Highland Charm: First Fantasies

by April Holthaus

  He bid her enter.

  She hesitated, gathering her courage, trying to smooth her expression. Then she walked into the chamber, stopping inside the door. “Patrick.”

  “What is it, Beth?” He glanced up from where he sat at his worktable.

  She walked across the room to stand next to him. Their eyes met, and he seemed to sense her apprehension.

  He glanced at the box in her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Why so mysterious, lass?”

  She held the carved box out to him.

  “What is this?” He took both the chest and the key from her, placed them on the table, and waited for an explanation.

  Patrick stared at the box with a sense of foreboding.

  “I found this buried in mother’s herb garden. Munn showed it to me.” She twisted her fingers in the fabric of her skirt.

  Placing the small key into the lock, he twisted it. The lock easily fell open. He raised the lid. Documents. Jewels. Coins.

  “What is this? Where did it come from?” He thumbed through the papers then raised his gaze to his sister, desperate for her to deny his fear.

  She sighed. “Da’s papers. Your betrothal agreement is among them.”

  He shuffled through the pages, searching for that all-important one. Finding the document bearing his father’s signature and seal, he narrowed his eyes. He wanted to deny what he saw. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. His father wouldn’t have signed an agreement without first discussing the consequences with him.

  Patrick swallowed hard. He’d been away for a long time, only returning after his parents’ disappearance. Still, his father wouldn’t have been this calculating or this manipulative or this devious.

  Patrick continued to stare at the parchment in disbelief. His chest burned. “Please leave me. I need to consider this,” he said in a voice rough with emotion.

  Elspeth gave him a tremulous smile and left him alone.

  He paced the floor, unable to believe the unwelcome turn of events. He returned to the worktable and picked up the condemning paper. Holding the document in unsteady hands, he glared at the offensive sheet.

  “Patrick!”

  He startled and shot an angry glower at his uncle. How dare the man intrude on his privacy, barging into the chamber without knocking?

  Donald glanced from Patrick’s face to the parchment in his hand. “What have you there?” He grabbed the document. “You have found the agreement. Now you ken your duty. You will wed Isobell Lamont. Give up this notion of yours to wed the outlander.” His voice rose, charged with excitement.

  Commotion outside the door caused Patrick to pivot and stare. Lamont pushed past a startled Duncan, Maclay with him, and burst into the chamber. Lamont gloated, his lips curved in a victorious grin. “You have found the agreement, have you?”

  Patrick smoothed his features and impassively gazed at the man. “Aye. The agreement, if ’tis real, has been found.”

  “He kens his duty.” Donald handed the document to Lamont. “Sit. ’Tis time to discuss the final terms of this betrothal.” He smiled broadly.

  Duncan and Stephen stood outside the door, mouths agape, knives in hand, ready for a fight. Patrick inclined his head, and Duncan closed his mouth and the door. He would remain outside with the somber Stephen to stand guard while awaiting Patrick’s next command. At least he knew he could trust his men.

  Patrick didn’t dare show a hint of weakness. He forced his expression to remain blank though he seethed on the inside, and turned to his guests. “Please sit and find comfort.”

  The three other men sat.

  “Sit, lad,” Donald said, his voice laced with triumph.

  “I prefer to stand.” Patrick loomed over his uncle, hoping to make the man uncomfortable.

  Donald remained unfazed and addressed the financial details. Patrick grunted at the appropriate times but refused to actively participate.

  Trapped. His mind whirled. There must be a way out of this mess. He should refuse to uphold the agreement.

  Nae. He couldn’t dishonor his father’s wishes. If in fact, it was his father’s signature on the document. How could it be? Ach! He couldn’t risk war. He didn’t want any more of the clan’s deaths on his conscience.

  Deep in thought, he barely caught the insanity Lamont spewed.

  “Repeat that,” Patrick demanded.

  “Malcolm has graciously offered to take the outlander whore off your hands and forget the affronts you’ve inflicted upon him. He is even willing to marry the wench.”

  “Over my dead body!”

