Highlander's Torn Bride (Highlander's Seductive Lasses Book 2)

by Adamina Young

  While her boredom had been amusing at first, Alexander started to see it take a toll on her, with a bit of the twinkle in her green eyes fading with each passing day. Since then, he had done his best to try and devise some sort of activity for her, but nothing had come to him and he was forced to instead watch her waste away before his very eyes. No matter how deeply he loved her, she would never be fully happy and content if something did not change.

  “Laird Mackay,” a servant lass said, rushing up to him with a quick curtsey. “There are guests waiting for yer attendance.”

  “I do not have time to hear local grievances today,” Alexander objected.

  “Apologies, Laird Mackay, but they are noble guests. A Lady Isobel Gunn and her attendant, Gavin, also of Clan Gunn. Shall I fetch Lady Margaret?”

  “No need,” Alexander said, feeling a coldness slip down his back.

  What in the devil are those two doing here? he asked himself. It did not bode well to have two enemies united against him under his roof.

  Alexander was led to his father’s study, a room he had taken over for himself in father’s absence. Gavin, a man he recognized far too well from some awful dreams, sat in the large leather chair behind his father’s desk. The other figure in the room must have been Isobel. At some point, when Margaret had described her cousin, he had thought she might have been exaggerating. It would have been unlike Margaret, as she always was rather to the point and clear when she said anything, but he had not believed that all she said about Isobel could be true. The person she had been describing had been an impossibility. But now, with her standing before him, he realized that, in at least some of her descriptions, Margaret may have been too kind.

  Objectively, he admitted that she was a beauty, with perfectly porcelain skin and green, almond-shaped eyes. But, that was where his compliments for her ended. Her hair, a lovely brown shade that reminded him of chestnuts, had been so overworked with braids, curls, and pins, that it looked more like a bird’s nest on top of her head than anything that could have been deemed fashionable. Her figure was what most men would have considered ideal, full of splendid curves with a contrasting narrow waist, but she covered it with a gaudy bright red velvet dress that was studded with hundreds of pieces of shattered amethyst and a gathering of fabric flowers at the waist, as if a bouquet had been tucked into her belt. Not only was the dress not particularly pleasing, but it was clearly more expensive than it should have been, and it did not suit the present company, as he and Gavin were each dressed in average, day-to-day clothing, which could be described as nothing finer than clean. Finally, her face was so coated in powders, rouge, and kohl, she had more the appearance of a painted corpse than a living girl who had agreeable features without the interference of cosmetics.

  Gavin nodded at Alexander when he entered. “Laird Mackay. We’ve come to make some negotiations with you in regard to the lass you currently claim as your wife.”

  “Indeed,” Isobel said, her voice just a bit too high-pitched to be pleasing. It reminded him vaguely of the squealing pigs he and his brother used to chase through the yard. “We have some news that ought to shock you.”

  “You do not have to veil your words, Lady Isobel. That is who you are, tis it not?”

  The lass curtsied, her smile revealing a rather unpleasant expression that reminded him of one of the nasty cats that lurked in his stables, “Aye. A pleasure, I am sure.”

  “No, not particularly,” Alexander said. “Why are you here?”

  “To correct some things,” Gavin said.

  “Aye, particularly this whole marriage situation,” Isobel continued.

  “Correct it?” Alexander asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

  “Aye. You see, I am the one the queen intended for you to wed, and so it shall be made so,” Isobel said, as if it was such a point of fact that he would not dare to doubt it.

  “I thought you found me intolerable and ran off?”

  “Oh dear, is your pride sore? While it may be true, I found that I did not enjoy the options available elsewhere and came to the discovery that this was, in fact, the superior choice.”

  “Flattering, but forgive me, you’re a wee bit late to that conclusion. Your cousin and I are wed.”

  “Aye, but you can seek an annulment,” Gavin said, shrugging. Annulment seemed to be his answer for everything, a final point of success he was determined to see done.

  “Afraid not, laddy. I think any excuse for that has long been dispatched with. We participate in all of our marriage duties rather vigorously,” Alexander said, smirking at Gavin and enjoying the way his eyes were now two tiny slits with rage. Alexander was ready for him to strike as soon as he stood and rounded the desk, and he was also ready to return whatever blow was dealt with the beating when Isobel intervened, stepping between them and placing a hand on Gavin’s arm.

  “Do you have proof, Laird Mackay?” Isobel asked, turning to face him with eyes so cold that they could have been carved of ice. “Did anyone witness her, well, loss? Anyone keep the sheets?”

  “Sheets were sent to the queen. Taken to her directly by Laird Fraser.”

  “Sheets that were a lie,” Gavin interjected. “Was it yer blood or his on the sheet? And, do ye think Rob Fraser would not admit to it if pressed by the queen?”

  No, Alexander thought. Nor would I ask him to.

  The real proof had been washed off of his plaid when he had returned to Dirlot. And, even if the stain lingered, there were other bloody stains on it that belonged to the men that had attacked their caravan.

  “Proof is not necessary if both parties insist on the occasion taking place.”

  “Then you’ll have to deny it,” Isobel said, smiling again.

