Highland Warrior

by Hannah Howell

  “I have always wondered why she didnae pursue our father, who was the laird.”

  “Because she recognized that he had the same lack of a heart she did. He would have bedded her, but she wouldnae have gained anything from it. He couldnae be wooed. The rest of us were too young, nay the heirs, and had little to do with training the men or all of the rest of the work here. Our father held the title, but e’en back then, ye held the reins.” Gregor poured them each a goblet of wine and handed Ewan one.

  “And ye dinnae think Fiona is any more than what she seems—a wee bonnie lass who got lost?”

  “Nay, I dinnae. She has been here for a fortnight yet has done naught that would make me think her anything other than what she says she is. She doesnae ask suspicious questions or roam about the keep studying everything. Nor does she flirt with any of us. I can see it will take ye a while to believe that, however.”

  Ewan thought over all Gregor had said as he drank his wine. There was a lot of truth to his brother’s words. It was also true that it would take him a while to accept them.

  Shaking his head clear of all his confusing thoughts, he finished his drink and said to Gregor, “Best we wander down to the great hall. I hope Nathan has kept a close guard on that priest. I want him sober.”

  “He will be,” Gregor assured him as they started out of the room. “I think e’en our father will see to it.”

  “The old mon is still boasting that this is the result of his clever planning, is he?”

  “Och, aye. The way he tells it, ye would think he himself had set the lass down in your path that day.” Gregor watched Ewan carefully. “He does grow humble in confessing that his choice for ye might nay be the best, that a lass with more meat on her bones and no scars would have been better.”

  A soft growl escaped Ewan. “The fool. He best guard his tongue before Fiona. He best nay insult her.”

  “True. She might hurt him.” Gregor grinned when Ewan briefly chuckled.

  Ewan paused just before stepping in front of the entrance to the great halls, avoiding the wide-open doors. “I may nay ken exactly who Fiona is, but I am verra sure she could do better than me. Mayhap…” he began.

  Gregor shoved him in front of the open doors, and several men called out a greeting to Ewan. “Nurse your doubts all ye wish, but ye willnae shame the lass by abandoning her at the altar.”

  Although the ferocity of Gregor’s tone surprised Ewan, he nodded. His brother was right. Ewan presumed that many of the people of Scarglas either knew or suspected he had taken Fiona’s innocence. He had not even thought of hiding that fact until the maids had changed the linen on his bed and he had caught a glimpse of the small blood-stain on the sheet. Since the maids had arrived but moments after Fiona had left, he also suspected even the dullest amongst them had guessed what had happened. A suspicion given more weight by the announcement that he would marry Fiona in two days. Giving in to his cowardice now not only would be dishonorable, but would indeed shame Fiona before everyone. It troubled him a little that the latter bothered him far more than the former, but he shook aside that problem and stepped into the great hall to accept congratulations he did not feel he really deserved.

  “Fiona, stop your wriggling,” said Mab, “or Bonnie will be pinning those flowers on your left ear.”

  After a brief grin at the giggling Bonnie, Fiona stood very still. “Ye are getting verra bossy, Mab.”

  “Aye. After today ye will be the lady of Scarglas so I thought I best get it all out of my blood right now.” Mab laughed along with the other women. “Twill be nice to have a lady of the keep again. It has been a long time. In truth, I am nay sure we ever really had one.”

  “Sir Fingal has had five wives, Mab.”

  “That he did, but do ye see their mark anywhere save for the lads cluttering up the keep?”

  Fiona looked around the bedchamber she had been given. It was comfortable, surprisingly free of drafts, and rather plain. It was clean, as was the rest of the keep, but Fiona knew that was Clare’s doing. The gardens and the herb shed were Mab’s doing. The great hall was very fine, but that was mostly the work of the previous laird. Thinking of the things Gilly and Ilsa had done when they had moved in with her brothers, Fiona realized Mab was right. Sir Fingal’s wives had left little mark behind save for their sons.

  “How odd,” she murmured. “Not e’en Annie Logan?”

  “Nay,” replied Bonnie. “My mother said the woman was run ragged trying to keep her husband out of the arms of other lasses. The other wives didnae last as long. Died, save for the last one, who ran away.”