  “That can be arranged.” Malcolm lunged from his seat.

  Lamont grabbed Malcolm, and Donald caught Patrick in a bear hug from behind. Lamont cleared his throat. “We’ll leave you to consider our proposal.”

  “Release me.” Patrick struggled against his uncle’s hold.

  “Take control of yourself, lad,” Donald whispered near his ear before easing his grip.

  Patrick shrugged from his hold and opened the door. Duncan and Stephen jerked to attention from where they leaned against the wall. “Are you in need?”

  “See to the comfort of our guests.” Patrick kept his voice even, but anger clawed at his insides.

  “Aye, chief.” Duncan shared a sharp look with Stephen. His men knew what to do. They’d escort Lamont and his henchman to a bedchamber on the upper floor and keep a keen eye on both men for the remainder of their stay at Castle Lachlan.

  Lamont pushed Maclay past Patrick and into the passageway.

  Patrick turned his scowl on his uncle as soon as the other two men were gone. “You could not leave it alone, could you, old man? You had to forge this agreement.”

  Not offended in the least, his uncle shrugged. He brushed a piece of lint from his plaide.

  “You cannae prove ’tis not real.” Donald stepped toward the door and paused, his face split by a smile of victory. “You can believe what you wish, but you cannae prove the document false.”

  Patrick slumped into the nearest chair as soon as his uncle left. Being forced into the marriage with Isobell made him impotent. He rubbed an ache near his heart. They’d successfully maneuvered him into an impossible position. He had no choice but to acquiesce to Lamont’s demands.

  However, he refused, in no uncertain terms, to the proposed betrothal between Laurie and Malcolm Maclay. That bastard sat through the entire negotiations, watching Patrick with a smug expression on his repulsive, scarred face. The man’s audacity made Patrick’s temper boil.

  Saint Columba help him, he wouldn’t allow Laurie to wed Maclay. He’d never agree to such a match for the woman he wanted for his own. The thought of her with another man was more than he could bear.

  And the thought of her with Maclay sickened him.

  He’d go to her. Explain things. Persuade her to stay and be his mistress. She’d have to understand. He’d make her understand it was the only way for him to protect her.

  With the agreement in hand, he left the study. His pace was slow as he climbed the stairs to his bedchamber. He dreaded telling Laurie he was to break his pledge. His honor was offended, as was his heart.

  When he arrived, he found the door ajar.

  * * *

  Duncan stood guard outside Elspeth’s solar, a short way from the suite of rooms Lamont and Maclay shared. Stephen was in position in an alcove near the stairs.

  As Duncan expected, it wasn’t long before the suite door opened and Maclay stepped out into the passageway. He glanced in both directions. Seeing Duncan, he grinned. Then he turned the other way and headed for the stairs.

  Duncan fell in behind him. “Maclay. Where are you off to?”

  Maclay stopped and glanced over his shoulder. Taking in Duncan’s threatening pose, he stiffened and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. “My chief wishes to send a messenger to fetch the Lady Isobell and her guard. I go to see to it.” He tilted his head toward the door he’d come from. “Or are we prisoners in that chamber?”

&n
bsp; “Nae. You enjoy the hospitality of the MacLachlan Chief.” Duncan didn’t try to hide his contempt.

  “Then I will continue on my way. I am sure MacLachlan would want his future bride secured within his keep.” He laughed and walked along the corridor. He stopped short when Stephen stepped from the alcove in front of him.

  “MacEwen.” Maclay inclined his head in acknowledgement.

  “Maclay,” Stephen returned.

  They faced off. Stephen raised a brow, smiled crookedly, and stepped back, allowing Maclay to pass.

  The cur briskly brushed by and hurried down the stairs. Duncan followed and gave Stephen a nod as he passed. He and Stephen agreed earlier that Stephen would keep watch on Lamont and Duncan would track Maclay should the need arise.

  The great hall was crowded and noisy with the addition of the Lamont lads. Maclay made his way through the crush of warriors to a table where some of his men drank ale.

  Duncan sidestepped a serving maid.

