The Protector

by Allison Butler

  Since he’d searched the Highlands and failed to discover where he’d come from, he’d resigned himself to the fact that he’d never marry. But Mairi Gordon reopened the invisible wound in his heart and reminded him of his greatest desire and why it would never be anything more than an unattainable dream.

  ***

  The morning meal was kept simple, consisting of bread and wine or ale, so that after spending the last two days toiling away and preparing a feast fit for a king, the servants and kitchen maids also had the chance to enjoy a full day of fun and activities.

  Mairi gazed out over the hall as she drank the remainder of her wine. The buzz of excited voices and playful wagers lent an air of vibrancy to the vast room. A much-needed distraction from the man who sat still and silent at the end of the table, yet lured her like one of the baited hooks Angus used to snare his fish.

  And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen him enough. In her mind, throughout the lengthy night just gone, he’d shown up in her restless and at times, frantic dreams.

  She’d been held in his arms four times now. Thrice with her back aligned to his front and once chest to chest. Yet her clever imagination had galloped along like one of Ranald’s horses and filled the many holes of uncertainty with bronzed flesh covering muscular contours, disturbing her fitful sleep.

  She ached just to watch him, study his movements, observe him without him knowing she did, much like Ewan stalked the beasts he hunted. But she was too afraid to even look at him for fear of not being able to look away or hide her attraction. Aye. She’d finally found a name for the this that they seemed to share.

  He’d eaten his evening meal last night as if he hadn’t a care and wasn’t struggling with guilt or want. An air of indifference had surrounded him as he escorted her and her father above to their chambers, and this morn when she’d opened her door to find him waiting, he’d looked at her, but seemed to gaze right through her.

  She’d clung to him in the darkness for too long and he’d been the one to set them apart. Had he sensed her attraction and, feeling pity for her, spoken as if he felt it too so she wouldn’t appear the fool? Her fingers clutched her goblet at the shrinking thought and she lifted her lashes enough to view the end of the trestle.

  Dark eyes, promising things her growing imagination would relish, met hers and in that instant she knew she wasn’t alone in the heated, runaway emotions stealing her good senses. She wasn’t alone in suffering this.

  Clap, clap, clap. Her father clapped three times and stood. Holding his goblet aloft he announced, ‘It is time.’

  Mairi lifted her empty cup and pretended to drink her fill. Pretending and plenty of distractions, two things she would heavily rely on today, until she finally named who her husband was to be tomorrow. Her wedding day.

  The day Duff would return south and she’d be another man’s wife. How she wished she was free to choose the man she wed and not be limited to the choice of men of her father’s choosing. How she wished.

  The sun’s warmth greeted them as they abandoned the tower for the bailey where many of the castle folk were already waiting for the contests to begin. The grounds the men used for sword practice was reserved for the lads who wanted to learn some sword skills but were too young to own their own weapon. As Balfour, the Gordon’s best swordsman, was injured, Iain was in charge of teaching them the basics using wooden swords the armourer had fashioned from the trees in the nearby forest.

  At the opposite end of the bailey, in front of the washhouse, tanning hut and armoury, many benches and trestles had been dragged outdoors for the mob to sit at and to hold the food offerings once the activities had finished and the feasting and dancing began.

  Beside one table, a long, shallow pit had been dug and filled with chopped wood, now alight. The boar Ewan had felled during his hunt had been partially cooked in the kitchen’s great fireplace and was now outside, continuing to cook over the fire-pit. A young lad stood at each end and turned the beast slowly over the flames, ensuring it cooked evenly on all sides. Juices and fat dripped, sizzled and popped into the fire below. The delicious smell of roasting meat scented the air and likely made many a stomach rumble even though they’d just broken their fast.

  Fat barrels filled with water from the well were positioned about the inner bailey so that all could quench their thirst as necessary. Wine and ale would be brought out later for the feast.

