No Other Highlander

by Adrienne Basso

  “Aye, ye can see the wee one if ye come with me.” The maid held out her hand and Callum grasped it.

  Malcolm began gathering the blankets and dismantling their bed. Joan joined him, a hint of gratitude shimmering on her face. They worked in companionable silence, accomplishing the task swiftly. When they were done, Malcolm turned to leave, but Joan stopped him, laying her hand gently on his arm.

  “Thank ye.”

  A sliver of contentment crept through him. Their wedded life had been strange and unconventional from the start, yet he regretted none of it. Last night she had asked him why he had married her. Truth be told, Malcolm wasn’t entirely sure. All he did know was that he was glad that he had.

  Chapter Eleven

  By afternoon they had begun to climb into higher country. The weather continued to be damp and dreary, but no one complained. Malcolm once again held Callum snuggled in his arms as they rode, leading the contingent with his brother and father. The lad talked endlessly for the first hour—mostly gibberish that Malcolm failed to understand—then after greedily eating his noonday meal, promptly fell asleep.

  As he slept, the child instinctively nestled closer to Malcolm’s chest, and Malcolm was humbled at the innocent trust. Somehow the lad had seamlessly woven a spell of affection around him, and Malcolm was glad to feel it. Through no fault of his own, Callum had unfairly received little male regard in his short life.

  Well, all that was about to change. Malcolm vowed he would protect and guide the lad, treating him the same as any of his natural children.

  Of course, he would have to bed his new wife before there could be any more children to raise and love. That particular task was proving to be far more of a challenge than he’d anticipated, yet Malcolm refused to be discouraged.

  Traveling with a large contingent in the damp spring rain was hardly the best circumstance to woo a reluctant woman. Once they arrived home, the opportunities would be abundant and he intended to take full advantage of each and every one.

  Joan rode with the rest of the women in the center of the column, protected on all sides by the toughest McKenna warriors. Malcolm joined her for short periods, but mainly kept near the front of the column with his brother, their eyes constantly scanning the horizon for danger.

  Riding a few lengths behind his brother, Malcolm suddenly became aware of the tension in James’s posture. Moving his mount forward, Malcolm crested the hill and eyed the open valley below, immediately seeing why James was concerned.

  “Reivers?” Malcolm questioned.

  “Nay,” James responded. “There’s far too many of them to be a raiding party.”

  “Damn it, those are Fraser colors,” Malcolm muttered.

  “What are they doing this far north?” James asked.

  “Causing trouble,” Malcolm replied. His gut clenched and a cold chill invaded him. He looked to the men at his left and right, handing Callum off to the larger McKenna warrior. “Guard him with yer life.”

  The soldier nodded in understanding and melted into the background.

  “Keep yer hands off yer sword hilts and dinnae allow yerself to be drawn into a fight,” the McKenna warned his sons as he maneuvered his stallion between them. “If it’s a test of wills Fraser is after, he’ll not be disappointed.”

  “He will be when he loses,” Malcolm muttered, his leather clad fist tightening on the reins as the Frasers approached.

  “Good day to ye.” Archibald smiled as he moved closer, showing off even, white teeth.

  “Ye seem to have gotten yerselves lost,” Malcolm drawled. “Fraser land lies in the opposite direction.”

  “I had business to attend to with Laird MacPhie,” Archibald replied. “Not that it’s any concern of yers.”

  “The MacPhies have yet to pledge their loyalty to the Crown,” the McKenna said, his brow furrowing. “Our young king needs us all.”

  “The boy king is in exile in France,” Archibald said, his horse dancing in a nervous circle. “When—and if—he returns, those clans that are so inclined will support him.”

  Malcolm allowed the outrage he felt to show on his face. The McKenna clan had fought long and hard to help free them all from the yoke of English oppression and made no secret of their pledge to keep Scotland independent.

  “Scotland needs unity if we are to stay free of the cursed English,” James added.

  Archibald shrugged. “I am no man’s conscience. ’Tis up to each laird to decide fer himself what course he shall take.” The annoying grin on Archibald’s face faded and Malcolm realized he must have spied Joan among the men. “’Tis true then? Ye married the wench?”

