No Other Highlander

by Adrienne Basso

  Lileas pulled back. She looked from Joan to Brienne, then back to Joan. “I dinnae want her to be my new mother. I want the lady who brought the babe.”

  Malcolm stepped forward and grasped Lileas’s shoulders. “Make yer curtsy.”

  With a mulish frown, Lileas complied. Joan nodded her head regally in acknowledgment, yet it seemed as though both she and Lileas knew their gestures were insincere.

  “Now can I hold the babe?” Lileas asked.

  “Nay,” Lady Aileen answered. “’Tis dangerous. Ye are too small and the babe too fragile. Ye might drop him.”

  “I won’t!” A pout unfurled across Lileas’s lips. “I’ll hold him very tight,” she insisted.

  “Ye may hold him later, poppet.” Malcolm affectionately patted the top of Lileas’s head. “Lady Joan also has a son and he’s old enough to play with ye. Would ye like to have a wee brother?”

  “A brother?” Lileas’s face shone with interest. “Fer me?”

  “Aye, his name is Callum. Come meet him.”

  A bit of Joan’s ire at Lileas’s behavior melted at the tender way the young girl took Callum’s hand and led him away. Always one to enjoy the company of other children, Callum followed her willingly.

  “This is my new brother, Grandfather,” Lileas proclaimed, standing before the McKenna. “His name is Callum.”

  The McKenna burst into laughter. “He’s not a pet, Lileas. He’s a lad and he’ll learn to pester ye soon enough. ’Tis what little brothers do best.”

  Lileas frowned at her grandfather, then proceeded to introduce Callum to the rest of the family. Her enthusiasm was contagious, bringing smiles to all.

  “I shall have the servants bring in yer things,” Lady Aileen said, casting her eyes at the packhorses.

  Joan lifted her chin, hiding her embarrassment, yet saying nothing. There was time enough for her mother-in-law to discover that Joan had no dowry and the majority of those items weighing down the horses belonged to Brienne.

  The babe began whimpering, then scrunched his face and broke into an earsplitting wail. “He’s hungry,” Brienne said apologetically, putting her finger in the babe’s mouth to quiet him. He sucked greedily for a moment, then realizing there was no nourishment, burst into fresh sobs.

  “Poor mite,” Lady Aileen said, clucking her tongue. “How inconsiderate of us to keep him from his meal. I’ll show ye where ye can tend to him in private.”

  Lady Aileen placed her arm around Brienne’s shoulders, paused, then turned toward Joan as if suddenly remembering that as Malcolm’s wife, ’twas Joan who should be receiving this sort of solicitous attention. The unspoken acknowledgment eased the tension in Joan, letting her know this slight was unintended.

  “Perhaps Katherine can escort me to my chamber?” Joan suggested.

  “I’d be honored,” Katherine immediately answered.

  The babe let out another hungry wail and the women scrambled. Joan followed Katherine through the great hall and up a winding stone staircase, glad the young woman was the one escorting her. There was a quiet steadiness to Katherine that made her far less intimidating than the rest of her family.

  She carried enough of a resemblance to Malcolm and James to mark her as a sibling. Her pert nose suited her face, her fair complexion was one to be envied, and her hair a lovely shade of brown, shot through with vibrant streaks of amber.

  She was a pretty girl, with almond-shaped eyes nearly the same shade of blue as Malcolm. But it was the intelligence lurking behind them that Joan believed gave Katherine her true beauty.

  They crested the steps and Katherine led her down a short passageway. There was but one door at the end of it.

  Upon entering the chamber the first thing Joan noticed was the large bed placed against the far wall. It was adorned with red velvet hangings and far more pillows than anyone needed to sleep on. Directly across were four arched windows, which provided a perfect view of the green valley below and the majestic mountains in the distance.

  There were thick rugs on the floor, a small table with two chairs, and several trunks that Joan assumed contained Malcolm’s clothing. The chamber was elegant and richly appointed yet felt welcoming.

  My new home. Joan was surprised to feel her eyes moisten with tears as an unexpected tide of emotion overtook her.

