“Well, I dinnae want to wed you now. If you try to force me, I will see to it you have nae sons.”
The priest gasped. The Lamont’s face reddened. Archibald felt the effect from her statement as intended, a sharp pain in the center of his chest, but he couldn’t allow the hurtful words to sway him. “You will change your mind.”
“Nae!”
“Then shall we have a trial and sentencing instead of a marriage? I will spare nae leniency.”
“As you see fit.” Her challenging gaze never left his.
“Fine. Secure the prisoner.” He signaled the men standing guard at the doorway to take her away. They’d been instructed earlier if need be to lock her up in a storage cell in the basement. He refused to order her thrown in the pit. He just couldn’t inflict that indignity upon her. He hoped a few hours imprisoned would bring her to her senses.
“MacLachlan, you cannot.” Her father stepped forward.
“I can and will.” He nodded to his lads.
She allowed the men to usher her from the chamber, head held high. Her sense of pride matched his. At any other time he would appreciate it. Not now.
Archibald prayed she quickly reconsidered her choice. Before others learned of her crimes. Only as his wife could he keep her safe.
CHAPTER FOUR
Munn entered the council chamber and grinned. Maids and gillies hurried to and fro, making ready for the wedding feast that would take place after the pledging of vows. He was sure the chief was up to the task of bedding the lass and planting his seed. The third match would be complete. Caitrina would be free to return to Tir-nan-Og—the fae land o’ heart’s desire—and the MacLachlan clan would be blessed.
He was certain the lass would come around and pledge her troth to Archibald along with her love. If she continued to refuse, Caitrina would do something to make the lass change her mind.
Lines furrowed his forehead as his skin started to itch. Caitrina’s unusual fae scent, a combination of peony, freesia, and sandalwood perfumed the air before she shimmered into corporal form in front of him.
“You were wrong,” she said without preamble.
“Dinnae tease.”
“Oonagh returned from the sojourn in Ireland and provided the players for the last match.”
“Archibald and Isobell,” Munn said. “Admit I was right.”
“Cannot.”
He frowned. “Then who?”
“Nae concern of yours.” Caitrina faded.
“Wait! You must help with Archibald and Isobell.”
“Not my problem.” And she was gone. Vanished to another time and place.
Damn Caitrina. Munn huffed. What was he to do? Archibald and Isobell needed to be matched. ’Twas their destiny.
Munn crossed arms over his chest and scowled. Why was the lass resisting? Archibald was a man with a full head of hair and numerous teeth. Did she think she could do better?
Bah! The chief should drop her into the pit to linger for a long while. At least until she cowered like a proper wife. Munn scratched his chin and scoffed. None of the other wives he kenned were submissive to their men. The Highlanders grew weak. Led around by lasses in skirts.
He shook his head. ’Twas a damn shame.
Ach, he needed to think. Invisible to the others in the hall, he paced from the chief’s table to the aumbry, one end of the council chamber to the other and back, and again.
An argument near the hearth rumbled in the background. Archibald and the Lamont disagreeing yet again on how to handle Isobell’s rebellious ways. Another stubborn lass came to mind—Lady Laurie.
Try the wine. Spontaneous inspiration came over Munn. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? He spun in a circle and travelled to another part of the castle.
* * *
Isobell pushed against the heavy oak panel again. When it wouldn’t budge, she kicked it. Pain shot up her leg. She grabbed the offended foot and hopped back, crumpling onto a pile of grain sacks. Damn Archibald MacLachlan.
She wrapped arms over her chest in a self-hug. How long would they leave her in this dark place? Would she give in if they left her long enough?
Boots sounded on stone. She tensed. Someone with a heavy foot approached her prison. Perhaps she’d learn her fate soon. The waiting drove her mad.
The door flew open and slammed against the wall, making her jerk. She shielded her eyes against the bright light coming from the torch Archibald held.
“Is it time?” she asked, stomach churning.
“Are you ready to sign the marriage document?”