  “Aye, Lady Joan is my wife.” Malcolm deliberately folded his arms across his chest, striking a casual pose, refusing to allow Fraser the satisfaction of thinking he believed him to be a threat.

  Archibald pulled his gaze from Joan and allowed it to travel over the other riders. “And her whelp?”

  “Are ye referring to my son?” Malcolm asked, his mood darkening.

  “Ye’ve claimed him as one of yer own?”

  “Aye, and proudly,” Malcolm replied, his voice strong and steady.

  Malcolm could tell by the narrowing of Archibald’s eyes and the crispness of his tone that he was angry, though he feigned disinterest.

  “I’m surprised that ye would be content with my leavings, McKenna,” Archibald sneered.

  Malcolm refused to be baited. Cutting his foe with a mocking look, he stated simply, “I know quality when I see it and I’m not so much of a pigheaded fool to let it slip between my fingers.”

  A wildness lit Archibald’s eyes and Malcolm was glad to know his barb had drawn blood. He waited with conflicting emotions roiling his chest, almost wishing Fraser would reach for his sword so he could rid the world of his evil presence.

  But alas, he was to be denied. Without another word, Archibald backed away, his soldiers falling in behind him. Malcolm watched them depart, Fraser’s body tense with barely suppressed anger as he rode his mount hard and fast.

  Concerned for his wife, Malcolm turned around and saw Joan was pale and tight lipped, clutching her horse’s mane as though it was her only lifeline.

  “As long as we’ve stopped, we’ll take a moment to rest the horses and answer nature’s call,” the McKenna declared.

  Malcolm nudged his stallion in Joan’s direction. She waited for him to help her dismount, gripping his shoulders forcefully, her body pressed against his length as she slid down. She steadied herself when her feet touched the ground and surprised him utterly by flinging her arms around his waist and squeezing him tightly.

  “I’m grateful, Malcolm, fer yer defense of Callum,” she whispered. “Thank ye.”

  Pulling back, she threaded her fingers through his hair and cupped his neck before gently kissing his lips. Something primitive erupted deep inside Malcolm at her tender gesture of affection and he realized that he would have fought Archibald to the death to keep her at his side. The intensity of the emotion startled him, yet somehow it felt right.

  “I dinnae think Archibald has any true interest in the lad,” Malcolm declared. “More the fool he.”

  “Aye, he only ever used him as a weapon against me.”

  “Those days are over,” Malcolm proclaimed, her tender smile giving him an enormous sense of satisfaction that nearly made up for his missed wedding night.

  Nearly.

  * * *

  Five long, weary days later, they arrived at McKenna Castle. They took the most direct route, which unfortunately meant sleeping outside each night, as they passed no towns or villages. The initial sense of freedom Joan had experienced when the journey first began had faded, and though she was apprehensive over the kind of reception she would receive from Malcolm’s mother, she was looking forward to being off the road and off her mount.

  There was a murmur of excitement spreading through the riders when they crossed into McKenna land, but they had to ride for hours until the castle came into v
iew. As she caught her first glimpse, Joan conceded there had been no exaggeration when others spoke of the size and grandeur of the place. It was by far the largest holding Joan had ever seen.

  Equally majestic and foreboding, the castle was strategically situated on a hilltop covered in green spring grass. She judged the gray stone curtain wall surrounding the structure to be over six feet tall, stretching around the castle for what seemed like miles.

  Joan counted six round towers, and two additional square guard towers that were set on each side of the gate. Even from a distance she could see the outline of the many men who walked the battlements, guarding the clan and its castle.

  Cottages of wood and stone with thick thatched roofs surrounded the base of the castle, creating a thriving village. Large fields of freshly tilled soil on both the left and right side filled the horizon, seeming to disappear into the mountains at the end. Joan could hear the sound of livestock mingling with the voices of the farmers, shepherds, herders, and other workers. Many paused to wave, shout a greeting, or nod in respect as the laird and his traveling party rode by.

  As they drew nearer, Joan was surprised not to see a glittering reflection in the wide moat, as it was free of water. Instead, ’twas lined with a methodically arranged assortment of lethal-looking spikes angled upward to prevent an enemy from gaining a close foothold.