  “Weel, at least that last one put an end to Sir Fingal marrying again,” said Fiona. “Cannae find himself a new wife when he is still wed to the one who ran away, can he.”

  “Nay so sure that would stop him,” said Mab. “I think ’tis that he doesnae go anywhere now, ne’er leaves Scarglas, so cannae find a woman who doesnae ken the truth about him. Fool has eleven legitimate sons and near to two score of bastards. Tis time and past someone tied a knot in it.” Mab blushed, but smiled when Fiona and Bonnie giggled.

  “Ah, m’lady, ye do look fine,” Bonnie said as she stood back to look Fiona over carefully. “Such pretty hair.”

  Fiona touched her thick hair, which had been left to hang loose in long, rippling waves past her hips. “Thank ye, although I am nay sure I ought to be attired as if I am a maiden bride.”

  “Near a one as the laird will find about this place,” Mab said as she gave a last brush to the skirts of Fiona’s deep blue gown. “There, ye are ready.”

  “I will go to tell the others,” Bonnie said even as she hurried out of the room.

  “Ah, Mab, I do worry about this. I surely do,” whispered Fiona, frowning after Bonnie.

  “Weel, cease your fretting,” ordered Mab. “Do ye think all Ewan’s brothers would be so pleased if they saw aught wrong with this? Every one of them, legitimate and bastard, is fiercely loyal and protective of Ewan, though I am nay sure he is fully aware of it. If any of them feared ye would harm Ewan, in body or heart, they would try to stop this.”

  “They might if they kenned there was a plot to get Ewan to the altar.”

  “Wheesht, do ye think they dinnae ken? Gregor did. S’truth, how do ye think I was able to be lost that day? I was only in the herb shed, but e’en the youngest of them was suddenly too blind to see me.” Mab hooked her arm through Fiona’s and started to lead her out of the room. “In fact, the lads have chosen ye for their laird so cease your frowning. There will be problems aplenty in the days ahead so why dinnae ye just enjoy yourself today?”

  “I will try, Mab. Twill be easier once the revelation of who I am is done and whate’er stir that news causes has passed.”

  “Twill be fine,” Mab reassured Fiona, but could see that the younger woman did not believe it any more than she did.

  “Fiona-of-the-ten-knives?” Ewan said, interrupting the priest to scowl at Fiona. “Ye cannae use that name in the vows. Ye have to use your real one.”

  “Nay, I dinnae,” Fiona argued, wondering how the man could still look so big when he was kneeling at her side. “The priest said that as long as I sign my proper name to the papers, it doesnae matter.”

  “That is silly. Use your real name.”

  “Nay, not until we sign the papers and ye will sign them first.”

  “Ye are my wife. Tis your duty to obey me.”

  “Aye, lad, ye tell her how it is,” said Fingal, only to back up a few steps when both Fiona and Ewan briefly glared at him.

  “Now, tell the priest your real name,” Ewan ordered Fiona and almost grinned at her dark scowl.

  “Ye arenae my husband yet, and if ye expect blind obedience once the vows are done, mayhap we best pause to have us a wee talk.”

  “Och, nay. Considering how stubborn ye are, we could still be arguing o’er the matter whilst ye are birthing the bairn I have probably set to growing in ye.” He nodded when she gasped and blushed. “We will
discuss it later.” He scowled at the priest. “Weel? Get on with it.”

  Since she had gotten her way, Fiona did not argue and dutifully repeated her vows. The kiss Ewan gave her while his brothers cheered and hooted left her breathless and dazed, but she quickly regained her senses when the quill was set in her hand. She could feel the others crowding in behind her and Ewan as she stared down at the document she was supposed to sign. Ewan had already scrawled his name there in bold letters. She took a deep breath and added her own.

  “MacEnroy?” Ewan asked, ignoring the muttering of his family behind him. “Of Deilcladach?”

  “Aye, I am the only sister of the laird, Connor MacEnroy,” she replied.

  “Lass, they are nearly four days’ ride from here. Ye cannae be a MacEnroy.”

