“I caught three fine, fat salmon and a pair of grouse,” Cormag said.
“Grouse are out of season,” Padraig argued.
“But John Erly got a boar,” Isobel MacLeod interrupted.
Davy gaped at her. A boar? The other two lairds stared at her as well. “It’s roasting now,” she said, blushing. Her father sent her a quelling look.
“Doesn’t count if he’s going to hang,” Cormag grumbled. “Though I suppose he should have some of the meat for his last meal.”
“’Tis a fine feat, bringing down a boar,” Padraig admitted, rubbing his chin. “Was that before or after he killed Davy?”
Davy glared at him. “Och, I misspoke, Davy. Of course you’re still alive. Mostly,” Padraig said.
“It still sounds like John won most of the contests,” Alasdair Og Sinclair said.
“It doesn’t count,” Donal said stubbornly. “I won’t marry my daughter to a man who’d murder his rival.” He looked at Cormag and Padraig. “The two of you might have been next.”
Padraig smoothed his hand over his own throat.
“Even if you’ve decided to give Gillian to another man, I’d still like to speak for John. I cannot believe he did the things you suggest. He’s a good man, an honorable man,” the Sinclair said.
Davy pointed to him, hoping it signified agreement.
“The MacKenzie disagrees,” Donal said.
Davy met Alasdair Og’s eyes with a pleading glance. “Nay,” he mouthed the word. “Rabbie Bain.”
“Rabbits, did he say?” Cormag said. “Is this about the contest? Did ye have time to hunt after all, Davy?”
Davy pointed to his neck, then mimed shooting an arrow from a bow, at a rope.
“Looks like the hanging addled his wits,” Padraig said. “The Sassenach didn’t shoot ye, lad—he hanged ye.”
“Nay—he’s describing how the Sassenach strung him up,” Cormag said. “Do ye want us to shoot him with arrows, Davy, instead of hanging him?”
Davy glared at them. What gestures described a hero, a man who’d saved his life? He looked at Alasdair Og Sinclair, wondering where his angelic wee wife was now. He looked at Donal, made writing motions with his fingers.
“Aye, his mind is gone,” Padraig said. He turned to Donal. “Ye can’t marry your lass to a man who’s—” He twirled his forefinger beside his ear.
“Does that mean the contest is down to the two of us?”
Davy felt frustration well. “Writing paper,” he mouthed the words. “Pàipear-sgìobhadh.”
“Waiting! I got that!” Cormag said. “He’s waiting. Or perhaps he wants us to wait.”
“What for?” Padraig asked.
“The bride for one thing. If it’s down to the two of us, we can have our men bring her back.”
But the door opened, and Meggie and Aileen and Will MacLeod entered with twelve bruised and rumpled warriors.
“Where’s Gillian?” Donal MacLeod asked.
The door opened again and another MacLeod burst in. “The Sassenach has escaped! The cell is empty.”
Davy would have cheered if he’d had the voice to do it. Then Fia Sinclair pushed past him and limped across the room to Davy. “I’ve been looking for you, Laird MacKenzie.” She held up a sheaf of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. Gratefully, he blinked at her, ignored the mayhem around him, sat down, and began to write.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Davy was still writing as mayhem erupted. Padraig Grant was calling for a search party to be organized at once. The Robertson warriors were blaming the Grants for losing Gillian, and the brawl started all over again. Donal was questioning Meggie and Aileen, fearing the worst, wondering if he’d find that Gillian had eloped or was dead at the Sassenach’s hand.
But the door opened once more, and Gillian entered the hall with John Erly by her side, her hair tangled with leaves, her bruises shocking, her gown stained and rumpled, and her eyes as bright as stars. Everyone in the hall fell silent.
Donal wondered if his daughter had ever looked lovelier. His heart climbed into his throat, and he felt tears of relief in his eyes at the sight of her. She looked at the Englishman with a smile of such love and confidence that even Donal MacLeod heard the chime of the bells that signaled true love.
The Sassenach lowered a body to the floor. He’d killed another man. Donal was on his feet in an instant, reaching for his claymore.