  The horses’ hooves thundered loudly as they crossed a wide wooden bridge constructed over the moat. When they rode through the open gates, there were several people gathered in the bailey to meet them. A stately, middle-aged woman who Joan assumed was Lady Aileen stood on the steps leading to the great hall, and beside her was a younger female, who Joan guessed was Malcolm’s sister, Lady Katherine.

  There was no sign of Malcolm’s daughter.

  As they drew nearer a flicker of surprise crossed Lady Aileen’s face when she saw there were women in the group. Joan tightened her grip on the reins until her knuckles whitened, anticipating a less than enthusiastic reaction from Malcolm’s mother when she discovered that he had married her.

  Suddenly, a lass darted out from behind a rain barrel and charged toward them. Shrieking with excitement, she ran directly at Malcolm. The action surprised him and startled his horse. The mount reared, kicking its legs frantically, almost striking the child in the head and unseating Malcolm.

  Thankfully, he managed to get the animal under control before any serious damage occurred. Cursing beneath his breath, Malcolm vaulted from his mount.

  “I’ve told ye time and again that ye mustn’t squeal like that and alarm the horses,” he yelled, catching the child by the arm.

  Inwardly, Joan cringed at the thought of seeing him strike a child; then again, her actions could have resulted in grave injuries. ’Twas only by the grace of God—and Malcolm’s superior horsemanship—that neither of them were seriously hurt.

  The child burst into noisy sobs and flung herself at Malcolm, holding him tightly around the knees. He bent low and spoke with her for a moment. The lass lifted her head and Joan could see Malcolm’s ire melting under the beseeching look she gave him.

  Joan watched in astonishment as he lifted the lass in his arms and hugged her against his chest.

  “God’s teeth, who is that unruly child?” she asked, fearing she already knew, yet hoping that she was wrong.

  “That, my dear Joan, is yer stepdaughter, Lileas,” James answered with a gleam in his eye.

  Joan could feel the knots of tension gathering in her shoulders. What a brat! How could such a sensible man like Malcolm allow his daughter to act so spoiled and willful? And why had no one else bothered to correct her? She glanced from one family member to the next; each carried an expression of concern along with some degree of indulgence.

  Joan pressed her lips together and prayed for the patience to hold her tongue. Now was not the time to try and take the child in hand even though a part of her itched to take control.

  Mind racing, Joan barely acknowledged the squire who took her horse’s reins. He stood patiently waiting to assist her down. Flustered when she realized his intent, Joan accepted his help, then thanked him profusely once she was off her mount.

  The McKennas gathered together greeting each other warmly, with smiles and hugs. Joan saw Laird McKenna sweep Lady Aileen into his arms and give her a hearty kiss. When it ended, she threaded her hand through his arm and leaned against him. He whispered in her ear and she smiled, blushing like a lass.

  The escort of McKenna retainers dispersed, embracing the women and children who had spilled into the bailey. Looking a bit lost, Brienne came to stand beside Joan, the babe clutched in her arms. Joan turned to search for Callum and saw him holding Gertrude’s hand, his eyes wide and curious.

  Still holding tightly to her husband, Lady Aileen stepped forward, quirking a questioning eyebrow at Joan and Brienne. She examined them openly from head to toe, her expression stoic until her eyes came to rest upon the infant in Brienne’s arms.

  “Ye’ve married the MacPhearson lass, Malcolm,” Lady Aileen said with a smile that seemed forced. “Well, then, let me see my grandchild.”

  “A baby! I want to see!” Lileas demanded, pushing herself between the two women.

  “Not now, Lileas,” Malcolm replied.

  “Papa, please!”

  He scratched his head sheepishly. “Well, maybe just a wee look at the lad, if ye promise to behave.”

  “I promise.”

  Brienne hesitated, then slowly lowered her arms so Lileas could catch a glimpse of her babe. Joan noticed the mischievous twinkle in Lileas’s eyes as she stroked the infant’s cheek. The lass knew perfectly well she should not have insisted, yet she persisted, knowing eventually she would get her way.

  Joan pressed her lips together again.

  “He’s a fine-looking child,” Lady Aileen said.

