The Highlander's Bride

by Amanda Forester

  Her figure was sublime, a perfect, trim waist, rounded hips, and a beautiful heart-shaped bottom. She moved, and her full breasts swayed gently beneath the thin fabric. He had never before wished to be a garment, but, oh, if only he could be that chemise and cling to her beautiful body, he would know heaven itself.

  He knew he could not have her, yet the vows he said ran through his mind. He had meant every word. She was not meant for him, but he did not care. She was his—somehow, she would be his.

  He shook his head, banishing such disloyal thoughts, ashamed of the direction they had taken. He had promised to see her safely to the Baron of Kintail. He had to remain aloof. Besides, the lady could not even care for an infant without assistance. It was not the kindest musing, but he had to think of something to counter how her physical appearance stirred him.

  He suddenly became aware that something had changed, something had stopped, and he realized it was the baby, who was now happily cooing in the bassinet. Somehow Lady Marie Colette had managed to take care of the infant by herself. Remarkable.

  She walked to the door and her eyebrows flew up. He’d been spotted! He backed away, only to bump his head on a beam. The door opened and he leaned his shoulder on the wall, as if he was completely in control of himself and had not just smacked his own head.

  “You! What are you doing here?” she demanded, grabbing a silk robe and hastily wrapping it around herself.

  “Heard the cries, came to see if there was anything I could do,” he said in a casual manner, hoping she did not realize he had been lusting after her perfect form.

  “But do you help me? No! You watch me and offer nothing.” Colette’s perfectly formed eyebrows pressed together in an adorable frown. Even irritated, she was beautiful.

  “Och, but ye looked to have the situation well under control. Though I’ve never seen swaddling such as this before.” Gavin pushed past her into the room, desperately trying to change the topic. He inspected the baby, who was happily kicking her feet and waving her arms.

  “She could not move and she did not care for it,” defended Colette.

  Gavin shrugged. “Most babies spend the first year o’ their lives tightly bound. Helps their arms and legs to grow straight and keeps them from causing a mess.” At least that is what he had been taught.

  “But babies like to move about.” Colette had a few minutes of practice and was now an expert.

  “She does look happy,” conceded Gavin. The baby gave him a wide smile and something melted inside him.

  Colette smiled briefly at the compliment followed by another little frown. “Did you find the child’s name when you searched for her family?”

  Gavin slowly shook his head, remembering the sad scene at the church. “There were several families who took refuge in the church. None but this babe emerged alive. She was no doubt the bairn of one of the families, but no relations could be found.”

  “But she must have a name. We cannot continue to call her ‘baby.’”

  Gavin tilted his head slightly to one side. This was a new side of Colette. She was taking an interest in the tot beyond trying to be rid of her. “Aye, ye’re right. She should have a name.”

  “What shall we name her?”

  Gavin shook his head. “I ne’er named anyone or anything, except my horse.”

  “What did you name your horse?”

  “Horse.”

  Colette raised an eyebrow at Gavin. “I shall name the child.”

  Gavin nodded in full agreement.

  Colette paused and looked up at the ceiling, the warm light of the lantern forming a warm glow of a halo around her head. “I shall name her Marie Frances. For the saints, they must have been looking after her for her to have survived.”

  “Marie Frances.” Gavin leaned over the child and held out a finger. Marie Frances grabbed on to his finger and held it tight with a smile. “Ah, look, she knows her name.”

  “She is a pretty thing,” said Colette, apparently overlooking the ugly red scar marring her cheek. “She looks like a Marie Frances.” Colette gazed down at the baby’s face with an unguarded warmth that Gavin had never before seen. He would give much to have her look at him in the same manner.

  “She does at that,” he said, unable to disagree with anything she said. “Who would have thought ye would be such a good mother?”

  “I am certainly not anyone’s mother!” she protested.

  “Good night, m’lady.” Gavin turned and strolled from the room before his urge to take her into his arms and kiss her senseless could overpower him.

  He walked out of the cabin and down the short passage, this time managing not to bang his head, and out onto the deck under a clear night full of twinkling stars. He rubbed his jaw, wondering how he was going to manage to live with this beautiful woman without revealing how deeply she touched him.

  He curled back up with the ropes in the tar, trying to focus on manly things such as…such as… Och, he couldn’t think of any manly things. The only thing he could think of was the curve of her body. And her hair—her luxurious amber hair.

  It was a long voyage. And he was in trouble deep.

  Twenty-four

  Colette was having the strangest dream. Gavin was running toward her through a field of buttercups, his kilt flapping in the wind and somehow getting shorter and shorter with each approaching stride. Heedless of propriety, she ran to him, opening her arms wide. They met with a glorious crash, him wrapping his arms around her waist and twirling her around and around.

  He set her down softly on the grass, his head bending down toward hers, his eyes simmering with anticipation. His lips hovered over hers for a moment, then lowered to her face, attaching themselves to her right cheek along the jawline, a wet, gooey, slobbery kiss.

  Colette woke with a start, to find that she had fallen asleep on the bed with the baby in her arms, who was now using her jaw as some sort of teething ring.