But the MacKenzies began to roar and point, and Davy MacKenzie was on his feet, too, and the pot of ink before him spilled across the table like black blood, and he was pointing at the Englishman, limping toward him.
“Now, Davy, we’ll not shed blood in this hall before my daughters,” Donal said, but Davy had already reached John Erly. He gathered the Englishman in a warm embrace.
“Thank ye,” he mouthed. “Thank ye.”
* * *
Gillian stood by John’s side and looked at her father. “John brought me back, Papa. He didn’t hang Davy, Rabbie Bain did.” She looked at the unconscious man at her feet. “Rabbie is one of the outlaws who attacked us on the road to Edinburgh. You can ask the MacKenzies if you don’t believe me.”
Her father stared at her. “And ye captured him again?”
She ignored that. “If not for John, Davy would be dead, Papa. So would Callum, and I—” She turned to look at the Englishman. Davy stood beside him now. Callum struggled out of his chair and crossed to regard John silently. He took a place next to the Englishman as well, and looked at Donal.
Her father regarded John. John looked steadily back at him. “Ye could have escaped, eloped, taken her away,” Donal said. “Why didn’t ye?”
“You love her, and she loves you. I want your permission, Laird, because I love her as well.”
“And what if I said no?” her father demanded.
* * *
There had to be a trial, John had known that.
Donal MacLeod wouldn’t—couldn’t—give in so easily. Not with Cormag and Padraig still clamoring for a fair decision. Everyone wanted to hear the full story—all of it—in detail.
From across the hall, Dair grinned at him, and John nodded.
“I’ll have order, if you please,” Donal said. “We’re here to decide who won the contests and has the right to claim Gillian as his bride.
“Papa!” Gillian said again, but he held up his hand.
“Since the MacKenzie cannot speak, he has written down his testimony,” Fia said, taking the parchment to her father. He read it and looked up at Davy in surprise. “It says here that it was the outlaw Rabbie Bain who tried to hang him, who beat Callum MacLeod, and my daughter. Am I reading it aright, Davy?”
Davy blinked.
“And it also says that the Englishman severed the rope that hanged ye with an arrow shot that saved your life.”
A murmur went through the hall. Donal looked at John in surprise, and John held his gaze, keeping his expression flat.
Donal turned back to the letter, then glanced at Davy MacKenzie. “Laird MacKenzie also writes that he is withdrawing his proposal of marriage.”
Another ripple went through the hall, and people gaped at John. He felt his chest tighten. Gillian stood silently beside him, waiting.
Donal looked at Cormag and Padraig. John noted that the two lairds were staring at him, their mouths wide with grudging admiration. “Will ye also withdraw your proposals?” Donal asked them.
Padraig sighed loudly. He swiped his bonnet off his head. “I withdraw my proposal,” he said. “In favor of the Sass—” He paused “In favor of John Erly of Carraig Brigh.”
Donal frowned. “Who my daughter weds is up to me. What about ye, Cormag?”
Cormag looked at Gillian. “Nay. I still wish to wed the lass. If the Englishman has won the hunting competition, and I have won the Gillie Callum, and the results of the other contests remain—murky—then we’re tied.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Which one of us will wed your daughter, Laird MacLeod? Me or the Sas
senach?”
The hall fell silent as Donal considered. “Will ye speak?” he asked John. “Tell me why I should allow ye to wed my daughter. You’ve no fortune, no kin, and . . . ye’re not a Scot.”
“Deeds speak louder than words, Papa,” Meggie said but John kept his eyes on Donal.
“I love Gillian,” he said simply. He turned to her and dropped to one knee.
“If your father gives his permission, I promise to love you all the days of our life together, to do everything in my power to make you happy, and to protect you and care for you. Will you marry me?”
Gillian blushed with pleasure. “Yes, John. I’ll marry you” She bit her lip and looked at her father. “Oh, Papa, please say yes. I want your blessing, but I belong with John. I will marry him with or without your approval.”
“What will ye live on?” Donal asked. “He’s penniless.”
Dair cleared his throat. “He’s not penniless at all.”