  “Four days?” she whispered in shock. “God’s tears, how long was that cursed horse toting me about? I had thought myself only dazed, but I must have fallen unconcious. But I am a MacEnroy.” She pulled her ornate silver eating knife free of its sheath at her waist and handed it to Ewan. “Read what is etched upon the hilt. Connor gave me that upon my sixteenth birthday. He said that I deserved such a fine gift now that we had coin to spare because I was a good wee lass who had the grace to survive whilst under his care.” She smiled faintly at the memory.

  “To wee Fiona, a MacEnroy to the bone. Connor,” read Ewan, then stared at Fiona as he handed the knife back to her. “Who is this Gilly ye keep talking of? His wife, aye?”

  “Aye. Gillyanne Murray, daughter of Sir Eric Murray of Dubhlinn, niece of Lady Maldie Murray of Donncoill, and foster sister to James Drummond, laird of Dunncraig. We MacEnroys are allied with the Dalglish clan of Dunspier and the Goudies of Aberwellen. My brother Antony holds Ald-dab-hach to the south of us.” The muttering amongst the others in the great hall grew louder, but Fiona kept her gaze fixed upon Ewan. He appeared increasingly stunned. “My other brother, Diarmot, is laird of Clachthrom. He was recently wed”—she took a deep breath to steady herself—“to Ilsa Cameron, only sister to Sigimor Cameron of Dubheidland.” The loud gasp of those around them was followed by such a complete silence that Fiona briefly wondered if anyone had remembered to breathe out. “Through Gilly’s kin, the Murrays, there are ties to the MacAlpins of Cairnmoor, the Armstrongs of Aigballa, the MacMillans of Bealachan, the Drummonds of Dunnbea, the Kirkcaldys, the Kinloches, the Lucettes of France—” She stuttered to a halt when Ewan pressed faintly trembling fingers over her mouth.

  “A cursed Cameron,” snarled Sir Fingal as he pushed through the others gathered around Ewan and Fiona to glare at her. “I kenned it. She is naught but a spy sent here by that fool Sigimor.”

  Struggling to think clearly despite the shock Fiona had dealt him, Ewan put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to his side. “She isnae a Cameron. The tie is but one of marriage—her brother’s.”

  “Tis close enough. We should send her back to Sigimor.”

  “Ye arenae sending her anywhere,” Ewan said, his voice cold and hard as he fought his anger over his father’s blind hatred of his own blood kin. “She is my wife now. She may already be carrying my bairn.”

  “I wish ye wouldnae keep saying that,” muttered Fiona, then pressed her lips closed when Ewan gave her a brief, hard squeeze.

  “The Camerons ye feel wronged ye are all dead anyway,” Ewan continued. “Sigimor is no threat to us. S’truth, I dinnae ken why he keeps coming here only to listen to ye rant and get the gates shut in his face.”

  “I willnae deal with one of those cursed Camerons!”

  “Then dinnae deal with them. If there is a need, I will tend to it. Tis past time we cease turning away the only ones within miles who dinnae want to kill us. They are blood, for sweet Mary’s sake.”

  “Nay mine.”

  “Please yourself.” He sighed when, after one last glare at Fiona, his father moved away, calling for ale.

  “Do ye think that will be the end of it?” asked Fiona.

  “I suspicion he will brood o’er it for a wee while, but nay more than that. Tis an old grudge he clutches like some holy relic, but ’tis a bloodless one. The worst he will do is insult Sigimor if he appears at our gates again.”

  Fiona could not fully suppress a smile. “I wouldnae fret o’er that. Sigimor willnae.” She realized everyone was still staring at her with an unsettling intensity. “What ails all of ye? Have I grown another head?”

  “Nay, just an army,” drawled Gregor. “We suspected we would finally gain an alliance through ye, but Jesu, lass, we didnae expect ye to have ties to half of Scotland.”

  “They arenae verra large clans,” she murmured, and frowned when Gregor laughed.

  “Come, a feast has been set out,” said Ewan. “I suggest we all set our teeth to it.”

  Ewan’s words broke the silence and everyone moved to the tables. Fiona studied Ewan carefully as he led her to her seat, and then sat down beside her. For a man who had been striving for years to make some alliance, he did not seem terribly pleased with the ones she had brought him. While it was true that many of them were Gilly’s kinsmen, Fiona knew they all considered her kin as well. During the times she had gone to train with Lady Maldie, she had met many of them and knew they considered all the MacEnroys part of their very diverse family. Even if one counted only her family’s alliances, it was still a fine gift she gave him. Yet, he sat there silent and distracted.