  “I’m sorry there willnae be enough time fer a proper bath, but I’ll have the maids bring up hot water so that ye can wash off the dust of the road,” Katherine said. “Let them know if ye require anything else.”

  “Thank ye, Katherine. Ye’ve been most kind.”

  Katherine’s blue eyes sparkled as she smiled, transforming her from a pretty lass into a beautiful one. As Katherine quit the room, Joan suspected that she had many suitors and wondered why she wasn’t yet married.

  Joan had just begun exploring the room when a sound at the door drew her attention.

  “’Tis a fine chamber,” Gertrude said as she stood in the open doorway. “I swear it’s larger than the laird’s room at Armstrong Castle.”

  “Where’s Callum?”

  “Sir Malcolm took him and his daughter to the stables to see some newly born kittens. When they are done, Lileas’s nursemaid will take charge of both children.” Gertrude’s brows pulled together. “Lileas certainly is a high-spirited lass.”

  “Aye, she’s a handful.” Joan rubbed her temples. “Strong willed and far too perceptive fer her own good.”

  Gertrude clucked her tongue in agreement.

  As promised, the hot water soon arrived, along with a stack of clean towels and a pot of soap that smelled of lemon and lavender. With Gertrude’s help, Joan removed her travel garments and rinsed away the sweat and dirt. Feeling clean and refreshed, she stared critically at the garments Gertrude had laid out.

  “Why do ye hesitate?” Gertrude asked. “The red velvet is yer best gown.”

  Joan fingered the gold embroidery on the sleeves. “Ye saw the way Lady Aileen reacted when she realized that I had married Malcolm. I fear appearing at her table dressed in all my finery will confirm her impression that her son’s new wife is nothing but a vain, spoiled, pampered noblewoman.”

  Gertrude huffed. “Ye are a lady born and bred and need to make certain that everyone knows it. Now stop yer fussing and let me get ye properly dressed.”

  Joan gave her maid’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Ye are ever my champion, Gertrude.”

  With efficiency that bespoke of years of practice, Gertrude helped her dress. After placing an airy white veil on Joan’s head and securing it with a jewel-encrusted gold circlet, she held up a round hand mirror.

  “Ye look ravishing, milady,” Gertrude proclaimed.

  “Aye, she most certainly does.” Malcolm stepped into the chamber. “Ye steal my breath and wits with yer beauty, Joan. I shall feel like a king tonight walking into the great hall with ye on my arm.”

  “Ye look rather royal yerself,” Joan commented, wondering where he had bathed and dressed, and aye, shaved, too.

  “I bathed in the loch,” he said, answering her unasked question. “I would have invited ye to join me, but the water was very, very cold.”

  Joan glanced at the closed trunks. If they did not contain his clothes, then what was inside them? “I thought this was yer chamber.”

  “Aye.”

  “But no one came to fetch fresh garments fer ye.”

  Malcolm smiled. “Plying her needle settles my mother’s nerves. She stitched this shirt and tunic fer me while I was away.”

  “Och, so ye plan yer journeys when ye are in need of new clothes?”

  His grin widened. “Sometimes.”

  “Shameful. Well, I give ye fair warning, husband, unlike yer mother, I brood and sulk when my mind fills with worries.”

  “Then I shall seek never to give ye cause.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

  Joan’s nerves fluttered, but she swallowed back her trepidation and rested her fingers on his forearm. The warmth and strength she felt
through the fine wool fabric gave her comfort, and she found herself uttering two words that she never believed she would ever say to any man: “Lead on.”

  * * *

  Joan remained silent as they entered the great hall, but Malcolm could feel her grip tightening slightly at her first glimpse of the crowd. All in the clan were curious about his new bride, and it seemed as though every inch of space was filled, along with the tables and benches.

  The assembly of people parted respectfully as they walked through, calling out greetings and congratulations. Malcolm answered them all, smiling and joking, genuinely enjoying the attention, though he knew ’twas really Joan who commanded every eye in the room.

  She was a golden vision, radiant, poised, and beautiful. But it was her spirit that struck his heart. Joan had retained her composure and grace while meeting his mother earlier, an event that certainly must have been trying. Though not openly rude, ’twas obvious Lady Aileen had been shocked and a bit dismayed to discover their marriage.