He turned to John. “If ye’d been just an hour later tearing out of Carraig Brigh to come here, ye could have received your visitor yourself. He came all the way from England to find ye. He rode in just after ye rode out.”
John frowned. “My father?”
Dair shook his head. “A man named Scarsden. Do ye know him?”
John’s brows rose. “He was a secretary of the Company of Adventurers. He was at York Factory when I left.”
“You never told us about your time in the New World. Mr. Scarsden had some grand tales to tell us about you, John,” Fia said. “Fine tales. I wish I’d known.”
Dair grinned. “It seems he’s been looking for ye for some time. Ye see, I stopped by your father’s estates on my way home from my last voyage to ask a few questions—” He held up his hand when John frowned. “I wasn’t prying. I was trying to help, to reconcile ye with your family, to at least let them know where ye were, and what ye’d done for me. That’s why I was late getting home—your father’s been ill these past years, a recluse, in mourning for his sons. He believes you’re as dead as your brother, John. The earl has good days, and bad days. I was advised to wait, see him when he was better. Your father’s secretary informed me that if you were alive, you should be told you are still his lordship’s heir. As his only surviving legitimate son, you cannot legally be cut out of the succession. The secretary asked where he might find you when the time comes. I told him to send word to Carraig Brigh, John. I didn’t get the chance to see your father.”
John frowned, and Gillian squeezed his hand.
“Does that mean my grandsons will be English earls?” Donal Macleod asked.
Dair grinned ruefully. “And as Clive, John will rank higher in the peerage than a Scottish earl. He’ll outrank me.”
“But Scarsden—why did he come?” John asked.
“It seems he’s been holding your share of the profits from your last voyage in trust for ye. Ye left the ship without claiming them.”
“My share?” John said.
Dair grinned again. “It appears you’re a wealthy man, John. Very wealthy. So wealthy, I may just start investing in the fur trade myself, build another ship or two for the new venture. Of course, I’d need a partner, a man who understood the business.”
“Will you sail?” Fia asked. “I gather you’re not really afraid to—and Gilly loves the sea.”
John looked at his hands. “My brother died on the sea, is buried under it. I am reminded of that every time I look at the water. To me it became his grave.”
Gillian took his hand. “From what you told me, he wouldn’t want you to feel that way. He didn’t blame you.”
He scanned her face. “He wanted me to be happy. I didn’t think I’d ever find what he had. I didn’t think I deserved it.”
She smiled at him. “And now?”
“I have you,” he said. He looked at Donal. “Do I?”
Donal MacLeod rose from his chair and left the room. Gillian’s smile faded, and she turned to John with tears in her eyes. “Oh no.”
But Donal returned, holding the quaich in his hands. He poured it full of whisky and crossed to John. “Ye said ye wanted to wait for a welcome, or a wedding,” he said. “It seems I’ve underestimated ye. Sassenach earl or no, you’re a fine man, and a brave one. Ye have my blessing to marry my daughter.”
He turned and looked at Davy and Cormag and Padraig. “The wedding is tomorrow. Any objections?”
Davy managed a crooked smile, and Padraig wiped a tear from his eye. Cormag frowned. “I cannot say I’m not disappointed, but I withdraw my proposal to ye, Mistress Gillian, and wish ye happy with John Erly.”
He called for his own quaich and filled it for a toast. “It appears our warrior maid has met her match, and the best man won her heart. May they have many adventures and much happiness always.”
And everyone drank, and every Highlander surrounded the happy couple and cheered the perfect match of English John and his brave, bonny Highland bride.
EPILOGUE
The following morning, a year less a day from the very moment that Annie Sinclair had predicted that Gillian would have an adventure and wed for love within the year, Gillian wed John Erly before four lairds, an earl, and all her kin.
Gillian wore a rose-pink satin gown, not quite as dramatic as her masquerade gown, but the look in John’s eyes as her father placed her hand in John’s told her she was beautiful. He wore a borrowed coat and promised to buy one of his own since he could now easily afford it.