  “Oh, Marie Frances! What a naughty thing you are. Yes, you are. Yes, you are the cutest little beastie I have ever seen.” She tickled the baby’s tummy and was rewarded with a squeal of delight from the infant. She could not help but laugh herself. She tickled the baby again and was rewarded by another squeal of laughter. She had no idea how amusing babies could be. Why did people wish to avoid them until the babies were older?

  Tickle. Laugh. Giggle.

  Frances giggled again, then gave a hiccup, which caused her whole body to spasm and her eyes to fly open wide with surprise.

  “It is the hiccups,” said Colette, laughing at the baby’s response.

  The baby hiccuped, screwing her tiny face into an adorable grimace only to hiccup again. Again she was startled, with eyes open wide, and then scrunched her face together as if she was an old man. Colette laughed so hard she wiped tears from her eyes.

  “Are ye well?” called Gavin from the other side of the door. Without waiting for her to answer, he opened the door.

  “I am fine,” said Colette, pulling the covers up. It was most indecent for him to see her in repose.

  “Och, good. I thought ye were upset. I see ye’ve made a friend.” Sir Gavin stood in the open doorway, his shoulder leaning on the door frame.

  Colette scowled at him, making a mental note to figure out how to lock the door. “Were you in need of something?” she asked with as much authority as she could muster from her indecent position on the bed. Her dark hair fell around her, over her shoulder, and she pushed it back impatiently.

  “Nay,” said Gavin with a despicable twinkle in his eye. “Ye’ve given me everything I could’ve asked for this morn.” The wretched man strolled from the cabin whistling a happy tune, no doubt pretending that he was coming from his marital bed a satisfied man.

  “That man is an utter beast,” she confided in the baby.

  Frances hiccuped in response.

 
* * *

  Colette expected, or more accurately hoped, that Pippa would emerge in the morning happy and well after a good night’s sleep. The morning came and went, however, without any sign of Pippa. Thus, Colette was forced to attempt a new task—that of dressing herself.

  It was not that she was a stranger to the process or that she did not possess the will to complete the task. It was simply that she did not possess the detachable arms required to lace up gowns in the back or secure elaborate headdresses. After much trial and error, she finally managed to dress in a simple linen gown with an emerald silk kirtle that laced in the front, masking whatever travesty had occurred trying to lace her gown behind her.

  Her hair was another matter, and it took considerable time to sweep it all under a modest wimple and then attach a headdress of green and gold. It was a rather large headdress, for she had nothing in her collection that was small, and it took many pins to secure it.

  It had been at her mother’s insistence that she kept her hair hidden. In a world where she was on public display and her beauty was much commented upon, her hair was the one feature Colette felt was her own. Her hair was the one part of herself she could keep for herself, for no man would see it. Except her husband of course.

  And Gavin.

  Colette pushed thoughts of Sir Gavin Patrick aside and went about her work, putting the finishing touches on her costume and feeding the baby. She then removed the kirtle, which the baby spit up on, and replaced it with a fresh one. This is why maids wore aprons. She decided that tomorrow she would feed the baby first, before dressing, if Pippa had not recovered.

  By midday, Pippa still had not reported for duty, and Colette decided it was time to check on the young woman. Bolstered with the success of caring for the infant, who was sleeping peacefully in the swaying cradle, Colette hoped she could similarly tend a seasick maid.

  One step within the cabin revealed the drawbacks of being a caretaker. Pippa had not spent an easy night, and it was clear there had been difficulties finding the bucket.

  “Pippa? Pippa, are you well?” Colette squinted into the dimly lit cabin, trying to ascertain if the maid had survived the night.

  A piteous groan was the only response. At least Pippa was alive, which was good, though she doubted her maid thought so at the moment. “You poor dear. I did not realize you would be quite so ill. I do not think sea travel agrees with you.”

  “Throw me overboard and let me die,” moaned Pippa.

  “I am so sorry to disappoint, but I will not drown you today,” said Colette briskly. She stuck her head out of the cabin to get a breath of fresh air. What should she do now?

  “Pippa, I am going to get Sir Gavin.” Colette did not know exactly what she expected Gavin to do or why she would seek him in such a situation, but it was to him that she turned. She strolled out of the cabin and onto the deck, her face to the wind and the sun.

  It was a beautiful day and the wind was brisk. The ship rose and fell with the rolling waves. She could sense why someone might not enjoy the up-and-down motion, but it did not bother her. In truth, she quite enjoyed the ride. It reminded her of when, as a very little girl, she had been placed on a swing by a courtier. She had been pushed high on the swing, making her shriek with laughter. It had been the most fun of her life, and it ended very quickly when her maids insisted she stop making a spectacle of herself.

  Colette staggered across the deck to find Gavin, the wind tugging at her headdress mercilessly. The large sail-like quality of the headdress made it tempting for the wind to think she should take flight. She fought against the wind, and the wind fought back, wanting to either throw her from the boat or rip the headdress from her hair. She was forced to hold on to it in a most unladylike fashion simply to get across the deck without having some sort of unfortunate incident.

