“What be the matter?” she asked. When he did not respond, she set the comb aside, her smile replaced with a look of great concern. “Have I done somethin’ wrong?”
“Nay, lass,” he answered, his throat having turned mysteriously dry.
Tilting her head to one side, she continued to look at him, curious and worried all at once. A thought suddenly occurred to her; mayhap he thought she’d stolen the dress. “I didnae take it,” she began to explain quickly. “Bridgett gave it to me. The chemise and the woolens too. Ye can ask her yerself—”
He held up a hand. “I ken she did, lass. I ken ye’d nae take anythin’ that did nae belong to ye.”
Relieved, she let her shoulders relax and expelled a long breath. “I ne’er owned such a fine thing before. I tried to tell her I did nae need anythin’ so pretty, but she’d nae listen.”
“I’m glad she did nae,” he told her in a soft, warm voice. “Ye look verra beautiful in it.”
She’d have been far less surprised had he told her she’d sprouted horns atop her head. “Don’t be daft,” she told him dismissively. As much as she would have liked to believe him, she knew ’twas dangerous to do so. Wanting to keep her mind from wandering to places it should not, she picked up her comb again.
“I be nae daft,” he told her as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Pretending to ignore him, she combed her hair and focused her attention on the brazier.
“I came to tell ye that I spoke with Helen and Margaret. I wish I could tell ye they’d nae be botherin’ ye again, but I fear ’twould be a lie,” he said as he took the chair next to her.
“Helen has nae e’er liked me,” she told him.
He raised a curious brow. “Ye’ve known her long then?”
“Aye, I ken her.”
Politely, he asked for further explanation.
“Me mum passed when I was five, ye ken. Grueber, he was nae verra good at carin’ for a wee one. He was nae good at anythin’ but drinkin’ and takin’ that which did nae belong to him. I learned early on to care fer meself, fer no one else was goin’ to. When I was nine, we came to the village. There was a group of children playin’ hide and find but they wouldna let me play. ’Twas all right, fer they ne’er let me play and I was used to it. Still, I watched from a distance, wishin’ fer all the world they’d let me in, but as usual, they did nae. Later, one of the mum’s came and gave them all sweet cakes. All but me. I was terrible hungry, I was. Ye could hear me stomach a growlin’ clear to Loch Moy, I imagine. The children, they kent I was hungry, but they’d nae share those sweet cakes. One of the boys, Thomas be his name, he said, ‘I ken yer hungry Onnleigh. Ye can have some leeks from that garden o’er there. They will nae mind.’”
Connor watched her closely as she told the story. His heart broke at the telling.
Onnleigh laid the comb on her lap and took a deep breath. “Even at nine summers, I kent well what me da was. But me hunger was powerful strong that day. I truly believed Thomas was bein’ kind, ye ken. Now, mind ye, I dunnae like leeks. But when yer hungry, ye’ll eat just about anythin’. So I tiptoed into that wee garden and I took three leeks. I did nae even get a chance to eat them, fer once Helen saw me there, she came flyin’ out o’ her cottage like her hair was on fire. She was a yellin’ and callin’ me thief. I tried to explain, but she would nae listen, so angry she was. Beat me backside raw all the way from her cottage to the gate. That be how I got this scar.” She leaned forward and pointed to a tiny scar that ran from her lip to her nostril.
“I tripped, ye see, and fell face first onto a verra sharp rock. I learned that day ne’er to take anythin’ from any one, and the only person I could rely on in this world was meself.” She sat back and began rubbing her fingers across her comb. “I’ve stayed away from the keep and the people e’er since. That was more ’n ten years ago.”
His contempt toward Helen turned to sheer, unadulterated hatred. How one being could treat another, especially someone so young, with such malice, such an unkind heart, was baffling.
“So ye see, Helen does nae like me much, and in truth, I do nae care much fer her,” she admitted. “But I be no thief. I be no whore or wretched creature like they think me.”
“I ken ye be none of those things,” he told her. “I be sorry ye had to endure such sufferin’.”
She looked up at him with a wan smile. “Please, do nae start pityin’ me now.”
“’Tis nae pity, Onnleigh. This I promise ye. Had I kent what you had gone through—”
“What would ye have done? Stopped them? Ye were but a lad, and if memory serves me correctly, ye were nae even here at the time. Ye were off fosterin’.”
“I would have told me da. He could have stopped them,” he told her with so much conviction that Onnleigh almost believed him.
Done with bringing up old, painful memories, she took in a deep breath. “Enough of talkin’ about what cannae be undone.”
“I want to know ye better, Onnleigh. I want to know everythin’ about ye.” The words were out and there was naught he could do to pull them back. He realized then that, in truth, he didn’t wish to unsay them.
“Me?” she asked with a good measure of disbelief. “Yer daft.”
“Nae, I be nae daft, no matter how often ye call me so. I do wish to ken ye better.”
She laughed derisively. “The last time a man told me that I ended up—” She stopped herself short before she said anything she could not undo.
Connor had a feeling he knew what she was going to say, but left it alone. She would tell him, someday, when she was ready. “Onnleigh, I think ye be a fine young woman.”