Cormag Robertson danced a graceful Gillie Callum at the feast, and Padraig Grant toasted the health and happiness of the bride and groom so many times he could scarcely stand. He ordered his seanchaidh to write down the true tale of Gillian MacLeod and English John so the story would never be lost to memory and could forevermore be told to children on long winter nights to help them grow up as brave, bold, and honorable as Gillian and her hero.
After the vows were said, and the celebration began, Alasdair Og settled beside his friend to discuss plans for the building of new ships, and hear tales of the fur trade. Fia firmly led her husband off to dance, giving Gillian a knowing wink. “We’ll build a new ship, call it the Warrior Maiden,” Dair called over his shoulder to John as he let his wee wife drag him away.
John took Gillian’s hand and led her out of the hall to the bailey, where a pair of garrons waited for them.
“Where are we going?” Gillian asked as he lifted her onto the back of her horse.
“To the harbor, to Dair’s ship. Fia thought you’d like privacy for our wedding night, away from your sisters, and your father, and a castle filled with four different clans. The crew is at the ceilidh, and we’ll have the captain’s cabin and the whole ship to ourselves. No one’s to come back aboard until we run up the flag.”
Gillian smiled and kissed her handsome husband. “We’ll run out of food,” she whispered, and John laughed.
John rowed them across to the ship and they stood on the deck in the moonlight. He looked around, his face pale in the bright moonlight. He frowned.
“Are you well?” Gillian asked. She could smell the salt of the sea, feel the slight roll of the ship under her.
“Just—remembering the last time I was on a ship.”
“It’s only that—a memory. Daniel wanted you to be happy, John.”
He took her in his arms, stared out at the path the moon painted over the water. “I am happy. I never thought I would be. I thought I’d wander forever, an outsider. Then I kissed a mysterious lass in the moonlight at a masquerade ball, and she unmasked me . . .”
She caressed his face, stood on tiptoe and kissed his eyes, and his nose and his mouth. She took his hand and led him down to the luxurious captain’s cabin.
John threw open the shutters on the wide windows, letting moonlight fill the cabin. “I want to see you,” he said. “I want your skin against mine, naked, no barriers, no masks, no impediments.”
“Aye,” she sighed as he undressed her. She felt his fingers trembling
as he untied her laces and slid the gown and the petticoats down her body until they fell in a frothy pool at her ankles, leaving her bare before him. She stood in the moonlight and let him look his fill, not shy anymore, not with him, her husband, her lover.
“You’re beautiful, Gillian MacLeod,” he said.
She stepped out of her fallen gown and came to him, undid his cravat, worked at the laces of his shirt, kissing his skin as she exposed it. “It’s Gillian Erly,” she said, and grinned. “What a perfect name.”
She lifted his shirt over his head, tossed it away. He hopped on one foot, then the other to pull off his boots, then discarded his breeches, and he was as naked as she, save for the medicine pouch around his neck. He lifted it over his head, and she took it from him, kissed it, laid it aside. “The past is past. We’ll add new memories, the ones we make together,” she said.
He spread his arms and stood before her. “Well?”
She smiled slowly and shut her eyes, felt her body heating, growing liquid with desire. Blind, she touched the planes of his chest, his belly, the bones of his hips, his erection. “Exactly as I remember it,” she said. “I’ve dreamed of this moment, of us.” She pressed herself against him, skin to skin. “Oh, yes, this is just how I remember it.”
“Minus the pine needles,” he quipped, kissing her closed eyes.
She opened them and smiled. “Aye, but that was just part of . . . of what was meant to be. A dance you said, just steps. And now . . .” She took his hand and led him to the bed, and fell down upon soft sheets and a fine feather mattress with him. She put her arms around him and sighed contentedly.
“And now?” he prompted her to finish the thought, though he was doing his best to make it impossible to think at all. His body covered hers. Perfectly, gently, and he put a hand behind her knee to hook her leg over his hip as he entered her slowly.
She sighed and arched her hips. “And now . . . we are where we were before we were interrupted.”
“Interrupted?” he said, thrusting into her slowly, driving her wild.
“Aye. It all began with a kiss at a masquerade . . .”
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