance with a betrothal?”

  “Aye, William. We can. But I’ll need to get yer brother out of my dungeon.”

  Chapter 21

  Lucas sat on the wooden platform in his cell, with Ailsa curled up beside him, her head resting on his shoulder and one little hand holding his. Duff lay next to her with his head in her lap. She had dozed off.

  After she refused to leave, Lucas gave up trying. Truthfully, while he didn’t want her to be here in the dungeon, he also didn’t want her to go. She had said, “What I don’t think I can live with, is never seeing ye again.” And those words had chilled him to the core. Lucas had rarely known fear but he was becoming all to acquainted with it—he was afraid of losing her.

  Now he fought an internal battle with himself. He couldn’t imagine living without her but the only sure way to make that happen was to flee with her, as she had suggested. But he knew it was impossible. They couldn’t escape the keep without being seen.

  He remembered how he’d spirited her out of Castle Grant under his plaid and grinned. They couldn’t very well do that.

  He absolutely hated being in this position. He had never been helpless before. He’d have laughed at anyone who might suggest that someday Lucas would sit patiently in an enemy’s dungeon, waiting for his fate to be decided for him.

  But he had also never been in love before.

  Ailsa stirred in her sleep, repositioning her head a little. He leaned down and kissed her temple. She was the reason. He firmly believed the only chance he had of actually having her as his own was to sit and wait and hope their families could come to some agreement.

  He was still wrestling with this decision when he heard footsteps on the stairs.

  Moments later, Laird MacLennan stepped into the dimly-lit corridor. His expression went from concerned to relieved. Then moments later, perhaps when he realized Ailsa was there, he clearly became angry.

  Lucas put a finger to his lips. “Please don’t be angry with her,” he said softly. “I told her she shouldn’t be here, but she refused to leave…and so did I. She had visions of helping me escape. I told her I had promised ye I wouldn’t do anything that might result in worsening the feud and that we should trust in the people who loved her. Please tell me that wasn’t a mistake.”

  Fingal sighed and shook his head. “It wasn’t. I imagine Ailsa told ye a contingent of Grants arrived during the midday meal, William in the lead. We’ve had a long discussion and he has agreed to the betrothal.”

  “Oh, thank God,” said Lucas, scrubbing his face with his free hand. “Now what?”

  “Ye get yer hands off my sister-in-law and keep them off until ye’re married.”

  “It’s cold down here. What would ye have done?”

  “That’s beside the point. I have agreed to this betrothal, but I need time to get used to it. I’m not ready to see that wee lassie in a man’s arms.”

  Lucas chuckled. “It should be obvious to ye that she’s not a wee lassie, but I’ll try yer patience no more.” He shook Ailsa gently. “Sweetling, wake up. It’s time to go.”

  Ailsa blinked her eyes a few times and looked around as if trying to figure out where she was. When realization dawned she sat up. “Lucas, I’ve told ye already I’m not leaving ye.”

  “Ailsa, yer defiance is wearing thin,” said Fingal.

  As if she had only just realized Fingal was there, she wrapped her arms around Lucas tightly. “Nay, Fingal, please don’t leave him down here any longer.”

  “I have no intention of leaving him down here. Laird Grant and I have reached an accord. Father Stephen is drawing up the contract now.”

  “We can be married?” The joy on her face fed his soul.

  Lucas smiled broadly. “Aye, we can.”

  Before he could stop her, she took his face in her hands and kissed him on the lips.

  Aware of Fingal’s rising ire, Lucas should have ended the kiss. But the feel of her warm soft lips on his was too wonderful.

  To hell with Fingal MacLennan. Lucas was going to kiss the woman he loved and her brother-in-law would have to get used to it. He wrapped his arms around her, deepening the kiss.

  “Damnation, that’s enough!” roared Fingal.

  Lucas pulled away from her, grinning. Ailsa was starry eyed, but even in the low light, he could see the blush rise in her cheeks. “Ah, my sweet lass, let’s not push our luck.”

  “Aye. And the sooner we’re out of here, the sooner we can be married.”

  ~ * ~

  Ailsa was positively thrilled. Lucas had been right, everything had been sorted out and they were betrothed.

  Once they had returned to the great hall, her sisters hugged and kissed her offering their congratulations.

  Laird Grant gave her a kiss on each cheek. “I’m very happy ye’ve agreed to marry my rogue of a brother.”

  The Grant warriors had been invited inside Brathanead and the betrothal was celebrated that evening with as grand a feast as could be prepared in a few hours. Throughout the evening, Ailsa was so happy, she felt as if she were floating.

  After
the meal was served, Father Stephan brought out the betrothal contract. Both lairds reviewed the final contract, then they signed it and affixed their seals.

  It was absolutely official now. She was going to marry Lucas Grant and nothing could dim that joy.

  Or so she thought.

  Once the papers were signed, talk turned to wedding plans.

  “If ye agree, Laird Grant, we’ll have the wedding here at Brathanead,” said Fingal.

  “That would probably be best,” said Laird Grant.

  Gillian frowned. “January is wretched weather in which to travel, but that’s really the earliest we could have the wedding.”

  “And we will want our allies to be able to attend the ceremony,” said Laird Grant.

  “Most certainly,” agreed Fingal. “Brathanead is not a large enough castle to house all the guests. We don’t even have space for all the men ye brought with ye. The attending clans will need to encamp outside the walls and we can’t ask them to do that in January.”

  “But February is even worse,” said Fallon. “And then Lent starts.”

  Gillian nodded. “Ye’re right. It really will have to wait until after Easter.”

  Easter? Ailsa was so shocked she couldn’t form words. She wanted to be married immediately. Tomorrow. Now. She chanced a glance towards Lucas and his expression suggested he was no happier than she by the bent this conversation was taking.

  But Fingal agreed with her sisters. “Aye, having the wedding after Easter is best. When is Easter this year, Father?”

  “Well, let me see,” Father Stephan appeared to be doing some mental calculations before saying, “It will be late this year. The ninth day of April. We could post the banns on Easter and the next two Sundays. So the wedding could be held anytime during the last week of April.”

  “That gives us plenty of time,” said Gillian.

  Fingal nodded. “And if we hold the wedding the day after the Feast of St. Mark, on the twenty-sixth day of April, the celebrations will be over enough before Roodmas to allow visiting clans to attend the Roodmas Fair near Inverness.”

  Ailsa could hold her tongue no longer. “That’s over six months from now. Must we wait that long?”