“Nae.”
“Then tell me the names of your accomplices. The ones who tried to kill you in the wood.”
“Just some men I met in the forest.”
He exhaled a gusty breath. “And, as strangers, they invited a lone woman to join their merry band of thieves instead of deflowering her?”
She inwardly cringed, but shrugged for Archibald’s benefit. He could ask as often as he wanted, but she would never reveal the lad’s identities.
“Isobell, tell me who else was involved in the raid.”
She remained silent.
“For all that is holy, Isobell, they tried to kill you.”
He was right. Her men had turned against her. Maclay probably commanding it. He didn’t want his secret revealed. Still she wouldn’t give them up.
“Fine. Agree to marry me and I will forget your part in the raid.”
“You will never forget.”
He sighed heavily. “I will return shortly, I expect you to sign the contract.”
Left in darkness again, Isobell quelled the desire to have a good cry. A scratching noise, probably a rat, made her jump. Still, this cell was better than the pit.
An unnatural light suddenly illuminated the cell. A wee man with a bewhiskered brown face, a mere three feet tall, spun in a circle, stopping in the center of the small chamber. Isobell blinked several times in surprise. The man grasped the waist of the baggy brown leather trews he wore and yanked them up while puffing out his chest as men often are wont to do, then wiped his big hands on a fine woolen leine.
“And you are?” Isobell smiled, forgetting the moment of fright, guessing the identity of the man by the large crystal brooch holding a brat in place around his shoulders.
“My name is Munn.” Unusual blue-green eyes sparkled. He swept the funny looking, pointed, green cap from his head, displaying pointed ears, and bowed with a flourish. “Have you never heard of me?”
“Aye. You are the MacLachlan clan brownie.”
“True enough. Brought something for you to drink.” He handed over a goblet of wine.
“Why?”
“’Tis wrong of the chief to lock you away down here in the dark bowels of the keep without food or drink.”
She eyed the wine, and then the man with suspicion. Why would Archibald’s wee man offer her kindness?
“Does something trouble you, lass?” Munn asked.
“Nae.” She inhaled the fruity bouquet, took a sip, and smiled.
The wine was delicious. The best she’d ever tasted. She sipped a wee bit more, and then some more. Warmth spread through her, making her feel achy and needy. Where was Archie when she wanted him?
* * *
Archibald paced from the hearth in his study to the writing table and back. Isobell’s father sat in one of the chairs before the fire, the priest in another. Neither seemed concerned over Isobell’s reticence. Both imbibed in a taste of Archibald’s finest claret.
“Ease be with you, lad.” Lamont chuckled. “She will come to her senses.”
Archibald glowered at the man and continued pacing. Moments later, he was relieved to be disturbed by a knock at the door. When he opened the oak panel, he found one of the guards from the cellar shifting weight from one leg to the other, staring anywhere but at him.
“What is it?” Archibald demanded.
“The lass.”
“Aye?”
“Ach, well…” He
tilted his head and frowned. “She’s singing.”
“Aye?”
“Merrily.”
“Singing? Merrily?”
“Aye, Chief.”
What could the lass be about? Archibald brushed past the guard, took the stairs two at a time, uncaring his shoulders scraped against rough stone, down to the basement and to the storage cell where Isobell remained confined. He hoped.
Sure enough, she was singing. Merrily. A ribald song about a couple of drunken warriors and a tavern wench. Loud enough to be heard through the heavy, roughhewn door. What else had the lass learned during her sojourn as a thief? He grabbed a torch from one of the guards, edged open the door, and peered in.
Isobell swayed from side to side with the melody of the song, one of the goblets from the council chamber held loose in one hand. She leapt into his arms and hugged him tight, goblet dangling from her fingers. “Archie, I have missed you so verra much.”
“Have you, lass?” He raised an eyebrow, chuckled, wary. What was she up to?
“When is the wedding?” she demanded.