  “Why would I do that? So I can wed you? Tis not the compliment you think it to be.”

  “Do not think that I am so eager for it either, Laird Mackay, but I am afraid tis my only option. My father will not welcome me to Braemore any longer. Tis either here or some distant relations that shall not be able to insert me into proper society.”

  “Give them my greetings when you get there,” Alexander retorted, and then, as he watched Isobel’s face turn into a twisted, angry sneer, he wondered if he now needed to prepare himself for her to strike rather than Gavin.

  “I wonder, Laird Mackay, how is Margaret doing here? You ken, when we were children, she could barely manage a week in the society of Braemore without going positively mad. I imagine that this was not something she aged out of. It changes her entire disposition when she is feeling unfulfilled,” Isobel said, forcing her face back to one of complacent disregard.

  Alexander bit his tongue to keep his expression from appearing too fallen.

  “She was never that way in Thurso,” Gavin added. “Even with everything happening around her, she was always so lively. Hardly ever idle. It gave her quite a bit of cheer, you ken.”

  “Indeed. Unlike other women, Margaret is not one that can find cheer without a bit of action. Tis part of her nature, for she hardly ever does anything that does not to her seem to be the proper choice, which excludes her from certain adventures. Though, I dare say that it made it easy to bend her to one’s will if options were presented in just the right way.”

  “Be careful, Lady Gunn, for it seems as if you are trying to say that you have taken advantage,” Alexander replied, though he did certainly agree with the sentiment. Now that Margaret was fully herself, she was easy to understand. To her, logical choices superseded others, and he imagined that her confessing her identity to him was one of the only times that she strayed from that conviction.

  “Oh, certainly I have not. What would the point of such a thing be?” Isobel said as she cast a glance into the looking glass and straightened her mess of hair. “Margaret never had anything worth taking advantage of.”

  “The Laird Gunn, on the other hand,” Gavin said as he leaned back against the table. “Well, he took advantage of it by having her agree to wed ye.”

&
nbsp; “She was not forced, by my understanding.”

  “Really?” Isobel said. “I saw her wretched little sisters at Braemore when I returned. I guess they have taken up residence there in exchange for Margaret’s participation in all this. What would you call that, Gavin?”

  “Hostages,” he replied, sneering at Alexander.

  “I would not imagine hostages necessary if she was a willing participant,” Isobel said.

  Their conversation was rehearsed. He imagined them riding down the road to Dirlot, going back and forth on who would say what and when. Knowing this didn’t help, because he still found himself thinking of Margaret calling out her sisters’ names in her sleep. The assertion that Margaret had married Alexander to protect them was a true one, the question was how much of a threat Margaret felt her sisters were in if she backed out of the marriage. And that was not something he could answer on his own.

  “There is the look of skepticism I am looking for. Listen, Alexander, I do not ask for you to be happy with me. Frankly, if you have such interest in a lass like Margaret, then I ken that we would never be compatible, so I would only ask for you to give me but one child before we can be rid of each other forever. In exchange, you will be greatly improving Margaret’s happiness in life. All of this, the nobility and the luxury and the importance of status, well, tis never a life she wished for, you ken. She would be happier back in Thurso, living the life that she had been forced to abandon. We would provide her with an allowance, of course, so that she would only need to return to her disgusting job on the docks if she chooses to continue such a…charming exercise.”

  Alexander grimaced. He did not wish to agree with their points but, the more that he considered it, the more he wondered if she would be happy far from here, living a life that coincided with what she knew. Even if that meant she would be living without him.

  “Here,” Isobel said, holding out a piece of paper. “If words of mine shall not convince you, then perhaps another’s shall.”

  Alexander took the paper, hesitantly, and unfolded it. The letter scrawled inside was not a handwriting he knew, nor did he ever wish to know such a hand. It was sloppy, full of misspellings, and composed of lines that arched down in curves rather than falling straight across the page. But the words caught his attention, and from within them he felt a deep pain building within his chest.

  He shoved it away, forcing it back into Isobel’s hands. “What is this?”

  “You could not tell? Tis a letter from Margaret’s brother to my father. I happened to see it and take it during my brief return to Braemore. Shall I read it to you?”

  “No, her brother’s words do not—”

  “My dear uncle. Tis with great anger that I write to you, for I have just learned of you stealing my sisters away from our home.”

  “Stop,” Alexander said, reaching back to try and take the paper back, but Isobel stepped back, while Gavin stepped forward.

  “I have just learned that you came to my home while I was away in order to take advantage of my sisters and their weaknesses. Without me there to defend them, you have robbed each of them of their freedom, Margaret’s most of all. Do you expect me to believe that she, so ardently set against Clan Mackay while sharing a deep love for another man and her home in Thurso, would have willingly agreed to something such as this?

  “Tis something you could have achieved only through severe lies and manipulations, and I’ll not stand for it. You’ve likely convinced even her that this is her will, but I shall never forget how perfectly happy she lived her life here. The only way in which you will achieve my forgiveness is in the reinstatement of the life you have taken from me. Sincerely, Alec Gunn,” Isobel finished, folding the paper back and running it sharply through her fingers.