  Mairi strolled along by her father’s side, breathing in the midmorning air and the delight of bustling clan folk about her. Her father’s smile was a wondrous sight to behold and warmed her heart. If she’d known hosting a feast day would bring him such joy she would have suggested it many years ago.

  But today wasn’t meant for wishes too late, it was for enjoyment and for her to get to know the three men her father had chosen for her a little better.

  She caught a strand of her unruly hair and tucked it behind her ear, discreetly searching out her three suitors while appearing to take in the changes inside the bailey. All three had fanned out on the other side of her father and all three seemed to exude a sense of confidence and anticipation. Mairi knew her personal guard walked behind her and a little to her right. He wasn’t her concern. She didn’t need to look at him.

  But she wanted to.

  She stifled that particular want and gazed at her father, her most potent distraction, and then pretended her protector wasn’t anywhere near her at all.

  ‘Your people have done you proud, Alastair,’ Ranald said.’

  ‘I know it, Ranald,’ her father responded with pride. ‘And this is only where we shall retire to once the games are done.’ He gestured toward the opening beyond Castle Gordon. ‘As you saw yesterday, the majority of my clansmen’s efforts are over the drawbridge on the green.’

  Mairi looked forward to seeing what her clansmen had started the day before, when she and Duff had returned from their early morning ride. With no hope of all walking through the opening and across the drawbridge five abreast, her suitors all dropped back, allowing their host and Mairi to lead the way. The scene before them opened up the moment they passed beneath the portcullis and caused a rush of pride to swarm inside her chest.

  She dragged her gaze to her father’s face and saw the same expression of wonder and achievement she was certain anyone who looked at her would see. A mob of both clansmen and villagers had gathered just off the drawbridge and broke into loud cheering and applause at the sight of the man who protected them, sheltered them and bore the weight of being responsible for them. The man who was now treating them to a feast. Their laird, Alastair Gordon.

  Mairi squeezed his fingers as they walked the rest of the timbered path. They stopped at the end of the lowered drawbridge and when Mairi turned to look at her father, she noted a glistening in his eyes. He looked proud, yet sad. Was he remembering the feasts of long ago?

  He looked at her, raised their joined hands and announced, ‘Let the games begin.’

  ***

  Duff stayed close as his charge stepped onto the grass amid the crowd’s roaring cheers. With so many people about it was more difficult to ensure Mairi’s safety, but with all that he was, he would keep her safe.

  They headed to the left where several benches and a table had been placed for the elderly who weren’t strong enough to bear their own weight throughout the day’s proceedings, but didn’t want to miss out on watching the contests.

  Always slightly behind Mairi and a fraction to her right in case he needed to draw his sword to defend her, Duff searched the throng and saw naught but smiling faces, except for those who were competing. Their expressions spoke of serious determination.

  He had no clue how her three suitors felt about him being closer to Mairi than they were, but it wasn’t his place to worry about their feelings. He was here to protect her. They were here to court her.

  The thought pulled at something deep inside his chest and twisted. After yesterday’s mishap in the basement, which led to last night’s torment
ed sleep, he’d resorted to reminding himself of his origins so he could let go of the ridiculous wanting that threatened to consume him.

  He was a no one, with nothing to offer save his horse, his sword skills and a borrowed name. And his honour, that up until he’d decided to intrude on a fight not his own, had been untarnished, but now if such a thing could be seen, he was sure it would look tattered and worn, much like a plaid donned every day for a hundred years.

  If he planned to return to the Borders with it in one recognisable piece, he needed to remain focussed and complete his duty here without any more such mishaps, else his honour would be torn to shreds. His honour had always been the one thing that made him proud and helped to ease his life’s misfortune. His honour was the one thing he had to keep intact at all costs.

  Duff scanned their surroundings, feeling stronger willed with the reminder of what was most important to him and was well within his reach. Mairi Gordon was, but only in a physical sense. It didn’t matter how he dressed up his shortcomings, he would always be unworthy of the laird’s daughter.

  Not so the three fortunate men strolling along at his back. Mairi Gordon was the reason they were here now.