  “Are ye angry, Ewan?” she asked finally, speaking softly so the others at the table could not hear her.

  “Nay.” Ewan lightly stroked her hand where it rested upon the table. “Shocked. Due to my father’s skill in making enemies, we have been alone all of my life. After years of work, I have eased close to an alliance with many of those my father angered, but havenae made any true alliances. Still, only the Grays are a real threat to us now. The others may nay be true allies until my father passes from this earth, but they arenae truly our enemies any longer, just an occasional irritant. Yet suddenly, after kneeling before a priest for a wee while, I find myself fair smothered in alliances. E’en if one only counts your family’s direct allies, ’tis still far more than I had ever considered.”

  “My brother was a wee bit shocked when he discovered exactly who Gilly was. We had long seen ourselves as mostly alone, as weel. It wasnae until after Gilly arrived that we discovered the Goudies and the Dalglishes were closer allies than any of us had thought, including them.”

  He shook his head, slowly coming to grips with the massive change in his circumstances. Ewan inwardly grimaced when he realized Fiona was, indeed, far above his touch. For the sake of his people, he was pleased with the alliances she brought to their marriage, but such a rich prize should have gone to a richer, more powerful laird than he ever could be.

  It was done, however, he thought as he watched Fiona laugh at something Simon said. He had touched her, had taken her innocence, and had married her. There was no turning back now. Considering her connections, even thinking about turning back could prove unhealthy, for him and his clan. Ewan did not really think Fiona was the sort of woman to call down a vengeance upon him if he cast her aside, but she might not have any say in the matter. It would not surprise him if he faced a tense confrontation with her kinsmen anyway, because he had held her for ransom, bedded her, and married her. It might be possible to keep the ransoming and bedding a secret, but he did not hold out much hope for that.

  As they ate and suffered through increasingly ridiculous toasts offered by his brothers until he threatened them with slow dismemberment if they did not cease, Ewan asked Fiona about her family. There was more light than dark in her tales. It also troubled him a little that she probably knew his kinsmen the Camerons better than he did. One thread wove itself through it all, however, and that was the tight bond of blood and clan. That bond could stretch out to new members of the family, as it had to the Murrays and to his cousins the Camerons. Ewan wanted it to reach out to him and his clan.

  He grimaced when s
omebody began to play music. Goaded by his brothers, Ewan forced himself to dance with Fiona once. Feeling big and awkward, he soon left her in the more willing care of his brothers. He sat and watched her, the swirl of her glorious hair and the movement of her lithe body heating his blood. She laughed and smiled, dancing with each of his brothers, including a blushing, awkward Simon. Once she even did a strange but lively dance with the children, bastards all, before they were hurried off to bed by their nurse-maids.

  A spark of guilt stung him as he realized he was not simply enjoying the sight of his bride heartily enjoying herself. Ewan admitted to himself that he sought signs of deception and betrayal, but he saw none. She did not flirt, smile too long or too welcomingly at any one man, or treat one man more favorably than another. In fact, if he dared trust his own judgment, she treated them all with a friendly ease. No more. No less.

  She acted, he realized, like a woman who had been raised by men, treated as just another brother, exactly as she had claimed. Fiona displayed no fear and not one drop of submissiveness. Ewan suspected she would give a man her respect only if he earned it and that she would never be blindly obedient. It appeared that, in marrying him, Fiona had made his brothers, her brothers, too. It pleased him more than he could say to see that his brothers and his men had not only accepted Fiona as his wife, but welcomed her. If only his father would do so.

  Pushing aside that thought, Ewan stood up and began to walk toward his wife. He was still riddled with doubts and fears, but for the moment, he decided to banish them all to the far corners of his mind. Fate had blessed him with a beautiful wife, one who set him afire. It was time to stop brooding about her and start enjoying her. He did not intend to do that by galloping around the great hall to the tune of some badly played music, either. When she skipped past him, he caught her by the arm to halt her dance.