  Though he never doubted Joan’s ability to hold her own against his strong-willed mother, a fierce protectiveness toward her had taken hold of him when witnessing his mother’s reaction. It went well beyond the feelings of duty that a man normally had for his wife, and the intensity of the emotion had surprised him.

  How ironic that he should feel this way even though their marriage was not yet consummated. Which begged the inevitable question—how strongly would he feel toward her after he had bedded her?

  “Do ye sing?” Malcolm asked as he placed his hand in the small of Joan’s back and led her to their seats on the dais.

  “Not well enough that anyone would enjoy hearing me,” she admitted. “Why do ye ask?”

  “’Tis a McKenna tradition that the bride sings at her wedding feast.”

  She pulled back. “How can this be our wedding feast? We were married a week ago.”

  “But the McKennas dinnae have a chance to celebrate. In all likelihood the crowd will call fer a song from the bride, especially with the wine and ale flowing so freely.”

  “If it pleases ye, I shall try my best, but I warn ye, it willnae be pretty.”

  “Dinnae worry. I’ll get Katherine to sing a duet with ye.”

  “Katherine? Why not my groom?”

  Malcolm favored her with a grin. “I cannae carry a tune. I fear the clan might start pelting us with food if I start singing.”

  She smiled, as he hoped she would, and took her seat. “Then I shall make certain to duck if I see ye open yer mouth.”

  “I always said ye were a wise woman, Joan McKenna.”

  He leaned in and gave her a hearty kiss. Joan’s lips parted in surprise and Malcolm took advantage of the chance to swipe his tongue sensually across her moist lips.

  Sleeping chastely beside her these past six nights had been torturous. Lust coursed through Malcolm’s veins, throbbing low in his gut, threatening to overtake his common sense. As a result, the kiss was far more passionate than he intended, especially in front of so many.

  The distant sound of boisterous shouts and whistles reminded him of the audience witnessing this intimate display, giving him the fortitude to quell his physical desire. He ended the kiss while he still could, nuzzling Joan’s neck before pulling away completely. Her cheeks flamed and he knew she had noticed the hungry, heated expression in his eyes.

  Satisfied that he had successfully gained tight control of his desire, Malcolm favored Joan with a deliberately roguish grin. Her eyes widened and she suddenly became highly interested in the contents of the trencher they shared.

  Deciding he had teased her more than he ought, Malcolm smiled and turned his attention to the meal, but his mind was on anything but the food.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cheeks heated with embarrassment, Joan kept her gaze firmly locked on the trencher in front of her. Unlike the miserly hospitality of her father, the McKennas spared nothing for the wedding celebration meal. There was a seemingly endless stream of dishes, including a whole suckling pig, fresh and salted fish, stews of rabbit, beef, and venison, sausages and black pudding, braised cabbage, buttered peas, pastries made with dried apples, pears, and plums, and enough ale and wine to float a small ship.

  ’Twas a far cry from the oatcakes and dried meat they had eaten while traveling and all were savoring every bite. The distraction of food also provided Joan with the much needed opportunity to compose herself. Malcolm’s kiss had been unexpected, but what was most surprising was the fluttering it produced inside her. Had they been alone, she might have been tempted to encourage him to give her another.

  Of course that would come later tonight, when they finally consummated their marriage. Her heart began to race at the thought, but Joan firmly pushed it to the back of her mind. She could learn much about her new family and the clan during this meal if she kept her eyes open and her wits about her. Dwelling on getting into bed with Malcolm would only prove to be an unsettling diversion.

  Joan nodded to the McKenna, who sat on her right, and Lady Aileen, who sat beside him, then casually glanced down the other side of the dais. She was glad to note that Brienne had also been given the honor of being seated at the dais, with James on her left and Katherine on her right.

  Brienne appeared to be at ease, smiling often and eating her meal with obvious gusto. The biggest surprise, however, was the presence of young Lileas. She sat beside her father, in a long-legged chair clearly designed specifically for that purpose.