  Their small party halted before the archery activity by the loch. Huge timber boards and large bales of straw had been stacked in an orderly fashion to catch any wayward arrows that missed the colourful targets placed in front.

  A few eager clansmen and villagers were already lined up with their bows, and with little encouragement needed from their host, Angus, Ranald and Ewan all stepped up to take their turn.

  Laughter greeted several of the unschooled bowmen’s efforts, which included Angus and Ranald, but were soon overshadowed by the chorus of ooh’s that immediately followed Ewan’s masterful shots. Ewan won the contest but the winners wouldn’t officially be announced until later. Duff couldn’t help wondering if Mairi could best him if she’d taken part.

  Leaving those who had suddenly acquired a taste to learn the bow and arrow practising in turn, they wandered away from the loch toward the valley of green, rolling hills to the right.

  As they came to a stop near numerous young men who were sitting on the grass removing their footwear, the young maid named Rhona who Duff greeted every morning as she delivered warm water to her lady, gave both Mairi and her laird a goblet of wine.

  Alastair took a sip of his beverage and in a proud, knowledgeable voice said, ‘For those of you who do not know the origin of the footrace, allow me to enlighten you.’ He sipped again before he began. ‘In the eleventh century, the mighty King Malcolm III of Scotland summoned all competitors to a footrace to the summit of Craig Choinnich, an enormous mountain overlooking Braemar, in order to determine who was the fastest runner in the land and therefore who would become his royal messenger.’

  Duff hadn’t known the story but was impressed by the contest’s origins.

  ‘Very impressive, Father,’ Mairi said.

  ‘Aye. The humble footrace had regal beginnings,’ Alastair said with a smile. ‘Do any of our special guests care to take part?’

  ‘Not I,’ Ranald said. ‘‘Tis safer for me and everyone else if I don’t.’

  ‘Ah, nae,’ Angus Hay was quick to add while stretching his back. ‘I have an old battle wound that plays havoc whenever I run.’ He winked to soften the falsehood.

  ‘And I have already won a contest,’ Ewan said. ‘It would be unfair if I were to win another so soon.’ His grin took some of the arrogance from his comment.

  ‘All likely excuses,’ Alastair said. ‘We shall all be spectators together then. Come join Mairi and I on the bench before the race starts.’

  They all followed their host’s lead and strode to the long bench provided for those not participating. While Alastair and his daughter took their places closest to where the grassy lands fell away into the valley, Duff stepped over the bench seat and took up his post behind where Mairi sat. Ranald slid in beside her, then Ewan, and finally Angus joined the rest on the far end.

  Duff peered down and was momentarily mesmerised by the sunlight melding with Mairi’s golden hair. His fingers flexed behind his back at the simple thought of feeling the sun-washed locks trail over his calloused hands and remind his senses once more of the sweet, wildflower scent.

  A cheering roar from the spectators sitting before him and the gathering crowd jerked him from his foolish wanting and dangerous lapse in concentration.

  Today was the last full day before Mairi announced who her husband was to be tomorrow morning. The moment she did, he would ride away from Castle Gordon and from the woman who tempted him to throw all that mattered to him to the wind.

  ***

  Hands clenched in her lap, Mairi sat a little straighter on her seat as the runners headed back up the final slope to where the footrace had begun. Two showed the way, arms pumping at their sides, their legs and feet a blur as one would draw away, only to have the other catch up and take the lead. Until the other once again caught them.

  Mairi’s stomach tightened as she witnessed their battle to win and wondered what gave them the extra speed to exchange places with the other runner so quickly and so often. Both young men resided in the village and were friends. Had they practised running over the rolling hills and valleys together or alone? They each wanted the same thing, to win, but was it the glory of the winning the race or was there more that drove them?

  She didn’t look to her right along the bench seat to where the three rivals for her hand sat cheering the contestants on. But she could feel their excitement knowing that the contest was almost over, almost done, and she wished she could delve inside their minds to determine what drove them to win her.

