How to Handle a Highlander

by Mary Wine

  Sandra’s ambition had been the end of her.

  For a moment, Moira was caught in the grip of lament, but it wasn’t truly sadness over Sandra’s death. It was more of a feeling of pity for the way Sandra had wasted her life. She had left nothing but scandal and hardship behind. Moira found herself happy to wear her worn dress, because at least she’d come by the tattered hem honestly. No one would speak ill of her when fate decided her days were over.

  There were more than a dozen hawks waiting for her attention in the mews. They flexed their wings and twisted their heads, using their sharp beaks to tend to their feathers. Each wore a hawk’s hood, but they could sense the sunlight. They heard her steps, and several cried out, eager to be chosen for the first hunt of the day. Moira stopped in front of a hawk and stroked its back. She removed its hood. She cooed softly to it as she cleaned around its perch. The raptor watched her with keen eyes, and she kept her motions slow to avoid startling it.

  “There ye are,” said a familiar voice.

  The raptor let out a shrill cry and flapped angrily. Bari’s head of house froze instantly, her eyes rounding.

  Moira cooed to the bird. The hawk kept its head turned, one eye on the housekeeper.

  “Ye have an amazing way with the birds,” Alba observed.

  Moira shot her a grin. No matter how much of a sin pride was, she was proud of her feathered babies. “I raised Athena from a hatchling after her mother died.”

  “Aye, ye did, and I recall more than one man saying it was best to just give her a quick end.” Alba twisted part of her skirt, her expression one of contemplation. At last she nodded. “I’ve come to fetch ye up to the keep. The laird is asking for ye.”

  There was the firm ring of duty in Alba’s voice, and her expression was guarded. She looked away when Moira tried to catch her eye.

  Moira’s belly twisted, which irritated her. Her half brother, Laird Bari Fraser, was not going to frighten her. He wielded the authority of the lairdship like a whip over every person wearing the Fraser colors, but she had decided long ago that she would not be afraid of him.

  Apprehensive, perhaps, she admitted.

  She made her hands stop shaking. The hawks’ perch was on the far side of the tower. Moira tried not to let her belly twist again because Alba was following her. There was only one reason the head of house would be walking behind her, and that was because Bari had ordered the woman to make sure Moira made an appearance.

  Whatever her brother wanted to say to her, it wasn’t going to be pleasing.

  Seabhac Tower was comprised of three keeps. There was only a small courtyard between them, so it took her little time to make it to the steps of the newest keep. The stone was dark and still cold from the night. The keep rose three full stories into the sky, but only the top story was being kissed by the morning light. The rest would be in the shadow of the mountains for another few hours.

  The air was chilly inside, and the scent of smoke tickled her nose. Bari was in the hall, sitting at the high table. The hall wasn’t really big enough for the raised platform, but her brother had insisted on it being built. The dais for only the laird’s table now took up a quarter of the hall’s floor space.

  Her father had never seen the need for such a display. Her half brother, on the other hand, sat smugly at his high table while she made her way down the center aisle. She stopped and lowered herself. A tingle traveled along her skin when she noticed there were more than a few retainers standing nearby. They watched her intently, as if they expected her to bolt.

  “Rise,” Bari instructed.

  Straightening up allowed her to see more. Moira’s throat felt like it was closing up, but she swallowed and looked her brother straight in the eye. Better to face him with courage.

  “Are you suffering yer woman’s curse?” he asked bluntly.

  Her cheeks heated, and she looked away out of surprise. To have any male ask such a question was intrusive. Only a husband had the right to know such a thing.

  Husband…Bari had been threatening to find her one for a while. She stiffened and looked back at her brother, her teeth grinding as her temper flared.

  “I am yer laird. Answer me.”

  She slowly shook her head.

  “Pack her things. We leave within the hour.”

  Bari stood up, and his men shifted. Alba had lowered herself in deference to the command from her laird. Moira turned one way and then the other, watching everyone moving as though they understood perfectly what was happening, while she was left in bewilderment.

  “Where am I going?”

  Bari had already reached the edge of the platform. He looked back at her, his lips twisted with displeasure.

  “Ye know yer place, Moira, and I promise ye that Laird Matheson will expect ye to remember to keep yer mouth shut unless ye are asked a question.”

  Her brother’s voice echoed between the stone walls of the hall. Alba grabbed her arm and tried to pull her away, but Moira resisted.

  “Ye haven’t told me my purpose.” Her brother always had something in mind when he made decisions. She’d learned long ago how to pry information from his lips. All she needed to do was allow him to think she wanted to do her duty.

  Bari paused and played right into her hands.

  “Yer purpose is to wed Achaius Matheson. I need the Matheson clan to help me win vengeance for Sandra.” Bari descended from the platform and walked toward her. He studied her face for a long moment. She honestly couldn’t recall the last time he’d looked at her so directly. “Ye’re no beauty, but ye’ll do. Ye will be his fourth bride. The last one died in childbirth. The man may be old, but he seems to still have a taste for a warm bed.”