  “Aye, that he is—but alas, he isn’t my son.” Malcolm cleared his throat. “Lady Brienne was mistaken when she named me as the infant’s father. Well, not precisely mistaken. . .”

  “’Tis a long story,” the McKenna interrupted. “Best told in private.”

  “I’m anxious to hear it,” Lady Aileen said brusquely. She once again turned her attention to Malcolm. “The babe isn’t yers, yet ye have brought Lady Brienne home with ye?”

  “All will be explained in due course,” the McKenna said soothingly. He tried, unsuccessfully, to steer Lady Aileen through the large oak doors leading to the great hall, but she wouldn’t budge.

  A glimmer appeared in James’s eyes as he stepped toward his brother. “Malcolm, introduce yer wife to Mother.”

  “Yer wife?” Pivoting, Lady Aileen faced Malcolm. “Ye married her anyway?”

  Malcolm blew out a frustrated breath. “I dinnae marry Lady Brienne. I married Lady Joan.”

  Lady Aileen’s gaze shifted to Joan, her confusion obvious. “Laird Armstrong’s daughter? Davina’s cousin? That Lady Joan?”

  Malcolm threw back his shoulders. “Aye.”

  His answer clearly startled his mother. “So ’tis true that she is no longer married to Archibald Fraser?”

  Joan stepped forward, knowing her battered pride couldn’t take another blow without her temper flaring. But she also knew she needed to avoid making an enemy of Malcolm’s mother. Bowing her head, Joan bent her knee to Lady Aileen in a graceful curtsy. “My marriage to Laird Fraser was dissolved.”

  Lady Aileen gulped down a breath. “I’ve heard of such things, but never knew anyone who had actually done it.”

  A knot tightened in her stomach, yet Joan remained impassive at Lady Aileen’s shocked expression. Joan suspected ’twas not only the annulment, but her son’s choice of wife that the older woman had difficulty accepting.

  The seeds of doubt as to Joan’s suitability to marry Malcolm were most likely sowed years earlier, an inadvertent consequence of the friendship shared between Lady Aileen and Joan’s cousin Davina.

  The pair had formed a friendship through correspondence b
efore Davina’s marriage to James. Joan blushed at the thought of the stories Davina might have told Lady Aileen, ashamed of both the truth in them and the less than charitable behavior Joan had at times exhibited toward her cousin.

  Thankfully, she had long since made peace with Davina, but the mistakes of her past could not be so easily dismissed. Especially by a mother as protective as Lady Aileen. Joan’s only hope was that the damage to her character was not irreversible and she would have the opportunity to show Lady Aileen that she was not the same woman who had tormented Davina when they were younger.

  As to whether or not she would be a good wife to Malcolm—well, that all depended on Lady Aileen’s definition of “good.”

  While Lady Aileen continued to mull over this astonishing news, the young woman beside her moved forward, tilted her head, and smiled. “Welcome, Joan. I’m Malcolm’s sister, Katherine. I wish ye much joy in yer marriage, though I’m selfish enough to admit part of my happiness stems from my delight at having a sister at long last. It isn’t easy being a lass with overprotective brothers.”

  “Thank ye, Katherine,” Joan answered sincerely.

  “’Tis a pleasure to also make yer acquaintance, Lady Brienne,” Katherine continued graciously. “We shall all endeavor to make certain yer stay with us is a pleasant one.”

  “Ye are very kind,” Brienne replied, her cheeks flushing.

  As though suddenly being reminded of her duties as chatelaine, Lady Aileen took a moment to visibly compose herself. Her steely glare softened and an edge of warmth entered her eyes. Was it a sign that she was accepting these sudden changes? Or had she merely gotten over the shock?

  “Dinnae tug so hard on the bairn’s blanket, Lileas,” James admonished. “He might tumble down and get hurt.”

  “I want to hold him,” Lileas declared, running her fingers along his side.

  “Lileas! Leave that infant alone and come here,” Lady Aileen ordered.

  Joan braced for a tantrum, but surprisingly the child obeyed.

  “Make yer curtsy to Lady Joan,” Lady Aileen instructed. “She is to be yer new mother.”