  Gavin was standing in the bow of the ship looking before them, toward his homeland. The wind teased his dark hair and his face was turned toward the sun, his eyes half-closed and a small smile playing about his mouth. She paused to admire him. She could not help herself.

  Gavin turned at that moment, the amusement clear in his eyes. He put up a hand to hide a wide grin and closed his eyes for a moment as if trying to gain composure. He walked up to her, pressing his lips together to prevent himself from laughing out loud, but nothing could hide the twinkling in his eyes.

  “You are laughing at me,” Colette stated, trying to put her hands on her hips, but a strong gust required both hands to prevent the headdress from flying off her head.

  “Nay, I—” Gavin dissolved into laughter.

  Colette waited impatiently for his mirth to subside. “If you are quite finished enjoying your amusements, I wish to speak to you about a matter of great urgency.”

  Gavin sobered instantly. “What’s the matter? Is Marie Frances no’ well?”

  “Frances is sleeping, but Pippa is still quite ill.”

  Gavin frowned. “Is she still sick? I had hoped she’d feel better on the second day o’ the voyage.”

  “She remains ill and her cabin had taken quite the brunt of her illness.”

  Gavin swept her a bow. “I beg you would allow me to be of assistance.”

  Colette nodded her head indulgently, though the effect was ruined by having to hold on to her headgear. She was relieved at his offer and even more relieved to fight her way back to the cabin, where she could change into a more modest veil. She decided that at least for the sea voyage, she would take a more practical approach when it came to her head.

  Colette removed the headdress and replaced it with the plain white veil and wimple she usually wore to bed. It felt as though she was insufficiently attired, but in truth, her hair was still completely covered.

  She met Gavin at Pippa’s cabin. He came armed with a bucket of water and a mop.

  “Pippa?” Colette knocked on the door and opened it.

  Pippa moaned piteously.

  “Why dinna ye take her outside for some fresh air? Mayhap it will revive her,” suggested Gavin.

  Colette nodded in agreement and it took both of them to help Pippa to the deck railing, where she clung desperately, a sickly shade of green.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” asked Colette.

  Pippa shook her head but then looked up at her piteously. “Another story?”

  “But of course. Have you heard The Song of Roland?” Colette was delighted to recount some of the stories she had surreptitiously read. Leaving behind her father’s books had been a great loss, but if she could tell the tales, the stories would live on in her mind.

  Colette leaned on the railing and told her tale. Soon she was caught up in the story, telling it with great enthusiasm. When she was finished, Pippa looked a bit revived.

  “Ye tell a great tale, m’lady,” commented Gavin.

  Colette turned to see him leaning on the mast behind her, listening to her. In truth, Captain Dupont was there too, and a good portion of the crew all now turning to appear busy doing something.

  “My story, have you all been listening?” asked Colette.

  “How could we no’? Ye tell it so well,” praised Gavin.

  A wave of pure happiness flooded through Colette. Unlike her maids, who would have chastised her for reading books, he appreciated a good story. He appreciated her story. She cherished his compliment more than she should.

  Whether it was due to the fresh air or her rousing tale, by the afternoon, Pippa seemed to be perking up a bit. She had changed position and was sitting at the bow of the ship, the wind in her face. She even felt well enough to take some bread and water followed by a little wine.

  Colette should have been hoping that Pippa would feel well enough to take over the care of the baby. Strangely, however, she found that she did not mind taking care of the squalid little thing. In truth, Colette was enjoying all the little happy noises Marie Fr
ances made.

  Frances continued to delight in kicking her little legs. Despite Gavin’s concerns that her arms and legs might not develop correctly if left to flail about, Colette did not have the heart to tie her down once more. She let the tot explore her environment and was rewarded by seeing her roll over onto her tummy and push her head up with a wide, toothless grin.

  Colette even wrapped the little creature into a blanket, still letting her arms flail freely, and took her onto the deck for some sea air. Gavin noted her arrival on deck with a slow smile. A man next to him said something, but Gavin did not give any hint of hearing him and instead walked straight to Colette.

  “How is our wee Marie Frances today?” he asked with a smile.

  “Very well and happy,” answered Colette, returning the smile.

  “This is what I like to see. The happy couple together!” Captain Dupont strode up to them with a wide smile beneath his giant, sandy-colored moustache. “I am glad to see you well, m’lady, for now nothing will keep the two newlyweds apart tonight, eh?” He gave Gavin a knowing wink.

  Gavin’s eyes burned with intensity. “Aye, I am verra much looking forward to tonight.”

  Twenty-five

  Colette retreated to her cabin and paced the floorboards, her mind whirling. The captain of the ship expected them to sleep in the same cabin. As they were traveling as newlyweds, there was little justification to sleep apart. But clearly they could not spend the night together. It would be unthinkable!

  “What am I to do?” she asked Frances, who smacked her lips and cooed in response. Colette had found that by propping the baby up with rolls of folded clothing, forming pillows, the baby could sit on the bed without falling over.

  Colette sat next to Frances on the bed and leaned close to the babe to tickle her tummy, a mistake because the babe grabbed a hold of her wimple and tugged mercilessly.

  “Ow! Stop that at once!”

  The baby pulled harder until the wimple was partially pulled off her head.