  Servants scurried about the hall, arms laden with trays of food, pitchers of ale and wine. The guests also roamed the hall, stopping at the dais to speak with various members of the family and to offer Malcolm and Joan their best wishes.

  Joan was introduced to so many clan members that she lost count, but she smiled graciously and made an effort to say something to each of them. Her reputation appeared to be unknown; this was her chance to establish herself as a friendly and benevolent lady and she seized upon it.

  A new marriage, a fresh start, a new beginning. Joan had learned the hard lessons of her past mistakes and she was determined not to repeat them.

  The McKenna stood, raised his wine goblet, and shouted for attention. The din of voices in the hall quieted. “Tonight, we celebrate the marriage of Malcolm and Joan. May they live a long and joyful life among us.”

  “And be blessed with a room full of bairns!” a male voice shouted.

  The sounds of laughter, shouting, and fists banging on wooden tables filled the air. The McKenna smiled widely, raised his goblet higher, and drank. Stealing a glance around the room, Joan was glad to see everyone partaking in the good wishes, including James and Lady Aileen.

  “Does Lileas always sit at the dais during meals, or is she being allowed a special treat tonight?” Joan asked when the McKenna resumed his seat.

  “She usually eats here, with the rest of the family,” he replied. “Malcolm had that special chair made when she turned three.”

  “’Tis highly unusual.”

  The McKenna shrugged. “Malcolm has always indulged the lass. Overindulged, most would say.”

  “Aye.” Joan swallowed a bite of tasty beef. “Can ye tell me why no one stops him?”

  “She’s his daughter.”

  “Yet ye’ve all had to live with her.”

  The McKenna’s eyes darkened and for a moment Joan feared she had gone too far. The laird was clearly protective of his family and she had all but insulted his granddaughter.

  But instead of yelling in anger, the McKenna laughed in merriment. “Begging, tears, and pouting. She’s accomplished at all three. Lileas likes to blame her behavior on being a poor, motherless child. Now that ye’re here, she’ll have to find another excuse. Or else be taught how to properly behave. Do ye have the courage to take on the task?”

  “It appears that I must,” Joan answered wryly, hardly relishing the notion.

  Aye, she could take the spoiled Lileas in hand to the benefit of all—including the lass. But Jo
an suspected Malcolm’s feelings about disciplining his child would echo the way she felt about anyone interfering with her decisions about Callum. She could barely tolerate it.

  Yet ’twas obvious to one and all that left to Malcolm, Lileas would only grow more impossible. Joan sighed. Another challenge to overcome.

  Joan remained quiet through the remainder of the meal, silently observing Malcolm and his family. The ease with which they talked and joked among themselves spoke of a great affection between them. She was especially curious about his parents. She had heard the stories of how besotted the McKenna was with his wife, and it was clear Lady Aileen returned those feelings, for the love and devotion between the pair was evident in nearly every gesture.

  They exchanged warm glances, shared private jokes, pressed their heads together like a pair of cooing doves. Lady Aileen needed only to place her hand on the McKenna’s arm and he would immediately shift his attention toward her.

  She made certain his trencher was filled with the choicest bits of food, his goblet filled with wine. He brushed a stray wisp of hair that had come loose from her cheek and insisted that one of the lasses sing a song he declared was Lady Aileen’s favorite.

  But it was the effortless, affectionate way they interacted that fascinated Joan the most. They communicated with more than words, seeming to be in a rhythm only they understood. They were, indeed, a rare and unusual couple.

  “Hard to believe it was an arranged marriage,” Malcolm said, noticing where her attention was captured.

  Joan turned. “I’ve always heard the most scandalous tale—that yer mother chose yer father.”

  Malcolm laughed. “A rumor I believe was started by my mother. The truth is that she did have a choice. After a broken betrothal, her father gave her the power to refuse any offers fer her hand. And refuse them she did—until the McKenna came along.

  “My grandfather—her father—did not prescribe to the notion that women don’t have the strength of mind or character to choose their own husbands. ’Tis the reason that Katherine is not yet wed, as my mother has insisted that she be afforded the same right.”