Fearing he might burn the armful of woman clinging to him, he handed the torch to a guard whose round-eyed look almost made Archibald laugh aloud.
“Are you drunk, lass?”
“Nae. Just happy we are finally together.”
“What made you change your mind?” he asked in a soft voice as if dealing with a timid foal. He held her at arm’s length, trying to discover if she played him for a fool.
Isobell wrinkled her brow in a most comely way. He wanted to kiss her, but first needed to understand what provoked the drastic change of heart.
“Why do you ask such a silly question? I have not changed my mind.”
“Earlier, you refused to wed with me.”
“You must be mistaken. ’Twas Patrick I dinnae wish to wed. I have always wanted to be your wife.” Her smile melted all the ice within Archibald’s chest, but still...
Uncertainty plagued him.
Did the why of it matter? Not really. The important thing was she was more than willing to say the vows. It would be in his best interest to bring her in front of the priest before she changed her mind yet again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Isobell inhaled the scent of lavender and appreciated its tranquil effect. She luxuriated in a hot bath afore a glowing fire in Archie’s bedchamber. Soon to be her bedchamber too. She felt the smile on her lips all the way to her toes. She reached toward the nearby table where her goblet sat, but couldn’t quite reach.
“Here, let me get that for you.” Aine spread the silver wedding gown over the furs on the mattress of the big bed with its deep blue velvet curtains and scurried to the table then handed Isobell the wine. “Dinnae drink too much, though a wee bit will ease your nerves.”
“Thank you, you are too kind.”
Aine smiled, then made busy with preparations.
Isobell never thought to wear silver to her wedding, but the embroidered gown belonged to Archie’s stepmother Mairi. Aine claimed he’d be pleased to see her wear the dress. Besides the color would look lovely with the blood-red rubies he promised as a wedding gift. She was the luckiest woman in Scotland. Tonight was her night.
And Archie’s evening too, of course.
She glanced at the bed, supposing she should be nervous about the bedding. A thrill ran through her. Archie would be gentle.
“Ready, lass? You dinnae want your skin to wrinkle.” Aine assisted her from the tub, and with a chambermaid, fussed over patting her dry with large cloths. They dropped a soft chemise over her head and sat her in a chair to let the heat from the fire dry her long hair.
Isobell sipped carefully from the goblet Archie’s wee man gave her so not to spill. Delicious. She’d need to ask Archie where he procured such a fine vintage. They should put some aside for when Jamie visited. The king would be much impressed.
The maid braided Isobell’s hair, threading silky ribbons of silver and red through the ebony locks, creating a lovely coiffure. Donning the satin gown, she shivered. Not from unease but excitement.
She stepped to one of the windows on the courtyard side of the chamber. Torches in sconces on the outside walls illuminated the falling snow. Much heavier than earlier in the day.
Where had that thought come from? Isobell frowned. She didn’t recall seeing snow earlier in the day. With the effort to remember, her head started throbbing.
“Are you all right?” Aine placed a hand on her sleeve with the gentlest of touches.
The woman’s honest concern eased Isobell; she turned away from the window and all troubling thoughts. “I am fine.”
“Well, all young brides are nervous.” Aine’s smile was genuine, so different than the servants at Da’s keep.
Another twinge of pain, but she breathed through the discomfort and decided ’twould be best not to think too much.
A manly knock at the door made her stomach flutter. Though only for a moment.
She took one last sip from the goblet, placed it on the mantel, and hurried across the chamber, stopping when Aine raised a hand, then slowed the pace to a more demure walk, ready to greet her future husband and all it entailed.
“Ready?” he asked when she greeted him.
More ready than he need ken.
He struck a fine-looking figure in his saffron leine and plaide of red and green. Archibald rubbed both hands down the length or the wool as if uncertain of her answer.
“Aye.” She reached up to run a finger through a curl of his chestnut hair. Silver eyes flared and a lovely smile curved his lips. The cleft in his chin all the more obvious.