  Moira gasped, and Bari laughed at her horror. “Aye, ye heard me right. ’Tis old Laird Matheson ye’re set to wed. Both of his sons have been called to Court. It seems the young king wants to make sure of their loyalty. It’s left Achaius alone, and he does nae like having his family questioned by those in Edinburgh.”

  “The Sutherlands are in good standing with the king,” she warned.

  Bari’s face darkened. He lifted his hand but didn’t deliver the blow. “Ye’re lucky Achaius wants to enjoy ye as soon as possible. He’s paid off the Church to allow him to wed ye before the week’s end. Otherwise, I’d darken yer cheek.”

  Alba was tugging on her arm again, but Moira wasn’t willing to give up. Desperation was clawing at her. “The Sutherlands are nae weak. Even with the Mathesons with ye, it will nae go well.”

  “I told ye to make ready. Me word is given on the match, and that’s nae just the word of yer brother, it’s the promise of yer laird. Ye will wed Achaius Matheson.” He looked at the men lingering in the hall. “Make sure she’s ready.”

  She heard their steps on the floor and felt them closing in on her. Alba’s grip became painful, and Moira stopped resisting. There was no point. Bari ruled absolutely on Fraser land.

  But the thought that Highland lairds usually did brought her little consolation or made forgiving Bari any easier.

  ***

  “Hurry…Hurry…We must…”

  Alba paused and cleared her throat as several maids scrambled to stuff Moira’s meager belongings into leather bags. Two retainers had delivered one of Sandra’s old trunks, but after another man had snapped that the laird would be riding fast, it was only half-full and sat abandoned with its lid open. There would be no cart for the trunk.

  “’Tis such a shame ye’ll nae be able to take all this finery.” Alba still sounded as though she might begin weeping.

  “It was nae mine and should stay,” Moira assured her.

  Alba looked up at her. “Laird Matheson will be expecting ye to arrive with a suitable wardrobe.”

  “It seems me laird is nae very worried about what I shall be taking with me,” Moira said softly. “All that pile of silk does is remind me of how many are in need of winter boots because of the coin paid for those Court fashions.” Her own toes felt like they were stil
l frozen, because she had on only a pair of shoes. But the stable boys needed boots before she did.

  “That is a solid truth,” Alba agreed. “A shameful one at that. Yer father would nae have allowed it. He was a man of honor. A true Highlander.”

  Moira gave her hair a final pass with a comb, then began braiding it. She made the plait tight, because she had no idea how long it would be before she might attend to her grooming again. Her chamber was on the ground floor, and she could hear the horses being brought out into the yard. Above her chamber, she could hear the hawks, and the sound of her babies screeching threatened to make her weep. “Bari is concerned only about how quickly I shall be ready to depart.”

  She spoke firmly, trying to steady herself. She had never been off Fraser land but had to accept that she was leaving. Only children cried over such unchangeable facts of life.

  “Aye, and that is a shame. He should have given thought to making sure ye’d arrive as a bride should. A thought for how the Fraser name will be spoken when ye arrive in rags like a servant. There should be a trousseau, or at the least a wedding dress.”

  Alba brought her a cap made of fine linen. It was made to cover her hair and keep the wind from tearing at it. Once tied beneath her chin, only a thin line of her blond hair peeked out. Alba returned to the trunk and searched through it. With a soft grunt, she tugged a bundle free from near the bottom.

  “Yer sister would never have worn this.” The older woman spoke with a tone rich in reprimand. “It is far too practical, since it is wool, but it is a pretty color. Green befits a bride.”

  There was no way to tell what shape the dress was because it was bundled and tied with a ribbon. Alba pushed it into the single sack Moira was allowed to take.

  “At least ye shall nae have to be a wife for long. Laird Matheson is very old.”

  There was kindness in Alba’s voice. When Moira looked at the woman, she saw a wealth of experience in her eyes. “It’s nae as though ye ever thought to have any say in who ye wed.”

  “Nay,” Moira agreed. Of course not. That would have been foolish and guaranteed to bring her nothing but grief. Even a half sister of the laird knew her place was to secure alliances for her clan.

  “How old are ye?” Alba asked, slightly embarrassed by her lack of knowledge. Sandra’s birthdays had seen lavish suppers, with jugglers and musicians brought in especially for the event, but there had never been any fuss over Moira.

  “Twenty-two, and before ye ask, I understand what me duties will be as a wife.”

  Alba nodded, her relief obvious. She glanced at the half-full trunk and surprised Moira by smiling approvingly.

  “All of that fine cloth never made a bit of difference on how rotten the woman wearing it was.”

  Never once had Moira heard any member of the house staff speak against their mistress. Now the chamber was heavy with emotion as the maids all froze, their attention on their head of house.

  “Even in death, she’s still bringing trouble.” Alba reached for Moira’s hand and clasped it firmly. “Perhaps yer brother has never treated ye as the mistress, but ye are the daughter of the laird I served faithfully. Ye have put the members of this household above yer own comfort. We are yer clanswomen, and I’m asking ye, one woman to another, to do yer best to keep peace. For our sake.”

  There was pleading in the older woman’s voice, and the other maids reached for her too. She’d never felt so much responsibility before, never seen so many looking to her for assistance.