She eyed him suspiciously for a moment. Dare she believe him?
“’Tis true lass. I’d never tell ye false.”
When she looked into those bright eyes of his, she saw no deceit, no ulterior motives. That inner voice, the one she hadn’t listened to a year ago when she should have, was eerily quiet. Too fearful to believe just yet that silence was acquiescence, she remained still.
He smiled warmly and took her hands in his. “I ken ye’ve nae had an easy way of things. I ken ye nae be used to anyone bein’ kind or generous. But I need ye to believe in me, to ken what be in me heart.”
Her bright blue eyes were brimming with tears she was trying gallantly to keep at bay.
“When I look at ye, I do nae see a young woman raised poor. I see a verra strong woman with a light inside her so bright ’tis nearly blindin’. I see a beautiful, kind young woman who, if given a chance, could rise above all she has endured and become a fine, fine woman.”
She looked away, not wanting him to see her fear, her doubts, all her worries.
“Onnleigh, I do nae ken how it has happened, these feelin’s I have fer ye. When I first laid eyes upon ye, somethin’ happened to me heart. ’Twas as if ye were someone I’d been waitin’ fer me entire life.” He took in a deep breath, reached out and took her hands in his.
“Onnleigh, I wish to marry ye.”
* * *
He wasn’t telling her these things in order to convince her to lift her skirts. There was too much sincerity in his voice, too much adoration in his eyes. Still, doubts lingered. Not that tiny voice of warning, but one born of self-doubt, years of feeling unworthy of anyone’s affection or kindness. How could anyone, especially the chief of her clan, possess such feelings toward the likes of her?
“Ye cannae say such things, Connor,” she told him, fighting back the urge to run fast and far and never look back.
“Why? Why can I nae say what be in me heart?”
Swallowing hard, she replied, “Ye need a better woman than me. Ye need someone who kens how to read, write, and cipher. Ye need a woman who kens how to run a keep. I cannae do any of those things. I’d only bring ye shame.”
He scowled at her. “Never say that,” he said firmly. “Ye could never bring me shame. I’d be very proud to call ye wife.”
One errant tear escaped and trailed do
wn her cheek. “Ye say that now, but what of yer clan? Are ye prepared fer them to hate ye fer tossin’ o’er one of yer own fer me?”
He took in a deep, cleansing breath. “Onnleigh, I be nae tossin’ anyone aside. There be no one else I want but ye. And the clan? They be yer clan as well as mine.”
Shaking her head, she had to disagree. “Ye ken what Helen and Margaret think of me. Do ye really believe they be the only two who think that?”
“I dunnae care what anyone thinks. I ken that once they see ye as I see ye, they’ll soon be changin’ their minds. Besides, we already have allies in me brothers, in Bridgett, and even in Louisa. She’s quite fond of ye, ye ken, and that, dear Onnleigh, is nae an easy thing to accomplish.”
With the pads of his thumbs, he brushed tears from her cheeks. “Please, Onnleigh, say ye’ll marry me.”
“I dunnae understand,” she told him through the free-flowing tears.
“Dunnae understand what?” he asked, wiping away more of those tears.
“How could ye have feelin’s fer me?” They had only known each other a short time, in truth, they barely knew each other.
“I dunnae understand it meself; all I ken is what is in me heart. And me heart says ’tis hopeless to deny the feelin’s. I want ye to be me wife.”
She thought back to the day she’d made her wish at the old well. She had not wished for anything for herself that day, only for her babe. A warm, safe home, with parents who would cherish her, provide for her.
Now, less than a week later, she was sitting beside Connor MacCallen, the chief of their clan, and he was asking for her hand. Hers. The thief’s daughter.
“Are ye sure ’tis nae pity that makes ye want me?”
He looked aghast with that idea. “Nae, I feel no pity for ye, lass, only admiration.”
One look in his eyes was all she needed. He was not telling her these things just to get under her skirt. These weren’t empty, false words, but words from his heart. Until that moment, she hadn’t allowed herself to think him anything more than her chief. A handsome and kind man, to be certain. But a husband?
Again, her thoughts turned back to the wish. Was it possible that whoever ’twas who made wishes come true had looked deep into her heart and seen the truth? Aye, she wanted a family for Nola, but she also wanted more that she daren’t voice or a give moment’s thought to; she wanted a husband. Someone who would be kind to her, a man she could be proud of, someone who would protect her. Connor would be and do all those things, and more. In her heart of hearts, she knew he’d cherish her as well.
Onnleigh pushed aside all the doubts, the worries, the fear, and let her heart fly freely for the first time in an age.
“Aye, Connor MacCallen. I shall marry ye.”
* * *
He could not have been more happy were he just made King of Scotia. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he picked her up and twirled her about the room. “Ye’ve made me a verra happy man, Onnleigh! A verra happy man!”
’Twas a dream come true for Onnleigh ingen Grueber as well.
“I’ll have the banns posted on the morrow, if that be alright with ye? We can marry in six weeks?” he said, his voice full of hope, his smile so big and bright there was no need for candles.