  Obviously, they’d be married to a Highland laird’s daughter and they would eventually run Castle Gordon and be responsible for the clan folk. A circumstance that wasn’t possible for any of them, unless they wed her or another laird’s daughter, despite the fact they all bore honourable names. But had none of the three found a woman to fall in love with before her father had presented them with such an enormous opportunity? Would loving another allow them to see the marriage through if she did choose them? Could they forget the woman of their heart and be content with her instead?

  She’d watched her father share naught with anyone since her mother’s death, and she knew she didn’t have the courage to deal with such loneliness for the rest of her life. She also couldn’t bear to be responsible for another’s unhappiness. Knowing if her suitors’ hearts had already been given was something that suddenly became necessary. When the chance to ask each of them if there was anyone special in their lives presented itself, Mairi would do so.

  A combined cheer broke into Mairi’s thoughts as the two runners crested the final slope, still side-by-side, and ran toward the finish marker in front of where she sat. Mairi shot to her feet with everyone else and her heartbeat spiked with excitement. Her shout to run faster to them both became a part of the crowd’s rising cheers. The two rivals flashed passed her in a blur, their footfalls only slowing once they’d crossed the line.

  Mairi leaned forward to see the runners come to a stop and bend over double as they caught their breath. ‘So close,’ was the common comment she heard from the bustling throng. The finish had been close and she pitied her father for having to name the winner of such an even contest.

  Once the remaining participants had crossed the marker, her father stepped forward and beckoned for the two men who’d finished the race first to approach. Both bore shoulder-length brown hair, matted and clinging to their reddened faces. Their breathing had eased, but had yet to return to normal.

  ‘Well done, Geordie and Lyell,’ her father said and Mairi wasn’t surprised he knew both the young men’s names. The crowd quietened and drew closer to hear their laird announce who had won the race. ‘If I ever have a need to call on a runner, I would be proud to call on either of these young men.’ The milling crowd murmured their agreement. ‘But as there can only be one winner for
this contest, it gives me great pride to pronounce Lyell as this day’s footrace champion.’

  A thrilling cheer went up and Mairi watched as Geordie stepped forward to congratulate his rival with a smile, a back slap and a brief masculine hug. Her father was next, and then both runners were swamped by the jovial crowd, including her three suitors.

  Mairi stepped back and drew a deep, revitalising breath, only to have it snatched part way by the tingling awareness that swept up her back. She knew the cause, desperately wanted to turn and lay eyes on her personal guard. Her gaze found her hand clenched into the fabric of her skirt, before brushing the bench seat she’d recently occupied. Then settled on the toe of one boot belonging to the reason her heart had begun to gallop in her chest as if she’d run the recent footrace.

  ‘Ah, such deserving young men,’ her father said, drawing her attention. ‘That I could run at half the speed they ran today.’ He slowly shook his head in awe.

  ‘I’m sure you ran just as fast when at the same age, Father.’ She took the arm he offered and linked them together, silently thanking him for saving her from herself.

  ‘Dear Mairi,’ he smiled and peered down at her. ‘The only time I ever ran at such a great speed was when I caught your bonny mother.’ His voice had softened as he spoke and several times his smile left and struggled to return.

  Guilt played havoc with Mairi’s feet and she lost her balance. Her father stopped and captured her other hand while she righted herself, and in the momentary stillness, Mairi whispered, ‘Please forgive me.’ Strong fingers briefly pressed into the flesh of each arm, but when she looked up into her father’s face, all she could see was the ever-present hint of sadness, but no look of the condemnation she’d expected.

  ‘Mairi, there is naught to forgive,’ he said softly.

  The first time she had begged his forgiveness was on the day she’d watched her mother cut down and then her brother. Her father had never openly blamed her for the events of that blackened day but she’d always blamed herself. Today was the only other time she’d asked for his forgiveness, and the first time he’d responded with words instead of a pain-filled smile.