“You look lovely, dearling.” He clasped her fingers, brought them to his lips, and feathered a tender kiss over them. “Shall we?”
She wondered at his arched eyebrow. Did he worry she’d refuse?
“Of course,” she said.
Archibald placed her hand on his arm and together they approached the circular stair. He descended first, providing a barrier against a fall in the event she slipped.
Down two flights, and into the family chapel where her mouth dropped open in awe. Candles bathed the chamber in radiance. Golden light leapt and flickered, causing shadows to dance upon the walls. Rich incense drew her forward. Da and the priest waited at the altar.
Faerie wings fluttered in her belly as she crossed the chamber, Archie at her side. She would soon be his wife.
“You have made the right decision, Isobell.” Her father slid sheaths of parchment across the altar.
Archibald placed an inked quill in her hand. She held the quill poised over the wedding contract and glanced up. All three men stared expectantly.
Archibald watched Isobell with something akin to fear. Would she sign? Or was her changed behavior a ploy of sorts?
She scratched the point over the parchment and finished the signature with a curly embellishment. Archibald released a breath and added his name to the document, dripped wax upon the page, and applied his seal. Isobell’s father did the same, as did the priest.
Thank the good Lord, the deed was done. All that remained were the vows.
Archibald inclined his head toward the guard at the door. Shortly thereafter, family and closest retainers entered and circled the bride and groom to witness the ceremony.
The priest bade them kneel. Archibald assisted Isobell then dropped beside her. She gazed at him with a look of such love that amazement stole his breath.
Her actions made little sense. He wouldn’t complain though. She was giving him what he wanted. Be careful of what you desire. You may receive more than anticipated. His father’s warning from childhood flashed through his mind, and he swallowed uneasily.
Archibald startled when the priest cleared his throat. “Are you ready?”
An abrupt nod to the priest, and the man began reading from a prayer book, though Archibald barely heard the words, too obsessed with morose thoughts. He said the proper responses when bade and listened to Isobell recite h
er vows.
Relief washed over him and he gave into the urge to lift Isobell and swing her in a circle when the priest named them chief and lady-wife. He gently set her on her feet and kissed her soundly.
Those in attendance whooped and hollered. Several moments later, he and Isobell entered the council chamber to cheers, the clan welcoming their new mistress.
Thankfully, they didn’t ken her sins.
With a palm cradling her back, Archibald escorted Isobell through the throng of clansmen to the high table. He didn’t want to fall under her spell because of the circumstances that brought them to this day, but her lavender scent—a gift he’d given her—was intoxicating. He leaned close to her neck and inhaled the womanly fragrance.
She laughed softly, and he kissed exposed skin.
A hoot rose from the crowd.
Several others joined them on the dais, the Lamont seated to his right. The man leaned in close. “You best hurry and get her bedded and breeding.”
Archibald tightened his fist but fought an urge to punch his new father-in-law in the face. He might be at odds with Isobell, but the man had no right to be crude at her wedding. Rather than create an uproar Archibald let the slight pass.
Musicians entered, set up on a raised platform, and tuned their instruments.
Isobell patted his leg. “We are expected to partake of the first dance.”
They rose and performed a ring dance with others from both clans. Moving away, and then returning to Isobell, Archibald marveled at her display of genuine happiness. She laughed and joked and swirled with the other dancers as if having nae care in the world. As if, just days before, she hadn’t participated in a cattle raid against him. And spit in his face. Absurd.
She seemed to have forgotten everything that happened over the last year. It was as if they had stepped back in time to when they first fell in love. A chill snaked over his spine.
He didn’t like thinking of time travel.
The remainder of the evening became a blur of celebration. Before the crowd became too raucous from drink, Archibald swirled Isobell across the oak flooring toward the steps to the upper level so he could whisk her away to their bedchamber unnoticed. He hoped to bolt the door before revelers joined them to witness the official consummation of their marriage.
Dawn Marie Hamilton - Highland Gardens Page 4