“Aye, ye can post them. And aye, I’ll marry ye in six weeks,” she said, allowing her heart to fill with more joy and happiness than she’d ever felt.
In six weeks they would marry, become a family. With Connor already claiming Nola as his own, Onnleigh would be allowed to call herself mother, and none would be the wiser nor question it.
In six weeks, they would begin a life together, as husband and wife.
From her cradle, Nola gurgled, bringing Onnleigh back to reality.
Nola. How do I tell him about Nola?
She did not want to begin a marriage with such a secret looming over her head. Besides, come the wedding night, he would most assuredly discover her missing maidenhead. A part of her wanted to wait before telling him, for fear he’d change his mind. But the honest part of her knew that to keep such a secret would be the same as lying. She could only pray that he would neither change his mind nor become so enraged he’d ask her to leave.
“Connor, I need to tell ye somethin’, somethin’ verra important,” she said as she broke their embrace and stepped away.
Cocking his head slightly, he looked at her with curiosity. “What is it?”
It took a few deep breaths and twisting of her fingers to muster the courage to spit it all out. She told him everything, from the first day Darwud had appeared on her doorstep, to the last day she had seen him. Out of fear and humiliation, she left out a few significant pieces of information—such as Darwud’s identity and that he had slapped her.
To his credit, Connor listened thoughtfully as she paced the floor, purging the secret, or as much of it as she could. Her voice trembled at times, with anger, and grew soft when she felt the surge of humiliation washing over her again. “I be nae a whore,” she told him. “‘But ’twas the first time in an age anyone had shown me a kindness or given me a sweet word.”
When she was finished, she turned to face him, looking directly into his eyes, certain she would find anger or resentment in them. Instead, she found only acceptance.
“Who is he?” he asked, his calm voice belying his anger.
Twisting her fingers together, she asked, “Is nae tellin’ ye the same as lyin’?”
He let loose a deep, frustrated breath. “Why do ye nae want me to know?”
“I worry that if he finds out, he’ll try to take her from me,” she answered in a low, worried voice. “I tried once to give her away, but could nae do it. I love her too much, Connor. I ken now that I cannae live without her.”
He came to her then and wrapped his arms around her protectively. “He will never take our daughter from us. I do nae care who sired her, she still be mine. Ours.” He kissed the top of her head as she melted into him.
“Ye still want me?” she asked in disbelief.
Gently, he pushed her away to look into her eyes. “Of course I still want ye as me wife. What happened in the past does nae change that.”
Relief washed over her, melting her heart as she looked into those bright eyes of his. A long, silent moment stretched on, as unspoken promises passed between them.
With tender fingers, he lifted her chin, bent low and pressed his lips to hers. A warm, tickling sensation sprouted deep in her stomach, something she could not remember feeling when Darwud had kissed her. Nay, this was not the same, desperate sensation; ’twas warm, sweet, wondrous. There was a sense of safety in his touch, a promise that he’d never hurt her and would lay down his own life to protect her.
She melted into him, slowly returning the kiss with the same passion and promises.
After long moments, he pulled away reluctantly, only so his passion would not overwhelm him. He’d not take her to his bed until they were good and properly wed. But that did not mean he’d not think about that moment, or be tempted, especially when he saw her blue eyes filled with desire and passion of her own.
She cleared her throat once, then again. “Can we post banns for three weeks instead of six?”
Throwing his head back, he laughed heartily. “Aye lass, we can if ye wish.”
“I do,” she said as she pressed her head against his chest.
In three weeks they would be married. And never again would anyone look upon her with pity or shame or mistrust. Nay, she’d never again be called the thief’s daughter. Instead, she would be Onnleigh, wife of Connor, the chief of Clan MacCallen.
If you enjoyed this novella
read books in the related series…
The Clan MacDougall Series
Laiden’s Daughter
Findley’s Lass
Wee William’s Woman
McKenna’s Honor
The Clan Graham Series
Rowan’s Lady
Frederick’s Queen
The Cl
an McDunnah Series
A Murmor of Providence
A Whisper of Fate
A Breath of Promise
Moirra’s Heart Series
Stealing Moirra’s Heart
Saving Moirra’s Heart
The Mackintoshes and McLarens
Ian’s Rose
The Bowie Bride (2016)
Brogan’s Promise (2017)
Isle of the Blessed
The Brides of the Clan MacDougall
(A Sweet Series)
Aishlinn
Maggy (arriving 2017)
Nora (arriving 2017)
Coming Soon
The Thief’s Daughter
About Suzan
USA Today Bestselling Author, storyteller and cheeky wench, SUZAN TISDALE lives in the Midwest with her verra handsome carpenter husband. Her children have all left the nest. Her pets consist of dust bunnies and a dozen poodle-sized, backyard-dwelling groundhogs – all of which run as free and unrestrained as the voices in her head.
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For more information:
@SuzanTisdale
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www.suzantisdale.com
Nollaig chridheil agus bliadhna mhath ùr!
(Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!)
From all of us, to all of you!
Highlanders for the Holidays: 4 Hot Scots Page 36