  “I do nae know what I can do.”

  “A man who has a bride happy to welcome him often finds reasons to delay leaving his keep,” Alba suggested in a low tone. “He’ll have ye either way, but if ye make him think ye enjoy his company, he may nae be so willing to join yer brother in battle.”

  Alba’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, and all around her, the other women began to nod. Moira’s life had never been full of unkindness, but she realized that she had never had the opportunity to help others. Not in such a large way.

  The desire to make such a difference for her friends and kin grew quickly. It burned away the reluctance that had been fueling her anger.

  “I will try. I promise ye I will try very hard.”

  Alba smiled. Moira’s hands trembled, then Alba patted the top of Moira’s hand. The tension in the room broke, and Moira smiled.

  Aye, she would indeed do her duty and give her marriage her best effort.

  Bari just might not get the feud he was hoping for.

  ***

  “Ye did nae ask permission to take that hawk.”

  Moira walked toward Bari as she left Seabhac Keep for the last time. Athena was perched on her wrist, a thick leather gauntlet protecting her skin. There was a small perch attached to the front of her saddle for the hawk. Once the raptor was more at ease with being on the horse, she would rest her arm.

  “I raised Athena.”

  “Yer duty was to look after the hawks. That one is no different than the others.”

  Moira stroked Athena’s feathers gently. “She is different, for her mother died, and she would have too if I had nae taken pity on her.”

  Her brother scowled at her. “I recognize no difference. Yer time belongs to me.”

  “Yet there are differences that ye have no control over.” A retainer held the mare waiting for her, and she took the hand offered to her to mount. Athena shifted, raising her wings and crying in warning, then settled down as Moira gained the saddle.

  “What do ye mean by that?” Bari demanded.

  Moira surprised him by smiling. “Ye might order me to wed and have yer retainers ensure that I arrive on Matheson land, but when the wedding chamber doors are closed, only I will have the power to control me actions.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “I wonder how pleased Laird Matheson will be with a weeping bride?”

  Bari’s complexion darkened. “Ye’ll do no such thing.”

  Moira stroked Athena’s back again. Her laird and half brother snorted.

  “Take the bird. At least Matheson will nae be able to claim I sent ye with naught.”

  Her brother urged his stallion forward, leaving her behind. Alba stood at the top of the keep’s steps, watching her with a gleam in her eyes that looked something like approval. It was a small thing, and yet, a victory for Moira.

  “We’ve land to cross!” Bari ordered. “And a wedding to witness.”

  He never looked back at her. The lack of any sort of compassion from her sibling made it easy to ride through the gate and away from Seabhac Tower. She wouldn’t call it home; no, she would not. She had friends there but no family, and it was family that made a place a home.

  Maybe she’d find it on Matheson land.

  Her confidence wasn’t strong enough to shield her from doubting it. She searched her memories, trying to think of any tales she’d heard of Achaius Matheson, but there were none. If he was a monster, there would be rumors. At least that was what she tried to convince herself of.

  But she’d be lying if she said she was completely at ease.

  ***

  “Well now, it seems the Frasers are out to enjoy the spring weather,” Cam muttered.

  Gahan held up his hand to shade his eyes and watched the column of Fraser retainers. One man carried a pole with the Fraser laird’s pennant fluttering atop it. “Bari is with them as well.”

  Temptation was toying with him. It took all of Gahan’s control not to order his men to sweep down into the valley and claim the vengeance he craved. His hands tightened on his reins until his stallion snorted because he was pulling so hard on the bit. He eased his grip and scanned the Frasers once more. Something caught his eye, and he focused on it.

  “They’re riding with a woman,” Gahan said.

  Cam lowered his spyglass and looked at Gahan. “That might be bad news.”

  “Or the evidence we need to prove Bari is making trouble,” Gahan replied. “The man has a half sister, and he’s heading toward Matheson land.”<
br />
  “Did nae Matheson’s wife die during the winter?”

  Gahan nodded. “I believe it would only be fitting to make sure a member of the Sutherland family is present at the wedding of a vassal laird.”

  “I’m sure the earl would agree,” Cam offered. “But ye cannae stop Bari from contracting his sister.”

  Gahan put his spyglass back into the pocket on his saddle. It was a costly item not easily replaced. He made sure the pouch was tied closed, but the time needed to do so frustrated him. There was a sense of urgency riding him that was hard to control.

  But only a lad went off without thinking, or a fool who didn’t care if the Frasers ended up with the right to start a feud with his father. The king was a boy, who took a great deal of advice from Lord Home. Home was a man who understood how to manage power, and he’d be happy to see Sutherland weakened by feuding with vassal clans, because it would make the king that much more powerful.

  Which left Gahan with the very difficult challenge of trying to find a way to keep Bari Fraser from wedding his half sister to Achaius Matheson and forming an alliance.

  He grinned as he leaned over his horse’s neck and gave the powerful animal his freedom. There was nothing he loved better than a challenge. Especially if it meant gaining the opportunity to snatch something Bari Fraser wanted from his grasp.

  Two

  Matheson Tower

  To Moira’s eyes, Matheson Tower was more impressive than Seabhac.