  Donald MacLachlan, along with some of his drunken lads, waylaid him. “Where you off to, lad?”

  Duncan tried to brush past.

  “Here, here, dinnae run off,” Donald said. “Have a tankard of ale with us. We celebrate my nephew’s upcoming nuptials.”

  One of the warriors handed Duncan a tankard and shoved him into the center of the group. Declining would be interpreted as an act of disrespect to his chief.

  He drank several toasts while trying to keep track of Maclay.

  By the time Duncan pulled free of the merrymakers, Maclay slipped out of view. Duncan searched the hall. Maclay was gone.

  * * *

  Sunlight from the un-shuttered window touched Laurie yet didn’t warm her. She’d fled to Patrick’s bedchamber earlier, after Lamont and his men gained entrance to the castle. Patrick thought it best, fearing for her safety. They never learned who attacked her in Glasgow.

  Lamont’s men were suspect.

  She shivered and glanced up from her needlework. Patrick stood in the open doorway, his expression grim. Her insides twisted. Something must be wrong.

  He moved swiftly across the room to kneel at her feet. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he laid his head on her lap.

  “What is it? Whatever is the matter?” She stroked his thick hair, loving the silky feel of the chestnut strands as they slipped through her fingers.

  He raised his head to gaze at her through darkened eyes, a forlorn expression on his features. “I have come from a council with Iain Lamont and my Uncle Donald. A betrothal agreement between my father and Lamont has been found. I dinnae believe ’tis my da’s signature, yet his seal is on the document.”

  She tensed. “What are you saying?’

  “They are forcing me to wed Isobell and break my promise to you.”

  Laurie swallowed uneasily, a multitude of unpleasant emotions rushing through her.

  Patrick stood and paced across the chamber then faced her. “I ken my duty, but I cannae give you up. I came here to tell you and beg you stay as my mistress, but I cannae bear burdening you as such. I cannae marry Isobell.”

  “I…” She didn’t know what to say.

  “Pack some things. We leave. We shall sneak away and wed. Then ’twill be too late for them to stop us.”

  Laurie bit her lip. An awkward silence made time seem to stand still. Finally, she shook her head. “I won’t be the cause of a war or permit you to dishonor yourself. I can’t allow you to marry me and risk the welfare of your clan. You must agree to the terms of the betrothal agreement with Iain Lamont. You’ll have to marry his daughter, Isobell. Not me.” Her voice cracked. Tears burned the back of her eyes, but she refused to shed them.

  Patrick came to kneel before her again. He gazed at her with the saddest expression she’d ever seen. She hated the anguish in his gorgeous blue eyes. It matched the ache in her heart.

  “It’s for the best,” she lied. “I don’t belong here. I’ll return to the future.”

  “Nae, you must not.”

  She needed to convince him.

  She loved him. She must protect him.

  “I believe I’ve guessed the secret to the time travel gateway. I think it has something to do with the phases of the moon. On the night I traveled here, a full moon glowed overhead. I believe if I’m on the faerie knoll on the full moon, I’ll go forward in time.”

  “I will not allow you to take such a risk.” Patrick gave her upper arms a quick squeeze.

  “There’s to be a full moon tomorrow night. I must go to the Fir-wood and try to return to my own time.” She wiped a single teardrop from her cheek with the back of her hand. “And you must wed Isobell.”

  “I cannae let you go.” Moisture glistened in his eyes and his voice strained. “I beg you to stay with me and be my mistress. I vow to be good to you, to ensure you want for naught.” His lips curved as he tried to smile with little success. “You once offered to be my mistress.”

  “I was wrong when I made the offer. I could never be any man’s mistress, especially not yours.”

  Patrick’s eyes widened, as if she’d slapped him.

  “Please understand. It would kill me to watch you with Isobell, knowing she was the mother of your children. That I was nothing more than your whore. Besides, it’s a sin.”

  She gently placed her hand on his cheek. He didn’t pull away. He just stared at her. As if he tried to see into the core of her being.