  Margaret never spoke about her brother with him. Unlike her sisters, who she spoke endlessly of, Alec was still a mystery to him. From his understanding, he was almost never home, so Alexander had always assumed he was off trying to improve their situation. Alexander had thought that her brother had known of her arrangement with Laird Gunn as much as her sisters had, but perhaps that hadn’t been true.

  Laird Gunn was known for being a coy, crafty man. Had he intentionally gone to Margaret when Alec was gone to convince her that her situation was dire enough to abandon?

  “No matter how you wish it, or how much she seems to adjust to this life, it will never be the perfect happiness of her home in Thurso. I’m sure, once things have been adjusted, my father will return her sisters to Thurso, fully reinstating the life that Alec mentions,” Isobel said, using the phrasings of the letter like ropes to bind him to the decision she craved.

  Alexander thought about all of their conversations that has passed between them in the weeks since they had been together. He remembered the way that she had grown sad whenever discussing Thurso. He remembered the way she had dodged mention of her brother, and how she had mourned being apart from her sisters. He even remembered, with a bit of anger and jealousy in his chest, every mention she had ever made of Gavin that had contained any degree of affection, and there had not been so few as to be able go through them all now.

  His fears seemed to be materializing before him. No matter how much love they shared, it would never be enough. The greatest couples in all the best songs never lasted, either. What had given them the audacity to think themselves different?

  “So, Alexander,” Isobel said, crossing over to him and touching a gloved hand to his face. “Do you wish to do what is right for her?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Perfect,” Isobel said, “then you’ll let her go.”

  12

  Margaret sighed as she walked through the hall, unsure of what the summons could possibly be for. Alexander always warned her if they were expecting anyone of importance, anyone she might have been expected to try and impress with prettily done hair and one of the more expensive dresses her uncle had given her. Today, though, he hadn’t said a thing on the matter, so she looked just as plain as ever.

  If it ends up being another old man who wishes for me to sit and sing him a song, I’ll have to feign illness, Margaret thought, rubbing at the growing ache in her temple.

  Margaret opened the door to Alexander’s office with the tight smile that Isobel so often gave, ready to face anything, only to find herself looking at the very portrait of what she had been trying to imitate.

  “Isobel?” Margaret asked, rushing forward to embrace her cousin. “What are you doing here? Where have you been?”

  “Oh, here and there, exploring all that Scottish society has to offer,” Isobel replied, sticking her nose in the air. But, Margaret knew that if that were true, Scottish society would hardly push her to come to a place like Dirlot.

  “Margaret,” another voice said, and Margaret turned with a start.

  Gavin was leaning against Alexander’s desk, his arms crossed in front of him as he gave her a look of proud joy. Margaret’s eyes shifted behind Gavin, to Alexander, sitting at his father’s desk, his eyes dead of all light while he leaned his chin interlocked fingers.

  “What is going on?” Margaret asked. She tried to step toward Alexander, but Gavin intervened, placing himself in her path.

  “Cousin, do not fret, all is well. We are all friends now, united under a common cause,” Isobel said, gesturing to the two men with a broad, false smile. It was the same smile and gesture that she used to use when she showed off the impressive size of the boars served at her father’s table.

  “And what could that be?”

  “To see us all returned to our rightful places in the world, of course,” Isobel said. “Oh, Gavin, sir, please explain it to her.”

  “When it came to running off with me, yer only concern was for the safety of the clan. I realized that the only way to ensure the clan’s wellbeing was to find Lady Isobel and have her take yer place, so that the order is still fulfilled without the queen getting angry, if she ever even finds out that a switch was made. So, as you
can see, I tracked Lady Isobel down and convinced her.”

  “Indeed he did, cousin. Thank you for holding my place here. I shall happily take the post from your hands so that you can return to Thurso with Gavin.”

  Margaret laughed. “As much as I would thank you for your thought, I think we are doing fine here. Besides, I do not think that a marriage vow is a simple post that can be passed as easily as a flower crown.”

  “No, but it can be annulled. Alexander has already agreed to it.”

  “Absolutely not, he would not do—” Margaret began, turning to Alexander to wait for his objection, but he hadn’t moved. And, in the way he sat so stiffly, she saw that he wasn’t going to move. Margaret felt like someone had ripped her inside out, and her still beating heart had been allowed to fall to the ground.

  “Is this not exciting, Margaret? All shall be as it was properly designed. You did not wish to stay in such a place like this. You are not bred for it,” Isobel laughed. “You are far too…how shall I put it…low? Not to disrespect my aunt, but she did you quite the disservice by marrying that man and putting you in this position. But here we must be, following the proper protocols of good society.”

  “Alexander,” Margaret said, turning to him now, “say something.”

  Defend me. Turn them away. Do something to show me you care.

  “This is the best decision, Margaret. Best for everyone,” he said, his eyes no more than an empty pit, and the darkness that was behind them frightened her, forcing her to look away.

  “Since when?” she asked as she studied her feet. “What have I done to displease you?”

  “Do you really think,” he said, “that I was pleased with the daughter of a merchant? I told you it was alright because I did not ken that an option other than continuing our union was possible without bloodshed. The option is now here, so it would be wisest to take it.”