  Laurie inhaled his masculine pine scent. She closed her eyes, making a memory. The way he felt in her arms and the taste of his kiss. The midnight blue of his eyes and his smile and the alluring cleft in his chin. She opened her eyes again and gazed into the depths of his. If she continued along this path, she’d be lost.

  She glanced away and mentally shook herself. “Don’t misunderstand. I shall always love you. But I need to go home to my own time and place, to the world that I understand. Where I’m safe.”

  “Nae. Please, dinnae leave me. I’ll be the man you want me to be.”

  She placed a finger against his lips to silence him. “Then marry Isobell.”

  Patrick pulled away. He ran his fingers through his thick hair, getting them caught in snarls. Ripping them free, he said, “My mind understands your logic, but not my heart. Is there nary a way I can persuade you to stay by my side?”

  Laurie shook her head again. “I must go. Please, have Duncan take me to the Fir-wood tomorrow evening.”

  Patrick stood and once again strode across the chamber, stopping at the window to stare out. “I cannae allow it,” he said, his voice firm. “’Tis too dangerous. Faerie magic can be perilous. You dinnae ken where you would find yourself. There would be nary a soul to protect you.”

  He hesitated for a moment, as if he reined in his emotions. When he faced her again, his features hardened.

  What would be the best argument? Getting to the Fir-wood would be a hell of a lot easier with Patrick’s help.

  “There is another solution, little I like it. I will find you a husband and see that you are well cared for. Someone I can trust to be good to you.”

  Laurie felt like she’d been gut punched. He wanted to find her a husband? Her shock morphed into red-hot anger. “How dare you?”

  “I dare much, as you ken.” Patrick strode from the room, his hands in tight fists.

  “Get back here,” Laurie called after him. “Don’t you dare walk out on me.”

  No way in hell was she wedding someone chosen by Patrick MacLachlan. She threw her needlework across the room. Damn the man.

  If she couldn’t have Patrick then she was going home.

  Laurie jumped from her chair and ran into the passageway after him, but he was gone. She stormed through the corridor toward the east wing, talking to herself. “How dare he, the arrogant jerk.”

  Someone roughly grabbed her from behind and slapped a filthy hand over her mouth. Not again. Her spine tingled with fear.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Patrick made his way to his p
rivate chamber, feeling as if he carried a heavy rock within his chest. He found it difficult to breath. How would he give Laurie to another man?

  Jamie waited by the door with a lad whose garments still carried the dust of travel. “This is Peter. The Glasgow goldsmith sent him.”

  “Have you my wee jewels?” Patrick asked, no longer caring.

  “Aye.” The lad patted the large purse he wore at his waist and followed Patrick into the chamber while Jamie remained outside the door to stand guard.

  Patrick sat at his worktable. Peter placed two small leather pouches on the table before him. Picking up the first pouch, Patrick tugged on the strings and dropped the cloth-covered contents onto the surface. He unraveled the soft linen with hands that trembled much more than he’d have liked. He inhaled sharply and hardened his heart for what was to come.

  Patrick smoothed the cloth on the table. The beautiful sapphire ring sat in the center, glistening in the flickering candlelight. He held his breath.

  The betrothal token would have been lovely on Laurie’s dainty finger.

  With a sigh, he reached for the second pouch, opened it slowly, and removed its cloth-wrapped contents. He placed the small package on the table and pushed aside the cloth. Picking up the delicate piece of jewelry, he reverently held it in the palm of his large work-hardened hand. A pain like none he’d ever experienced tightened his chest as his heart splintered into tiny pieces.

  “Thank your master for sending these. They are exquisite,” he said, the words thick in his throat. He rewrapped the piece in its cloth and placed it in the pouch. Then he reached for the purse at his belt, removed a sum of coins and handed them to the messenger.

  “Jamie,” Patrick yelled. “Take the lad to the kitchen for a meal before you send him on his way.” Dismissing the two men from his thoughts, he fingered the ring. Patrick dreaded the day he’d place Laurie’s ring on the finger of cold Isobell.

  “How could Elspeth have been wrong?” he demanded of the silence.